#LOOK AT ME WRITINGGGGG

[pintrestgrl]

can I request a mattheo fic where reader is obsessed with kissing him

🧜🏻‍♀️

obsessed!reader with boyfriend!mattheo

you’ve been with mattheo for a while now, and there’s this magnetic pull between you that never fades. it’s like every time your lips brush against his, the whole world stops, and nothing else matters except the fire sparking between you two.

you’re obsessed with kissing him. not just the quick pecks or the casual brushes of lips in passing— no, you crave the kind of kisses that steal your breath and make your heart hammer in your chest. the kind that make you forget who you are for a second, because in those moments, you’re just his.

mattheo knows it. he sees it in the way you stare at him across the room, fingers twitching, lips parted slightly as if waiting for him to close the distance. sometimes, you catch him smirking at you when you think no one’s watching. that slow, knowing smile that promises he’s going to take full advantage of your obsession.

“you’re ridiculous,” he once said, voice low and teasing, as you snuck up behind him and pressed a long kiss along his neck, making him shiver. “can’t get enough of me, huh?” you grinned, cheeky and bold. “never.”

there’s something electric about the way he responds, his hands gripping your waist tighter, his mouth claiming yours like it’s a challenge. you’ve learned every inch of him by now, the way his lips curve when he’s amused, the soft places behind his ears, the tiny flicker of vulnerability in his eyes when the world isn’t watching.

one night, you’re sprawled out beside him on his bed, the moonlight streaming through the curtains. you’re lazy, fingers trailing absent patterns on his skin, but your lips keep finding their way to his jaw, his cheek, his mouth. anywhere you could reach, the craving impossible to ignore.

mattheo watches you, amusement flickering in his gaze, before he pulls you closer until there’s no space between you. ”you think you’re the only one obsessed?” he murmurs, breath warm against your lips. you laugh softly, heart pounding. “prove it.”

and with that, his mouth crashes onto yours. fierce, hungry, full of promise. your world narrows to the taste of him, the feel of his hands tangled in your hair, the heat of his body pressed against yours.

time slows, and you get lost. lost in him, in this obsession you share, in the way kissing mattheo feels like coming home. because this isn’t just a craving. it’s the beginning of everything.

a/n: first mattheo workkk

tags : @hrryp0thead @theosbae @theosbaby @theonottbabygirl

[archangeldyke-all]

love love love your writinggggg!!! seriously!

if i could request something, i'd love a soft sevika helping a lonely and touch starved reader? maybe reader is her friend and her friend opens up and stuff goes down😏

i love youuuuuu!!!! this is sooo cute 😭

men and minors dni

"touch starved?" sevika asks. "what's that?"

you invited your best friend over for take out and gossip, and now, three hours into eating and drinking and catching up, your conversation's gotten deep.

you shrug. "like, y'know, not being touched enough. people are supposed to touch and hold and cuddle each other, like evolutionary-- it calms us down and keeps us healthy. but, if you're, like me... single, living alone, family's not all that touchy feely... i dunno. i just feel like a really nice hug could, like, fix everything in me."

it's quiet. you know sevika won't judge you, you've known her long enough to know better than to expect that. you anticipate maybe a tease, or an encouragement to accompany her to the bars she meets girls at to try and find you somebody too.

you don't expect the upset, almost sad look on her face.

"sev?" you ask.

"sorry. i was just trying to remember the last time i had a hug." she says, shaking her contemplative look away. your heart shatters and you pout at your best friend. she chuckles. "don't give me that look, you're just as pathetic as me!"

"it's not pathetic, it's way too common nowadays." you laugh, smacking sevika's shoulder.

but, when you bring your hand back to your side of the couch, sevika reaches out and grabs it, intertwining her fingers with yours.

you gulp, and your heartbeat skyrockets.

it's not just your touch-starved-ness that's got you flustered. you've been crushing on sevika since you've known her. it's why you've avoided touching your best friend so much in the first place-- your brain just short circuits when you touch her.

"why don't we just hug each other?" sevika whispers. you blink up from her hands to look her in the eye, shocked to see sevika looking just as unsteady as you feel.

you take a shaky breath and look down at your hands. you can't lie. sevika will see right through you.

"honestly? i think if i hugged you i'd never let go."

sevika chuckles. "is that so bad?" she asks. you huff.

"yes! sevika, i'm trying so hard not to make things weird between us and-- and a hug would make my feelings way too fucking loud to ignore."

it's silent. sevika's grip on your hand is like steel, you couldn't run away if you wanted to. you don't. her wide, vulnerable eyes have you pinned to the couch anyways.

"...i didn't know you felt like that about me."

"yeah, well..."

sevika launches forward and pins you to the mattress, laying flat on top of you. you squawk, squirming underneath her as you try to free yourself. she just goes boneless, waiting for you to finish fighting. "sevika!" you cry.

"i feel like that about you, too." she whispers. you give up your fight, melting into the couch beneath you. "if i had known, i'd've been all over you this whole fucking time."

"...oh." you giggle.

you can feel the curve of sevika's smile against your throat, and a shiver shoots down your spine. "were you serious about never letting go of me?" she asks.

"yes."

she kisses your cheek, and you shiver again. "good. i'm not lettin' go of you either."

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob @xayn-xd

[nautilusgays]

Live reactions to Episode 2 of AMC's Nautilus

SPOILERS SPOILER SPOILERS SPOILERS

Oh the N rising out of the water is beautiful

Humility's massive skirt is pissing me off I'm having a viceral reaction to it - Oh yes it's getting ripped up - I think the fabric just looks like I would hate the texture

Ayyy it's going up

'Captain Crazy' lmao Ned Land would approve of that title.

Oh god that like cockney/sailor accent hurts

ANOTHER TWINK!? Oh god he's a brat 'algey boy' oh god no

Lmao they are literally giving Humility Aronnax-esq dialogue - except she's apparently lying?

'ah Mon dieu' just incase we forgot Benoir was French

'you are not going back to the underwater boat. Get back to the underwater boat' marvel called it wants it's dialogue back

Look I love a competent woman but ahhh her writinggggg

YES DOGGOOOOOOOOO

Nemo speach time - oh a threat instead of motivational - he's looking good in his rolled up sleeves and waistcoat tho.

Oh dreadnaught is back - more like Twinknahght there is three of them now!

Listen to the fucking captain you shareholder dickhead he actually knows how ships work (he's giving "and a (business) partnership was the only ship that he ever had seen" - a Gilbert and Sullivan lyric)

Oh! He knew Nemo??!

Oh god that comparison Humility babe - HUMILITY NO

'that will be none of your business' I love the way she did that slay

'its hope that brings people together'

Lmaoooo Lord Pitt is Humility's fiance??? Oh twink on twink violence.

Youngblood has some positive view of Nemo yas

Mate Pitt is weird af

HUMILITY! Her foot in mouth disease is real I kind of love it

Benoit sweetie! I love him. Also hope him and Humility have a cute father daughter-esq relationship.

I love submarines so much!

Oh this is adorable!

Him and Nemo are brainy besties I love it. "He has his reasons for being the way he is." Mate just give him some 2010s emo music and he'll be fine.

I love them messing with the kid so much omg it's so cute.

'hey concentrate' mate you put me in front of that window I will focus on nothing but the moving water and fish.

Aw Benoir is such a bleeding heart!

Nemo angst projected onto whales

Pfff dramatic waistcoat removal I love him.

Wait are those sperm whales??? (I don't think so but I can't tell lol - my bro is the marine biologist not me)

Wet cat Nemo fr fr - need a fic where Pierre sees him in a wet white shirt.

Damn Nemo savage!

"That was theft" why is that so funny to me

NOOO Humility baby imma hug you her sad puppy eyes

"they're made from whale bits" "the fish that made these are dead already" savage queen Imao

How tf did a mouse get on-board??

Horizon scanning is the favourite past time on the Nautilus.

"big boat with big big guns" that's how we should describe the dreadnaught from now on

Ugh competency is sexy - also I now realise why that the open waist coat and shirt combo is so sexy it's cause Nemo got that lesbian fit

UGH 'we better use our wits then' CUTE PATERNAL REASSURACE IS ALSO SEXY HES A GOOD DAD

Archie NO

Crawley mate don't fight the shareholder

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Oh stowaway?

"then the next stage of our journey maybe a spiritual one" NEMO NOT HELPFUL SWEETIE

Benoit and Humility make me happy (it's probably the daddy issues)

"how deep were they tested?" "50 fathoms" YOUNGBLOODS EXPREASION OMG - I love the plots of shareholders not understanding how science and engineering work and the people that do having to deal with it - I hate it in real life tho: looking at you RBMK Reactors and The Challenger! - I hope Crowley gets his commupence for not listening to experts and the actual competent people get to save the day (to make up for it not happening in real life)

This is so stressful

I like having the viewing port on top of the saloon window

Oh no a Brit

[royalwilmon]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

ohhhhhh this is fun, thank you for tagging me @itsmadreia !!!!!!!

How many works do you have on Ao3?

15

What's your total Ao3 word count?

190,260...... omg... the way im gonna crack 200k when i post tomt5.... omg.....

What fandoms do you write for?

just young royals! :)

Top five fics by kudos:

call me up late (4,886) (wtf) always on the tip of my tongue (806) say it's okay (645) stardust in the eyes (546) i am going to hell in a surrey (with the fringe on top) (544)

Do you respond to comments?

i try to!! i'm a lot better at it immediately after i post something. if i'm in a slump, for some reason i find it trickier

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

angsty ending?? me??!! i guess i'll say make 'em roar since it's technically abandoned? and in the outline when i talk about the epilogue i do talk about how their circus folded after only a few years. but they were still happy so it wasn't angsty! but that's the closest i got

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i meaaaaan. cmul had a pretty happy ending imo

Do you get hate on fics?

nothing directed to me! i did make the mistake of searching for myself on twitter a few years ago and did find some there.... but that was my own fault for looking for it

Do you write smut?

yes :)))))

Craziest crossover:

I've never published any BUT i did attempt to write a walking dead/in the flesh crossover EONS ago

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I mean, not to my knowledge?

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah! CMUL has a Russian translation!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes!!! Back in the glee days I wrote a klaine fic with a friend of mine!!

All time favourite ship?

wilmon ofc

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

make 'em roar :'((((( genuinely SO sad i won't finish it, it's just... SO much research and i don't have the energy i simply don't

What are your writing strengths?

humor? is that weird to say? i like when characters can just be goofy with each other and i have a fun time writing that and i thiiiink it translates sometimes

What are your writing weaknesses?

fuckin ANYTHING that's not dialogue. its so hardddd and i haaaaate writinggggg

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i don't think i really have thoughts? theres a lot of it in this fandom so im just so used to it at this point!!

First fandom you wrote in?

glee

Favourite fic you've written?

i feel like i should say cmul (its definitely the fic i've written thats been the most impactful for me personally) but i think my favorite has gotta be tip of my tongue. just bc of the amount of time and energy and thought i've put into this universe... it's so fully realized in my noggin which just makes it so REAL to me. i'm so so sooo attached to it, idk. idkkkkk. i just love it

No pressure tags:

@goldenwilmon @malinthebodyguard

[firelord-frowny]

YIKES lmaooo accidentally made myself cryyyyy re-reading this bit of fanfiction i have no recollection of writinggggg omfg.

tbh i feel like this is worth the read even if you dont give a fraction of a flying fuck about fanfic or about assassins creed lmao bc like. its a very expressive and eloquent exploration of how hard it is to see yourself through the eyes of someone who loves you when you fucking hate yourself 🙃

“My body, it… it’s so weak. And soft. I’m not strong enough to fight anyone. I’m not fast enough to run away.” 

“Your mind is just as effective a self-defense tool as any sword or shield.” 

“Is it, though?” 

“You’re here. You’ve survived things that many people wouldn’t have.” 

“That is true. But what I’ve had to give up? The things I’ve had to let happen to me? A man invites himself unto my body. And I don’t want him there. But I can’t stop him. At the end of it, I’m uninjured. But not because I fought him off. I’m uninjured because I negotiated. Because I figured out what he wanted most out of me. And I handed it over. So he wouldn’t have to hurt me in order to steal it. I get robbed all the time. But I don’t lose my most prized items because I’ve learned how to hide them. Or disguise them. Or convince my assailants that my less expensive belongings are worth more than they really are. I never win anything, Alexios. I’m never saved by my intellect. And you should know what I’m talking about, because you are exactly the kind of person who relishes in finding a mark like me. One who is so painfully aware of their own shortcomings that they don’t even try to put up a fight. I survive. I don’t triumph. And if my body were strong, then maybe I could triumph. Someday. In some way.” 

“Not everyone can be… strong, or fast. And not everyone can be brilliant. I think if I had a mind like yours, then… I would probably have become someone I could be a lot more proud of than I am. You think having to use wit instead of force to protect yourself is a weakness, but what I wouldn’t give to know how to end a conflict without resorting to extreme violence. I’m not saying that it doesn’t make sense for you to feel how you do. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that kind of helplessness. I’m just saying that the way you are… the body that you have… there is nothing wrong with you. You are beautiful. And worthy, and powerful in your own right. You, exactly the way you are, have a valuable place in the world. Especially my world. I need you. The version of you that sits before me right now. That’s what I need.” 

