#characters talking about sex so i avoid it when i can & fade to black as much as possible

[compacflt]

okay here to pick ur mind…i know you’ve alluded to it throughout WWGTTAI and debriefing but do u think bottoming is something that i’ve struggled with throughout his relationship with mav-especially if he enjoyed it-bc it may have been “more gay” in his mind and therefore harder to excuse due to the inherent misogyny wrapped up in men’s homophobia? it’s something we’ve talked abt in my gender studies classes so i just wanted to know how you think your ice may have approached that due to the repression of his sexuality so throughly and for so long!

as always with questions like this there’s a diegetic (in-universe) answer and a non-diegetic (writing theory) answer so I’ll start with the diegetic answer (not tagging this as nsfw but obv refer to the subject matter & discretion advised):

he isn’t thinking about it. I mean, he has to think about the mechanics of it, because sure there’s a lot of prep work involved, but he’s not really thinking about what it means, because no one’s telling him to. He knows it’s “wrong” —but the whole thing is “wrong,” anyway! The fact that he’s doing anything with Maverick is already wrong... I think he categorizes things as “not-fucked-up” and “yes-fucked-up” in his head, and any form of non-societally-approved contact with another man is “yes-fucked-up,” and there’s not really a sliding scale. Which is why Maverick’s weird extended hug thing right when Ice leaves TOPGUN (ch.4? I forget) is like literally the biggest deal in the world to him. I think Maverick could’ve actually groped him and he would’ve responded the same way. It’s all fucked-up, in his head. No difference between hugging/kissing/fucking/being fucked; it's all the same. There are the rules, and then there’s breaking the rules—no gray area in Ice’s mind (though note, in turn, Maverick’s analysis of Ice bending the rules—there is a gray area, just an unacknowledged one). 

So, yeah, he isn’t really thinking about the implications of the specific act. Maybe he knows that he enjoys it, and that thinking about what it means that he enjoys it would ruin it, so he doesn’t think about it. Also, he’s operating under the unspoken assumption that there’s something “wrong” with Maverick and not with him, because remember that Maverick already confessed to engaging in same-sex acts in ch. 4. There’s something fundamentally “wrong” with Maverick, so anything Ice does automatically looks better in comparison, because (he thinks) his transgressions are isolated incidents, whereas Maverick’s are a known pattern—even if Ice’s “transgressions” amount to literally being fucked by another guy. Hey, well, at least I’m not as bad as rule-breaker Maverick, who does this all the time, apparently! 

In Ch. 8 I was kind of trying to harp on that fact with the use of the word “resentment” during Ice’s discussion of choice/free will—there is kind of a sense that Maverick did this to him against his will, as in, he wasn’t “yes-fucked-up” until he met Maverick/this whole FWB-situation started, and maybe there is some deep-seated resentment about the fact that he might have been “normal” if it weren’t for Maverick (he wouldn’t have been, but he doesn’t realize that). I was close to having him just say this outright in Ch. 8, but as I’ll talk about below, their relationship is already pretty toxic, and there were some lines of toxicity I didn’t want to cross explicitly.

As for the non-diegetic answer, AKA the reason I wrote it this way: I’m kind of hesitant to politicize sociosexual (esp. “hierarchical”) roles in fiction, because I feel like it’s an easy way to betray your own political biases (as a writer) towards male sexual roles—it’s just too slippery of a slope IMO. Especially once you introduce ranks and professional/financial power dynamic differences, I feel like it’s all-too easy to portray the relationship as incredibly and toxically sociopolitically unequal. Yeah, I guess it would make more sense for very-closeted Ice to top 100% of the time, but he’s already “hierarchically” above Maverick 100% of the time anyway—politically, professionally, financially, in terms of social respect, etc. I didn’t want their dynamic to be skewed all the way towards one character having all the social/external/traditionally masculine power, so I didn’t write it like that. That in and of itself is a political decision that betrays my beliefs about male sexuality, and might not make sense in-universe, with characters this repressed, but…I personally felt uncomfortable with the alternative.

I think I’ve explained this a couple times elsewhere, but I wanted Ice & Mav to be true equals in this fic, because it reflects the equality they achieve in canon— “You can be my wingman anytime” vs. “Bullshit, you can be mine.” They are canonically equals. And, yes, of course in a sexual relationship you can be “giver” or “taker” and still be “equal” with the other person, but—like, you see how it would be different, right? If you’re only ever the “giver,” in our society’s traditional understanding of gender roles, you have an insane amount of power over the other person, and I wanted Ice & Mav to be equals when they’re with each other. It’s why I was hesitant having like an actual D/S dynamic with them as well—and the lack of that dynamic is itself a plot point. Ice in ch. 8 rebels against what he thinks their dynamic is—namely, that Maverick always leads/gives the orders, and Ice always follows. He portrays himself as submissive in that moment (“I’ve never had a choice”), but in reality he has just as much control over this relationship as Maverick does—i.e. he is just as “dominant,” and wants it just as bad, he just can’t articulate that. Which is the point of his whole character arc. Their equality is the point, not the transgressiveness of the act itself.

Also related to his character arc is the passivity of the act of bottoming as well, which is maybe why it's "overrepresented" in the story (sorry coming back to add this graf after doing the tags already &then Having A Thought). Like if Ice's whole thing is following orders/not having a choice, which makes him a great naval officer but a deeply flawed and confused person, then it makes sense that his narrative focuses most on the following/passive act of "taking," not necessarily the more leading/active role of "giving." These are simplistic terms obv but hopefully you can see what I'm getting at.

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 4

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: JMKink is nothing and everything that you need and want it to be. Meanwhile, you are nothing and everything that Joel imagines you to be.

WC: 13.8k

TW: Warnings are below the cut in small red, feel free to skip them if you want to avoid chapter spoilers, but there are some descriptions of reader so I would classify this as more of an original character versus a blank canvas female reader.

AN: I actually cannot believe how many of you reached out all excited about September 1st approaching. From the bottom of my cold dead heart, thank you!! The more I write this, the more I picture video game Joel, so do with that what you will haha. Thanks so @ak-vintage and @lotusbxtch for beta reading for me. Support banners and dividers by @saradika-graphics. I recently got promoted at work (yay me), but the job is now waaaaaay more work than before, so enjoy this chapter slowly because I am not sure when I will be writing chapter 5.

Series Masterlist || My Masterlist

TW: p in v, dirty talk, sub dom relationships, age gap, alcohol consumption, flirting, voyeurism, description of a threesome and other sexual acts, use of sex toys, nipple clamps, female orgasm, talks of neglectful parents during childhood and loss of a spouse. Mutual pining.

“Hnnng, fuck yes, daddy.” He’s rutting into you deeper than anyone else ever has. Long, slow strokes of his heavy cock sending you into a spiral of white hot, sparkling nirvana. 

“So fuckin’ wet n’ tight. Fuck, sweet girl.” His deep voice devours you - rattling around your skull, echoing slightly as if you’re in a large, empty room. 

Everything is black; darker than the onyx pits of his eyes. You’re not sure if you’re up or down, and you’re either blindfolded or have your face buried in a pillow as he fucks into you from behind. All you can feel is the pleasurable push and pull of his thick, vein lined cock slamming in and out of you. The vast darkness and the feeling of him filling you so full is overwhelming

“Please, daddy. Please. I’m so close.”

The soft mushroom head of his cock is kissing right where he taught you to crave it, and you wouldn’t be surprised if that spongy spot had ‘Property of Joel Miller’ branded on it by now. Within seconds of him pressing inside of you tonight you had completely submitted to him; surrendering to the darkness, the sensation, the exquisite pleasure. This is exactly where you were meant to be, and he’s the only one you’d want to be here with. It has never been this good, and even with your limited experience you know that it will probably never be this good with anyone else. 

“Don’t stop this time. Please don’t stop this time.” You’re an aching, crying, desperate crumb of yourself; wholly at his mercy.  

“No coming until I say.” His voice seems further away with every word and dread settles in your stomach as it all starts to fade.

“No! Nonono. Please no.” You feel a hot tear run down your face as the euphoria fades. You can barely feel or hear him anymore as little slits of yellow light appear. You blink once, twice. After a third long blink your bedroom comes into view.

Fuck. 

This has been the start of your new three part morning routine for the last few nights, since that kiss with Joel, since filling out your preferences and signing all the waivers. Since being asked to submit test results and proof of birth control. Since Joel Miller became your Dom. Night after night you dream of him fucking you, and night after night, right as you’re about to fall over the edge, he tells you not to come until he says and you wake up.

The second part of your morning routine is a lot more cathartic and vocal - very vocal. Your newly painted cotton candy pink nails (anything to stay distracted and busy) dig into the soft cotton of your pillow as you pull it out from behind your head, pressing it to your face and screaming until your throat feels raw.

Fuck.

When all the breath is pushed from your lungs, you put your pillow back and kick off the blanket. Your bare feet drag along the worn down carpet of your bedroom to the cold and cheap linoleum of your bathroom. You pee, avoiding your clit at all costs when you clean up. You know you’re down fucking bad when even the scratchy 1-ply toilet paper is enough to make you almost crumble. 

Part three of your new morning ritual is probably the part that shocks you the most. You change into leggings and a tank top, slipping a ten dollar bill and your house key into the side of your sports bra. The old springs of your mattress creak as you sit to slip on socks and your lavender colored runners, that you honestly forgot you owned until the morning after your twenty second birthday. You sneak out of your apartment, careful not to wake your roommate and jog down the stairs from your fourth floor suite to step into the cool March morning air.

Fuck. 

After shaking out each leg, you start to run. There’s no technique to your form or a planned out route. You leave your phone behind, only sounds are the morning traffic and your struggling breath to keep you company. It's just you, pushing your body to forget how badly you’re throbbing between your thighs and trying to erase the feeling of him. As you turn the corner at the end of your block you can see the bright green grass and leafy trees of the park. Your calf muscles burn with every step, but it’s not enough; you can still feel him. As you reach the park your lungs start to burn; they feel like they’re filling with fluid. Your ankles protest with every strike of your feet against the concrete. Finally, just as you swear you’re about to meet your maker it happens, the sweet release you’re pushing for. Finally every trace of the ghost of Joel Miller disappears. 

Your legs slow below you and you clutch your side, wandering lazily around the park. The rush of blood through your ears is nearly deafening, almost completely drowning out the chirping of the birds and the trickling of the water in the large stone fountain. You suck in quick, deep breaths, essentially doing everything and anything not to pass out. You’re free from him, if only for a little bit, as you fight against what feels like death knocking on your door. 

As you walk home you grab a coffee - black with just a splash of almond milk, apologizing to the barista as you hand her the sweaty ten dollar bill that was tucked into your bra and begin mentally scheduling your day. It’s Monday, which means you don’t work today and you can focus on studying and laundry. Your LSAT retake is just a few days away, today is your last full free day, and you have to get as much studying and practicing done as possible. The dread of taking that test again has your hot coffee doing flips in your stomach. Getting some college letters would really help put you at ease. You know you applied early but it would be nice to know if you need to continue to push or if you can finally rest. 

When you get back to your apartment your roommate has already left for her classes. You check your phone and your heart lurches in your chest at Joel’s name across your cracked lock screen. There’s been no contact between the two of you since Friday night. You slide open the text with shaky fingers

Good Morning, sweet girl. Are you ready to learn? 

You bite your lip as you respond. 

Yes, please, Mr Miller. 

You stare at the text thread for a while. Although you aren’t sure if a total of three texts can be considered a thread, but you stare anyway trying to will more messages into existence. After a few minutes you give up, locking your phone and stripping your bedsheets. The trek to the laundry in the building feels like it takes forever and you rush back to check your phone. There’s no response but you do have a little red bubble on your JMK app. You excitedly tap on the app to see a new menu titled ‘Dominant Preferences’ added at the top. When you click it, everything from your Reddit wormholes is revealed.

 ‘Joel Miller likes to participate in bondage play, nipple play, toy play, dirty talk, oral sex (both giving and receiving), and fingering. He doesn’t like brat taming, but is willing to participate in scenes where his submissive needs to be put in her place occasionally. He never has sexual intercourse - vaginal or anal, this is a hard limit for him and his submissives need to understand that there is zero room for negotiation on this matter. He’s very open to impact play, but believes that only good girls should get spankings.’

You click off the little ‘Read and Accepted’ box at the bottom without hesitation. As if he’s waiting for you to accept, he texts you seconds after your finger has made contact with the screen. 

8pm tomorrow. I’m sending a car for you. You should dress comfortably.

The same kind faced man from your birthday waits for you outside your apartment at 7:30 the next night. He opens the door, smiling gently at you as you hop in; leather and new car smell wafting around you. During the drive to the club you learn his name is Arthur, but my friends call me Cap. 

“Can I ask you a question, Cap?” You ask as downtown comes into view.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you drive all of Joel’s, umm, do you drive lots of women around for Joel?”

He chuckles knowingly from the driver's seat, glancing into the rearview mirror at you. “No ma’am. Joel is a pretty secretive man. I have driven him places when he’s alone, or I drive Tommy’s subs, but never Joels.”

You nod and look out the window. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you.

Cap rushes to open the door when he pulls up to JMKink. The club is in a different building than Joel’s office; that was in the tall building across the street. Three bright and expansive floors of that red stone faced building belonged to JM Inc. Assumingly, the home base for all the businesses he has his hands in. This building, however, is smaller amongst the tall skyscrapers of the Austin skyline. The entire building is coated in a shiny black chrome, from the steel framing to the windows, except for the golden JMK logo on the front door. You take a calming breath before heading up the steps, the blacked out glass door slides open automatically.

Your dark high heeled boots click on the black and honey flecked marble, the floor reminding you of Joel’s eyes. You wish the marble would suck you into it so you could live in that feeling you get when Joel looks at you. Where it might be seen as cold and intimidating to others, to you it feels warm and inviting, almost familiar, and that little box of feelings in the back of your mind stirs a little bit. 

He told you to dress comfortably tonight, and you felt most at ease in a deep green sweater dress and knee high heeled boots. The dress just barely skims your thighs, making your legs look long and toned. You could use a tan, but it’s only March, everyone in Texas could use a tan at this point. You left your hair down in loose curls and kept your makeup minimal, as always. 

There are three people in the small foyer. Two stunning women stand behind the hostesses desk in matching black dresses and collars. To the right of them stands a man who looks like he could kill you with his pinkie. He’s also dressed in all black, and stands in front of a large door. Everything here seems like it’s meant to intimidate but all you can see and feel is the safety that comes with knowing Joel Miller. 

One of the women looks up at you, smiling comfortingly and asks for your name. Before you can respond, Joel's honey lined voice answers her. The sound of your name on his tongue feels like taking a breath of fresh winter air. Goosebumps break out across your skin, your own breath leaping in your throat as you spin slowly to meet his gaze. There’s no other way to around it, Joel Miller is fucking exquisite. His slightly outgrown curls are pushed back, silver reflecting off his temples and throughout his beard. Tonight he’s wearing a deep midnight blue Tom Ford suit with one jacket button done up, underneath he’s wearing a crisp white t-shirt, paired with brown dress shoes and what you assume will be a matching belt. One of his hands is tucked in the pocket of pants that literally look like they weren’t made for him, the other hangs loose at his side and you catch that gold ring again.  

He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he speaks to everyone in the lobby, “You’re all to remember her name. She is my guest, my only guest, and as far as you’re all concerned she’s the most important person in this club. Understand?”

The little box of feelings lifts its lid a little. No, you say to the box, banishing it back to its dark corner.

A jumbled mess of ‘yes’ and ‘sorry’ fills the lobby but the only thing that’s clear to you is Joel as he wanders over, placing his hand on the small of your back, and leading you towards the large black door that the lethal looking man is guarding. As he pulls you into his side his voice quiets, his words a low growl meant only for you. “Hi, sweetheart.” When he sponges a soft kiss to your temple you press your lips together to stop the giggle that’s trying to burst out of you. Joel Miller makes you giddy in a way that you haven’t felt since you were much younger and saw a One Direction music video for the first time. 

This afternoon, you had your easily predicted moment of panic. As with every decision you’ve ever made, you started to think that this wasn’t the right one. Maybe Tommy was the safer choice. Maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew, or girlbossed too close to the proverbial sun. Or in kink terms, flirted too closely with the St Andews Cross. But now, being here tucked tightly against Joel's side as he guides you into your first experience with the world of kink you couldn’t feel any more sure of your decision. 

You hold your breath as the shiny black marble door opens, this feels like one of those big climatic moments you see in the movies, like you know the main character's life is about to change, and a nervous excitement buzzes through your veins. As the club comes into view it’s nothing like you thought. For starters, there aren’t cages or naked people around, and at first glance it looks just like a lounge in a high end hotel or restaurant. JMKink is beautiful, breathtaking.

 Light pine flooring is set in a herringbone pattern across the entire club. Directly in front of you are a few tall tables and then, situated in the middle of the space, is a large black marble bar. The bartender is surrounded by a halo of soft chiffon light that casts down from a brushed gold chandelier. The tables and bar top have tealight candles on them, making the entire thing feel sensual and soft. It’s just dimly lit enough that you can’t see beyond the bar from here. Joel guides you gently to the right. The booths that line the wall are only illuminated by the flickering candle on the table. Three of the booths are roped off, guarded by a tank of a man in a black suit. As Joel leads you towards them, you notice each of those tables have a gold plated reserved sign along with a name; Joel, Tommy and Tess. 

Confusion swirls in your brain at the romantic feeling the club gives off. Part of you expected to walk into a sex dungeon or that red room that Christian took Anastasia to, but you definitely weren’t expecting this. If this place was just a bit brighter you could imagine studying here on weekends. 

This isn’t a sex club, there’s no way.

As you slide into the furthest booth you’re able to see a small stage on the back wall and empty dance floor looking area on the other side of the bar. You can feel Joel’s warm gaze on you as you look around with wide eyes. Right when you’re almost convinced that you interpreted the information you found on Reddit wrong, your eyes land on the far left side of the room.

No, now that you see if from this angle, you are indeed in a kink club; a well stocked kink club based on the entire sex shop in the corner. You feel your cheeks flush and you dart your eyes towards Joel, pushing at your cuticle under the table, smiling shyly at him.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?” His voice is syrupy and warm as two drinks land on the table. Whiskey neat for him and some sort of pink martini for you.

“Nothing..I just, it’s not what I expected,” you swallow the sand that’s found its way into your throat at seeing all those sex toys just out on display in the corner and flick your eyes towards your drink.

“That's a cosmopolitan. I can get you something else if you want, sweetheart. The female staff here seems to love them.”

“No, I should have said thank you. I’m sorry.” His hand comes to meet yours as it’s picking furiously at the non-existent skin of your nail bed. He wraps his hand tightly around yours, and brings them to rest on the top of the table together.

“Take a breath, sweet girl. You’re ok.” His words wrap around you tightly, calming you. You’re ok. Your heart rate slows and you relax into the plush velvet lined booth a little bit, smiling sheepishly up at Joel. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Your free hand grabs the martini glass and you bring it to your nose, it smells like cranberry and lime.

As you take a small sip Joel says, “You really don’t have to drink it, baby girl. I can get you whatever.”

The vodka burns away any sand that remains in your throat. It’s tart, and dangerously delicious. You can see yourself getting very fucked up these with your girlfriends one day soon. “No, I like it. Thank you.”

After putting the glass safely on the table, Joel lets go of your hand, wraps his arm around your waist and slides you across the seat, pressing you to his side. “Is this ok?”

JOEL

His cock twitches at the little hum you make in agreement. You lift your leg closest to him and rest it over his under the table. He squeezes your side gently, sinking into the comfort of you and grabs his whiskey. “So if this isn’t what you thought, what were you expecting?”

He loves the way you blush a little before answering him. “People just, you know, it’s a sex club, so just having sex here.”

He lowers his head to yours and whispers just for you, “There are people having sex here, sweet girl.”

He laughs to himself as your eyes narrow and you look around at the other people in the bar. “Not out here, just because you’re in a sex club doesn’t mean you have to consent to seeing or hearing people fuck. Or to be having sex yourself, really.” He loves the way you look at him with surprise at his boldness. He cocks his head towards a guarded door between the stage and booths along the wall, “But behind that door - well, people are indulging as we speak.”

He watches the small shiver of your spine, pulling back to take a sip of his whiskey, allowing you time to look around and become comfortable in your surroundings. He watches your perfect lips part, finding himself jealous of the rim of the glass as you take another sip. Great, first spoons and now glasses. As he watches your neck work to liquid down he says, “So did you leave that little pussy alone like I asked?”

Your head whips to face him, he can’t quite place your facial expression. It’s a twisted  mix of fear, shyness and embarrassment, like you’re worried that someone may have heard him say pussy; but if you only knew the kinds of things happening in this club right now.

“What?” you ask shakily.

“Did you come? Or did you listen?”

“Umm…I,” he can tell that you’re flustered, and he finds you nearly irresistible like this.

“Are you nervous, sweet girl?”

He’s not sure if you realize it, but when you’re tense and he calls you by that nickname you relax a little. Your shoulders lower, the little crease in between your eyebrows softens. “No,” you say, and he’s not convinced.

Joel deepens his voice, a voice he only intends to use when you’re at the club together. Or when she’s in my bedroom. He pushes any thoughts of you outside of the confines of this space away, “Lesson number one, don’t lie to your Dom. We have to be able to trust each other.”

You look up at him through your lashes and it damn near kills him. You’re so beautiful, absolutely glowing against all the black in the room. The soft golden light bounces off of every little perfect piece of you; from the deep cupid's bow above your top lip, to the caramel highlights in your hair. He can tell by the long breath you suck in that you’re about to do that adorable thing where you ramble. “I’m nervous, but it’s an excited kind of nervous. And no, I didn’t…that thing.” 

He can’t fight the smile at your shyness, “Lesson number two, If you can’t say it then you shouldn’t be here. What thing, sweet girl?”

You close your eyes and say, “Come,” and then open your eyes to look at him again. 

So shy. So cute. I’m fucked, so very fucked, he thinks. He takes another pull of his whiskey if only to keep his hands and lips busy and to himself. He usually enjoys the burn but with you beside him it tastes sweeter.

As you bring your martini glass to your lips he commands, “One more time, this time look at me when you say it.”

Over your glass, sparkling eyes locked on him you mumble, “I didn’t come, Joel.”

“That reminds me. Lesson number three, as soon as we cross the threshold into my private room, you will refer to me as Mister Miller only. Out here, and anywhere else, I can be Joel, but in there,” he tilts his head towards a door on the other side of the stage, this one isn’t guarded, instead there’s a security pad that you need to have a microchip to unlock, “In there, I’m Mister Miller. Understand?”

He watches your throat again as you swallow, the palm of his hand tingles at the thought of wrapping his hand around it again. One of your eyebrows raises just a touch and he knows that cheeky little line of your lips. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

Your voice is husky as you say it and this time it’s him who has to fight the goosebumps rising on his skin and the icy shiver trailing down his spine. So perfect. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You don’t make eye contact with him when you say it, like you fear he might say no and he has a feeling that whoever made you feel that you needed to make plans A through Z also told you are a burden for asking questions. Joel isn’t a violent man, but would happily ring whoever’s neck did this to you.

“Of course, sweet girl.”

You turn to face him, taking a sip of your martini before you say, “Why did you send me into your basement that day?”

Joel clears his throat, weighing how transparent he wants to be in his answer, but there’s no hiding it after what he said to you in his office last week. “I’m not always going to be nice to you here, sweet girl. I’m going to push you, I might even hurt you. Yes, it’s all consensual, but I didn’t want you thinkin’ I’m some sort of monster.”

He watches as you take a long pull of the pink liquid from your glass. You set it back on the table, the earlier tremble of your hand gone as you reply, “Thank you for being honest with me. I don’t think I could ever see you as a monster, Mister Miller. I need this.”

The devious smile you give him has his cock come to life. He doesn’t fuck his subs, but he would take you right here in this booth if he could. “Would you like a tour of the club?”

Your eyes light up, “Can I bring my drink?”

“Anywhere out here, yes. But not behind those two doors.” He takes the last drink from his whiskey and then watches as you take two big gulps to finish your Cosmopolitan. Your nose crinkles at what he assumes is the burn of the vodka.

“So fuckin’ cute,” Joel says quietly, and hopefully just to himself, as he slides out of the booth.

No, you say to the little box of feelings when you overhear his whispered words, don’t start with me right now.

You follow him as he heads towards the store in the corner. Even with the condoms, dildos, plugs, gags, whips, lube and all sorts of other things on display it’s somehow still classy and beautiful. Lots of these things you’ve never seen before, or had any desire to play with, but you’re pretty sure you’d try almost anything with Joel. 

He nods at the man working the store counter and then walks you around the main area, his voice thick with passion as he speaks. “Usually on Friday and Saturday nights there's more of a nightclub feel, couples who like to swap partners can mingle with the room. This is a safe space, monogamous couples aren’t offended by the attention and everyone stays very respectful of others wishes and limits. There’s a drink limit of course, keeping things safe and consensual is my utmost priority.”  

You walk slowly, crossing the middle of the currently unoccupied dance floor, “That stage is often used for workshops or shows. This is a place to learn just as much as it’s a place to enjoy sex and kink. We have a new workshop coming up next week actually.”

The two of you stop beside the guarded door - the door Joel said people were indulging behind. You can’t help but be curious about what's happening back there, but you’re also desperately horny and unsure how you might react to whatever is unfolding in the dark. The man standing in front of the door is also dressed in a black suit, this seems to be the uniform of those who work at JM Kink, he says a cordial, “Good Evening, Joel.” Then nods at you and adds, “Miss.”

You jump as Joel’s hand connects with yours, his strong fingers linking with your slender ones. He spins you to face him. His freehand cups your chin, the band of his ring cold against your pink flushed skin. He tilts your face up to meet his, seriousness etched across his face. “My sweet girl, behind that door can be a bit intense at first. You’re an adult, but you shouldn’t have to see anything you don’t want to see. So you’re in charge in there. If you want to leave, we leave. If you want to cover your eyes, do it and I’ll lead you away. On the contrary, if you see something you like and want to get closer, then get closer. If you have questions, just ask. Ok?”

You nod, and Joel leads you through what you hope is the second life changing door of the night. The air feels different on this side of the threshold, something about it makes you feel like you’ve been plugged into a low voltage socket, you’re buzzing in an exciting and dangerous way. It’s dark enough in here that you can’t see your black boots as they click quietly against the hardwood. Joel's strong hand comes around your waist, tucking you into the side of his body protectively. After taking a deep breath, the familiar ash and leather scent of Joel intoxicating and calming your senses, you look up.

You and Joel stand intertwined at one end of a long rectangular room. Across from where you stand and down to your left and right the wall is lined with large windows. On the side of the hallway where you stand are plush chairs and couches, some of which are occupied by singles or couples as they watch what’s happening beyond the windows. 

You wonder if it gets easier, standing in a dark hall where you can watch people fucking. Joel is so calm, like a still glassy sea, meanwhile you are fighting against the tides. He stands almost statuesque, his thumb rubbing calming circles on your hip, while keeping you tucked safely into him. He has made it clear that you’re in charge here, so staying in the shadows as much as possible, you wander towards the first window. As if he’s another limb on your body, Joel follows you effortlessly. 

Your heart thumps in your chest as you approach the first window. The room has a large bed that remains untouched. A man is tied to a chair at the end of the bed with black silk ties, and you stifle a gasp at the painful looking device he has clamped around his hard cock. You can hear his whines through the ball gag, and the moans of pleasure from the woman spread eagle on the floor in front of him as she fucks herself with a large dildo.

Joel’s soft stubble brushes against your ear as he whispers, “We won’t be doing that.”

“Looks fun for me,” you giggle and he lightly pinches your hip.

The next window has the blinds drawn, little slits of light illuminating the edges is the only sign that someone is in the room. “You can choose to let people watch or not watch, as well as how much you want those in the voyeur area to hear when you rent the rooms,” Joel explains softly as you approach the next open window.

The bed in this room is occupied by three people. A curvy woman is lying down on her back, a copper skinned man with a shaved head has his face buried in her pussy while a fully tattoed beefcake of man fucks his ass. The look of pure pleasure on all their faces has your clit twitching and aching. And when Joel lowers himself to your ear the little hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

“We also won’t be doing that,” Joel’s voice is so light and carefree. For a second you forget that any minute now he’s going to use that deep baritone voice to boss you around while you’re completely naked.

“Again, it also looks fun for me,” you joke, and a small smile crosses your lips as you feel Joel’s body shake with silent laughter beside yours. There’s about ten windows in this room from what you can see, most are closed or dark, probably since it’s a weekday. You lead the two of you down the room to the next open window. “Can they see us?”

“Not unless you get close to the glass,” he instructs. You stop in your tracks at the next window. Despite your teasing with Joel the last two were not your thing, but this window you could easily watch for a while. A man and a woman lay on the large red silk sheeted bed while hundreds of battery operated candles flicker around them. He’s on top of her, one of her legs slung over his shoulder, the other around his waist. As you step closer you can see a sparkly, thin layer of sweat coating both their bodies as they slowly grind together, kissing passionately. You take another step closer, if they want to be seen then it shouldn’t matter if they see you. Once you’re close enough you can hear the gentle moans she’s making as he thrusts slowly in and out of her. 

“Well,” you say softly, leaning into Joel’s side and looking up into his warm chocolate eyes, “That doesn’t look so bad.”

He cranes his neck and places a lingering kiss on your forehead and as your eyelids flutter closed you can no longer deny just how turned on you are. He pulls back to look at you, smiling slightly before saying, “When I first got here he had her hogtied and was paddling her.”

“Like I said,” you say while giggling softly, “That doesn’t look so bad.” 

The two of you watch them for a while as they fuck languidly. This should feel wrong, watching something so personal, but the beauty of them together like this is comforting and almost inviting. Her cries grow louder and as she starts to shake he pauses his hips, fully seated inside of her while whispering and smiling down at her, pushing her sweat soaked hair off her forehead. The love behind the glass is so palpable that you feel yourself getting choked up a little. 

Just as you’re about to ask Joel to take you to his room, you notice another window with about five people lined up along the glass. Curiosity gets the better of you and you lead Joel the few steps to see what’s going on. No longer feeling nervous or shy, you step right up to the glass. This time, Joel moves his body to be behind yours, pulling your back against his strong body. One of his arms wraps around your middle, the other sweeps your hair to one side and then rests gently on your shoulder. 

The set up of this room is similar to the others you’ve seen: a large bed to the right, a chair to the left, and a chest of drawers to the back. There’s a woman strapped face up on the bed, wrists and ankles bound to the four posts of the frame. Her perky breasts rise and fall rapidly with her breathing. At the back of the room, a broad tanned man faces away from you, looking through a drawer for something. As your eyes travel up his back from his hard, round ass cheeks he spins to face the window. You step back into Joel as Tommy Miller’s gaze flicks to the people along the window and then to the sub he’s chosen for the night. 

In your sane mind you tell yourself that you should look away. It's one thing to watch strangers but watching someone you sort of know feels like an invasion of their privacy. Plus, there’s no way Joel wants to see his brother like this. As if he can read your mind, Joel's lips brush against your neck, “I’m right here, sweet girl. Tommy likes an audience, he’s an exhibitionist, and lots of members come just to watch him.” 

You glance up at Joel and he smiles softly. Your voice is just above a whisper, “Can we watch for a bit?” 

“You’re in charge, sweetheart.” He patiently reminds you as you nod and look back towards the room.

The horny demon that seems to have taken over your body since catching Joel in his office has you dying to see more: more sex, more kink, more Tommy. Without consciously controlling it, your eyes travel down his tanned chest, to the hair around his belly button and then down to his fully erect cock. You can’t help but appreciate the beauty of his body, he looks like he’s carved out of stone, and that includes his cock. He’s decently long, but thick, a prominent vein running along one side of it. It’s slightly upturned and the head is smooth and glistening with precome. He looks so powerful and the small fire that’s been building in your stomach grows.  

You bite at your bottom lip nervously, crossing your arms to rest on top of the one Joel has wrapped around you. Tommy walks over to the bed; grasped in one of his large hands is a black vibrator, his other holds a small glass jar housing a lit candle. He climbs onto the bed, then drizzles hot wax along the woman's thighs. Her back arches off the bed and through the speakers along the glass you hear her pained moans. Tommy watches her intently, his lips moving but you can’t hear what he’s saying. Once she’s settled back on the bed, Tommy places the vibrator on her clit.

She writhes and pulls at the velvety cuffs holding her to the bed. “Sir, oh god, I’m - I’m gonna - Sir, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

When she calls him sir you see the dark flash of obsidian across his eyes, the same look when you called him that at the poker game. Through your research, you know that doms have preferred names and your cheeks flush a little at the thought of accidentally using his with him. 

Tommy pulls the vibrator away right before she falls over the edge and drizzles wax on her stomach. She cries out with more desperation this time, and then again, once she’s calm Tommy places the vibrator between her thighs. It’s suddenly hard to breathe and when you step back into Joel you feel his cock is hard against your back and a fresh wave of arousal coats the lace of your panties. 

Tommy takes the vibrator away as she starts shaking and moaning, then hot wax splashes down her sternum. You feel antsy, like little pins and needles are pricking along your entire body. You squeeze your thighs together, Joel's warm breath against your neck causes you to shudder. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” he hums.

“N-nothing.”

“You sure? You’re squirmin’.” His hand runs slowly down your arm, your hands moving on their own so he can wrap you in his muscle lined arms. A light kiss lands just below your ear and you bite back a moan.  

The combination of not being allowed to have an orgasm, the feeling of Joel’s warm body pressed against you, and the erotic scenes you’ve witnessed tonight is almost too much. It’s also not lost on you that that could have been you in there with Tommy right now. Your clit is throbbing between your legs, and you aren’t sure if you have ever been this turned on. 

Joel smiles into your skin as you watch Tommy tease his sub with the vibrator again, “Do you like what you’re seein’?”

You nod, trying to calm your breathing. It hitches as he adds, “Would you like to try that one day?”

Wax hits one of her nipples, the beads hardening along the peak of her perky, round breast. You adjust your stance to cross your legs together, squeezing hard to ease the almost painful ache at the apex of your thighs. Her and Tommy speak softly to one another, he smiles down at her, puts the candle down and then adjusts himself between her legs, spreading the lips of her puffy pussy with two fingers and putting the vibrator right where you know it would ruin you. 

“Would you?” Joel repeats.

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You say, your voice shaky, almost like it’s impossible to form words as you look up at him. He’s so beautiful in the shadowy light, his tanned skin almost seems to glow against the darkness.  

His eyes dance around your face, his voice comes out soft and sensual, quiet enough for just you to hear, “Do you want to go play now, sweet girl?”

You bite your cheek to try to fight the smile, but as Joel’s eyes flick to your lips it’s no use. A shy smile tugs at the corners of your soft pink lips. “Are you going to let me come?”

He looks at you the same way he did when you drank the water and ate that toast. Pride. He’s proud of you for asking for what you want, and you can almost feel your insecurity and fear around asking for things starting to shrink. 

The softness in his voice morphs into a growl, “If you’re a good girl.”

You spin your body towards him, determination lacing your face. “I can be your good girl, Mister Miller.”

Joel’s strong fingers link with yours and a quiet giggle passes your lips as he hauls you towards a door in the shadows close to where you two entered. Truthfully, if it wasn't for the little red light on the security pad, you wouldn’t have even known there was a door there. He waves his ring past the device and after a quiet beep sounds the light flashes green and the door clicks open. He pulls you through and as soon as Joel hears the final click of the door closing he hauls you over his shoulder. Your squeal at your world literally turning upside down with his brute strength melts into an aroused moan as his strong hands grasp the back of your bare thighs.

When Joel stops walking, you tear your eyes away from his perfectly sculpted ass, like these pants must be stuffed, there’s no way this man has a better ass than me. You glance up to see two other doors; assumingly belonging to Tommy and Tess. A familiar beep sounds in the quiet hall and your throat goes dry as he steps into his room. He takes a few long strides before sliding you down his muscle lined chest and placing you at the foot of the bed. He stays close, your breasts just barely grazing his warm body. Your gazes are locked, and even though you’ve grown comfortable with his intense need for eye contact your breathing still goes shaky and uneven. 

Oh fuck, this is it. 

His hand cradles your cheek, “You read and signed off on everything in the app, but I want to reiterate a few things, baby girl.”

You swallow hard, his finger now tracing down your throat and you swear you can feel every whorl of his fingertips as they trail along your soft skin. 

“From now on, you belong to me and I belong to you. No one else. You are not allowed to come unless I say.” 

His hand continues its road trip of your body, settling to wrap around the nape of your neck. “Y-Yes, Mister Miller.” 

“I have a no sex rule. I’ll give you orgasms, I’ll fuck you with my fingers and toys, even my tongue, but not my cock. I need you to understand that my rule is nothing against you, sweetheart. Are you ok with that?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Miller,” you coo. The nervous excitement from early has returned, every bit of skin that he’s touching is almost humming, butterflies with sharp wings scrape at your stomach. You bring your hands to the lapels of his expensive blue suit, fisting the soft fabric.  

“Fuuck,” he moans, “That sounds so pretty coming out of your mouth, sweet girl.” 

You smile up at him. He squeezes the back of your neck gently, his other hand cradling your chin between his thumb and forefinger. The rough pad of his thumb caresses your chin. “Nothin’ tonight that will require a safeword-”

“Stegosaurus,” you say eagerly, cutting him off. It’s silly really, but that little dinosaur on top of his coffee machine is what first intrigued you about the anonymous millionaire whose home had been assigned to you to clean. It also has some sort of meaning to him, so it seemed only natural for that to be your safeword. 

He smiles, laughing gently, “Not tonight, baby. If you want to stop tonight, just say so and I’ll stop. Ok?” 

Your pussy flutters at the unexpected moments to come, but a gnawing anxiety starts to claw at your chest. You’re not sure what causes the shift, but suddenly you go from excited nervous to just plain nervous. Am I ready to give up control? What if he sees me naked and doesn’t like it. He said it was only me, what if he regrets that decision? 

Your chest tightens, the knife-winged butterflies multiplying and traveling up your throat. Joel must sense a shift in you, he steps closer to you and softens his eyes as they dance around your face, a silent sign that he’s patiently waiting for you. If you said you wanted to go home you know he would kiss you softly and call your new friend Cap, but you don’t want that. You want this, you want whatever is about to happen; you just need to let go.

Vulnerability is thick in your voice as you break one of his rules and murmur, “J-Joel?” 

“What’s wrong, baby?” His voice waivers, making you feel a little bit better. 

“I’m nervous.” 

He lowers his head towards yours, running the tip of his hooked nose down the slender bridge of yours. You close your eyes and take him all in. He’s warm and hard, yet somehow so soft. His familiar ash and leather scent is mixed with the expensive whiskey he drank earlier. 

“So am I, sweet girl,” he whispers into your lips before kissing you softly. You melt into him, his hands moving to cup your face. His soft lips sponge against yours and everything quiets. You’re not sure how he does it, but kissing him feels like dunking your head under water, everything silences, all the nervousness dissipates. It’s just the two of you, floating in tandem in an endless void. 

He’s nervous too? Because of me? I make this strong, successful, brooding man nervous? Your inner voice of anxiety starts to settle. I’m safe here.

The comfort of your thoughts is enough to have you pulling yourself into Joel more. You increase the intensity of your kiss, turning your head and parting your lips slightly. He follows suit, running his soft tongue along yours. The air in the room has morphed, it’s saturated with passion and arousal. With just one kiss he’s managed to erase all your fears and worries, your mind is silent and ready for whatever instructions he’s going to give you. When he pulls away your both panting for breath.

He turns his back to you, sliding his dark blue suit jacket down, the white t-shirt underneath clinging with perfection to the muscle and sinew that pack on top of each other along his back. He drapes his jacket over a padded bench about five feet away from you; you know from your extensive research that that’s a spanking bench. He spins to face you, slipping his gold and black ring off his hand, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he drops it in a dish on top of a low chest of drawers on his left. You can’t describe it, but the sound of the gold clashing with the ceramic dish puts you in a trance. Like a ritualistic symbol that you are his now.

His hands slip into his pockets, his voice taking on its deep dominant tone, “We are going to start now. You can stay fully clothed or you can get as undressed as you feel comfortable being. I’m serious here, sweet girl. Leave on as little or as much as you want. When you’re done, lay face up on the bed.”

