#submissies

[violaplease1]

Hi, I'm mistress Viola....

[trollsgettingreallymadatfood]

MY SOPAR 🔥

why is every::ne eating s::p::r???? that’s n::t healthy at all!

[baconcolacan]

i received consent from him to submit this

HDKAJDKSNF THIS IS SO FUNNY HIIIII!!!

*kissu u head* (lovingly) I hope the anons chew on ur brows <3

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaiden. Pt3

(Cersei Lannister x Fem Reader x Jaime Lannister: SMUT threesome, voyerism, praise kink, oral (Male receiving) )

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

After the event with the mare, the queen saw fit that you would be given basic riding lessons.

"Right, now just do exactly as he says" Cersei emphasized. "No second guessing or backtalk. Treat him as you would me."

"Of course, Your Grace" You were wrapped in a thin wool cloak and worn leather boots, bracing against the chill of the coming autumn. The summer had to end sometime, you supposed.

"My brother is being very generous, offering to teach you." Cersei reminded you.

"I am very grateful for the help" You kept your eyes trained ahead, not wanted to see presumptuous by looking at the queen too much or talking too much.

It was bizarre, two high-borns taking such an interest in someone like you. It made you uneasy, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I certainly don't to embarrass myself more than I already have."

Jaime was waiting for you by the stables, dressed in sturdy riding leather. His blonde hair flopped into his eyes and was brushed back with a gloved hand before he spotted your approach and smiled charmingly.

"Sweet sister" he greeted Cersei before resting his pale green eyes on you "And your new plaything."

"Now Jaime" Cersei chided him, "Be nice, Y/N isn't used to your teasing like I am."

"She will be" Jaime smirked at you, watching the blush creep up your neck and across your face. "Come, let's get started."

"I'll be waiting with the party, my dear." Cersei touched your shoulder, quickening your pulse as you whipped around.

"Your Grace, you're leaving?"

"Rest assured, you are in good hands" The queen insisted, flashing you a cryptic smile. "Good luck"

"Charming, isn't she?" Jaime came from behind you, watching as his sister left you to your own devices. "Come now, the faster we start, the faster you can stop being bullied by Clegane and that rabid stallion of his."

Eager to stand (er, ride) on your own two feet, you followed him before realizing there was only one horse readied.

"Uh, Ser?"

"You didn't think I'd jump to letting you ride on your own that quickly, did you?" Jaime practically laughed in your face. "Here, you first."

"I..." you gawked at the saddle the horse was set with. "You mean riding astride?"

"Something wrong with it?"

You thought for a moment before embracing your mistress's request to trust the knight.

"No, not at all"

He hoisted you up onto the back of his sturdy mount before swinging his legs up behind you. You swallowed a gasp, suddenly finding yourself pressed between the pommel of the saddle and Ser Jaime's chest.

"Let's get into some open terrain so you have space to learn"

Before you could protest, the knight had set the beast off at a quick gallop, one hand gripping the reigns and the other arm wrapped firmly around your waist to keep you from falling off.

Once you were well away from the party and in a broad scope of field, Jaime stopped the horse.

"Now," He handed you the reigns and without preamble place two solid hands on your shoulders. "The first thing to know about proper horse riding is your posture. You want to guide the beast properly? You have to sit it properly."

He gently guided your shoulder back, straightening your spine in the process.

"Now there's a saying my riding master taught me as a boy. And while it may seem forward, I need you to trust me."

Your skin prickled at the near constant contact between your bodies but tried to push it down and focus on the lesson. "Her Grace insisted you were the best. You have my full trust, Ser."

"Good Girl" Jaime praised in a tone that almost melted into a purr. "Now the first thing you want to remember about riding a horse is; Shoulders like a Soldier..."His hands slid from your shoulders, down your arms, before coming to rest on your hips. "and Hips like a Whore."

"Ser!" You gasped but Jaime tutted you into submission.

"I warned you it was forward, but just trust me." He soothed, "Now I am going to drive the horse forward slowly, and I want you to just-" His grip on your hips tightened "Follow the motion."

The beast began to move forward at a gentle walk and as the they went; Jaime's hands slowly guided your hips to match the motion of the horse's gait.

"A little faster?" He asked and you nodded, growing in confidence.

The walk turned to a trot, and the trot to a brisk cantor, and finally to a full gallop which left you breathless, clinging to the horse with your thighs as if you might fall off at any moment.

"Very good" Jaime practically cooed in your ear, slowing the beast back down to a peaceful trop. "You are everything my sister promised."

You beamed at that, proud to have lived up to your mistress's praises.

As your breath returned to you, you began to notice something different. Something that hadn't been there when you started your ride.

A hardness pressed against your ass, brushing up against you with the motion of the beast below you.

"S-ser Jaime." You swallowed. "We should go-"

"Go back, so soon?" Jaime crooned, pulling you closer to him in the saddle and bringing the horse back to a quick trot. "It's a lovely day, we should take advantage of it"

The hardness grew, and you tried not to notice until you felt it twitch slightly and Jaime muffled a moan in his throat.

"I don't think Her Grace would-"

"Would what?" Jaime grinned knowingly at your confused tone. "Sweetling, why do you think she left you out here all alone with me?"

"Because she trusts you, you're her brother."

"Hm" Jaime's hands massaged your hips slowly, running over your soft thighs and even venturing around to the front to cup your sex through your skirt.

You gasped at the sudden touch, pulse pounding as his two fingers skillfully located your slit and began to rub gently through the fabric of your dress.

"Ser" You breathed, trying to organize your thoughts as Jaime pulled your hips back to him, your back flush against his chest, rubbing slow circles through your skirt with the tips of his fingers.

"Just relax, sweetling" He breathed into your ear, "If you get too excited, the horse will sense it. Then we're both in trouble."

"We shouldn't..."

"I don't see you stopping me." He pointed out, hips continuing to brush the length of his cock against your ass. "All I feel is your body heating up against mine. Are you getting excited?"

"Oh Gods." Without thinking, you scrambled off the horse, falling onto your back as you did so.

Jaime laughed out loud, dismounting skillfully and grabbing you by the ankle before you could run for camp.

"Easy, easy girl" He chuckled, batting off you attempts to kick him like they were nothing. "Just calm down."

"The Queen will know." You gasped, heart suddenly pounding. "Her Grace, she trusted me, she's done so much for me, and now I'm here with you and she'll be so angry."

Hot tears began to stream down your face as you began to panic. Jaime paled, not expecting this to go this badly as he attempted to shush your sobs.

"No, no, no, Darling. Just listen, just listen" He tried to grab your attention. "Look, we'll go back to camp. We'll see my sister. Everything will be okay; I swear to you."

Not quite believing him and half convinced your mistress would abandon you here in the wilderness as soon as she heard, you wiped your tears and nodded.

Jaime gathered you in his arms and guided you back to the horse and ferried you both back to the party. He did his best to hide your distress from everyone else as you approached the queen's royal caravan.

"Enter." Cersei turned eagerly as her brother entered, giddy to see how her plan unfolded before her face fell. "What happened?"

Jaime opened his mouth to explain but before he could, you fell to your knees and bowed lowly.

"Your Grace," You sobbed into the ground. "I'm so sorry, I have failed you and betrayed you. I am not worthy of your mercy, but I beg for it all the same."

"I-" Cersei starred at Jaime who shook his head, shrugging in a helpless fashion. "Jaime, what did you do?"

"Exactly what you told me to do, I swear." Jaime insisted,

"Oh" Cersei's mind clicked with understanding and an amused smile crept across her face. "Oh, Y/N. You stupid little thing. Get up."

You obeyed, wiping your tears as the Queen knelt down to look at you.

"Y/N, I sent you out with Jaime *hoping* he would seduce you."

"What?"

"Yes, sweetling." She laughed, "You've been so good for me these last few weeks, and I wanted to reward you. You foolish girl, look at you worked up over nothing. Don't you feel ridiculous?"

You did, ridiculous and embarrassed and ashamed.

"Ser Jaime, I owe you an apology." You couldn't meet his eye, "Her Grace told me to trust you and instead I took you for a villain. Please forgive me?"

"I suppose I can." The knight nodded. "Though you did leave me in quite the uncomfortable position."

"Oh" a blush flooded your face again. "I'm sorry."