“I don’t understand. I can’t do anything for you.” 

He looked at me for a long time. The calculating look. The one he gets when he’s examining a rockface he’s never climbed before. Looking for footholds and handholds. Scoping out the most efficient rout. Or, perhaps, the look he gets when he’s gauging just how fast he needs to run to clear the jump from one plateau to another. Estimating how much strength he’ll need to conserve to reach the top of a mountain. The only difference between Alexios and a mathematician is that Alexios never actually deals with numbers. But he calculates all the same. He solves equations in a glance that a polymath would need an abacus for. Perhaps he can’t tell you in numbers exactly how far away one handhold is from the next, but he’ll launch himself the precise distance, nonetheless. And it’s because of that look in his eyes that I know that the next words he said to me would be thoroughly considered and thoughtful. 

We’ve been this close, and closer, thousands of times by now. But this time felt brand new. Breathtaking. Absolutely ethereal. 

His hands slid to rest on my outer thighs, pressing gently so the contact between my inner thighs and his hips was solid. Then he held me by my waist, traveling again to the small of my back, then up higher, moving slow and reverent. 

Then he told me, “I wish I had your gift for words so I could tell you what this feels like for me.” 

I said, “Just close your eyes and speak.” 

I closed my eyes, too, and then after a moment, I heard him sigh. Then he speaks. Quiet, low, and slow.

“This… is the softest place I’ve ever been in my life. As long as I can remember, everything around me has been… sharp. Serrated. Hard. Rough. I’m smashing metal against metal. Bone against stone. I’m cutting, or being cut. I only touch people to hurt them. The most soothing thing I ever feel is someone else’s blood warming my skin. But now I’m here. Between your thighs. And the way your body ‘gives’ under my touch… you don’t even have to hold me to embrace me. You’re so. Soft. And all I have to do to be surrounded by you is touch you. All I have to do is touch you, and now everything jagged in me gets to know what it feels like to be smoothe. I’ve always been so angry about my life. Resentful. Suffering for no good reason. But now I come home to you, and lay beside you and all I can do is thank the Gods for everything I’ve ever been through that turned me into someone who can keep a soft, precious thing like you safe.”

Oh. 

One day, someday, maybe it will stop surprising me every time Alexios takes my breath away. Maybe I’ll stop being caught off guard every time he finds a new way to tell me he loves me. 

Then he said, “I wish you could appreciate the balance. Appreciate that maybe, in some way, people like you and me are made for each other. Who you are brings such wonderful meaning to who I am and what I’ve been through. I wish who I am could bring similar meaning to you. I wish you could love the things about yourself that are so precious to me.” 

I think I left my body in that moment. Sitting there in front of Alexios. In front of this man made of solid audacity and nerve, smelted and forged. I couldn’t remain in my body if I was to stand a chance at fathoming how the words he just said could be said about me by anyone at all, let alone him. 

I know I left my body because when I heard him finally say, “Why are you shaking?” I didn’t know why he’d ask such a thing. But I looked down at my hands, and yes, they were trembling. And I felt myself slam back into my corporeal form - heavy, and unsteady, like an earthquake. 

Indeed, I think I was shaking because my whole world had just been rattled. My entire self-concept, shifted like a fault line. That there should be any use for the utter desolation I’ve suffered through? That all the things I hate most about myself could bring any meaning at all to another person’s suffering? I was shaking with the exertion of struggling to hold my understanding together. But when I answered him, all I said was, “I’m sorry.” 

He held both of my hands.”You’re sorry? What for? What did I say that made you think you should be sorry?” 

The grief in my throat was so thick, I could barely speak. But I forced the words out: “I’m letting you down.” And right around this moment was when tears overwhelmed my eyelids. And I think I could hear Alexios’s heart shattering.

He gasped a little and then said, “What? By the Gods, no, no. That’s not it at all. Never.” He let go of my hands, but only to slide his arms the rest of the way around me. I felt his lips on my forehead, and then my ear against his chest. He held me just like he did that very first time. It took my breath away then, and it still takes my breath away now. “I don’t ever want you to believe anything other than that I’m so, so proud of you. Proud to be with you. Honored that you’ll even look at me. I didn’t say all those things in criticism. I said them to try to help you see how much you mean to me.” 

That only broke me even more. And racked me with even more guilt. I didn’t want to disappoint him more by apologizing again, so I didn’t. Not out loud, anyway. In my head, I was pleading. Praying. I’m sorry your love is wasted on me. 

Then he looked down at me and said, “...But you can’t, can you? You really… you honestly just can’t.” 

He pulled me in close again, gently swaying, rocking. And I heard him say, “I’m so, so sorry for what’s been taken from you.

[crybaby-bkg]

just found out that I got a couple of my works published in a magazine and even won an award for my writing :)

[raiswanson]

The Loving Seal shorts #2: Mean (Nyvina PoV)

([soft gasp] Okay so I guess a few of you liked the first one of these huh? I am humbled and ShookTM and I love you all ❤️❤️❤️ You guys really like your selkies don’t you? :3)

This is short two of six that I wrote in March to warm up for Camp NaNo! Set shortly after the events of Song! Again, taking place long, long before the events of The Loving Seal proper...

(This short is roughly 3k words long, in full beneath the cut!)

“Do I have to?” Kaelan’s miserable whimper set my feet even more forcefully in the sand as I stood between him and my mother, glaring her down for being so unreasonable.

“If he doesn’t want to leave the cove yet you shouldn’t make him, Mother. It isn’t fair,” I protested.

Mother closed her eyes and set her hand to her hip, matching my posture exactly—I couldn’t tell who was imitating who anymore. “Pup, it’s been a week. I know Kaelan has had a difficult experience but he must go out. I cannot continue fishing for him, and we cannot expect the others to offer their catches in my place—”

“I’ll give him—”

“No, pup. He must join the pod properly. You can’t keep him here all to yourself,” she said softly, making me narrow my eyes in anger only to jump when I felt a timid hand close around my finger. I turned to see Kaelan had stepped closer and was peeking at my mother over my head, shaky hand gripping mine as he swallowed.

“I’ll go,” he said softly, lulling voice still trembling but not as much as he had before, “If Vina goes with me. I don’t want to be alone again.”

Mother sighed and crouched down to look at him around me, smiling. “No one is asking you to go alone, pup. I’m trying to make you not be alone. Nyvina can’t stay here with you forever you know. If you don’t want to be lonely you need to meet everyone else for when she has something to do,” she said.

Kaelan considered this, squeezing my fingers, then flinched when I pulled his arm.

“I’ll go with you. It’s okay. I’ll show you where all the other pups play,” I said, pit sinking in my stomach at the thought. I didn’t want him to meet the others. “I’m not going to keep him like he’s a pet,” I added with a sniff of challenge toward my mother, who watched with a knowing expression.

Shaking her head, she stood to look down at the two pups before her. “I’m glad to hear that. Go have fun with the others. Make friends,” she said, looking to me especially as I felt myself shrink.

“Yes, Miss Nadia,” Kaelan mumbled, and with a grunt I pulled his arm again to lead him out of the rocks to the cove.

We made it to the open beach before Kaelan froze up, yanking me backward as I kept moving and found my arm nearly ripped off my shoulder. I turned to scowl at him but cooled when I saw his eyes had gone round and terrified, full of tears once more. He moved as if to step back toward the shelter of the rocks again, and whimpered when I planted my feet and held my ground.

“Come on, Kaelan, we have to,” I said, leaning my face into view. The closeup startled him and he jerked backward, gasping, then set his eyes to mine and stared at me. “It’s okay. I’m here. I won’t let anything hurt you,” I promised, pleased when his face brightened to a tiny smile.

“Okay,” he whispered, letting me pull him past the rocks. He still flinched as if expecting attack, and when all that happened was more pulling he opened his clenched eyes and let me haul him to the water.

He skittered backward when the waves lapped his ankles, but I held his hand firm, already accustomed to what I had to do. When I didn’t yield he shuffled closer to me and loomed over my shoulder looking out at the water.

“Come on Kaelan, let’s go find the others,” I pressed, pulling his skin over his head and stepping backward into the sea. I heard him gasping as I dropped to the wet sand in seal form, and a moment later a larger seal was thumping to the ground beside me, half his face covered in freshly-closed slashes.

I offered him a friendly, meaningless bark and scooted deeper, slipping under the waves to enjoy being submerged as I’d so scarcely been able to since Kaelan’s arrival. I’d been with him almost the whole week, leaving to splash and catch a few fish whenever he fell asleep, but this was the first in days I’d gotten to swim for fun.

Kaelan followed at a slower pace, hesitant to leave the depths he could stand up in. I flipped and spun ahead of him, signaling a call for play and fun with my fins waving encouragement. He watched me dart through the water a while, then pushed forward to meet me.

“You swim well,” he said in a mystified voice once we floated nose to nose. I blew air bubbles and flipped my tail. Brightening, he blew some back and did a few experimental spins before paddling a slow circle around me. “Are you sure we can’t go back?”

“Don’t you want to make friends?” I asked, silently hoping he’d say no. I didn’t want to go to the others—I already knew how that would go. The cove was a nice, safe place I could hide with Kaelan. Kaelan was nice. He didn’t get mad at me.

He thought about it, floating upside down to watch some kelp go by, then bobbled his head uncertainly. “I like friends,” he said, then nudged his head into my side. “I wanna be friends with anyone you’re friends with too.”

I winced and avoided his round eyes. “They’re not really...I mean, I don’t not like any of them, but...” My fumbling explanation was halted by motion in the seaweed beyond, and I braced myself for something terrible when I saw a pup head poke out and see us.

Here it came. At least I’d gotten a week.

Kaelan floated closer to me as a mini pod of pups poured from the growth and swarmed toward us. He looked mystified by the attentive stares and rapid chatter as they rushed him, and seemed too stunned to respond when they began to crowd him.

I found myself muscled out of the way as the bustling pups all spoke to Kaelan at once, demanding to know who he was and where he’d come from, and his opinion on crabs, and how long he could hold his breath. Usual pup talk—I assumed.

But even from outside the cluster I could see Kaelan getting overwhelmed, shrinking in on himself as he tried to keep up with each speaker with his eyes darting around as if searching for something.

Even as unwelcome as I was, I refused to stand by and not hold true to my promise. Shouting as loud as I could, I charged forward and barreled through the other pups, shouldering them aside to give Kaelan space. “Leave him alone! You’re scaring him! Stop it!”

The response went about as well as I expected it to. There was a moment of surprised silence, and an immediate backlash as everyone realized I’d been there as well as the newcomer, and suddenly I was the center of attention as I was bumped and prodded back out of Kaelan’s space by a hostile flurry of furry bodies.

“Ohhh, why’s she here? What’s she bothering the new guy for?”

“Her mama found him right? Maybe she’s been bullying him since he has to be grateful.”

“I bet that’s it. Look at his face, too! You think she did it?”

A chorus of bubbles followed the final statement, and I miserably backpaddled to get clear as they all turned to examine Kaelan’s healing injuries with horror.

“Oh no, I bet she did!”

“You poor thing, Nyvina was being mean to you all week!”

“Do you think Miss Nadia knows?”

“We should tell her! Look what she did to him!”

“I’m sorry new pup! We won’t let her bully you anymore!”

Each voice sent me further back, and I wanted to whirl around and swim back to my mother as fast as I could when Kaelan stopped looking around and stared at me instead with his eyes wide. He didn’t look scared anymore, just confused, and the way the pups worked it probably wouldn’t be much longer before they’d somehow convinced him I had been the one to hurt him. Or at least that I would have if I’d been able.

To my shock, when he spoke up it wasn’t to condemn me, but a simple question.

“Why do you think Vina is mean?”

He received another round of squeaking cries in answer:

“She never lets anyone win at games! She’s a bully!”

“Every time we used to wrestle I’d get hurt. She’s mean.”

“She’s always making faces and talking like we annoy her, how can you not think she’s mean?”

“Have you been around her at all? She’s been mean to you since you got here, right? She has!”

“Don’t even worry about it. Come play! You look like you’d be fun to play tag with!”

I didn’t try to defend myself. It’d never worked. Arguing with the mini pod was like shouting back at gulls. You could yell and call all you wanted, promise them treats and treasures, but if you poked your head too far they’d always—always—peck at your head anyway. It wasn’t worth fighting them. And soon they’d pull Kaelan into their pecking flock, like they had all the others.

“You’re wrong! Vina is very nice! She’s kind and gentle and been very good to me! Don’t be mean to her!” Kaelan cried over the continuing chatter, bringing a stunned silence to the water. No one answered as the mini pod seemed to try and process the direct confrontation toward their running mantra, and each spotted head looked toward me with heavy skepticism.