Without thinking your hands fly back to the zipper on your boots, you unzip them and toe them off. You don’t break eye contact as you grab the hem of your sweater dress and pull it up and over your body. As your vision is temporarily blocked by the knitted fabric you can feel his eyes on your bare skin. You’re left in just a matching nude bra and panty set. He’s already seen your tits so you don’t hesitate to unclasp your bra and let it fall away from your body. 

Joel swallows hard and licks his lips. “Beautiful,” he mumbles appreciatively and it coats your skin in warmth. 

You hesitate for a moment with your thumbs hooked in the waistband of your panties. You know they’re soaked through, and you’re sure he can see that from where he’s standing. He’s so fucking good at reading you, so you’re not surprised when he says, “Only take off what you feel comfortable with, my sweet girl.” 

“I do…I am…I w-want to…I just,” you fiddle with the band a bit. 

“You can say it.” He nods encouragingly.

“I like having them taken off me. I - I want to see your face up close when you…when you see it for the first time.” 

Joel smirks, popping his hip out to lean on the spanking bench. “See what the first time?” 

“Don’t make me say it, Mister Miller.” 

He clicks his tongue at you, “Mmm, but I love hearing that pretty little mouth say dirty words.” You stay silent, chewing your cheek as he continues. “Come on…say it. Say, I want to see your face up close when you see my cunt for the first time, Mister Miller.”

You feel your cheeks flush. Earlier tonight he asked you to look at him when you say it, so you roll your shoulders back and hold your head high. As confidently as possible you say, “I want to see your face up close when..” you take a shaky inhale, “When you see my cunt for the first time, Mister Miller.” 

Before the last syllable has left your lips he’s across the room, lifting you off the ground by the back of your thighs. You instinctively wrap your legs around him and gasp at the sudden pressure right where you’re aching for him. 

“I have memorized every answer from your preferences,” he growls into your collar bone, walking you around the bed. “I have strategically planned what I’m going to teach you and then you say stuff like that and fuck. I have to fight every sick and twisted thought I have, sweet girl.” He climbs onto the bed, laying you down just how he wants you, “You have no idea what you do to me. How out of control you make me feel.” 

Joel shuffles his body down, kissing down your sternum before cupping your tits. Pushing them together and sucking one of your nipples into his hot mouth. This is exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about since that moment in his office. His tongue is warm and soft as it flicks across your hardening nipple. He lightly rolls the other one between his fingers.  

“Please - oh god - please Mister Miller.” You moan needily. You try to arch into him, but his large body holds you down. 

He grazes his teeth along your nipple then looks up at you, “I’m gonna take care of you. Just relax.” 

You can’t take your eyes off him as he dives back in. Sucking and biting at your other nipple. You plant your feet on the mattress, hands tangling into his hair, as you try to grind your aching clit into his warm, hard stomach. 

“Stay still sweetheart,” He says between suckles. 

“I c-can’t. Please.”

He pinches both nipples hard, harder than you’re used to, and you whimper, freezing your hips. His voice is as deep as the obsidian in his gaze, “Stay still. I’m going to make you come. I promise. You need to trust me, relax.” 

The pressure on your nipples eases and you pout before letting yourself melt back into the mattress. He smirks, a dimple carving itself in the patchy scruff of his cheek. “That’s my girl. You like your nipples being played with?” 

The pad of his thumb ghosts over the tops of them, you shiver and moan, “Uh-huh.”

“Good. Then you’re going to enjoy what I have planned tonight.” He kisses your forehead and then climbs off the bed. You rise on your elbows, watching him as he pads across the room to a chest of drawers. He toes off his brown dress shoes and removes his belt before digging through a drawer. The actions were so simple, yet the domesticity of them has you fighting with your little box of feelings again.

No, you tell it silently as it inches out of the darkness. I am his sub and nothing more. The box seems to have grown a very annoying and persistent personality and it almost says, ‘but he’s nervous too’ back at you. 

He turns back to face you, snapping you out of your fight with the imaginary box in your brain. The same vibrator Tommy had is clasped in one hand, his other is palm up, cupping something that he’s shaking much like a gambler does with dice. 

“My sweet girl, you put a five for nipple clamps. Remind me, have you ever used them before?”

“No, Mister Miller.” 

He wanders lazily back over to the bed, and if he was anyone else you’d tell him to hurry up, but you never want to rush a single moment with Joel Miller. On top of that, you need to let him take control; he said he was going to make you come if you just relax and trust him, so that’s exactly what you’re going to do. He places the vibrator on the small table beside the bed and then sits beside you, holding out his free hand to help you sit up. 

He holds the clamps out to you and explains softly, “These are beginner clamps. See this little dial? I can control how tight they are.”

You watch his thick fingers along the dainty metal of the clamps, he’s so soft yet could have you crying with the snap of his fingers if he wanted. A fresh wave of arousal floods between your thighs completely ruining the panties he still hasn’t taken off your body. You nod and whisper, “Ok.”

“You control what happens here tonight. If you tell me that it hurts too much or to stop, I will.”

It’s time to show Joel just how good of a girl you can be, you look at him through your eyelash and sweetly coo, “Yes, Mister Miller.” 

A deep growl rumbles in his chest, “Fuck. Lay down..now.” 

You lay back, hair fanning around you. Joel stays seated on the edge of the bed beside you and lightly places the first clamp on your right nipple. It’s a light pinching pressure and it feels so good that your eyes flutter shut and you melt into the bed. He puts the next clamp on and you whimper. 

“How’s that feel?” he asks, his strong hands gripping your hips, pushing you into the mattress and grounding you in the warm pleasure that floods your stiff nipples.  

“S-so good Mister Miller,” you groan. You’re almost convinced this is another dream, he’s doing almost exactly what you have imagined countless times. You open your eyes to watch him, determined to visually take in every single thing he gives you. 

“Good, baby. I want you to feel good. I’m gonna tighten them now, jus’ a little.” He twists the little knob. You start breathing heavily, teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure. You bring your hands to his strong, warm forearms as you suck in air.

“Too much?”

Your chest heaves at the delicious feeling flooding your tits. “No, no. More. P-Please, more. More.”

“Good girl,” he hums deeply, the words settling right behind your clit as he tightens the tiny clamps more. The warmth around your nipples spreads to your arms and down your sides. When you cry out he asks, “Pain or pleasure, sweet girl?”

At this point you aren’t sure, it definitely hurts, but it also feels good, and his deep brown eyes are looking at you the same way they always do, full of concern and care, almost like he’s assessing you. 

“Both. Both, oh fuck. More, Mister Miller.” He kisses the left one gently and you arch into him, “More, more, please.”

“That’s as tight as they go, are you sure you want more?”

You keep your eyes on him, nodding fervently, “Yes. Please, yes.”

He pops them off and you gasp out in pain, heat rushes to both your nipples and it burns in white hot passion. Joel blows cool air along both of them and you can’t seem to stop your mumbling begging, “More. I need more. Please!”

“I know, baby. I got you.” He opens the drawer on the bedside table and takes out two gold plated clamps. You look down, your nipples already look sore, tinged slightly purple. “I’m so fucking proud of you already. Askin’ so nicely like the good girl I know you are. Goddamn, look at these stiff, perky, perfect little nipples. I love seeing you like this, seeing them like this. Are you wet for me? Are those flimsy lace panties soaked through?”

He places one of the new clamps and you cry out a ‘yes’. 

“Ya? Just dripping and desperate for me?” He puts the other clamp on as you chant a chorus of yes’s and oh god’s. 

Joel

Joel knew that tonight would either make or break him. As his name spills sweetly from your perfect pouty lips he feels it, the same tug behind his belly button that he felt with Tiffany, that his grandpa said was how he’d know when he found something special; something to hold onto. 

“Please, Mister Miller,” you murmur. He doesn’t know what it is you’re asking for, and he’s sure you don’t know either. What is it about you saying those three little words that gets him so rattled? Countless subs have called him that in the past and it never made his cock swell this painfully behind his zipper.

He taps at your nipples lightly and watches your body shudder and arch off the bed. You aren’t even fully naked and he’s fighting the urge to come right there in his pants. He loves the way your body reacts, he can already tell you’re going to look stunning as you come. 

“That feel good?” He asks, his voice deep and husky. 

“Yes. Oh god, yes!” You haven’t taken your eyes off him and he loves how your eyelids have become hooded from the pleasure while your brows furrow with the pain.

“Does it hurt?” Your cheeks are flushed pink making the colour of your eyes pop.

“Yes,” just as he’s convincing himself to remove the clamps you moan, “Please don’t stop.” 

Joel grabs the vibrator from the bedside table before sliding his body down the bed. He starts kissing at your hip bone before wrapping his teeth around the slender band of your panties. Your eyes dart down to him, this is what you asked for; to his face the first time he sees your cunt. He pulls your panties with his teeth, smiling against your soft upper thigh when you instinctively lift your hips to help him. As he shimmies down the bed his eyes stay on your face.

He gets to the end of the bed, standing with your soaked through thong still between his teeth. He relaxes his jaw, dropping the panties in his hand and bringing them to his face. “God fuckin’ damn, sweet girl. You smell so fuckin’ sweet. Imma crave that smell when you aren’t around.” He tucks your panties into the pocket of his four thousand dollar, custom made Tom Ford suit. As far as he’s concerned, that drenched thong is the most expensive and important thing he now owns. 

He trails his eyes down your sternum, your legs are straight out in front of you, not parted, but he can see your puffy pink clit pushing through the soft looking outer lips. He feels himself switching into full dom mode. The room around him fades away, everything outside of you and this room doesn’t matter anymore.

“Show me,” he growls. “Spread those gorgeous legs and show me that perfect little cunt.”

He crawls up the bed, following the path you make as you bend both knees up. He feels like a starved dog who’s about to get a meal. Your feet stop, and as he hovers above you, gaze wholly fixated on your core, you relax your legs and your knees butterfly open. God he loves how eager you are, how good of a listener you can be. He licks his lips as your outer thighs finally meet the soft sheets, baring yourself for him completely. He stops breathing as your lips part, sticky with arousal. Your pussy is swollen and glistening, your needy clit puffy and pink. 

A deep moan rumbles in his chest as he lowers himself to the be, his face between your legs. Once he’s close enough he can see the tight little hole he’s vowed not to fuck. “Shit, sweetheart. This is goin’ to be so much harder than I thought.”

Your cries wash over him; he’s experienced enough to know that it’s from your nipples hardening under the clamps at his words. He smirks up at you, “How are you so wet already?”

“You, Mister Miller.”

“That right? Me playin’ with those nipples get you all turned on?”

“Uh-huh, and you said I couldn’t touch myself. I’ve been like this for days.” Your bottom lip pokes out and it absolutely ruins him, but he pushes down the overwhelming need to fix it and give you exactly what you need. No, you want to experience being a submissive, and that’s what he’s going to do. 

“Poor baby,” he mocks, tsking at you. He kisses right above your clit and you gasp. He’s close enough to know the heat of his breath is going to have you squirming and he can’t wait to watch how beautiful you’ll look doing it. “So wet. Smells so good. Fuck, She’s right in front of me but I already miss her. You look so soft and tight. Goddamn, you’re gonna have me breakin’ all my rules, sweet girl.”

“Please touch me. Please.”

“Mmmm, such a good girl for asking so nicely. I can’t say no when you beg like that, baby, makes me weak.” He kisses the crook of your inner thigh, he knows how much he’s teasing you right now, he watches you get wetter by the second, the beautiful folds of your pussy opening like a flower in the sun for him and flushing a deeper pink and the blood courses to your most sensitive parts.  

“I need you Mister Miller,” your voice waivers as you say his name, and you blink a little harder, he knows you’re fighting back the tears and it makes his cock throb harder, the teeth of his zipper practically digging into him.

After what feels like hours, he finally brings a thick finger to tease at your entrance. You buck into him, desperate for the friction.  

“Don’t make me tie you up. Stay still for me, please.” Even with the please at the end, it’s a command - deep and serious, and you don’t dare test him. Your nipples stiffen every time he speaks, and they ache under the clamps, it’s the perfect twinge of pain to heighten the bits of pleasure he’s giving you. 

You press your lips in a tight line, hands grounding you as they ball the sheets, focusing on keeping still. You want to shamelessly fuck yourself with his fingers; meanwhile, he’s being slow and calculated. Joel torturously draws slow little circles along the waiting hole with just the tip of his finger. He watches as your sticky white arousal coats his fingertip, then groans as he slowly pushes his middle finger all the way inside of you. You gasp at the welcome stretch and fight like hell to stay still.

“Look at you, fuck. So warm and inviting.” He slips his finger out slowly and lets out an exasperated sigh. Your heart falls into your stomach.

“Mister Miller, no. Please, it felt so good,” you practically cry at the loss at the feeling of him finally inside of you, finally giving you a taste of what you need the most.

“I know,” he shushes, “But that’s not what I have planned, not yet at least. My sweet girl, I need ya to be loud for me. I’ve been wanting this for so long. Need to hear you. Understand?”

The distinct sound of the vibrator you forgot he had comes to life and you squirm with anticipation. “Yes, Mister Miller. I will, just please, please make me feel good.” 

He reaches up, the black vibrator makes contact with your nipple and an intense pain shoots to your core before it blooms into pleasure. One of your hands leaves the sheets, fingernails digging into the forearms of the hand he has holding the vibrator and you sob out. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he groans before moving the vibrator to the other nipple, circling it around this time instead of holding it flush. “Jus’ tell me if you need me to stop.”

“Don’t, please don’t. Oh god, yes.” You know you’re screaming, you doubt anyone can hear you, but at this point you don’t care if they can. The pleasure becomes overwhelming, you slam your eyes shut and arch your back. Joel’s strong chest is warm in between your thighs, he’s so broad that he’s keeping you spread open. You grind into the soft white cotton of his t-shirt.

“Look at me. Focus, sweet girl,” you peel your eyes open to meet his gaze. Warm coffee and hazel eyes stare down at you. “Stay still, please.”

“I can’t - aah!” He presses hard on your sore nipple and it brings you back into your own body. You manage to still your hips and release your grip, leaving behind little crescent shaped indents in his muscle lined forearm.

“Good girl,” he praises and then pulls the vibrator away from your breasts. His free hand comes to your mound, he swallows hard before breaking eye contact, pulling his hand back and looking at your puffy, and completely exposed bundle of nerves. A devious uptick of the right side of the mouth sets your blood on fire before he taps lightly at your clit once with the soft head of vibrator.

You cry out in pleasure. 

He taps again and you gasp out loudly.

He taps a third time and you’re almost certain that this is how you’re going to die. No man has ever teased you like this. You’re desperate to come, your body breaking out in sweat, but you never want Joel to stop. Moans and whines are pouring out of you without you even realizing it, he looks so fucking beautiful between your thighs, staring at your pussy like it’s the sunrise over the ocean, like he’s never seen anything as beautiful or fascinating and it makes your feel unstoppable. You make him look like that. Him. A man who could have anyone in the world, but here he is, looking at you like you’re his whole world.

“Let me hear you, show me how you can be a good girl,” he clicks the vibrator up and holds it tightly to your clit. The sensation is almost too much and your nipples ache under the little gold clamps.

Your body starts to shake involuntarily and your moans become longer and huskier, you’re going to come any second now. You squeeze your eyes shut and Joel pulls the vibrator away.

“No,” you gasp. “More. Please, I need more. Please.” The fear of him leaving you like this has the back of your eyes burning. Was there a time limit you weren’t aware of with the room? No, this is his private room. Right? Didn’t he say that he has a private room? And it shouldn’t matter if the club is open or closed, he’s the owner.

“Look at me, sweetheart.” You blink your eyes open, trying to focus on his face, but you’re so turned on that the edges of him seem fuzzy. “That feel good? The vibrator teasing your desperately swollen clit?”

You nod your head, “Yes, again. Please, Mister Miller.”

“Tell me what you want?”

Historically, situations like this have riddled you with insecurity. You’ve never been a talker in the bedroom and as a textbook people pleaser you never, like NEVER, ask for what you want. Yes, being here fully naked with a fully clothed Joel makes you feel safer and more understood than you have ever been. You know that if you ask for anything in this room and beyond, he’d do it. 

The words leave your mouth without you even thinking about it, without second guessing or carefully planning what it is you’re going to say. “Please make me come. I’ll be so loud for you. I’ll scream and moan until I have no voice. I’ve been such a good girl and I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, please make me come.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and his voice washes over you like honey, “Good fuckin’ girl. Eyes on me and hold on.”

It happens in an instant, the vibrator flicks to the highest setting as he adjusts his body to hold you firmly against the mattress with this forearm, your hands grab onto his shoulders as he presses the soft, thick head of the sex toy right onto your clit. 

You scream and squeeze at the strong muscles of his shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your system, you tense under his touch. The build of your orgasm somehow too much and not enough all at once.

“Oh god. Oh god. Yes, I’m - Mist - fuuuck.”

“I know, I’m right here.” He says darkly.

“Gonna come,” you sputter between your cries of ecstasy. You can feel that familiar tightness building.

“Relax and let go for me. Come for me, sweet girl. Let me see this beautiful little cunt twitch.”

His words send you over the edge and your orgasm rocks through you violently. You convulse with so much force that Joel grunts as he holds you down. You’re nothing but what Joel is giving you, not a single thought or insecurity, not a single worry about studying or school, you’re just what Joel has made you and it feels fucking fantastic. His dark onyx eyes swallow you whole. 

The pleasure of your orgasm, mixed with the pain in your nipples is so much more than you’ve ever known, and Joel’s deep gravel filled voice praises you the whole time.

‘There’s my girl.’

‘Sooo good for me.’

‘Fuck, that’s it my sweet girl.’ 

‘Beautiful when you scream for me.’

It starts to become too much. Your throat is hoarse from screaming. As your nails start to dig deep into his shoulders Joel slows the vibrator down and holds it lightly to your twitching clit as the aftershocks course through you. He releases your body from his and kisses your hip bone before shutting the vibrator off completely. 

He’s stills between your thighs, your hands resting on his shoulders. Joel smiles up at you sweetly and you pull at his t shirt to encourage him to crawl on top of you. He doesn’t hesitate, bringing his stong body on top of yours, resting his forearms on each side of your head. 

“Do I have your consent to kiss you?” He whispers.

“Yes,” you coo. His mouth meets yours similar to how it did when you both confessed to being nervous. It’s soft and lingering as you take shaky, calming breaths through your nose. That annoying little box of feelings shivers in the corner of your mind and you mentally put a piece of packing tape over the lid. 

You end this kiss this time, pushing your head into the pillow. “I’m gonna grab some cooling spray and take those clamps off now, is that okay?”

You nod and hum in agreement. Your eyelids and muscles feel heavy and sated. Joel's warm body parts from yours and a chill runs up your spine. When he releases the first clamp you whimper, the burning ache goes away as soon as he sprays it with a cooling coconut scented mist. When he removes the second one, your pussy clenches around nothing, a small but powerful orgasm waves through you as the cool droplets of the aftercare spray land on your pebbled breast.

“Did you just come?” Joel questions proudly.

Your hands cover your face as you blush harder than you have in years, “Yeah.”

Joel’s warmth encompasses you again as he climbs back on top of you, he gently pulls your hands away by your wrists. “Fuck, baby. I think I’m addicted to you.” He kisses the tip of your nose, “Such a good girl.”

You shiver underneath him and he rolls the two of you so he can wrap the blanket around you, your head rests on his chest, your body half on him and half on the soft bed. He holds you tightly, his meaty hands rubbing any place they can over the fluffy down filled cocoon he’s got you in. 

A comfortable silence falls around the two of you, your breaths in sync with one another. Your eyelids flutter closed, and that little voice starts to come back, lacing you with insecurity. You don’t want to ask, but you have to. You clear your throat quietly and ask, “Are you seeing any other subs?”

“No,” he replies softly, his lips brushing the top of your head. “But I haven’t told all of them yet. The dom/sub relationship is a delicate one. I can’t exactly just message them on the app that it’s over.”

You settle deeper into him. “What else do you have planned for us?”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “I’m going to show you everything you want to know.”

A fire burns in your stomach, “When?”

Joel lets out a small laugh, then tilts your chin up, pulling back a little so he can look at you. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re eager. I have to go out of town tomorrow, but we’ll make sure to find time when I’m back this weekend.”

Him leaving is a bit of a blessing in disguise for you. “I take the LSAT again on Friday, so I guess this gives me lots of study time.”

He cranes his neck to sponge his lips to yours, the scruff of his mustache tickles a little and you giggle into his kiss. “How long have you owned the club?”

“Almost five years,” he replies.

You let an impressed hum, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as the two of you fall into a comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds are your mixed breathing and his calloused hand along the blanket. You remember all the times tonight that he called you ‘my sweet girl’ and you wonder if he’s feeling the same way you are, or if he’s so used to all of this that it’s just second nature to him. The packing tape on that fucking box starts to peels as if to say ‘he was nervous too and it’s only you’.

After a while Joel breaks the silence. “Becoming a lawyer is a pretty intense process. Your family must be really proud of you.”

“Umm, well, I actually don’t really know,” you say.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Joel says lightly and you know he means it. You know he would never push you to give him something you didn’t want to, he might push your sexual limits, but never your personal ones, and for whatever reason that almost makes it easier to tell him.

You roll onto your stomach and prop yourself up on your forearms on his chest. For a second you let your eyes look around the room. You were so focused on Joel earlier that you didn’t notice the rings and hooks along the black steel bed frame; or the paddles and ropes hanging on the wall next to a ladder and St Andrews Cross. In classic Joel fashion, everything is black and softly lit. Everything but the bed sheets which are plush and white. 

You take a deep breath, resting your chin on your hands, and start, “I don’t want pity for this, truthfully I’m grateful that this is my reality, but my parents had me when they were very young and they were both very selfish when I was growing up. Never abusive or anything, and not neglectful in a physical way, but emotionally I was left alone a lot. I realized early on that if I excelled in something they would show up, and for a long time that felt really fucking good. But as soon as I hit high school I realized they were showing up for themselves. They’d brag about me to other adults, but not actually congratulate me. They’d show up to honour roll ceremonies, but not with me or for me, it was so they could say I was their daughter. They didn’t help me get those grades, I did that on my own. And I’m still doing that on my own.”

Joel’s eyes soften, those two permanent lines between his eyebrows disappearing. “That explains so much, my sweet girl. I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

The tape on the box of feelings snaps as the lid flies off. Not now, you scold.

“I know, but honestly, I don’t really need anyone to take care of me. I’ve made it this far and I plan on making it the rest of the way the only way I know how.”

“Doesn’t that get lonely?” He asks.

“Doesn’t this?” you say gently, gesturing to the room.

“No,” he blinks at you a few times. “I was in my early twenties when my wife died. I needed to focus on raising Sarah, but I’m still an adult male with needs, so I found the world of BDSM and kink. It allowed me to get what I wanted, and what my partner wanted, without the attachment of a relationship.” His words are so real and honest and in just those few sentences you feel like you know Joel Miller more deeply than you know anyone else.

“My way doesn’t get lonely either,” you say with a smile, tucking your head back into his chest.

Joel

Your breathing is calm and heavy, it kills him that he’s going to have to wake you up. Usually his aftercare doesn’t involve opening up about his past like this. He’s not a monster, but he is very strict about keeping his kink life and his real life separate. Something about you though has him opening up about Tiffany and Sarah.

“Baby,” he whispers into the crown of your head, shaking you a little. “We can’t sleep here, I’m sorry.”

You blink up at him and his heart ceases at how beautiful you look all sleepy and supple. He finds himself unconsciously memorizing the little details of your face. Your lips are puffy from his kisses and you have a little mascara smudge under your eye. He thumbs the black make up away gently and says, “Let me help you get dressed and then Cap will take you home, ok?”

You nod lazily and he helps you gently roll off him. He stands and starts to gather your clothing. After a few minutes of looking around he huffs, “Where are your panties?”

A tiny giggle sounds from the cloud of white blankets, the sound shooting straight through his belly button, “Check your pockets.”

He laughs at himself, reaching into his pants pocket to pull out your lacy nude thong. He helps you sit up, “I’m keeping these, by the way.”

“Should I be expecting my panties to go missing every time?” You say jokingly as you take your bra from him and put it on. 

He nods and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Good, really good actually,” After you put your bra on he pulls your dress over your head and then kneels to help you with your boots. “I - umm - I was hoping that this would help turn my brain off for a while and it did. I feel, I don’t know. Recharged almost?”

This is exactly why he loves kink, it’s an escape from the world for him and his sub. He kisses your knee and moves to the other boot. “Good, that’s what is supposed to happen.”

He pulls you to your feet and allows you to steady yourself before pulling you in for a hug. “Thank you for tonight,” he whispers. He hopes you know that he needs this as much as you do, how much this helps him clear his mind and reground himself.

After closing the door to the town car and sending you home he goes back into the club, waving for a whiskey and joining Tommy at the bar top.

“She was pretty,” Tommy says, clinking his glass against Joel’s.

“Yep,” he swirls the amber liquid in the cup.

“New?” Tommy asks.

“Yep,” Joel repeats and then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think I’m fucked, Tommy.”

Tommy puts his glass down and turns to face Joel, gripping his shoulder. “Are you ending it with all your other subs for this girl?”

Joel takes a long sip from his crystal highball glass. Repeating the only word he seems to know lately, “Yep.”

Tommy lets out a breath, “Shit. Ya, you’re definitely fucked.”

“Tiff told me to find someone who scares me. This fucking scares me, man.” Joel finishes off his whiskey, and even though there’s a drink limit, the glass is refilled before it’s even hit the table. “This is - I just - I ain’t felt like this in a long time.”

Tommy smiles at Joel, “I’m happy for ya, man. And look, as long as you aren’t keepin’ her panties then it’s probably not as bad as you think.” 

Joel pulls that nude thong from his pocket and puts it on the bar top as he finishes off his second glass of whiskey and then waves the bartender off, silently signaling that he’s done. 

“Shit, so you are fucked then?” Tommy laughs. 

“We didn’t,” Joel says defensively, brows pulling together.  

“I didn’t ask if you fucked. I said you are fucked.” Tommy shakes his head at his older brother. 

Joel runs a hand down his face and through his scruff. “Look, you gonna be ok this week while I’m in Paris?”

“Ya, me and Tess got it.” He claps Joel’s back roughly as he stands. “Safe travels, hey?”

Joel nods and waves over his head at his brother. He hasn’t fucked you or let you suck his cock yet and he’s already feeling all turned around. But god, the way your body twitched in response to him, the way you melt into his arms every time he kisses you. How brave and confident you were after overcoming the shyness of asking for what you want. He can’t wait to teach you more, but he’s going to have to find a way to not let whatever feelings he might be having get in the way. 

[queen-scribbles]

I saw the post about the big Bioware sale and figured you're a good person to ask since I've seen you posting about Mass Effect/Dragon Age a lot. The games look fun, and I'm a sucker for complex stories with customizable protagonists, but I am a complete weenie about the more, uh, mature stuff when it comes to romance and the 'M' rating keeps scaring me off.

Like I'm over 18 and I'm fine with the violence/drinking/most of the swearing listed with the M rating, but I just get deeply uncomfortable with the other stuff. I'm just weird like that, I guess.

Is it really a lot? Or is there like a skip option, or some kinda setting that'll just have it be a fade-to-black sitch like SWTOR? I won't be too disappointed if there isn't, I kind of expect that really, but I figured it was worth an ask while the sale is on/to keep in mind for the next sale.

I have major social anxiety and am kinda embarrassed about all this, so sorry about the anon-asking. :P

No, no, you're fine, I understand completely. (I can take or leave a lot of the sexier stuff myself) Now I will try to remember romance scenes bc I haven't played some of these games in 4-5 years, and some of the romances I haven't gotten to yet. 😅 (if you don't mind spoilers you can always look up the romance on yt to check for yourself if it goes past your preferences. but if you do wanna avoid spoilers I will do my best) P much all the romances there's only even potentially anything that might be a problem in the Culmination Scene.

(If I got anything wrong anyone please feel free to correct me)

I know in ME1 the romance scene(with Kaidan for f!Shep, Ashley for m!Shep, Liara for either) there's sideview but shadowed nudity for f!Shep/Ashely/Liara(with Arm Strategically Placed to block boobs so all you really see is a little bit of butt) and Kaidan/mShep is shirtless.

ME2.... I think there's 0 nudity and ftb for Garrus, Thane, Tali, and Jack(ftb on tenderness, comes back in to fully-clothed snuggles in bed), Jacob's shirtless, and Miranda you half-unzip her catsuit uniform so you can see her bra. Oh, and there's a mini-romance-y thing with Kelly and she wears something really skimpy if you do that.

ME3... I need to caveat I've only actually gotten through ME3 with my Kaidanmancers + the Jackmancer, but I watched p much all the others on yt to hurt myself. Also it's been a while. I don't thiiiiink there's any full nudity, when it gets to the big sex scene toward the end, the furthest it goes is cuddling/foreplay with underwear still on, then cuts to waking up still just in underwear, and not all the romances get that. Some of them, ah. end prematurely for different reasons, or the romance isn't an actual companion in this game, so there's less content(Kaidan, Ashley, Garrus, Liara, and Tali get the most, since they join the team + have been established longer). There are new m/m and f/f exclusive option in ME3, but it's been long enough I don't rememberrrrrr if there's anything risque for them. I don't think so.

Andromeda I've only done Liam's romance and I don't think there was much in there(you can get him to stop wearing a shirt on the ship about halfway through and there's a makeout session on the couch that ftb). I think Cora's and Jaal's involve male and female shirtlessness, but I'm straight up blanking for the rest of them.

FOR DRAGON AGE

In Origins, the "big scene" for the romances does involve "sexy" movements, but the characters still have on underwear, so no nudity, and tbh with game engine/graphics advances that have been made a lot of people find those scenes cringey/silly more than sexy now. I think you can skip those, maybe, but if you can't there's dialogue after so you can just look away til you hear your chosen sweetie start talking and the conversation takes place fully clothed.

DA2 they did ftb for the four vanilla game romances. Love interest shows up, there's cutscene kissing fully clothed, ftb, wake up in underwear at worst. (Sebastian MY BELOVED is romanceable with a f!Hawke, but since he's a) chaste and b) a DLC companion, there's absolutely no sex scenes with him, you can get chaste married on his friend path and he'll talk about the two of you getting married to reclaim his homeland on his rival path).

DAI is... simultaneously best and worst in this regard lol Josephine and Solas there's nothing. Sera and Cassandra you see boobs and enough leg to hint at full nudity without actually showing it(Sera's might get a little more explicit, it's been longer for her so I don't 100% remember). Dorian's has... full rear nudity, but I think that's it. Blackwall's I don't remember, Cullen and Iron Bull both have scenes where you can tell they're naked, but the Inquisitor or an object is strategically in the way of the naughty bits.

OH AND not romance related, but possibly an issue, there are demons in the DRagon Age canon known as Desire Demons, who look like practically naked purple ladies(they have, like, an even skimpier version of the SWtOR Slave Girl outfit and are fond of caressing themselves seductively). They aren't in DAI, but do show up in the first two games for a few quests.

[shadowbrightshine]

My mom, who is in her 40s came into my room asking me about a tag she saw on a romance book sale. "Tail play" She doesn't really read romance but she was looking for paranormal fiction and she does like werewolves and they all seemed to be there. Also she was looking for one of her favorite authors and hoped one or two of her books would be onsale.

This led into a really interesting conversation. See my mom is a strong Christian, and I am too. I'm a monsterlover, and a furry. (ace and sex repulsed but I do read kink focused smut because the lead up is usually much better than normal stuff.) and she was obsessed with Vampires as a teenager.

So people aren't annoyed by the length.

She says she looked up most of them, and she figured out the rest. But one, the tail one she didn't get any results from Google searches and figured I, the self proclaimed monster lover and the one who she knows has more adult friends than she has might know what Tail play is. (I use a lot more social media and have a bunch of close friends on an 18+ server, so nice to just have other adults around. I like hanging with my other teen friends but it's nice to have a break.)

She thought it might be like butt plugs, which could be, but she mentioned it was the paranormal section and I explained it's a very popular thing to make the tail an eroginous zone. It can be used well, or used as a lazy way to get a character in the mood without trying. (I actually learned about it from gacha videos when I was 14, but I didn't know that wasn't a real animal thing for a bit so I avoided touching dogs tails so they wouldn't get mad at me lmao)

She doesn't read smut, and doesn't even really like romance. At least not when it's the focus, so when she was looking around she ran unprepared into the bottom bin romance 'trash' and actual romance trash. She was shocked by all the noncon, and she said she felt a bit sick even just reading some of the descriptions of the stories. We talked about the Fantasy but also that it's weird. It's odd that so many romance books marketed to young adults feature noncon and straight up rape.

Sometimes it feels like an excuse for lazy writers to ignore any chemistry because they can just force the sex scenes. Which is. Not good.

She also stumbled upon omegaverse and I explained it to her. I don't read it myself, I respect the place it has in internet history and fandom culture but I've never liked the alpha beta omega stuff, even before the Alpha Male Bros tm came a crawling, begging for scraps of coolness. She didn't like it. She also prefers more women in her stories and omegaverse by default is mostly men.

But one of the big things to me, was when she was talking about the possessiveness in a ton of werewolf fiction. She didn't like how everything seemed to only cater to the desire to be required to stay and to be owned. To be dominated. She says she's always preferred what little romance she reads to be more equal. Which, to me isn't surprising due to how my mom is, but may to the idea of a strong protestant Christian many have in their head.

I explained it's a very popular trope. Personally? I'm 50/50 on it. I'm up for a little "be mine" and "you're all mine" but it's just so overpowering. It's hard to find the werewolf as the sub, or without the power play.

Mom and I ended up talking about our various reader woes, her in the Christian fiction and general fiction world, and I in the fanfiction and fandom world. And the monsterfiction community.

We both spoiled ourselves by reading really good books, or for me fanfiction, and good books because my father is a Sci fi buff and has a massive collection of some beautiful stories. And also I'm autistic and if I don't think a story is good near the start I can't finish it. I can't hate read anything.

My mom and I bonded over something I didn't expect, the lead up. Mom enjoys tasteful scenes, or as she says "closed door" or fade to black sex scenes. We both love the romantic tension when written well. That's why I tend to seek out kink stuff. The lead up is more necessary. But I've never really enjoyed the sex part of smut.

And worse sometimes people stop trying during the sex scenes. Like the writing quality drops because "why try the people reading already got excited, they know what to do."

I personally love reading sexual tension, I love the kissing and the rubbing and the wanting. I love reading about the hot and bothered. But I don't like reading about genitals and I never have. Kink, especially those with unusual eroginous zones tend to focus more on that. Also monster fiction, if it is with really weird monsters, will use unique situations and open up to some amazing writing. I even skim past the actual sex scenes half the time. But if you write good lead up, I'll probably give it a look.

Mom has started to develop the "pickiness" some of us fandom lovers have as she gets older, and we bonded over the wish for more of specific things without being able to find it. Me with empty tags, her with genre issues.

Because the best stuff is hard to categorize, which is cool. But it sucks! Because it's really hard to categorize and find more of. We make it work.

But I think it was a really interesting conversation.

[eiirisworkshop]

The Fanfic Author's Guide to Metatext

(As Used on Ao3) by Eiiri

Also available as a PDF here. This thing is 13,000 words.  The PDF is recommended.

Intro: What is Metatext?

Metatext is everything we fanfic authors post along with our story that is not the story itself: title, tags, summary, author's notes, even the rating.

It is how we communicate to potential readers what they're signing themselves up for if they choose to read our story, how we let them make informed decisions regarding which fics they want to read, how we get their interest and, frequently, how they find our story in the first place. A lot of metatext acts as a consent mechanism for readers, it's the informed part of informed consent.

Since most of us who write fanfic also read it, we understand how important this is! But, for the most part, no one ever teaches us how to use metatext; we have to pick it up by osmosis. That makes it hard to learn how to use it well, we all suck at it when we first start out, and some of us may go years without learning particular conventions that seem obvious to others in our community. This creates frustration for everybody.

Enter this guide!

This is meant to be a sort of handbook for fic writers, particularly those of us who post on Archive of Our Own, laying out and explaining the established metatext conventions already in use in our community so we (and our readers!) are all on the same page. It will also provide some best-practices tips.

The point is to give all of us the tools to communicate with our audience as clearly and effectively as possible, so the people who want to read a story like ours can find it and recognize it as what they're looking for, those who don't want to read a story like ours can easily tell it's not their cup of tea and avoid it, nobody gets hurt, and everybody has fun—including us!

Now that we know what we're talking about, let's get on with the guide! The following content sections appear in the order one is expected to provide each kind of metatext when posting a fic on Ao3, but first….

Warning!

This is a guide for all authors on Ao3. As such, it mentions subject matter and kinds of fic that you personally might hate or find disgusting, but which are allowed under the Archive's terms of use. There are no graphic descriptions or harsh language in the guide itself, but it does acknowledge the existence of fic you may find distasteful and explains how to approach metatext for such fics.

Some sexual terminology is used in an academic context.

A note from the author:

This guide reflects the conventions of the English-language fanfiction community circa 2021. Conventions may differ in other language communities, and although many of our conventions have been in place for decades (praise be to our Star Trek loving foremothers) fanfiction now exists primarily in the realm of internet fandom where things tend to change rather quickly, so some conventions in this guide may die out while other new conventions, not covered in this guide, arise.

This is not official or in any way produced by the Archive of Our Own (Ao3), and though some actual site rules are mentioned, it is not a rulebook. Primarily, it is a descriptivist take on how the userbase uses metatext to communicate amongst ourselves, provided in the interest of making that communication easier and more transparent for everyone, especially newer users.

Contents

How To Use This Guide Ratings Archive Warnings Fandom Tags Category Relationship Tags Character Tags Additional Tags Titles Summaries Author's Notes Series and Chapters Parting Thoughts

How To Use This Guide

Well, read it.  Or have it read to you.

This isn't a glossary, it's a handbook, and it's structured more like an academic paper or report, but there's lots and lots of examples in it!

Many of these examples are titles of real media and the names of characters from published media, or tags quoted directly from Ao3 complete with punctuation and formatting.

Some examples are more generic and use the names Alex, Max, Sam, Chris, Jamie, and Tori for demonstration purposes. In other generic examples, part of an example tag or phrase may be sectioned off with square brackets to show where in that tag or phrase you would put the appropriate information to complete it.  This will look something like “Top [Character A]” where you would fill in a character's name.

This guide presumes that you know the basics of how to use Ao3, at least from the perspective of reading fic. If you don't, much of this guide may be difficult to understand and will be much less helpful to you, though not entirely useless.

Ratings

Most fanfic hosting sites provide ratings systems that work a lot like the ratings on movies and videogames.

Ao3's system has four ratings:

General

Teen

Mature

Explicit

These seem like they should be pretty self-explanatory, and the site's own official info pop-up (accessible by clicking the question mark next to the section prompt) gives brief, straightforward descriptions for each of them.

Even so, many writers have found ourselves staring at that dropdown list, thinking about what we've written, and wondering what's the right freaking rating for this?  How do I know if it's appropriate for “general audiences” or if it needs to be teen and up? What's the difference between Mature and Explicit?

The best way to figure it out is often to think about your fic in comparison to mainstream media.

General is your average Disney or Dreamworks movie, Cartoon Network or Nickelodeon shows, video games like Mario, Kirby, and Pokemon.

There may be romance, but no sexual content or discussion. Scary things might happen and people might get hurt, but violence is non-graphic and usually mild. Adults may be shown drinking alcohol or smoking tobacco, and some degree of intoxication may be shown (usually played for laughs and not focused on), but hard drug use is generally not shown or discussed.  There is little to no foul language written out and what language there may be is mild, though harsher swears may be implied by narration. There are no explicit F-bombs or slurs.

Teen is more like a Marvel movie, most network television shows (things like The Office, Supernatural, or Grey's Anatomy), video games like Final Fantasy, Five Nights at Freddie's, and The Sims.

There might be some sex and sexual discussion, but nothing explicit is shown—things usually fade to black or are leftimplied. More intense danger, more severe injuries described in greater detail, and a higher level of violence may be present.  Substance use may be discussed and intoxication shown, but main characters are unlikely to be shown doing hard drugs. Some swearing and other harsh language may be present, possibly including an F-bomb or two.  In longer works, that might mean an F-bomb every few chapters.

Mature is, in American terms, an R-rated movie* like Deadpool, Fifty Shades of Grey, The Exorcist, and Schindler's List; certain shows from premium cable networks or streaming services like Game of Thrones, Shameless, Breaking Bad, and Black Sails; videogames like Bioshock, Assassin's Creed, Grand Theft Auto, and The Witcher.

