#also top tip: writing a sex scene over the course of a literal year *will* fuck with your pacing

[alightbuthappypen]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Additional Tags: Sharing a Bed, First Time, Cloud Recesses Study Arc (Módào Zǔshī), Anal Fingering, Bottom Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fic, Porn with Feelings, CQL canon Summary:

“It’s fine!” Wei Ying shoots Lan Wangji a searing smile. “Right, Lan Zhan? It’s only one night.”

It is not fine. It is not remotely fine. They had been told the inn was practically empty only the day before. That other patrons should appear to take their former room now seems like incredibly cruel luck.

Sharing a room with Wei Ying the previous night was bad enough. Sharing a much smaller room will be worse. Sharing a bed is unthinkable.

After dealing with the water demon, they discover there's Only One Bed in Caiyi.

Somehow finished a fic, unprecedented

[thequibblah]

directors cut for WTRF? 🥺👉👈 not biased at all obviously just objective third party asking for a directors cut hmmm hmmmmm

literally how could u do this every other word in that fic is an easter egg i can't shut up about..... bestie u are about to have regrets

one thing u should know is that 90% of things in this fic have real-world equivalents and its not even like....... hidden equivalents. serie primo = serie a, for instance. this trend is going to continue and i won't apologise <3

fun fact i named the bar the Bar and the drinks after shapes because i was too lazy to come up with something actually clever

this bit

I’m grinning to myself by the time she approaches my table.

was a very intentional fakeout and if you read this and thought "she" would be lily, feel free to sue me for emotional damages

the biggest conundrum of this AU was, how are jily not going to have met in school when magic exists? the solution was, of course, having multiple magic schools. but i couldn't let one of them have hogwarts, that didn't seem fair. i know i did sort of let lily have it..... but i felt more comfortable making hogwarts a university so there was a legit reason why james wasn't there and in gryffindor (if he'd gone he absolutely would have been)

once solved, i did the fun thing of naming them! ottaline gambol's was easy, i just scrolled through the list of ministers for magic and picked a progressive one. peverell hall was a whim, made all the funnier when lily's reaction is:

Much was made at Otty’s — one of the more progressive magical schools, named for one of the more progressive Ministers of Magic — of schools like Peverell Hall and St. George’s. The latter, I know, is chock-full of pureblooded elite. Peverell Hall is supposed to be slightly better, but still.

dang, it's gonna be funny if she ever finds out james is a descendant of the guy it's named after

fun fact, i included this because peter's question was a real thought i had when reading bond and free, your inspiring writing knows no limits:

The first thing you conjure in Walking Wombat is a yellow quill... “Why yellow?” Peter asked. Eddie gave him a strange look. “Why not?”

i realised i'd put jily in the same conundrum they had in tis the fucking season here:

It’s only then that I remember she’s just bought us drinks. I turn back to my triangle. “Oh, shit.” I suppose I can pawn it off on one of the others.

...but of course the resolution is rather different, and i do so enjoy a james with no filter (aka default james)

I briefly lose control of my brain and my tongue. “Is it too soon to say I’m in love with you?”

by the way, no-filter james will be a theme. wild things sure do run fast but not as fast as this boy runs his mouth!

also, another interesting challenge here was making sure james has a reason to be the way he is in AU. i love playing around with james's childhood/background and seeing how that affects his character while (hopefully!) staying true to who he is. i did that in ttfs by having him move around a lot and not meet the marauders until after the flashback timeline, which is why he's less of a git — he doesn't have the level of comfort in a social setting that canon james has with hogwarts, which is basically his playground from day 2 of first year lol

here, james was probably a fkn nightmare all through school, but of course he gets a big ego check when his quidditch career is derailed. i imagine his years in italy as a continuation of that humility lesson.

I will fully admit I used to be a cocky prick. This is what comes of being a kid who grew up with everything. But one useful thing that the whole fiasco four years ago taught me is humility. I’ve learned how to ask nicely for another chance.

and so much of writing him in wtrf is juggling that typical confidence with the insecurity/fear of losing something he's invested so much in (and has seen slip away before). it's really new to me, because typically i give lily uncertain life circumstances, but i suppose it's both of them in this AU.

the car thing was... i swear didn't start out as smutty, it was purely because i wanted a way to establish lily as muggleborn in a world where the connotations of not having magical parents is very different. more to come on that!

also, come to think of it, by this metric...

I’m now in dangerous territory, since that adds another impressive action to her running tally.

...i think james is already in love with her LOL

this bit:

The street is considered indecent and the downstairs hallway would have our landlady come running at once, so if it pleases Your Honour, we would recommend the sitting room sofa.

...was actually because in draft one lily was a lawyer, but then it was funny enough that i didn't want to take it out, but NOW i realise it makes it sound a little like she's addressing james as your honour, which.... hm. but anyway, we move on

Marc Bolan begs us to get it on through the stereo, vocalising my thoughts exactly.

the song here was initially "you shook me" (h/t @keepingupwithpotters) but i chickened out because zeppelin is SO horny dfjkhgkjs

also, it gave me so much joy to read everyone reacting to lily thinking about her ex (the general vibe was "who the fuck is this guy!!! ew!!!!") — rest assured (or, unassured??) that he has a part to play in all this. anyway, this is one of my fave lines:

He’s just a person, and there’s such a relief in sleeping with James and not the myth of a guy.

because as any come together reader knows....

Just James. Just James. It was never just James.

wtrf lily will learn!

literally the whole world knows i'm obsessed with needle drops that have no subtlety at all, but this one...

We just laugh, tangled together in a sweaty heap, as “Heaven Is in the Back Seat of My Cadillac” plays through the car’s speakers. “On the nose, isn’t it?” James says, sitting up.

...was pure luck, because i was looking up the top hits on the uk singles chart for the week(ish) this scene takes place in so that i could find a song that would realistically play on the radio, saw this, and was like omg the stars really do align

i feel like the thing i enjoy most about writing romance is the importance i get to place in noticing/looking/observing (and sometimes, not noticing!). it's just such a powerful but simple writerly tool, and god knows i am obsessed with pithy descriptions anyway, so this bit i am especially happy with:

James is already waiting, leaning against the car with his hands in his pockets. I feel as though I’m seeing him for the first time, the faint light of the flickering streetlamp catching him in profile: the strong slope of his nose, the hard line of his jaw, the curve of his smile. He studies the facade of our building with open curiosity, and I wonder what he’s looking for.

(one can only imagine james's train of thought in this moment. perhaps "ah. here lives the future love of my life"?)