"Sweetling" Cersei placed a hand on the top of your head, "You aren't thinking of denying my reward for you, are you?"

"I-" The words caught in your throated. "Your Grace, I-. But-"

"Jaime, come here." Cersei beckoned her brother closer, leaning in to whisper in your ear, "You haven't quite earned the privilege of my bed yet. Treat Ser Jaime as you would me."

Your instructions were clear, and if it pleased your mistress, you were more than happy to comply.

Cersei's nimble hands reached forward to undo the laces of Jaime's trousers, pushing you forward to do the rest as she returned to the chaise with an eager gleam in her eye.

"Have you ever bedded a man before?" Jaime asked and you nodded. It had only been once, but you remembered how everything worked.

Peeling through layers of fabric, you freed the knight's semi-hard cock from his small clothes and scooted closer to him on your knees. A deep rumble of a groan filled the caravan as you took the tip in your mouth, sucking gently before taking more and more length down your throat. Before long, the tip of your nose was buried in the patch of fine blond hair at the base.

"Gods" Jaime breathed, a hand reaching down to grasp at your hair. "Gently, darling gent-" His words caught in his throat as you drew your tongue up the length of him before swiftly taking it whole, gagging slightly to accommodate it. The taste of salty pre-cum coated your taste buds and you hummed with satisfaction.

"That's enough."

You paused your ministrations when your mistress cut in sharply.

"Jaime," she crooned lowly, "Don't be greedy."

Jaime sighed, his brow already shining with perspiration as he withdrew his cock from your throat, a thin strand of saliva hanging from your lips as you gazed up at him.

"The queen is right, sweetling." He sighed, guiding you up by the tip of your chin. "This is supposed to be your reward, not mine."

Eagerly, you allowed him to unlace your bodice and aided him in removing your skirt and small clothes.

"Excited little thing, aren't you?" He chuckled, pulling you in for a deep kiss. His tongue prodded at your lips pleadingly until you parted them, making sure to explore his mouth as much as he did yours. He growled at this, unaccustomed to not being the dominant one, but you responded by sharply nipping his lower lip and grinning. He pulled away with a challenged look, as if calculating his next move.

"Come here" He spat, spinning you around and pulling your back flush against his chest, one hand snaked to your throat as the other danced across your chest. His calloused fingers grazed over your nipples, which responded eagerly as he palmed the softness of your breasts.

"Look" He breathed in your ear, rubbing his hips against your ass as he had in the field. "If you'd been a good girl, we'd have had privacy. Now look at you, about to be fucked in front of your queen."

You moaned at this, biting your lower lip and closing your eyes as he chuckled against your shoulder.

"Or maybe you like this better? Tell me, how long has it been since you've been properly fucked, hm? Years, perhaps?" His hand wondered between your legs once more, locating the sensitive bundle of nerves he knew drove women wild.

"That's right sweet girl," He breathed, firmly pressing his fingers against your clit. Your body tensed and your hips didn't know if they should chase the pleasure of his fingers or flee the intensity of the electricity building between your legs. "Now now, you stay right there."

One hand tweaking your hard nipples and the other pressing your ass against the knight's cock as it circled your clit, you knew you wouldn't last long like this. Your thighs trembled and tried to tighten around his hand, which only made him tease you more.

"Look at this sister, only a few minutes and her body is begging for release. Is that what you want, sweetling? To cum in front of your mistress?"

"Gods, yes! Please, please, please." You begged, skin slick with sweat.

"What a sweet girl, begging so nicely for us." Jaime cooed, sucking on the crook of your neck with a humming laugh. "What do you think, sister?"

You looked up and saw your mistress's face alight with excitement, her own thighs squeezing together as she watched the show her brother put on for her.

"I think....not"

You whined when Jaime all at once withdrew his touch from your body.

"Take her to the bed. I want to watch her cum around you." Cersei requested and Jaime gladly obliged.

"Tell me, sweet sister," Jaime hummed, watching Cersei leave her chaise to meet him at the bed where he deposited your aching, desperate body. "How would you like your little slave fucked?"

"Bend her over" Cersei demanded without hesitation, cupping your face almost gently as Jaime flipped you on your stomach. "I want to watch your face when he fucks you."

Her words drove another spike of need between your legs as Jaime spread your thighs and thrust into your dripping cunt without preamble. The sudden intrusion made you instantly clench around him and claw at the bedding desperately as he drove into you over and over.

"Look at me." Cersei cooed, watching your eyes dart rapidly trying to find her, "Gods, you look so pretty like this. How does he feel inside of you? What I would give to fuck you like this." Her hands petted your hair, damp and clinging to your neck and forehead with sweat. When she spoke to you like this, it was like the whole world melted away and became an extension of her. Even Jaime, especially Jaime, was just an extension of her and her will. She was the one who was fucking you right now, and it was her who made the muscles in your core snap as waves of pleasure washed over you.

When your body began to spasm under him, Jaime could only hold back long enough to pull out as quickly as he possibly could, coating your ass and back with ropes of cum. His weight collapsed on top of you for a moment, both of you breathing heavy. Both of you feeling like you'd been fucked by someone who hadn't even touched you.

Cersei rose up off the bed and tossed a rag at Jaime before leaning over you again, peppering soft kisses over your still sensitive skin.

"Good girl, sweet girl, how wonderful you've been for me." she purred.

[retrosabers]

𝐏𝐔𝐒𝐇 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐒.

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: sometimes you and eddie’s banter can take a bit of a turn

warnings: allusions to smut, swearing

word count: 1.3k

a/n: this is a very small little something to ease myself back into writing. let me know if you would be interested in a second part! :)

“cut the shit munson.” you spit from your place at the other end of the drama room. “you don’t intimidate me.”

eddie laughs, a cynical sound that rumbles from deep within his chest. the boy smirks, and you have to fight the urge to jump across the table and smack him.

“oh really?” he leans back in his throne, spreading his legs wide. “then why are you standing all the way over there?”

you roll your eyes, poking your tongue into your cheek. his arrogance was unyielding, and it seemed especially true when he was in his element like this. eddie was always one for theatrics, even more so after a session of his beloved dungeons and dragons.

it was so irritating.

eddie cocks his head to the side, eyeing you in a condescending way. with a narrowing gaze, you slowly saunter over to his seat, eyes never leaving his. the smirk on his face intensifies. like he had you right where he wanted.

there’s always been a cat and mouse game between you and eddie. a competition to see who could push each other’s buttons the most. your friends nagged you both about the tension that so obviously lingered in the air, but you could never tell if it was from a growing dislike, or just the opposite.

whether eddie was a thorn in your side or the apple of your eye, you would never give him the satisfaction of letting him win. ever. especially in this moment.

the boy props his foot against the edge of the table, and pushes it back. the squeaking sound startles your ears, and eddie can’t help but be amused at the way you flinch. you gracefully slip past him and lean against the table’s edge. you’re situated right between his legs with a sharpness in your eyes that makes his head spin.

“i don’t have all night eddie.” you say with a bit more venom than intended. it was a long and stressful day, and you had been running around campus like a maniac looking for your chemistry notes only to find out the biggest pain in your ass had stolen them after first period.

“relax princess,” he reassures with mock concern. the pet name sets your skin ablaze and he takes note of the way your fists curl around the table’s edge when he says it. “got it right here.”

he reaches behind him for the worn out red notebook.

you scoff. “funny how you would steal my notes for the one class you and i both know you’re not gonna pass.”

he dramatically places his hands over his heart, your notebook pressed against the logo of his hellfire shirt.

“ouch. you’re killing me over here.”

“a girl can dream,” you quip back, lunging to grab your notes so you can just go home. of course, he’s quicker than you, and tosses the journal back onto the table right as you swing foward.

you lose your balance and quickly brace yourself on the arms of the throne. you glance up and find the darkest of chocolate brown eyes boring into yours. your breath hitches in your throat involuntarily, causing eddie to break out a shit eating grin.

“so you do dream about me.” he replies with a cockiness that’s surprising even for him. you’re close enough that you can smell the faint aroma of tobacco on his breath and you can really see the length of his lashes. god, why was eddie munson so pretty? the realization makes your stomach flutter, churning with a feeling that’s never been associated with him before.

but then you remember that it��s eddie, and eddie’s only trying to see you cave before he does. you’re the only person he can rile up like nobody’s business and the feeling is more than mutual. you’ve got each other in equally vulnerable positions; it’s just a matter of who’s facade is going to crack first.