Sex may be shown and it might be fairly explicit, but it's not as detailed or graphic or as much the focus of the work as it would be if it were porn. Violence, danger, and bodily harm may be significant and fairly graphic. Most drug use is fair game. Swearing and harsh language may be extensive.

Explicit is, well, extremely explicit. This is full on porn, the hardcore horror movies, and snuff films.

Sex is highly detailed and graphic. Violence and injury is highly detailed and graphic. Drug use and its effects may be highly detailed and graphic. Swearing and harsh language may be extreme, including extensive use of violent slurs.

Please note that both Mature and Explicit fics are intended for adult audiences only, but that does not mean a teenaged writer isn't going to produce fics that should be rated M or E.  Ratings should reflect the content of the fic, not the age of the author.

Strictly speaking, you don't have to choose any of these ratings; Ao3 has a “Not Rated” option, but for purposes of search results and some other functions, Not Rated fics are treated by the site as Explicit, just in case, which means they end up hidden from a significant portion of potential readers. It really is in your best interest as a writer who presumably wants people to see their stories, to select a rating. It helps readers judge if yours is the kind of story they want right now, too.

Rating a fic is a subjective decision, there is some grey area in between each level. If you're not quite sure where your fic falls, best practice is to go with the more restrictive rating.

*(Equivalent to an Australian M15+ or R18+, Canadian 14A, 18A or 18+, UK 15 or 18, German FSK 16 or FSK 18.)

Warnings

Ao3 uses a set of standard site-wide Archive Warnings to indicate that a work contains subject matter that falls into one or more of a few categories that some readers are likely to want to avoid.  Even when posting elsewhere, it's courteous to include warnings of this sort.

These warnings are:

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Major Character Death

Rape/Non-Con

Underage

Just like with the ratings, the site provides an info-pop up that explains what each warning is for. They're really exactly what it says on the tin: detailed descriptions of violence, injury, and gore; the death of a character central to canon or tothe story being told; non-consensual sex i.e. rape; and depictions of underage sex, which the site defines as under the age of 18 for humans—Ao3 doesn't care if your local age of consent or majority is lower than that.

In addition to the four standard warnings above, the warnings section has two other choices:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

These do not mean the same thing and cannot be used interchangeably. “No Archive Warnings Apply” means that absolutely nothing in your fic falls into any of the four standard warning categories. “Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings” means that you the author are opting out of the warning system; your fic could potentially contain things that fall into any and all of the four standard warning categories.

There's nothing wrong with selecting Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings! It may mean that some readers will avoid your fic because they're not sure it's safe for them, and you might need to use more courtesy tags than you otherwise would (we'll talk about courtesy tags later), but that's okay! Opting out of the warning system can be a way to avoid spoilers,* and is also good for when you're just not sure if what you've written deserves one of the Archive warnings. In that case, the best practice is to select either the warning it might deserve or Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings, then provide additional information in other tags, the summary, or an initial author's note.

Unless you're opting out of using the warning system, select all the warnings that apply to your fic, if any of them do. So if a sixteen year old main character has consensual sex then gets killed in an accident that you've written out in excruciating detail, that fic gets three out of the four standard warnings: Underage, Major Character Death, and Graphic Depictions Of Violence.

*(Fandom etiquette generally favors thorough tagging and warning over avoiding spoilers. It doesn't ruin the experience of a story to have a general sense of what's going to happen. If it did, we wouldn't all keep reading so many “there was only one bed” fics.)

Fandom Tags

What fandom or fandoms is your fic for?  You definitely know what you wrote it for, but that doesn't mean it's obvious what to tag it as.

Sometimes, it is obvious! You watched a movie that isn't based on anything, isn't part of a series, and doesn't have any spinoffs, tie-ins or anything else based on it. You wrote a fic set entirely within the world of this movie. You put this movie as the fandom for your fic. Or maybe you read a book and wrote a fic for it, and there is a movie based on the book, but the movie is really different and you definitely didn't use anything that's only in the movie. You put the book as the fandom for your fic.

All too often, though, it's not that clear.

What if you wrote a fic for something where there's a movie based on a book, but the movie's really different, and you've used both things that are only in the movie and things that are only in the book?  In that case you either tag your fic as both the movie and the book, or see if the fandom has an “all media types” tag and use that instead of the separate tags.  If the fandom doesn't have an “all media types” tag yet, you can make one! Just type it in.

“All media types” fandom tags are also useful for cases where there are lots of inter-related series, like Star Wars; there are several tellings of the story in different media but they're interchangeable or overlap significantly, like The Witcher; or the fandom has about a zillion different versions so it's very hard, even impossible, to say which ones your fic does and doesn't fit, like Batman. Use your best judgement as to whether you need to include a more specific fandom tag such as “Batman (Movies 1989-1997)” alongside the “all media types” fandom tag, but try to avoid including very many. The point of the “all media types” tag is to let you leave off the specific tags for every version.

In a situation where one piece of media has a spinoff, maybe several spinoffs, and you wrote a fic that includes things from more than one of them, you might want use the central work's “& related fandoms” tag. For example, the “Doctor Who & Related Fandoms” tag gets used for fics that include things from a combination of any era of Doctor Who, Torchwood, and The Sarah Jane Adventures.

And don't worry, from the reader-side of the site the broadest fandom tags are prioritized. The results page for an “all media types” or “& related fandoms” search includes works tagged with the more specific sub-tags for that fandom, the browse-by-fandom pages show the broadest tag for each fandom included, and putting a fandom into the search bar presumes the broadest tag for that fandom.  A search for “Star Wars - All Media Types” will pull up work that only has a subtag for that fandom, like “The Mandalorian (TV).” You don't have to put every specific fandom subtag for people to find your fic.

If you wrote a fic for something that's an adaptation of an older work—especially an older work that's been adapted a lot, like Sherlock Holmes or The Three Musketeers—it can be hard to know how you should tag it. The best choice is to put the adaptation as the fandom, for instance “Sherlock (TV),” then, if you're also using aspects of the older source work that aren't in the adaptation, also put a broad fandom tag such as “Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms.” Do not tag it as being fic for the source work—in our Sherlock example that would be tagging it “Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle”—unless you are crossing over the source work and the adaptation. Otherwise, the specific fandom subtag for the source work ends up clogged with fic for the adaptation, which really is a different thing.

By the same token, fic for the source work shouldn't be tagged as being for the adaptation, or the adaptation's subtag will get clogged.

The same principle applies to fandoms that have been rebooted. Don't tag fic for the reboot as being for the original, or fic for the original as being for the reboot. Don't tag a fic as being for both unless the reboot and original are actually interacting. Use an “& related fandoms” tag for the original if your fic for the reboot includes some aspects of the original that weren't carried over but you haven't quite written a crossover between the two. Good examples of these situations can be seen with “Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)” vs. “Star Trek: The Original Series,” and “She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)” vs. “She-Ra: Princess Of Power (1985).”

Usually, this kind of mistagging as a related fandom happens when someone writes a fic for something that is or has a reboot, spinoff, or adaptation, but they're only familiar with one of the related pieces of media, and they mistakenly presume the fandoms are the same or interchangeable because they just don't know the difference.  It's an honest mistake and it doesn't make you a bad or fake fan to not know, but it can be frustrating for readers who want fic for one thing and find the fandom tag full of fic for something else.

In order to avoid those kinds of issues, best practice is to assume fandoms are not interchangeable no matter how closely related they are, and to default to using a tag pair of the most-specific-possible sub-fandom tag + the broadest possible fandom tag when posting a fic you're not entirely sure about, for instance “Star Trek” and “Star Trek: Enterprise.”

The Marvel megafandom has its own particular tagging hell going on. Really digging into and trying to make sense of that entire situation would require its own guide, but we can go through some general tips.

There is a general “Marvel” fandom tag and tags for both “The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom” and “The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types.” Most of us who write Marvel fic are working with a cherry picked combination of canons from the MCU, various comics runs, both timelines of X-Men movies, and possibly several decades worth of cartoons. That's what these tags are for.

If your cherry picked Marvel fic is more X-Men than Avengers, go for the “X-Men - All Media Types” tag.

If you are primarily working with MCU canon, use the MCU specific tags rather than “all media types” and add specific tags for individual comics runs—like Earth 616 or the Fraction Hawkeye comics—if you know you're lifting particular details from the comics.  If you're just filling in gaps in MCU canon with things that are nebulously “from the comics” don't worry about tagging for that, it's accepted standard practice in the fandom at this point, use a broader tag along with your MCU-specific tag if you want to.

Same general idea for primarily movie-verse X-Men fics. Use the movie-specific tags.

If your fic mostly draws from the comics, use the comics tags. If you're focusing on an individual run, show, or movie series rather than an ensemble or large swath of the megafranchise, tag for that and leave off the broader fandom tags.

Try your best to minimize the number of fandom tags on your Marvel work. Ideally, you can get it down to two or three. Even paring it down as much as you can you might still end up with about five.  If you're in the double digits, take another look to see if all the fandom tags you've included are really necessary, or if some of them are redundant or only there to represent characters who are in the fic but that the fic doesn't focus on. Many readers tend to search Marvel fics by character or pairing tags, it's more important that you're thorough there. For the fandom tags it's more important that you're clear.

If you write real person fiction, you need to tag it as an RPF fandom. Fic about actors who are in a show together does not belong on the fandom tag for that show. There are separate RPF fandom tags for most shows and film franchises. Much like the adaptation/source and reboot/original situations discussed earlier, a fic should really only be tagged with both a franchise's RPF tag and its main tag if something happens like the actors—or director or writer!—falling into the fictional world or meeting their characters.

Of course, not all RPF is about actors. Most sports have RPF tags, there are RPF tags for politics from around the world and for various historical settings, the fandom tags for bands are generally presumed to be RPF tags, and there is a general Real Person Fiction tag.

In order to simplify things for readers, it's best practice to use the general Real Person Fiction tag in addition to your fandom-specific tag. You may even want to put “RPF” as a courtesy tag in the Additional Tags section, too. This is because Ao3 isn't currently set up to recognize RPF as the special flavor of fic that it is in the same way that the site recognizes crossovers as special, so it can be very difficult to either seek out or avoid RPF since it's scattered across hundreds of different fandom tags.

On the subject of crossovers—they can make fandom tagging even more daunting. Even for a crossover with lots of fandoms involved, though, you just have to follow the same guidelines as to tag a single-fandom work for each fandom in the crossover. The tricky part is figuring out if what you wrote is really a crossover, or just an AU informed by another fandom—we'll talk about that later.

There are some cases where it's really hard to figure out what fandom something belongs to, like if you wrote a fanfic of someone else's fanfic, theirs is an AU and yours is about their OC, not any of the characters from canon. What do you do?! Well, you do not tag it as being a fanfic for the same thing theirs was. Put the title of their fic (or name of their series) as the fandom for your fic, attributed to their Ao3 handle just like any other fandom is attributed to its author. Explain the situation in either the summary or the initial author's note. Also, ask the author's permission before posting something like this.

What if you wrote a story about your totally original D&D character? The fandom is still D&D, you want the “Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)” tag.

What if there's not a fandom tag on the Archive yet for what you wrote? Not a problem! You can type in a new one if you're the first person to post something for a particular fandom. Do make sure, though, that the fandom isn't just listed by a different name than you expect. Many works that aren't originally in English—including anime—are listed by their original language title or a direct translation first, and sometimes a franchise or series's official name might not be what you personally call it, for instance many people think of Phillip Pullman's His Dark Materials series as The Golden Compass series, so it's best to double check.

What if you wrote an entirely new original story that's not based on anything?  Excellent job, that takes a lot of work, but that probably doesn't belong on Ao3!  The Archive is primarily meant as a repository for fannish content, but in a few particular circumstances things we'd consider Original Work may be appropriate content for the Archive as well. Double check the Archive's Terms of Service FAQ and gauge if what you wrote falls under the scope of what is allowed. If what you wrote really doesn't fit here, post it somewhere else or try to get it published if you feel like giving it a shot.

Category

What Ao3 means by category is “does this fic focus on sex or romance, and if so what combination of genders are involved in that sex or romance?”

The category options are:

F/F

F/M

Gen

M/M

Multi

Other

The F/F, F/M, and M/M categories are for stories focused on pairings of two women, a woman and a man, and two men, respectively.  These refer to sexual and/or romantic pairings.

The Other category is for stories focused on (sexual and/or romantic) pairings where one or both partners are not strictly male or female, such as nonbinary individuals, people from cultures with gender systems that don't match to the Western man-woman system, and nonhuman characters for whom biological sex works differently or is nonexistent, including aliens, robots, and inanimate objects or abstract concepts. There are some problems with treating nonbinary humans, eldritch tentacle monsters, sexless androids, and wayward container ships as all the same category, but it's the system we currently have to work with. Use Additional Tags to clarify the situation.

Multi is for stories in which several (sexual and/or romantic) relationships are focused on or which focus on relationships with multiple partners, including cases of polyamory, serial monogamy, strings of hookups with different people, and orgies.  A fic will also show as “Multi” if you, the author, have selected more than one category for the fic, even if none of those are the Multi category. Realistically, the Archive needs separate “Multiple Categories” and “Poly” options, but for now we have to work with this system in which the two are combined.  Use Additional Tags to clarify the situation.

Gen is for stories that do not contain or are not focused on sex or romance. Romance may be present in a gen fic but it's going to be in the background.  While rare, there is such a thing as a sexually explicit gen fic—solo masturbation which does not feature fantasizing about another character is explicit gen fic; a doctor character seeing a series of patients with sex-related medical needs following an orgy may qualify if the orgy is not shown and the doctor is being strictly professional—but such fic needs to be rated, otherwise tagged, and explained carefully in the summary and/or author's note.

Much like the warnings section, category is a “select all that apply” situation. Use your best judgement. For a fic about a polyamorous relationship among a group of women, it's entirely appropriate to tag it as both F/F and Multi.  A poly fic with a combination of men and women in the relationship could be shown as both M/M and F/M, Multi, or all three. A fic that focuses equally on one brother and his husband and the other brother and his wife should be tagged both M/M and F/M, and could be tagged as Multi but you might decided not to just to be clear that there's no polyamory going on. If you wrote a fic about two characters who are both men in canon, but you wrote one of them as nonbinary, you could tag it M/M, Other, or both depending on what you feel is representative and respectful.

When dealing with trans characters, whether they're trans in canon or you're writing them as such, the category selection should match the character's gender.  If there's a character who is a cis woman in canon, but who you're writing as a trans man, you categorize the fic based on his being a man. If there's a character who is a cis man in canon, but whom you're writing as a trans man, he is still a man and the fic should be categorized accordingly. When dealing with nonbinary characters the fic should really be classed as Other though, by convention, fics about characters who are not nonbinary in canon may be classed based on the character's canon gender as well or instead. When dealing with gender swapped characters—i.e. a canonically cis male superhero who you're writing as a cis woman—class the fic using the gender you wrote her with, not the gender he is in canon.

Most of the time, gen fics should not be categorized jointly with anything else because a fic should only be categorized based on the ships it focuses on, and a gen fic should not be focusing on a ship in the first place.*

*(One of the few circumstances in which it might make sense to class a fic as both gen and something else is when writing about Queerplatonic Relationships, but that is a judgement call and depends on the fic.)

Relationship Tags

The thing about relationship tagging that people most frequently misunderstand or just don't know is the difference between “Character A/Character B” and “Character A & Character B.”

Use a “/” for romantic or sexual relationships, such as spouses, people who are dating, hookups, and friends with benefits. Use “&” for platonic or familial relationships, such as friends, siblings, parents with their kids, coworkers, and deeply connected mortal enemies who are not tragically in love.

This is where we get the phrase “slash fic.” Originally, that meant any fic focused on a romantic paring, but since so much of the romantic fic being produced was about pairs of men, “slash fic” came to mean same-sex pairings, especially male same-sex pairings. Back in earlier days of fandom, pre-Ao3 and even pre-internet, there was a convention that when writing out a different-sex pairing, you did so in man/woman order, while same-sex pairings were done top/bottom. Some authors, especially those who have been in the fic community a long time, may still do this, but the convention has not been in consistent, active use for many years, so you don't have to worry about putting the names in the “correct” order. Part of why that died out is we, as a community, have gotten less strict and more nuanced in our understandings of sex and relationships, we're writing non-penetrative sex more than we used to, and we're writing multi-partner relationships and sex more than we used to, so strictly delineating “tops” and “bottoms” has gotten less important and less useful.

The convention currently in use on Ao3 is that the names go in alphabetical order for both “/” and “&” relationships. In most cases, the Archive uses the character's full name instead of a nickname or just a given name, like James "Bucky" Barnes instead of just Bucky or James. We'll talk more about conventions for how to input character names in the Characters section. The Archive will give you suggestions as you type—if one of them fits what you mean but is slightly different from how you were typing it, for instance it's in a different order, please use the tag suggested! Consistency in tags across users helps the site work more smoothly for everybody.

This is really not the place for ship nicknames like Puckleberry, Wolfstar, or Ineffable Wives. Use the characters' names.

Now that you know how to format the relationship tag to say what you mean, you have to figure out what relationships in your fic to tag for.

The answer is you tag the relationships that are important to the story you're telling, the ones you spend time and attention following, building up, and maybe even breaking down. Tagging for a ship is not a promise of a happy ending for that pair; you don't have to limit yourself to tagging only the end-game ships if you're telling a story that's more complicated than “they get together and live happily ever after.” That said, you should generally list the main ship—the one you focus on the most—first on the list, and that will usually be the end-game ship. You should also use Additional Tags, the summary, and author's notes to make it clear to readers if your fic does not end happily for a ship you've tagged. Otherwise readers will assume that a fic tagged as being about a ship will end well for that ship, because that's what usually happens, and they'll end up disappointed and hurt, possibly feeling tricked or lied to, when your fic doesn't end well for that ship

You don't have to, and honestly shouldn't, tag for every single relationship that shows up in your fic at all. A character's brief side fling mentioned in passing, or a relationship between two background characters should not be listed under the Relationship tag section. You can list them in the format “minor Character A/Character C” or “Character C/Character D – mentions of” in the Additional Tags section if you want to, or just tag “Minor or Background Relationship(s)” under either the Relationship tag section or in the Additional Tags section.

There are two main reasons to not tag all those minor relationships. The first is to streamline your tags, which makes them clearer and more readable, and therefore more useful. The second reason is because certain ships are far more common as minor or background relationships than as the focus of a work, so tagging all your non-focus focus ships leads to the tags for these less popular ships getting clogged with stories they appear in, but that are not about them. That is, of course, very frustrating for readers who really want to read stories that focus on these ships.

If your fic contains a major relationship between a canon character and an OC, reader-insert, or self-insert, tag it as such. The archive already has /Original Character, /Reader, /You, and /Me tags for most characters in most fandoms. If such a relationship tag isn't already in use, type it in yourself. There are OC/OC tags, too, some of which specify gender, some of which do not.  All the relationship tags that include OCs stack the gender-specific versions of the tags under the nongendered ones. Use these tags as appropriate.

For group relationships, both polycules and multi-person friendships, you “/” or “&” all the names involved in alphabetical order, so Alex/Max/Sam are dating while Chris & Jamie & Tori are best friends. For a poly situation where not everyone is dating each other you should tag it something like “Alex/Max, Alex/Sam” because Alex is dating both Max and Sam, but Max and Sam are not romantically or sexually involved with each other. Use your judgement as to whether you still want to include the Alex/Max/Sam trio tag, and whether you should also use a “Sam & Max” friendship tag.

Generally, romantic “/” type relationships are emphasized over “&” type relationships in fic. It is more important that you tag your “/”s thoroughly and accurately than that you tag your “&”s at all. This is because readers are far more likely to either be looking for or be squicked by particular “/” relationships than they are “&” relationships. You can tag the same pair of characters as both / and & if both their romance and their friendship is important to the story, but a lot of people see this as redundant. If you're writing incest fic, use the / tag for the pair not the & tag and put a courtesy tag for “incest” in the Additional Tags section; this is how readers who do not want to see incestuous relationships avoid that material.

Queerplatonic Relationships, Ambiguous Relationships, Pre-Slash, and “Slash If You Squint” are all frequently listed with both the “/” and “&” forms of the pairing; use your best judgement as to whether one or the other or both is most appropriate for what you've written and clarify the nature of the relationship in your Additional Tags.

Overall, list your “/” tags first, then your “&” tags.

Character Tags

Tagging your characters is a lot like tagging your relationships. Who is your fic about? That's who you put in your character tags.

You don't have to and really should not tag every single background character who shows up for just a moment in the story, for pretty much the same reasons you shouldn't tag background relationships.  We don't want to clog less commonly focused on characters' tags with stories they don't feature prominently in.

You do need to tag the characters included in your Relationship tags.

A character study type of fic might only have one character you need to tag for. Romantic one shots frequently only have two. Longfics and fics with big ensemble casts can easily end up with a dozen characters or more who really do deserve to be tagged for.

Put them in order of importance. This doesn't have to be strict hierarchal ranking, you can just arrange them into groups of “main characters,” “major supporting characters,” and “minor supporting characters.” Nobody less than a minor supporting character should be tagged. Even minor supporting characters show up for more than one line.

If everyone in the fic is genuinely at the same level of importance (which does happen, especially with small cast fics), then order doesn't really matter. You can arrange them by order of appearance or alphabetically by name if you want to be particularly neat about it.

Do tag your OCs! Some people love reading about OCs and want to be able to find them; some people can't stand OCs and want to avoid them at all costs; most people are fine with OCs sometimes, but might have to be in the mood for an OC-centric story or only be comfortable with OCs in certain contexts. Regardless, though, Character tags are here to tell readers who the story is about, and that includes new faces. Original Characters are characters and if they're important to the story, they deserve to be tagged for just like canon characters do.

There are tags for “Original Character(s),” “Original Male Character(s),” and “Original Female Character(s).” Use these tags!  If you have OCs you're going to be using frequently in different stories, type up a character tag in the form “[OC's Name] – Original Character” and use that in addition to the generic OC tags.

Also tag “Reader,” “You,” or “Me” as a character if you've written a reader- or self-insert.

You can use the “Minor Characters” tag to wrap up everybody, both OC and canon, who doesn't warrant their own character tag. Remember, though, that this tag is also used to refer to minor canon characters who may not have their own official names.

Just like when tagging for relationships, the convention when tagging for characters is to use their full name. The suggestions the Archive gives you as you type will help you use the established way of referring to a given character.

Characters who go by more than one name usually have their two most used names listed together as one tag with the two names separated by a vertical bar like “Andy | Andromache of Scythia.” This also gets used sometimes for characters who have different names in an adaptation than in the source text, or a different name in the English-language localization of a work than in the original language. For character names from both real-world and fictional languages and cultures that put family or surname before the given name—like the real Japanese name Takeuchi Naoko or the made up Bajoran name Kira Nerys—that order is used when tagging, even if you wrote your fic putting the given name first.

Some characters' tags include the fandom they're from in parentheses after their name like “Connor (Detroit: Become Human).” This is mostly characters with ordinary given names like Connor and no canon surname, characters who have the same full name as a character in another fandom, such as Billy Flynn the lawyer from the musical Chicago and Billy Flynn the serial killer played by Tim Curry in Criminal Minds, and characters based on mythological, religious, or historical figures or named for common concepts such as Lucifer, Loki, Amethyst, Death, and Zero that make appearances in multiple fandoms.

Additional Tags

Additional Tags is one of the most complicated, and often the longest, section of metatext we find ourselves providing when we post fic. It's also the one that gives our readers the greatest volume of information.

That, of course, is what makes it so hard for us to do well.

It can help to break down Additional Tags into three main functions of tag: courtesy tags, descriptive tags, and personal tags.

Courtesy tags serve as extensions of the rating and warning systems. They can help clarify the rating, provide more information about the Archive Warnings you've used or chosen not to use, and give additional warnings to tell readers there are things in this fic that may be distasteful, upsetting, or triggering but that the Archive doesn't have a standard warning for.

Descriptive tags give the reader information about who's in this fic, what kind of things happen, what tropes are in play, and what the vibe is, as well as practical information about things like format and tense.

Personal tags tell the readers things about us, the author, our process, our relationship to our fic, and our thoughts at the time of posting.

It doesn't really matter what order you put these tags in, but it is best practice to try to clump them: courtesy tags all together so it's harder for a reader to miss an important one, ship-related info tags together, character-related info tags together, etc.

There are tons and tons of established tags on Ao3, and while it's totally fine, fun, and often necessary to make up your own tags, it's also important to use established tags that fit your fic.  For one thing, using established tags makes life easier for the tag wranglers behind the scenes. Using a new tag you just made up that means the same thing as an established tag makes more work for the tag wranglers. We like the tag wranglers, they're all volunteers, and they're largely responsible for the search and sorting features being functional. Be kind to the tag wranglers.

For basically the same reasons, using established tags makes it easier for readers to find your fic. If a reader either searches by a tag or uses filters on another search to “Include” that tag, and you didn't use that tag, your fic will not show up for them even if what you wrote is exactly what they're looking for.  Established tags can be searched by exactly the same way as you search by fandom or pairing, your off the cuff tags cannot.

Let's talk about some well-known established tags and common tag types, divvied up by main function.

Courtesy

A lot of courtesy tags are specific warnings like “Dubious Consent,” “Incest,” “Drug Use,” “Extremely Underage,” “Toxic Relationship,” and “Abuse.” Many of these have even more specific versions such as “Recreational Drug Use” and “Nonconsensual Drug Use,” or “Mildly Dubious Consent” and “Extremely Dubious Consent.”

Giving details about what, if any, drugs are used or mentioned, specifying what kinds of violence or bodily harm are discussed or depicted, details about age differences or power-imbalanced relationships between characters who date or have sex, discussion or depictions of suicide, severe or terminal illness, or mental health struggles is useful. It helps give readers a clear sense of what they'll encounter in your fic and decide if they're up for it.

One the most useful courtesy warning tags is “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat” which basically means “there are things in this fic which are really screwed up and may be disturbing, read at your own risk, steer clear if you're not sure.” This tag—like all courtesy warnings, really—is a show of good faith, by using it you are being a responsible, and thoughtful member of the fanfic community by giving readers the power and necessary information to make their own informed decisions about what they are and are not comfortable reading.

Saying to “Heed the tags” is quite self-explanatory and, if used, should be the last or second to last tag so it's easy to spot.  Remember, though, that “Heed the tags” isn't useful if your tags aren't thorough and clear.

“Additional Warnings In Author's Note” is one of only things that should ever go after “Heed the tags.”  If you use this, your additional warnings need to go in the author's note at the very beginning of the fic, not the one at the end of the first chapter.  If your additional warnings write up is going to be very long because it's highly detailed, then it can go at the bottom of the chapter with a note at the beginning indicating that the warnings are at the bottom. Some authors give an abbreviated or vague set of warnings in the initial note, then longer, highly detailed, spoilery warnings in the end note. It's best to make it as simple and straightforward as possible for readers to access warnings.

Tagging with “Dead Dove: Do Not Eat,” “Heed the tags,” or “Additional Warnings In Author's Note” is not a substitute for thorough and appropriate courtesy tagging. These are extra reminders to readers to look closely at the other warnings you've given.

While most courtesy tags are warnings, some are assurances like “No Lesbians Die” or “It's Not As Bad As It Sounds.”  A fic tagged for rape or dub-con may get a tag assuring that the consent issues are not between the characters in the main ship; or a fic with a premise that sounds likely to involve lack of consent but actually doesn't may get a tag that it's “NOT rape/non-con.” A tag like “Animal Death” may be immediately followed by a freeform tag assuring that the animal that dies is not the protagonist's beloved horse.

Descriptive

There are a few general kinds of descriptive tags including character-related, ship-related, temporal, relation-to-canon, trope-related, smut details, and technical specifications.

Many character- and ship-related tags simply expand on the Character and Relationship tags we've already talked about.  This is usually the place to specify details about OCs and inserts, such as how a reader-insert is gendered.

When it comes to character-related tags, one of the most common types in use on Ao3 and in fandom at large is the bang-path. This is things like werewolf!Alex, trans!Max, top!Sam, kid!Jamie, and captain!Tori. Basically, a bang-path is a way of specifying a version of a character. We've been using this format for decades; it comes from the very first email systems used by universities in the earliest days of internet before the World Wide Web existed. It's especially useful for quickly and concisely explaining the roles of characters in an AU. Nowadays this is also one of the primary conventions for indicating who's top and who's bottom in a ship if that's information you feel the need to establish.  The other current convention for indicating top/bottom is as non-bang-path character-related tags in the form “Top [Character A], Bottom [Character B].”

Other common sorts of character tags are things like “[Character A] Needs a Hug,” “Emotionally Constipated [Character B],” and “[Character C] is a Good Dad.”

Some character-related tags don't refer to a particular character by name, but tell readers something about what kinds of characters are in the fic. Usually, this indicates the minority status of characters and may indicate whether or not that minority status is canon, as in “Nonbinary Character,” “Canon Muslim Character,” “Deaf Character,” and “Canon Disabled Character.”

Down here in the tags is the place to put ship nicknames!  This is also where to say things like “They're idiots your honor” or indicate that they're “Idiots in Love,” maybe both since “Idiots in Love” is an established searchable tag but “They're idiots your honor” isn't yet. If your fandom has catchphrases related to your ship, put that here if you want to.

If relevant, specify some things about the nature of relationships in your fic such as “Ambiguous Relationship,” “Queerplatonic Relationships,” “Polyamory,” “Friends With Benefits,” “Teacher-Student Relationship,” and so on. Not all fics need tags like these. Use your best judgement whether your current fic does.

Temporal tags indicate when your fic takes place. That can be things like “Pre-Canon” and “Post-Canon,” “Pre-War,” “Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier,” “1996-1997 NHL season,” “Future Fic,” and so on.  These tags may be in reference to temporal landmarks in canon, in the real world, or both depending on what's appropriate.

Some temporal tags do double duty by also being tags about the fic's relationship to canon. The Pre- and Post-Canon tags are like that.

Other relation-to-canon type tags are “Canon Compliant” for fics that fit completely inside the framework of canon without changing or contradicting anything, “Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence” for fics that are compliant up to a certain point in canon, then veer off (maybe because you started writing the fic when the show was on season two but now it's at season four and you're not incorporating everything from the newer seasons, maybe a character died and you refuse to acknowledge that, maybe you just want to explore what might have happened if a particular scene had gone differently), and the various other Alternate Universe tags for everything from coffee shop AUs and updates to modern settings, to realities where everyone is a dragon or no one has their canon superpowers.

The established format for these tags is “Alternate Universe – [type],” but a few have irregular names as well, such as “Wingfic” for AUs in which characters who don't ordinarily have wings are written as having wings.

If you have written an AU, please tag clearly what it is! Make things easy on both the readers who are in the mood to read twenty royalty AUs in a row, the readers who are in the middle of finals week and the thought of their favorite characters suffering through exams in a college AU would destroy the last shred of their sanity but would enjoy watching those characters teach high school, and the readers who really just want to stick to the world of canon right now.

Admittedly, it can get a little confusing what AU tag or tags you need to describe what you've written since most of us have never had a fandom elder sit us down and explain what the AU tags mean. One common mix up is tagging things “Alternate Universe - Modern Setting” when what's meant is “Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence.”  The misunderstanding here is usually reading “Alternate Universe - Modern Setting” and thinking it means an alternate version of the canon universe that is set at the same time as the canon universe, but is different in some way. That's not how the tag is meant to be used, though.

The Modern Setting AU tag is specifically for fic set now (at approximately the same time period it was written), for media that's canonically set somewhere that is very much not the present of the real world. This can mean things set in the past (like Jane Austen), the future (like Star Trek), or a fantasy world entirely different from our own (like Lord of the Rings or Avatar: the Last Airbender). Fic for a canon that's set more or less “now” doesn't need the Modern Setting AU tag, even if the world of canon is different from our own. If you're removing those differences by putting fantasy or superhero characters in a world without magic or supersoldier serum, you might want the “Alternate Universe - No Powers” tag instead.

Some of the most fun descriptive tags are trope tags. This includes things like “Mutual Pining,” “Bed Sharing” for when your OTP gets to their hotel room to find There Was Only One Bed, “Fake Dating,” “Angst,” Fluff,” “Hurt/Comfort” and all its variants.  Readers love tropes at least as much as we love writing them and want to be able to find their favorites. Everyone also has tropes they don't like and would rather avoid. Tagging them allows your fic to be filtered in and out by what major tropes you've used.

Explicit fics, and sometimes fics with less restrictive ratings, that contain sex usually have tags indicating details about the nature of the sexual encounter(s) portrayed and what sex acts are depicted. These are descriptive tags, but they also do double duty as courtesy tags. This is very much a situation in which tags are a consent mechanism; by thoroughly and clearly tagging your smut you are giving readers the chance to knowingly opt in or out of the experience you've written.

Most of the time, it's pretty easy to do basic tagging for sex acts—you know whether what you wrote shows Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, or Non-penetrative Sex.  You probably know the names for different kinds of Oral Sex you may have included. You might not know what to call Frottage or Intercrural Sex, though, even if you understand the concept and included the act in your fic. Sometimes there are tags with rectangle-square type relationships (all Blow Jobs are Oral Sex, but not all Oral Sex is a Blow Job) and you're not sure if you should tag for both—you probably should. Sometimes there are tags for overlapping, closely related, or very similar acts or kinks and you're not sure which to tag—that one's more of judgement call; do your best to use the tags that most closely describe what you wrote.

Tag for the kinks at play, if any, so readers can find what they're into and avoid what they're not. Tag for what genitalia characters have if it's nonobvious, including if there's Non-Human Genitalia involved. Tag your A/B/O, your Pon Farr, and your Tentacles, including whether it's Consentacles or Tentacle Rape.

Technical specification tags give information about aspects of the fic other than its narrative content.  Most things on Ao3 are prose fiction so that's assumed to be the default, so anything else needs to be specified in tags. That includes Poetry, Podfics, things in Script Format, and Art. If it is a podfic, you should tag with the approximate length in minutes (or hours). If a fic is Illustrated (it has both words and visual art) tag for that.

Tag if your fic is a crossover or fusion.  The difference, if you're not sure, is that in a crossover, two (or more) entire worlds from different media meet, whereas in a fusion, some aspects of one world, like the cast of characters, are combined with aspects of another, like the setting or magic system.

If the team of paranormal investigators from one show get in contact with the cast of aliens from another show, that's a crossover and you need to have all the media you're drawing from up in the Fandom tags. If you've given the cast of Hamlet physical manifestations of their souls in the form of animal companions like the daemons from His Dark Materials but nothing else from His Dark Materials shows up, that's a fusion, the Fandom tag should be “Hamlet - Shakespeare,” and you need the “Alternate Universe - Daemons” tag. If you've given the members of a boy band elemental magic powers like in Avatar: the Last Airbender, that can be more of a judgement call depending how much from Avatar you've incorporated into your story. If absolutely no characters or specific settings from Avatar show up, it's probably a fusion.  Either way, if the boyband exists in real life, it needs to be tagged as RPF.

Tag if your fic is a Reader-Insert or Self-Insert.

You might want to tag for whether your fic is written with POV First, Second, or Third Person, and if it's Past Tense or Present Tense (or Future Tense, though that's extremely uncommon).  For POV First Person fics that are not self-inserts, or POV Third Person fics that are written in third person limited, you may want to tag which character's POV is being shown. Almost all POV Second Person fics are reader-insert, so if you've written one that isn't, you should tag for who the “you” is.

A fic is “POV Outsider” if the character through whom the story is being conveyed is outside the situation or not familiar with the characters and context a reader would generally know from canon. The waitress who doesn't know the guy who just sat down in her diner is a monster hunter, and the guy stuck in spaceport because some hotshot captain accidentally locked down the entire space station, are both potential narrators for POV Outsider stories.

Other technical specifications can be tags for things like OCtober and Kinktober or fic bingo games.  Tagging something as a Ficlet, One Shot, or Drabble is a technical specification (we're not going to argue right now over what counts as a drabble). Tagging for genre, like Horror or Fantasy, is too.

It's also good to tag accessibility considerations like “Sreenreader Friendly,” but make sure your fic definitely meets the needs of a given kind of accessibility before tagging it.

Personal

Even among personal tags there are established tags!  Things like “I'm Sorry,” “The Author Regrets Nothing,” “The Author Regrets Everything,” and “I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping” are common ones.  Tags about us and our relationship to the fic, such as “My First Work In This Fandom,” “Author is Not Religious,” and “Trans Porn By A Trans Author,” can help readers gauge what to expect from our fic. Of course, you are not at all obligated to disclose any personal information for any reason when posting your fic.

The “I'm Bad At Tagging” tag is common, but probably overused. Tagging is hard; very few of us have a natural feel for it even with lots of practice.  It's not a completely useless tag because it can indicate to readers that you've probably missed some things you should have tagged for, so they should be extra careful; but it can also turn into a crutch, an excuse to not try, and therefore a sign to readers they can't trust your tagging job. Just do your best, and leave off the self depreciation. If you're really concerned about the quality of your tagging, consider putting in an author's note asking readers to let you know if there are any tags you should add.

You might want to let readers know your fic is “Not Beta Read” or, if you're feeling a little cheekier than that, say “No Beta We Die Like Men” or its many fandom-specific variants like the “No Beta We Die Like Robins” frequently found among Batman fics and “No beta we die like Sunset Curve” among Julie and The Phantoms fic. Don't worry, the Archive recognizes all of these as meaning “Not Beta Read.”

The Archive can be inconsistent about whether it stacks specific variants of Additional Tags under the broadest version of the tag like it does with Fandom tags, so best practice is usually to use both.  You can double check by trying to search by a variant tag (or clicking on someone else's use of the variant); if the results page says the broader or more common form of the tag, those stack.

There's no such thing as the right number of tags. Some people prefer more tags and more detail, while other people prefer fewer more streamlined tags, and different fics have different things that need to be tagged for.  There is, however, such a thing as too many tags.  A tagblock that takes up the entire screen, or more, can be unreadable, at which point they are no longer useful. Focus on the main points and don't try to tag for absolutely everything.  Use the “Additional Warnings In Author's Note” strategy if your courtesy tags are what's getting out of hand.

Tag for as much as you feel is necessary for readers to find your fic and understand what they're getting into if they decide to open it up.

A little bit of redundancy in tags is not a sin.  In fact, slight redundancy is usually preferable to vagueness. Clear communication in tags is a cardinal virtue. Remember that tags serve a purpose, they're primarily a tool for sorting and filtering, and (unlike on some other sites like tumblr) they work, so it's best to keep them informative and try to limit rambling in the tags. Ramble at length in your author's notes instead!

Titles

Picking a title can be one of the most daunting and frustrating parts of posting a fic. Sometimes we just know what to call our fics and it's a beautiful moment. Other times we stare at that little input box for what feels like an eternity.

The good news is there's really no wrong way to select a title. Titles can be long or short, poetic or straight to the point. Song lyrics, idioms, quotes from literature or from the fic itself can be good ways to go.

Single words or phrases with meanings that are representative of the fic can be great. A lot of times these are well known terms or are easy enough to figure out like Midnight or Morning Glow, but if you find yourself using something that not a lot of people know what it means, like Chiaroscuro (an art style that uses heavy shadow and strong contrast between light and dark), Kintsukuroi (the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold), or Clusivity (the grammatical term for differences in who is or isn't included in a group pronoun), you should define the term in either a subtitle, i.e. “Chiaroscuro: A Study In Contrast,” or at the beginning of the summary.

As a courtesy to other writers, especially in small fandoms, you may want to check to make sure there's not already another fic with the same title in the same fandom, but this is not required. In large fandoms, there's no point in even trying. After all, there are only so many puns to be made about the full moon and only so many verses to Hallelujah.

It may be common practice on other platforms to include information such as fandom or ship in the title of a fic, but on Ao3 nothing that is specified by tags belongs in the title unless your title happens to be the same as a tag because, for instance, you've straightforwardly titled your character study of Dean Winchester “Dean Winchester Character Study” and also responsibly tagged it as such.

Summaries

Yes, you really do need to put something down for the summary. It might only need to be a single sentence, but give the readers something to go off of.

The summary is there to serve two purposes: one, to catch the interest of potential readers, give them a taste of what's inside, and make them want to know more; and two, to give you a space to provide information or make comments that don't really fit in the tags but that you want readers to see before they open the fic.