For my part I was equally speechless. I gaped at Kaelan in awe, amazed to have heard the same outraged confidence he’d shown when I’d doubted his mother’s words, bobbing dumbly in place where I’d retreated from the group.

“Vina! Come back here so you can play!” he said sternly, extending himself to show how much bigger than the other pups he really was. The group mumbled in reply as a weak protest stuck in my mouth, wriggling as a group when Kaelan gave them all a hard look. “What? You invited me to play with you right? Vina should join in too.”

“We don’t let her play with us anymore. She’s too mean,” one pup finally answered after a long pause, squeaking when Kaelan rounded on them to shove his mangled face right into theirs.

“Then I don’t want to play with you,” he said, and without waiting for an answer shot around the mini pod to join me, bumping my shoulder with his nose. “Let’s go. There’s other places to go, right?” he asked, nudging me again when I stared at him.

I looked to the others, alarmed to see them watching us with eerie attention. “Kaelan, you don’t have to—”

“No! You’re my friend and if they aren’t your friends too then I don’t want to be with them. Let’s just swim by ourselves, Vina,” he insisted, and pushed me with his head to go back toward the cove. “Show me the rest of the territory. This water is different.”

Finally done with the event, I took his lead and bolted, shooting through the water to leave it all behind as fast as possible. Kaelan soon called for me to slow down, and once he’d caught up I began pointing out my favorite places in a shaky voice.

He listened attentively as I spoke until the trembling evened, and soon enough I’d almost forgotten the experience at all under all his enthusiastic focus. He was happy to ask me questions about each spot, asking what made them special to me and if there were any tasty treats hiding nearby, or where the softest places to lay were. The genuine interest—now that he’d been given another option—caught me off guard, and I swam about in a state of bewilderment until after a while Kaelan began looking behind us with irritated blasts of bubbles.

I looked back. Sure enough, a few of the others were following us from a noticeable distance.

Once they realized they’d been caught they inched closer, calling from afar, “Can we play with you?”

Before I could even respond Kaelan had darted in front of me with his chest swelled up, whiskers shaking. “Is Vina invited to play too?” he asked, blowing bubbles as if daring them to say no.

The handful of pups looked between one another for a moment, then bobbled their heads.

“Of course she is.” That was all it took to brighten Kaelan up, and he whirled to me with his fins flapping excitedly.

“Vina! Vina, we can play! Come on!” he cried, doing a tight spin before wheeling off to barrel into the nearest pup with a delighted cry. The others were wary as I approached more carefully, but they kept their thoughts to themselves and sure enough, once we’d decided to play tag they allowed me into the game.

Once I realized I was not asleep on the beach with my mother, and was really zipping through the water with pups like myself, my heart swelled with too much excitement to contain. I hadn’t gotten to play with the others in so long! I’d forgotten how much fun it was to chase actual selkie pups and not shrimp or fish that didn’t understand I wasn’t going to eat them!

I threw myself into the game with everything I had, trying to cram the last few years of isolation backward through time with my current effort, and before long I remembered the root of why I’d been ostracized in the first place.

I was too good.

“Nyvina is being mean again!” a pup cried after I tagged her the sixth time in a row. She was a slow swimmer, and always took her time ducking out of sight when I was ‘it’.

I’d opened my mouth to apologize when another voice rang out with, “Yeah! She swam into me too hard, too!” and when the others drew close to see the ruckus—and begin to join in—I felt the sea whirling around me with shameful unease. I’d blown it. So soon after everyone had let me be with them.

And then Kaelan was in front of me again, gaze snapping to each pup until they stopped piling accusations on me. “She isn’t mean! She’s just really really good! It isn’t her fault she’s so fast and good at swimming! It’s very impressive! You should tell her she’s amazing, not mean!” he cried, earning a wall of startled stares.

They each looked to one another as if wondering if he was serious, and jerked to alertness when Kaelan glided toward them with his voice low and more full of barbs than Gran when her nap was interrupted.

“Tell her,” he hissed, emptying my lungs in a burst as the meaningful words sent a sharp tingle up my spine. They sounded dangerous, but pleasant. It was a puzzling sensation that burrowed deep in my ears and left me stunned.

The others glanced around, then looked to me with sulky faces as Kaelan stared them down.

“It is pretty cool that you’re that fast. And good at chasing.” I stared back at the confession, mind blank.

“I’m a little jealous. I always liked watching you play hide and seek.” More staring was all I could muster.

The last one came forward looking sulkier than the rest. “When...when we played, I think you only bit me when I bit you first...I’m sorry...” This brought on a chorus of similar realizations, and I floated flat as the small group slowly arrived at the conclusion that they’d made a fuss over a mixture of misunderstanding and misplaced envy.

It felt impossible. All those times I’d tried to explain it to them myself and been ignored, but now they changed their minds. Because one selkie had stood up to them for me. Because he’d been determined to change their minds. Had it been real siren magic? Or was it just...him?

I looked to Kaelan to see him watching with vibrant, contagious glee, happily flapping his fins and flaring his whiskers at me.

He looked ridiculous.

And I was pretty sure I loved it more than I’d ever loved anything else in my short life.

That night Mother coaxed Kaelan to sleep on the shore with the rest of the pod, and I lay awake under the stars nestled against her large side beside him. Even hours later I almost didn’t believe the day had really happened. With their anger forced out of them the others had been overjoyed to have me around, even if they still seemed grumpy that I was better at all the games than most of them. The only one I lost was shell hunting, which Kaelan had won ten times over and feasted upon all the spoils as a reward.

He’d shared most of it with me for dinner.

I rolled to bump against Kaelan’s side, nuzzling his neck until he stirred and blinked at me in sleepy confusion.

“Thank you,” I blurted, making him blink more and yawn.

“For what?”

“For making the others be nice to me,” I said with an indignant squeak. Did he really not realize how much he’d done?

“I didn’t make them do anything. I just showed them how great you are,” he answered with a sigh, closing his eyes in a dopey smile as he began to nod off again.

“Thanks anyway,” I insisted, earning a noisy huff of exasperation.

“You deserve it. You’re welcome,” he said, then yawned wide and wiggled over to thump his head across my back. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Yes. Sorry,” I said quickly, chirping in surprise when he rubbed his chin against me and hummed.

“It’s okay. I’ll wake up to make you feel better anytime. I like when you’re happy,” he replied.

I froze in silent amazement as he took my stillness as a sign that he could sleep now and snuggled closer until his warmth covered the half of me not pressed against my mother. His flipper fell to rest over one of mine, and once he’d managed to squish his head under my neck he loosed a loudly contented sigh and began to snore.

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

What about a morpheus x reader where morpheus realises the reader has a thing for his voice. Love your writinggggg

thank you, love! i hope you like this, it's slightly smutty. also - don't we all have a thing for his voice?

the following blurp is nsfw (smut, 18+!)

His voice was like a drug to you. Sweet and heavy, dark-honey, thunder in a lightning storm. It was clear as day why a being like Dream carried a voice like that. You’d follow it everywhere. Into every world, every realm, would voluntarily stay among nightmares only to hear him talk again.

Safe to say, it really did something to you.

You never told him that … explicitly. You thought it was obvious from the way you shuddered and trembled when he whispered into your ear how good you were for him, how beautiful you looked writhing underneath him as you took his cock. You thought he had noticed how your breath hitched when he moaned and how you almost came when he murmured against your inner thighs.

But apparently, he had not noticed.

A being who held the entire unconsciousness of the universe had not noticed that his voice drove you crazy.

At least that’s the only explanation for the frown on his face when he saw you sitting on the stairs to his throne.

“Enough!” He had told another dream just moments earlier and his voice rumbled through you, resonated within your goddamn soul. “This ends now.”

And shit, was it hot. It was a side he usually hid well from his lover as he didn’t allow you to be around when he was working and well, you realized that you missed out on something. So, when the dream left and he turned, apology already on his lips, he saw something in your eyes that didn’t belong here … in the throne room … in public.

“Really?” Amusement dripped from his voice.

“Always,” you said cheekily.

He lowered himself to you on the stairs, hand gripping your jaw tightly. “Mhh, what was it, my love?” His tone was low and shit, it was exactly …

“That,” you whispered.

The frown was still there, even as he stroked with his thumb over your lips.

“Your voice.” You couldn’t believe you had to actually say it.

His eyes darted up, grip still tight and then the frown was gone, replaced by a … smirk. “My voice?”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. He’s doing this on purpose, you thought, he has to. Well, you decided to play along.

“I believe your voice alone could get me to come, my King.” It was a shy statement, almost playful. But it had the desired effect – the darkening of his eyes that you knew all too well. That was usually followed by the doors to the throne room falling shut and locking themselves.

“Why don’t we find out?”

send me an ask for a little blurp

[mommymothman]

WELCOME BACK i missed your writinggggg can i request some villain x right hand or villain x hero but right hand is involved? ive been getting the henchies (it's like the munchies but for henchman content)

((speaking of munchies: welcome back here's some sustance 🥞🥞🥞))

HIII BREADDD!!! GLAD TO BE BACK! thank you for the pancakes <|:D

I had two requests to write before this, but I wanna get to this one first because of ideas, although I will get to those two requests soon.

———

“I’m sorry boss, but right now I’m gonna have to ask you to shut up.”

Right Hand doesn’t know what comes over them, what compels them to speak to Villain like that. They quickly lower their head, chewing their lip but their criminal only laughs dryly.

“There was no avoiding this conversation, Right Hand.”

“Just- just stop it okay? I don’t wanna hear it, please, just don’t.”

Right Hand begins to make their way out of the room but Villain lunges and catches them by the wrist, knuckles white with how tightly they grasp them. Their eyes shine with tears but they are adamant in the set of their jaw.

“You of all people know how dangerous this job is.” They rasp. “You’ve healed me enough times to know that one day I won’t come- I won’t be able to come back.”

“Don’t talk like that. You know I hate it when you talk like that.” Right Hand tries to tug themselves free, squeezing their eyes shut as they turn their head away from Villain.

They let go, but only so that they can cradle Right Hand’s face, so that they can draw them in closer, so that they can make Right Hand look at them.

“When that happens-“

“If,” Right Hand says, and it almost sounds like they’re begging.

“If that happens, I want you to take care of everyone here. Bring them to our other place, and lay low for a while.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” Right Hand whispers.

“You can’t possibly-“

“Yes I can. I am your right hand for God’s sake, Villain.” They bring Villain’s hands to their lips, then to their chest. “I am yours. I would kill for you. Die for you, live for you, whatever you would need. Everything I do, I do for you.”

Villain has no response to this, they only let their lip quiver slightly, eyes still locked on Right Hand’s.

Tipping their head forward to rest on Villain’s chest, Right Hand exhales shakily. Their hand is clutched in the fabric of the villain’s shirt, and they stay like that for a moment.

“You-“ But Villain doesn’t know what to say, so they just lean down and kiss the crook of Right Hand’s neck. The skin is soft there, and they close their eyes.

“No more of this talk,” Right Hand mumbles “you’re stuck with me.”

“Alright, alright.” Villain says, grinning fondly.

Looking at Right Hand, who was so devoted, so loving, who had never failed to make them laugh, who had never failed in seeing right through them, Villain finds themselves filled with a warm feeling. They can’t help the way relaxation seeps into their disposition, the tension in their shoulders fading away as they rub soothing circles into Right Hand’s back. Their beloved sighs in pleasure and raises their head to smile up at them.

Right Hand takes their hand again, this time tugging slightly, and Villain lets them lead them out the room and off to pleasantries of a normal domestic life.

[madwickedawesome]

ok so i will start with some stuff abt cass’ (my character) backstory, and then we will get to him meeting ysolda (future wife!!!). also mentions of death!!!! and pov of cass

I lived a peaceful life with my family.

Like, surprisingly peaceful, for the fact that we are all dragonborn.

I always thought that moving to a elven town was the best decision that we made.

The quaint elven town didn’t care that they had dragonborn in their midst.

What the elves saw in my family were people that were shunned from Redguard cities, just as they were.

So, they took us in.

My family’s life was peaceful at last.

No more escaping deep into the night, as we’re hunted for having the blood of a dragon.

No more kidnappings staged by court wizards so they could “learn more about dragonborn”.

A quiet life.

That was, until the Aldmeri Dominion marched in.

Stubborn elves who held onto the past like they would die if they let go. They crossed the sea just so they could „save the world from dragonborn“.

What a bunch of bullshit.

They killed off the elven farmers housing us. And burnt our home to the ground.

I was the only one to escape.

The last thing I remember before they were gone. My father telling me to run to town.

My siblings were dead.

My mother was fighting still.

And there I was.

Edge of the forest. Wrapped in my fathers cloak. Holding on to a scroll like my life depended on it.

The edge of the forest that led to town.

Being told to run and not look back.

And I did. I ran.

That was the last time I saw my parents alive.

Worst night of my life.

I did get to the town eventually.

The last thing I remember was crying to the bar maiden.

The last one awake at this time. As the smoke rose in the distance.