“you’re right.” you admit, your voice far more sheepish than he’s ever heard. it’s bordering submissive, something eddie’s not sure anyone has ever seen from you before. the notion goes straight to his crotch.

the corner of his mouth twitches. it eggs you on.

“i dream about you a lot.” your voice is barely above a whisper as you lean in even closer, palms planted firmly on either side of eddie. a cage of sorts that he’s seemingly fine with being trapped in.

you notice the way he’s fully leaning back now, removing his arms from beside yours to tuck them behind his head. it gives you a peak of some of his other tattoos, and a new angle of his biceps that will likely be the subject of your thoughts for the rest of the day.

“oh yeah?” he asks, voice an octave lower than before. “tell me about it.”

you tug your bottom lip between your teeth and eddie has to fight the urge to close the gap. your lips are nearly touching, hot breath fanning over each other’s cheeks as you feign innocence.

“we’re always in bed.” you continue, eyes flicking over eddie’s form. you can see the way he’s breathing a little faster, and you can definitely see the tent forming in his jeans. you look back up at his eyes and his pupils are nearly black.

you boldly dance your fingers up his torso. “sometimes you’re on top, sometimes i am.”

eddie prays you miss the way his cock twitches at the thought. he doesn’t want to imagine the ridicule he would face if your friends found out. it’s exactly what you’re aiming for.

in an effort to get his mojo back, he gently cups your jaw, tracing the outline of your cupid’s bow with his thumb. he moves it down to pull back your bottom lip, watching with intent eyes as the plush flesh snaps back into place.

heat pools between your legs, threatening to put a crack in your plan that’s very clearly working. but god, there’s such a satisfaction at watching eddie be wrapped around your finger, so entranced by whatever your next move is. you’ve gotta keep the upper hand.

“the best part though” you tease with a wicked grin, ghosting your lips over his.

eddie hums. he raises his brows defiantly, like he’s daring you to confess that you’ve been thinking about him the way he thinks about you. he doesn’t care if this is some stupid fucking back and forth. he wants to hear you say it.

when your hand trails back down and brushes over his crotch, he nearly loses it. you lean in beside his ear, offering a low sultry whisper. the boy’s eyes flutter shut, preparing for whatever’s coming next.

“is when i get to stick a pillow over your face.”

his eyes shoot back open in an instant.

you look like the cat who caught the canary. a devious, cheshire-like smile on your face as you slowly back away from him with your notebook in hand.

“smooth,” he deadpans, folding his arms over his chest in an attempt to distract from the now very obvious boner he has.

“sorry, sweetheart,” you mock him, returning to your original place at the other end of the room. “i’ve gotta fly.”

in a bold move, he asks, “does this mean i should swipe your stuff more often?”

your bravado falters for a moment at his question. then, it returns tenfold.

“you’re gonna have to find out.”

you saunter out of the drama room with a teasing salute, picking up your bag from it’s place by the door. eddie, flustered yet scorned, laughs out into the empty room. the sound reverberates off the walls and the empty soda cans still scattered on the table.

two can play at this game. you may have won this round, but there was plenty more coming .

he was so going to get you back.

thanks for reading! <3

[writers-potion]

How do you write an unhealthy relationship? Like one where a person is a bit possessive and controlling?

I won’t delve into the details of what makes up an unhealthy relationship, but focus more on how you’d want to present the characters to the reader depending on what you intend. 

Redeem the Controlling Character vs. No Redemption

In a possessive/controlling relationship, there will be a difference in how you present the controlling character depending on whether you aim to redeem them or not. 

Not all people who controlling tendencies are “bad” - the pattern in which we form attachment is highly 

No Redemption

Step into the controlling character’s head to show: (1) their unhealthy desire to make someone submissie to them (2) how they use their partner to fulfil their twisted fantasies (3) they just love the sense of “being in power” (4) it eventually spirals into violence. 

Often, the reason why serial killers keep murdering random people is because they enjoy the feeling of being entirely in control of someone else. They take delight - and are even aroused - when they’re toying with someone else’s life. 

Show how the “controlled” character tries to put boundaries, but the controlling character goes on ignoring them. 

You may give them a backstory, but don’t present them as justifying or sympathizable reasons. Yes, they may be hurt, but that doesn’t mean they can be horrible. 

The controlling character has no will to repent. 

Redemption Arc

Show how the controlling character say things they don’t really mean/ regrets being possessive.

Build a backstory of how the “controlling” character experienced similar situations with their parents/past lovers. 

The reason why they’re controlling would be: (1) to alleviate their own insecurities (2) that’s the only kind of “love” they received in the past (3) they have a misunderstanding/prejudice towards how the “controlled” character acts, which can be improved. 

Show how they struggle to form boundaries. They may try to stop themselves (promising they won’t call, assuring themselves that they don’t need to be insecure in the other’s absence, etc.) but fail to overcome this inner obstacle. 

They need to realize and show genuine regret for what they’ve done - make them work tooth and nail to undo the damage. This is where the other character would show forgiveness. 

Eventually, the controlling character will come to resolve their insecurity/break their initial beliefs and habits to overcome their problem. 

Making Both Characters Low-Key Toxic 

Unhealthy relationships can go both ways. It is possible that the controlling character became that way because their partner keeps their relationship unstable (due to mood swings or just on a whim), or has a history of doing whatever they like and letting the controlling character clean up after them. 

Present the relationship as a tug-of-war between someone who wants stability and someone who cannot stick to a single rule. 

Establish a backstory of how the “controlled” character cares only about themselves and is not willing to listen or adjust into the relationship. 

Show how the “controlled” character purposefully induces the “controlling” character to make such comments by doing what pushes their buttons, then flipping the “controlling” character’s guilt afterwards to get what they want. 

Signs of a Controlling Partner

You may sprinkle some hints throughout the story, then pick 2-3 huge “breakouts” where the controlling character’s true nature surfaces. 

A controlling person isn't always overtly threatening or aggressive. Sometimes they are emotionally manipulative and acting out of insecurity.

Isolating you from friends and family.

Chronic criticism—even for small things like dressing, eating, or the color of flower decor. 

Veiled or overt threats, against you or them: cutting off “previlleges” (e.g. no kissing for the day, cancelling dates, etc.)

Making acceptance/caring/attraction conditional - "I love you so much more when you're making those sales at work."

An overactive scorecard: a healthy relationship will be naturally reciprocation, not bean-counting every favor. 

Using guilt as a tool.

Creating a debt you're beholden to: giving extravagant gifts in the beginning of the relationship or doing huge favors that might seem romantic at first, but actually acts as points of leverage. 

Spying, snooping, or requiring constant disclosure.

Overactive jealousy, accusations, or paranoia.

Making you "earn" trust or other good treatment.

Presuming you're guilty until proven innocent.

Getting you so tired of arguing that you'll relent.

Making you feel belittled for long-held beliefs

Making you feel you don't "measure up" or are unworthy of them.

Teasing or ridicule that has an uncomfortable undercurrent.

Sexual interactions that feel upsetting afterwards: things as simple as not asking can be uncomfortable, even though they aren’t particularly violent.

Inability or unwillingness to ever hear your point of view.

Not respecting your need for time alone.

Pressuring you toward unhealthy behaviors, like substance abuse.

Thwarting your professional or educational goals by making you doubt yourself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

💎If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 

💎Before you ask, check out my masterpost part 1 and part 2 

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[drbased]

This is probably a little too personal, so I completely understand if you don’t want to answer, but I just saw a post of yours about how you were previously in the kink scene and how that strengthens your current stance on BDSM and the like.

I was exposed to that sort of thing at a really young age, and just accepted it as normal, but more recently discovered radical feminism. Do you have any advice on coping with previous relationships/ distancing yourself from that sort of thing? It’s really messed with my perception of relationships and sex and everything.

I'm not going to be able to answer this as fully as you'd like me too, I'm afraid.