We've already talked some about that second function. When you put an explanation of the title or clarification about tags in the summary, that's the purpose it's serving. You can also put notes to “Heed the tags” or instruct readers that there are additional warnings in the author's note here in the summary, rather than doing so in the tags.

The first function, the actual summarizing, can be very hard for some of us.  It's basically the movie trailer for your fic, butwhat are you even supposed to say?

There are two main strategies as to how to approach this: the blurb, and the excerpt. Blurbs are like the synopses you at least used to see on the backs of published books, or the “Storyline” section on an IMDb page. Writing one is a matter of telling your readers who does what, under what circumstances.

Depending on the fic, one sentence can capture the whole thing: “Sam and Alex have sex on a train.” “Tori tries to rob a bank.” “If anybody had mentioned Max's new house was haunted, Jamie wouldn't have agreed to help with the move.”

Sometimes a blurb can be a question! “What happens when you lock a nuclear engineer in a closet with a sewing kit, a tennis ball, and half a bottle of Sprite?”

Of course, plenty of blurbs are more than one sentence. Their length can vary pretty significantly depending on the type and length of fic you're working with and how much detail you're trying to convey, but it shouldn't get to be more than a few short paragraphs. You're not retelling the entire fic here.

An excerpt is a portion of the fic copied out to serve as the summary. This, too, can vary in length from a line or two to several paragraphs, but shouldn't get too long. It should not be an entire scene unless that scene happens to be uncommonly short. It's important to select a portion of the fic that both indicates the who, what, and under what circumstances of the fic and is representative of the overall tone. Excerpts that are nothing but dialogue with no indication of who's talking are almost never a good choice. Portions that are sexually explicit or extremely violent are never ever a good choice—if it deserves content warnings, it belongs inside the fic, not on the results page.

Counterintuitively, some of the best excerpts won't even look like an excerpt to the reader if they don't contain dialogue. They seem like particularly literary blurbs until the reader reaches that part in the fic and realizes they recognize a section of narration.

Some of us have very strong preferences as to whether we write blurbs or use excerpts for our summaries. Some readers have very strong preferences as to which they find useful. Ultimately, there's no accounting for taste, but there are things we can do to limit the frustration for readers who prefer summaries of the opposite kind than we prefer to write, without increasing our own frustration or work load very much. Part of that is understanding what readers dislike about each type so we know what to mitigate.

Blurbs can seem dry, academic, and overly simplified. They don't automatically give the reader a sense of your writing style the way an excerpt does. They can also seem redundant, like they're just rehashing information already given in the tags, so the reader feels like they're being denied any more information without opening the fic.

Excerpts can seem lazy, like you, the author, don't care enough to bother writing a blurb, or pushy like you're telling the reader “just read the fic; I'm not going to give you the information you need to decide if you want to read or not, I'm shoving it in front of you and you just have to read it.” That effect gets worse if your tags aren't very informative or clear about what the plot is, if the excerpt is obviously just the first few lines or paragraphs of the fic, if the except is particularly long, or, worst of all, if all three are true at once.

A lot of the potential problems with blurbs can be minimized by having fun writing them! Make it punchy, give it some character, treat it like part of the story, not just a book report. A fic for a serialized show or podcast, for instance, could have a blurb written in the style of the show's “previously on” or the podcast's intro.  Make sure the blurb gives the reader something they can't just get from the tags—like the personality of your writing, important context or characterization, or a sense of the shape of the story—but don't try to skimp on the tags to do it!

Really, the only way to minimize the potential problems with excerpts is to be very mindful in selecting them. Make sure the portion you've chosen conveys the who, what, and under what circumstances and isn't too long.  You know the story; what seems clear and obvious from the excerpt to you might not be apparent to someone who doesn't already know what happens, so you might need to ask a friend to double check you.

The absolute best way to provide a summary that works for everybody is to combine both methods. It really isn't that hard to stick a brief excerpt before your blurb, or tack a couple lines of blurb after your excerpt, but it can make a world of difference for how useful and inviting your summary is to a particular reader. The convention for summaries that use both is excerpt first, then blurb.

If you're struggling to figure out a summary, or have been in the habit of not providing one, try not to stress over it. Anything is better than nothing.  As long as you've written something for a summary, you've given the reader a little more to help them make their decision. What really isn't helpful, though, is saying “I'm bad at summaries” in your summary. It's a lot like the “I'm Bad At Tagging” tag in that it's unnecessarily self depreciating, frequently comes across as an excuse not to try, and sometimes really is just an excuse. Unlike the “I'm Bad At Tagging” tag, which has the tiny saving grace of warning readers you've probably missed something, saying you're bad at summaries has no utility at all, and may drive away a reader who thought your summary was quite good, but is uncomfortable with the negative attitude reflected by that statement. Summaries are hard. It's okay if you don't like your summary, but it's important for it to be there, and it's important to be kind to yourself about it. You're trying, that's what matters.

Author's Notes

Author's notes are the one place where we, the writers, directly address and initiate contact with our readers. We may also talk to them in the comments section, but that's different because they initiate that interaction while we reply, and comments are mostly one-on-one while in author's notes we're addressing everyone who ever reads our fic.

The very first note on a fic should contain any information, such as warnings or explanations, that a reader needs to see before they get to the body of the story, as well as anything like thanks to your beta, birthday wishes to a character, or general hellos and announcements you want readers to see before they get to the body of the story. On multi-chapter fics, notes at the beginning of chapters serve the same function for that chapter as the initial note on the fic does for the whole story, so you can do things like warn for Self-Harm on the two chapters out of thirty where it comes up, let everyone know your update schedule will be changing, or wish your readers a merry Christmas, if they celebrate it, on the chapter you posted on December 23rd but is set in mid-March.

Notes at the end of a fic or chapter are for things that don't need to be said or are not useful to a reader until after they've read the preceding content, such as translations for that handful of dialogue that's in Vulcan or Portuguese, or any parting greetings or announcements you want to give, like a thanks for reading or a reminder school is starting back so you won't be able to write as much. End notes are the best place to plug your social media to readers if you're inclined to do so, but remember that cannot include payment platforms like Patreon or Ko-fi.

As previously mentioned, warnings can go in end notes but that really should only be done when the warnings are particularly long, such that the length might cause a problem for readers who are already confident in their comfort level and would just want to scroll past the warning description. In that case, the additional warnings need to go in the note at the end of the first chapter, rather than at the end of the fic, if it's a multi-chapter fic; and you need to include an initial note telling readers that warnings/explanations of tags are at the bottom so they know to follow where the Archive tells them to see the end of the chapter/work for “more notes.”

When posting a new work, where the Preface section gives you the option to add notes “at the beginning” or “at the end” or both, if you check both boxes, it means notes at the beginning and end of the entire fic, not the beginning and end of the first chapter. For single-chapter fics this difference doesn't really matter, but for multi-chapter fics it matters a lot. In order to add notes to the beginning or end of the first chapter of a multi-chapter fic you have to first go through the entire process to post the new fic, then go in to Edit, Edit Chapter, and add the notes there.

Series and Chapters

Dealing with Series and Chapters is actually two different issues, but they're closely related and cause some of us mixups, especially when we're new to the site and its systems, so we're going to cover them together.

Series on Ao3 are for collecting up different stories that you've written that are associated with each other in some way. Chapters are for dividing up one story into parts, usually for pacing and to give yourself and your readers a chance to take breaks and breathe, rather than trying to get through the entire thing in a single marathon sitting (not that we won't still do that voluntarily, but it's nice to have rest points built in if we need them).

If your story would be one book if it was officially published, then it should be posted as a single fic—with multiple chapters if it's long or has more than one distinct part, like separate vignettes that all go together. If you later write a sequel to that fic, post it as a new fic and put them together in a series. It's exactly like chapters in a book and books in a series. Another way to think of this structure is like a TV show: different fics in the series are like different seasons of the show, with individual chapters being like episodes.

If you have several fics that all take place in the same AU but really aren't the same story those should go together as a series.  If you wrote a story about a superhero team re-cast as school teachers, then wrote another story about different characters in the same school, that's this situation.

Series are also the best way to handle things like prompt games, bingos, or Kinktober, or collect up one shots and drabbles especially if your various fills, entries, and drabbles are for more than one fandom. If you put everything for a prompt game or bingo, or all your drabbles, together as one fic with a different chapter for each story, what ends up happening is that fic gets recognized by the Archive as a crossover when it isn't, so it gets excluded from the results pages for everyone who told the filters to Exclude Crossovers even though one of the stories you wrote is exactly what they're looking for; and that fic ends up with tons and tons of wildly varying and self-contradictory tags because it's actually carrying the tags for several entirely different, possibly unrelated stories, which also means it ends up getting excluded from results pages because, for instance, one out of your thirty-one Kinktober entries is about someone's NoTP.

Dividing these kinds of things up into multiple fic in a series makes it so much easier for readers to find what of your work they actually want to read.

If you've previously posted such things as a single fic, don't worry, it's a really common misunderstanding and there is absolutely nothing stopping you from reposting them separately. You may see traffic on them go up if you do!

Parting Thoughts

Metatext is ultimately all about communication, and in this context effective communication is a matter of responsibility and balance.

Ao3 is our archive. It's designed for us, the writers, to have the freedom to write and share whatever stories we want without having to worry that we'll wake up one day and find our writing has been deleted overnight without warning.  That has happened too many times to so many in our community as other fanfic sites have died, been shut down, or caved to threats of legal action. Ao3 is dedicated to defending our legal right to create and share our stories. Part of the deal is that, in exchange for that freedom and protection, we take up the responsibility to communicate to readers what we're writing and who it's appropriate for.

We are each other's readers, and readers who don't write are still part of our community. We have a responsibility as members of this community to be respectful of others in our shared spaces.  Ao3 is a shared space. The best way we have to show each other respect is to give one another the information needed to decide if a given fic is something we want to engage with or not, and then, in turn, to not engage with fic that isn't our cup of tea. As long as our fellow writer has been clear about what their fic is, they've done their part of the job. If we decided to look at the fic despite the information given and didn't like what we found, then that's on us.

Because metatext is how we put that vital information about our fics out in the community, it's important that our metatext is clear and easy to parse. The key to that is balance. Striking the balance between putting enough tags to give a complete picture and not putting too many tags that become an unreadable wall; the balance between the urge to be thorough and tag every character and the need to be restrained so those looking for fics actually about a certain character can find them; the balance between using established tags for clarity and ease and making up our own tags for specificity and fun.

Do your best, act in good faith, remember you're communicating with other people behind those usernames and kudos, and, most importantly, have fun with your writing!

[obx-paradiseonearth]

The Bet | Rafe Cameron

Hey lovelies, this is my first Rafe Cameron fic and I hope y’all like it! It’s set with him and y/n in university and he’s for sure a bit out of character- no murder in this house he didn’t deserve that shit- but that’s okay because this is fanfiction! Please enjoy loves and let me know what you think!

Description: Rafe Cameron and y/n go to University together and make a bet at the beginning of the year: who can make the other fall in love first. This is the climax of such. 

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female!Reader

Warnings: SMUT: basic things, oral (female), regular sex, dirty talk (mild?), might be important to note she’s a virgin in this

Word count: 4.9k

Tags: Fluff, Smut, tiny bit of angst at the beginning if you squint super hard

// If heaven and hell had equal say in creating one person, it would be the man with his head between her thighs //

          She sighs, her toes burying themselves in the carpet as her arms reach well past her head in a much needed stretch. Her room is dark, the only light coming from her cheap desk lamp. The pounding in her head, for once, isn’t enough to drown out anything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours. None of this was supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to get this far. It was always just a game, wasn’t it? She runs a shaky hand through her hair, her knees wobbling slightly at the thought. Get it together, y/n. 

          She pulls the scrunchie from her hair, her muscles coiled tightly, letting it fall around her shoulders wildly. Her skin is burning up under her jumper and she pulls it quickly over her head too, letting it land in a heap at her feet. Slipping her jeans off, and socks too, she reaches up again, only this time to turn the ceiling fan on. It whirls to life quickly and she’s left in nothing but her sticky skin and the black star lace set that he always adored. 

          Him.

          All she can see is his face, and the way his blue eyes would dance up her body if he was here. She can hear the breath he would take. No she can feel it, in her own lungs, swirling cool peppermint in her chest like it’s his own. His touch, light at first, moving slowly downwards, over the hills of her breasts, against the curve of her waist, until finally over-

          No.

          She doesn't want to think about him anymore. She needs to move, do something other than stand here and feel bad for herself. What would her mother think? And her sister? Actually she knows what they would think. They would say, ‘Y/n what have you done?’ No, actually, just her mom would say that. Her face would scrunch up and her nose would do that crinkle thing it always does when she’s disappointed. Which is a lot. Her sister, though, would be firm. Her sister would say, ‘Pick yourself up y/n. Get it together, he is not going to win this one. You do not let a boy do this to you.’ Her sister would be right, like always.

          The problem is she wants to scream. She wants to claw at her throat until all the sounds come pouring out. She wants to rip out her hair and scrub at her skin until she can’t smell anything but iron and fire. Anything but pine and sandalwood and him. She needs the memory of his hands to fade. Fast. But she can still feel his fingers tracing patterns on her back and the urge to scream gets so much stronger. It’s building in the pit of her stomach, the same way it used to, but this time it’s dangerous and angry. It makes an unfamiliar heat run through her veins. Visions of ripping her posters off the wall and smashing her laptop against her desk fill her head. She needs to calm down now.

          This time she does move, towards her bed, and sits on the edge, gripping her sheets with all the strength she has left. Something soft brushes her thigh and she glances down to see a brown shirt. Of course it’s here he must have forgotten it. Despite everything she pulls it over her head and curls into a ball. Just as she thought, it smells like the forest. 

          Sleep comes easier than she thought it would, her eyes fluttering closed in a pine scented sedation. Maybe he’ll come to her in her dreams. At least she can still have that. She lets herself sink a little deeper into her comforter as the pine gets a little stronger. 

         “So this is just it, yeah?” His voice is as slow as honey in the darkness of her room. Great, now she’s hearing his voice in her head. 

          She pushes her head against her bed, ready to let the sleep handle this. Except now there are footsteps, and they get louder, like they’re coming towards her. What the hell is going on.

         She rolls over in time to watch a blurry Rafe walk into her dorm room. Well, more like storm into her dorm room, in all his open-flannel, black-jean fury. It takes no time at all before she feels her feet touch the shag of her carpet again but this time her toes curl in order to keep her upright. 

         When his face comes into focus, he’s less than a foot away from her. “What are you doing here?” 

          Her voice is pure ice but it doesn’t faze him in the slightest. His ocean eyes are black in the darkness. She can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, beckoning her to reach out and touch his burning chest. She has to close her fingers around the hem of the shirt- his shirt- to avoid accidentally doing just that. He’s fuming. 

        “What the hell was that back there?” His voice is slightly louder than before.

        She’s still staring at his chest. “Rafe get out of my room.”

        “Y/n, I’m not asking again, what the fuck was that?” 

        His chest heaves as he takes a breath and her hands itch to reach up and feel his hot skin, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

       She takes a step back. His being so close is making her head spin in dizzying loops. He only follows though, closing the space between them more than it already is, if that’s even possible.

       “You left. After everything I said you just fucking left!” His voice is strong but she doesn't miss the slight crack. It shoots a pain like she’s never felt before through her chest. 

        She can’t help the harshness in her words. “It was a game, Rafe.”

        “We both know it wasn’t, y/n.”

        At his words all the air gets sucked out of her lungs. 

        “You need to go.” It’s no more than a whisper, so quiet she’s not certain she actually said it. 

         She turns away from him, stumbling to lean against the posts of her bed, attempting to remain upright despite how weak her legs feel. She can hear his labored breaths from behind her and she screws her eyes shut, willing him to just walk away before either of them get even more hurt than they already are. Or at least more than she already is. 

         But of course, he wouldn’t be Rafe if he gave up that easily. 

         “Y/n you don’t mean that,” his breath is on the back of her neck and she shivers, trying not to squeeze her thighs together to make it last a little longer, “you can’t resist me and you know it. Just look at what you’re wearing.”

        She spins around quickly, a new rage igniting in her stomach and overpowering everything else in its wake. He’s always so damn arrogant. It makes her want to punch him in the face and maybe split one of his full lips. 

        She throws her arms up in exasperation, not meaning to lift the shirt past her hips. “What the hell do you want from me, Rafe!”

       His eyes lower and he sucks in a harsh breath, just the way she had imagined he would earlier. “Fuck.”

       “Rafe this was your idea! You won. Isn’t that enough for you?” She pulls the material back down, crossing her arms over her chest.

       He continues staring at her legs, greedily taking in every inch of bare skin. The heat between her legs roars to life again. She throws her hair back up, hoping to cool down even slightly. He makes her so damn mad all the time. This was never a good idea. She knew something like this was going to happen but, of course, she had to do it anyway. Stupid y/n. 

         She turns around again and steps away from him, praying he’ll leave. “Just go please.”

         She almost expects it when his hands grab onto her waist but she can’t help the sharp inhale she takes. His hands are life giving, despite everything that’s happened. They could still bring the dead to life again.  

         “You don’t want that, do you?” His words are warm against her now-revealed neck. 

         “It was a game. It wasn’t real, Rafe.” She tries to make her words firm but they come out as soft mewls instead. 

        His nose skims her neck and she knows he can feel her trembling in his grip. “Who are you trying to convince here, y/n, me or yourself?” 

         He plants a burning kiss against her skin- one she knows he has to bend over significantly to do- as his hands move inward, resting on her abdomen in the dip between her hips. She barely stops the moan from tumbling out of her lips. There’s no way she can respond right now or she’ll be done for. She’s seconds away from caving in. 

          One of his hands begins sliding slowly towards her chest and it takes everything she has to not throw her head back against him as her breasts swell in anticipation. His other hand, though, is creeping dangerously close to breaking her resolve. His fingers dance over the top of her panties and ignite every inch of skin he touches. Her ears are ringing so loud they drown out her own panting breaths. She’s a complete and utter mess in his arms. 

         “If you can honestly tell me that this is all a game,” his fingers continue to lower at a tantalizingly slow pace, “then I’ll leave.”

          She can’t help but lean further into his chest as his hand gently squeezes her breast and his thumb rolls over her nipple from over his shirt. She can hear her sigh over the ringing in her ears. The whole floor probably hears it. His other hand quickly finds her and he slides a lazy finger over her aching sex. She doesn't need to hear the moan to know it came out. 

         His voice is honey again, dripping down her spine with every sickly-sweet word. “Fuck, baby, if you can tell me that how wet you are for me right now is just a game then I will leave and you won’t have to see me ever again.”

         His words are the final push it takes to give into him. 

         “Rafe.” His name falls from her lips like a praise.

         As soon as he hears her he spins her around, lifting her with an arm under her butt and a hand gripping the back of her neck. His lips crash onto hers feverishly and she tastes peppermint with a hint of cigarettes, letting it consume the last remaining parts of her that want to deny him. Her legs wrap around his waist, warming from the bare skin of his abdomen. She can feel him against her as she tangles her fingers in his hair, pulling lightly at the roots.

          “Baby,” he moans into her mouth, sending tingles racing to the pit of her stomach, “it was never a fucking game. You've always been mine.”

         He walks her backwards with his mouth latched on her neck, no doubt leaving marks everywhere his tongue traces. He sets her on the edge of her bed, gently pushing her onto her back before shrugging off his flannel and kneeling between her legs on the floor. Even in the faint light she can see his eyes devouring every part of her. He takes his time running his hands up her legs, rubbing small circles wherever he wanders. She props herself up on her elbows, watching him take in all of her. He leans down to kiss the insides of her thighs. 

          If heaven and hell had equal say in creating one person, it would be the man with his head between her thighs.

         “Rafe, please.” she falls back when he moves closer to her covered flesh.

         “What do you want me to do baby,” he looks up at her as he places another kiss to the junction of her thigh, “I need you to tell me what you want.”

          Another moan slips out when his fingers graze over her panties.

          “Y/n, I need to hear you say it.” He sounds like he has all the time in the world. He slips his thumbs into her waistband and pulls ever so slightly.

          “Rafe, fuck, I-” his lips press against her hip bone and her mind scrambles to think of any words that will make even the slightest bit of sense together- “kiss me, fuck, please kiss me Rafe!”

         He looks up at her through his lashes, his hair falling in his face and a beautiful smirk carved on his lips. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

         Before she can process what’s happening he’s pulled the lace fully off her legs and his mouth is over her, his tongue swirling around her sex in agonizingly slow circles. Every nerve in her body sings his praise all at once which is funny considering he’s the one on his knees for her. It takes everything in her to not squeeze her thighs tighter around him if only to make sure he never leaves her. She settles for once again gripping his hair between her fingers. 

         He slips a finger inside her and curls it, pulling another one of the endless moans from her. She raises her hips, trying to get as close to him as she possibly can. She doesn't think she’ll ever be close enough though. They could be the same person and she would still never be close enough to him. His tongue circles her clit and she almost loses it. She never used to know why they explained it like a ball of fire in the pit of your being- like a mini sun exploding within you- until him. 

         “Rafe.” His name tumbles from her mouth of its own accord. 

         His eyes look up to meet her and that’s when the little sun explodes, the most delicious flames consuming her body like they always seem to do when he’s around- only this time a thousand times stronger. 

         He doesn’t stop sucking on her flesh until she’s panting from the overstimulation- her bones nothing but mush- and pulling him from her thighs and on top of her. His bare shoulders are smooth and powerful as he holds himself over her, her fingers crawling over the taut muscles feverently, his hair falling in his face once again. He looks at her in awe, his eyes wide and cheeks flushed- like it was his greatest pleasure to bathe her in ecstacy. She can’t help but pull his face to hers and press her lips against his. That’s all it takes to start the mini sun forming and twisting inside her again. Her lips move to his neck as her hands trace over his panelled stomach and pop the button of his jeans.

          “Fuck, y/n, baby are you sure?” He hisses slightly, sucking in some air as she wraps her hand around him, squeezing lightly. 

          She starts to nod before stopping herself, the words clawing at her throat, “yes Rafe, I’m sure. I need you.”

She’s ready to beg if she has to, her fingers squeezing again, her cheeks heating when he murmurs her name again. She’s never been one for drugs but the way he says her name? Oh, she’s hopelessly addicted.

          He looks at her and for the first time tonight he looks a little unsure of himself. “I don’t want to hurt you, baby.”

          Her heart flutters in her chest at his words. “You have to, please. I don’t want anyone else to do it. Only you.”

         His eyes flash, his hand moving to grab her jaw. “No one else is ever going to fucking touch you, you hear me?”

         She bites back the smile before it takes over her entire face, instead choosing to say the one thing she knows he needs to hear the most right now. Her hands slide over his chest, curling over his strained shoulders and squeezing. She can almost feel her blood running through her veins- thick and hot and determined- as she says it.

          “Rafe I love you.”

          The room is silent for the first time since he walked through the door. It’s nerve wracking, to say the least. His eyes search hers thoroughly- as if trying to decide whether or not she’s telling the truth. His chest heaves, brushing hers with each labored breath. She can honestly say this is the first time she’s ever seen a shocked expression on his face. It’s quite heartbreaking, to be completely honest.

          “What did you say, baby?” His voice is barely a whisper.

          “I said I love you, Rafe Cameron.”

          He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers, “again.”

          Her brows furrow, her heart pounding. Did he not hear her? No, that can’t be right. She hadn’t stuttered, hadn’t fumbled. She was quite clear. Her heart thunders painfully, her chest aching. Does he not want to say it back?

           “Baby, please,” he opens his eyes and she gasps, the shine clear even through the darkness, “I need you to say it again. I need, fuck, I don’t know-”

           Oh. 

          Oh no, no, no. 

          “I love you,” she pushes her hands up his chest and through his hair, tugging him closer to her, a wave of something fierce flooding her body, “I love you, Rafe. I love you so much it hurts.” She presses her lips against his, biting his lip hard before releasing him, her eyes searching his face desperately, “didn’t you hear me earlier? You won! You made me fall in love with you! I am in love with you, Cameron!”

          His mouth falls open slightly and, for a moment, all she can hear again is his panting breaths, wild and hot, like an animal finally set free, “Rafe-”

          He smashes his mouth against hers, cutting off her words and replacing them with her moan- so loud she’s certain it, too, like his lips, could wake the dead. Maybe in a way her moan does. Maybe it slams through Rafe’s ears and veins and bones and makes him feel alive- makes him feel like he has a purpose, even if it’s just to bring her the greatest pleasure of her life. She can’t be sure but if the way their teeth clash together and his hands rub across her skin- like he’s trying to start a fire with his bare hands- are any indication then she could die a happy woman knowing he’s finally alive.

          “I love you.” His tongue slips into her mouth and she groans, the peppermint exploding over her senses again, “I’m in love with you.” His voice is husky- strained from something she knows she wouldn’t be able to understand- and she sighs, her chest welling with an aching longing on he can erase, “have been for way too long.”

          She’s breathless, lost in the way he says the words. It’s like he plucked each word from the sky, fished each one from the sea and pressed each together with only his hands. Each word is special. Stars and pearls and diamonds. I’ve been in love with you for way too long. She’ll never ask him for a necklace or a ring- he just ruined her wanting anything material from him- she’ll only ask that he never stops saying he loves her like it’s the only thing that matters.

          Hearing him say the words makes her light up, a passion burning through her veins that makes her crave an outlet of sinful proportions. She slips her fingers back into his jeans, this time tugging him free and pumping her fist slightly, her mind going fuzzy from how big he feels in her hands. Will this even fit? She swallows thickly, forcing her mind back to his velvety skin. He’s long and hot, searing into her hand as her thumb rolls over his tip, spreading the moisture and pulling a throaty groan from his lips.

          “Fuck, I need you baby,” he mumbles, his hand dragging down her side, his fingers slipping back inside her. 

          He curls his digits again, twisting them hastily, as if desperate to hear her soft moans again. If that’s his goal then he succeeds indefinitely, her core clenching with the slip of his name from her lips. She squeezes her hand around him, breathless from the feeling of him throbbing between her fingers, mirroring the way her body responds to his ministrations. 

          “Rafe, please,” she doesn’t know exactly what she’s begging for but she’s compelled by the way he thrusts into the palm of her hand when she says his name, “fuck me. I need you to fuck me.” 

          Saying the words make her tingle, her skin flushed and yearning. They feel so wrong in her mouth- obscenely so- but she craves the way they make him buck against her, pulling her skin between his teeth and biting. She lifts her legs and pushes her heels against his hips, trying her best to convey how hungry she is to feel completely full- not just with his fingers. Come on, Rafe, please.

          “Yeah, you want me to fuck you baby?” His mouth is on her ear now, his voice low but strong. Her belly squeezes at his words, his tone dripping with sweet torture. His thumb flicks over her clit slowly, his eyes watching every little movement she makes. It’s becoming explicitly clear just how long he’s been waiting for this moment. The thought alone makes her moan. “I can’t hear you baby. Should I fuck you right now?”

          The coil in her belly tightens further and she moans as he removes his fingers, his hand latching on to her hip. Something tells her this is Rafe Cameron at his most restrained self.

          Time for that to change.

          “I want you to fuck me, Rafey,” the nickname slips from her without hesitation, her own way of proving she’s ready for him, her pride swelling when he squeezes her tighter, “right now.”

          That’s all it takes for him to kick his jeans off, jostling her body closer to him. She groans when he runs his tip over her clit, teasing her entrance with the first true glimpses of electricity, her skin crackling and sparking wherever he meets her. By the time he finally lines himself up she feels like she’s seconds away from combusting. The flames licking at her- just barely contained under the surface of her skin- roar when he pushes in the first two inches. 

          She gasps, tasting metal in her mouth, “holy shit, Rafe.” He feels like fire inside her, like he’s burning himself into her, her body igniting from the inside out, “too big. You’re too big.”

          He chuckles and the sound is like water. No, not like water. She’s pretty sure it is water, pouring over all the parts of her that roar when he pulls out and pushes back in a few more inches; soothing her like the ocean lapping at her body on an especially hot day. It’s a fitting notion; him being her ocean. She could drown in his presence. 

          “I promise I’ll fit, baby.” 

          Because you were made for me, she fills the rest in herself.

          With a final push- one that makes her wonder if she’s supposed to taste the flames on her tongue- he bottoms out, stalling as she adjusts to him. She swallows a few times, her mouth going dry from fighting her groans of pain. She doesn’t know when her hands found his shoulders but she doesn’t think about it, she just digs her fingers into his skin, tipping her head back and squeezing her eyes shut.

          “Rafey,” she whines, her voice hoarse in the sudden silence.

          “I know, baby,” he coos back, his lips meeting her jaw and his hand massaging her side.

          The ache subsides slowly- the fire fading from inferno to smolder- and she shifts her hips, trying to find a more comfortable position and- oh.

          Oh holy shit!

          “Oh my god,” she gasps, dragging her hand across his back, sinking her nails into his skin as a wave of white hot pleasure jolts up her spine. 

          She bucks her hips against his- she has to, it feels like magic- her thighs climbing around him, her ankles crossing behind him. He laughs again, his lips brushing over her neck. He pushes one arm under her back, the other hooking around her knee, pulling her closer to him. She moans when he slides slightly inside her, stretching her in a way that makes her see stars.

          “Baby-” she clenches and he hisses- “fuck, I’m taking that as a go ahead,” he murmurs, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back into her heat, “god, you’re so tight baby. So fucking perfect.”

          He pulls out again, pushing back in a touch harder. Her toes curl when he sets a steady rhythm, his shaft meeting depths she didn’t know were possible. Her room fills with the sound of his skin slapping against hers and the little moans she can’t contain, emphasized by his own, softer groans. Every time his hips meet hers she feels that ball of fire- the sun she didn’t know existed inside her- grow a fraction. Soon it’s humming, pulsing in the pit of her stomach and begging to explode.

          Rafe pushes up on his arm, pulling her hips to stay aligned with him as his eyes devour her, his mouth falling open with a groan. The tiny sun squeezes at his hungry expression, the fire behind his eyes feeding the fire growing steadily within her. 

          “You look so pretty baby, wrapped around my cock like that,” she moans, the words fuel to her fire. “Do you like my cock, baby?” Her core squeezes and he bites his lip, his hand digging into her hip. “Someone clearly likes hearing what I have to say but can she speak?”

          Her cheeks flare with heat but the ball of fire only grows once more, “I love your cock, Rafey. It’s-” she gasps he pulls out before slamming back into her, her eyes widening from the tangible pleasure rolling through her- “it’s so good.”

          “That’s better baby. I want this whole building to hear you scream,” he growls out, snapping his hips, “to know you’re mine.” He shifts his thrusts, brushing a spot that makes her gasp, his eyes lighting up dangerously, “got it, baby.”

          “Rafe, what, I don’t under-” 

          “Trust me baby.”

          He pulls her leg up his chest, her ankle hanging from his shoulder as he picks up his thrusts. Her eyes widen as he somehow feels deeper, brushing a spot that makes her whine. He slams into her relentlessly, his fingers dancing down her leg until they find her clit, pressing down gently and circling. She moans- louder than all her other moans before- and shivers as the tiny sun pulses, the familiar feeling of ecstasy creeping over her bones again. She digs her heel into his shoulder, biting her lip and twisting her fingers in her sheets.

          “Oh fuck,” she gasps, her voice strangled.

          “That’s it baby,” Rafe encourages, his movements becoming sloppier, “louder.”

          He presses his fingers harder, his hips jutting precisely into her and all of a sudden the mini sun enters supernova, the coil in her belly snapping as her muscles squeeze deliciously, “Rafe!”

          He thrusts into her a few more times before tensing, his head thrown back with a choked moan. The sight alone is enough to make her want to do it all again but combined with the feeling of him twitching inside her, the warmth blossoming alongside his release, it’s dangerous- if she wasn’t before, she’s now painfully addicted to Rafe Cameron.

          He falls beside her, pulling out with a final, shared hiss. She reaches for him automatically, craving the feeling of his arms around her and his pine tree scent, now marred with the aroma of their actions. Her whole body still buzzes slightly but her limbs are weighed down with sleep, the fatigue wrapping around her bones and tugging. He pulls her against his chest, his hands sliding up and down her back, his fingers pressing into her muscles. 

          “That feels nice,” she murmurs, her voice sounding far away from her as she tries hard to chase away the blackness nipping at her vision, “I’m so sleepy now.”

          He presses his lips against her forehead, laughing lightly, “don’t fight it baby.” His voice is like a lullabye, soft and slow, pushing her closer to the brink of unconsciousness, “you’re about to have the best sleep of your damn life.”

          She hums, her eyes now closed and her face pressed against his arm, her fingers curled around his bicep, “love you, Rafey.”

          If her eyes were open she would see the way he smiles at her- the way he can’t wipe the grin off his face for fifteen minutes- and she would smile too. Her eyes aren’t open, though, so instead she has to make due with his words.

          “I love you, y/n.”

          It’s not a bad compromise. 

          The last thought the flits through her mind before she caves to the sweet call of post sex sleep is one that she tells herself she has to make sure to tell Rafe in the morning. It’s important. 

          She needs to tell him that she won.

[girlmeetsliv3]

Prince of Nothing IV

~ Part Four of Five ~

Release Date: December 19,2020 @ 12 p.m. (GMT-4)

Word Count: 18K

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything except for you…

Jeon Jungkook was the prince of everything: heaven, hell, and everything in between. His family was an enigma who came to power under mysterious circumstances and had managed to retain hold over the kingdom for centuries - even if no one knew how. There was one thing that Jungkook wanted though, something that could never be his: you. A nobody. A girl with no title. No land. Just money and a pure soul to your name. Jeon Jungkook would’ve never spared a look your way, had that incident not occurred. Now you find yourself the target of his affection and the most hated woman in all the land. Which will kill you first?

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid, as well as implied, descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

“No.”

           YN’s eyes widen in shock before she tries to cover it up. “No?” What do you mean no? YN was so certain that Jungkook wouldn’t hesitate to jump at the chance - proving her point.

           Jungkook’s hands trailed up the side of her body, fingers gently dancing across her torso until they reached her neck where they settled on either side of her neck. The tense skin was massaged with such efficacy that YN couldn’t help the way her eyes rolled back. He observed this reaction with a smile on his face, then tentatively his lips brushed hers. From where his hands were placed, he could feel the racing of her heart. He could feel how the blood rushed through the veins - his blood, what little of it she had swallowed making its way home. Their kiss, if it could count as that, lasted only a few moments. Yet it was enough for Jungkook.

           “No, I won’t sleep with you.”

           In a second all hope leaves YN, if she couldn’t distract Jungkook with sex if it wasn’t truly all he wanted then what? Seeing her downtrodden expression Jungkook chuckled then he pulled YN in closer, hands sliding down towards the back of her dress. “I won’t sleep with you darling, but I will make love to you and fuck you if that’s what you want.” Before his words could even sink in, Jungkook used his strength to rip her dress open. Exposing all but her chest which lay pressed against the prince’s.

           “Your wager?” YN asked again, unwilling to let him have the upper hand. Not when so much was on the line.

           Jungkook chuckled, “Oh darling, how you never fail to amaze me.” Seeing her stone cold expression he acquiesced. “If I win you’ll be the mother of my child.” Aware of what would follow, Jungkook crashed his lips onto YN’s soft plump ones, not giving her a chance to change her opinion. What followed suit would cement their unspoken future and cause great suffering to many.

           “The prince?” Soojin’s lips were puckered, chin wrinkling in the way a child’s might when tasting something sour. The maids around her stood perfectly still barely breathing, they were too familiar with the expression on the princess’ face. Having been by her side for longer than she could remember they could recognize the pouty lips, furrowed brows, hooded eyes, and the pulsing vein in her temple. It signified a tantrum was incoming - surely to be the worst they had suffered as of yet. “Well?!” Soojin’s voice raised almost into a shrill. The typically refined Soojin had lost all of her demeanor in the past couple of days. Though the bruising around her neck had faded, the one around her heart had not and the ugly scarring it would leave was sure to affect not only her but everyone around her.

           Finally one of the maids stepped forward, bowing deeply demonstrating her submissiveness to the lioness in front of her. As if that ever spared prey from being eaten. “My apologies, my lady. The prince is still not out.”

           The scream that tore out of Soojin was guttural in nature, More like a growl than anything else. Though the tantrum lasted quite a while very few of the staff were harmed, and at that very minimally, the same could not be said for the princess’ chambers which were left in such shambles the entirety of the furniture had to be discarded. Yet it was not the thousands of dollars lost, nor the raging Seo striding down the hall that was to be a concern but rather her destination: the prince’s chambers - YN YLN inside them.

           Nothing spreads quicker than gossip in the palace and no one moves faster than the help, so Soojin wasn’t surprised to arrive at Jungkook’s door and see the usually present guards absent. They too would’ve been informed she was heading there and likely wanted to avoid facing the lionesses wrath. The heavy african blackwood doors had the Jeon sigils engrained in it - making it obvious who resided inside. Normally it would’ve taken a lot of effort to even open the door, it took two extremely muscular men to open it. Though in her rage, it only took a slight push from Soojin for them to slam open.

           Soojin expected a lot upon entering: to find her lover and his mistress entangled in the sheets putting on a show for anyone. Clothes scattered all around, champagne bottles, and wicked smiles placed on both their faces to taunt her. Instead the room was pristinely clean, bed made, and Jungkook was buttoning his shirt. “Can I help you with anything?” He asked, voice with a hint of roughness to it. They way it typically did after he had sex. The only thing that gave away his infidelity was the unkemptness of his hair and the slightest hint of a bruise around his neck. Soojin scoffs, incredulously that he would do this to her after everything - after all his promises.

           “Four days...I haven’t seen you in four fucking days!” Soojin no longer cared for maintaining appearances in front of Jungkook. Clearly he held no care for them.

           Jungkook sighed, leaning on the bed to put on his boots and tie them. “Frankly I don’t see what you’re so upset about. What I do with my lover has nothing to do with you.”

           “Your lover,” Soojin couldn’t help the sardonic smile that broke out on her face. “Have you no shame?! Parading your whore around in front of everyone while I look like a fool.”

           “You looking like a fool has nothing to do with me.” He chuckled, the vase Soojin threw his way was easily caught by Jungkook. The prince gently placed it beside him on the soft bed.

           Soojin’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly, she could feel the rage growing inside her. If Jungkook was ice then she was fire. It was just like when she was younger - the fire would grow and spread consuming everything that stood in its path. In this instance, an insolent little girl who sought herself better than a princess queen. “I won’t be held responsible for the consequences that befall YN due to your reckless actions.” At that the prince stilled, the air in the room suddenly becoming frigid as goosebumps rose on Soojin’s skin.

           “And I won’t be held responsible for the consequences that befall you if anything were to happen to YN.”

             “So you see your majesty, it would be reckless to allow this liaison to continue. Though I understand the prince has needs and would never dare interfere in his private affairs, this isn’t just about him. It’s about the needs of the crown.” Soojin despised king Jeon the II, she found the old man unnerving. Everytime his coal black eyes met hers, she felt the king saw through every facade and deep inside her soul. She assumed that is what had allowed him to maintain power even when his commanders, alliances, and sanity slipped his hands. Jeon exuded power, but his was strong and sturdy like a stone. His son’s power though was like water: constant, changing, tranquil, and tempestuous. Even hard stone was no match for the power of the sea. Everyone was aware of it, even the king in his fleeting reason, knew the time for a shift was rapidly approaching. Soojin couldn’t wait to get rid of the old haggard. To get rid of his lingering glances. Still she knew when to play her cards right, the only person to force Jungkook to submit would be his dear old dad.

           “You are right my child. Jungkook is far too reckless to take a Kim for a whore. It's enough that I allow one Kim to remain in my court - but two and the people may believe I am beginning to slip.” His voice was harsh, the laugh sounding more like a croak. The kind an old toad might make.

Soojin had to resist the urge to grimace, “Nonsense your majesty. No one would ever believe that. Everyone is aware that your reign is far from its end.” Which is exactly why once YN was out of her way, Soojin would make sure to get rid of him. She could hardly be queen if her husband wasn’t on the throne. The king may be the head, but everyone knows the queen is the neck.

           “Oh my darling, I am well aware that you have always been on the side of the crown unlike many others that would use it for their own interests. Not to worry, I will make my son see reason. If he doesn’t well -”

           “I am sure he will sire. Jungkook cares for you very much and he would never disobey his father.” Soojin wondered how much venom she could spill into the world before she eventually poisoned herself. She consoled herself by remembering that she was surrounded by vipers ready to strike. No mamba can compare to the jaw of a lion. Unbeknownst to Seo Soojin, the Jeon’s were no ordinary snakes and unlike lions who massacred their preys before eating them snakes consumed their prey alive.