(end of this so far)

WAS THAT GOOD??? IDK IF IT IS-

I WAS JUST EDITING AS I READ IT MYSELF-

OMG. I LOVE THIS

THE DRAMAAAAAA THE WRITINGGGGG AAHHHHHHHH ITS SO GOOD

[animeomegas]

13 bakugo LOVE YOUR STORIES KEEP WRITINGGGGG 🥰❤️🤗❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

(Ahh, thank you so much, I’m so glad you like them!! And I certainly plan on writing loads!!!)

13 – Mistake

Bakugou is a perfectionist.

So, he takes losing and making mistakes very hard.

He always blames himself, no matter how big or small the mistake.

So, whenever Bakugou is stressed or needs to blow off some steam, he always trains.

So, after a day in which he had been huffing and shouting and snapping at every, he thought it’d be a good idea to take up his alpha up on their offer to train with him.

Until he got a little caught up and forgot to hold back his explosions.

He ended up burning his alpha pretty badly on the arm.

“Stay still, shitty alpha.”

“I’m trying,” you whined. “But the bandages hurt.”

Bakugou didn’t respond, keeping his eyes firmly focused on wrapping a bandage around your bicep.

The silence felt heavy and oppressive. You had a feeling you knew what was going on inside your omega’s head.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know.”

“Wha-,” Bakugou startled, finally looking you in the eyes. “Of course it’s not my fault! How is it my fault that you suck at dodging?”

His false bravado may work on everyone else, but it didn’t work on you.

“I mean it,” you said firmly, holding out your uninjured arm to grasp him on the shoulder. “These things happen. It was just a mistake, and one that I knew might happen when I offered to spar with you, okay?”

Bakugou didn’t say anything at first, finishing the bandaging job. Eventually he muttered a ‘whatever’ and pushed his face into your shoulder.

You knew it was his way of asking for you to scent him, so you gently rubbed your scent on his head.

“If you really want to make it up to me, you could always cook me dinner?” you grinned cheekily.

Bakugou rolled his eyes at you.

“Fine, whatever, go pick out some ingredients then.”

You paused. “Wait, really?”

“If you don’t go to pick out some ingredients right now, I’m revoking my offer.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going right now!”

[whiteheartlight]

felt like posting a random snippet of some of my longer writinggggg so here you are

.

He looks like Nikila and that, he thinks, is what he hates about him the most.

It's sort of cruel, really, because people say shit like “if you live long enough you will learn to see the same eyes in different people,” and he supposes he's lived so long now that he has to see this, the worst thing of all – some kind of cosmic replacement for his sister, his heart, his old friend. Because Nikila and Kopaka have the same eyes, somewhere beneath all the frost and anger Kopaka carries around. Kopaka has eyes just like her.

He guesses that's why they fight so much, although he's not really sure. In the moment, he always knows why he's screaming at him or sneering that he doesn't know what he's talking about while Pohatu watches on with an expression torn somewhere between confusion and irritation, and when Kopaka snaps back that he's a reckless fool it just heats up whatever is boiling in Lesovikk's stomach. But right now, just lying in their one beam of starlight, he doesn't know why he exploded on him the last time, or the time before that, or the time before that. They should be allies right now. But fuck, he hates that about him – hates those eyes looking at him.

Hates that he's so beautiful right now, asleep on the other side of the cell, quiet and exhausted, curled against the wall. His great white wings spread out behind him, the feathers torn and burned. Lesovikk gazes at him, mouth taut. She used to sleep like that. Ferocious all day and then cuddled up like a kid who never did anything wrong while she slept. She used to have bad dreams and shift closer to him. Just to him, never their brothers or sisters. Kopaka nightmares too these days. His face contorts with pain for a second, his pale mouth parting, and he calls out, just whispering: “Pohatu. Pohatu?”

Lesovikk sighs, sitting up again. At least Kopaka, when he is awake, has that comfort – the knowledge that he made sure Pohatu went home, even if the two of them ended up stuck here. Honestly, if Lesovikk were alone here, it wouldn't matter much. If Kestora decides to kill him, fine. Sarda and Idris will miss him, but they'll be okay. Kopaka, though – Kopaka has a family. Not to mention that there are so few Ice Toa left.

Kopaka has to go home. Like Pohatu did. Even if it means Lesovikk gets left behind. Too bad Kestora fucked up the transporter about five seconds after Pohatu got through it. He wonders how much that killed the Stone Toa – ending up back home and then turning around with a smile on his face, waiting for his brother and Lesovikk to come after him, but then – well, no one came. Lesovikk hopes he's okay back in the wrecked remnant of their world. He hopes he made it home to his other siblings and that some part of him knows Kopaka is still alive.

“Pohatu,” Kopaka repeats, softer, softer. “Pohatu.”

“Kopaka,” calls Lesovikk. “Wake up, you're just dreaming.”

But he doesn't wake. Too tired from the things Kestora is putting him through. But when she's here, he's just as ferocious as he was the first day they met her. Biting his teeth and snarling at her. Nikila would have done the same thing.

The door to their prison clangs and Lesovikk straightens, narrowing his eyes and smiling at the door. “Speak of Karzahni.”

“Very funny,” answers Kestora. “Give me the angel.”

“He's tired. Leave him alone.”

Kopaka's eyes are sliding open, filled with hatred for her from the moment he's awake. He says nothing and does not move, glaring at her from that curled-up ball of anger. One wing twitches.

“You want me to have you instead?” she asks, stalking forward.

“Sure,” replies Lesovikk, tilting his chin up. “Let's go. I'm not scared of you.”

“Liar,” whispers Kestora, smirking at him. “You Toa all talk so big. So long since I got a live one in here, but you two are just like every other of your kind who came through here. Watch your goddamn mouth, Toa of Wind, or I might decide to do the same thing to you that I did to that fat little Onu-Matoran who was trailing around with you.”

Lesovikk flinches, turning away. He wouldn't mind dying if he were alone, no. But Kopaka's here. And for all that the Ice Toa does, in fact, talk a big game, and for all that they fight, well – Lesovikk can barely survive this place with a companion. He doesn't know what he and Kopaka would do if they lost each other.

“Get up, little reaper,” says Kestora, grabbing Kopaka's arm. Lesovikk sees him clamp down on a groan of pain. His arm is broken from the elbow down and movement can't help. Kestora grabs him by the collar when he won't get on his feet for her and Lesovikk hears him choke.

“Get off him,” says Lesovikk, standing up unsteadily. Oh, his body hurts. He'd kill for something to eat too. Of course, if he had any way to kill Kestora or her little minions, he probably would have done that for nothing at all. Damn the Code.

“What are you going to do?” asks Kestora, dragging Kopaka to his feet. “Huh? With your power all bound up and your body halfway to joining the rest of the corpses tucked away in the closets?”

Lesovikk grips at the collar on his throat, eyes bitter. He had asked her once how she managed to contain his and Kopaka's powers, but all she had done was look him in the eye and said: “You can kill just parts of a person.”

He hates her.

“I think I'll find a way, one of these days,” says Lesovikk, advancing on her. “I think I'll find a way to burn this whole star down.”

Kestora just laughs. Lesovikk jerks forward as she pulls Kopaka out of the cell, but the Ice Toa pins him with a dark look.

“I'll be back soon,” says Kopaka, finally moving with her, following her out of the cage. “Just – don't get hurt worse.”

“You brat,” hisses Lesovikk. “You think it's any easier for me to – to watch?”

Kopaka flips him off, and then he's gone.

“Fucker,” snaps Lesovikk. “Motherfucker. I hate him.”

He hates parts of him, yes, but overall, he thinks what he hates most is that he's starting to love him too.

“Sorry, sister,” he mutters, sinking back down against the wall. “Hope you don't hate me for this. Not being able to save you you would forgive me for, but making eyes at an Ice Toa? Ouch.”

He talks to her sometimes, just when he's up here. He didn't used to. Didn't believe in that sort of thing. But when he asked Kopaka why he has started leaving his Akaku abandoned in the corner of their cell, Kopaka turned away from him and murmured:

“There are so many bodies in the walls.”

So Lesovikk supposes that Nikila is with him in more ways than one now, and he doesn't blame Kopaka for the fact that he won't wear his mask, or for the way that sometimes, in his sleep, he cries out: “No, I don't want to die here. I'm scared to rot away. The air smells like corpses. Pohatu, where are you?”

Their one beam of starlight fades away as the bodies of the sky move the same way they always do, and Lesovikk is left lying in his prison, alone.

[theownerofshuanghua]

What their drunk confessions would be like(Pt1)

A/N: Yay my first writinggggg! I’m thinking of making this into a series, with all my fave characters. Hope you like it!

Lan Xichen:

It was an accident; he didn’t purposefully get drunk like some of the others

It was after a hard week as sect leader, what with Wangji acting like a teenager and the constant harping of his uncle, he decided that he’d had enough

So, he decided to have a one drink, but one turned into two, which turned into three, until even with the strength of his golden core, he couldn’t filter it all

Then you came into his room

Now he’d known you for quite some time, with you being an inner disciple of the Lan sect

You’d come to bring him random news of comings and goings around Gusu

He had harboured more than friendly feelings for you for a while now

And so did you

But you never made a move since, you know, he was your sect leader and all

And he’d never made a move because he was in turns too shy and too afraid you only saw him as your sect leader

But now, in his drunk state, he could feel all the emotion rising up within him

You could see that he was drunk by the redness of his cheeks, but you said nothing because he was your sect leader

So you decided to just tell him the news and then leave

But as you turned to leave he asked you if you wanted a drink

And as we all know alcohol is prohibited in cloud recesses

But you said yes anyways

So he poured you a drink and you drank with him

When you put your cup down, you saw him staring intently at you, cheeks very red

“Y/N…” He whispered gently leaning towards you gently

As if to kiss you

But you knew better (or you though you did)

So you leaned away

After all, he was drunk, and taking advantage of that would be very un-Lan of you

So you got up to leave

But he got up too

“Y/N… There is something I have to tell you…”

He stood right in front of you and reached out to grasp your hands

“For a long time, I’ve been enamored by your presence. You are so kind and beautiful, and I have found myself to have fallen for you. It would make me very happy if you… reciprocated my feelings…” He whispered softly, looking deeply into your eyes

And for a moment, you wanted too to spill your heart out to him as well

But then you remembered that he was drunk

And the illusion shattered around you

You took your hands out of his grasp, failing to notice the look of heartbreak on his face at your actions

“Sect leader, you are drunk, you do not know what you are saying. You must rest well tonight. Sleep well”

You bowed gently and exited

Such a moment was too good to be true, you knew, but you would cherish it forever

Or so you thought

But back in the sect leader’s quarters, Lan Xichen was on the verge of tears

In his drunken state, he believed he’d just been rejected, and his heart was heavy with sadness

But he headed your words and lay in bed, sadness lulling him to sleep

The next morning, he still remembered what had happened

Such was the curse of Lan Xichen

Needless to say, he was very embarrassed (Not to mention heart broken)

He immediately went to apologize to you

“S-sect leader… Is there something I can help you with?”

“I have come to apologize for last night. I am sorry if I put you in an uncomfortable position. Such was never my intention” He said with a polite bow

“Its alright. We all say things we don’t mean when drunk”

Things he didn’t mean?

 But he’d meant it all…

 He’d already gotten this far, so he decided to go all the way

“I meant what I said.”

He had to set the record straight, or he wouldn’t sleep well

“E-everything? Even the stuff about l-love? And me?”

You couldn’t believe your ears

But there he was, the perfect, kind, gentle sect leader of lan was standing before you, looking embarrassed, confessing his feelings to you

Again

“Yes. I understand if you don’t feel the same way, but I needed to clear up the events of last night. I will stop bothering you now.” He said with one of his signature gentle smiles

But it was twinged with sadness

“Wait”

He turned around with something unmistakably similar to hope written on his face

“I-I feel the same. I just thought, because you were drunk… I dint want to take advantage of you. But if that is how you actually feel, um, I do too.”

You looked up at him, face feeling very hot, and palms very sweaty

But when you saw the look of pure happiness on his face, you knew that you’d done the right thing

Thank you for reading!