Deconstructing the unspoken ideologies of BDSM are what has helped me the most. And it's fortunate that most of them can be summed up pretty easily:

forced orgasm, cnc, bondage: ask yourself to consider why it is that the idea of being a fully conscious, present, active and desiring human being isn't more erotic for you. feminist theory really helps with this - patriarchy says that the most 'erotic' thing is an erasure of our agency, our dehumanisation. patriarchy is necrophilic; it seeks death, and will accept symbolic death - that is, destruction of all things resembling living human agency, even when real death isn't available. instead, then, changing your mindset to recognising that the most erotic thing about you is that you're alive and vibrant and make choices and interact with the physical world and you're always you even when having sex; if that seems 'cringe' then you can embrace that, because in cringe lies true authenticity.

d/s roles: embrace the humility and vulnerability of true, unscripted interactions between human beings - bdsm for people is described often as 'safe fear' akin to watching a horror film, but unlike a horror film the 'safe fear' from participating in a d/s 'scene' replaces a much more potent fear of true human eroticism. additionally, doing kink in day-to-day life is another way to numb one's self to the chaos and discomfort of living.

punishment and rules: I've described kink as a form of symbolic state before, and this is why - bdsm, especially the whole concept of 24/7 d/s, is an opiate that substitutes the complicated chaotic world of real vulnerable human interaction where you are entirely responsible for your life choices is watered down to a set of rules you can follow for the rest of your life. you never have to worry if you're doing the 'wrong' thing, because your relationship path is laid out for you. And that fear of getting things 'wrong' is where the symbolic state begins to be formed - because there is no 'wrong'; there are only actions and consequences, and what you personally value. do you value the consequences of your actions? as with all symbolic states, there's a narcissistic childishness at play; you don't want to have to value the consequences of your actions - instead you want to believe that there's some external source of judgment you can always follow. because if you valued the consequences of you actions, suddenly you'd have to stop with the loathing of them - you either embrace them as truly a part of yourself, or you stop. the simplicity of that is hard but as with all hard things, it's deeply rewarding. the 'freedom' that people find in d/s is the escape from having to actually engage with their own personhood, but as with all symbolic states that's a trap. and especially as women, we recieve all sorts of mixed messaging and are punished much more harshly by society for our transgressions, so it's easier to give up and embrace that societal messaging. but it makes you vulnerable to it, and nothing beats the impenetrability of 'I don't care about x' vs 'I do care about x, so I will do something about it'

I'm not one of those radfems that will state with full confidence that all fetishism is bad in some ontological sense - I think the ubiquity of fetishes including those that seem to having nothing to do with dominance/submission, and those that start in childhood, says to me that there's something about fetishes that makes them part of the human experience. But then, as I often say, we don't live in a world where we got to have a healthy understanding of sex first: we live in a world where the default understanding of what 'sex' is for the majority of human history has been some form of rape; a man claims a woman, and her 'consent' is the point at which she submits to him, and as this consent is not an expression of her personhood it can be replaced with something as mundane as a legal contract (marriage) or financial transaction ('sex work').

Men know that rape is a perfect tool of mass terror to destroy the psyche, so it stands to reason that we feminists are not being hyperbolic when we acknowledge the importance of consent for true realisation of the self - and bdsm's hyper-focus on 'consent' seems to me a very liberal application of this idea; a deliberate refocus of excited feminist energy into something more palatable for society that still seems libertine enough to quash any sense of real rebellion (which, from what I've learned, has been a through-line of bdsm from the start). I've noticed that bdsm-ers talk a lot about how bdsm was the first time they were able to really recognise their own agency, and all I can think is how bdsm is offered to women specifically as a compromise: if you do all the sex things I want that just so happen to mirror real-life abuse and rape, then I will dress up for you, I will give you fun, spontaneous, adventurous sex, I will focus on your orgasm, I will make you the center of my attention always, I will discuss boundaries with you.

We should take with a huge grain of salt the ethics of any sexual norm in this society, including those which seem to go against the grain (remember that said grain is man-made, and thus any rebellion against it that men seem to embrace will always be more about their own rejections of the contradictions within the structures that they have built and actively benefit from; this is why feminist critique of bdsm and 'sex work' will always be more true and well-realised than any right-wing hatred of it). Even the word sadism is from the marquis de sade - a man who raped and tortured women and wrote propaganda on how being a true libertine means accepting rape. That's not an interpretation - that's literally what he did; there's no way that the women he was torturing were consenting or able to consent. And I think it says a lot about societal misogyny that you can look at what he did and see it as some sort of expression of secret liberty - it's so transparently misogynistic and patriarchal, once again inexplicably sold to women as freeing just in the same way that being a tradwife is freeing. There's a reason that there's a 1950s housewife kink.

So even if there's a version of fetishism that exists out there outside of patriarchial necrophilia and misogynistic dominance, rape and abuse, unfortunately we don't live in a world where we can find that out. The most basic, pg-13 symbol of kink - the fuzzy handcuffs - are a symbol of a woman being trapped and unable to escape. That is, whether or not anyone wants to accept it, a symbol of rape. And as for those childhood kinks I mentioned - I wrote a whole post a while back on how we seem to see a lot more kinks in kids' shows than anything else; the role of kink as another way to sexualise and exploit women and children, perhaps as punishment for a belief in the madonna/whore complex and assuming that our desire to be taken seriously as human beings means we're weakly protesting our purity, and there's an excitement in breaking those barriers down. So the question always remains; to what extent our supposed kinks that we 'consent to' in the bedroom are even our own, or how many of them are simply agreeing to entirely fabricated constructs of the male mind? And with that in mind, how meaningful can our consent ever be in that context? Or is 'consent' in a bdsm context perhaps a lot less like freedom and a lot more about that patriarchal understanding of consent as an agreement that can replicated? People laughed at 50 shades for the 'contract' but fail to recognise that d/s roles function in essentially the exact same way.

I would wholeheartedly recommend Pornography by Andrea Dworkin and Pornograph and Silence by Susan Griffin, as well as Against Our Will: Men, Women and Rape by Susan Brownmiller for some background on the enormity of this subject and a sense of how high the stakes are.

[violaplease1]

[transmechanicus]

Lord Commissar the men’s morale is wavering, we should whip the most submissi- i mean the most cowardly of them naked in front of the whole regiment

[worstmombracket]

After a hard battle, von Karma has been deemed the worse dad and will be moving on to the next round!

Worst Dad Bracket Round 1B

Oh no! The protagonist has a rival whose father really, really sucks! We're talking life ruining sucks. So where would you rather throw down, a cruise ship or a chemical factory?

[neopornouns]

flag id: two flags with 5 stripes. the left flag's stripes are pale red-pink, soft red-pink, dull purple-pink, dark dull purple, and very dark faded purple. the right flag's stripes are extremely dark teal, very dark dull green, dark faded red, red, and silver. end id.

banner id: a 1550x200 dark pink-red banner with the words ‘minors dni + please read the rest of my dni before interacting. those on my dni may still use my terms, so do not recoin them.’ in large white text in the center. end id.

submissigender | dominigender

submissigender: a gender related to being submissive, submissive things, and submission-related roles (ex: slave)

dominagender: a gender related to being dominant, dominant things, and dominance-related roles (ex: master)

[pt: submissigender: a gender related to being submissive, submissive things, and submission-related roles (ex: slave)

dominigender: a gender related to being dominant, dominant things, and dominance-related roles (ex: master). end pt]

for anon! since these terms are similar to gendersub and genderdom (just more specific), they use the same/similar colors in a different format. the terms are 'submissi' from 'submissive' + 'gender' and 'domina' from 'dominant' + 'gender'!

tags: @mogaigonewild | dni link

[writingsofwesteros]

Slutty Hospital: Insane Version..oopsie..more they have been drugged to keep them submissie.

Not that Robyn needed anything and now she's just a horny kitten all the time; drooling on someone's fat cock.

Aegon as greedy and clingy as ever .

One of them begins to regain some sense..and oh what they may find

[creedock]

Hey. I'm running a survey on who the sluttiest character in heartless is, which will then feed into a bracket.

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 2 Ch6

We are back with the concluding chapter of part 2! This was one of my favorite chapters to write and I so hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! 

I have invited folks who have read the book to guess what scene inspired the fic, and I think I’ve received one guess, so here’s a hint. The scene is in this chapter! So I will expect some speculations in y’all’s comments! Thank you so much for coming along on this journey with me! It means more than I can say!

All the love and thanks to @hollyethecurious​, for whom the fic was written, @jrob64​ and @zaharadessert​ for their betaing expertise, and @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips of Leroy and Astrid and Killian I used in the artwork. Love you all to bits, ladies!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process.

Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later ch)

Words: 5900 of approx 61,6K

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 from the beginning/ current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5

New Tag List! Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64​ @teamhook​ @winterbaby89​ @hollyethecurious​ @xarandomdreamx​ @undercaffinatednightmare​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @stahlop​ @superchocovian​ @pirateprincessofpizza​ @tiganasummertree​ @anmylica​ @cosette141​ @motherkatereloyshipper​ @zaharadessert​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jennjenn615​ @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ @kymbersmith-90​ @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @wistfulcynic​ @mie779​ @snowbellewells​ @lfh1226-linda​ @aprilqueen84​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @pirateherokillian​ @elfiola​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @poptart-cat-78​ @myfearless-love​ @goforlaunchcee​ @searchingwardrobes​ @gingerpolyglot​ @gingerchangeling​ @djlbg​ @cocohook38​ @cs-rylie​ @thisonesatellite​ @donteattheappleshook​ @deckerstarblanche​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @fleurdepetite​

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Dearest Reader,

In spite of an answer in the affirmative, Killian Jones was absent from the Rosen ball last evening, much to the quite vocal dismay of the resident debutants, and their mamas.

According to Lady Jones (his mother, not his sister-in-law), he’d left for the country over a week ago and has not been heard from since. But fear not for his health or well being, Gentle Reader, for Lady Jones seemed more vexed than concerned for her wayward son.

In the past few years, no less than two couples each year met their future match at the Rosen ball. But if any matches are to come out of this year’s soiree, Lady Jones’ second born will not be among the grooms.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

April 7

~*~*~

There were certain advantages to a long, drawn out recovery from illness, Killian soon learned.

The first was the sheer quantity and quality of food he’d partaken of from Mrs. Miner’s kitchen. He’d always been well fed when he stayed at My Cottage, but Mrs. Miner had truly gone above and beyond as he recovered.

Second, for the first time in his adult life, he had time to himself. He could read, draw, or simply daydream without feeling guilty about neglecting some task or other.

But the best advantage to lying abed, by far, was Emma. She popped in several times a day just to check on him, bring him food, sometimes simply to read to him. He had the feeling her care for him came from a desire to show him with actions her thankfulness for his saving her from Neal Gold. He didn’t actually much care why she came, he was just glad she did.

She’d been quiet and submissive at first, very much a servant in every way, but Killian put a stop to that behavior quickly. She was absolutely delightful- beautiful to look at, engaging to converse with, pleasant to simply be in the same room with- but he had to admit he also rather enjoyed her when she was mad enough to spit in his eye. He would ask her to join him when she brought his meals or tea, then he’d purposely engage her in conversation- sometimes needling simply for the pleasure of getting a rise out of her. They discussed all manner of things- from history, to politics, to literature. She constantly surprised him with her knowledge, and while she kept many things about herself hidden, he was beginning to get a clearer view of her upbringing.

She reminded him slightly of his mystery woman. It was no wonder that when he dreamt of her now she looked more like Emma than his rather faded memory. Yes, they were similar in appearance- both with long blonde hair and a very pleasing form- but the ladies' differences in station made Emma an unsuitable match for him. No matter how much he desired her.

And desire her, he did. Whenever they traded barbs back and forth in their rather animated discussions, he thanked God above that she was physically out of his reach, because if she hadn’t been, he would have been hard pressed not to haul her against him and kiss her within an inch of her life.

A sharp knock brought him out of his musings and a grin broke over his face as he raised himself up in the bed.

“Enter.”

Emma poked her head in. “Mrs. Miner thought you’d like some tea.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “Tea? Or tea and biscuits?”

Emma giggled adorably and Killian couldn’t help but grin. “Of course, tea and biscuits.”

“And you’ll join me?” he asked. She hesitated, as she always did, still feeling restrained by propriety, before she nodded, as she also always did.

She set down the service and went about preparing his tea and plate. “You are looking much better, Mr. Jones. Your color is back,” she commented as she handed them to him, “and you don’t look nearly as tired. I should think you’ll be back to your normal self soon.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” he agreed. “I do feel stronger.”

She sat down and he raised his eyebrow at her again. She sighed, even as the corner of her lips lifted, and fixed her own tea cup and plate. He was secretly pleased, or maybe not so secretly, that he no longer had to say a single word about her fixing her own cup and plate when she brought him tea.

“So what have you been doing?” he asked.

“Since I last saw you two hours ago?”

Killian just grinned delightedly.

“Mrs. Miner is preparing beef stew for supper and needed potatoes peeled,” she informed him, “Then I found a novel and spent some time reading in the garden.”

“Oh, really? How was the book?”

Emma smiled and sipped her tea. “It was silly and romantic,” she said with a small shrug. “I was enjoying it.”

Her cheeks blushed a lovely pink and Killian didn’t think she could be any more adorable if she tried. It also brought his musings from before she entered the room back in full force. He changed positions on the bed and bunched the coverlet around his waist.

“Are you alright, Mr. Jones? Would you like me to fluff your pillows?”

Killian inwardly groaned. If she came anywhere near him right now, he wasn’t sure he could control himself. And he was quite sure the visions going through his mind would not sit well with Emma herself.

“No,” he squeaked, before clearing his throat and repeating himself, in more of his normal tenor, “No, that’s not necessary, I assure you.”

Emma raised her eyebrow at him, expressing her disbelief at his words without a single one of her own. It probably should have alarmed him how easily they both seemed to read the other- much like an open book- but at the moment he was too agitated to care.

“Why don’t you choose something from my collection to read?” he suggested, anything to take his mind off his desire.

“Very well,” she agreed. “What would you like to hear?”

“Oh, anything.” He was growing more uncomfortable by the minute. Even her voice was affecting him.

“Poetry?”

“Splendid,” he assured her. Although he rather thought he’d have answered the same way if she suggested a book detailing the mating habits of creatures living in the arctic tundra.

She perused the books on his shelf before turning to him again. “Byron? Or Blake?”

“Blake,” he said decisively. If he had to sit through a single stanza of Byron’s romantic drivel, he’d probably lose his mind.

She moved back to her chair, gathering her rather unattractive skirts underneath her as she sat down. Killian frowned. It was the first time he’d noticed how ugly the dress she wore really was. Even the dress and cloak she wore the night they arrived was more becoming than this thing. He ought to buy her a new dress. She’d never accept it, of course, but perhaps if the clothes she now wore were accidentally burned…

“Mr. Jones?”

But how exactly would he be able to burn her dress? It would have to be off of her, of course, and that posed a certain challenge in and of itself.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmmm?”

Her face clearly conveyed her indignation. “You’re not even listening to me!”

“My apologies,” he said sincerely. “My mind got away from me. Please continue.”

She shot him a look that was equal parts resigned and perturbed and Killian nearly chuckled out loud. She began again and Killian fully focused on her face, but even more, her lips, which proved to be a severe error in judgment. Because now all he could think about was capturing those lips with his own. He squirmed in discomfort again. If one of them did not leave the room in the next thirty seconds, he was going to do something for which he would owe her a thousand apologies.

He cleared his throat, drawing her attention. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster.

Her eyes widened and Killian cursed himself. She looked hurt, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. He simply needed to get her away from him before he hauled her into the bed.

“I- I- I,” he stammered, “I have some personal business to attend to.”

Relief flooded her countenance and Killian relaxed as well. “Ohhh,” she said in realization. “I see.” She dropped a small curtsy, before speaking again. “I’ll just leave you alone, then.”

“Yes, thank you.”

She all but ran out of the room and Killian jumped from the bed, running to the window. Good. No one was in sight. He removed his dressing gown and pulled on a shirt and breeches before looking out the window again. Still no one around. He prayed his luck held as he searched for his boots. Once he got them on, he went to the window again. Excellent. Still no one in sight. He swung one leg over the window sill, then the other, and finally shimmied his way down the large elm tree outside his room.

Once on the ground, he took off for the very cold lake nearby, to take a very cold swim.

~*~*~

Emma descended the stairs, heading for the kitchen, grumbling to herself.

She just couldn’t understand why Killian had so much trouble treating her like what she was, a servant. He kept saying he would find her employment in his mother’s household but he also expected her to join him for tea and engage in conversation with him as if she was of his same class.