           “Very well.” King Jeon turned around waving over a guard, “Call my son, it is time we have a talk.” Before turning back to Soojin before him, “You are excused my child, take care of yourself.”

           “Of course your majesty, take care of yourself.”

           “Have you heard?”

           “It is the talk of the whole castle.”

           “Well do you think he’ll actually do it?”

           “He would be a fool not to, plus it isn’t like he has a choice.”

           “He’s the prince of the nation. Of course he has a choice.”

           “Not against the king he doesn’t.”

           Sana turned around, wet rag in her hand as she whipped it towards the two gossiping maids who screeched at the possibility of their garments being ruined by the dirty water. “What are the two of you yapping about?!” Sana had simply been trying to salvage what was left of YN’s garments that had been ripped to shreds by the prince. Not that it mattered, Jungkook would probably buy her even nicer dresses and it wasn’t like YN had asked her to. She had seemed so disgusted when she walked back into her rooms. Heading straight for the shower and barely even sparing Sana a glance. Not that she cared, the less she had to interact with the mistress, the better in Sana’s head. Still, appearances must be kept up for the sake of the prince. So she gritted her teeth and cheerfully declared that she would wash her clothes.

           “Wouldn’t you like to know Sana? Probably run back to your lady and tell her everything.” Irene sneered, smoothing down the front of her dress and fixing her strawberry blonde hair.

           “Please what good would that do me?” The bitch deserves everything that’s coming to her. YN had explained her side of the story to Sana long ago, but she saw through the innocent facade she played. Why would the prince ever be interested in a stupid commoner like her when he had every woman at his fingertips? No. She had seduced him, even if YN may never admit it. Sana knew she was a wolf in sheep's clothing - just like her.

           “Because without someone to report on, you’ll lose the prince’s favoritism. Or do you actually believe he cares for you?!” Irene laughed and the other maids around her began to laugh too. Sana rolled her eyes, returning to the soapy water in front of her.

           “I’m no fool. I use him just as he uses me.” But her tone wavered towards the end, which only caused others to chuckle beside her. It wasn’t until one of the girls beside her took pity and told her what was happening.

           “The prince and princess Soojin are to be wed in seven days' time.”

           YN had been pretty much left to her own devices after spending several days and nights locked up in Jungkook’s bedroom. YN wished she could say the whole experience had been unpleasant, but the disgust she felt was more towards herself than the prince. She had enjoyed it deeply - every single part of it - though she would never admit it to anyone. Not even herself. So YN bathed herself multiple times that day, scrubbing her skin until parts of it bled, then she nearly tore off her hair for every time she saw it all she could imagine was Jungkook’s hands tangled in it. Every time she viewed her hands, all she could remember was how they would entangle together. Her lips were dry and swollen from all the kissing and sucking the prince had imparted on them. YN had never felt more like a whore - never felt more like a toy. In a move that was meant to give her power over the prince, all she had done during their trysts was find herself thinking what if? What if we had met in another time? Different circumstances? Could I love him? Could he be different? What if he changed? Is he capable of change? Would I love him if he did?

           It was those thoughts that plagued YN deeply hours after she returned and she sat still in her bed. Vito curled resting on her decolletage as she envisioned a different world where Jungkook was kinder, where he hadn’t caused her so much pain. Where they had met the way one should. He would have met her brother, introduced himself and promised to care for her, Jungkook could have been perfect. YN found herself getting lost in that what if, until reality came tumbling through her door.

“I’ll fucking kill her!” The door to the bedroom had been slammed open so harshly, the entire room had shaken slightly. It had frightened Vito so much he raised defensively and even YN had been ripped away from her daydreams. Jungkook was livid pacing back and forth as Morte was coiled around his arm, perfectly still despite her master shaking violently. YN had only ever seen him like this once and even then, there hadn’t been a murderous gleam in his eyes. YN cautiously slipped down the bed, her bare feet landing on the carpet. The second she was on the ground, Jungkook swept her into his arms leaving barely any space among them. YN had no choice, but to push her palms against his chest trying to leave some space between them.

Jungkook’s arms tightened around her torso, as YN resisted, eventually Morte unwrapped herself from his arms and formed a link with Vito around both their necks. Tying them together in more ways then one. “Who are you going to kill?” YN knew, Sana had mentioned it when she had brought her clothes back up. YN hadn’t paid much attention, even in her dally she was aware the Jungkook of her dreams and the one in front of her were two distinct beings. Though a part of her longed for the other Jungkook - she wanted this one gone from her life. Jungkook leaned his head close to hers, their lips brushing and it took all of YN’s willpower not to grimace.

“My wife.”

“You can’t. You promised me you would marry her, you promised the king there’s no going back on your word.”

Jungkook chuckled, “I can’t very well marry a corpse can I? Plus, I already have a queen.”

YN shook her head, “You can’t get out of this. I only promised I’d carry your child, not that I would be your queen.”

“You don’t have a choice in this, my darling.” Jungkook smiled, his teeth snagging and softly pulling YN’s bottom one. In his eyes, YN could see the lust pooling and she found herself amazed at how quick his mood could shift.

“I would rather join my brother than wear the crown on my head.” YN whispered harshly, as her palms kept pushing against Jungkook’s torso.

“That’s funny considering your brother doesn’t have a head.” The prince’s cruel words cut straight through YN’s soul. Instantly she was brought back to the rain, her brother’s beaten body, the lifeless eyes that peered at her as his body hung from the gallows. “Oh didn’t you know. I had his head removed and stored in a box, it is my most prized possession. If it wasn’t for him, you and I would’ve never met.” All the fight left YN’s body instantly, if not for Jungkook’s arms around her, she would’ve crumbled to the ground. “I really should give him a proper burial as a thanks. Oh well, there isn’t really much left to bury anyway.” The king Jungkook faded from her memory, until all that remained was the cruel beast in front of her. He seemed to take glee in her soulless eyes for he kissed her with such frenzy that could only be imparted by the happiest of people. Meanwhile YN could feel herself fading, her last remnant of hope being extinguished.

After a while of no response the prince finally seemed to notice that state of his beloved. “YN?” His hands grabbed a hold of her cheeks and forced her to look at him, only she didn’t. Though their eyes met Jungkook knew that she wasn’t viewing him, her mind in a far away place. “YN.” His grip tightened on her, as he hoped the pain would cause any sort of reaction from her. Even if it meant she would recoil, scream, hit him, it was better than having her empty gaze pierce into him. “Answer me YN!” His fingers were digging deeply into her cheekbones, his nails leaving indents into her face. Jungkook knew he was hurting her, but he didn’t care. React damn it! Do something! Finally someone did. Vito uncoiled himself and struck Jungkook’s hand, digging his fangs deeply into the prince’s palm. It shocked him so much, he jumped away letting go of YN completely. YN fell to her feet and fell back onto the bed, she had yet to react but Vito had placed himself on his owner’s neck, hissing and ready to strike once more.

Jungkook was in such shock, he didn’t even consider the fact that the snake had attacked him. Didn’t even think about commanding Morte to reproach. Instead he cradled his hand and looked at YN in a mixture of shock and fear. The way a child would when they had just broken their favorite toy. “I-I’m -” but he couldn’t even bring himself to say the words. He wouldn’t mean them because he truly wasn’t sorry. Jungkook only regretted having gone too far and hurting YN in a way which might be irreparable. Instead of attempting to make amends, Jungkook took a deep breath and turned around leaving YN truly alone for the first time since they’d crossed paths. As he closed the bedroom doors, he waved the guards away stating the “lady needed some time alone to herself.” Certain that when he returned in the morning, YN would be back to her usual self. She had to be.

The sun would set and rise three times before YN spoke again.

On the dawn of Wednesday morning, Sana knocked on the bedroom door bringing with her a plate of food which would be left uneaten like the others before. She didn’t know what exactly had caused her mistress to regress to such a state, but figured the news of the wedding must have done so. Her heart filled with bitter jealousy at the thought, but she coaxed another perfect smile on her face. “My lady, pardon the intrusion but I have brought you food and news from the crown.” YN didn’t really acknowledge Sana’s presence, only Vito seemed to be aware of her. His red beady eyes glaring at her as his tongue sniffed the air, as if entirely sentient the snake moved its head towards the bedside table. Tentatively Sana placed the platter there before, smoothing over the front of her dress.

“The King has requested an audience in private with you, my lady.” Sana glanced over, YN had been bathed and dressed every day at the prince’s insistence much to the maid’s annoyance. Particularly because YN didn’t seem to react no matter what she was subjected to: on various occasions Sana had ‘accidentally’ placed the water too hot only to make it too cold in an attempt to find warmth. She had tugged her hair too harshly, pinched her skin whilst dressing her, and even stepped on her. Yet YN had not so much as flinched, the woman finding herself in a deep dissociative state. The only indication of reasoning Sana could see was Vito that in the past couple of days had become far more active. Hissing and bearing his fangs everytime Sana imposed any type of miniscule harm on his owner.

She must be a witch. Probably enchanted the prince as well. Sana casts a glance towards the book laying upon the vanity: the black and red book taunting her. Perhaps the book offered some insight into her, Sana had never seen such a book in her life but it looked too opulent to begin to someone as poor as YN. It could be a gift from the prince. That only infuriated her more, all Sana ever received was pats on the back and harsh love making only to be tossed aside the second he had satisfied himself.

“We must get you ready, my lady. The king must not be kept waiting.”

YN had only entered the throne room on two other instances, both signifying further entrapment, but they had been at the hands of Jungkook and Soojin. Perhaps this would go differently, though something deep inside warned her that this meeting with King Jeon wasn’t a cause for celebration. Not when he had been plotting on murdering his son and accusing her. Not when she was technically his son’s mistress and the cause of all the turmoil in court. When she entered, the King laid sitting on his throne. It stood out harshly compared to the rest of the room, being made from a rare gemstone that seemed to absorb all the light in the room. The crown perched upon his head was dark in nature too, making it all too obvious that he was the dominant one in this conversation.

“Welcome, I’ve heard a lot about you Kim YN.” King Jeon stared down at the girl before him, trying to assess who she was, what she wanted, and how he could best use her to his needs.

Bowing deeply YN spoke, her voice soft yet clear. “You summoned me, your majesty?” There was a slight tremble in her hands she tried to hide by gripping her skirt tightly.

“Ah I did. There is something I wished to speak to you about.” The King waved his hand, indicating she could rise and YN did, slowly, as to demonstrate she was no threat.

“Yes sire?” If speaking to the prince was like walking on eggshells, then speaking to Jeon was walking on the edge of an active volcano. One which could go off at any second.

“I want you to murder my son.” The King’s voice was clear, no stutter whatsoever as if he were commenting on the weather and not the assassination of his own kin.

YN struggled to speak, unsure of how to react. She was a cornered prey, with no possible way of escape. “I-I’m sorry your majesty. I d-don’t understand.” YN couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, all the stories she’d heard as a child coming back to her. How the King was cold and callous but his eyes were even colder. Dark black pools that would make the devil shiver, yet so clear they reflected whoever he was staring at - reflected their true intentions.

“Look at me Kim.”

YN obeyed, but he was too far away for her to make out the exact color of his eyes. Even then, it was quite difficult to see with the tears threatening to spill.

“You know what you must do, yes? Or what the consequences will be…”

As YN stared at him, all she could see was a cruel man that would do anything to remain in power, even spill the blood of his own son. The apple never falls far from the tree. The King’s hand tightened around the seat and YN was certain that in the next few moments he would force her to agree to     something she could never envision herself doing. Even if he was the object of her loathing and tormentor - YN could never kill Jungkook. She had to cling to the last bit of her soul that still remained.

Please someone save me.

A harsh knock was heard and the doors opened to Kim Namjoon. “Pardon the intrusion, your highness. You asked me to inform you if anything happened in the outer lands.” YN almost cried tears of joy upon being interrupted, it could have even been Jungkook and she would’ve thanked him. “Ah yes, you’re dismissed.” The King waved her away as of nothing and YN couldn’t be more glad to have his eyes off her. She bowed deeply once more before hurrying out the door, managing not to break down until the doors behind her were entirely closed.

YN didn’t know how long she spent there sat on the floor as tears streamed down her face. It wasn’t until the door creaked open once more that she wiped her face and stood up rapidly. In her haste, she stumbled somewhat but was steadied by a hand grabbing hers. “Pardon my lady.” Namjoon’s smile was soft, reassuring and YN couldn’t help reciprocating it. “Nonsense, my lord.”

           Namjoon’s other hand came to lay upon hers, encapsulating hers in a warmth YN hadn’t felt in a long time. “Have you had time to read the novel?” His brow raised inquisitively.

           “I must admit I haven’t. Things have been busy as of late.”

           His chestnut eyes were warm, “I can relate. The castle has been in such a hectic state the gardens have been left unattended.”

           Now YN was left to be confused, “Pardon?”

           Namjoon looked around as if to ensure no one was listening in, he looked so childlike at that moment YN couldn’t help but giggle. “Well, they’ve not taken care of their blossoming flower.”

           YN rolled her eyes though the smile, and the rosey dust that spread across her cheeks revealed her true feelings, “Do you have a tendency to be so brazen, my lord?”

           “Hm,” his fingers tapped gently on her hand. “Only when with an intriguing companion, my lady. Only then.”

           “I don’t see anyone like that around here.” YN stated as she casted a glance around, in the corner of her eye she caught sight of a figure lingering behind a column but they quickly vanished.

           “You must give yourself more credit my lady. Though you are right, you aren’t intriguing as of yet only queer.” It was the shift in his tone that brought YN’s attention back towards him.

           “Oh? When shall I be intriguing then?” She tilted her head coyly.

           “After you blossom of course.”  Namjoon seemed so serious, all humour vanishing from his tone. “Though whether you will be a lily or an ivy has yet to be determined.”

           “It is entirely possible I will be both.”

           “Ah, that is true.”

           The two of them simply stared at each other, before distant voices could be heard echoing through the halls. Namjoon raised her palm towards his lips, placing a tender kiss. “Excuse me, my lady. I must be going.” YN nodded before allowing Lord Kim to walk away as his words and warmth lingered with her far into the night.

           “What’s this?” Jungkook looked at the large book in Sana’s chipped hands, he never understood why she manicured them considering they would only get ruined. Still it was better than the old weathered hands most maids had, hers were soft yet bony. They lacked the thinness yet sharpness of Soojin’s but didn’t possess the roundness and frailty of YN’s. “It is lady YN’s.” Sana hated attaching the prefix. It put YN above her, yet the last time she hadn’t the prince had severely punished her. It was as Jungkook’s hands traced the letters in the front cover that he identified what was written: The Golden Ones. A sinister smile spread across his lips, perhaps I should give YN more credit. “And how exactly did lady YN come to possess such a book?” His mouth twisted, full of mirth. It was the exact same as Jungkook’s copy. Ironic that he had spent his entire life searching for it only to have been right under his nose the whole time. Perhaps assigning Sana to be a double-agent hadn’t been such a waste of time after all.

           “Lord Kim Namjoon gave it to her as a present.”

           “Did he?!” Jungkook tried to hide his disdain, though the imprint of his fingerprints was left on the wood of his desk from gripping it too harshly. Placating his growing vexation, the prince smiled. “Very well Sana. You’ve done well.” The pat he placed on her head was patronizing - it was meant to be. People like Sana only obeyed if they thought it would prove how useful they were. So long as Jungkook fed her scraps of affection and not a full course meal, she would keep coming back. “Is that all?” She asked, before quickly following it up with. “Have I not satisfied you, your highness?”

Jungkook nodded, “Oh yes. But a story book is hardly evidence.” He let his fingers tap against the wood rhythmically as if in deep thought. “I need something concrete that proves your theory.”

Sana’s smile was forced, but she nodded and bowed nonetheless head touching the ground. “Of course, I shall deliver you concrete evidence of lady YN’s betrayal.”

      “You’re being reckless Namjoon. There is no point in pursuing the girl.” Seokjin rested his head against the cherry desk. It was old yet prominent standing as the centerpiece in their strategy room. Namjoon casted a glance at the people beyond the manor walls, those rallying in clear protest against the Jeon’s and their rule. They remained both aware and unaware of his existence. Even if they were to peer at him directly, they wouldn’t be able to recognize him. Namjoon wasn’t entirely sure they could recognize Seokjin, and he was the entire face of their operation. “It would be reckless not to pursue the girl.” He refuted as he let the curtain fall back into its rightful place, walking towards Seokjin and massaging the back of his neck. Seokjin groaned, swatting Namjoon’s attempts to distract him away. This was not a matter Seokjin would simply be dissuaded on.

“There must be a reason why Jeon is so willing to risk everything for her.”

Seokjin laughed incredulously, “When has madness ever made sense?” Seokjin simply couldn’t see what the big deal was. “She is nothing but a poor child that got caught up with the Jeon’s. She’ll probably be made to bear an heir and be tossed aside like all the Jeon women are.”

Namjoon shook his head, “No, Jin. It isn’t like that. She isn’t a pawn, Jungkook is planning on making her his queen. A king is nothing without a powerful queen.” Everyone knew it. It was the reason why the Jeon empire was failing. It was the reason why Seokjin’s claim to the throne didn’t stand a chance. As Namjoon’s father had always said: men are trees but women are seeds. If Namjoon was correct about YN, then she was the final piece needed to guarantee them a checkmate. If not, win the whole game.

Namjoon had to be smart though, for if the prince caught wind of his plan it would all be over.

On the evening of Thursday, just three days until the wedding between Prince Jeon Jungkook and Princess Seo Soojin, YN laid sleeping peacefully in her bed. It was a calm evening, barely a breeze could be felt in the night sky. It was also unnaturally warm, so much so Sana had suggested to her mistress, cracking the balcony doors and windows open. But YN politely refused, afraid something would crawl in or she would grow cold. Her sleep was pleasant, it was the first time in a long time YN was not plagued by nightmares filled with her brother’s lifeless body or Jungkook’s mental games created just to  torture her. She was resting comfortably, until a slight creak caused Vito beside her to rise from his slumber and hiss suddenly. When YN’s eyes shot open, she saw two masked figures staring at her.

Her screams were quickly muffled as a cloth was forced into her throat and her body was grabbed by the two men. YN struggled against them, limbs flailing in an attempt to land any sort of blow on them. Vito too sprang to her aid, but was grabbed and thrown against the head board. Unwillingly YN was lifted and dragged off the bed. She managed to wretch an arm free and attempted  to grab onto the sheets - onto Vito - but the snake was too far away and the men were far too strong. Capturing her in their grip once again, they managed to pull her into the bathroom where YN saw that bathtub full of water, finally understanding what was happening. YN fought like never before: kicking, scratching, she even managed to get the gag out of her mouth and began biting them. If the grunts of the men were anything to go by - and the harsh way one of them yanked her hair - she had inflicted some pain on them.

“Please! Help! Someone! He -” As if she weighed nothing, YN was grabbed and dumped into the ceramic tub. Her head knocked harshly against the back and YN felt something warm trailing down her head, as she gazed up dizzily. “Please, y-you d-don’t have t-to d-do t-this.” YN begged and pleaded, tried to reason with them but they wouldn’t listen. After everything she had endured, it couldn’t end like this. After all her suffering as a child, the loss of her parents, her brother, everything she ever held true. It couldn’t possibly end like this. I don’t want to die.

Strong arms grabbed a hold on her head, pushing it under the water. YN tried to hold her breath for as long as she could, trying to get her body to calm down so as to not consume more oxygen than necessary. Even then the seconds ticked on, YN could feel her chest begin to tighten the pressure beginning to mount the second she was about to breathe in water. YN was wretched out of the water, allowed to breathe only to be shoved in once again. With little air now, YN began to panic. Eyes anxiously looking around for anything to grasp onto. Anything that would serve as a life jacket - there was nothing. Her captors moved the moonlight now reflecting their golden armor.

YN was retched upwards one final time before being plunged back in, held down there longer. YN’s vision began to become blurry, chest tightening and lungs burning as her body forced her to breathe, only instead of air water rushed in. She was burning. She could feel herself burning from the inside out. Her mouth opened as she choked on the pain, only for more water to rush in. YN felt the last pounds of her heart as her senses faded, all her memories flashed before her eyes. The last was unfamiliar to her: a lily entangled by a snake its color changing from black to white. Vito? Eventually that faded too, as YN felt herself slipping into nothingness...slipping into death.

           Baekhyung’s hands disentangled from YN’s head as he lifted her hand from the water and checked her pulse. “She’s dead.” He stated, looking at the Seo guardsman. The man raised an eyebrow before checking for himself, seemingly content. “Thank you for your help. I’m sure your aunt will compensate you greatly.” Baekhyung rolled his eyes, “Didn’t do it for her. She’s simply an eyesore.” It wasn’t necessarily true, but with YN out of the way it would certainly facilitate things. The men walked out of the bathroom and then the door, not sparing a glance towards their surroundings. For if they had, they would have found the most peculiar sight, a bloated ball python struggling for its life, water droplets escaping its mouth. It took several minutes for the ball python to give up the fight. The second Vito took his last breath, YN took her first heaving, herself out of the water and breathing in air for the first time in twenty minutes.

           YN cast a glance toward the bed where her pet snake now laid dead, before pulling herself out of the bathtub and running straight for Jeon Jungkook’s room.

             YN’s knuckles rasped harshly on the blackwood of the prince’s bedroom door. When the prince didn’t answer the first time, her knocks became more incessant until YN was pounding so harshly the wood was beginning to bend under her force. She should have cared more about drawing attention to herself, but YN had just survived an assassination attempt and knew murderers didn’t linger long enough to be caught. Finally, the door creaked open, barely a sliver but enough that YN knew Jungkook was acknowledging her, inviting her in. A part of her hesitated, unsure whether this was all another elaborate scheme done by the sadistic prince in order to have her bend to him. No, this doesn’t seem like him. The Jeon’s weren’t fond of hiding in the shadows and hiring assassins. All of their ploys were done recklessly and with an audience. Since YN hadn’t stepped in, it seems Jungkook had decided to come out. He was still in his evening wear - his eyes took in YN’s disheveled appearance and a tear streamed face. He crossed his ankles together, leaning against the door frame.

           “To what do I owe the pleasure of having you come banging on my door at this late hour?” His dark eyes met hers, “Have you finally decided to speak to me or are you going to continue this ridiculous charade?” It isn’t until he noticed the blood on her head that worry crosses over his features, raising his hand to caress her.

           YN ignored him, instead choosing to answer a different question. “Yes.”  

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

   Seo Soojin’s room, when cleaned up, was actually quite beautiful. The reds and velvets mixed nicely with the fine gold accents. Normally guests would be a cause for celebration, as very few visited Soojin these days. Soojin would have been elated to have the prince himself in her chambers any night - but not tonight. Tonight Soojin sat seated on her bed, hair laid over her shoulders in nice neat waves. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” She asked, voice hesitant as she looked around the room for anything that could serve as a weapon for Jungkook or herself. Jungkook stood in the center of the room, though he had never been in her room he held no interest in all the trinkets she had decided to adorn it with. That wasn’t why Jungkook had suddenly decided to visit, not after YN had barged into his own bedroom and clung onto him. Not after Jungkook had to persuade his beloved that she would be safe in his bed with Morte guarding her.

“Can’t a husband visit his wife in the middle of the night?”

“We are not yet wed.” Soojin was unsure of what game Jungkook was playing, her eyes sneakily stared at her door. She couldn’t see the shadow of her guard's feet.

“I would hardly think that matters when the ceremony is in a few days' time.”

Jungkook approached Soojin’s bed slowly, his footsteps careful and calculated each one of them measured to ensure the tamed lioness would see exactly where he was at any given time. As he reached the edge of her bed, Soojin leaned back to rest on the headboard allowing Jungkook to crawl onto the bed until the prince was mere inches from her. Soojin swallowed thickly, nerves eating her alive. “Plus you’ll get everything you have ever wanted…” His hand caressed Soojin’s cheek tenderly. “To be queen and bear my heir.” His soft touch turned harsh as he pulled her towards his lips. “I thought we’d get a head start.” With little hesitation their lips crashed against each other, full of hatred and passion.

In those moments of pure unadulterated lust, Soojin swore Jungkook had never looked more beautiful. His sweat caused his hair to curl towards the ends, framing his face perfectly. Despite how badly she clinged to him, his arms, his back, chest, legs, his every breath - Jungkook barely touches her. He kisses her, but it feels empty. Even when he finally does enter her, it lacked intimacy and felt robotic. The prince was harsh, demanding, and entirely selfish in his needs. Though Soojin did enjoy it thoroughly, it was clear to her that Jungkook was only searching for his own high rather than hers. Eventually the two reach their peaks, climaxing together as Jungkook fills Soojin to the brim.

Then as quickly and quietly as he arrived the prince untangled himself from Soojin. Redressing himself before leaving her room, not sparing the young princess a glance. Seo Soojin cried that night for the first time in years, memories of her youth plaguing her as she recalled the fateful day that set in motion the rest of her life.

 Thirteen year old Soojin was already a beauty to behold, even at such a young age. Despite being born a woman, she was exceptionally bright and cunning. Under different circumstances, she would’ve surely become a great inventor or even a great ruler. Sadly she was born a woman to a noble family who had long ago set their eyes on the prize of the land - a prize their only daughter could help them get. While Soojin had never met prince Jungkook, they had been engaged since she could remember. Having been raised with tales of the great Jeons and how Jungkook was the kindest and fairest prince in the land. Soojin could hardly contain her excitement at what her future might hold. The following week, she would embark to court and finally meet her beloved. Still, even at such a young age Soojin possessed little patience and great ambition. Seven days was far too long a wait.

“Come on Soojin, it is this way.” Kim Yoona yelled from far ahead, Soojin jumped over the rocks that were littered across the ravine, careful to watch her steps so as to not slip. They were deep in the forest, far from the watchful eyes of maids and guards, Soojin wasn’t afraid though. She knew the fate that would befall anyone who attempted to cause harm to a Seo. Much less the soon to be princess. Yoona had told her of a fortune teller that had apparently predicted the Jeons rise to power and the birth of the prince. She was notable throughout all the land and since hearing her tenacity for telling the future of those destined to be great, Soojin wanted hers read.

After crossing the water they trudged through more forest ground before finding a small clearing. The two girls abruptly stopped as they came face to face with an old cottage resembling something out of the fairy tales they'd read. “This must be it.” Soojin stated, marching forward once the shock wore off. There was nothing to be afraid of; she was certain of what her future would entail, she just needed the confirmation. Before Soojin could knock on the door, it was opened by a middle aged woman dressed in rags.

“Are you the witch?” Was the first thing out of Soojin’s mouth. She lay unimpressed as Yoona soon joined her side, stunned into silence.

“Are you the Seo girl?” The fortune-teller reproached, causing both young girls' eyes to widen, before the fortune-teller allowed them in. “It’s two hundred to have your fortunes read - each.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Yoona protested, but Soojin fisted the money out of her wallet before throwing it on the nearest table she found. “There, now tell me my future.”

“How about I tell you a story instead?”

Soojin rolled her eyes dramatically, “I don’t want a story. I want my future, tell it now.”

The fortune teller smiled, taking long steps before reaching a chair. She took her time sitting and making herself comfortable before finally turning towards Soojin. “Tell me child, have you ever seen a lion and snake play together?”

Soojin frowned, “What?”

“They are opposite beings in nature. Warm-blooded and cold-blooded. A union between them would never work.” The witch grabbed the pile of money and began to count it, “A lion takes several mates but always stays within his pride. A snake lives a solitary life, its only companions the flowers it lives alongside.”

“You’re making no sense!” Soojin’s hands balled into fists, as she began to raise her voice in frustration. “You’re speaking in riddles, talk clearly.”

“She means that the match won’t last.” Yoona, who had remained quiet until then, finally spoke up.

“That isn’t true!” Soojin screamed, head whipping back and forth between her friend and the witch. “Who will marry the prince if not me?! I am to be a queen. I will bear a son and become a Jeon. Our marriage will unite the kingdom and ensure prosperity for the kingdom.” The words were not her own, but those she had been raised hearing.

“Ah, a queen you will be and a son you will bear. A Jeon though is not a name that is given but granted. Read up on your history child, this union will only breed destruction.”

Soojin didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. The witch was lying to her. She simply wanted to embarrass Soojin, that's why she was making up all those lies.

Yoona excitedly pounced on the opportunity, now that Soojin was out of the picture perhaps she had a shot. “If not her then who? Who will marry the prince?”

Soojin turns to glare at her supposed friend, furious at the hope that had filled the young Yoona now that she believed Soojin to be out of the picture.

The fortune-teller looked out the window at the trees that surrounded them, “This winter has been long, but spring will come again. When it does, the flowers are always the first to bloom.”

“Flowers?” Soojin asked, at the same time that her friend drew her conclusions.

“A Kim?! I’m a Kim. Does that mean I will marry the prince?” Yoona asked excitedly, unaware of the glare now being cast her way by Soojin. Poor Kim Yoona misunderstood, her family though they held the last name, held very little power and had only managed to amass their fortune through their loyalty to the Seo’s. Something the young child, unbeknownst to her, ruined that very afternoon. Still much like young Yoona, Soojin too did not know the difference between Kims - they were those who simply possessed the name while others who were blessed with it.  When they were walking back towards their homes and Yoona accidentally slipped on the rocks and dove head first into the ravine, Soojin couldn’t bring herself to care much. If fate wants her to be with the prince, then she will surely not drown. The princess thought as she walked away and headed home preparing for her upcoming trip.

           “This winter has been long but spring will come again. When it does, meet me where the flower’s bloom.” YN had awoken alone in her bed in the morning, surprised that neither Sana nor Jungkook were around. She supposed it was a blessing in disguise for the note left on her pillow would have surely been the subject of questioning. It had taken her a while to decipher what exactly Namjoon had meant by the note, but figured that overthinking would be exactly what would be expected of her to do. So, YN headed towards her vanity but stopped cold when she realized the book was not there. I could’ve sworn… YN searched high and low through her bedroom in a manner that was discrete yet thorough. She felt eyes on her and didn’t know if they were guarding or threatening.

           Sana must’ve placed it elsewhere. It would be strange considering the maid never moved any of her stuff without explicit permission, but it certainly was a possibility. YN sighed, looking at the note once again tracing it with her finger as she pondered on what the lord’s intentions might have been in sending her that message. If it had been something unimportant, he surely would have communicated through his staff. It was the way of the palace. If it was urgent, Kim Namjoon would have come himself. No, this was something different. YN’s eyes danced once more on the small piece of paper, observing carefully as if the paper would suddenly reveal a secret to her, that was for her eyes only.

           “Where the flowers bloom…” What flowers? YN’s eyes widened as she recalled something her late mother had taught her. YN had been too young to remember much of her parents, even the few memories she did have were obscured. She did remember her mother always plotting lilies though, it was the only thing that she had been able to cultivate while they lived in the harsh areas of the city. Their garden, if it could be called that, had been barely a meter long. Though their father insisted that she try to grow vegetables, because they were always so expensive at the market, she only grew lilies. Even if they always died. Lilies were delicate beings and required extreme care and stable environments - something YN hadn’t known much of growing up. There was another thing about YN’s mother’s garden: she always complained about the ivy weed that threatened to consume it.

Where flower’s bloom? Lilies required care, attention, and warmth. It needed round the clock observation. An ivy, on the contrary, could potentially grow in any type of environment even the most inhospitable ones. The passage ways!

 It seems Jungkook had kept his promise of locking up the passageway, but YN had figured it couldn’t be the only one. Certainly a castle this old and large must have various entries and exits privy only to those who reside in them. So YN looked in the most obvious place she could think of. It wasn’t difficult to gain access to Jungkook’s bedroom, and the palace had been fairly empty as of late so there weren’t many lingering around. It was rather difficult though to escape the eyes she felt. Jungkook had promised her a brand new security detail, though she had assumed he meant guards. Now she was uncertain. Everywhere YN went she felt eyes and as she peered around the prince’s room, it was no different. Morte was nowhere to be seen but YN couldn’t be sure the snake was hiding or if she was accompanying her master.

“Psst.”

It came from behind her. YN spun around only to face the wall behind the bed. Then she heard it again, “Psst.” This time louder, as she drew nearer her eyes focused on the pattern of the dark brick wall. It was perfectly layered and symmetrical, likely thousands of years old, as the stone had long faded yet somehow kept its state. One last time the “psst” rang out and YN finally noticed that one of the bricks was slightly more pushed in than the others. It was something only noticeable since she was barely a breath away from the wall. Hesitantly, YN reached out and pressed at a large section of the wall sliding back by a few feet. Then she walked forward into the corridors making sure to close it behind, her unaware of the viper observing.

 “I was afraid you might not join me.” Kim Namjoon was not dressed in his usual attire of extravagant clothes. In fact, the old wash of his bottoms and creases on his shirt made it seem like another person when YN had first laid eyes on him, after discovering him deep in the corridors. “I have walked long and have yet to see any Ivies growing. Your clue wasn’t easy to decipher. Had I misinterpreted it, I would have headed to the gardens.” YN answered, there was something off about the lord today but she couldn’t put her finger on it. He seemed desperate to YN. “Ah, but we are at the gardens.” Namjoon replied, finger taping the wall to his left. The passageway they found themselves did in fact run alongside the palace gardens. To his left grew lilies, once planted by the great Kim when the palace was first constructed. To his right, inside the castle, ivies: tall, wild, and lethal. All planted by Jeon the I without intent.

“What is it you want my lord?” Though YN normally enjoyed conversing with Namjoon, something inside her stomach warned her that being hidden away with him would have consequences.

“Have you read the book, my lady?”

“Ah,” YN didn’t exactly know how to break it to him without possibly upsetting him. “I seem to have misplaced it.”

“Someone took it you mean.”

“Why would someone steal a book?” It was a genuine question, as Namjoon had come to that conclusion far too quickly.

“Why would someone steal you?”

So that is what he was trying to get at. YN had long grown tired of having to explain her situation and felt a bit disappointed that Namjoon would even ask. He seemed different. She should have known better. “That is the question I’ve been asking myself since I arrived.” Her tone was apathetic, as she glanced around trying to figure out how to end the conversation.

           “Surely you are not that oblivious my lady. You hold value - a true value that is rare to come by these days.”

           Now she was confused, “You make no sense.”

           Namjoon stepped closer. Even though it was just two steps, YN felt he was trying to bridge the space between them. Either to get her attention or establish dominance, she wasn’t too sure. YN held her ground. “I’m afraid I never do.” Namjoon caresses her cheek, leaning in to whisper. “You smell divine, like flowers...a Sharon rose, perhaps?” YN eyes widened. Her mind traveled to Soojin’s confrontation. “It is simply a name my lord.” Namjoon chuckled, “Yes, I suppose so. That is why there are only two true Kim’s in court.” He turned sharply on his feet and walked away, but not before spinning back just as quickly. “The help is sorted into two fields - Seo’s and Jeon’s - Sana is a Jeon, not by name but it is where her alliances lie - besides the crown.”

           The phone rang inside Min Yoongi’s study and he ignored it. Fully aware of who it was and the consequences it may bring, but the Duke couldn’t bring himself to care. Jimin was in a good mood today, splendid even, and Yoongi didn’t want to do anything that would risk that. So the phone rang for hours upon hours, jiggling harshly upon his desk much to his annoyance. He had instructed the staff to ignore it - let the man think he was out of town. Though it was a dangerous game, now far from the castle Min Yoongi found the courage he so often lacked. He was prepared to play the long game and ignore the brat, demonstrating that Yoongi was not a puppet or a butler he could have at his beck and call. When the phone finally stopped, Yoongi assumed he had won. Until the phone started ringing elsewhere: the master bedroom - Jimin’s room. Yoongi bolted out the door leaving his chair turned over and a few papers scattered. The duke ran through the hallway and burst past the doors just as Jimin put the phone to his ear. Yoongi ripped it out of his hand as gently as he could, not missing the questioning gaze of his beloved. “Hello,” his gruff voice sounding slightly out of breath from the run.

           “Hello Yoongi, I’ve been trying to reach you but it seems you’ve been too busy to pick up the phone. So I figured I would ask your darling for a favor, it’s been so long since I’ve heard from him.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened and his hands balled into a fist. “There’s been some problems with the phone lines lately, it looks like there’s a storm coming.”

           “Oh a storm is coming all right, but that is not why I contacted you Yoongi. I’m sure you’ve received the invitation by now.” He meant the wedding invitation. Yoongi had in fact received the invitation earlier that morning, to say he was surprised when he saw ‘Jeon Jungkook and Seo Soojin’ on the piece of paper would be an understatement. What of the girl? “You see there is the matter of my bachelor party.” Oh no. “While my soon to be wife is busy readying herself, I see no point in not enjoying my last night of an unwed life. So my beloved and I are headed towards your estate as we speak. I hope it isn’t too late for a party.”

             Jungkook had yet to tell her where they were headed, but he seemed in a pleasant mood something which caused YN quite a lot of concern. She was aware that the wedding was tomorrow and hadn’t found it to be a good sign that the groom was effectively leaving a day before. Though Jungkook had sworn he would marry Soojin, there had to be something else at play. A hidden pawn or move that he hadn’t yet exposed - it wouldn’t be out of character for him to somehow weasel his way out of a promise. Then again… The King was involved in this affair and Jungkook had yet to disobey his father. At least in front of her.

           “What has you so entertained?” Jungkook reached over and delicately massaged the frown between her brows. His other hand entwined in hers, fingers gently tracing over her knuckles. “Penny for your thoughts.”

           YN forced a polite smile on her face, “Simply wondering where we are going.” There was nothing to gain from speaking the truth. If her time in the castle had taught her anything it was that.

           “Hm,” the prince nodded, clearly not entirely believing her but choosing not to press the matter. “We are headed to an old friend’s place. Duke Min has agreed to host us for the evening as a farewell gift to my bachelor status.”

           The name rang a bell and the longer she dwelled on it, the clearer the person he was speaking about became. “Duke Min? As in Lady Eun’s lover?” As in the man she had begged to spare her brother’s life? To be fair, all the charges against her brother had been dropped. It wasn't the Duke’s fault that Jungkook had manipulated everything to kill her brother regardless. You killed his lover.

Sensing the clear discomfort in her tone, Jungkook smiled. “Don’t worry my love.” He leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning her ear. “Yoongi engages in various liaisons, but only one truly holds his heart. He and I are a lot alike in that sense.”

     The Min estate was a sight to behold, though it did not compare to the grandiose nature of the palace, YN found herself enjoying it more. It was brighter, a light sky color that matched the lush greenery that surrounded it. It was much smaller than a duke’s home should be, but that was to be expected of a secondary residence - even if it was where Min mainly stayed. In front stood Min Yoongi, as well as multiple staff, all different levels of anxiousness. Most thoughts revolved around the prince and what a pleasure it would be to serve his royal highness when they were so used to serving the duke and his lover. All of Yoongi’s thoughts, though, were on the girl. He longed to see her, only if to ease his curiosity. It had been so long since they had last met and Yoongi wanted to know if she had changed, what she had become. if she remained the same desperate child begging to be saved - or had transformed herself into a vicious snake.

As the carrier arrived, the driver quickly exited to open the door. Jungkook exited first with a sly smile on his face that caused most of the staff to swoon, and right behind him, wearing a simple satin high collared blue dress with a grey coat, exited YN. Her eyes cast around before they immediately dropped down. It wasn’t until Jungkook took her hand in his that she looked up, sending a blank look to the prince - which upon further inspection by the duke was filled with a mixture of contempt yet reluctance. Jungkook whispered something to her that caused her eyes to widen and she quickly looked up at Yoongi with fear in her eyes. The look mirroring one Jimin had given him the first time they had met.

It was gone rather quickly, replaced with a gentle smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Yoongi wondered if that sort of training had been cemented by Jungkook or if much like his songbird YN had learned that adapting meant surviving.

      After a brief tour of the home, the three of them had lunch though YN did not miss the fourth table set that went unused, much to the Duke’s apartments annoyance, the three then spoke in the patio for hours about politics, music, art, philosophy. Though it was more like YN was an observer than an active participant, Jungkook seemed fine about her lack of enthusiasm so long as she was draped on his lap or holding his hand. It was like she was a prize to be admired, but not engaged with. Any time she did wish to join the conversation, she would look up and meet Min Yoongi’s dark feline eyes and immediately sink back into silence. There was something about the duke that holy unnerved her, he seemed fine enough at first glance but the prince’s words kept bouncing around her head. Dinner then came and went, followed by drinks and finally it was time to retire.