[inkykeiji]

OMG CLARI!! I JUST READ TAG YOU’RE IT AND AGHH ITS SO GOOD!! HOW DO U COME UP W SUCH GREAT STORIES LIKE DRUG DEALER DADDY DABI AGHHH AND DELIVERING HIS STUFF IS SO CUTE AND THE WAY HES MAKING READER FEEL SAFE, THE WAY HES SO PROTECTIVE OF READER EVEN FROM HER OWN BROTHER AGHH ITS JS PERFECT. AND HIS DATES AND STUFF HE TAKES READER TO IS SO NICE. VERY MUCH LANA VIBES (im a huge lana stan so i be associating everything w lana’s songs 😭 and by everything i mean dabi ) AND KEIGO AND HIS ADDICTION AND HOW HE FEELS LIKE HE CAN FLY AGHH ITS SO WELL WRITTEN PLS U NEVER FAIL TO AMAZE US W UR WRITINGGGGG IM LOOKING FORWARD TO EVERYTHING U PUT OUT! DABI IN THIS UNIVERSE SEEMS VERY COOL IDK I JS LOOK UP TO HIM AND SHIT LIKE WOWW U ARE SO PRETTY AND SO COOL AGH. LIKE THE WAY HE DIDNT DO ANYTHING THAT FIRST NIGHT JS AMAZES ME CUZ LIKE THATS RLLY ATTRACTIVE TO ME. LIKE IT WAS SO COOL AGH HE DIDNT LOSE HIS COMPOSURE OR ANYTHING AND IT JS MAKES ME ADMIRE HIM ALSO I HOPE U GET WELL SOON CUZ I SAW THAT UR SICK AGAIN? :((( - 🧚🏻‍♀️

FARIY BB HELLO!!!!!! i hope you’re doing well sweetpea!! <333

eeeee thank you so much!!! YES he is quite protective over her! i sat down and thought about what i think the daddy kink version of dabi would be like, and lil bit of poison dabi was the outcome!!! he’d still be so teasing and a little mean, is kind of condescending when it comes to the kink itself and definitely gets a kick out of it, but when it really comes down to it, and when his baby really needs her daddy (like in the stairwell!), he switches into daddy mode <333 i quite like this iteration of dabi a lot!!! i feel like he’s a breath of fresh air while still sticking to the core characteristics that make dabi DABI, yknow??? that was my main goal here!!

GLAD YOURE PICKING UP ON THE LANA VIBES AHAHAHA BECAUSE I LISTENED TO HER A LOT THROUGHOUT WRITING THIS!!!

he is super cool!!! he definitely has that kind of like, cool calm n collected vibe of a golden age hollywood actor (james dean is always the one that comes to mind for me aaaah) or like, a 1950s greaser dude—or at least, that’s how i intended for him to come across!!

I AM SICK AGAIN but i’m slowly getting better now and working real hard to take care of myself and get my health back up to par!! thank you so much my lik fairy <33

[victorianoir]

Why don't you write more fluff??? That's what we really want to read. Not that the other stories are BAD they aren't but I think a lot more people would rather read the fluff, not all of the plot stuff. There are other writers who seem to get that and that's why they get more attention and reviews. Not a criticism. Just advice. :) Keep writing!!

This is …………………………………. a lot to unpack. 

Like, there’s a lot going on here. 

Let me just say first, that I do have quite a few stories that are fluff. One shots and full-fledged, multi-chapter stories. But most of my stories, especially the ones that tend to get less “attention and reviews” aren’t about physical intimacy or outright verbal declarations of love. The connection is deeper and it presents itself in different ways. Dare I say it, there’s…friendship.

So, like, yeah…it took Chuck Versus the Steampunk Chronicles’ Chuck and Sarah 45 chapters to kiss, but instead I built trust there. I had them slowly opening up. I gave them moments of utter dependency, and then counteractive moments of independence. Moments of quiet devotion. Protectiveness. Keeping one another on their respective toes. Butting heads, honesty… It’s easily the universe I’ve worked the hardest on. Every look and word means something. Chuck and Sarah and their relationship are the moral backbone of the entire freaking thing. Would folks consider it fluff? Nah. They aren’t sucking face or saying “I love you”. Are there many readers? Nah. Not really. Especially not anymore. And that’s okay. I’m not going to change how I write it to appeal to the masses. 

All that being said, oh my God, so many of my fics have fluff. The Detective and the Tech Guy is DRRRRIPPING with it. Oh my God, they’re two dorks in love solving mysteries together. They drink martinis and have sleepovers and make jokes about money and worry about one another’s safety.

Chuck Versus the Dive??????? Fluff central. Come on! It’s literally Chuck on vacation in Kauai falling in love with his scuba instructor. The plot is them being around each other and not quite knowing how to deal with their powerful feelings. THAT’S IT.

Like, I get it. I don’t write what you specifically want me to write. And yeah, my stories don’t get the recognition or reviews that a lot of writers’ who do write the fluff you like get. I’m writing this for free. Folks can read and review, or they can not. I’ll keep writing if I want. I’ll stop writing if I want. That’s it.

And listen, I’ve been posting Chuck fic since 2012. That’s 8 years. And before that I wrote fic for another fandom. I don’t need advice on how to get hits and reviews when that’s not why I write. If I wanted that, I’d go write for something that didn’t end 8 years ago and is way more popular. I don’t need to be condescended to. “There are other writers who seem to get that”, mhm yes I’m stupid. I’m writing these plot/character growth stories because I don’t realize that having Chuck and Sarah screw in chapter 1 and all the chapters thereafter would get me more recognition from the 57 people on this planet still reading Chuck fic at all. If I only had a brain, huh?

I mean, damn, this ask is a rollercoaster. “You write crap plot instead of fluff and that’s why nobody likes your writing, people who do write fluff are way better and more popular, NOT CRITICISM JUST ADVICE… KEEEP WRITINGGGGG.”

The fact is, you came to ME to tell me what kind of stories to write, which means you have read my stuff and you’ve liked it enough–just the way it is–to seek me out and try to make *specifically my brain and heart* write the fluff you want to read. So I must be doing something right, eh? 

In summation, I’ll keep doing what I want. Thank you.

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 11 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: AHHH I CAN’T STOP WRITINGGGGG okay, so, the Tiffany moon necklace is real, you can find it on their website here (now I want it for myself, but it’s almost $3000 sob). I debated over whether or not Duncan and Melody should have had an awkward rendezvous in the past and ultimately decided that if I were working in close proximity with Duncan Shepherd as a 21-year-old intern I too would have tried to put my hand drunkenly on his crotch at some point, so my point of view towards her is one of empathy and solidarity and honestly it just made sense to my story (lolol). Bill Shepherd is going to show up at some point, but the impression I got from the show is that he and Duncan only interact when they absolutely have to as they don’t get along; Duncan gravitates to his mother and she acts as a mediator, so Bill will have a very minor role in this story. Not sure if Beau Willimon ever came up with a middle name for Duncan, but I couldn’t find one and made one up (Malcolm). At this point I’m sort of trying to follow the timeline of the show in a VERY loose sense (and I guess this is a spoiler, but I am going to bring in the fact that Duncan finds out Annette is not his real mother into my fic soon, mostly so Kenzie can comfort him and stroke his hair and give him soft, sweet, sympathetic kisses cuz I am a sucker for that sweet comforting shit); the upcoming show Duncan, Melody and Seth go over in this chapter is meant to be the one where Melody talks about Claire Underwood’s “public breakdown” in episode 5; I’m not going to include Duncan getting arrested in this fic though, because it’s my fic and I can do whatever I want and I hated the fact that they chose to end Duncan’s character that way. Had to add that line from O Fortuna...because the Duncan/Michael parallels will never end. “She walks in beauty like the night...” is Lord Byron, a poem I was obsessed with when I was younger and have always wanted to put in a story. Kenzie making chicken and dumplings is a reference to the fact that Billie Lourd is fucking obsessed with chicken. Most people know Hades was the God of the Underworld; few people know he was also the god of gold and riches, which is very Duncan. It was important for me to imply Duncan had extensive cooking wares in his penthouse; that he cooks for himself. Dudes who can’t cook are a turn-off. Kenzie cooked for him because it made her happy to do it; it’s a way she’s showing him how much she loves him, not something she felt like she had to do, and I plan on them cooking together in future chapters. That moment Duncan leans against the wall across from Kenzie as they look out the window is my homage to the Cody lean. The prayer to Nike is a real one. Full-disclosure, the passing-out after really great sex is something that happens to me pretty often; I go into post-coital daze pretty hard, so Kenzie doing that is literally based on my own experiences, haha! Duncan will finally meet Madeline in the next part, but we’ll be seeing it all through Kenzie’s eyes.

Duncan had left the interview with Gretchen Friedrichs with his mind buzzing; he stepped out of the elevator with a vague pressure humming between his temples, rubbing his thumb into the palm of his other hand, trying to calm the simmering anger that was still hovering over him. He wondered, with some alarm, when the gossip website was planning on publishing Kenzie’s name and occupation. He wrestled with the idea of telling her; no, he thought, I have to do everything I can to ease her into this world carefully. God, I know she’s afraid and that kills me; I have to do everything I can to soothe her fear, not exacerbate it. One thing at a time.

He pulled his phone out, opening the Uber app and ordering a Black car; then, he opened his texts and sent one out to Kenzie; telling her about the Gala, about his mother’s stylist, about the theme (the theme is you, angel).

Kenzie: That’s beautiful, baby. I can’t believe you did that.

Since you’re the only thing I can think about, it seemed natural. And he knew it was true. She was filling this thoughts and his heart and his senses; nothing else seemed to matter, not the show or the company or the app or his mother, not Uncle Bill (who would I will likely hear from soon, he thought, hand coming up to his jaw, and he won’t like this at all). The emptiness and shallowness of the work his mother had enveloped him in since he was barely out of high school suddenly overwhelmed him; beside the luminous, boundless, sublime emotion of Mackenzie, her glittering, effulgent reality, the rest of the world had lost its brightness; it was black and white, and she was made of colors he had never seen and couldn’t begin to describe.

He looked back down at his phone. Kenzie had replied.

Kenzie: I think those women from the coffee shop posted something on Instagram already. My coworker said something to me as soon as I got into the office.

Fuck, he thought, rapidly typing. She’s going to need a bodyguard. I don’t want to scare her, but that’s going to have to happen very soon. He sent her Samuel’s contact; he’d given Samuel hers earlier that day after they’d dropped her off at One Franklin Square. “Please help me keep her safe,” he’d asked Samuel, his eyes meeting the warm brown gaze of his chauffeur in the mirror; as they always did.

“You have my word, Mr. Shepherd.”

Kenzie: Okay, baby. I feel overwhelmed.

Duncan’s heart resounded painfully in his chest; oh god, baby, he thought. I want to hold you so much right now. I want to shield you from all of this. He thought of the tender, aching way she’d brought her little hand down to his cock that morning, her little moans as she stirred awake under his kisses. He longed to soothe her in his arms; the anticipation of waiting for tonight felt like a thousand tiny, sharp knives were pressing into his skin, jarring and disconcerting. He wanted to be alone with her; he wanted the world to melt away, turn its eyes from them. I’m here. Anything you need or want from me, tell me right away. This will get easier in time, baby. I promise. I’m already dreaming about how hard I’m gonna make you come tonight. At home.

Kenzie: I’m dreaming about you too, baby. She’d left a lipstick-stain emoji at the end; he shivered, looking down at it, his mind drifting back to her mouth around his length that morning, the kisses she’d pressed against him outside One Franklin Square, in view of two dozen people, and how he’d gripped her against him, unable to care; lost in her, immediately aching as she ran away from him.

He walked out onto the sidewalk in front of the Ritz-Carlton (“Have a pleasant day, Mr. Shepherd,” the doorman said cordially; holding it open for him, and Duncan gave him a nod, trying to maintain his mask of calm) and stepped into the car waiting for him in front of the hotel. He had a meeting with Melody and Seth that would take a few hours; he winced at the withering look he knew was coming from Melody in particular. Oh well. It all had to come out; it was coming out, and he’d just have to weather the anger and annoyance that was coming his way, weather the disapproval and disbelief. Kenzie deserved that from it; she deserved everything. His patience, his courage, his resolve, and his love.

He opened the Instagram app; he glanced at his mentions, wincing. There was one of the photos the woman had snapped; I look fucking pissed, he thought. Kenzie looks like an angel. He loved the way she was tucked under his arm in the photo; loved the fall of her hair against his leather jacket, her little hand around her necklace. She fits there as though that’s where she was always meant to be. The piece of me once cut away, and now reunited. And me; the piece of her, now wrapped around her again, as if some fateful prophecy has finally been fulfilled. I'm not going to let anything tear us apart now.

Duncan saw her handle in his mentions; @kenzielouwho. He smiled, gazing down at his phone screen. I love that. Her sweetness. He hit the follow button, scrolled through her pictures, goggling at them, his face alight. He double-tapped again and again; here she was, her lovely taste and her coordinated little outfits and plants and the moons and stars of her world, her hair falling like a cascade of gold, laughing at the camera, smiling next to Claire, grinning over plates of food, snapshots of sunsets and evening lights and cute animals she met, books she was reading, songs she was listening to. He felt overcome again; overcome with the affection he felt for her, overcome with how much her happiness affected him, how much he wanted to bring her the joy he saw in her face in the photos, how much he wanted to be the source of her comfort and her love. He couldn’t help it; I’d do anything for this woman. I’d do anything. He found the photo of her looking out from the table at the coffee shop, a little moon at her throat, her sweater falling off her shoulder; he left the pierced hearts at the bottom with a feeling of wild abandon. You’ve pierced not just my heart, but my soul, and your happiness is my happiness, your comfort my comfort, your joy my greatest joy. He wished she was here so he could press the words against her skin with his lips; press into her and breathe deep, breathe her into him. To be away from her was such sweet torture. Looking through her pictures made him feel like there were flowers blooming and closing in quick succession in the center of his chest. He felt completely overwhelmed by them; again, he felt overwhelmed by her realness, her reality; the fact that she existed was astonishing again and again. I never want to wake up from this dream.