“Thanks,” she tacks on at the end. I tip my head to one side in confusion. “For what?” “For, I don’t know. Being nice.” She laughs awkwardly. “I don’t do this very much.”

it wouldn't be a quibblah original tee em without some discourse to come about the nature of romantic/sexual relationships, would it? one thing i enjoy about this AU ("one thing" i say as if this isn't the billionth thing in a list) is that i get to write a romantic lily who's squaring that romanticism with what she perceives as the culture of the times. (this is a bit of a staple in all my characterisations of lily, but it is not often paired with casual sex, the complication of all complications!)

oh this bit literally wrote itself like i didn't even pause to think just vomited it out:

In the morning — and it must be early still — the sun streams through Lily’s sorry excuses for curtains with aggression that cannot be ignored. I crack open an eye to find myself sprawled out across her bed, quite literally spread-eagled. She’s attached to my side like a barnacle. Or a very pretty barnacle, anyway.

i'm especially proud of james's voice in this story. i don't often write first-person fic and i was worried how it'd turn out, but i think james as a character/narrator typically colours his own 3rd-person narration so strongly that it ended up a smoother transition than i'd feared!

also i just. i can't resist throwing in comic relief and i hope that this whole segment was a gentle enough preparation for the awkwardness that followed LOL

All of a sudden, the balcony door bursts open. I nearly drop the mug. “What the—” Mary pokes her head around the corner, sporting a righteous smile. “Morning, handsome.” Over her shoulder she shouts, “He’s on the balcony!” I blink. There’s a sound from inside the flat, as if something very large has just been dropped. Then a swear. “Oh, shit,” I say, realisation dawning, “you weren’t looking for me, were you? It’s so loud out here—” Mary cups a hand around her mouth and stage-whispers, “Lily was frantic.” She’s quite violently yanked back, and Lily herself appears in the doorway, slightly out of breath. “Should’ve checked the balcony first,” she says, and closes the door before Mary can insert herself into the space again. “Hi,” I say, which is agreed-upon best practice for greeting a woman you’ve just had fantastic sex with and ideally would like to have sex with again.

to this day i don't know what lily dropped. let's hope it wasn't expensive!

Captained the under-17 English squad at the World Cup some years back, Serie Primo’s lead goal-scorer of last year… Only an injury in what should’ve been his first season at Puddlemere mars his record. I wince reading about it and comparing it to a heap of press clippings. James Potter was hurt, and Puddlemere didn’t fancy paying for him not to play, so they shipped him off to Milan.

(you cannot imagine how much pointed interrogation of my brother it took to gather this intel.) i constantly worry that i've got dates or timelines wrong somehow — you might notice i tweaked under-17, which used to be under-19 until i realised that made no sense (even though in terms of its career importance i would much preferred it to have been u-19.... anyway). i also found out that u-17 football squads don't actually have captains but i said fuck it on that count.

but obviously i started writing this AU for the sports possibilities, only to discover i'm going to have to interfere a great deal with the Timeline (you shall see in future instalments).

god i really went through the whole fic. like i reread the whole thing to do this. here u go clare jfbghjfd

[lizacstuff]

SCK episode 46 asks!

Hi folks, below the read more you'll find a smattering of asks about this week's episode as well as a few spoilers for 47.

Good asks this week:

(under the cut)

Anonymous asked: this may be superficial of me, but why are they dressing Serkan in such ugly tops? they finally brought Eda's hair back but now this

BWAH! You're not wrong. You know what I'm wondering, if they've put him in some of those outfits because they are showing his suburban dad side? It's kind of a subtle nod to him embracing father hood and a different way of life? He's now all about running around the yard after his daughter and not about what he looks like when he's being SERKAN BOLAT, FAMOUS BUSINESS MAN and WORLD'S BEST ARCHITECT.

Also, Eda's hair, thank goodness they let that go once the flashbacks were over and we didn't need something to distinguish between then and now! Those curly bangs were not it.

Anonymous asked: They built up the Edser chemistry soooooo well throughout the episode... for that ending? Who decided to cut it there?! The scene was BEAUTIFUL I’m actually upset lol. are not we going to see any more? I’m not asking for a sex scene, I wanted to see THE moment they decided to get back together (the tattoo line doesn’t do it for me) - a few words, tears as they embrace, him walking through the door as she closes it, one passionate kiss, something! But it doesn’t feel like a cliffhanger that continues next week. I’ll be so underwhelmed when they cut to the morning after and we have to infer that they got back together overnight *sigh* if they were allowed 1 kiss only, id rather it have been here instead of ep 2

We do deserve to see how they reconcile, that should be one of the biggest moments of the season after 7 episodes of build up to it.

90% of final scenes in this show have continued uninterrupted the next week. To me there's no reason to think the next episode won't pick up right where this one left off. Crossing fingers!

Anonymous asked: It just hit me that Serkan is the “Kiraz” for Kemal - but Kemal actually missed his child’s whole 35 years 😬 this is an interesting turn of events. Also that line Serkan said about how fathers should love their child’s mother and how he didn’t have that with his own parents....but his real dad does love Aydan, more than she deserves haha.

Oh so true! Kemal really does love his mother more than she deserves! How he puts up with her, I don't know.

The parallel between Serkan/Kemal and Kiraz/Serkan is strong and I hope it gives Serkan some perspective when he starts grappling with this knowledge. I'm sure it's going to be very disconcerting for him, because while he expected to never see his father again, Alptekin is still his father. He's still the man who raised him and formed him into the man he is. Serkan still runs the company he founded and bears his name.

I don't expect any of that to change, but hopefully he can forge a separate relationship with Kemal that might fill some emotional holes that he has and bring him some peace.

None of that even contemplates how Kemal will feel, thankfully Aydan didn't willfully hide the truth from him. How awful to realize you lost 35 years.

We aren't there yet, but I wonder at what age with Kiraz learn the truth, that her dad is not an astronaut, that her parents went through hell with with cancer and plane crashes, and that her father didn't know of her existence until right before they met?

Just something to think about.

Anonymous asked: i'm so happy for hanker, don't get me wrong, and i'm also so happy we get "together" edser for so many episodes until the end, but i'm already tired of the constant "hanker improvising" comments i know i will be seeing. not that they don't improvise in some scenes, but i just know that every romantic edser scene is gonna be analyzed to hell bc ppl want to look for hanker in them. like there's no possible way that ayse, the writer ppl hate the most, could write any romantic scenes.. nope no way!

Yes, this is one of my pet peeves, I can't stand the "Edser left the chat" and all the "that's Hanker, not Edser" type conversation. it's so invasive and most of all disrespectful to not only the writers, but Hande and Kerem and all the work they pour into bringing Eda and Serkan to life.

One of the things in fandom that sets my teeth on edge is when folks take some interpretation of the character by the actor and then decide because it wasn't "scripted" (pro tip the vast majority of physical movements the actors make are "unscripted") that it must just be the actors themselves and have nothing to do with the characters. What an embarrassing and naïve assertion. Actors literal job is to take what's on the page and then translate that. So, no, OF COURSE, every look and touch is not scripted. The actors interpret how their characters would think and feel, and what they would do in given moments and then do those things.

Eda is not touching Serkan's arm just because Hande can't hold herself back from touching Kerem. Puh-lease, they are professionals. Grow up.

However, having said all that, I do think there was one scene that seemed to be very improvised this episode. The bean scene in the grocery store did feel like them just eFFing around. LOL.

andhewonherheart asked: @andhewonherheart: SCK promo department is best and worst all at the same time, cause giving away the last (cliffhanger) scene in fragman is just cruel. But based on the next week’s fragman thing happens that we we think happens *wink*

Hee! So true. The thing I'm grateful for is that in season 2 not one fragman has made me dread the episode, I think there was at least one fragman an episode from 29-37 that was hella upsetting.

As far as I'm concerned these fragmans are doing there job, making me want to watch.

I am really excited for Serkan planning how he's going to ask Eda to marry him, I wonder what Kiraz's reaction is going to be. So far she's been their very own cupid!