“We have prepared two rooms like you asked.” Yoongi states, after waving away an approaching maid. “We hope they are to your enjoyment.” YN can’t help but feel a sense of relief at not having to share a room with Jungkook. They both excuse themselves and are guided up the stairs. Once the maid leaves, YN goes to enter the room but a hold on her wrist stops her. She turns back to look at Jungkook quizzically.

“Oh come on now darling, the rooms are for show.” He says amused. “It’s best not to cause an uproar the night before the wedding.” Jungkook doesn’t even give her time to respond, before he pulls her into his room and shuts the door. It is when he goes in for the kiss that YN rushes out a question that has been plaguing her all day. “Are you actually going to marry Soojin?” Jungkook stops, tilting his head to the side as if thinking over what she says. “Why? Are you jealous?” His tone is teasing, as he goes in for another kiss only to be stopped by YN once more. “You promised her you would. Promised me as well. Do you intend to keep it?”

Jungkook sighed, walking towards the bed and stripping off his clothes layer by layer. “Soojin has been my fiancé since we were children. I was always meant to wed her.” This causes YN’s chest to swell with excitement, only for it to be shattered seconds afterwards. “Still it is you who will be my queen. You did promise to wed me too recall? In exchange for protection from any more assassination attempts. Everyone always knows that first marriages are for gains and the second is for love.” He beckoned her closer, for some reason YN obeyed. Standing nearly nude in the moonlight YN once again was blinded by his beauty. He looked so much like an angel, but she knew devils could shapeshift to enticing forms.

Once again she wondered if things had been different would Jungkook have wooed her too. In another life, would she have come to love him? Would he even be interested in her? No use in thinking of what ifs. Nothing would change who Jungkook was now, just like it appeared nothing would save YN. Not as long as the prince was alive.

When YN awoke the next morning the prince was gone, the spot beside her in bed now cold. Though she couldn’t be certain it had ever been warm. She dressed and headed down stairs, surprised to find barely any staff and the duke gone as well. It’s a royal wedding of course they would all be gone. YN eyed the door and approached it, seeking an opportunity for escape. The place couldn’t possibly be as heavily guarded as the castle. YN hadn’t seen any guards or anything of the sort the day before. Just as her hand was about to grip the handle, a butler appeared startling her.

“Pardon the interruption my lady, but breakfast has been served outside in the garden.” YN smiles politely nodding before heading out towards the gardens. The gardens aren’t likely to be guarded. She could always escape into the forestry surrounding the house. As she exited the house, she caught sight of a man sitting at the table where breakfast was served. He was stunning, that was the first thing she noticed. With soft yet angled features, large lips, and delicate eyes. She must’ve been staring a long time because the man finally turned to look at her and in his eyes, YN could see a deep melancholy not dissimilar to her own.

“So you’re the prince’s whore?”

YN was taken aback by his bluntness, but squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. She wouldn’t be disrespected by someone who seemed to be in the same boat as her. So that’s what Jungkook meant. “Are you the Duke’s?”

He smiled, she could tell it wasn’t fake as humor filled his eyes. Only to quickly be replaced with sadness yet again. “I am his lover, his songbird, his whore.” The man looked forward towards the violets, “It all depends on his mood.” Then filled with mirth, “It all depends on the sex.” It was once he turned back towards her, his smile a mix of innocence and seduction that he finally stated his name. “You can call me Jimin though.” YN couldn’t help the slight smile that spread across her face, for even though she did not know what Jimin had gone through he was still surviving and that inspired her a bit.

The two of them ate in silence and merely observed the garden, breathing in the fresh air and taking in nature. YN thought this might be the first time she has ever been at peace after meeting Jungkook. It isn’t until the sun is higher in the sky, past midday or a bit before, that Jimin speaks again.

“They’re both gone. Off to the wedding it seems.” He says it with such resentment, YN can’t help but wonder if it's because he isn’t with them or Jimin dislikes weddings in general. When YN questions him, he chuckles. “No, I’m not mad. A whore isn’t welcome in a church after all.” The sly wink he sends her lets her know that she too is included in the joke. Even then, she wonders if Jimin even gets to leave at all. Suddenly Jungkook’s words when they were approaching the house pop into her head, “The Duke is fond of keeping treasures too so be sure not to catch his attention.”

“Perhaps we should have our own fun.” She says suddenly, little thought given to the consequences said action may hold for both of them.

Jimin turns to YN, eyes widened before his lips pucker into a pout. “I’m not allowed to leave and no one can go against the Duke’s wishes.”

“I outrank the Duke.” A bit of silence followed before the two of them broke out into wicked grins.

 YN had never really been in the city, the area she used to reside in where the slums were, and even then she went out so little that her memories of it were vague. Jimin seemed to have a better idea of where they were going, dragging her from fashion boutique to cafes to bars and anywhere else he could think of. He seemed so jovial as if he were a bird able to fly after so long, when he looked it at YN it was with a mixture of glee and gratitude. Even if she didn’t enjoy all the attention garnered every time Jimin pulled out Yoongi’s money, she didn’t want to break what little happiness had returned to Jimin. Especially when he had seemed so starved of it.

“Here this is for you. If you’re forced and resigned to being the prince’s whore might as well dress the part.” Jimin often called her that instead of her name, but given the lack of malice in his voice whenever he did YN couldn’t bring herself to care. He handed her a velvet box, which upon opening it possessed a silver necklace with a black gemstone and matching ring. “Jimin I can’t take this.” It was certainly expensive judging by the look of it and she felt this was his way of saying thanks. “I appreciate it but -”

Jimin rolled his eyes and took the ring out of the box and forced it onto her finger. “Don’t make this a big deal. If you look like a victim people will treat you like one, but if you look like a queen...well no one goes against a queen.” He had maneuvered his way around her and placed the necklace on her neck tying it delicately on the back. “There now you look like a queen.” His fingers brushed comfortingly on the side of her neck. YN smiled and thanked him silently. They were towards the back of a store, it was a smaller boutique, likely only being able to contain no more than twenty people inside yet it was relatively empty. The stylist had stepped into the back after offering them beverages and hadn’t returned since.

As the two new friends continued their conversation, a car pulled up to the front of the store. It was a large suburban with thick windows that were blacked out. Since Jimin had his back to the front it was YN who first noticed it, finding it peculiar. It wasn’t until the car doors opened and she saw the sigil on the driver’s side that she recognized who it belonged to. Resistance. It didn’t take her too long to grasp at why they were there. Rather quickly she gripped Jimin’s arms, “Go to the back of the store and don’t come back out until it's safe.” Rather forcefully she shoved him towards the back and Jimin spared her a glance before running to the back of the store.

Please please please. YN didn’t know exactly what she was asking for, but it was the only thing that occurred to her. Five burly men entered the store all setting their sights on her immediately. “Hello, Kim YN. Our leader would like to speak with you.”

“I’m Kim Seokjin, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The words couldn’t be any more of a farce, but Seokjin was nothing if not civil and polite. The smile forced onto his face was entirely charismatic and swayed anyone that looked it at. While being a good leader was important, good looks also aided Seokjin in staking his claim on the throne. Though people swore loyalty to the Kim’s and claimed to despise the Jeon’s, no one would rally behind an ugly person not when their prince looked like a fallen angel. “I’ve been told quite a lot about you. I am sorry that we have had to meet under these circumstances, but it isn’t very often the prince lets his most prized possession out of his sights.”

Truth was he could have waited, but Seokjin wanted to see her. Wanted to know what had captured not just the prince’s attention, but Namjoon’s as well. Now that YN was in front of him he saw nothing that could explain it. She’s rather plain looking. Not only that but she sat perfectly straight in her chair refusing to engage in any conversation at all. Her lips were pursed, face stoic, and eyes observed everything at a clinical distance. She acts like a Jeon that’s for sure. Well if she wasn’t going to reply might as well continue, “I am sure you have first hand experience of how cruel the Jeon’s can be. They are cold, cunning, and utilize dark arts to keep their power. They took what was once a great country, with wealth and happiness to go around and have hogged it all to the point were most of the population lives in extreme hunger and despair.”

“Have you ever gone hungry?” YN’s soft voice spoke out, barely above a whisper yet it captured all of Seokjin’s attention. “It seems strange to me to hear about hunger and despair from a man who has never experienced it in his life.”

Seokjin was taken aback, but kept his calm. “I have faced much despair in my life, but it would take too long to go into detail about it. Plus I am not fond of comparing traumas.”

“What dark arts do you speak of? I’ve never heard of the Jeon’s performing dark arts.” That was a lie, but YN was baiting him. Plus if Seokjin had useful information that could help her escape Jungkook then she was willing to do anything.

Seokjin smiled, “A group of less than a hundred men stormed a castle full of guards, nobility, and the royal family and within an hour had slaughtered them all and taken control. Of course, it was magic.”

So he knows nothing. YN remained quiet, she observed Kim Seokjin the way one might a potential threat. Even if he had yet to attack or make his intentions clear, the only person YN had met that hadn’t attempted to coerce her or hurt her had been Jimin. The odds weren’t in her favor. Even Namjoon whom she had thought of as a friend had acted strange the last time they met. “Unless there is something you know. Which may help us restore the imbalance of power and return things back to their harmonious state.”

It was clear neither were buying what the other was selling and it was only a matter of time before that truth became obvious to the two of them.

“What I am trying to get at my lady is, it would not only benefit the kingdom but you as well if you -” Before Seokjin could finish his pitch, the doors of his office slammed open and in strolled Kim Namjoon decked in a royal blue blazer with matching top and cream pants, he looked like a leader and with the way he regarded Seokjin it was clear which one of them truly called the shots. “I learned you kidnapped Lady Kim when I specifically asked you not to. Now we have both an angry prince and Duke on our hands.”

“The prince is getting married, he is far too concerned with his future bride to care where his mistress is.”

“Ah, well since you clearly know Jeon Jungkook so well explain to me then why fourteen of our allies had their families raided and imprisoned not ten minutes after you took her.”

Both Seokjin and YN froze in shock, unable to believe what they had just heard. Ten minutes? It took ten minutes for Jungkook to find out she was missing and exact his revenge when he was more than a hundred miles away. “Don’t play with me Namjoon.” Seokjin’s voice had lost all its charm and was not monotone, “This isn’t funny.” Namjoon scoffed, “They’re awaiting their sentencing and everyone knows it's the gallows for traitors.” An image of her brother’s dead body flashed before YN and she struggled to not heave. “Now go fix it.” Namjoon demanded, pointing his finger out the door. Seokjin marched out not sparing YN a look, but she could tell by the look on his face he would surely blame her for this. It’s always my fault.

YN sat stunned in silence as Namjoon ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends with frustration. She glanced towards her lap trying not to make eye contact, her hands were shaking and YN gripped her skirt in order to steady them. “I can talk him out of it.” YN wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Namjoon or herself. “He wouldn’t -”

“Yes, he would YN. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re dead already.” He muttered, before sighing and gazing at her sympathetically. “Don’t blame yourself my lady. This isn’t your fault.”

YN chuckled humorlessly, “All of this is my fault. Every death that has occurred since the prince and I crossed paths has been my fault.” Or by my hand. Lady Eun and Vito flashed before her eyes.

“Well then I shall have to start referring to you as Lady Death or Lady D for short.”

YN smiled at his attempt to lighten the mood, “Very funny my lord.” The two stared into each other's eyes for a while before YN finally broke the calm silence that had settled between them. “Is Kim Seokjin an ivy or a lily?” The smile on the lord’s face melts away before he quickly replaces it with one that doesn’t reach his eyes. There is a mask on his face that YN has only seen him wear around others before and she smurmises what it must mean - Namjoon finally sees her as a threat.

“He is a Kim with a stake to the throne, one of the last remaining ones.” He walks towards a leather seat right across from where she is. Namjoon sits the way a gentleman would, reclining yet keeping his back straight and shoulders square. Head held high as his height caused him to look down at her ever so slightly. YN found herself imagining what he would look like with a crown on his head. “So what is your plan? To use Seokjin and let him die in his quest for the throne?” Her eyebrow raises as she questions whether Namjoon would be as cruel to use someone for their own personal gains, then again that seems to be the norm among the nobility.

“Seokjin won’t die.” Namjoon spoke as if this were a fact and not an optimistic delusion.

“Please don’t be foolish, my lord. The Jeons and Seo’s will wipe out any possible threat that exists to them.” YN had experienced it first hand.

“The Seo’s believe where all lunatics clinging to the past and the Jeons would never attack without solid reasoning.”

YN laughed, “The prince just executed four families without solid reasoning.”

“No,” Namjoon shook his head as disappointed she didn’t understand. “The prince executed conspirators that may have played a role in the kidnapping of a court lady and his lover.”

YN fixed him with a pointed stare, “You know the truth.”

Namjoon leans forward in his seat, “The truth doesn’t matter, tell a lie enough times it becomes the truth. People don’t want to believe the reality, they want to hear what is most convenient to them.”

“What is this truth that you are trying to tell? That Seokjin is the true heir when the Kim line has been so mixed that’s nearly impossible. Or is that little speech all you have?” YN was frustrated. Tired of being treated like a pawn in a larger game of thrones. “You seem to be under the illusion that I am completely unaware of what having a Kim king was like. I don’t like the Jeons nor the Kims, both patriarchy’s have set about ruining the kingdom each in their own way.”

“Good thing we aren’t going to have a patriarch on the throne.” He smirked.

YN’s words died on her tongue as the statement caused her to pause. It unsettled, then it all began to click. Jungkook’s intense desire to make her queen, Soojin questioning her family name, Namjoon’s insistence, even her brother’s untimely death. At that moment YN longed to be anywhere else but there to be far away: back in the store with her brother, back in their childhood home with her parents, even locked back inside the palace bedrooms. At least there she knew what to expect, what future awaited her. There her status as a sister, daughter, prisoner were clear. Inside the rebel grounds  they were not, she was about as certain of her fate as she had been that night in the dungeon. “What do you mean?” The look Namjoon gave her spoke for itself. You know what he means, don’t deny it any longer. “YN,” he rose from his chair cautiously, his eyes hesitant as if unsure how she would react. For a split second, YN could see what looked like trepidation in his eyes but what would the great Lord Kim have to be afraid of? “You were never merely a pawn and it was never nearly a name.”

Soojin sat restlessly on the marriage bed, waiting for Jungkook to arrive. She was certain there were ears glued to the chamber doors and could feel eyes on her figure, yet she couldn’t tell where they came from. The wedding had been a spectacle if a little small, but she supposed it would help cement her image as a humble princess. It wasn’t a good look to waste millions on a wedding when the country’s poor were starving. Her knees were tucked into her chamise as the cold air in the room nipped at her skin, the lit fire was too far away to offer anything besides light. Though she longed to go near it, she had been told it was bad luck for the bride to step foot off the bed before the marriage had been consummated. Even if it already had been days before.

She isn’t exactly sure how long passes, but knows that it must have been a while since the cold nipping at her had long seeped into her bones and was now causing her to shiver. The silk bedding offered little protection. More time passed and Soojin found herself dozing off, the new moon high in the sky before she was awoken by the ringing of a bell. It announced that someone wished to enter the room and Soojin gave her permission. A young maid entered, hair tucked tightly into a bun as she bowed deeply. She looked familiar to the princess and she racked her brain trying to find her name before finally recalling, Ah yes, Sana. The whore’s maid. Soojin didn’t think much of it, since YN was no longer in the castle and posed no threat to her. She regarded the maid civilly.

“What is it?”

“I apologize, your highness, the prince has left the castle for the city and it seems he will not be returning before tomorrow.”

Soojin laughed, to her it must have been a joke. Surely Jungkook would not leave on their wedding night to be with his mistress when his wife was right there. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth and realized she was not only laughing, but crying as well. Finally Sana looked up at her, eyes filled with pity and any sadness in Soojin turned to rage. I see. YN had sent her maid to taunt her, to show that even though Soojin was queen Jungkook still belonged to her. Soojin raised her hand to strike the maid, when a sudden sharp pain from her abdomen caused her to fall over.

“Princess?!” Sana rushed to her help, only to be pushed away by Soojin. “Leave! Lock the doors! I don’t want anyone to see me!” She roared like a lioness and Sana backed away, bowed in submission. It was once she heard the small ‘click’ of the locked door that Soojin allowed the sobs to wreck through her body as the pain in her stomach worsened. What is happening to me? She raises her hand and sees small drops of water that have stuck. Soojin could not remember the last time she had cried. Perhaps it had been her sixth birthday when her father had died or perhaps it had been when her mother scolded her for crying after his death.

Nonetheless she did not have time to dwell on it for the pain she felt forced her up and had her heaving. She could feel something crawling up her throat and she tried desperately not to choke on it. I won’t give up this fight. Not after everything I’ve sacrificed. The pain was harsher than ever and it burned so much that Soojin swore it would tear itself from the inside out. She had no choice but to open her mouth and let it out. Soojin expected a lot of things to exit her: bile, the wedding cake, even flowers if she were to be honest. What she did not expect was the small baby snake in the pool of blood; which upon closer inspection by the princess was dead.

           When YN arrived at the Min house it looked deserted as if not a soul resided in it, but she knew Jungkook was waiting inside. Even far away, YN could sense the danger radiating from inside - Jungkook was sure to be infuriated and she hoped it wasn’t too late to talk him down from his anger before more innocent people lost their lives. She pushed through the front doors, not surprised to find them open, and saw Jungkook waiting for her sat upon the stairs. What did come as a shock to her was that he was still wearing his wedding clothes. Did he really come straight after? His long hair is styled back to show off his undercut, the tight fit of his suit - a grey and white jacket with matching pants and the Jeon symbol embroidered on the left breast - show off his figure nicely. When the prince catches her staring he smirks, but it does little to subdue the fire present in his eyes.

           “Oh and did the rebellion help you find your way back darling? How nice of them. Not to worry, I’ve already sent them my thanks.” Sarcasm dripped from every word, but it stoked YN’s own fury how casually he spoke about killing people. How little he cared.

           “Haven’t you killed enough?! Those poor people have nothing to do with it and you know it. Stop murdering people as a show of power.” She was seething, not being able to bear the guilt of anymore blood on her hands.

           “A display of power?” Jungkook raised his eyebrow, “If I wanted to display my power, I would have murdered every single person in that little so called rebellion. No what I did was a display of my love for you.” Even through his insanity, she could see he was being honest and that terrified her even more.

           “How do you think it looks to your people that on your wedding day, you’re more concerned with your mistress's disappearance than your own wife?” Though Jungkook didn’t care about appearances, the crown still had an image to uphold.

           Jungkook opened his mouth, letting it form a small ‘o.’ “I see you’ve been under the impression this whole time that the public knows who you are.” He smiled at her confused expression, “You see while the public is aware that I have taken a mistress, all they know is that she is a lady of the court. But the murders that occurred tonight were due to the aiding of a wanted criminal.”

           “A what?” It was not the first time that day that YN had found herself as the centerpiece in a chessboard. Except that while she had just been told she was the strongest piece - this conversation would serve as a reminder of who truly controlled the game. “Your brother was an enemy of the state, one that conspired to overthrow the throne. While normally I allow Kim Seokjin to play diliances since everyone is aware his claim is less than weak, him reaching out to you demonstrates that he is a far more threatening player than I had originally anticipated.” He shrugs, “If you ever do manage to escape you will be persecuted for your crimes against the crown.” He would throw me in a cell and let me rot to prove a point. No, it’s more than that. Jungkook is not only cornering her, but the Kims in general. A criminal can’t be a ruler.

           YN walks toward Jungkook, her stride strong and determined as she crossed the space between them to come kneel in front of him. Once they were at eye level, she tenderly cupped his cheek. Whispering softly, “Are you afraid he sought me out to get to you? Is that what this is?” Jungkook leans into her embrace, trying to steal a kiss. YN avoids him by instead brushing her lips over the shell of his ear, “After everything you have done to me I do not need outside forces to compel me to hate you.” When she pulled back, she saw something unexpected. There were tears in Jungkook’s eyes, not dissimilar to the ones that had been there when she had told him of his father’s plan. For a split second, YN found herself wondering once again what might have happened if the two of them had met in a different time. If Jungkook were not the cruel prince that he is and had not hurt her, could she love him? Or were they doomed to repeat the same brutal love story for all of eternity.

           Jungkook’s hand snapped up to grab a hold of YN’s neck and he flipped them around, caging her between the marble stairs and his own body. “It is not his interest in me or my crown that fills me with bloodlust, but rather his interest in you.” The prince’s grip was so tight, she could feel the indents of his fingers being left behind.

           Perhaps she should have waited for a better time. Perhaps YN should not have taken the bait so clearly laid out by the prince, but it had been a long day and the only person who could truly give her answers stood right in front of her. “How long?” She questions in a broken whisper. “When did you know?” Had he known this whole time and that’s why he had been stringing her along? People in the kingdom longed to go back to a time before the Jeons, but their hatred did not extend towards the prince. In their eyes he was nothing like his cruel bloodline. Jungkook drew her closer, his lips trailing up her nose bridge until he planted a kiss on her forehead. “If you're afraid my interest in you is solely due to your bloodline, don’t be afraid. Something as measly as a name wouldn’t sway my affection.” He lowered his head, to make sure they were at eye level, “besides you’ll be a Jeon soon. Whether or not you are of royal bloodline will not matter once you are queen. If anything it will legitimize your place beside me.” The smile he gave her was saccharine, full of nothing but love and adoration. As if his words were meant to comfort her, when they were only a display of how carefully he had orchestrated everything.

           “When?” YN repeated, glaring at him with so much fury Jungkook swore he should be beneath the ground.

           “After our conversation in your cell. I had Yoongi and Jimin find information about you and deliver it to me.” He drew away, leaving space between them in case his words evoked a physical reaction. “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t being fooled. Then I read about your parents, what a strange accident that seemed to be.” His finger tapped his chin mockingly. “Especially so soon after your adoption had been finalized. Then I traced your lineage only to find it didn’t exist. Since my grandfather took the throne every single person born with the surname Kim has been documented, yet you don’t exist.” His pitch raised, dramatizing his words. “Seems like someone went a long way to make a little girl from nowhere completely disappear.” The prince shrugged, as if his words had not completely shattered everything YN once knew to be true.

“That is how I knew.”

           YN lunged at him, she didn’t exactly know what had compelled her to, but she did. The strength behind said attack seemed to surprise even Jungkook. Still he looked entirely serene when she straddled and wrapped her hands around his throat, deciding to repay him for what he had done seconds before. YN squeezed with all her might. Instead of being afraid Jungkook began to laugh, maniacally so, “Honestly darling, first stabbing and now choking. What’s next, are you going to try to poison me?”

           “Morte isn’t here.” YN spat out, “There’s nothing to ensure you survive.” The prince was beginning to turn red, face swelling at the constriction of air flow, yet he kept laughing. She had begun to understand the type of power Jungkook wielded, if Morte was his lifeline like Vito was hers. Then not having the snake around made him vulnerable.

           “I don’t need a snake to keep me alive because you won’t kill me.”

           “Who says I won’t?!”

           By now hints of purple had started to seep through, he was gasping for air. “B-because i-if you d-do I’ll k-kill i-it. I’ll k-kill s-Soojin’s unborn child.”

YN stilled, but did not relinquish her grip. “You’ll be dead. You won’t be able to hurt anyone.”

           “I’m the only thing keeping her alive,” he smiled sadistically. “The second I die, Seokjin will take power and he won’t hesitate to slaughter. Or maybe it’ll be your precious Namjoon. Perhaps even Sana, she’ll be so filled with envy and rage that I didn’t impregnate her that she will poison Soojin.” He leaned forward, licking his lips. “Then it will not only be my blood on your hands, but that of an innocent child.” As his words set in, YN’s fingers slacked and Jungkook took advantage, wrapping his arms around her torso. YN stared up at him, “How could you be so cruel?” It wasn’t until she tasted the salt on her lips that she even realized she was crying.

           “I will do anything to keep us together. Whether alive or dead, you cannot escape me.”

_6 Months Later_

           “Princess, are you ready? The prince and King are waiting for you.”

           Soojin sighed, standing up from the chair she had decided to rest on and allowed the maid to guide her towards the front of the palace. There was to be a tour today, charity work where the royal family went out and pretended to care about their people. The last tour, before Soojin had known about her pregnancy had been a success, even if it had been cut short by the King’s health suddenly declining once more. Still today’s trip towards the city’s slums was sure to not be too troublesome. Just smile and nod. Her hand brushed tenderly over her large bump, it was quite big for the stage she was at and had been the cause of much speculation and rumors. Still Jungkook played the role of doting husband and soon-to-be father so well, no one would ever suspect Soojin had only seen him a handful of times since the wedding. Even less since the engagements.

           Whom Soojin had not seen at all was YN. Though it caused her nothing but glee to think the wedding and pregnancy had hurt her in some way. The princess also knew that enemies should be kept closest of all, even more than her own son. “Did YN receive my gift?” She whispered lowly, so as not to be heard. The maid nodded, “Yes, princess. It was delivered at dawn by a neutral party.” Good, then she’ll be out of our hands soon. If YN was smart she would take the chance offered by Soojin, even if it was a trap that was sure to leave her permanently out of the picture. When she arrived at the main entrance, she noted all the guards and nobility lined up to bid them farewell yet - “My son will not be joining us. He has received word of the rebellion planning an attack and I have ordered him to stay.” King Jeon barely spared her a glance before adjusting his crown and entering the car.

           Soojin grimaced, but put on a smile when entering. It’ll be fine. Just smile, nod, and make them love their future queen. The King’s days were numbered, anyone could see, that is why the rebellion was getting bolder. Staging public protests, spreading propaganda, and small planned attacks. They were building to something. Rumor had it they had infiltrated the castle and though  Kim Seokjin had always been the face, Soojin had heard through the grapevine someone else truly pulled the strings. It's ridiculous. Just a little boy playing dress up. So the princess pushed it from her mind, cradling her stomach as the car drove away into the road to embark on the journey, unaware it would be the one that would lead her straight to death.

             YN didn’t know exactly how long she had been walking, but considering the sun had just risen when she had sneaked out of the castle and was now about to set she must’ve walked a significant distance. She hadn’t brought much with her, wanting to leave before Sana brought her breakfast or Jungkook stopped by. Only a jacket, a change of shoes, some money, a map, and Jimin’s gift tucked away in case the worst happened. The blisters on her feet were surely bleeding by now, but stopping to rest was a risk YN wasn’t willing to take. Cliche as it might be, YN heard the snapping of a branch before she realized she had company. “Lady YN.” When she turned around she was greeted with Park Jinyoung and Lee Baekhyung. “The King has requested you return to the palace as soon as possible.” The guard’s faces were as stoic as YN remembered considering she had not seen them in a long time.

           He sent his lap dogs after me...wait, the king? “I believe you’re mistaken, surely the King has greater concerns than me.”

           Baekhyung smiled, “Nonsense, nothing is more important to the King than you right now. And we’ve been sent to escort you back.”

           “Or retrieve you by force if necessary.” Jinyoung added.

           YN didn’t need to look to know she was surrounded by guards, still the trip had not been useless. She had gotten what she was after and the men were none the wiser.

           “The vehicle transporting the King and princess was attacked by the rebellion. Not all made it out alive.”

           YN gasped, No. That can’t be. Before YN could dwell on it any longer, the guards grabbed her and dragged her to the car. She didn’t put up a fight, too many thoughts running through her head, but one stood out above all. Soojin can’t be dead.

             “Get it out of me!” Soojin screamed, pain wrecking her body as she contorted every which way. Several maids held her down as they tried to save her son. “Get him out of me! He’s dying! He’s killing me!” Truth is with every contraction felt, Soojin found herself becoming weaker. Her muscles ached yet felt tender, bones brittle as if made of stone, every time she breathed it felt like she was inhaling smoke. What is this?! What is going on?! “Please princess. Just push. Breathe and push.” Soojin tried to do what she said, but instead of easing the pain it only made it worse. The knife had long been discarded and the maids were now attempting to help take the baby out, but it didn’t explain the pain. “Stop it hurts! It hurts!” She cried out, feeling like she was being torn from the inside out.

           The second she realized that, Soojin swore she felt claws trace the lining of her stomach from the inside. “Get that fucking thing out of me!” He isn’t human. It isn’t human. She had long been warned of the dangers of a Jeon pregnancy, but Soojin hadn’t listened. She never listened and it would finally cause her death. I should have killed it. By now the blood spilled all over the sheets, floors, and clothes was turning a dark red. I should have killed the girl before he met her. Soojin felt her heart begin to beat slower. I should have killed the witch. Her senses weakening  as spots filled her vision. I should have killed him when I had the chance. A flash of memory came to mind: the night she had told Jungkook of her pregnancy, how delighted he seemed to have been, yet when he spoke of ‘we’ she had somehow known it wasn’t about her. He knew, he knew all this time...and all to be with her.

           “Just one final push princess and that’s it.” Soojin's smile was filled with melancholy as she gave one final push, bringing the new prince into this earth. When the child took his first breath, she took her last.

             YN stood in front of the giant throne room, she hadn’t bothered changing knowing the King would look at her with disgust no matter what she wore. Tentatively she knocked, before the doors were slammed open and YN entered her eyes to the ground displaying submission. “You requested me, your highness.” Instead of a response, she heard a babble. When her eyes snapped up YN saw what to others might be the stuff of dreams, but to her, it was her worst nightmare come true. Jungkook sat upon the throne, a heavily jeweled crown resting on his head - the Kings crown. His entire focus was on the newborn in his arm. He gazed lovingly at the small boy and even cooed at it. Jungkook was so entranced a goofy grin adorned his face as he coddled his son.

           Eventually the prince King did look up and what you saw in his eyes was an amalgamation of pure love, obsession, and insanity. “Look Mommy’s here.”

[samthemarvelfan]

Bloom for Me: One Shot

Summary: Bucky Barnes is number one on the list of people who piss you off. Good ole Cap doesn’t seem to care, and you’re sent on a mission at the behest of Dr. Banner. The tension is so thick, you could cut it with a knife. ...but what kind of tension is it, exactly?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: SMUT...with plot! Angst, and a lil dash of fluff. 18+ ONLY

A/N: SEX POLLEN FIC. I DID IT YALL. I finished a story I’ve held hostage for 3 months lol In honor of Seb’s bday...enjoy! <3

“I cannot express to you how much I’m not going to do this.” You gripe, arms crossed as you glare across the conference room at Steve.

“Ella, please—it’s less than a day. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” He scolded.

You scoffed, “I’m actually making it quite easy. Send someone else, Steve. I’m not doing it.” You stand from you seat, with all intents being to walk out the door, when you hear a chuckle.

“Told ya, Pal. That’s a $20, fair and square.” He said.

He being James Buchanan Barnes; also known as Bucky.

Also known as a pain in the fucking ass.

You stop abruptly, spinning on your heel to face them. “What was that, Barnes?” You seethe.

“It’s nothing, Ella.” Steve said to you, before turning a glare to his friend. “Drop it, Buck...” He warned.

Bucky walked over to where Steve was standing, putting both hands on his shoulders as he passed by.

“Oh, come on now, Steve. I told you she’d whine about it—that was less than 40 seconds right? I’ll take my $20.” He joked with his friend.

You stomped toward Bucky. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He laughed again. That smug, sarcastic, arrogant laugh. “Me and my pal over here like to place bets on just how much whining we’ll have to hear from you; I do anyway. This time it was ‘Let’s see how long it takes Ella to start acting like a fucking toddler.’”

Your heart hurt a bit at his words. You expect this kinda shit from him, but Steve? Does he feel that way about you, too?

“Ella he doesn’t—“

Steve tried to speak, but Bucky cut him off. “I mean anytime—anytime you’re paired of with me for a mission, you’re always tryna get out of it. You’re like a kid bargaining to not eat their vegetables.”

He stood in front of you now, towering your small frame. “Being friends isn’t a fucking job requirement. Stop acting like a spoiled brat, do the work and get out. Ain’t that right, Steve?”

You and Bucky—believe it or not, were kinda friends at one point.

He’d been one of the only people to properly welcome you to the team, and for a few weeks you were starting to get to know each other well.

Until you had your first solo mission with him. Bucky hadn’t communicated his location, despite your attempt to find him for more than 20 minutes. You needed to blow the building before the targets escaped.

Unfortunately, you forgot to clear your surroundings and you ended up held hostage by a HYDRA agent. Until Bucky burst through the room like a maniac, saving you and the mission.

Since then, he’d been distant, even cold toward you. When you did see him, the two of you couldn’t get along. Passive aggressive comments, name calling, even down right fighting during training sessions were the norm now with Bucky.

You watched the two men. Steve, who’s head was hung low with embarrassment, and Bucky, who’s smug grin you wanted to wipe against the concrete.

“Fuck this. Fuck you both.” You strained. You wanted to cry, but you wouldn’t. Not yet. Not in front of him.

As you make your way out the door, you hear Bucky call out sarcastically, “What? Was it something I said?”

“Why do you do that to her?” Steve asked him.

Bucky felt the shit-eating grin dissolving from his face. “Do what.” It was a statement, and definitely not a question.

Steve scoffed, “You know damn well what I mean, Buck. She didn’t do anything to provoke that.”

Bucky swallowed hard, avoiding his friends gaze. “She’s a fucking brat, Steve.”

Steve shook his head in disbelief, “Do you hear yourself? Would you wanna work with you?” He asked.

Bucky pushed himself from the table, “Look it’s not my fault she almost got herself killed the first time she was put in the field. So she’s got a complex about it, big whoop.”

Bucky didn’t stay to hear Steve’s lecture. Truth be told, he couldn’t stomach it.

He knows how he treats you is disgusting. The bravado he has to put on around the team makes him sick to his stomach, but it’s necessary.

When he saw your life was in danger that day, he fucking panicked. Why did he panic?

He doesn’t know. But the thought of you getting hurt...or worse, made his skin crawl. Bucky wasn’t use to feeling so attached to someone so quickly, and he hated it.

Your safety was always in the front of his mind. Wondering if you were being followed or watched or tortured or—

Stop it, Buck. Stop it. She isn’t yours to worry about. He scolded himself.

Pushing you away was the easiest part. Making you hate him was second nature, but hurting you? Making you think he hated you?

It fucking sucked.

He walked back to his room. Every intention of showering and sulking until he fell asleep, when he heard your voice through the walls.

He stood a few feet from your door, hearing everything. Stupid super soldier perks.

You were crying.

You were crying because of him.

“Fuck.” Bucky seethed through his teeth.

He doesn’t know how or when it happened, but soon he was knocking on your door.

A moment later, it swung open. You stood there, eyes red and puffy. Cheeks wet with tears, and lips swollen.

Probably from biting them like she does when she’s trying not to cry. He thought to himself.

“Come to abuse me some more?” You ask with a pain in your voice he’s never heard before.

It snatched the wind from his lungs. How long had he been making you feel this way?

“Ella, I’m—“

“Save it. I don’t want your fake apologies. Get this straight, I’m not weak.” You growl.

Bucky wonders if your trying to convince him, or yourself.

“I’ll do this mission with you. I’m not going to let you turn this team against me, but after this? We’re done. I don’t wanna hear from you ever again. I’m going to request a transfer to work at the Tower instead.”

The Tower. Manhattan. 3 hours away.

Not with me. Bucky thought.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. He didn’t want you to go, not like this. Not because of him.

“Nothing to say?” You quipped. “Thought so. Goodbye, James.” You said, and slammed the door in his face.

Bucky stepped forward, leaning his forehead against the door.

How did this get so out of hand? How did it get to the point where you’d be so desperate to be rid of his ridicule that you’d leave your home?

Bucky wasn’t sure, but he was going to fix it.

Whatever it takes.

“Make sure to keep the rebreathers on at all times.” Bruce said, closing the hologram of the building.

You nod, “So what exactly is it that makes it so toxic?”

Bruce laughed, “Toxic is a strong word—potent...that’s more fitting.”

You peering at the case file; Votum Floreant.

“Got it, anything else we should know?” You ask, eager to get the mission over with.

Bruce shook his head at you and Bucky. “Don’t thinks so. Just seal it in the case the moment you get it, and keep those rebreathers on while you’re in the jet with it. I’ll take care of it when you guys get back. It doesn’t affect me the way it would you two.”

Bucky looked confused, “If that’s the case, why the hell are we going?”

He chucked, “Its a stealth op. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but being subtle isn’t exactly my forte.”

You smiled, nudging him.

“I’ll keep coms open.” You say, exiting and heading to the flight deck on the roof.

Bucky hadn’t said two words to you since the briefing.

Good. You think.

But also, out of character.

Maybe he’d finally taken the hint that you were done being treated the way he treats you. Maybe he’d been relieved to hear you were requesting your transfer.

Maybe he really did hate you.

The thought tore at your heart in more ways than one. Before the whole mess of your first mission happened, you thought the both of you were on the same page.

The flirty looks during briefings, the waiting until it was just the two of you to have dinner or walk the grounds. The movie nights where he’d pick ones he knew only the two of you would like.

It must have just been one sided. No one feels the way you feel—felt, about him and just turns it off.

As the jet whirred into flight, you took a seat next to Bucky at the controls.

“Are you going to say anything? Or are we going to mime this whole mission.” You ask without looking at him.

He doesn’t say anything, or even look at you for that matter.

You scoff subtly, “I don’t know why I bother. I guess I’m just a glutton for punishment.”

Kicking up one leg, you keep it crooked up-right next to you, using it as a block between you and Bucky.

You’d finally landed after a painfully quiet 2 hour flight. You were securing your clips to your holster when you felt him behind you.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Bucky said suddenly.

It was almost impossible to look at him without sarcasm. “Really? What exactly did you think was going to happen? A person can only take so much, James.”

You move to walk away, but he grips you shoulder gently, turning you to face him.

“I...I didn’t like seeing you like that.” He practically whispered.

You paused before hitting the button to let the ramp down. You wanted to say something snide, but you didn’t dare give him your energy.

“Let’s go. I wanna get this over with.” You mumble, finally hitting the button.

“Payload secured. Extracting now.” Bucky spoke into the coms.

With your gloves on, and rebreather secured to your face, you open the case Bruce had given you.

“Here, put it in.” You instructed.

This...plant? No. Flower, definitely a flower, was gorgeous. Bright red and purple ombré petals with a speckled green and yellow stem. The green leaves reaching off the stem faded to a black tip. It was stunning.

Bucky reached for the pot, that’s when you noticed the plant changing.

“Whoa, whoa. Did you see that?” You ask him.

The stem looked like it was pulsing. Golden buds began blooming within the petals.

“I don’t like this. I’m calling Bruce.” You said.

You tap your ear piece. “Dr. Banner, we’ve got some strange activity. The plant is...growing? It’s morphing and producing—“

“Get it in that case now!” He shouts, “It’s sensitive you temperature. The closer you get, the more it detects your body heat. If you’re not careful, it’ll pollinate.”

“Els...” Bucky called.

The flower was almost glowing. It’s was hypnotic, drawing you to it...the both of you.

“It’s...it’s beautiful.” You say mindlessly.

“Sergeant Barnes? Do you copy?” You hear Bruce say through the coms.

He doesn’t respond and neither do you.

“It smells like you. Like...summer rain, and strawberry shortcake.” Bucky says, walking closer to the flower.

The buds are growing. They look as though they’re about to burst.

He shakes his head, breaking the trance. “Shit.” Bucky grumbles putting the pot in the case, and slamming it shut.

You’re both breathing heavily. When did you get this close to each other? You’re close enough to see the beads of sweat on Bucky’s hairline.

“S-Sorry.” You whisper, looking down.

He tilts you chin up to look at him, “Don’t be.” He whispers in reply.

The realization of your closeness to him set in again, cause you to jump back suddenly.

“I’m gonna go...watch the controls.” You mumble.

When you sit in the seat, you finally feel it. Your elevated heart rate, the slick in your skin, and the undeniable ache between your thighs.

“What the hell?” You mutter to yourself.

“I’m glad you made it home in one piece.” Dr. Banner says as you approach the door to the compound.

Behind you, Bucky wheeled the cart with the case on top of it.

“It was definitely something. What does that thing do exactly? The packet on it was pretty vague.” You ask.

Bruce hesitated, “It’s just...it’s a...it’s hard to explain.”

You quickly whip off your rebreather, enjoying the fresh air. “Try me.”