He found the video that had been taken of them (oh god, that went up fast) and blushed at the ardency with which he clutched her in them. And I thought the other picture was obvious, he thought sheepishly. But in that moment it had felt like no one else was there. He’d forgotten the world entirely, lost in her eyes and the waist of her skirt on her hips and her bare arms and the way she’d looked up into his eyes, the way she fit against him. There hadn’t been anyone else there, he thought. Not really. It was only us. It was only Kenzie.

-----

Duncan stepped into Shepherd Hall towards the upstairs offices and the Beltway studio where he was supposed to meet Melody and Seth, glancing down as his phone echoed out its soft text chime; Mom.

Duncan Malcolm Shepherd. You’ve exacerbated this situation considerably. What the fuck were you thinking? Clearly you are infatuated and it’s making you behave like a drunk frat boy. I understand that public encounters are somewhat inevitable, but kissing this girl in front of a crowd is absolutely unacceptable. Your uncle is furious. I can only control him if you control yourself. Get yourself under fucking control, Duncan. Focus on our objectives.

Shit, he thought. Shit, meet fan. Fuck Uncle Bill. He’s dying and he’s bitter about it and he wants to make someone else suffer before he kicks it. And I’m not going to play into it. He didn’t reply. You know we’re together, Mom, he thought. I told you I love her. What else do you want from me? I’m not a fucking child. I’ll do what you want when it comes to the company, but not when it comes to her.

He took the back staircase up a floor to where the offices were; the studio was set up at the end of the hall. As he came through the doorway, he was met with the very annoyed gaze of Melody Cruz; his eyes glanced over to where Seth sat beside her, nervously focusing on the memo pad in front of him, eyes skirting between the two of them, then back down.

“Oh, hello, Duncan,” Melody simpered, plastering a painful-looking smile on her face. Murder, her eyes shot out at him. Stone cold murder. “Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence, I know how busy you are lately.”

“Melody. Seth.” Duncan ignored her tone, pulling the chair at the head of the rectangular table in the far corner of the studio out, sitting in it neatly, putting his phone face-down on the table in front of him, crossing one leg over the other, using all his will to keep his expression neutral; cool, calm, collected, impenetrable Duncan Shepherd. Everyone seemed hellbent on getting a rise out of him this morning; of all the people in his life he considered close, it seemed only Samuel was happy for his good fortune. Fine. Perhaps it wasn’t unreasonable to reevaluate the roles of others in his life in the first place. “Let’s go over everything for the taping tomorrow.”

“I guess you’re just going to pretend like you haven’t been making a total mockery lately of all the work we’ve done, then?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what the fuck you mean, Melody.”

Seth’s eyes fluttered between them again, licking his lips, clicking a pen nervously in one hand. “Um, everything’s fine, Melody, I’m...I’m sure there won’t be any effect on the show.”

“Are you fucking dense, Seth? Of course it will fucking affect the fucking show! Madeline Stone’s fuck-ing daugh-ter!” She slapped her hand against the edge of the table, enunciating sharply. “You think our audience is primarily comprised of intersectional feminists and people who buy cage-free eggs?”

“Melody, you’re out of line.” Duncan felt his temper rising; a temper that hadn’t really settled since Gretchen Friedrichs tried to blackmail him half an hour ago.

Melody went quiet, her eyes burning, her expression infuriated.

“I understand the reasons my relationship may be a shock to you--”

“You better fucking believe it’s a fucking shock. I’ve never known you to be one to even call back for a second date, let alone whatever it going on with you right now. What, you fucking love her?”

Duncan gazed at her; her dark eyes met his icy blue stare evenly. He felt his tendency towards manipulation and coercion begin to try to float to the surface of his composure; for a moment, he considered firing her. It’s what last week’s Duncan would have done, he thought, and strangely, he felt a nervous edge creep into his composure; he was rubbing a hand along his bottom lip before realized he was doing it, looking away from her. This Duncan had been unutterably shaken by a little gold angel in a black dress. This Duncan was not the same man who had last sat in this studio, last plotted out the trajectory of how best to unseat the sitting President of the United States, last given Melody sheets of propaganda to read on air. I’m not totally sure who this Duncan is, he thought; Melody still stared, her expression seeping into confusion at his metamorphosing reaction. I just know I don’t want the same things I wanted a few days ago. I want her. And I don’t care what anyone thinks of it. I care what she thinks first and how she feels first and I don’t care who her mother is and I don’t care how many times people see us kiss on the street and I don’t want to be away from her, not for all the money in the world, not for all the power, not for the world itself or a hundred worlds. And nothing any of you say is going to make me leave her.

“Yes. Melody. I love her.”

Melody scoffed, leaning her head back into the headrest of her swivel chair, crossing her arms under her chest, turning away from him. Once, long ago, when Melody had been an intern for Shepherd Unlimited, they’d slept together. It was a hasty, short-lived event; neither of them had even really undressed for it, and Duncan hadn’t been able to come; they’d both been drunk and she had pressed a hand suggestively against his crotch and the scotch in his blood had convinced him that it was a good idea and it wouldn’t matter the next day, the way the scotch in his blood had decided halfway through that his cock was ready to go to sleep. Neither of them had ever really mentioned it again; but Duncan knew that Melody had never really let it go. Not in words; it was always in looks. But he wasn’t sure if her anger really had all that much to do with who Kenzie’s mother was as it had to do with the fact that this girl, whoever she was, was the girl Duncan Shepherd had decided was the one for him, kissing her openly in the street, standing in line with her in coffee shops with his arm around her, holding her hand on the way to private rooms in posh French bistros, cameras be damned.

“I guess this is why you fucked up your interview so many times the other day,” she said icily. “Thinking about her perfect little pink pussy.”

“Melody.”

“Seth, give him the fucking outline.”

“Melody. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about that time.”

Melody’s eyes fell on him, shining; shocked.

“I’m truly sorry about that night. I appreciate you and the work you do immensely; I see the long hours you put into the show and Gardner Analytics. I haven’t told you that enough. I know that happened a long time ago, but it was stupid, and we should have talked about it after it happened, and we didn’t. I should have said something to you, apologized, and I didn’t. This apology is far too late, and my timing is terrible. But I am sorry.”

Seth was carefully drawing circles on his memo pad; he pretended to look at his phone, as if engrossed in whatever he saw there, but Duncan could see how rigid his body was.

Melody continued to stare at him, not speaking. He uncrossed his legs and sat up; sat with his arms resting on his knees. He cleared his throat a little.

“I know it’s not convenient. But the truth is, I love Mackenzie Stone. It wasn’t expected; it wasn’t planned. It happened. Annette knows, and she knew before the video and the photo from today. I understand your hesitation and your concern for the future of Gardner Analytics and the show. But the reality is, my relationship will continue regardless of whether or not you approve of it; whether or not anyone approves of it who isn’t Mackenzie or me. But I am sorry, Melody. I respect you deeply as a friend and as a coworker. And I’m sorry my apology took so long.”

Melody bit her bottom lip, and he could see her arms clenching against her torso where she had them crossed. Then, she looked down at the folder in front of her, opened it, and passed him the sheet of paper on top.

“Outline for Episode 153.”

Duncan nodded, reaching for the paper, pulling it toward him, as Melody blew out a long breath, and began her overview.

--------

It was after 6 by the time Duncan left Shepherd Hall; he looked down at his phone (he hadn’t for hours as they went over the episode--as this one was supposed to be about President Underwood’s thus far very public breakdown, it had to be flawless) as Seth and Melody walked away from him. Melody had looked over her shoulder, giving him a strange look that he couldn’t decipher, then waved shortly, turning away--it gave him the feeling that something minute and ever-present had been vaguely fixed between them, though. Kenzie and Samuel had texted him; Samuel’s was at the top, more recent, so he saw it first: Mr. Shepherd, Miss Mackenzie is safely at home. If you need my services, I am now available to you.

Yes, please, Samuel. I’m at Shepherd Hall. I need to go to Tiffany’s.

Samuel responded right away. Very good, Mr. Shepherd. I will be there in ten minutes.

He scrolled down to the text from baby, angel, beloved

Kenzie: There were a bunch of reporters waiting outside the building when I tried to leave work. My boss helped me through the back door, but two of them still found me. Thankfully Samuel was there, but I think they got me on camera. I don’t know who they were with. I’m okay. Samuel was wonderful. I’ll be so relieved to see you, baby.

Oh, no, he thought, his heart sinking. Someone beat buzzpopfeed to their info. He knew how clever people could be online; they found the tiniest clues and used them to sleuth vast swaths of information (once, a fan on Instagram had zoomed in on every toiletry behind him in a selfie he’d drunkenly taken in his bathroom and made a list of “Duncan Shepherd’s Go-To Grooming Must Haves”, which was published by a gossip site soon after). Seeing Kenzie run into One Franklin Square on camera was a dead giveaway, and he raked a hand through the curls at the side of his face in frustration. That was so fucking stupid of me. I should never have gotten out of the car after her. I should have controlled myself. And now people are trying to molest her at work. That’s my fucking fault. He wondered if it was buzzpopfeed that had found Kenzie on the opposite side of her building; they were notorious for breaking into private residences and crossing police lines, inventing elaborate scenarios to get onto upper hotel floors where they knew celebrities were staying, and wearing hidden cameras. That’s just the sort of shit they’d do, he thought. And if they got her on camera I don’t doubt it’ll be on their site soon.

He thought about going to the site to check, but stopped himself. I’m sure I’ll get another angry text soon enough from Mom if there’s something new, he told himself. And what, she’ll be angry at Kenzie for trying to leave work. As if there was an alternative.

But Mom: she’s easy to love. She’s so lovely. When you meet her, how could you not see it? Mom, I love her. You’ll see why; and then, you can’t tell me what I’m doing is wrong. Then you won’t be able to say I’m making a mistake.

The thought was like one he would have had when he was a child; lost in the orb of his mother, always admiring her, always certain with an unshakable conviction that she was right. Always sure that she knew what was best. The innocence of the thought struck him; even if he knew now that his mother was far from perfect, and that her intentions were often underhanded, he couldn’t shake the hope that she would warm to Kenzie in time. The alternative was unthinkable.

Samuel pulled up, Ella drifting quietly from the interior: your daddy’s rich, and your mamma’s good-lookin’...so hush little baby...baby, don’t you cry...Duncan pulled the door open, letting the warm evening air drift over him and push his hair back, a strange wave of nostalgia washing over him; a mixture of sadness and hopeful longing. If such a wonderful, fateful thing could happen to him; meeting her at all, finding her at all, in a world of so many people walking past each other every day without a second glance, surely the miracle of his mother accepting and loving her could, too, come to pass. O Fortune, like the Moon of ever-changing fate, ever waxing, ever waning...where had he heard that before? The line echoed in his mind as Samuel pulled away from the curb, and they were both silent, a quiet understanding passing between them; Duncan nodded to Samuel through the mirror; thank you. Thank you for taking care of my Kenzie today. Samuel’s eyes seemed to glow in the dim light; seemed to him like twin moons in a black sky.

I’m so glad you’re okay, baby, he texted Kenzie. I’ll be home soon. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms.

------

An hour later, Duncan stepped out of the BMW in front of his high-rise with a very distinct blue box tucked carefully under his arm; his eyes glided up to the 30th floor, where he knew he could sometimes see into the long window of his penthouse if the light was right in the evening. He could see the reading lamps near the window were turned low; could see the reflection of light coming from where the kitchen and dining room were to the north end of building, but he couldn’t see Kenzie; she wasn’t near the window, it seemed. An almost-vanished sliver of moon hung over it, like the rind of a melon devoured. He walked quickly into the building, anxious to be near her; the doorman, Jerry, nodded to him with familiarity. “Mr. Shepherd, fine night.”

“It really is, Jerry, hey,” Duncan moved past him, giving Anchaly a nod. Anchaly gave him a knowing smile; his copy of Tropic of Cancer catching Duncan’s eye for a moment. “Enchanting,” Anchaly said as he walked past, eyeing the blue box under his arm. “She walks in beauty, like the night / of cloudless climes and starry skies--” Duncan grinned at him, heading to the elevators, feeling flushed. “And all that’s best of dark and bright / meet in her aspect and her eyes,” he finished, as the doors slid open.

“Just so,” Anchaly agreed, and turned back to his book.

Duncan looked at himself in the long mirror as it climbed, unaware that Kenzie had done the same only a few short hours before; his hand pressed along the smooth line of his leather jacket, only just now remembering he’d worn the same clothes for two days. He sniffed his armpit carefully; not too bad, considering. He ran a nervous hand through his hair; still nervous, he wondered. Still trembling to behold her grace. I hope that feeling never fades. I don’t know how it could. He thought of how she’d looked clutched against him in this mirror, in that haze of their first night together; how it had made his cock throb, his nerves set on fire, her little body pressed to him, his hands in her hair. He felt his cock growing hard now, pressing with urgency into the lining of his tailored slacks (her little tongue in my mouth, her little nipples in my fingers, my hand between her legs, her laugh, her smile, the light falling on her); he ran his fingers along the edge of the blue box, swallowing carefully, pressing a thumb along his jaw. The doors slid open, achingly, seemingly impossibly slow. He walked to his own door, heart thumping wildly, as though it belonged to her now; it’s because I belong to her now, he thought. And I’m happy to obey her every whim.