Anonymous asked: I didn't find it surprising that Serkan removed his tattoo as soon as Eda left. His logic is always out of sight out of mind though it doesn't work. He did the same when he broke up with her when he found out about the death of her parents. He removed all of her belongings. But their memories are too strong and enough for him to continue to remember her.

Truth! Will he ever learn that it's never going to work? He'll never be able to erase Eda, she has left an indelible mark on his soul. Let's hope he's never faced with that situation again! From here on out, he and Eda are together, a unit, and will live a long life together and in love.

Anyone have any guesses where Eda's tattoo is? Will we find out or will it remain between the characters.

Anonymous asked: I've seen some people say that Edser are getting married now way too fast and to that I just have to laugh lol. First there were complaints we don't have happy Edser and now when we do, of course there's something else. These two have had a rollercoaster of a year when they first met and a five year separation.. they've been through the dating phase, the engaged phase.. of course they'll head straight to the altar! It's not like Eda's plane proposal and that first wedding wasn't rushed either!

I'm on team head straight to the alter! No more waiting. They've had terrible luck, so they just need to tie the knot and make sure there are no easy outs.

As for people who think it's too fast, they don't even know the storyline yet, I swear there are folks who complain just because that's their personality and they're never satisfied.

Anonymous asked: From some of the spoilers of BTS pics, and the fragman we got, I was just reflecting on this season and Turk romcom dizis in general and I just wanted to say how LUCKY we are to see Edser married (again, from spoilers) and with a kid on screen for more than just 10 minute at the end of the finale. Like, it is really rare and as much as people have nitpicked on this season in general, I feel like watching these last episodes have been such a breeze after the last arc of S1.

Oh agreed, I think these episodes have been very enjoyable. The writers are giving me exactly what I want from this show. Comedy, UST, romance with a little light angst thrown in now and again. I would rewatch this season a dozen times before even thinking about watching anything from the 30s.

We are very lucky that we've got to see them as parents, and actually forming their family. We've gotten so much domestic goodness so far and we still have a ways to go. I'm very appreciative of this season and that Ayse came back, got rid of the constant ridiculous melodrama for melodrama's-sake and is telling a very human story about family and love persevering.

Anonymous asked: the last scene gave me chills for some reason. you could actually see eda fighting her head and her heart and deciding to take the step (metaphorically and physically!) towards him for good. i wanna SUE whoever decided to end it the ep there though.. it was actually cruel. also looking at the next frag.. it makes my heart soft that in the flashbacks we see serkan pushing off their wedding bc of his fears and now he can't propose and get married fast enough.. can't believe we're really getting it

I know, it's almost surreal at this point. Since we're near the end we know it's for real and won't be ruined by psychos or awful family members or terminal illness. I just hope that they give us an emotional scene when they get married, whether its just them or the whole cast is there as guests, after everything they've (we've) been through we need to see them both feeling that moment and reveling in it.

FYI - I'm out of town next weekend, so I may be slower than usual in replying to asks and in posting gifs of 47, but I'll get to it all eventually!

[unsettledink]

A while back I made up a list of fics I had ideas for/wanted to write, mostly to try and drum up bids for Marvel Trumps Hate.

Since then I have, of course, had approximately five million new ideas and keeping track of them has gotten a bit out of hand, so i thought I’d try and put them all in one place that I could come back to and also update more easily. Also possibly some sort of... accountability thing? Like if I put them out into the universe I’m more likely to actually write them? Well I can dream.

There’s going to be a couple of these, divided up by pairings. Feel free to ignore, it’s mostly housekeeping!

(This one’s just for starker and polystarker ideas.)

I’m kind of grouping these because it got long. (Smut, smut + feels, fluff, oh no the sads)

* for new ideas (ARG)

Just the smut! (Ok some feels):

Continuation of Hang Up – so what does happen the next morning after that phone call? (Sex. Probably more phone sex.)

*Pocket Change sequel – Why yes, Peter, you can work out some sort of retroactive deal to 'pay' for the suits...

Peter is dumb online – Peter decides to auction off his virginity online. Of course Tony finds out immediately. Of course Tony buys it to keep Peter from getting hurt. Of course Tony decides to meet up and teach Peter a lesson about being safe – wait. That might have been a mistake. (It’s not.)

Actually, Peter doesn’t like it rough – miscommunication piled on top of miscommunication because they’re both idiots who are desperate for each other, until a tipping point is reached. Happy ending! Fluffy ending!

Gag reflex training – pretty much what it sounds like. Tony having a lot of fun with Peter; messy, noisy, hopefully hot.

Experienced Peter – Peter hasn’t been waiting around for Tony to be the first, and he’s had time to figure out some of his preferences. Like topping almost exclusively, among other things. Hey I kind of wrote this!

Civil War pick me up – after the airport, Tony goes to check on Peter and is in desperate need of something nice. Peter really, really wants to be that something nice. Could be underage, could be not.

Continuation of Gift Wrapped – (Peter/Tony/Pepper) there’s a lot more sex happening for Tony’s birthday than I had time to write for kinktober.

But you want me to be safe, don’t you? - Peter’s hit with sex pollen, but it can be taken care of without outside help. Peter would still really like it if Tony would help. Or would at least keep an eye on him. Or at least stay in hearing range! He won’t be able to resist if Peter’s noisy and saying his name while he gets off, right???

Armor Kink - I mean, basically what it says on the tin. Peter’s been having fantasies about the armor forever. Tony is absolutely willing to help him with that.

ABO forced presentation – Peter doesn’t know what he’ll end up being, and that’s bad for Reasons. He convinces Tony try forcing a presentation (not noncon type forcing) and things get weird. Playing around with the idea of how non-binary might go in ABO. Possible Tony/Peter/Pepper endship. More than likely somewhat underage.

Avengers orgy – Peter’s finally old enough to join in the tradition! While he’s having fun with everyone, Peter and Tony keep gravitating to each other, winding up with things getting a little too emotional when Tony finally gets his chance. Potential for Tony/Peter/Rhodey endship.

The spider bite did what?!? - Peter starts having really weird cravings when he’s around Tony. Weird as in blood, and Tony is going to help him figure this out. Even when it turns into a craving for sex (and bloodplay). Even when it turns into terrifying (for Peter) egg/medical kink.

*Hooker D/S AU Brat!Peter – Tony orders 'the brattiest sub you have' and gets Peter. Who is incredibly so, and Tony is actually delighted by this. And Peter is a little taken aback that someone likes this rather than considering him a bad sub.

*Flaunt follow up – more Peter/Tony/Rhodey D/S AU? Yup!

*No, I'm saving YOU – villains of the week catch them and plan on gangbanging Peter – until Tony offers to be willing if they leave Peter alone. At some point Peter comes around and tries to bargain for them to use him instead of Tony. Tony is not happy about this, but boy, the villains are!

*Peter/Harley/Tony - Tony’s so glad Peter’s over that crush and happy with Harley. Really. Totally. Meanwhile, Peter & Harley are doing their best to get Tony into bed with them and growing increasingly frustrated with Tony’s (intentional) obliviousness.

*

Smut! Oh wait, where did all these feelings come from?:

Toybox – slightly darker Peter decides if Tony won’t fuck him, the least Tony can do is pay for Peter’s toys, and watch while Peter enjoys them. No touching allowed since Tony doesn’t want him, after all. Which is a rule that gets harder and harder to keep in place; feelings, so many feelings everywhere.