If he would just treat her like a servant, her life would be so much easier. She’d have no trouble remembering that she was nothing but a bastard, an illegitimate nobody, while he was a member of one of the ton’s most wealthy and influential families. Every time he treated her like a real person- because in her experience aristocrats did not treat their servants like real people- it took her back to that night, that one perfect night, when she had been a lady of the ton. A lady of grace and beauty. A lady who had the right to dream about a future with Killian Jones.

He treated her as if he enjoyed her company. And that was perhaps the cruelest aspect of all. Because he was making her love him. More than she had these past two years, when he was no more than a dream. For now he was flesh and blood, and close enough to touch. But then reality would come crashing in and it hurt so damn much.

She entered the kitchen to see Mrs. Miner standing over the stove stirring the stew.

“Can I help with anything?” she asked, surprising the woman.

“Oh, no, dear,” she said, waving aside her offer. “The stew just needs a few hours to simmer. And besides, Mr. Jones has not been pleased that I’ve allowed you to do anything around here.”

Emma snorted. “I don’t know why,” Emma began. “I’m just a…”

“No arguments, if you please,” Mrs. Miner interrupted her. “He’s quite right. You are not a servant here, you are a guest. And I should have been treating you as such more than I have.”

“You already have been, Mrs. Miner,” she said, an affectionate smile on her face. Mrs. Miner reminded her of Granny in a way, especially from that night. The way she fussed over her, making sure everything was just right. “But I’m not a guest.”

Mrs. Miner looked over at her, an astute look on her face. “Well then, what are you?”

Emma didn’t expect the question and faltered for a moment. “I have no idea,” she finally said. “But, a guest…” she stammered, trying to make sense of her thoughts and feelings, “a guest would be someone from his social class, or at least close to it. A guest would be someone who had never scrubbed floors… or… waited on another person… or… or…”

“A guest is someone who the master of the house has invited into the house,” Mrs. Miner interrupted gently. “Don’t belittle yourself, dear. If Mr. Jones has seen fit to invite you into the house, then you are a guest. When was the last time you were able to live in comfort and not have to work your fingers to the bone in return?”

“He can’t truly regard me as a houseguest,” Emma said quietly, “because, if he did, he’d have installed a chaperone to protect my reputation.”

Mrs. Miner huffed. “As if I’d allow anything untoward to happen under this roof.”

Emma smiled. “Of course you wouldn’t. But in this world we live in, appearances are just as important as reality. And in the eyes of society, a housekeeper does not qualify as a chaperone, no matter how pure and strict her morals may be.”

“If that’s true,” Mrs. Miner sent her a significant look, “then you need a chaperone, Miss Emma.”

“No, I don’t,” she protested. “Don’t be silly. I don’t need a chaperone because I’m not of his class. No one cares if a housemaid lives and works in the household of a single man. No one thinks any less of her, and she wouldn’t be considered ruined by anyone who would consider her for marriage.” Emma shrugged. “And Mr. Jones thinks the same way, though he’d never admit it, because he has never said a single word about my presence here being improper.”

“Well, I don’t like it,” Mrs. Miner informed her. “I don’t like it one bit.”

Emma smiled. Because it really was quite nice for her to care in the first place. “Well, if you really don’t need any help in the kitchen, then I think I’ll go outside for a walk, as long as I’m in this hazy position. I’m not a guest, not really,” she added when Mrs. Miner’s mouth opened in protest, “but I’m also not a servant, so I shall enjoy this freedom while it lasts.”

Mrs. Miner nodded in agreement. “You do that, Miss Emma.”

Emma left the cottage and started down the path that led to the nearby pond Killian had told her about. The sun was unseasonably warm, and she turned her face up to it, closing her eyes against its rays. The sunlight had always made her happy and she could feel her spirits lift from the anxiety and turmoil she’d experienced in the last few minutes, both with Killian and Mrs. Miner.

She opened her eyes, seeing a rather dense patch of forest up ahead. If she remembered correctly, Killian had told her the pond was hidden from view of the house by the trees, so she knew she was going in the right direction. She lifted her skirts slightly as she entered the canopy. The trees were dense and she had to step over tree roots and push stray branches out of the way to make her way forward. She could see a clearing up ahead and guessed the pond must be contained within.

But as she drew closer, she could hear splashing. With a gasp of fright, she realized she wasn’t alone. Who on earth would be swimming at this time of year? she thought. The water had to still be freezing this early in the season. She was only about ten feet from the edge, easily visible by whoever was in the water, so she ducked behind one of the large trees that lined the pond. Whoever was in there hadn’t spotted her and continued cavorting around in the water. Emma slowly poked her head out around the trunk and gasped in surprise.

It was Killian Jones.

And he was naked.

It was wrong of her stay. So very wrong. But she just couldn’t bring herself to leave. She moved back behind the tree and tried to find another hiding place. Perhaps something that would hide her and yet would give her a good vantage point. Was it terribly wicked of her to want to get a better look? Yes, yes it was. And she didn’t care one bit.

All her life she’d done the right thing, the safe thing. Only once had she deviated from that path and it was the single best night of her life. She’d tried to keep her eyes averted the other night when she’d undressed him, and when she did have to look at him to get his undergarments off, the shadows made by the candle kept him pretty well hidden from her curious gaze. But this was in the bright daylight. After all, what did she have to lose? She had no job, no prospects beyond Killian’s promise to secure her a position within his mother’s household. And she still wasn’t sure that was a good idea.

She spotted a large boulder off to the left with a low bush sitting in front of it, obscuring it from view. If she sat on the boulder, the bush should be high enough to keep her hidden. She moved slowly and carefully until she was seated on the rock, sitting as still as possible and keeping her eyes wide open.

~*~*~

Killian had never considered himself superstitious. Nor would he have said that he had a sixth sense. However, there had been a couple of times in his life when a sudden awareness washed over him. A kind of tingling sensation that told him something important was about to happen.

The first time was the day his father died. He’d been racing Liam on horseback when a sort of numbness had overtaken him, starting in his fingers and toes and rushing up his extremities until it centered in his chest, making it hard to draw a deep breath. It left him with a feeling of terror he’d never known in all his life. When they arrived back at the house, they received the news their father was already dead, having collapsed after being stung by a bee.

It was the kind of sucker punch none of them was prepared for. His youngest sister, Tilly hadn’t even been born yet, with Tink and Henry still young enough that it was unlikely either of them would even remember him. How someone so strong and vital could be suddenly taken from them, he just couldn’t comprehend.

The second time it happened was the night of his mother’s masquerade ball. Like the first time, the feeling had started in his extremities, but instead of numbness, it was a tingling sensation, as if he was waking up after sleepwalking. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end in the moments before he turned and saw her. Then, once he did, he knew exactly why he attended the ball that night; why he’d been born. He’d believed all of that then, but she’d proven him wrong by disappearing into thin air.

Now, as he stood in the pond, naked as the day he was born, he was struck again with an odd sense of being more alive than he had been just moments before. It was a good feeling, an exciting feeling.

Something was about to happen. Or perhaps, someone was near.

His life was about to change.

He stepped into a little deeper water before turning in a complete circle. He scanned the trees and bushes as best he could, but he could see no one.

“Who’s there?” he called.

Silence.

He hadn’t really expected an answer, but it had been worth a try. He squinted and did another sweep of the shore in the direction of My Cottage but could still see nothing. Moments later, something came over him and he suddenly knew exactly who was watching him.

“Emma!”

He heard a gasp, followed by a flurry of activity behind a bush on the shore.

“Emma Swan,” he yelled, “if you run from me right now, I swear I will follow you, and I will not take the time to don my clothing!”

The rustling of the bush slowed, but didn’t stop completely.

“I am stronger and faster than you, and I will catch up with you,” he continued. “And I wouldn’t put it past me to tackle you to the ground, just to be sure you won’t escape.”

“And you call yourself a gentleman,” she called, still hidden behind the bushes.

“Says the lady spying on a naked man,” he called back. Silence. Killian huffed in satisfaction. “Good. Now show yourself.” There was no response from the shore and Killian grew exasperated. “Emma, I already know you’re there. Just come out, already!”

He could almost see the petulant frown on her face as the bushes rustled again and she finally emerged. She was wearing the same dress, and seeing her there framed among the spring leaves and flowers made his desire to burn the awful thing that much stronger.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I went for a walk. What are you doing here?” she asked in return. “You’re supposed to be ill! I can’t imagine that,” she gestured vaguely at the water, “is going to help your recovery!”