He used the second keycard he carried in his wallet to unlock the door; it was usually tucked into the inner lining of his wallet, but he’d moved it to the spot where the old one used to be in his billfold; the one that now belonged to her. As Duncan opened the familiar doorway of his apartment, warm, wonderful smells enveloped him; food smells, lovely and enticing and comforting.

“Kenzie?”

She emerged to his left; from the dining room, a room he never used, a room that would be gathering dust but for the housekeepers’ attentions. Kenzie’s face looked tired; there were small dark circles under her wide hazel eyes, and her cheeks were pale, but her lips were pink (like roses), as if rosy from hot liquid; she was wearing a little slip dress that fell almost to the floor, one of the straps falling down her arm, and its color reminded him of wine grapes firming on twisting vines. Her neck was bare and her hair fell around her shoulders, catching the light of the diamond-drop chandelier.

“Hey, baby,” she said quietly, and her eyes seemed dark again as they stared at each other for a long moment; green and bronze. “Hi.”

He put the blue box down on the stand by the front door, his eyes not moving from her face.

“Baby...” he whispered. He closed the distance between them, his hand coming behind her head and cradling it, the other falling down her cheek and neck to her shoulder and down her arm, feeling insistently, hungrily, with terrible relief. She fell into him with urgency, her hands grasping the lapels of his jacket with tight little fingers, her mouth opening to him with need. They stood this way for a moment that felt like an eon, a lifetime, pressing into each other, lost in the solace of each other; he thought again that he’d be happy to die now, breathing into her. She lifted her mouth away a little and he tried to follow her; “baby, today was the strangest day,” she whispered into him, closing her eyes, face lifted up to him, hands pressing up his arms.

“I’m so sorry I followed you out of the car--” he started, his voice tinged with the remorse he felt, tinged with regret.

“I’m not.” She looked into his eyes, her little body sighing. “I’m glad you did. Now everyone knows you’re mine.”

He smiled; his hands fell through her hair and down the small of her back, loving the smooth feeling of the dress through his fingers, the silky strands of her. He turned his face, kissing the corner of her mouth; he moved his lips so they trailed along her bottom lip, biting a little, sucking gently, and he was thrilled at the moan that seeped out of her, her eyes fluttering.

“I got something for you.” He stepped away from her, gently gripping her hand and pulling her along with him, towards where he’d left the blue box on the stand by the door. He stroked the contours of her knuckles and fingers for a moment as she glanced at the box, her face curious; then, with a small burst of excitement scattering through her eyes. He handed it to her with both hands, stepping close. “Oh, Duncan,” she murmured, looking up into his eyes again, making him shiver with the devotion he felt, frozen in her gaze.

She pulled at the white ribbon around it, the black lettering emerging from underneath it; Tiffany & Co. He took the ribbon gently so she could lift the lid, and as her eyes fell on what was inside, the little laugh of delight that escaped her filled his heart with tenderness that made him want to press his face to her neck. Inside the box was a platinum necklace on a long chain; the charm at the end of it was a crescent moon set with brilliant round diamonds, which immediately threw their glow against her face, under her eyes. “A moon,” she whispered.

“The moon on a string, for you,” he replied, grasping her hand again, pressing his thumb over it. “My beloved.”

“It’s perfect. It’s too much--” Her eyes took on that overwhelmed glimmer; he shook his head, pulling her mouth onto his again, shushing her worry.

“It’s not. It’s not nearly enough. I wish I could pull the real moon down and give it to you.”

She grinned into his lips. “That’s beautiful. But I don’t know what I’d do with the moon all to myself. The world needs her. I love her best where she is.”

“Of course you would say something like that,” he whispered into her, his thumb brushing a gently trail from her cheek to her earlobe, twisting a strand of golden-brown hair through his fingers.

“Like what?”

“Something so lovely, and so kind, and gentle.”

Her eyelids fluttered downwards as she blushed; he could feel her shaking a little under his touch. He gently lifted the necklace from the box, and he reached out with his long fingers, pressing the index of his left hand into the hollow of her throat, trailing it there.

“May I?”

She nodded, her green-tinted eyes staring at him again, her mouth open ever-so-little. She lifted her hair and turned, exposing the whiteness at the back of her throat, the bumps of her spine and the incline of her shoulder blades above the dip of the dress; he resisted the urge to kiss her there, later, and unclasped the hook, lifting it around her head, his fingers brushing against her with longing as he clasped it at the nape of her neck. She turned around again, facing him, a sweet smile playing at the corners of her lips; “how do I look,” she asked, her eyes falling into him.

“Like an angel,” he said, hands against her shoulders, fingers trailing. “Like a goddess.” And she did to him; the soft light on her skin and her hair, dazzling against the little round diamonds in the crescent moon, the shape of her little breasts pressing against the soft velvet of the lilac-colored dress. “You look like Persephone, goddess of spring.”

A strange look came into Kenzie’s eyes; one of a dawning realization, or a familiar deja vu; she brought her little hands to his cheeks, trailing them softly along the stubble on his jaw, onto the bottom of his lip; he pressed his mouth against her fingers, closing his eyes.

“Then that makes you my Hades, God of Wealth, King of the Underworld, Lord of the Dark Places.”

“Spooky.”

She giggled.

“Thank you, baby. I love it so much. I love you...so much.”

“I love you too, Kenzie. I love you.” He opened his eyes again to her; everything I have is yours now, he thought. Everything is for you. All of me.

“Come have dinner.” She smiled mischievously, pulling back from him. She held his hand and pulled him through the doorway into the room he never used; its centerpiece was the long cherrywood dining table that once belonged to Duncan’s great-grandfather, a piece passed down to him by his mother when he moved into his penthouse years ago. Kenzie had found one of the linen tablecloths packed away in the drawers of the darkwood sliding-door china cabinet Duncan never touched; it was carefully tucked around the table, and on it was a lovely spread; she’d moved some of the pillar candles from the coffee table into this room, lighting them in the center, and their warm glow dazzled into his eyes, making them tear.

“I made chicken and dumplings,” he heard Kenzie say softly. “It’s one of my favorites, my mom always made it for me when I was growing up, especially after she’d had a particularly hard day; now, to me, it’s always comfort food.” His eyes roved hungrily over the spread she’d created; his favorite shallow cooking pot full of fluffy dumplings covered in speckled parsley, and steamy, bright chicken stew; another platter had smoky tendrils of broccoli rabe, and a third had an array of colorful root vegetables, yellow beets and dark orange chopped carrots and purple turnips.

“Kenzie, this is wonderful,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Thank you for cooking for me. I’m so happy you did this for me.”

“I wanted to,” she said, shyly, the diamonds around her neck catching the light, her cheeks, pale when his eyes had first fallen on her, now glowing with her emotions and the touch of his fingers. “I wanted to make you something because you’ve been so wonderful...because you’ve made me feel so wonderful…”

“Kenzie, baby,” he couldn’t stop, he pulled her into him again, aching, his body shuddering into her, his lips falling along the side of her face, and she sighed into him, “God, I missed you so much today, I wanted to see you so much…”

“I felt the same way baby, I’m so happy you’re home--”

He pulled her hand up to his face, kissing her open palm with terrible softness, overcome.

“I’m starving,” he said, grinning at her, and she smiled back (my moonlight), kissing him, nodding, saying “Me too, let’s eat, let’s eat.”

-------

Over the dinner Kenzie had created for him, Kenzie told him about everything that had happened to her after she ran into One Franklin Square; “Ben Wilder is basically the Annette Shepherd of the Washington Post,” she said to him, her eyes flashing. “Everyone is terrified of him, and he demanded I get you to give him an interview. It’s impossible to hide any modicum of gossip from him.”

“I’ll give him an interview,” Duncan said between mouthfuls of Kenzie’s savory chicken and dumplings. God, this girl can cook. I can’t wait for us to cook something together, he thought. I can’t wait for us to cook together for so many nights to come. He watched her eyes goes dark with surprise at his words. “...You will?” He watched her fingers fall to the diamond moon hanging at her beautiful throat; Kenzie, baby, I love your fingers there, I love your fingers, my little moon, my Persephone--

“Of course.”

“Duncan, I work for The Washington Post.”

He laughed a little, drinking down a mouthful of the Grand Cru he’d opened for them, bringing the bottle over to him, pouring more into his crystal glass, pouring some into hers carefully. “Kenzie. I know.”

“So...how is that going to be okay with your mother?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll do it.”

Her eyes shone out at a him from where she sat across from him; he was at the head of the beautiful cherrywood table, and she was sitting in the seat to his left, facing the doorway to the kitchen, her little face soft in the candlelight.

“Okay,” she said, and the smile that spread over her cheeks was like the blush of spring flowers in the rain. He reached over to her; her fingers curled through his, and the energy that passed between them was like the rolling crash of thunder over an open plain; wide and intense and open and circling down into the cores of their bodies, through the fingers that touched. They gazed at each other for a moment, hands tightly together. Then, Kenzie grasped her wine glass in her little slender fingers, stood, and, still clasping his hand against hers, said, “I seem to recall a bold claim from this morning.”

He looked up at her; she glowed, and his breath fell away from him.

“A certain Prince of the Underworld, he of vast fortune and troves of gold and black flowers with silver stems, told me he was going to make me come...so...fucking...hard.”

Duncan smiled; smiled with an all-encompassing happiness that pierced into the center of him, one that made him want to scream with its intensity; he let go of her (I don’t want to)  and wiped his mouth on the cloth napkin at his lap, but as he stood, she moved away from him, gazing coyly into his eyes as she did, over her shoulder, cradling the wine glass against her; come and get me, her eyes whispered. His groin shuddered with a coiled sort of agony and he pulled his own wine glass with him, languidly, following her slowly, leaning against the door to watch her move through the kitchen and the wide front room, flipping the light switch so they were bathed in darkness, as she moved towards where the long glass window stretched, its blank face gazing down on the city lights; the silky movement of the dress against her back and her ass, one of the straps falling down again, the incline of her breast almost completely visible to him, the waves of her hair down her back; Duncan imagined flowers tangled in the strands, peonies like the little flowers on the glass of water he’d pulled in her hand, roses like the roses on the balcony and in the bathtub, the candles clustered around them, her body hovering over him in the water, her fingers clutching at his stubble.

She gazed out onto the city, quietly, lost in her own thoughts again, it seemed; he felt like he could almost see the gentle cascade of her thoughts in this moment, the hazy warmth of the wine spreading through her, the pain and confusion of the day fading and spreading down into the city, away from them; he put this moment, looking at her, bathed in a soft glow, into the memories of her he would always cherish, always have locked in his heart. He watched as she sipped the wine, the crystal edge of the glass reflecting the golden helmet of Pallas Athena beside her.

“You know,” she said, as he moved towards her, carefully, “today, after I got here, I looked at your home for a long time. Its energy. Its spirit.”

“What did you see?” He couldn’t remove the longing from his voice; everything I want, everything I need, he thought. It’s you. Only you. He came up against the other side, against the wall of his study; he leaned against it, his arm propped up, trying to look out at the capital city’s glow; but his eyes turned to her, almost involuntary, lost in her.

She dipped her head down for a moment, thoughtful, her eyes to the steep incline of the ground, thirty stories down; the crystal glass glinted in her hand again, throwing stardust against her cheek.

“That you love art and beauty. That you love books. That you love the strength of women; the strength and yes, the beauty, and the beauty of men, too, I think. I think so. And that you have a great and hidden depth in you, Duncan Shepherd, one that perhaps not everyone around you sees; one that you hold secret, pressed against your heart.”

He kept his eyes on her. She turned to him, dazzling, soft, and he noticed her wine glass was almost empty now.

“I think you really are like the God of the Underworld; a prince on a cold throne. And I think you need a Queen made of Light who sees the light in you. And I think I am her.”

She stepped away from him once more; looking over her shoulder again, setting the crystal glass next to Athena, a swirl of red still in the bottom, moving on to the soft, low light of the bedroom. His breath seemed caught in his chest; he put his own glass, a little wine left in it, an offering, next to Nike, whom he stood near; bring me Victory, blessed Nike, whence I toil like the bees, you bring me honey--

As he entered the bedroom (quiet black sheets, the cover thrown back) he saw her pushing the dress from her shoulders, stepping out of it; she was naked underneath, and his nerves thrilled to realize she had been naked underneath it since he came home; thrilled at the secret she’d held that he had not realized, but she left the necklace on, the moon made of diamonds, and Kenzie looked over her shoulder at him, her long lashes languid as she laid down on the bed, sighing into it, bending one of her knees so her thigh fell over her sex, hidden from him just a little, her face turned to where he stood there at the door, leaning against it, staring over her.