Pain kink Peter – what it says on the tin, lol. “Oh Mr. Stark, maybe you should supervise this slightly dangerous sex thing I like.” I think we can guess where it heads from there.

Baby's first D/S (dom version) – established T/P, Tony's subby but hasn't brought it up. Peter is like, 'but what if I was into the idea of doming?' and they start messing around with it. Peter is Very Earnest and learning all these new things, and Tony is surprised to find, after a while, Peter's doing pretty good on his own.

Call boy Peter – what it sounds like! It’s an accident that Tony gets him; good thing Peter was blindfolded! Bad thing that Peter’s senses are enhanced and he knows from the start who it is. Good thing that Peter’s not going to say anything so he can keep this reliable customer?

Evil Ex D/S verse – Peter’s pretty insecure about being a good sub for Tony and it’s not helped at all when one of Tony’s ex subs tells him he’ll never be able to take what Tony wants to dish out. Well, Peter’s going to prove him wrong! Tony really doesn’t understand why Peter is making himself miserable for something Tony doesn’t even want, and things almost break before they get fixed.

*Besties and Omegas and Peter's – Rhodey and Tony (both omegas) end up in an awkward situation when Peter has something like an enhanced rut around them. Slightly complicated dynamics but happy ending for everyone.

*Outraged owned Peter – some sort of slave type au where Obie buys Peter for Tony as a companion, considering Peter to be a distraction and possible spy. Tony does not want a sex slave and rejects him, and Peter is furious – he is not just for sex, he is literally worth his weight in gold, and how DARE Tony not want him!

*Very dark Peter - Peter’s decided he really likes having Tony completely wrapped around his little finger. To the point of getting Tony to give him/do things that are pretty far from acceptable, and then Peter figures out he likes showing off his hold over Tony even more. Oops.

*

Fluff! (Crap there’s not much):

Follow up to Seiche – mostly fluffy 5 times +1 where the emotion sensing bond causes (minor) problems

Fluffy D/S verse – all the fluff! All the outside POV! Everyone assumes that obviously Tony is a dom; after all, that’s how he’s always presented himself. Everyone is wroooooong. Tony’s never been happier.

Nail polish – little bit of Tony finding it incredibly appealing when Peter wears nail polish

*Lingerie shorts – several vignettes of them getting each other and wearing different interesting pieces of lingerie

*

Oh No + all the feelings, heavy on the bad ones:

Soulmark AU – Tony finds out first and isn’t going to do anything due to the age difference. Peter finds out and thinks that’s bullshit + horribly hurt that he’s being rejected. Things are forced when Peter gets hit with a drug that messes with that bond and they both have to figure out how things are going to go. Possible bittersweet ending.

Screw soulmates, actually - Post CW and Tony dealing with soulmate rejection (that’s a WHOLE other fic). Peter’s become convinced Tony’s a blank like him, and then doesn’t understand why Tony’s soulmate wouldn’t want him. Peter does! They get their happy ever after without being fated for each other, and Peter gets a chance to tells Tony’s soulmate what a dick they are. All the satisfaction!

*Blanks are Bad – soulmark au where blanks are regarded extremely poorly, and Tony is exposed as one. Lots of dealing with the ugly fallout, and Peter coming to Tony and confessing he's a blank too and has been so scared.

Untenable – sequel to Indefensible and … horrible. The ABO underage incest continues, Tony hates himself, Peter is distressingly happy. Mpreg makes everything ten times worse; endgame makes everything 100 times worse. Going beyond that would be spoilery, but uh. Everything becomes 1000 times worse by the end! Yay! Yikes.

*Made For It follow ups (aka the... happy version of Indefensible??) - we want to actually see the sex scene they talk about doing, right? Right. And possibly some mpreg? We shall see.

ABO accidental bonding – the worst abo version, heads up. Underage Peter, omegas are treated very poorly, Peter and Tony don’t know each other beforehand and don’t do great getting to know each other afterwards. Biology continues to fuck Peter over, and Tony really doesn’t get how desperately Peter wants Tony to like him. Mountains and mountains of angst and sad before the happy ending.

Copy - After IW, Tony makes a Peter clone/android/whatever. Unfortunately, it just makes things worse because it’s just enough off to make it super obvious it’s not Peter. And fake!Peter knows it too. He’s just enough like real Peter to fall in love with Tony too, and he can’t figure out how to make Tony care about him instead of real, dead Peter. Not that it matters when he snap is reversed (Tony lives) and fake!Peter isn’t needed or wanted anymore. (Will probably have a sequel where real Peter finds out about all this, probably happy ending for everyone.)

Nothing sticks around - years after the blip, Peter discovers Tony, alive - only Tony has none of his memories. Tony doesn’t want anything to do with these people Peter tries to reintroduce him to; he trusts Peter and wants to stay with him. And does, for quite some time, things turning into a relationship, and even if Peter feels guilty about it, he’s happy. Right up until Tony suddenly remembers everything … except what’s been going on the last few years with Peter. Undecided if there’s a happy ending or not.

I hate time travel - once Tony figures out time travel, he decides he needs to find out if this works by hopping forward and seeing if Peter is back. And then maybe he should hop forward a little more just to check on him. Keeps doing this, about once a year, and while Peter is so glad to see him, it’s destroying Peter to basically go through Tony ‘dying’ over and over. Pretty soon it’s fucking up Tony too, after he accidentally shows up when Peter’s in the middle of sex. Very bittersweet ending to maintain the timeline.

Fuck you, Beck - Beck goes about getting the glasses in the worst ways, and Peter finds out a little too late - way too late when it comes to sleeping with him. Not that he’s going to ever tell anyone about that. Not even Tony, when Tony comes back. Not even Tony, when it turns out Tony is interested. Okay, maybe he’ll have to tell Tony when Peter’s reactions to sex become a problem. Happy ending but lots of ouch on the way.

Sequel to Dormant - so what exactly does Tony notice the morning after? And what exactly does Peter do about it? (Spoiler: A lot more than Peter thought he would, and nothing good.)

Don’t punish people like that – as much Tony/Obie as Tony/Peter, maybe pre-Tony/Peter. Obie decided to deal with Tony’s wild streak by punishing him in an especially awful, painful, dehumanizing, sexual way. Tony’s managed to handle how awful that was by pretending it was helpful (nope!). When Peter will not stop misbehaving, the last resort Tony can think of is what was done to him. It helped, right? (He can’t bring himself to in the end, which sets off a cascading failure of repressed trauma, woot!)

*That's rape, Tony – Tony getting drugged, gangbanged, and recorded, and then having part of it released that looks consensual. Tony doesn't remember enough to say it wasn't, and with his history, people don't question it. It goes over very poorly and he's handling all the parts of it very poorly, and Peter is the one to finally put the pieces together.

Sex Pollen Non-Con – Tony’s hit with some sort of fuck or die stuff; only problem is that he 100% refuses to let Peter do anything, and there’s no one else. Peter, convinced that Tony’s going to die, stops giving Tony a choice. What’s that, the trauma Tony was hoping to spare him is replaced with way worse trauma from basically raping Tony? WHOOPS. (Probably happy ending!)

Secondhand verse – following after this, things growing steadily worse, hotter, and more complex between Peter, Beck, and Tony. Bad decisions all around! Unexpected feelings all around! General unhappiness at having feelings that can be hurt all around! Probably a series of fics.