“Look out!” Bucky shouts from behind you.

In a flash you see Bruce’s face go into pure panic. No one was quick enough. The case tumbles to the ground, smashing open and exposing the plant.

Both you and Bucky rush for it. In an instants the plant glows again, pulsing quicker then before.

“Ella, no!” Bruce shouts.

You hadn’t noticed, but Bucky’s mask was off too. Neither of you looked at anything but the flower. “It’s beautiful.” You said mindlessly.

Suddenly there was a burst from the middle of it. Golden flecks of pollen floated through the air like glitter.

“Whoa.” Bucky said breathlessly.

Looking to him, he was bathed in an ethereal haze. A visible aura and smell drawing you to him, you couldn’t have looked away if you tried.

And you didn’t care.

Bucky’s eyes suddenly locked with yours, and you knew he felt it too.

You moved towards each other, before you felt yourself getting yanked back.

“Tony, get him into quarantine now!” Bruce shouted as he tugged you with him.

“No! Stop it! Bucky!” You shouted. A conscious part of your mind was being dulled; why did you need to be near Bucky so badly?

“Stark, I’m warning you! Ella! Ella!” Bucky shouted as he was picked up by Tony, wearing his Iron Man suit for safety.

You were pulled in separate directions, and brought into the compound.

2 hours. 37 minutes. 46 seconds.

That’s how long it’d been since you’d seen Bucky.

You were currently on you bed, aching with a cold sweat. Your body was screaming at you, telling you to get out and go find him.

“What’s happening to me...” you groan into the space above you.

Between your thighs was throbbing, the heat emerging from your core was unrelenting. Your nipples were so hard, they felt like they could cut glass, and a glisten of lust on your skin couldn’t be ignored anymore.

Your own fingers did nothing to alleviate the ache. Attempting to pleasure yourself was in vain, because it wasn’t just any touch you needed. You felt like you would die—surely, you would die without his touch.

You needed Bucky, and you needed him now.

Stood from your bed, and practically running to the door, you relish in the friction it caused between your legs.

Pulling and twisting the knob in every direction does nothing. Of course it doesn’t...of course they’d locked you in here.

“FRIDAY?” You practically begged.

“Yes, Miss Monroe?” The AI replied instantly.

You cleared your throat, and pressed your sweat stained forehead agains the cool wood. “Please open my door.”

“I’ve been instructed not to let you out unless it was an emergency.”

“It is,” You say quickly. “it’s an emergency.”

She didn’t respond, the door simply clicked open. You yanked it back and revealed a sweat soaked Bucky on the other side; with bloodshot eyes, and his pupils blown out.

You’re sure your breathing mirrored his. Heavy and lengthy breathes passed your lips, chests heaving in time with one another.

Neither of you spoke as he took daunting steps forward, pushing you back into your bedroom.

In a flash, the door is slammed shut, and his hands find your hips. “Need you. Have to have you.” He groaned into the crook of your neck. “Had to smell you, touch you.”

Bucky hoists you up against the wall, and you’re seated perfectly on his thigh. “Please tell you want this—need this as badly as I do.”

The friction of his sweatpants clad thigh against your core makes you moan. “Yes, yes. Bucky...James, please.”

His lips are on yours before you can think.

Tongues take purchase of one another—it’s sloppy and rushed, and you don’t care.

You grind your heat onto his thigh, surely leaving wet patches—you’re dripping after all.

“That’s is sugar, get yourself off.” He practically growled.

“Bucky.” You moan. “More. Give me more.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Your back hits you’re bed with a muted thud, and he in you again, stripping you of your bottoms. You help him, and tear your shirt from your body.

Bucky grips your ankle, and makes eye contact as he starts peppering kissed up your leg. Soft, wet kissed that felt like fire against your skin.

He suddenly hooks your legs with his arms and waits, looking at you for permission. “Can I taste you?”

You nod, swallowing thickly. Soon, Bucky’s tongue is lapping at your clit, sucking and soothing the swollen bud, eating you like it was the man’s last meal.

“James, oh my...don’t stop.” You moan, raking your fingers through his hair.

Bucky hold your hips down, and your orgasm hits you like a truck. Cumming all over his face, but he doesn’t stop, he works you through it until your shaking.

“You taste like heaven, but now I need to be inside you.” He kissed you again, and you taste your juices on his stubble.

With new confidence, you push him back on the bed, and climb on top, lining him up with your entrance. In a smooth stroke, his entire length is in you. You gasp at the stretch, not expecting it.

“Look at you, sugar. Taking my cock so well, that’s it baby,” he croons as you start to ride him. “Take every inch, all for you, doll.”

You grind onto his cock, finding the perfect angle to meet your most sensitive spot.

“Oh, James.” You moan, throwing your head back.

“So tight, perfect. Mine, all mine.” He grunts, sitting up to kiss your chest. He swirls his tongue around each nipple, driving you mad.

You feel that rubber band stretching in your core, and Bucky feels it too.

He picks up his pace, thrusting up into you harder and faster until your seeing stars. Bucky repeats your name like a prayer on his lips until he stills, spilling his warmth inside of you, biting down on your chest as he came.

With the last scrap of energy you had, you roll off of him. Neither of you speak for a few minutes, you simply let your breathing return to normal.

“So that’s what that plant does.” Bucky says jokingly.

You throw your hands over your eyes, “I can’t believe we just did that.”

The mattress dips as you feel Bucky turn to face you. “Don’t get all shy on me now, Els.”

You move your hands, but refuse to look at him. Vulnerable is the last thing you want to be in front of Bucky Barnes.

Bucky’s hand finds your cheek, “Hey, I’m serious, talk to me.”

The sigh that you release is one of nerve and exhaustion. “What’s there to talk about? How I was just fucked into oblivion by a guy that hates my guts? That the only reason we’re in this bed together is because of some toxic plant that messed with our brains? There you go, there’s your talk.”

“I don’t hate you.” He says on the heels of your speech.

You laugh, full on chuckle. “Okay, Barnes. I get it, hates a strong word and all that, but you definitely don’t like me.”

Bucky swung his legs over the side of the bed, “You’re right, I don’t like you. I’m pretty sure I fucking love you.”

He says it as causally and easily as anything. In fact, it comes out with such ease, you’re almost inclined to believe him.

“Right, that’s why you ignore me while we’re at the compound, or make pick on me for fun, and follow me around like a rookie in every mission we’re forced to do together.”

He stands and pulls up his shorts. “I follow you because the thought of you getting killed makes me sick to my fucking stomach. I call out mistakes because I want you to be aware of everything so that I don’t have to kill people for hurting you.”

You prop yourself up on the bed, and shield your exposed body with a sheet. Buckys hands wash over his face before landing on his hips.

“I avoid you while we’re here because if I didn’t, I’d want to spend ever second of every day with you. You’re all I fucking think about, and frankly, it’s driving me crazy.”

You smirk at his humor, he always could make you laugh.

“So what do we do now?” You ask, sitting up on your knees, and allowing the sheet to fall.

Bucky’s eyes roam your figure, and he swallows hard. “I’d like to erase all the hateful things I’ve ever said to you, but I can’t. I can only ask to get a new start, sugar. A chance—give me one chance.”

His hand find your hips, and you feel the goosebumps prickle your skin. “After all, I am the guy that just fucked you into oblivion, right?

You smirk, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on his lips. His hand cups your cheek as you pull away.

“Can we watch those old movies like we used to? Just you and me?” You mumble, looking down.

Bucky laughs, and pulls you into his warm chest, kissing the crown of your head. “You got it, honey. Just you and me.”

taglist:  @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @warmvanillafeels @star-spangled-beard-burn @ravenesque @pinknerdpanda @wintersoldierissucharide @snapcapquartet @ellen-reincarnated1967 @unlistedpond @my-drowning-in-time @supernaturalwintersoldier @kimvmarvel @roseboho @winterboobear11 @choicesloversstuff @disaffectedbarnes @igothroughphasesalot @supernaturalwintersoldier​ @miss-assembled (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

[fabricated-misslieness]

Jesse McCree x ex!deadlock gang!male reader

Jesse reuniting with his ex (technically not an ex, they never broke up but Overwatch captured Jesse and then recruited him) who got captured and recruited by Overwatch.

United AU where every playable character in the game is part of the Overwatch organization, post initial disbandment.

Requested: No

Word Count: 1,730

Warnings: slightly angsty, swearing, suggested sex, whorknee for no reason

“Jesse?” (y/n) muttered. He was being manhandled by this guy wearing a weird mask and a large black cloak, hiding any skin from anybody looking. His hands were cuffed behind his back and there was visibly no way of escape. The guy with the mask looked down at (y/n), confused as to what he’d said, before he looked back up, brushing it off. Jesse didn’t seem to have taken a notice of (y/n).

“Hey, Reaper, you’re back. How was the old gang going?” He jogged over, mainly looking at Reaper.

They talked for a bit before Jesse finally looked at him.

His eyes shined with recognition and instantly, his lips tugged into a scowl. “Something wrong, McCree?” The guy with the mask, Reaper it seemed, asked.

“No, nothing.” Jesse replied. His eyes lingered on (y/n) for a while before they turned back to Reaper.

“Just the one?” Reaper grunted a yes in return.

“So what’s in it for this guy?” He smiled again, playfully hitting (y/n) lightly on the shoulder.

If it weren’t for the blind on his mouth, (y/n) would’ve started cursing them both out.

“I’ll tell you later.” Reaper replied, pulling (y/n) along the Overwatch headquarters.

Reaper and Jesse engaged in small talk, both purposely avoiding the topic of the Deadlock member currently being held captive by Reaper. The conversation was mainly Jesse telling Reaper events that had happened while he was gone, Reaper not really incorporating into the conversation.

(y/n) was led into this room with a one-sided window on one of the walls. There were two chairs in front of each other and a table in the middle. The room was definitely an interrogation room.

Reaper put him down on the chair, cuffing his arms to the table, and then he left, shutting the door behind him.

Ten minutes later, the door opened, and Jesse came in. He sat down in front of (y/n), wearing some strange blue-tinted glasses.

“The name’s McCree. What’s yours?”

(y/n) raised an eyebrow, using his fingers to point at the mask covering his mouth. Jesse let out a hearty laugh, “Sorry.” He took the mask off (y/n)’s face.

“Can’t you tell, McCree?” (y/n) asked, scowl on his lips. His tone was bitter and his brows were furrowed.

Jesse’s lips pulled into a playful smirk, “I’m sorry, were you some Deadlock grunt I didn’t know?”

“Don’t tell me you--” (y/n) interrupted himself, feeling deadly close to crying.

“What was that, darling?”

That nickname. It was something Jesse always called him, but then again it was something he always called everyone as part of his accent.

(y/n) grunted, gulping down his feelings. “(y/n).”

“You see, darling? That was a nice start.”

“Now,”

Jesse interrogated (y/n) as if they didn’t know each other, as if they hadn’t dated before, as if they hadn’t promised to spend the rest of their days together, however long they had left.

(y/n) didn’t let out any hints or anything when Jesse asked, he didn’t let a single word spill from his lips.

Jesse sighed, eyes locking with (y/n)’s. For a second, (y/n) thought they were full of love and longing. Maybe he did remember him after all.

“Is it because my friends are behind that window?”

(y/n) only raised a brow. Jesse sighed once again, sending a gesture towards the window. “Ok, they’re gone.” He said after a few minutes.

(y/n) finally spoke, eyebrow still raised, “How can I believe you?”

“Baby, I’m not lying.”

Ok, that nickname wasn’t a part of his accent, but it was still plausible that he was just calling him that to ‘loosen up’ or something else.

(y/n) frowned, his emotions were starting to show in his eyes.

Two minutes of awkward silence ensued. Jesse held a pleading face, staring at (y/n) with the eyes he fell in love with.

“I love you.”

Tears pricked (y/n)’s eyes, and he tried blinking them out.

Those three words were full of emotion, full of the love that never faded in those years they spent apart.

“Jesse, I--” (y/n) started, but he was interrupted by Jesse pulling him into a kiss over the small table. The glasses nearly crashed with (y/n)’s face but they hung just a few centimeters away from him.

When they pulled back they both had to take a sharp breath. The kiss was longing and passionate, full of the love that never faltered over the years.

“Are they really-” (y/n) was interrupted again by another kiss, one much shorter and less breath-taking but still as loving and passionate.

“Yeah, they are.” Jesse stated, pulling off the blue-tinted glasses.

(y/n) assumed their purpose was for him to be able to see through the one-sided window.

“I..” Jesse started, but he cut himself off by kissing (y/n) again for a bit of courage. It was a kiss the other could barely respond to as he’d pulled back so fast. “I missed you.. so much, but let’s keep our vows for later.” The cowboy aesthetic laughed nervously before continuing. “Reaper said you have the option for him to recruit you and have you work for us, Overwatch, rather than have you thrown into a high-security jail. What d’ya think?”

“Of course I’ll take that option.” (y/n) replied with a small laugh.

“So for our vows…” Jesse trailed off, signalling for (y/n) to continue. He looked at the other expectantly.

“I love you, Jesse.” (y/n) started. “The gang thought you were either dead or in prison. Then you show up out of nowhere, with a metal arm no less, and steal Echo from us? I didn’t know what to think.” He shook his head, trying to think of words to say.

“Well,” Jesse took (y/n)’s hand in his own metal one and fiddled with the other’s fingers, making (y/n) shudder at the coldness. “..what do you think?”

“My opinion hasn’t changed.”

Jesse smiled, fully intertwining their fingers now.

“But, Ashe has been a total bitch since you were gone. She said you deserved it. I was planning on leaving the gang with some grunts but then Ashe got captured and I became the commander.  We formed a family, Jesse. The other founding members were either gone or dead. I couldn’t just leave after that.” (y/n) sighed, thinking about the rest of the members he’d be leaving behind. “I wonder what they’ll be doing now.”

His eyes drifted off away from Jesse’s face as he thought.

“Doesn’t matter now darlin’. We’re the good guys now.” Jesse cupped (y/n)’s face with his other hand and pulled the (h/c) haired man to look at him.

They laughed a small bit before Jesse continued. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“They got Ashe too. She’s here.” (y/n) frowned and his eyebrows furrowed.

“I really don’t want to be here now.” He said, making Jesse laugh. Jesse shook his head, waving a dismissive hand.

“She’s much nicer now. Maybe not all that much to me, but I’m sure she’ll come ‘round.” (y/n) grimace at the thought of a nicer, less sassier Ashe.

“So for my vows,” (y/n) snapped back to reality, looking up at Jesse now. “I’ve missed you a whole lot. I even dropped my flirty tendencies. I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. Ashe was really surprised when I didn’t drop any flirty comments when I saw her. I asked her about how you were doing and Ashe just said that you were doing fine. That put me in a worry cause darling, you’re never just fine!”

(y/n) laughed, raising a playful brow.

“How did you handle the gang?” Jesse rubbed circles on (y/n)’s cheek, making the other lean closer into it.

“They complained about me not doing as many heists as before but they never said it to my face. We raised some cowards, Jess. Well, no. We raised them up and then Ashe put them back down. Her rules were hard, either you pay attention to her or you’re thrown out. She took absolutely no feedback.”

“Can’t imagine how hard that would’ve been.” Jesse muttered before taking (y/n)’s lips in his own again.

In the midst of their kiss, both of them heard a cough coming from the window. They turned to face Reaper, tapping his foot on the floor with arms crossed. You could just feel his raised eyebrow and frown. Reaper wore a microphone, (y/n) assumed that was what allowed the cough to be heard.

Reaper gestured for Jesse to leave and come to his room, making Jesse smile nervously. 

Jesse turned to (y/n), shrugging his shoulders and letting go.

(y/n) watched as he left the room and then to Reaper, who was still staring at him. A few minutes into the staring contest the window turned back into one sided.

“What the hell was that?!” It seemed he hadn’t taken off the microphone.

“Reaper, you got a little somethin--”

“You better get to explainin’, McCree.”

“Reaper told me to lead you to your new room, but..” Jesse gestured towards his room, giving (y/n) a wink. “I feel yours is a little too empty at the moment.”

Jesse opened the door, bowing in front of him as a gentleman would for a lady after opening her car door. “Feel free to call it home.”

(y/n) laughed, stepping in and pulling Jesse in behind him. “We could’ve decorated mine with your clothes.. on the floor.” He replied.

“Are you insinuating we would’ve done the dirty deed, darling?” Jesse said, making (y/n) raise an eyebrow.

(y/n) shrugged, laying down on Jesse’s bed, head relaxing on his hands, after taking off his shoes. “I don’t know, think what you want to think, Jess.”

“I think,” Jesse started, straddling (y/n)’s hips. “.. you weren’t the only one who missed me.”

(y/n) raised an eyebrow playfully, hands automatically moving to hold Jesse’s hips.

“But your little friend down there..” He grinded down on (y/n)’s crotch with his ass. “.. did too.”

“You weren’t wrong.” (y/n) smiled, pushing the other down lightly to lay down on his chest. “But do we have the time?”

“There’s always time for a little quickie. But we'll be welcoming you officially tomorrow so we have plenty of time for more than that. We’ve got plenty for something a little more.. intimate.” Jesse leaned down to press a teasing kiss to the corner of (y/n)’s lips.

“The rooms are soundproofed, darling.” He whispered.

“We’re having plenty of fun then.”

[criminalminds4days]

Family Matters | Chapter 5: Emily's Intervention

Hello people of tumblr!!

I hope all of you had an excellent New Year's! I got so trashed that it lasted until yesterday 🤣 I guess that makes sense considering how horrible 2020 was.

Anyway, I hope all of you had a great time and that 2021 becomes a good year for you all. Because I will be spending a lot of time with family until the 11th of this month, I have decided that I will take January to write as many chapters as possible and I will return to posting in February!

Also, I have posted the story on Wattpad, and I will be updating simultaneously.

With all that said, I hope you all enjoy chapter 5 of Family Matters 🎉🎉

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, violence and murder references, public embarrassment, and very bad jokes!

Word Count: 3.2k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @mcntsee @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @evelyncade @haylaansmi @paulaern @myfandomlife-blog

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(This gif is not mine)

Chapter 5: Emily’s Intervention

The importance of the following couple of days is the only reason our story will address them. Understanding the events that occurred is vital for the upcoming chapters that our favorite agents will face.

The following questions needed an answer:

What did Emily and Spencer talk about?

Why was Spencer so upset?

And perhaps, the most important, why was Emily at Spencer's apartment with Hunger Games Pajamas?

Well, let us do a quick rewind before we move on to the consequences of the visit of Tyler Hemingway and the answers to the questions above.

Emily opened the door to his room, a very surprised Derek and Spencer observed her. She didn't say a word until she was right in front of the two men, taking a few seconds to observe their reactions, making sure it was known she didn't come in a friendly mood.

"You, out." She said to the dark-skinned man, with no emotion, and a serious face as she pointed to the door.

"Excuse me? Emily this is my room, I don't know what-"

"I said, get out." Her tone was deadly, "now." She didn't raise her voice, but the message was clear.

"I am leaving, but it is definitely not because I am scared of you, it's simply because I have an appointment with a cup of coffee." He stood and walked towards the door, careful to avoid any close contact with her.

"Yeah, let's go." The brunette said, standing up and walking towards the door, only to be stopped by the woman.

"You, sit."

"I am sitting." He returned to the edge of his bed, "and it is definitely because you terrify me."

"Derek, if I find out you're spying on this conversation..."

"It's not like I want to know." He said quickly looking at the doctor one last time, with pity clear in his eyes and he rushed out the door making sure to close it behind him.

The man left in the room gulped before speaking again. "Am I going to die?"

"Not if you listen to me." She sat at the edge of Morgan's bed and her demeanor changed. She seemed more relaxed and even excited. That shift alone had the man planning for ways to run out the door without falling victim to Emily Prentiss. "Now, Spencie-"

"Please don't call me that."

"Fine, Baby genius." She smiled at him, in a slightly more terrifying manner than her demeanor when she arrived. "We need to talk about the situation that occurred during our drive to the hospital."

"What is there to talk about?"

"Can you explain to me, honey, why you are upset with our friend?"

"Please don't call me honey, it's somehow worse than Spencie."

"Answer. My. Question."

"I already told you guys, I'm upset that she's letting this guy walk all over her."

"See, I can't believe that, because you stated that part of the reason for your anger was that you still came after this Tyler character, so please tell me, what's that about?"

"She left me behind, remember? She didn't pick me up." He said as he played with his hands. Jumping out the window wasn't sounding so bad, even if they were on the third floor. If he calculated correctly, he could probably survive it.

"And that's all?" He nodded, and she sighed, clearly frustrated. "Let me try a different approach."

"I'm scared." He mumbled.

"Spencer Reid," she began, that smile still on her lips. "Is there anything you don't like about her?"

"Yeah, I mean, for once, she sleeps on the right side of the bed, which is my side, so when I had to sleep in the same bed as her I had to sleep on the left side! The left side Emily!"

"Did she ask you for that?"

"No, of course not. I just kind of did it."

"Okay, what else don't you like?"

"That she's so naive, she believes people always have good intentions, and she's always getting hurt because she doesn't understand that not everyone comes from an honest and good place. I mean she's a profiler and yet she falls for the same tricks over and over again. But that also means she's really empathetic, and nice which I guess is not a down falling but a virtue, so I guess I can't really say I don't like that of her."

"Interesting." Emily's smile turned more genuine. "Now, what are some of the things you like about her."

"I mean, she's a great friend, a reliable agent, and she's so funny. She has similar interests to me, and whenever we hang out there is nothing we can't talk about." A smile appeared on his face as the memories of their time together became clear in his mind. "She has this bright energy around her, and it simply pulls you towards her, I also love her clumsiness, it makes her, well her. I love when she laughs, and I love being around her, and there are these times where she'll rest her head on my shoulders or she'll accidentally brush her hand on mine and I get this feeling, that I have never-" He stopped, looking straight at Emily as he reached the same conclusion as her. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"I like her. Like really like her, don't I?"

"Yes, you do." Emily hugged him, "I am so glad you finally came to terms with it." She let go of him and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Now, what are you gonna do about it?"

"Nothing."

"WHAT?"

"I mean, she obviously doesn't feel the same, and even if she did, you know the rules. I wouldn't want to make her transfer, nor do I want to transfer."

"Spencer, you are seriously going to let the love of your life walk away simply because of your job?"

"I never said she was the love of my life." Emily rolled her eyes, "besides, we're really good friends, and I don't want to ruin that."

"Ugh, you are so dumb for a genius." He wanted to object, but she continued. "This is what we are going to do, you can take the rest of the week, to think about her, and if you two are worth the trouble. Once this case is over, I will go to your apartment and we will discuss the next steps over some glasses of wine. Those are more for me than for you because I'm gonna need a lot of patience." He furrowed his eyebrows but she didn't even register it. "Now, because of your little scene from earlier, you have some space, so use this to your advantage. Make me proud son."

"No, no. Please never call me son again. That was very disturbing."

"Well, then do the right thing." She walked out of the room, and he sat there, wishing Emily had never made him realize how he felt.

Now, ignoring her was torture, because all he could think of was her lips on his, or their hands intertwined, her laughing at something he said as they ate dinner, or watching a movie as they cuddled on her sofa. This was bad, it was a bad thing that was happening right now.

She was his friend, and even then, he still thought she had feelings for her ex-boyfriend. It was a disaster.

"So, what's your conclusion?"

That was the first thing Emily said when he opened the door. She was wearing black pajamas with the Mockingjay symbol from The Hunger Games, her hair was in a ponytail and she had a big reusable grocery bag on her shoulder that seemed full of something he couldn't quite make out, at least until he heard the glass clink and reached a pretty solid conclusion of what was in the bag.

"I need new friends."

She seemed unfazed by his comment and simply moved past him towards his living room. "No, no, please come in. I insist." He mumbled as he closed the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I told you, we need to make a game plan, but we need to hurry, we don't have much time before she arrives."

"Did you invite her?"

"No, but she's on her dinner with Tyler, and if he's as horrible as I think he is, she'll be here in about an hour or so, after realizing he just wanted to have sex with her."

She pulled a wine bottle out of her bag and roomed through his drawers to grab a wine glass and opened the bottle. "I would offer you, but I need you sober tonight."

"That just sounds so wrong."

"Don't worry about it, Doctor. Now, have you thought about your options?"

"I already told you Emily, our friendship and our jobs are not worth risking for some feelings that will most likely fade away."

"Why are smart people so dumb?" She asked no one in particular.

"First of all, that's offensive. Second, we don't know if she feels the same way, and third of all, in the extreme and highly unlikely case in which she did, the probability of us working out would be almost null."

"Spencer, I love you. I really do, but you need to learn how to read social cues. I am almost one-hundred percent sure she likes you, you've both liked each other for longer than you think, and I get it, your jobs are important, but when you decide to leave, what's gonna be waiting for you?"

He remained silent for a couple of minutes taking in her words. She stared at him, as she sipped more and more wine.

"I don't do, relationships really well. What if I lose her and then it all becomes worse?"

"What if you lose her because you're scared to 'do' relationships?"

"I hate it when you're right."

"Now, let's see, how should you tell her? We should make it a grand gesture, but we need to keep it between us." She opened the second bottle as she spoke. "Oh, I'm gonna have to be a third wheel for a really long time, but I guess I can deal with that." She kept drinking. "I am totally gonna officiate the wedding. Also, I think you need to do it soon, maybe when she comes to tell you you were right?"

"Emily, let's calm down for a minute."

"Can we watch Dance Moms?"

"No, I don't even know what that is, but it sounds awful."

"It's so good. The kids are so talented." She sighed, as if somehow proud of said kids. "Anyway, going back to your love life." She began once again and he simply tried to not scream.

A drunk Prentiss continued to increase the level of alcohol in her system while simultaneously rambling about the beautiful life they would have together. He hadn't said a word in what seemed to be an hour, but that didn't stop her, she kept speaking of possible destination weddings and how she needed to be the godparent of one of their kids, even if JJ and she had to share because she knew that JJ was Spencer's best friend before any of them had even joined. She also expressed that she had shipped the two of them, but decided against it once JJ had found Will and they had children.

"I told her I was definitely the best friend." She smiled, as the third bottle came empty. Her rambling had returned to Spencer's current crush. "And I am an amazing wing woman. I got Spencer Reid to accept his love."

"I did not say I was in love. I like her, but love is a strong word." He tried to take the bottle from her but she was fast, even under the influence. "You've been talking for almost an hour, and drinking that in record time. I'm a little concerned for you."

"I've just been trying to pass the time."

"Time for what?"

"For the show to begin." She wiggled her eyebrows, as she drank the last bit of wine left. "I'm gonna have to go get more."

"How about we talk about my feelings instead?" That was the last thing he wanted to do, granted it was also the thing she had been doing for the last hour, but if Emily got any more wasted, they were gonna have a problem tomorrow.

She smiled, but before she could try and convince him to propose, there was a knock at the door. "Right on time!" She whispered.

"What?"

"Just go open the door."

He walked towards the door and opened it slightly, only enough to make his figure known. He was so perplexed to see her standing on the other side that he forgot for a moment he was supposedly still upset with her. Though the fact that Prentiss had been right and she was at his door was making the air get caught in his lungs. Nonetheless, he maintained a neutral expression, waiting for her to speak.

"I came to tell you that you were right. He just wanted to get in pants." He stayed silent, simply observing her. She was upset, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the fact that he was right or because of something Tyler had said. "I actually thought he wanted to apologize, and I think part of me just wanted to believe that for the first time I was not being used, that people actually cared about what I felt."

"There are people that care about you, they are just not the wants you wanted to." He tried not to sound defensive but it seemed impossible. He cared about her, Emily cared about her, the whole team and her mom, even her cousin Nicole cared about her. He wanted her to see that, and maybe for it to be enough one day.

"No, they are! I thought I needed the people who wronged me to fix it, to show me that I was worth the trouble when in reality all I needed was for me to understand that I was. And I just needed a reminder that the people that care about me are the ones that should matter the most." A trace of a smile formed on his lips. He was included, at least he hoped he was, because what a wonderful life that would be. "I am so sorry about how I acted, and I am sorry I left you here waiting for me. Spencer Reid, you are my best friend and you come before any other jerk out there. I need you to know that this time in which I didn't have you with me was miserable. I missed you so much I spent the whole dinner with Tyler talking about you."

"You did?" He seemed genuinely surprised. Emily had predicted this too, and the meaning behind it. He wished he could control his emotions and not read too much into it, but the seed had been planted and now all he could think of is how to tell her he liked her. He was ready to say it, but thankfully he waited for her to finish.

"Yeah, I did. I missed you, and I hope we never fight again, I don't know what I would do without your friendship."

"I missed you too." She bit her lip, and he smiled, though he'd be lying if he said that her seeing him only as a friend was didn't hurt. Here he was, wishing to tell her that he wanted to be more than friends and she had inadvertently stopped him in his tracks. Instead of mopping and wishing to vanish, he decided that her friendship was better than anything else, and he couldn't lose that. He would get over here and she wouldn't even have to know about it. "Wanna come in and watch TV?" He asked, already taking his plan into action.

"I would love that." She smiled, Spencer was about to open the door and let her in when Emily spoke once more.

"That's good to hear, I am trying to get Spence here to watch Dance Moms with me but he refuses, maybe if there is two of us, he'll change his mind." She frowned, clearly confused by the presence of another voice, he opened the door to the view of a very drunk Emily in pajamas.  Her frown softened and she smiled again, seemingly relieved to see her. "May I say, you look hot. Blue suits you."

"So I've been told." She gave him a knowing look and he couldn't help the beat his heart skipped. This feeling was going to kill him one of these days.

"Are you sure you can handle being in that close all night though? Maybe Spencer can lend you one of his shirts." She said, winking at them. He tried not to look completely horrified by the implication that comment had due to the fact that the girl next to him had no idea it was there, but with Emily staring at him as she was, it had become a difficult task.

"Has she been drinking?"

"It's her third bottle of wine."

"We need to cut her off."

"Yeah, we do." He smiled at her, "She's right though, if you want to borrow something more comfortable let me know." The image of her in his shirt, and the idea that her smell might stay in it even after she was gone made him want to rush into his room and get it for her.

"Careful Spencer Reid, I might take you up on that." She joked, and he prayed to all the gods he knew about that she would.

"Awwww, YOU TWO ARE ADORABLE!" The woman screamed. "Just get married already!"

The pair laughed and made their way to the sofa, she closed the door behind her and sat down,  him very aware of their closeness. Emily grabbed the control and looked for the show, cheering like a little girl when she found it. Spencer felt her rest her head on his shoulder and his body immediately tensed up at the notion. He didn't really know for how long he had been feeling this way about her, but he wasn't sure he wanted to ever stop or fade away.

"Your birthday is coming up." She whispered.

"Yeah, I'm turning thirty, can you believe that?"

"You're old." He chuckled. "Do you know what you're gonna do?"

"Probably get a haircut."

"Besides that."

"I don't know. We might have a case."

"What do you want?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I need to get you something extra special for your birthday number thirty, so what do you want?"

"I don't need gits."

"You are no fun."

He had a pretty good idea of what he wanted, but he wasn't sure she was ready to hear it, or that he would ever get it. That was just life, and he had learned early on that he couldn't be greedy, he had a mom he loved, friends he could rely on, and that should be enough. Relationships were hard, feelings faded and he didn't want to be caught up in a situation where he would lose his favorite person in the world. So as he sat there, her head on his shoulders, a drunk Emily singing the themes song of the show they were watching while also giving the dancers advice, he decided that was the best he could hope for, reaffirming once again that his romantic feelings for the girl sitting next to him needed to disappear.

[silverwings22]

Let Me Go: Prologue

Trying my hand at Tumblr fanfiction! I absolutely ADORE The Mandalorian, and Din Djarin especially. I hope anyone who reads this enjoys, and I'll be updating as I edit the draft I have.

This is canon-compliant (for the most part) and following the show as we eagerly await season 3.

This fic will be mature, so please if you're under 18 click away.

It will also be featured on my AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/31770277/chapters/78641761

Series Warnings: SMUT, reference to character deaths, canon-typical violence, some dom/sub aspects if you squint, Force ghosts, adult language, Order 66, PTSD, reference to child abuse and childhood trauma, and possible misunderstandings on the writers part of how the Force works.

Chapter Warnings: Reference to severe injury, Force ghosts, childhood trauma, adult language, mentions of past sex (no description)

Next chapter: https://silverwings22.tumblr.com/post/653223455177818112/let-me-go-chapter-1

Title is based on the 3 Doors Down song "Let Me Go" and every chapter is titled with a lyric from the song.

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Prologue: One More Kiss Could Be the Best Thing

Starting over was easy.

Clumpy black goop dripped on the gray durasteel sink inside a tiny closet sized ‘fresher, the young woman inside rubbing it onto her head with gloved hands and carefully dabbing it onto her eyebrows in neat lines. Her eyes were a cool gray blue, staring into the mirror to make sure she got every bit of her short hair with the dye she worked through. The pale platinum blonde at the roots vanished, and as she worked it to the tips the faded grayish undertone darked to jet.

Once she was satisfied with her hair she wrapped it in a sheet of thin duraplastoid to keep it from dripping. She was too practiced at this by now to let the tell-tale gray marks on her skin give her away. She wiped down her hairline and ears, then stepped out into her tiny little apartment to carry on with her day. The apartment was cheap, a single room with a fresher and kitchenette attached. She’d gotten lucky, it was above a little storefront she’d managed to buy to keep herself afloat by growing and selling medicinal plants and salves made from them. She was off work for the afternoon, there was no reason to rush or see anyone, and she needed to do laundry and clean up. The grocery list needed finishing too, and she could go to the market once her hair was done.

She had been in Nevarro since just after the fall of the Empire. It was the longest she’d ever stayed in one place since she was a child, she’d actually started to know people and be recognized around town. She wouldn’t exactly call anyone friends, but it was familiar and solid as the volcanic earth beneath her feet. Almost like putting down roots... It felt odd to have those again, even if the people she interacted with didn’t know the truth from the lie. That was the beauty of the aftermath of war, though. Everything was displaced, with lives so easily wrecked there was no one to say she wasn’t exactly who she claimed to be. More importantly, there was always a handy unspoken reason to not want to talk about the past.

Speaking of which….

“How long are you going to stay here? You have obligations.” A man was standing in the corner of her apartment, in a creme colored tabard and a brown robe. He had ginger hair and a neat beard, and was faintly transparent. And not so faintly grouchy, the irritation bleeding through his cultured Coruscanti accent.

“As long as I want. Forever sounds good.” She stretched lazily out on her battered couch, curling expertly to avoid the broken spring that always wanted to dig itself into her left hip. She still had a sizeable bruise there from falling asleep on the couch a few days before, instead of going to her equally battered but less uncomfortable bed after a long day drying jorgan fruits to sweeten her medicinal teas.

“Zenaria…” He huffed. “You should have long since returned to-”

“I will rot before I go back there.'' She cut him off. “And don’t you dare think you can pull him in here to guilt me. Do you know how long it took me to stop panicking last time? I lost three days of work.” She rolled up the edge of the shorts she was wearing around the house, eying the fading circle of purple and yellow on her hip and trying to ignore her spectral guest. Her pale skin marked up so easily with the least little pressure, scars lingered for years in bright pink before they finally faded to silvery white. Her arms were more scarred than her legs from years in heavy duraweave pants and boots, and the constant exposure to some kind of danger or another.

“I’m sorry, it was never my intention to frighten you my darling.” He murmured. “I thought you needed to... Talk.”

“I don’t mind the fact that you’re haunting me, if a little confused as to why you’re bothering to waste your afterlife on my banthashit. But I never want to see him again. Not even dead. Not redeemed or whatever happened.” she said sourly, looking away from him to disguise a panicked expression with petulance. “I don’t owe him my forgiveness. I don’t owe him shit.” Her teeth gritted. “And I can’t pay you what I owe you so I don’t understand why you don’t go somewhere you’re treated nicer.”

“Dear one, aren’t you tired of running from your destiny?” his voice was so kind, actually considered for a moment the enormity of what he was asking her. Sometimes she was tired of running… but she was more tired of failing every time she tried to be anything more than mediocre.

Zena sighed, tugging up her loose shirt a little more. A round, still pinkish scar sat between her navel and sternum, about as big around as her looped index and thumb could circle. “Would you look at that? It’s still here… so nope.”

The ghostly face looked sad, and walked over to her. Well, he made the motion of walking, but he sort of glided like a holo recording until he was in front of her. “I’m so sorry, my dear girl.” She closed her eyes, feeling a cool tingling on her forehead when the spirit pressed a kiss to it. “I’ll be back to check on you soon… there’s so much you’re capable of, when you’re ready. And I’ll be here until you are.” He faded away as she opened her eyes, leaving her deflating on the couch with her hand over the ugly scar on her middle.

She looked down and eyed it again. It was a horrible reminder, but she doubted anyone she decided to let see her body would really notice; her experience with most men told her they rarely looked anywhere but the chest and apex of her thighs. Not that her sex life hadn’t been one long dry spell for the last few years… noone got laid when being haunted by a father figure. The very air turned to parental disapproval and even those who weren’t Force sensitive still noted something was off.

Pity about it, too. She’d always thought she had a nice face. Not exactly vanity, but she could admit it was symmetrical and soft featured, with expressive eyes. She kept her hair short, never longer than her shoulders, so as not to bring too much attention to it, though she couldn’t help but play around with scraps of fabric until she’d made false flowers to decorate a headband, and wore that almost every day. The bright colors stood out on her midnight black hair that she religiously touched up with dye.

She sighed, stretching herself out again and pulling her shirt down again. She found a million reasons to complain when the ghost was there… but she missed him the second he was gone. Or maybe… she missed when he’d been alive. She missed the closeness they’d shared until she’d fucked everything up. She missed making him proud of her, instead of knowing he was spending his precious afterlife waiting for her to get her shit together. And she was refusing to.

She’d spent all her life running away from what she wished she could hold in her hands one more time.

Yes, starting over was easy. It was the constant fight to destroy who you used to be that was hard.

[experiment-000]

zuko-is-straight has some pretty good zukka critisism/anti zukka stuff on her blog!

Thanks for the suggestion but I don't really want zukka hate or even criticism. I don't hate zukka as a ship it's just not my cup of tea. I'm just annoyed at how anti zutara the zukka side of the fandom seems to be. And frankly even if I did hate zukka as a ship I know it wouldn't be productive to seek out zukka hate because that would just validate my hatred and likely lead to me resenting people just for shipping it.

We need to be able to separate our feelings about ships from our feelings about the shipper. I know it's difficult there are certain ships that if someone says they ship it I immediately recoil, and even though I think it's because I really dislike the ship, I know in reality it's because of how much fans of that ship have hated on fans of my ship, and therefore how much anti their ship stuff I've seen. Arguments for why that ship is a terrible ship and why my ship us so much better.

But the thing is this is shipping fictional characters. It doesn't really matter which ship has more chemistry or which ship makes more canon sense or which ship is the least problematic because they're not real. People in one fandom likely have so many things in common because they're all in that fandom, yet we divide ourselves by shipping different things. I see so many posts saying don't interact if you ship this, this, this or this. Yet these blogs don't just post ship stuff. Shipping doesn't have to have anything to do with it. Heck I was told not to interact with a blog because I'm neutral to some ships. And this blog didn't even post shipping content generally. And yes these ships are arguably "problematic". And as a result I'm not a big fan of them. However, they're some of the most popular ships in the fandom, so much of the fanfiction features those ships. So if I see a fanfic that happens to have that ship in, but also has a very appealing plot to me, then I'll read it.

To bring it back round to zukka. Yeah I've read some zukka fanfic. If I see cute zukka art I'll like it. Same with kataang or maiko or any other atla ship. And yes I would avoid any incest or large age gaps or pedophilia or abusive relationships, and I'm still conflicted on whether or not people should be condemned for shipping these things. It's not hurting anyone because it's all fictional. But pedophilia especially is very wrong. But I do think we need to think about its definition. Pedophilia is a psychiatric disorder in which an adult or older adolescent experiences a primary or exclusive sexual attraction to prepubescent children. "Prepubescent" being a key word.

Shipping a 16 year old and an 18 year old is something I find perfectly ok. They likely have similar levels of maturity, both having reached puberty most likely, and it's perfectly legal in the country I live, where the age of consent is 16. However if someone was shipping a 16 year old with a 40 year old I would avoid it like the plagye because of the power difference, even though it's perfectly legal where I'm from.