“Were you following me?” he asked, purposefully ignoring her question and comment. It certainly wouldn’t do for him to tell her the truth about why he was here.

“Of course not!” she exclaimed. He knew from her expression she was telling the truth. He knew she didn’t possess the acting skill to feign that level of righteous indignation. She was too much of an open book to him. “I’d never follow you to a swimming hole. It would be indecent.”

Killian raised an eyebrow at her, not bothering to point out her hypocrisy, and her cheeks flamed in embarrassment. He lifted a hand from the water and motioned for her to turn round. “Give me a moment to get dressed, if you please.”

“I’ll just return home so you can continue your bath in privacy.”

“You will stay right there,” he demanded sternly.

“But…”

He raised his eyebrow again and crossed his arms over his chest. “Do I look like a man to be argued with at the moment?”

She stared at him mutinously.

“I will catch you if you run,” he warned her again.

Emma eyed the distance between them and then tried to guess the distance from here back to My Cottage. If he stopped to pull on his clothing, she might be able to make it, but if he didn’t…

“Emma, I can practically see the steam coming out of your ears,” he said, thoroughly exasperated. “Please stop whatever mathematical computations you’ve got going on in your head trying to decide if you could beat me back to the cottage and just do what I asked.” She still didn’t move. “Now.”

Sighing loudly and grumbling under her breath, Emma turned away from him. The infuriating man wasn’t being quiet as he emerged from the water. Now he was out, now he was picking up his breeches. She couldn’t help herself. Her wicked imagination ran away with her and she couldn’t say she minded. He could have allowed her to return to the house, but she supposed he did have the right to confront her with her wrongdoing, even if it was accidental. Her entire face was on fire and she dreaded his response when she finally faced him.

This was torture. He was purposely taking his time and her toes were falling asleep from how rigidly she was holding herself as she waited. She wiggled her toes in her shoes, and he must have noticed for he growled behind her.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not!” she protested. “My toes were falling asleep.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “And hurry up! It can’t possibly take you this long to get dressed.”

“Oh?” he drawled. She could practically see the raised eyebrow and smug smirk on his face.

“You are doing this just to torture me,” she accused.

“You find it torturous to be this close to me while I dress?” He sounded inordinately pleased at his statement. “I’m flattered. But you may turn around at any time. I asked you to turn around for the sake of your sensibilities, not mine.”

Emma huffed. “Asked, huh? I don’t recall you asking. Sounded more like a demand to me.”

“Point granted,” he acknowledged. “But you would concede that I have the right to speak to you about your indiscretion.” It was a statement instead of a question and Emma simply acknowledged it with a half shrug of her shoulders. “You may turn around, now,” he informed her gently.

She was a bit nervous to do so. Some of their banter back and forth and the way he almost seemed to enjoy getting a rise out of her made her worry that perhaps he wasn’t as decent as propriety demanded.

She lowered her head and peeked over her shoulder to see his pants on his body and so she turned fully, gratified, yet mixed with no small amount of disappointment, that he was quite decently dressed, unless one counted the damp spots on his clothing where the water had seeped through.

“It’s very bad form to spy on one’s host, you know.” He leaned back against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, legs crossed at the ankles with one toe digging into the ground. He looked utterly relaxed and breathtakingly handsome.

“It was an accident,” she insisted, her voice a bit more breathless than she’d like.

“Oh, I believe you there,” he informed her. “But even so, given the opportunity, you took it.”

Emma’s cheeks flamed again. She was damn tired of how easily he flustered her. “Well, do you blame me?”

Killian shrugged. “Nope,” he said, popping the p. “I might have done the same thing myself.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. “You would have spied on me?”

“I said ‘might’. I am a gentleman, after all.” He pushed himself away from the tree and slowly moved toward her, his blue eyes intense. “You’re a very beautiful woman,” he said, “in case you hadn’t noticed. And I have a hard time believing that you’re completely unaware of this thing between us. About how you affect me. About how I know I affect you.” He was standing right in front of her, his voice a whisper.

Her skin was hot and her heart hammered in her chest. The breath caught in her lungs and her hands trembled. Everything she’d ever dreamed of was swirling in his blue eyes and if he didn’t take her in his arms soon, she might collapse at his feet.

“Killian,” she breathed.

A slow smile spread across his face and she realized her mistake immediately.

“I like to hear you say my name.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Don’t say that,” he urged, touching a finger to her lips. “Please. Don’t you know that’s not what a man wants to hear?”

“I don’t have any experience with men.”

Killian smirked. “Now that’s exactly what a man wants to hear.”

Emma raised a brow in doubt. She knew men wanted innocence in their wives, but Killian wasn’t about to marry a girl like her.

He touched a fingertip to her cheek and ran it down until he cupped her jaw with his hand. “It’s what I wish to hear from you.” He stared into her eyes for a moment and Emma could barely breathe. “Sometimes I have trouble believing you’re real.” His other hand came up and cupped the other side of her face. “I think I’m going to kiss you.”

“You think?” she whispered.

“I think I have to kiss you,” he amended. “It’s like breathing. Rather hard to live without.”

He lowered his head and brushed her lips with his. It was achingly tender and soft and Emma whimpered as his arms came around her and held her close. His tongue touched the corner of her lips and she opened to him eagerly. It was exactly the same as before, a gentle request, full of passion and desire. Two years of remembering the single most exquisite experience of her life and now she was reliving it.

“You’re crying,” he said, pulling back and catching a tear that had fallen unbidden from her eye on the edge of his finger. “Do you want me to stop?”

Emma shook her head vehemently. No, she didn’t want him to stop. She wanted him to continue, because this time the clock would not strike midnight and she would not have to flee.

His lips took hers again. This time with more passion, more desire than even that night at the masquerade. Her mouth opened under the onslaught and his tongue took full advantage, searing her, branding her as his. His hands were not idle as his mouth made love to hers, fully possessing her. One held her tightly against him, where she could feel the desire he had for her, while the other stroked her side until he cupped her breast. His mouth left hers, as he peppered small kisses along her jaw and down the slope of her neck, making her shiver.

“Tell me you want this,” he murmured into her skin. “Tell me you want me, please,” he begged.

Oh, how she wanted it. How she wanted him. She wanted him to kiss her, hold her, love her. She wanted him to know who she was, that she was the lady from the masquerade, and yet at the same time, she never wanted him to recognize her. She was so confused, but one thing, one shining emotion rose above them all. She loved him. Well and truly loved him. And she would do anything for him.

It was that thought and that thought alone that pierced the fog enveloping her mind- the one that would have given him anything he asked for- making her pull back from him. As much as she wanted this, as much as she wanted him, she couldn’t forsake her own convictions, her own pledges to herself. If she didn’t maintain her own integrity, her own honor, what else did she have? For Killian would never love her the way she loved him. He would never marry her and bring her into his world, the one that, by rights, should have been hers. Even if he did fulfill his word to find her a position within his mother’s household, he would someday marry and leave her behind to continue on with his life, but if she broke every promise she’d ever made to herself for this one time, this one chance to be his, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself.

He looked at her somewhat dazed with desire and it nearly brought her to her knees.

“I can’t.”

“What?” The dazed look in his eyes gave way to confusion.

“I can’t do this.” Sudden clarity took over his countenance and his brow furrowed.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

The question made her pause as she truly pondered it.

“Won’t,” she whispered.

Killian swallowed hard at her response and his nostrils flared as he inhaled sharply. “And why is that, I wonder? You certainly seemed willing a moment ago.”

“You want me to be your mistress,” she accused, and he couldn’t help the wince that overcame him at her words. “And I can’t do that. I won’t do that,” she repeated.

He reached for her, grabbing her around the waist. She stiffened in response. “I want you to be with me. Today. Tomorrow.”

“But you don’t know what tomorrow will bring,” she reminded him. “You will have to marry one day. And we both know you will not marry someone like me.”

Her words completely floored him and sudden clarity came upon him. “You’re illegitimate. Aren’t you?”

The blood drained from Emma’s face and he knew he was right.

“H- how…” she sputtered.

“But that doesn’t matter,” he interrupted her. “I don’t care that you’re illegitimate. Who was your father? Your mother?”