12:00 - follow up to 11:59, Tony and Peter finally getting it on and Beck being an ass in the background. Also the prequel that’s primarily Peter/Quentin, and possibly a sequel where Tony decides that maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, watching Beck fuck Peter - and Peter liked it, right? Everyone’s down for a totally uncomplicated round two, right? Or three, or four...

(And feel free to talk to me about anything here, I love an excuse to ramble. Also, if something grabs your attention, have fun writing it - the more the merrier!)

[gaycrouton]

hey! loooooooveee your writing! I'm super new to writing and I feel like I suck and since you seem so comfortable with it and you seem to play around all the time I was hoping you could say what you find hard about writing? I see lists of confidence boosters and encouraging tips but I think it would help me more to see that people I admire struggle? Is that weird? hehe sorry

Hahaha no that’s not weird at all, I understand! And thank you so much for your sweet words. So I know I’m definitely forgetting things from this list, but off the top of my head, here are a few of the many things I struggle with (in no specific order). Side Note: Everything I list is just my personal view. I’ve read fanfics that go against how I write personally and LOVE THEM.

I’m also gonna tag some others because I think for something like this, multiple opinions would be great!  Anything you guys struggle with? @admiralty-xfd @monikafilefan @fragilevixenfic @slippinmickeys​ @sarie-fairy​ @suitablyaggrieved (ANY AUTHORS JUMP IN!)

1) Smut specific, trying to find realistic pacing. In terms of MSR, it’s very important for me to find a pacing that feels honest, even if I’m exploring or putting them in an AU situation. Even if I’m writing a “Mulder and Scully are trapped in an elevator and fuck” fic, I am still writing based off the canon that they take seven years to get together (which gets even tricker if your fic is earlier). It’s unrealistic to be like here’s a love confession then boom his dick is in her. I think that’s why I try and play around with awkwardness so much, because for me it’s what makes these situations plausible and real. They have to be pushed over the edge significantly and act accordingly (this is just for me personally).

2) I’m impatient. I write and then want to post right away. I need to respect the necessity of the beta-ing process (for reason #3), and when I do they always come out better. 

3) I think faster than I type and I have small chubby Trump hands and ADHD. So typos and half-finished phrases galore.

4) Because of #2 I post WIPs before I even know where they are going. I think this also comes from a fear of being soooo excited about an idea that I want to put it out because I have an irrational and stupid fear that someone else will do it before me (which is ridiculous of me).

5) I know this will seem strange coming from me, but sometimes writing sex scenes is like pulling teeth. That’s literally just because I think the length of the sex scene should be adequate in regards to the build up. Build up is my favorite part to write so then when I get to the sex scene I’m just like “oh yeah... I have a whole other thing I have to write” and I always try to come up with an aspect that will make this sex scene different than that sex scene. 

6) I am at the conundrum of loving stories where Scully is injured/hurt/attacked/xyz and Mulder trying to help her, while also recognizing the problematic history of ‘hurt woman rescued by man’ trope. So my gender studies lenses come out and I have to navigate the delicate balance of never having the violence or what it may be be too gratuitous or (not that I ever would) I have to really make sure Scully doesn’t come across as helpless. Of course this can be reversed as well, but it’s most commonly women being mistreated. 

7) I have an awful method of writing. I sit down and I intend not to get up until I have a chapter/story done. 80% of my fics are written in one go. It would be so much better if I didn’t do that to myself, but I’m still learning.

8) I ocassionally am randomly sensitive, so sometimes mean comments hurt my feelings. It’s that whole, you could get 5000 positive comments and one negative and you’ll remember the negative. Which is so stupid, but being indifferent is easier said than done.

But hmmmm, that’s all I’m thinking right now. 

[drlauralwalsh]

The Lusty World of Lesbian Widows

I’m really frustrated that COVID has gotten in the way of my grief achievements.  I figured 3 months in, I’d be doing the television talk show circuit, sold my book, and set up a non-profit foundation.  If only this pandemic hadn’t gotten in my way.

In my life before, if I spent too much time alone (like, over 4 hours), I’d start texting my sister-in-law that I was unsupervised and feral.  Uh oh.  I’d start going down rabbit holes and come up with weird stuff like how buff male kangaroos get.  Or questioning if my parents were really married since I couldn’t find a record of their union in the limited online databases. I could have paid for real records but I’m cheap.  I know, sounds crazy.  

But now, I’m alone for long stretches of time.  I’ve managed to channel some of this agitated energy into writing essays that speak to weirdos like me (shout out to my fellow weirdos!).  I spend hours researching (me-searching as we said in grad school) and discovering overachieving methods to dam the waters of my new spouse-less life.

I’m not just your average widow.  Oh no no no.  Of course, I have to be special so allow me to tack on some extra layers - lesbian, stepmom, and young (-ish, right?).  At 45, I have finally found a way to inch back towards the youth and relevance lost as you enter the fourth decade of life.  Today, I’d like to let you into the wonders of lesbianism.

I’m going to assume you’re not submerged in this subculture so I’ll tell you some secrets.  People are fascinated by lesbians.  To be fair, we live pretty mysterious lives.  We leave you hanging on profound questions like who takes out the trash and how do they have sex without a woody woodpecker? Sometimes, other communities get lumped in with us but they are actually quite different.  Of these witches, spinsters, and women who wear comfortable shoes, I only belong to only one of those so far.  I’m working on my stovetop skills and hope to someday conjure a penis.  Not a real one; that would be weird.

Amazon’s book market best represents the variable interests of our fan club members.  Right after my wife died, I launched a search for books on “lesbian widows.”  You’d think the algorithms would have pegged me by now (ha ha).  I was dismayed yet amused by the grand interpretation of what Amazon thought I meant.  The following is an unedited list of the top books recommended for me to purchase under these auspicious terms:

Lesbian Widows: Invisible Grief

by Victoria Whipple (Kindle $25.98, Paperback $46.95, Hardcover $907.71)

I’m impressed that the first one actually included my search terms but dang, it’s expensive to be a lesbian widow.  To be fair, you can rent it for $9.21 a month.  It’s also terribly niche within an already  small niche - invisible lesbian widows?  Published in 2014, you’d think it would be a little more hip.  Maybe it’s because I live in Chicago but even as an introvert, I’m decently visible.  Still, glad it exists and appeals to all eight people who each gave it a 5-star rating.

The Care and Feeding of Waspish Widows: Feminine Pursuits

by Olivia Waite (Kindle $3.99, Paperback $6.99)

I must quote the basic plot description for you to get the full impact of this novel: “The last thing the widow wants is to be the victim of a thousand bees. But when a beautiful beekeeper arrives to take care of the pests, Agatha may be in danger of being stung by something far more dangerous…”  The cover depicts said wapish widow sit/leaning against her handsome, pants suit-clad beekeeper.  At the much less expensive price for kindle and paperback, I’m only slightly put off by labeling bees as pests.

Odd women?: Spinsters, lesbians and widows in British women's fiction, 1850s–1930s

by Emma Liggins (Kindle $73.24, Hardcover $95.00)

The period is a little off but at least it includes diverse, international women.  I was looking for a self help book but this seems slightly more academic.  Not sure why there’s a question mark in the title as there’s no question about our oddity.  The description reads, “Women outside heterosexual marriage in this period were seen as abnormal, superfluous, incomplete and threatening, yet were also hailed as ‘women of the future’.”  Aw shucks, I *am* ahead of my time.  Dang that price tag!  No renting option for this one.