So what about shipping those who are underage? This is where we talk about avatar and its ships. Personally I don't have any issues with shipping teenagers. They're growing up, date in real life, and are often portrayed as having romantic relationships in canon. However, I do think we should keep it sfw as a general rule. But guess what, a lot of people in fandom are teenagers. We can say under 18s don't interact with smut or nsfw content but it won't stop them. Certainly didn't stop me. Growing up I wanted smut of these teenage ships because I was their age. Should we really deny teenage shippers the chance to learn about their sexuality through nsfw fandom?

But then what about adults in these fandoms? I'm 18. I'm still learning how to be an adult in fandom. I grew up shipping these teenage ships and yeah reading smut about them. I was their age was that really so wrong? I don't have the answers to this question. Right now I'm still of an age where I feel I'm allowed to find Zuko attractive. But I won't be in a few years, and I don't feel allowed to find the younger characters attractive anymore, even though I did when I was their age. And frankly I'm starting to find them less attractive anyway probably because I'm now considering them young.

But what about shipping? I'm not gonna stop shipping zutara because it's such a nostalgic ship for me. Shipping a 14 year old and a 16 year old I see no moral issues with that according to the law of my country, as even though a 14 year old is below the age of consent, it's generally considered anyone age 13-15 may be in a sexual relationship with someone within two years age of them (but over 13) and the elder will face no legal retribution as long as it's consensual. And of course teenagers often date chastely anyway.

I have no issues with continuing to ship zutara, the question is should I be allowed to consume nsfw zutara content set when they're the canon ages. And I think the answer to that for me is I'm no longer interested in it. I find them too young and in canon they had too much other stuff to think about to be thinking about sex. Would I read aged up zutara smut? Sure why not? Would I read a fic with fade to black sex at the canon ages? Sure I guess as it'd likely have a larger plot of the smut was fade to black. If I encountered a fic that I wanted to read that had some smut scenes at canon ages I would likely skim or skip over it now. And I think that's the answer. Most adults wouldn't want to read smut about teenagers. Smut about teenagers exists for teenagers. Don't condemn them for it.

I don't ship zukka cos I just prefer their dynamic as friends and never really saw the chemistry. That doesn't make me homophobic. I ship zutara because it's what I started shipping when I first watched avatar when I was 13. I think they have a lot of chemistry and are great foils to each other and have similar levels of maturity. Momtara and dadko but as in they're the mom friend and the dad friend is one of my favourite things because he actually helps around camp and frankly parents the younger members of the group just like katara has from the start. That's why I don't ship kataang too. I think aang is too young to be shipped really. Especially not with Katara who mothers him and is much more emotionally mature than him. That doesn't mean I hate aang as a character - I don't. These are just my personal opinions on ships, and they're no more valid than anyone else's.

The fact that I don't ship these ships doesn't mean I hate them. And definitely doesn't mean I hate their shippers. I wish we could all just be friends. We all love avatar yet we've been divided by the fictional relationships. That's why I don't want to see hate for any ship on my blog. Even criticism leads to hatred. I don't think there's anything wrong with hating a ship. The issue lies in letting your hate for a ship become hate for the shippers. That's why I try not to post any hate for ships - it perpetuates an environment of hate.

So thank you for the blog suggestion, but it's just not what I look for in fandom anymore.

[drivingsideways]

For the character building meme, 1, 27, 39, Kang Hyeon-min (Tell Me The Truth 'verse) OR Kang Sin-jae, Stars 'verse.

For the meme 

1. Do they have any daily rituals?

 Kang Sin Jae, Stars 'verse:

 1) Do not *speak * to him before his 6.30 am black coffee with three spoons of sugar, ok?

 2) A few months after he tells his mom the truth about her son, he arranges for a memorial in a funeral home. There are no remains, but his mom unearths a baby mobile that used to hang over his crib- 4 small wooden magpies, the blue paint on their tails already faded with age. Sin Jae repaints it, carefully, and that's what they use at the memorial. His mom and him visit every month at least once. He goes alone too, on a bad day, and more and more often, on good days, just to tell him how it's going with the life that he stole. It's not a debt he can ever repay, but he's trying, he swears, and he won't stop, no matter how bad it gets. That's the least he can do.

 27.Turn ons? Turn offs? (sexual or not)

 Kang Hyeon Min, Tell me The Truth 'verse.

 Kang Hyeon-min would have sworn up and down the street that he was very heterosexual, like, women, am I right? What's there not to like about them? They're so cool, and smart, and have soft skin, and as a bonus usually don't smell like the inside of an unwashed sock, and also the way the dip of her waist seems made for your palm, and like, has he mentioned they're smart?

Women know things, they see the world as it is, it's some genetic thing (it's not, he's been schooled on that, thanks a lot, Koo sisters + eomma).

Anyways, forget giving them orgasms- though that's a big plus, the way her body will go boneless under your mouth, and she'll make these sweet, ridiculous sounds,and pet your hair lazily after, it's all lovely, but like, if you make a smart woman smile- a real smile, like the real orgasms- boy, you done good.

 And he continues being totally heterosexual right until he meets his roommate at the CNPU.

Jung Jae-hyuk is six foot one of lean muscle, laughing dark eyes, and a devil-may-care attitude. He can keep up an incessant stream of conversation with everyone from seventy something janitor-ahjumma to the cook's five year old daughter and even Superintendent Kim's permanent scowl seems to be incapable of withstanding Jae-hyuk's charm (and more likely the way Jae-hyuk can effortlessly do a twenty mile run and THEN remain steady handed for target-practice).

Jae-hyuk flirts with every male-looking person in a twenty mile radius, but never with Hyeon-min. And listen, Hyeon-min's always been perfectly friendly, a good roommate, has never, to his knowledge, done anything that might offend Jae-hyuk, and fine, it's not like Hyeon-min wants Jae-hyuk to flirt with him, he just wants to know why he won't, like what, is his nose not on straight or is it that Hyeon-min's taste in music is boring, or does he fart in his sleep and not know it? WHAT?

Go have your sexuality crisis elsewhere, Jae-hyuk says, flatly, after Hyeon-min brings it up, 7 sojus full of courage and something he doesn't quite want to admit as desperation. "I have three years more here and I don't intend to spend the rest of it trying to avoid my roommate when he decides that no, he's a real man who's not into dick and doesn't want to see the evidence that says otherwise." And listen, Hyeon-min has noticed how Jae-hyuk can talk nineteen to the dozen and never say anything that means anything, it's all amusingly flighty anecdotes and blindingly awful printed shirts, and he never talks about his family, does he even have one, for all anybody knows, Jae-hyuk emerged a fully formed 19 year old with delicate wrists and a wicked left hook, and an encyclopaedic knowledge of Indian films songs circa 1940-1960 and nothing after. So, like, this is a bit of a shock,  and Hyeon-min gasps, outraged, I would never,  and Jae-hyuk mutters, that's what they all say mr.nice guy, but there's something vulnerable about the way his spine has straightened against the cheap plastic chair, something that says, he's waiting for Hyeon-min to deck him, maybe, or say something like well, you've lost a friend anyway, so Hyeon-min shrugs and says, too bad your taste in men runs to assholes, I'll have you know that I give *great * head, and Jae-hyuk scoffs, and says, by heterosexual standards, and Hyeon-min says, dude, don't even, making a woman come is an art, guys just don't--- and well, anyways, they settle the argument with Hyeon-min on his knees in the fucking bathroom stall, and later, squeezed together in Jae-hyuk's bed, Hyeon-min realizes that yes, he's maybe having a crisis, but it's not about sex so much as the other thing, the thing where someone's occupied a space in his heart that he hadn't quite realized was there. "Stop thinking so loudly," Jae-hyuk mutters, "It's annoying." Ok, yeah, busted,  and maybe Hyeon-min will have to postpone this crisis till next week when Ryeong gets back from her uni trip to Lake Chon. For now, he's just going to enjoy running his fingers down the length of his lover's (relaxed) spine, and the scratchy feel of his cheek tucked under Hyeon-min's chin, and his hair roughened legs tangled with Hyeon-min's, the weight of him anchoring the rocking boat of Hyeon-min's thoughts, and perhaps, perhaps, it's ok, Hyeon-min isn't going to drown, after all.

  39. What is a gift that they have received that was especially touching or significant?

Kang Sin Jae, Stars 'Verse:

All the birthday cards that Eun-bi and Kka-bi make for him over the years, every single one of them, even the one where 14 year old Eun-bi's written, ps. If you're wondering what to get me for my birthday, see enclosed list.

[op-peccatori]

In Hushed Whispers | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Reader

Rating: 18+/Explicit/NSFW

Word Count: 5k

Summary: It started out as a mission, as a wicked game–and then things spiralled out of your control. With a past shrouded in darkness and a need to protect him, will you be strong enough to step into the light?

A/N: I’ve been daydreaming about a Black Swan!MC concept for so long and finally found the willpower write something for it. This was was supposed to be a lot cooler and hateful, but I’m not cool and it’s Victor XD MC’s a producer, but that’s more of a cover, or a surface job. 

the title is a quest from DA: Inquisition! I don’t own it, or any of the characters from Mr Love: Queen’s Choice.

(warnings/tags below the cut)

warnings/tags: explicit sexual content, explicit language (mild), Black Swan!Reader, vaginal sex, oral sex, semi?-public sex, the answer is yes, goodbye black swan cuz that D is too good, too much talking (imo) during sex, slight spoilers for chapters 12-13? (and onwards)

It's clear enough to those look closely.

There was an undercurrent of tension in your interactions, in every traded look, in the eyes that tracked each other through the crowds around them. You can see the inquisitive looks they shoot your way, curious and envious, and you can't control the slight quirk of your lips.

You know what they’re probably thinking. They’re not wrong, but they aren’t quite right.

Even as you mingle with the crowd, greeting the elite of Loveland City with a bashful smile fixed in place, you can feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. For someone with such an impeccable poker face, he really isn't all that subtle.

'Or maybe it's just me.'

You barely stifle a grin at the thought, brushing back soft curls before glancing back over your shoulder once more. He stands there, just barely keeping up with the conversation taking place around him, his eyes smoky with discomfort and temper. A sly smile from you prompts him to finally tear his gaze away, and you turn back to the elder couple who had stopped you for a chat. They’ve been watching you watch him curiously, but they only smile knowingly when you give them your full attention.

"Father always spoke very highly of you, Mrs Waldorf," you recall fondly, the wistful twist of your mouth genuine. "He also said Mr Waldorf was quite lucky you found his attempts at poetry endearing."

"That brat was the one who helped me with them!" The mock offence in the elderly man’s tone had all three of you chuckling. You feel the weight of his gaze on you once more, and a flicker of wicked thrill unfurls in you. This conversation, with people who had so clearly been fond of your late father, isn't a forced one, and your smile is far from strained as you excuse yourself from it.

Your dress, sleek and sequined, sways around your legs as you work the room, avoiding people you're not quite in the mood to interact with, and him. It's not as if that you're afraid to face him, because that would be ridiculous; it's just that the thought of looking into those eyes would require acknowledging everything reflected in them.

Victor has never been one to shy away from confrontations, though, and although you have been expecting it with anticipation bubbling in your throat, your confident stride still falters when he steps into your path.

There’s a clear pause, a slight shift in the air between you as you drink in the sight of him up close. The strong lines of his well-built shoulders, enhanced by his perfectly tailored suit, the all too familiar patrician features set in smooth lines; the tie you had picked out for him yourself.

You hadn’t quite expected the way your breath catches in your throat.

"May I have this dance?" The deep timbre of his voice dissolves any protests you could muster up. You can’t say no, not without raising brows all around the room. You take his proffered hand with a faint smile, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor, all too aware of the people watching you.

There are mostly couples dancing here, you note, trying to keep your mind off the warmth of his hand as it settles on your waist, guiding you into a simple waltz. He's closer than is polite, familiarity and ease clear in his body language.

"Don't you think people might get the wrong idea?" you whisper, glancing up at him as he looks around, seeming to finally notice the others twirling and twisting across the marble.

Victor’s tightening grip on your waist is answer enough. The cut-outs on the waistline of your dress don't seem as cute now, with his thumb stroking your soft skin instinctively. 

"You're being reckless." You don't keep the sharpness out of your voice as a frisson of unease begins to build in your chest. If anything, you'd thought he would do the smart thing and do his best to avoid you tonight.

"I didn't think I'd see you here tonight," Victor finally says, his expression clear and eyes glinting with danger.

"Anna couldn't make it." You shrug lightly; it's true enough, as the older woman had called you with sighed apologies and a lot of crying in the background. One of her kids was sick, and her wife was caught up with other work. "Why, aren't you happy to see me?"

His mouth purses at the feigned hurt in your voice, and he tugs you closer. You ignore the thrilled shivers racing up your spine as he leans in.

"Let me rephrase–I didn't think I'd see you ever again."

Your lips curl into something that almost resembles a smile. "Careful, there. It almost sounds like you didn't want to see me again," you tease, smirking at the way he pulls back to glower at you.

"So you are capable of logical reasoning. And yet, here you are."

"Here I am," you agree. You fall into an easy sort of synchronization, spinning around the floor with effortless grace. This isn’t your first time dancing with him, but it still makes your heart thrum with delight. "It's your own fault. You make it so hard to stay away."

He doesn't roll his eyes the way you know he wants to, his hand flexing around yours the only hint of his agitation, and your eyes dance wickedly at it. If you'd been alone, you have no doubt he would have you pinned against a wall by now.

"Your actions say otherwise," he mutters, drawing you away from the filthy route your mind had taken. "You just-" He cuts himself off, clearly unwilling to say more. But you know what he would have said, and you're irritated by the way your heart lurches painfully in your chest.  

"I thought you needed time to process everything," you murmur, taking in the way his shoulders tense further. "To think things through." All the lies, manipulations and secrets. You remember his expression clearly, and how quiet he'd gone that night. Really, it’s a wonder he’s even speaking to you.

"There's nothing to think about. I've already declined the offer," Victor informs you frostily. You make sure to knit your brows at his words, forcing your lips into a strained smile. It's a nice touch, you think.

"It's an open one, there’s no expiration date. We're quite generous, don't you think?" You wonder if the words sound as bitter as they taste in your tongue. Generous is not the word you would use to describe yourself or your 'friends.' While it’s true that they’re reluctant to kill him because of his EVOL and influence, the option isn’t completely off the table, much to your personal displeasure.

"Quite generous. I'm afraid it's still a waste of your time, though. I won't be changing my mind." The firmness in his tone leaves little room for doubt, and you know he means it. But the people you work for haven't spent hours in his company, studying him, touching him, working with him, shivering at the things he whispered in their ears. They don't know how infuriatingly stubborn he is, and how deeply you admire him for it.

But what crawls from your heart and into your veins isn’t admiration, and it’s on that note that you decide you’ve put on enough of a show.

You slip your palm from his grip, stepping away from him as the progressively lighter notes of the song fade and your dance comes to an end. "Well, then, I think we're done here for now. I'll see you around, Mr CEO." Your smile feels syrupy in how sickeningly sweet it is, contrasting greatly with the yearning that twists your insides, demanding that you do whatever it takes to feel his touch once more.

With a quick wink, you spin on your heel and walk away, grabbing a flute of sparkling champagne off a passing waiter as you go.

‘That should be good enough to keep them off my back.’

You wait until you've exited the ballroom to drain the glass completely, leaving it on a table outside. You don’t think, sweeping past random corners until you're in a deserted hallway, the sound of your heart thumping madly blocking out most sounds, even of your heels clicking against the marble floor sharply.

Still, you hear the heavy footsteps as they grow closer, echoing in the empty halls. You're not surprised when a hand seizes your wrist, jerking you around to face the perpetrator. You glare at Victor even through the elated satisfaction coursing through you.

"We're not done." You should be more discomfited by his fury; instead, as it often does in his presence, a certain kind of hunger pools in your belly. His grip is unyielding, his determination even more so.

It makes you want to purr.

"Oh, I’m sorry. Did you have more to say?" you ask casually, eyes wide and breath hitching when he squeezes your wrist tighter. His steps closer in response, moving into your space and prompting you to back up until your back hits the wall. Your senses are overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne, his warm breath tinged with alcohol, growing heavier as he struggles with his words. The space between you is negligible and all the confidence you'd adorned yourself with before coming here seems to have fallen somewhere.

“A thing or two, yeah.”

Victor tugs at your wrist, pulling it up to press it into the wall above your head, his touch gentler as his thumb rubs the skin over your racing pulse. He takes your other hand in his free one, pressing his lips to your wrist as you watch, skin tingling pleasantly. He pushes it to join its captive counterpart, pressing them into the wall with one hand while the other comes to rest on your hip.

"For someone so prone to running, you seem to be doing rather well in this position," Victor murmurs, lips hovering over your ear as you try to maintain control over your expression. He has you trapped, and you've never felt more on edge and desperately turned on.

"You make an enticing captor." He's got you, but you could get out of this position if you really tried. That makes you think he's not really trying. Does he have more questions? You can't think of any you would want to answer here, where anybody could stumble across you, which begs the question: what does he want?

Victor's lips press into the skin behind your ear and your stomach tenses.

"That didn't stop you the last time." He traces the shell of your ear with the tip of his tongue, his nose brushing your temple as he inhales deeply. “You vanished into thin air.”

"For someone who doesn't want anything to do with us, you sure seem to be complaining about being left alone a lot," you taunt. But you deflate when he doesn't rise to the bait, only pulling back slightly to observe you. You’re close enough to count every single one of his thick lashes, to see the tiny mole on his right earlobe. There is none of the hate you've been expecting, not a hint of the fury you'd glimpsed earlier. It leaves you scrambling because you don't know what to expect now.

"I don't want anything to do with them," he agrees, pressing his forehead to yours. Something in your chest trembles at the action and you feel so raw, so vulnerable, you don’t know what to do with it. "I never said anything about you."

"I-if you refuse them, you refuse me." His lips brush yours and you realize he doesn't have to use force to keep you here after all. "We're kind of a package deal."

"Are you?" Uncertainty sprouts in your mind at the way he smirks, as if your words amused him. "It didn't seem like it when we were together."

You can't bring yourself to respond; you begin to struggle against his grip, but he pushes his hips into yours, pinning you in place. He’s too close, and it’s messing with your head. It would be so easy to just give in, to sink into him and let him in. You want it so badly it frightens you.

"In fact, it almost seemed like you were happy to forget all about them. Isn't that why you never even attempted to convince me to join them?"

Them, them, them. But he was right. You had known, within a few weeks of your acquaintance, that Victor would never join Black Swan. You had convinced yourself that growing closer to him was the smart thing to do. It was the classic seduction. He's stubborn, but he's loyal.

It's just that once you got a taste of it, you wanted to keep that loyalty for yourself and not share it with anybody else, least of all your charming colleagues. Your greed had won out over everything; with every meal he cooked you, with every scathing word followed by encouragement, with every warm kissed pressed to your fingertips and the arches of your feet–you were in too deep, and you still are, and you’re still fucked.

It had been a happy dream while it lasted, but you had to come back to reality eventually. Could you really give everything up for this man?

The answer scares you, it’s implications terrifying and Artemis was right, you are an idiot. 

"Do you understand now?" he whispers, lips dragging along the length of your jaw, your eyelids fluttering at the way he nips at your skin.

"I do." It tastes like defeat, like something broke and you're choking on the pieces, but you get it out. For him, you’ll swallow every bitter piece. It's not the pleasant realization they write about in books. "I'll...I'll let them know your answer won't be changing."

He pauses. "And?"

"And I'll stay away. I won't bother you again." The words are said so quietly you wonder if he even heard them, something in you wilting as you say them; you get your answer when Victor begins to laugh–at least that’s what you think he does. Now this, this strikes fear in your heart because it's not the startled laughter you pull out with silly words, no. This is a breathy sound edged with jagged fury–it's caustic and you feel his chest vibrate with it as he nearly collapses against you, chuckling like you've said something stupid and for once, he doesn't find it cute.

"Stay away? y/n," he stops laughing abruptly and bares his teeth at you in a very unsettling attempt at a smile, "you're a fool if you think I'm letting you walk away from me tonight."

For a moment, there's a strange buzzing in your mind. Your emotions pull you in different directions. A part of you wants to rip into him, to make him bleed and show him what you do to people who threaten you. Another, bigger, part of you wants to moan and plaster yourself to his side and beg him to say that again.

All you really do is stare at him, speechless.

"And they're fools if they think they can take you away from me," Victor adds, and crashes his mouth against yours, hungry and careless with it. Once again, in a concerning trend, any resistance you wanted to play at dissolves. It’s not gentle. You squirm against his grip on your wrists, trembling with the need to run your fingers through his dark hair and hold him against you. You moan when his tongue brushes yours, wiggling until you feel and hear the amused sound in the back of his throat before he releases you.

It's easy to twist and manoeuvre your bodies until you're pressing him into the wall, rising on the tips of your toes to lick into his mouth fervently, reacquainting yourself with the taste of his tongue.

It's a little too easy to lose yourself in his touch, to let everything else fade and fill your senses with just him.

His hands smooth down your back to cup the swell of your ass, pulling you flush against him. Almost every inch of him is pressed against you and you’re starving, with a terrible ache that weeps for him, and a part of you curses him for ruining you. Your blunt fingernails curl into his hair, digging into his scalp, and you will never get enough of the little groan he lets out.

Your hands rove across his torso greedily, your teeth sink into his lip and your breath stutters when you feel his hardness pressing against your stomach.

You freeze, shaken by how completely you lost your composure, and with the way Victor seems to be smirking you know he’s thinking along the same lines. His tousled hair and blown out pupils are an effective deterrent against the part of you that thinks this is a terrible idea; your hair is wilder than it had been before Victor got his hands in it, your lipstick smeared over your mouth and his.

“Come home with me, y/n.”

A tempting offer. You glance behind you, peering down the dark hallway. You don’t think this fear will ever leave you completely, of looking into the darkness and wondering who’s watching you from within.

You know what happens to those who stray. Helios is the greatest example of it, and you firmly steer your thoughts away from that particular pit.

“I took a different route. They didn’t see me," he nuzzles the juncture of your neck before sinking his teeth into soft skin.

You're mortified by your startled yelp, and can't help but look back again reflexively. “They're not here. I wouldn't put you in that position."

You snort, but the effect is ruined by the soft moan you let out when he soothes the stinging skin with his tongue. "I didn't think you cared."

“Wouldn’t be the first time you were wrong,” he retorts, not missing a beat, his fingers massaging the base of your scalp while the other draws nonsensical patterns on your waist. Although you know he meant what he said, with how handsy he’s being it’s clear Victor’s going to be difficult about this; he wants you in his bed tonight.

'And many other nights, apparently.'

You’re more than a little unnerved by the sheer warmth that sends through you.

“Is it just the sex?” you ask carefully, locking eyes with him, battling with the urge to blush at the way he’s looking at you.

“No.” He doesn’t even pretend to think about it, doesn’t consider anything other than the simple truth. He doesn’t say another word, but his eyes were always his most expressive feature–along with his hands. 

You nod slowly, because as delightful as that is, you’re not ready to dig deeper. Into his feelings or yours. And you have no idea what to do here; you've lost control over your own actions. You know what the smart thing to do would be–but that would result in losing Victor. For good. There is no part of you that finds that acceptable.

Or you could continue the mission. Get close to him. Keep trying to convince him. It’s unlikely he’ll change his mind about that but it’ll give you time.

“This is a terrible idea,” you say anyway, because you should at least try to put a stop to it. You can’t believe you’re trying to be the sensible one in a situation that involves Victor Li.

He flicks his tongue against your bottom lip, swift and teasing. “I don’t give a fuck.”

‘Seriously, who seduced who here?’

You lace your fingers through his, stepping away and pulling him along hurriedly. It would be best to continue this in the bedroom, for now. Just for tonight, you'll do what he wants. You'll do the smart thing later.

But, as is apparently the recent trend in your life, your plans don’t quite work out.

It wasn’t your fault, as your teasing was mostly innocent while Victor drove at uncharacteristic speeds. Just a squeeze of his thigh, a few careless whispers of how much you had really missed him. Hiking your dress up and letting out a loud mewl when he cupped your clothed sex possessively.

You end up in an empty parking lot near his building; with his suit jacket thrown onto the back seat, you sprawled over it, your mouths meeting frantically as he pushes the hem of your dress up until it bunches up over your waist. He shifts back, opening the door and stepping one leg out, the other folding on the floor of the car.

The cool breeze has goosebumps erupting all over your skin; you shiver from it, and the way the moonlight highlights his dark hair and torrid gaze. 

Warm hands curl around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the seat, and you let one foot drop to rest on the floor as he watches in approval. The other is pushed up into your chest, leaving you spread shamelessly for his consumption.

Control was never really an option, you had realised sometime when his hands had slipped beneath the edge of your dress to rub your cunt through your soaked panties, which now hang precariously from one ankle. He knows where to touch you, and you know it’s only been a few months, but it still brings a stinging feeling to the back of your eyes.

You’re desperate to feel his mouth on you, to work you open with his talented tongue; his lips find the tender skin of your inner thighs instead, kissing and sucking blushing tokens of his affection across them. You twitch and moan as he fixates on this, his possessiveness clear in his actions, and a distant part of your mind thinks it’s not going to be as easy as giving yourselves this one night.

Its voice is suppressed by a long, languorous lick along your slit.

‘Oh-‘

“Fuck.” Your back arches as he presses the flat of his tongue against your clit and a steady hand on your folded knee pushes you back down. He laps at you with a zeal he only ever displays when his head is between your thighs, his mouth slurping every drop of your arousal, and you writhe beneath his touch, failing to suppress your moans.

A hand reaches for the edge of the seat, clutching it for dear life, while the other slides into his silken hair as you rock your hips into his mouth with an urgency that takes over every part of your brain.

He works you closer to it, swirling his tongue around your swollen nub; your gaze is unfocused, all you need is to reach the edge, and if he groans like that again you might just come-

A pitiful whine escapes you as he pulls back, his smirking mouth glistening with your arousal you tug at his hair insistently. Your angry motions still when he reaches for the buckle of his belt, sliding the accessory out of the loops.

Before he can even think about tying you up, you snatch it out of his hands and throw it behind you. It hits the door with a sharp clack that sounds jarring in the silence of the car and its surroundings.

He climbs over you carefully, keeping one foot on the floor of the car while the other leg comes to rest on the seat. It’s a tight fit, and you could giggle at how he moves around so cautiously to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling. He reaches for his zipper and your amusement flees quickly as you reach out and shoo his hands away eagerly.

Your teeth dig into the pale expanse of his neck as you pull his straining cock out, wrapping a hand around its base, pumping it slowly; he doesn’t even attempt to control the mouth-watering groans escaping his mouth, his hands braced against the seat on either side of your head.

Stopping was never really an option either, you acknowledge, as you tease your slit with the swollen head of his cock, your lips parting with anticipation. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, tie hanging loose, marks peppered over his chest, his dark hair in disarray.

You try to maintain the eye contact as you guide his cock through your entrance, engulfing it with your heat, walls clenching around him as your head tips back involuntarily. It’s one of the best sensations in the world–feeling Victor’s cock push through your tight cunt, and you wouldn’t give him up for any power in the world.

Victor leans in, slotting his mouth over yours, a hand urging your knees up while the other tugs the straps of your dress down, baring your breasts. His hand, warm and trembling ever so slightly as he bottoms out, cups your breast gently, thumb stroking over a taut nipple.

As you try to get him to move, he stops you, keeping you still as his fingers dig into your skin.

“V-Victor?” You wiggle your hips and he squeezes your breast firmly, as if warning you to cease your attempts. “Wha-“

He shushes you quickly again, pressing his forehead to your shoulder; you’re quite annoyed for just a second and then you notice the tension coiled in his muscles as he tries to keep his bearings; he moves his hand from your skin to the headrest, knuckles white from his right grip, to keep from drilling into you violently and ending this quickly.

You card your fingers through his hair before tugging on it, until he lifts his head so you can kiss him sloppily. He relaxes as you wrap your arms around him, holding him close for a moment as you place one last kiss on the corner of his mouth, nuzzling his cheek soothingly.

“There were moments,” Victor begins, hoarsely and slowly, “when I thought I would never get to feel this again.”

He presses his lips to your forehead. 

“It was foolish, because I knew you would come to me eventually. But I was forced to acknowledge that there was a chance that my rejection had...consequences I would rather not think of.” He looks down at you, a tiny smile dancing along his lips. “So, please, y/n–” Don’t leave. Don’t run. Stay.

You still, meeting his gaze, pained and unwavering in it–and it hurts. It hurts so deeply you can’t breathe for a moment, because he’s letting his guard down and letting you see how much you hurt him. All those games, all those moments spent cursing yourself for falling so hard–it was real for you, but it was real for him too. And maybe he’d known who you were from the start, or maybe he hadn’t; your mission had hit a roadblock once he found out, and you’d taken that chance to disappear, to pretend you were reevaluating things. You thought the distance would do your aching heart some good while BS decided whether further pursual was required.

You’d never thought, even for a moment, that he would want you to stay.

Victor doesn’t resist when you push him back, watching as you slip out of your dress and drape it over the front seat, until he’s sitting with you in his lap, holding on to you as you reach for his cock and sink down over it. With your hands braced against his chest, you begin a slow grind against his pelvis. Your lips twitch with the urge to smile at Victor's near blissful expression, his hands stroking along your waist and thighs fervently.

You can't help but lean over him, one hand coming to rest on the seat, smiling slightly at the way his lips part as you lift your hips and drop down, repeating the motions languidly. You press a kiss to his cheek, and another, repeating the action all over his face until he catches you in a kiss that has your heart throbbing harder.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. He looks at you through half-lidded eyes, a flush riding high across his cheeks. You clench your walls around him and his hips buck involuntarily, prompting a quick glare from him. “I never meant t-to leave like that.”

"Or take your sweet time to come out of hiding?" he mutters, and you laugh shakily, kissing the top of his head. “Ah-don’t laugh. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“I’m good at hiding,” you quip with a breathless smile, rocking your hips faster, now determined to see him in pieces underneath you. His hands hold onto your hips just as you get into it, keeping you from moving faster, and you nearly hiss at him in your frustration.

"Just don’t hide from me.” His eyes glitter dangerously, daring you to argue.

"Don’t give me a reason to,” you snap, only for your scowl to be wiped off your face when his hand wraps around your throat, yanking you forward until you're eye to eye.

"I will never give you a reason to leave me," he promises darkly, squeezing until a strangled protest escapes you. “I take care of what’s mine, sweetheart.” He doesn't release you, adjusting his body beneath you until he gains a solid foothold, and within the next second he's snapping his hips up into yours, all traces of gentility vanished.

Your eyes roll back, skin flushed and sweating; with every thrust, he seems to be obliterating your entire thought process. You meet his unwavering gaze, your eyes teary as you try to match his pace; you watch him soften slightly, only for him to tighten his grip on your windpipe and reach between your bodies with his free hand.

Bright spots start to appear on the edges of your vision. Your head starts to feel light and a part of you is once more delighted by the practised way his fingers work your clit–and then you stop thinking. For a long moment, you're floating, drifting, quaking, and then you tune back in time to see Victor's pace start to falter, hand unwrapping from around your throat, his eyes alternating between unfocusing and staying fixated on you as he bounces you in his lap.

He spills into you with a throaty groan, unaware of your hungry eyes committing the sight and feeling to memory. He pulls you in, holding you close, and you sag against him tiredly.

His thumb strokes the tender skin across your throat in a silent apology as you both lay there panting, your head falling to rest on his shoulder as you relax completely. It terrifies you, letting your guard down so thoroughly when you’re not even in his bed. It’s just for a moment, though. You want to give yourself this moment to relax.

“It’s not going to be easy,” you murmur because you’re a fool who can’t relax when there’s danger lurking in every corner.

He hums, in agreement you think, tugging his jacket out from under him to wrap it around your shivering form. He reaches for the door, pulling it shut as you wonder how you’ve been here for this long without getting caught. “We’ll deal with it. Whatever comes our way.”

There’s a lot to consider, a lot of plans to be scraped and a lot of people to be contacted. But sitting here, in the silence of his car with his arms tight around you, you think you can do it. You think it might just be possible to protect both of you from Black Swan.

And if not you, then him. Because just as he can’t let you go, you can’t let them sink their claws into him. You’ll destroy every single one of them before that happens.

‘Guess I really am a fool.’

[creativerogues]

Asking Uncomfortable Questions...

So what you’re about to read does contain conversations about certain topics which could be seen as very sensitive to you, the Reader. 

If you feel uncomfortable by anything presented here, I apologise in advance and ask that you click away from this Post and stop reading it entirely.

With that, I shall begin, and I hope that the replies, reblogs, and comments can help out. 

I know this Post is gonna deal with some REALLY AWKWARD topics for some people, but no one seems to seriously talk about them and so no one is seems to be properly informed.

So I want to ask some Questions to the Community and get a general response on how people react.

How do you feel about flirting with your Players as a way to Roleplay?

Do you prefer the “Fade to Black” approach or “Roll a Lovemaking Check” approach to sex in your D&D Game?

What do you feel about LGBTQ+ Representation in your Game? 

How often do you feature LGBTQ+ Characters in your Game, if at all?

What’s your Opinion on a Player wanting to play a Character of a different Gender or Ethnicity than themselves (such as a Male Player wanting to play a Female Character, or a White Player wanting to play a Black Character)?

How often do you feature Characters of varying cultures and ethnicity in your Game, if at all?

How would you represent mental illness and mental disability in your Game?

How would you represent a physical disability in your Game?

How often do you feature Characters with a Mental or Physical Disability in your Game, if at all?

What Topics in your Game do you consider an absolute “No Go” no matter what?

My Opinions (Feel Free To Ignore)

Flirting: I’m down to flirt, so long as the people at the Table are okay with it.

Sex in your Sessions: I prefer the “Fade to Black” approach to avoid accidentally making someone at my Table uncomfortable.

LGBTQ+ Representation: I’m fine with Players wanting to have an LGBTQ+ Character, and I commonly have Androgynous NPCs in my games, and while I have played LGBTQ+ Characters myself, I never make it their one Character Trait, and this Topic never comes up often enough to be a major problem for me...

Gender: I’m fine with Male Players wanting to play Characters that are Female or Androgynous, or Female Players wanting to play Male Characters. I’ve played Female Characters many times and I’ve enjoyed the experience.  

Ethnicity: Personally, I would love to play a Character of a different ethnicity than myself, but I’ve always been afraid of accidentally or unintentionally offending someone, which is why I usually play Characters with accents rather than Characters of a different ethnicity.

Mental Disability: I usually use the idea that Low Wisdom Characters lack a little bit of common sense, and are usually impulsive and live in the moment without worrying about the consequences.

I also usually rule that Low Intelligence Characters aren’t “disabled”, but still give the option for the Player to play off their Character’s Low Intelligence Score, such as being illiterate or not understanding certain concepts like Magic or Sentient Weapons, which the Player usually uses for comedy and humour more than any kind of serious role-playing.

Physical Disability: The most I’ve experienced for this Topic was an Eberron Character with a magical prosthetic limb and the odd Player wanting to play a Blind Character, so I don’t know much on this particular Topic.

Mental Illness: I usually talk to the Players first about their intentions when it comes to this. 

The only “real” talk I had to give to a Player was their interpretation of PTSD because their Character was a former soldier, but after explaining it to them, they understood that I wanted them to role-play this in a way that would impact their Character while not being too over-the-top and misrepresenting.

Other than that one case, I haven’t really had any Players come to me with this sort of thing, and I don’t know if I should be happy about that.

What Are Your “No Go” Topics?: To be entirely honest, it depends on the Group. 

Some Groups are mature enough to deal with topics like War, Racism and Sex, while others aren’t.

I’ve run games for People as young as 13 and I’d like to think that I would never bring a Topic like Racism into any Game like that whatsoever. 

Now after saying that, I have used War in my games with these very same 13-Year-Olds as a way to motivate their Characters: There’s a War that’s brewing and they want to stop it before it starts.

I’ve also used Romance in my Games with these people, but never Sex. 

I’ve allowed the Players to explore their own sexuality through their D&D Character with only a few restraints when needed, and that’s actually how one of my Players discovered they were Bisexual, which I think I should consider myself pretty proud of.

So in summary, it all depends on the maturity of the People I’m playing with, sometimes War and Sex are played for laughs, and other-times they’re incredibly serious topics.

[clive-owen-and-the-knick]

Guida romantica a posti perduti - Review (2020)

I did myself an awesome favor and ordered this movie on Amazon Italia – it just came out! I am a huge Clive Owen fan, so I was anxious to see this. It was well worth the wait! The movie itself is in Italian but interspersed with English (ala Clive Owen), so I was able to pick up a good portion of what was going on, but not all (no English subtitles). The film is by Giorgia Farina, an Italian woman director, who gives us a poetic and jarring road trip movie through the off-the-beaten track Italian countryside with two characters who are as star crossed as they are flawed.

Jasmine Trinca plays Allegra, a young woman who is prone to debilitating panic attacks when she leaves her controlled, small Rome apartment. The irony being that she is a travel writer – who’s too scared to travel. Clive Owen plays Benno  Best, an aging reporter/talk host who seems bent on self-destruction through increasingly frightening binge drinking which renders him unconscious and waking up asleep in odd places. His wife, played by Irene Jacob, wants to check him into a detox clinic. It is revealed that if his drinking does not stop, he will surely die. Allegra is intent on running away from her young lover Michele, played by Andrea Carpenzano, who’s more amorous intentions seem to be making her panic attacks escalate. Benno, on the other hand, is intent on avoiding the rehab clinic. So essentially both characters are needing to run away and through some quirky circumstances, this is exactly what they do together, along with Benno’s dog.

 What I liked about this movie was the film work of the industrial, back-water, odd-ball locations in Italy. This is not Under the Tuscan Sun! There were several times during this movie where I had to remind myself I wasn’t watching a 1960’s Antonioni black and white movie or a classic giallo from the 1970’s.  There was also very David Lynchian moment where their car strikes an eel on the road. I thought- an eel? Aren’t they supposed to be in water? I found myself googling information about the life habits of eels after the movie was over. And Clive Owen also tells a strange drunken tale about eels going home in a crevice in the ocean to die where they had been born. And of course, the road trip is taking Benno (Clive Owen) back to the small town he was born in. (I was still trying to figure out how Benno was born in Italy, but ended up with a British background?) You get the sense of impending doom with his character. He truly is headed to his death.

As Allegra and Benno start to learn more about each other and their debilitating problems, they naturally grow closer to each other. Jasmine Trinca is truly a delight to watch. Her panic attacks were something that felt truly palatable on screen. By the end of the film, she is beginning to conquer her fears, so there is hope for her.  Clive Owen has always loved to play characters with hang-ups (he has played an alcoholic dad in The Confirmation, an alcoholic teacher in Words and Pictures, and the ultimate alcoholic Ernest Hemingway, along with his cocaine addicted Doctor Thackery in The Knick), but I truly have never seen him as frighteningly despairing as I have in this movie. If you are expecting glamorous Clive, be prepared – Owen looks like time has finally caught up with him a little bit here and his relentless drunken spells are hauntingly depressing. I seriously paused to wonder about the actor’s health at a couple points in the movie - it’s that disturbing. You keep wanting to scream at the screen- STOP DRINKING! It is a marvelous, award-worthy performance.  

Eventually Allegra meets up with her young lover (she is prepared to accept his affection now as she has conquered her fears), so it becomes a brief travel trio with Benno. Benno seems to be jealous of this young man, if only wishing he could rewind the clock and start life over with a new love like Allegra. Benno also rejects a quick visit from his wife to return on his own volition to his life and the clinic, but you know her plea is pointless. This is very true of addition- no one can make you want to get better, you have to do this yourself.

The finale is brilliantly done. Benno brings Allegra and Michele to his grandmothers’ home in a tiny Italian town. He is officially ‘home’. Allegra and Michele share a room together, but you get the feeling that Allegra’s thoughts are with her erstwhile road-trip companion instead. In the early morning hours Benno goes to the back-yard shed /man-cave and blasts on Pretty Vacant by the Sex Pistols. Allegra joins Benno in a riveting little ode to punk ‘pogoing’ as the two of them playfully and a little violently make physical contact at last. It is the perfect song for Benno’s self-destruction. As the song ends their fingers join and then their hands. Suddenly still, they breathe heavily from their exertion and gaze at each other. You could almost feel that a kiss is coming next, but the film fades to black. You are left breathless yourself wondering what fate might be in store of these two intertwined souls – death or life or love? It has been an introspective ride.