She almost told him she didn’t know, but then remembered her promise that she wouldn’t lie to him. “What does it matter?” she cried instead. “My mother died at my birth, and my father died several years ago. Yes, I’m illegitimate. And I will not condemn a child to the stigma I’ve lived with all my life.”

The heartbreak in her eyes and voice was breaking his heart as well. He really couldn’t blame her, given the life she’d lived, but he had to try one more time. Only once had a woman he cared for rejected him, disappearing as if she was nothing more than a dream, and he didn’t think he could survive it again.

“I thought you said your mother was a housekeeper?”

Emma gasped. She’d forgotten that she’d given him the same story she told everyone who commented on her manner of speech or her obvious education. Thankfully she’d told him that before she’d promised she wouldn’t lie to him.

Emma closed her eyes, not wanting to see his expression as she told him the truth.

“I told you the same thing I’ve told anyone who noticed the way I speak. I did it to keep my background secret.”

Killian watched her intently as she stood before him, eyes shut, wound tightly as a spring waiting for his response. Another possibility suddenly occurred to him. “Was your father a member of the ton?” If Killian hadn’t still been holding her by the waist, he was sure she would have collapsed. “Nevermind. Nevermind. Forget I asked. It’s not important. But, don’t you see? You wouldn’t be. I would care for any children we had. I could give you a roof over your head, fine clothes, jewels, good food to eat. I could give you everything you could ever want or need.”

It took her a moment to recover from his astute speculation, but once she did, she looked into his eyes and saw her own heartbreak mirrored back at her. “If you think that’s everything, Mr. Jones, then you probably wouldn’t understand why I must refuse.”

Her simple words cut him to the quick. He knew what she wanted, what she deserved, but she was right. Even though he didn’t hold a title, it would be socially unacceptable for him to marry a servant, even if she was an illegitimate daughter of a member of the ton. But there was one thing in her last statement that was also unacceptable. He pulled her closer to him and wrapped her in his arms.

“Mr. Jones!” she exclaimed. Her hands landed on his chest in a half-hearted attempt to keep him at a respectable distance, but he simply tightened his arms around her. “Let me…”

“Killian,” he interrupted. “I want you to call me Killian.” He lowered his head toward hers, waiting for her consent. She held herself stiff as a board for a moment and then relaxed in his embrace. As soon as she did, he closed the distance between their lips and gently kissed her. It was the exact opposite of what he wanted, but as a gentleman, he had to honor her wishes. He wanted her close to him. He could still pursue her- perhaps he’d be able to change her mind. “I’m still going to take you to London and find you a position in my mother’s household.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she protested. “You’re not responsible for me.”

“You became my responsibility when I realized what they had planned for you,” he bit out angrily. She knew exactly who he meant, and it made her heart melt in her chest. His finger ran along her jaw gently. “I will not see you cast adrift.”

Emma looked into his eyes. They were filled with heartbreak, but they were resolved as well. She wouldn’t be his mistress, but she could not deny him this.

“Very well, Killian,” she whispered. “I’ll come with you.”

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Sneak peek of the new chapter will be posted on Wednesday! Don’t forget to guess what scene inspired the fic!

[pro-birth]

For those who would be interested, Rehumanize International is doing an art contest (for all sorts of mediums).

[mythvoiced]

Aeri can’t decide what she hates more - the way the bejeweled pin in the victor from District 8’s hair is lopsided, or the girl herself. Oh, what Aeri wouldn’t give to wear such an accessory again, or even wear the finery the victor has been gifted to wear to the viewing. That was her once, wasn’t it?

But now? She’s stuck here, watching this spectacle. The brat, who has no idea what privilege she’s been presented with, keeps on creasing the delicate threads of her gown and her stylists also clearly have no idea on how to do the brat’s makeup. And then there’s that damn pin- Aeri’s pin once upon a time- only in place because it’s tangled in there-

And Aeri can’t hold back. When the brat’s stylists are gone, she reaches into the girl’s hair and extracts the pin. Her fingers, callused from years of hard labor that still feels foreign to Aeri, are quick to untangle most of the obvious knots in the brat’s hair before shetwists the locks into a ponytail and then a bun. The pin goes back in.

Aeri glares at the girl through the mirror. Don’t you dare mess up my work.

( congrats lenlen!! you get....aeri, being really resentful, i hope marìa doesn't mind too much ^^' )

@stillresolved | !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LET HER BE RESENTFUL

---

There's a harshness to being dolled up when you are in no way receptive to it.

María isn't foreign to the roughness of life - she's a fucking Victor, after all, isn't she - she's started working in factories just about around the age even the most moral of District 8 people might turn their back in fear on seeing her walk in, pretending not seeing her would free them of the responsibility of working with a child.

Her hands and nose and palate and lungs had long gotten used and keep getting used to the aftermath of working with chemicals, of being so very intimate with garments and colours, with fumes and heat, with the hard work of surviving, with the hard work of fighting to be allowed a minimal chance at said survival, at figuring that there's little more for people from District 8 to fight for.

Still... it's not the same.

Being pushed around, dressed in things she would have never chosen for herself to serve a people, a man, because she's not stupid enough to not be able to tell what is Capitol and what is Snow and how Capitol is Snow, it's a kind of biting and harsh and rough that doesn't leave behind the usual kind of scars and memories and bruises.

Even surviving the Games had come with a desperately accepted sense of relief, one covered in blood and the humiliation of all she'd done and all she'd thought she'd get to accomplish, only for reality to crash in on her in a victory she hadn't wanted to partake in, hadn't wanted to make possible, when she'd wanted her Games to be victor-less in lieu of ending the Games themselves.

This... this is humiliation in the long run. This has hardly any hope attached to it, waiting for her on the other end of the line. Sometimes, on the worst days, it feels like the true brunt of the battle, walking with blood-stained soles and palms and sparkling as she does, wearing all that might make even the softest source of light appear like flames reflecting off her frame, covering her in fire that had not eaten her alive - much to a few people's disdain.

Picking at things, not holding still, grimacing, shifting her muscles, arms, face to make her stylists' life as difficult as possible, it was all she had to fight back.

The Arena came with death and violence, and living back at home had been physical labour upon physical labour, straining her young body until she could no longer tell if she was broken beyond repair or fitter than children her age should be - had they grown up privileged within the Capitol's safety.

Here she has only threads to tear apart and reflections to glare at.

And a new challenge behind every door.

She feels yanked back, an intensity of motion caused less by the avox suddenly in her hair and more her own stiffness that hadn't prepared her for submission to someone suddenly rearranging her.

After her stylists had left, she'd succumbed to the tension of not wanting to be there, without the added hard work of making sure everybody else does. Lost in her thought, somebody's hands suddenly returning on her had fortified, molten it into a newly forged blade, stiff and ready to strike, tensing everything within her and making a few fingers in her hair turn into a grappling hook tied to a moving mountain.

María is startled enough she can't remember how to glare.

A frown does accompany her widened eyes anyway, making her look... appalled, almost, an addition to her expression so unsuited to typically frightened features, youth tainted by the face of someone used to having to fight to stay alive.

It almost happens in a flash then. The reflection moves and adjusts and fixes and what had started as something that had María's lips split into something acid and trembling, turns into something unpleasant and acrid, but silent, as María sits and lets herself be mandhandled one more time.

That's when she glares. After the avox finishes up, after their eyes meet in the mirror and María sees none of the downturned gazes they're trying to make her accustomed to.

Seeing avoxes pisses her off.

Why take it out on them.

She understands what they are, what they're supposed to represent.

To her, an avox is a statement. No longer a person but rather someone rid of their innate right to be considered one. Even with the determination and life in this avox' eyes, María has come to understand them as tools Snow uses to assert his dominance, people from all circles of life, punished with the robbing of their words... and their detached tongue metaphorically forced to lick away at the tip of the shoes of people like María.

All a scheme.

Infighting.

Use the prey on the prey, make them take each other out.

It'd be easier to feel pity if María could sleep, if the avox hadn't adjusted her appearance, and if the avox wasn't staring her down as if she had any right to do so.

She's oddly beautiful.

She's oddly familiar.

"Why are you helping them?" she hisses, low, whispered, because she might never admit it, but she's... she's a little scared, isn't she? Lately? Devora's face swims before her inner eye, so stern, so wrong.

"I'm on your side more than they are," she adds, pulling a strand of her hair out of the freshly adjusted bun.