The Grass Widow

by Nanci Little (Kindle $0.00, Paperback $14.95)

It’s unclear where we’ll find the lesbian widow in this 2010 novel but the description yields some mild foreshadowing: “As a familiar civilization fades into the distance, she is nineteen, unmarried and pregnant, and has no reason to think that the year 1876 won't be her last...Joss, in her brother's clothes and severely lacking in social graces, has no time to mollycoddle a pampered, pregnant New England lady. It's work or starve, literally. There are no servants, no laborers - just a failing farm, impending winter and the two of them to face it together.”  It sounds like the shameless Joss needs her own dose of mollycoddling (wink, wink) to get through the chilly nights.

Her Widow

by Joan Alden (Paperback $18.00)

More popular with 10 people giving it an almost stellar rating, this tomb’s immodest summary insists it belongs on every bookshelf.  YOU WILL PAY ATTENTION TO US!  That’s how I read it.  Seriously, of all the books this one comes the closest to what I actually wanted.  Waiting for the kindle unlimited edition….(having no man money makes us frugal).

Made For You 3

by K. Shantel (Kindle $4.99)

Apparently, Made For You 1 and 2 were not as popular. Despite the fair price, this tale omits widows opting for the groundbreaking combination of lesbian romance and football.  While tragedy surely threads through this plot, it falls short of crossing the threshold from football to death (it probably does).  Shocker, I defy the sporty lesbian trope and instead prefer to spend time among my vast, treasured collection of power tools.  Just to be clear, I mean the ones for home repair (get your mind out of the gutter!)  If the lady protagonists of this book had been thrown together building a Habitat for Humanity house with their 10 dogs using only their Subaru to transport lumber, I might be more captivated.

The Lady's Guide to Celestial Mechanics, Book 1 of 1: Feminine Pursuits Series

by Olivia Waite (Kindle $3.99, Paperback $6.99)

I’ll give the author the benefit of believing there are more to come in the series. The title of this one intrigues me (I may steal it later) but sadly, it also defaults to worn stereotypes.  This collection of lesbian tropes finds my kin scoring yet another toaster for the conversion of a hapless straight lady.  Lesbians for the win!  Lady Reads-A-Lot gave it 5 stars and commented, “This was poetic and lovely, full of beautiful descriptions that knew exactly how to leave you breathless and then stop just before tipping into tedious.”  I’m guessing she means the sex scenes?  If you’ve ever watched any real lesbian porn, you know that it’s far better for the participants than the viewers.

Erotica: The Forbidden Adventures Of A Grieving Widow (Seduction, Lust, Lesbian Sex, Interracial Sex, Bondage and More)

by Amy King (Kindle $0.00)

This one is hands down, my favorite title and you can’t beat the price.  The author keeps the marketing short to sell you her novel: “All Ava wanted was to erase the memory of her recently departed husband. Little did she know that in trying to do so, she would experience mind-blowing adventures and lust across the globe. Ava would never be the same again as she ravenously eats up whatever adventure blows her way.”  Even though it’s another toaster novel, as a grieving widow ‘ravenously eats up’ does resonate.  I don’t think she means jars of cookie butter.

Of the eight masterpieces on the list, five are romance novels, one is academic, and two are in the ballpark (excuse the sports metaphor).  Scrolling further only yields more erotica including another novel titled, “Football Widows (lesbian)” by Amanda Mann and Deadlier Than the Male Publications.  Now I get it that we make up a small percentage of the population but this is some seriously messed up shit.  

Removing the lesbian and searching only for ‘widow’ yields twenty pages of books. I know what you’re thinking - “C’mon Laura, what’s the big deal?  Just get the standard widow book.”  And believe me, I’ve amassed quite the collection and am waiting for just the right intersection of not too devastated but ready to sob.  Bear with me for a sec - think about how we just want to be seen when we’re at our lowest.  When I first typed those words into the search bar, I just wanted something that used wife instead of husband.  

Every grief has specific salient elements and it’s too super niche to touch on all at the same time.  It would be weird and/or maybe nice to find another lesbian widow stepmom psychologist who lost her cop wife of almost 5 years to a PTSD-induced psychotic break and suicide.  That’s a Subaru full of identities.  If this person did exist, I’d be suspicious we’re the target on Incel trolls, longing to read the words of more seductive, witchy lesbians.  Instead, I plan on taking the high road.  I’ll get my knowledge and support from those who accept me by the category.  Obviously, one out of one lezzies agree there’s a market for lesbian widow self help guides - at the right price.  I may still write that book but if I want to get rich, I’ll definitely have to add more sex scenes.

[tonyspep]

and possibly i like the thrill (of under me you quite so new)

a/n: friends to lovers is my favorite thing in the whole world, give me a girl seeing a boy in a new way or vice versa and i will die every time like i've never seen it lol. this was inspired by the poem i like my body when it's with your body by ee cummings. i imagined richard's friend who is a writer to be naomi scott who was in the remake of aladdin and will be in the new charlie's angels. also richard's sisters are mentioned throughout the fic, i don't know their names so i made them up; they are beth and evie.

~*~and possibly i like the thrill~*~

(of under me you quite so new)

pairing: richard madden/you

summary: it is so quite new a thing/or they've been friends for as long as they can remember, now – over the course of three days – they take the leap and become something more

rating: m

well, it seems to me that the best relationships – the ones that last – are frequently the ones rooted in friendship. you know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. like a switch has been flicked somewhere. and the person who was just a friend is... suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with.

gillian anderson -

part one of three

[day one]

You couldn't understand why you were nervous, so nervous that you had gone through two bags of crisps and were currently working through a third as you waited for Richard to pick you up at the airport. There was absolutely no reason for you to be nervous, it's not as if you were some starstruck fangirl who waxed rhapsodic about his bluer than blue eyes or the cut of his jawline. You were his – literally – oldest friend. The two of you having been joined at the hip – basically – since you were born, just a few hours apart in the very same hospital in Renfrewshire and then just two houses down from each other until you both moved away – him to London to pursue acting – and you to Paris for writing.

Now he was Mr. Mega Famous Superstar, everyone in your little town crowing on and on about Robb Stark had a pint at the pub and sat in this very chair.

And you had done well for yourself, also. Starting out low on the totem pole at French Vogue to writing a weekly thing and celebrity profiles before deciding to go free lance and compose a book of observational essays, which – somehow – made the New York Times bestseller list. But that was nothing compared to being recognized all over the world by millions of people.

You couldn't help but shake your head from the stray thought.

While you were far from blind – his puppy fat had long since melted away, revealing the handsome face the public had come to know – he was still just Dickie, your oldest friend who you took baths with, who devoured your mother's chicken korma with gusto you couldn't even manage and your first kiss behind the swings of your primary school when you were five.

Or at least that's what you had to keep reminding yourself of more and more every time you saw him again.

Because the last few years, what was so obvious to the world at large, was getting harder and harder for you to ignore.