Kenzie moved her legs apart, her sweet little sex opening to him, reminding him of that first night, days ago--

He pulled his jacket off quickly, about to pull his shirt off just as quick--but she murmured “slow, baby, I wanna watch you,” and he slowed himself; anything you want, angel, he thought. Whatever you want, now and always, and as he unbuckled his belt, now shirtless, he watched her little fingers go down between her legs and rub at her little clit, her mouth falling open.

“Baby, stop,” he said, firmly.

Her eyes widened at him; her finger paused its circles at her core.

“Put your hands up above your head. Against the headboard.”

Her eyes went darker; that glow, forest-green, haunting. Kenzie lifted her hands up, grasping onto the slats above her. Her mouth was still open, lips parted just a little, her breath coming out in tiny, quiet gasps.

“I’m gonna make you come.”

He watched the shiver fall down her body, starting at her shoulder, through her torso, her hips, her legs, to her toes. She gripped the slats harder, opening her mouth a little more. He pushed his pants and his briefs off his body, staring at her, his cock falling against his fingers for a moment, making him moan, and then he reached down and picked up his belt where he had dropped it; he let it hang carefully down from his hand for a moment, watched her eyes travel over it, a mixture of desire and apprehension in them, then he climbed onto the bed, between her legs; he didn’t touch her, but she wrapped her legs around his thighs, the head of his cock brushing for a second against the open lips of her sex, and they both shuddered. He lifted his arms up and pressed the smooth leather strap against her little wrists; she let out a moaning little cry that made his heart feel as thought it was going to burst out of him, but he concentrated on the task at hand; he wrapped the straps around two of the slats, buckling them together behind it, pulling the strap tight against her, not too tight, but enough to make it so she couldn’t move her wrists out of the belt; he watched her hands flex for a moment, and then he looked down into her wide hazel eyes; she nodded to him, eyes fluttering, and he moved his long hands down her arms, fingers closing over her round breasts and gripping the diamond moon above her breasts for a moment, down further as he moved his body back, hands on her waist and now her hips and now her thighs, pushing then further apart; he saw the little tears glittering in the corners of her eyes, felt the shiver of her body under his hot hands.

“Is it okay, baby?” he whispered, hesitating.

“Yes, baby, yes,” she whimpered, an edge in her voice that made him shake. “Yes, fuck, yes…”

He moved his head down to hover just above her folds, above the lip of her clit; his hair fell over his forehead, brushing her belly, the dip of her bellybutton; she shivered, crying out again; then he pressed his lips into her, his tongue laving out to urge against her core; he looked up as he did, watching her arms resist the constraint of his belt holding her for a moment, tight on her wrists, pressing into her skin, her little mouth stretching in need; “Duncan, fuck, ohhhh--”

“You like being tied up like that, baby?” he whispered, then he pressed his tongue against her again, long and slow and aching, and her hips bucked into him, and she let out a little shuddering cry that made him painfully hard, made his cock jump against the sheet.

“Y-y-es, baby, yes…”

He brought one of his large, long hands up, fingers curling; then he brought it down suddenly, a soft but sharp little slap onto the sensitive slit between her legs, and she cried out again, leather pressing into her little wrists.

“Did you like that?”

“Yes.” The tears glimmered in her eyes again; her cheeks were rosy, and he could see her pussy slowly turning dark pink from his attentions. “Yes. Do it again, baby.”

He lifted his hand again, his palm and fingers flat; this time he brought his hand down again, harder this time, slapping her clit with a rough immediacy.

“Fuuuuck, fuck!” Kenzie moaned. “Please, suck my clit, baby…”

Duncan leaned down, eagerly, his lips closing around the bud of her; he sucked deeply, carefully, his tongue swirling over her, and he felt her hips buck into him again, her moans strangled and needy and unwinding.

“Kenzie, I’m gonna make you come hard,” he whispered into her, his breath making her buck into him again, and again, her mouth a little O, her wrists shaking, “and then I’m gonna make you come again after that.”

“O-okay, baby,” and her voice was shuddering, high, driving him into white feelings of madness.

He worked his tongue against her again, and his fingers came up; he pressed two, his index and middle fingers, into the wet core of her body, curling them, flexing back and forth, his lips sucking into her clit again. She cried out again; “Baby, I am gonna fucking c-cu-um,” and he kept his mouth pressed heavily into her clit as she shuddered under him, his fingers still buried inside her pussy as her wetness fell against them, moisture gathering between the spaces of his digits, sweet-smelling and thick. She continued to shudder for some time; he laid his head gently into her abdomen, his fingers coming out of her, soaked with her, his hands pressing into her jutting hipbones, tracing them and leaving traces of wetness and his lips pressed into her skin, ignoring his own hardness, his own need, for the moment.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking godddd,” Kenzie moaned, and he looked up; tears coursed down her cheeks and her shoulders were shaking. Her hands were still clamped in the confines of his tight leather belt; he leaned up, reaching behind the slats, untying it, tossing it aside, gently grasping her wrists, bringing his lips to where they’d left red marks on her, kissing her tenderly.

“Are you okay, baby,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she whimpered, though tears still coursed from her eyes. “Yes.”

“Good. I’m gonna fuck you again now. And you’re gonna come for me again.”

Her eyes opened wide, wide from their fluttering, hazy half-lids; she gasped a little, and then she nodded, and she whispered “yes, baby, my Prince, fuck me hard now.”

He pulled her up, gripping her under her arms; “come here, baby, come with me,” he whispered, and her little naked body slipped off the bed as he pulled her, and he kissed her with his mouth open with fierce admonition, fingering the diamond moon at her breast in his large elegant hand and she lifted herself up to him and her tongue tangled against his and as he pulled her towards him he saw a glitter of moisture that slipped down her leg from her release. He gripped her hand tightly, pulling her from the bedroom; he led her to the window, his glass window, surveying all of the city, a wall of glass, and he pressed her hands against it tenderly in the darkness, the only light now shining below them, his mouth open under her ear, his body pressed against her back and her thighs, his cock hard between her legs, brushing against her cunt, sensitive and soaking wet, and she moaned again, her eyes looking back at him for a moment, then back at the lights below as his large hand came around her throat and he pressed his length into her, his other hand coming around to her clit, rubbing insistently.

“Isn’t it beautiful,” he whispered into her ear as he fucked her, raw and rough and with wild desire, and her little mouth hovered over the glass, her breath cascading in clouds against it, her fingers curling where they were pressed, fingers splayed, her knees buckling just a little against him, her ass moving back to press into him as his fingers bored into her core and pressed harshly into her neck, her hips moving against him, her feel tip-toed to reach up to his height, her eyes looking out, glancing up at their reflection over her shoulder. “Almost as beautiful as you are, but nothing is, no one is, nobody is as beautiful as you are, Kenzie, my angel--” Duncan could see the outline of them there too, in the reflection, his hair tossed against his forehead, his mouth open in a mixture of lust and concentration, her wide eyes turned up almost into her head as she gasped, and he moved the hand from her neck to twist around her chestnut hair, pulling it tight, bringing her head back with a soft jerk, and she moaned “oh goddd--” and ground against him again, ground down onto him so he was completely buried inside her. His index finger was grinding circles into the side of her clit; he moved it down to where moisture was dripping down her leg, dripping down the length of his cock as he pulled in and out of her, and gathered it on his finger, bringing it back to her clit, soaking wet--

“Baby, I’m--I’m gonna come again, I’m gonna--”

This time, Kenzie’s little body rocked back onto him, her fingers clenching into fists on the glass, her cunt spasming down onto his length with a force that brought stars behind his eyes, and he watched the glitter of the diamonds at her neck reflect in the glass. “Fu-u-uuck my pussy, fuck my little cunt with your big cock,” Kenzie cried out, and he lifted out of her and plunged back, feeling the vague outline of her cervix brushing his head; then, Kenzie screamed; she screamed and her body began to shake, to vibrate against him, the lips of her so far down on his cock that they brushed against his balls, and he felt another cascade of moisture seep out of her, this one more intense than the first, dripping down his testicles in rivulets, and he shuddered a hallucinatory release into her that made him blind for a moment, his cock immediately sensitive and painful with its intensity, his voice crying out “Fuck, fuuuck, I wanna be inside you forever, Kenzie, goddess, I wanna fuck you until I die--”

They leaned heavily into each other for a moment; her cunt spasming up onto his cock, his cock shuddering into tenderness inside her; then he pulled out and Kenzie slid, weakly, to the floor, breathing heavily, her little breasts shuddering.

“Oh baby, are you alright--” Duncan immediately crouched to her, avoiding the sensitive area between his thighs, his eyes widening with alarm; he tucked a hand around the crook of her neck, the other hand coming around her waist and holding her up as he gently pushed her head towards him; her breathing was heavy and her eyes fluttered once more, half in and half out of consciousness. He pressed his fingers against her cheek softly, tapping it a little; her eyes trembled open, and the look she gave him was one of supple, dream-like trust.

“Oh, baby,” she whispered. “Oh, Duncan.” Her eyes hovered between opening and closing; her breath slowed, and she murmured “I’m so sleepy, baby,” and they closed and she was hovering there in his arms, breathing softly, lost in her post-coital euphoria.

Duncan pressed a kiss to her cheek; he hovered there, breathing in the smell of her skin, then he hitched his arm around the back of her knees and the other around her shoulders, and he picked her up, carrying her into the bedroom and onto the bed, where he pulled the sheets and the duvet over her little body; my poor angel, my poor sweet baby, he thought. I have to talk to her about a bodyguard tomorrow, I know she won’t want one, but I have to convince her it’s for the best, god, I have to. He watched the shadow of her eyelashes against her cheek, the slow breath that moved her body under the blanket, the slow shadow of her heartbeat against her throat. Then he moved towards the bathroom; his groin was still soaked in her release, his cock still throbbing as he came down from his orgasm; he went to one of the drawers under the bathroom sink to get the wet wipes he always stored there (a million uses) and paused, his heart in his mouth, as he saw her little toiletries lined along one side of the sink, the side he’d cleared for her; his on the left, hers on the right. The dark red bottle of her perfume; he pulled it over to him and brought his nose to the nozzle, breathing in; roses, vetiver, geranium, and his body sighed into the smell, the smell that was her. A little black hairbrush rested on the edge of the sink; strands of her chestnut hair glinting in it. A little eyeliner stick, a tube of lipstick, a stick of mascara, a bottle of face wash. All her little things, the little pieces of her. His immaculate grooming supplies were on the opposite side, spotless and still; hers threw warmth into the space, made his cheeks blush; he wanted to touch everything, kiss each of her belongings, memorize their shape. Duncan felt overcome again; it was as if her things had always been missing before, leaving a Kenzie-shaped hole, one he didn’t know existed, but could feel, somewhere in his hidden heart. And now, they weren’t missing anymore. Here they were. He could reach out and touch them, like he could reach out and touch the smooth contour of her skin, the waves of her hair, where she slept in his bed. Our bed, he thought, smoky desire drifting, cleaning himself up, shivering as the cold wipe touched his still-sensitive cock; using another one under his arms, at the back of his neck. Our bathroom. Our apartment. I’m going to ask her to move in with me. How can I keep her safe if she isn’t here with me? How can I sleep without her now? He imagined reporters hounding her as she tried to leave for work in the morning; imagined people trying to get into her apartment building at night, trying to look in her windows. The thought absolutely chilled him. I’ll ask her. I want to soothe the worry I saw in her eyes tonight. I don’t want her to worry about anything, or anyone. And I don’t want to sleep alone anymore.

Duncan left the bathroom, naked, flipping the light-switch, but not before one long, last glance at Kenzie’s little things on the sink; he smiled, his heart full. He turned towards the closet, eyes falling over Kenzie where she slept again; she was breathing slowly now, far away, the diamonds still glinting at her throat; he went to her softly, unclasping the necklace at the nape of her neck, gently lifting it away from her so she wouldn’t wake, pressing the softest, lightest of kisses into her cheek, his heart on fire. He put it on the side-table, noticing her phone there; it was turned over so he could see its gold case and the moon sticker on it, fading away from use; he trailed one finger over it, lovingly, then turned and walked into his closet. Duncan bent to the drawer, in search of sweatpants, but he stopped, noticing the little outfits that now hung in the space he’d cleared for them; her clothes in my closet--our closet, he thought, and looked down on the shelf below, where there were a few other things stacked in a row; a little black bag, some little moon and star jewelry. Her little things. His chest swelled with longing; he wanted all of her things here, all of her, kissing him, blessing him; he longed not to be greedy, not to ask too much of her too soon, but he thought again of paparazzi outside her house and his mind clouded with concern, resolving to ask her in the morning. He pulled on the sweatpants, wincing as the waistband brushed against his cock, then, he moved out towards the kitchen (he paused, eyes falling on her hair tossed over the pillow tenderly, her little hand clutched against her mouth) and into the dining room, to clean up the dishes.