The broadness of his shoulders, the obvious strength in his lean but toned arms, how he had a bum a quarter could bounce off of. That streak of pure silver among his tight auburn curls, the way his eyes crinkled as he laughed, his lush lips forming that oh so charming grin with ease.

oh, god you thought, panic setting it. You were basically on the verge of being like one of those people who typed those thirst tweets that Buzzfeed made him read. Richard Madden could run me over with a bus and I'd still suck that dick or whatever and now you were going to spend the next three days in Cannes with him... alone.

fuck you cursed just as your senses were suddenly assaulted by a warm crisp scent of pine and spice and man, making your thighs involuntarily clench underneath you as you prepared for the deep rasp you knew was coming.

“Surrender that extra bag of crisps I know you have and I won't cause a scene, little miss,”

little miss, little miss, little miss...

It shouldn't have – it's something he's called you for so long now, something playful and affectionate because though he isn't tall by the standard of most men, he towers over your tiny barely five foot frame – but your wayward imagination takes over before you can stop it.

The two words – in your head – are rougher, deeper – like a growl from the deepest part of his chest that you definitely haven't thought of and when the bristles of his beard brush against the smooth skin of your cheek, you suck in a deep breath reminding yourself that this was the same man who at age thirteen ran to the corner store for a hot water bottle and emergency tampons for you, that he was your oldest and most dearest friend and you shouldn't be thinking about him pounding you – your legs wrapped around that criminally narrow waist – as he called you little miss.

You turn, expected to be confronted by his ridiculously blue eyes, and your more than thankful that they're hidden by stylish aviators. You laugh at the cap on his head, plucking it off and setting it on your own head as you stick out your tongue, falling easily into the familiar routine of best friend.

“Put that back where it belongs, miss or I'll have to tell the lovely Dr. Chokalingam how the polite, lovely girl she raised is now a little hellion with no regard for manners,” He threatened, flashing those perfectly white teeth as his lush lips twisted into a smile that was too charming for your own good.

You were about to retort – something tart on the tip of your tongue – when suddenly you found yourself swept into his arms. Your face fell into the crook of his neck and you couldn't resist breathing him in, that familiar smell of spice (cinnamon) and pine with that burst of citrus (orange) underneath and something completely Richard engulfed you, and when he pulled back – lifting his aviators – and there were his stupidly blue eyes staring at you, your stomach swooped and it was suddenly filled with butterflies.

“I've missed you,” So honest, so sincere like only he can be and you can't stop the shudder that rolls through your lithe frame.

As he watched you bound into the lavish hotel lobby, your fingers slipping from his as your wide coffee colored eyes took in every inch, Richard didn't know how he was going to survive these next three days.

You were even more beautiful than he remembered, the warmth of the Southern French sunlight bathing you in a glow that had his heart tripping in his chest. You were dressed more than appropriately for the heat the island was known for, the denim cut offs revealing the length of your shapely legs. Though, small in stature, your legs – somehow – seemed to go for miles finally ending in dainty feet that were slid into worn flip flops revealing your gold painted toes that sparkled.

His cap was back on his head – after a bit of a playful wrestling match the two of you had – and now your hair was twisted into a messy top knot, several of the inky black strands framing your face, and he could feel his fingers flex by his side, the want to brush them away and then seal his lips across your pert raspberry pout growing stronger by the second. His feet easily separated the small distance between you, his hand reaching for your wrist and as soon as his fingers closed over your skin, he twirled you, unable to stop himself.

It was so hard to ignore your body pressed against his, your pert breasts pillowed against his chest, the flare of your hips aligned with his waist and your head tucked perfectly under his chin.

“I missed you too,” And it was clearly his imagination because why would you sound breathless around him? He was your oldest mate; the chubby boy who did things like get you emergency tampons and hot water bottles from the corner store, not someone you would ever think of as a viable romantic partner.

Little did he know as he bent his head forward, nose nuzzling the appealing curve of your slim shoulder, you were thinking the same thing. That he would never see you as a viable romantic partner.

In the suite, the studio had booked there were two queen sized beds, but by the end of the holiday the two beds would be pushed together, neither of you knew that yet, though.

“Do you ever get used to it,” You asked softly after you and Richard slipped out of the hotel's back entrance through it's enormous kitchen. “Having to do this? Sneak about? How if a pap snapped away, I'd be called the latest flavor of heartthrob Richard Madden's month?” You tease, nudging his hip with yours, purposefully keeping your voice light, even though your stomach drops.

You can't help but think how lonely it must be for him, now that he's – you can't stop your cheeks from warming – some kind of sex symbol.  Which leads you to thinking about the revolving door of women that have come in and out of his life since he and Jenna finally split. All of them tall, all of them drop dead gorgeous with bodies you could never compete with no matter how many spin classes you took or how many miles you ran.

You bite your lip, casting a look at him from underneath your lashes and your heart aches as you watch sadness creep into his chiseled features. His blue eyes go dull, turning a subtle grey and he shakes his head, carding his fingers through his curls.

“Not really,” He answers, faint blush creeping into his perfect cheekbones. “I don't see myself the way everyone else seems to,” A dry chuckle. “Though, if a pap snapped away at you and I,” There's that charming grin again and his eyes have returned to their usual bright state. That happy blue you could drown in. “I can't say,” He's doing that thing where he stares straight into your eyes and your whole world melts away, leaving only the two of you and your stomach goes swoopy and there are the butterflies and you don't know how you're standing. “I'd be the least bit miffed to be listed as one of the flavors of the month for New York Times best-selling author Ariana Chokalingam.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, that wonderful brogue full of such sincerity, you don't know how you're breathing. Under the faint glow of the lights from the hotel, he looks very much like the young prince he claims he's happy not to be cast as anymore. He's so handsome, you feel as though the French Police should be called and he should be towed away because his looks make him as dangerous as any criminal roaming about.

You stop your wayward thoughts and jab him square in the ribs, breaking yourself out of your little fantasy. “Come off it,” You chide. “I don't have flavors of the month. The paps would just tag me as a mystery brunette on your arm. It was just a book of essays, Dickie,” You roll your eyes and give him another jab. “The cover was mostly pink.”

“Don't,” His tone is fierce and the muscle in the cut of his jaw twitches and clenches as if he's back on the set of Bodyguard playing David Budd. “Don't do that,” His voice changes going gentle, almost pleading as you feel his large palm cup the right side of your face, forcing you to look into his too-captivating eyes. “Ana,” Something only he calls you, everyone else around you defaulting to Ari or your full name. “If it was just a book of essays would so many people have bought it? First in hard cover and then in paper back. Vera and Roshi couldn't have bought every copy. If Beth hadn't told me I was ridiculous, I would have beat them to the punch, anyway,” He laughs and his eyes are sparkling, a boyish and bashful look crossing his handsome face. “Evie will be the first to tell you, I hadn't read a book cover to cover since secondary school when I was required to.”

“Stoooop,” You whine, shoving at him and before you can shove him again, he's caged you in his arms and nuzzles his face against your neck. “It's true. I'll call them right now and prove it,” He insists and you giggle as you squirm in his embrace. “C'mon, Romeo,” You sigh, finally managing to twist out of his hold. “Show me what mega stars do on holiday. Writers only get into the hottest parties and whatnot if they're on assignment y'know.”

Le Vogue was Taron's suggestion after Richard had sent his good friend a quick text. The music – electronica and house – reminded him of the music they used for Ibiza. The club itself was intimate with close quarters, at least from what he was able to gather as all too quickly the the two of you were whisked to the private era, a velvet rope separating you and the other VIPs from the public.

Under the strobe lights, you were even more beautiful to him, and he found himself slipping back into being almost cripplingly shy as if he were nothing more than a school boy.

The flimsy dress you had chosen to wear – after changing from your cutoffs and tee – wasn't helping at all, of course.

The fabric is satin, the straps thin and sitting high on your slim shoulders while the satin clings to your pert breasts emphasizing how they would fit perfectly in the heft of his palms and the ribbon wrapped around your waist shows off how tiny that part of your body is while its slit reaches the top of your thigh, teasing him to helplessness every time you so much as take a step let alone dance.

It's the music and the alcohol, he thinks as you drag him to the floor, grinding and sliding against him, head thrown back to the steady thump of the bass, exposing the wonderful length of your neck. He wants nothing more than for this to be real, for you to want him as he wants you. If not for the French beer giving you a buzz, no one knowing either of you and how it's typical for anyone to be loose with their inhibitions while on holiday, you wouldn't be doing this; touching him, your fingers carding through his hair, then sliding down the front of his body before swiveling your hips in such a way he's not sure he remembers his own name.

How early it is when you finally leave, Richard doesn't know all he knows is you're thoroughly smashed, like utterly blitzed and tanked up and because you're in such a state, you're clingier than you would be otherwise. You can't stop touching him; your hands blindly groping over and underneath his clothes, your roaming hands – at one point – actually grip his ass which makes you howl with laughter as you nearly topple over on your unsteady feet, the heels on your feet doing you no favors in keeping you upright.

Despite being wasted, you still smell of daisies and clementines and when you fall into bed, hiccuping and mumbling how your mother would be thoroughly disappointed in you, he laughs and sets about the task of getting you comfortable to sleep off your drunken stupor.

He's careful of not revealing more of your luscious mocha skin than he has to as he tries to slip your dress away and put on your pajamas. It doesn't help that he's replacing this devil of a dress with shorts that can't possibly cover your ass and a top that doesn't seem like it will cover your entire front, some of your stomach – flat and smooth – will surely be visible, and he curses his parents for raising him to be such a fucking gentleman.

“Nooooooooo,” You whine after he's finally gotten you changed. You're grabbing for him again and he bats your insistent hands away, bending and murmuring as he pushes back several strands of your hair, “Sleep mo leannan,” He urges, his voice soft and gentle.

“Staaaaaaaaay,” Another whine as your velvet lashes reveal unfocused and bleary coffee eyes. But they're soft and warm, somehow, as well and he's never been able to resist you. Going back to when you were children and you always got the last crisp in the bag or the last piece of his Gran's homemade shortbread from the tin. “If you insist, my lady,” Bowing gallantly and you laugh – loud and brash – your head thrown back as if it's the funniest thing you've heard and after stripping to his boxer briefs, he grabs an old tee shirt and slips it on before climbing into bed with you.

You cling to him like a limpet, your every inch pressed against his and just before he falls asleep you murmur, “Thanks for staying, Dickie.”

“Anything for you, Ana.”

a/n: mo leannan is scottish for my sweetheart

@bluesfortheredj @nishanki1

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 16 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: OKAY DUCKENZIES. This part dragged my ass. It took forever, but once again, I’m so happy with it. My schedule has been punishing. I can’t stop writing and never feel like doing anything else but I have a full time job and my relationship and all this other shit in my life and I have to sleep sometimes and I’m trying to find a balance. But I’m so happy lately? I’m so lit all the time, everyone I know IRL is like “what is UP with you” because I’m writing a book (this, this is the book) and I’m fucking beside myself, I’m so relieved about it, I’m so happy about it all the time but I’m also having a hard time disconnecting from it to plug into other things lately. Still working out how to do that. The thought Kenzie has about Duncan in the beginning of this part (”...you are exalted in my eyes and my body and my soul”) is literally a thought she had about him in another life, and she will never know that. Plume has a really fancy three-course menu that I didn’t feel like writing about at length, so I sort of chose one thing for each of them off it and skipped the rest. Here’s A SUNDAY KIND OF LOVE, imo one of the best love songs of all time. The man who got upstairs at Kenzie’s work and tried to hurt her will feature again. I listened to this remix of Imogen Heap’s Headlock a lot for the sex (69 dudes) in this part (sex which I am very proud of if I may say so, I can write a goddamn sex scene y’all--THREE SEX SCENES THANKS); cuz the mood in that is VERY sex-vibe Duckenzie. Duncan’s dream that Kenzie is an angel is based on @inkedbadwolfart‘s ICONIC Michael x Mallory piece. Deep Creek Lake is real but the cabin I’m creating that belongs to the Shepherd family is of my own invention. I’ve never liked “Dunc” as a nickname for Duncan and it doesn’t really fit Duckenzie, so I came up with another nickname I like more and Kenzie will indeed call him Dunny every now and then when she’s feeling particularly affectionate from here on out. This is the top Kenzie wears in the morning and this is the skirt (which I ordered the other day, can’t wait to get it!!). This is her star necklace. These are her pointed boots which she wore to Le Diplomate as well and I have them irl and they are legit my favorite shoes I own and always make me feel sexy hence them giving Kenzie that feeling too. Here’s the short-sleeved button-down Duncan puts on in the morning; summer clothes from here on out for awhile, babes. I had to put The Chain in this part; I’m a die-hard Fleetwood Mac/Stevie Nicks fan. A reminder that the MASTERPOST wants you to reblog it and pass it around because I won’t be loading the fic up on AO3 until it’s totally finished, which...I don’t know how long that’ll take? Maybe a few more weeks, maybe a month, maybe longer. Still not entirely sure where this story is ending, I figure I’ll know when I get there. The Shepherd mansion (that is, Annette’s mansion) is some kind of cross between this mansion and this one in my mind. The chairs in the dressing room look like this. To my beloved Duckenzies: @impiorumrequies, @hi-ilovedamien, @nat-de-lioncourt, @ladywriter94, @leiwya, @icouldrun, @killcort, @starscavengers, @carousallie, the list goes on--I love you more than words can express. THANK YOU.

“I would like for you, Mackenzie, to do a few interviews with us next week.” Kenzie refocused on Duncan’s mother; her thoughts had been full of Duncan’s eyes (sky and storm) since he had gazed at her so lovingly and pushed something into her; wrapped his love around me, like a blanket made of softest gold, that’s what it felt like, and I pushed it out of me and onto Annette and then her face fell and she looked so confused and then she softened...the anger in her eyes towards me dissolved and now her eyes look the way I think they probably looked when she was a girl, a girl who wanted something else; wanted to be loved, wanted to love. A wave of affection for Duncan had crashed into Kenzie, and she couldn’t help but gaze over to him with fierce devotion; you are my Prince, most beloved to me, and you are exalted in my eyes and my body and my soul. The thought had fallen, soft as a sheer curtain, over her sight and her mind, as if it were something she’d read in a book somewhere and forgotten; and she had stared at him and flowers had bloomed in her thoughts to behold him; and the moment had extended, spread out far beyond itself, and she had felt the weight of time and the depth of his love for her again and she was lost in it for a little while.

“It’s important...that if you and Duncan are going to be...together...you understand your new responsibilities as a part of the public face of Shepherd Unlimited.” Annette spoke with a strange slowness, as if something was holding her back, and Kenzie couldn’t decide if it was the heavy energy that now hovered in the room (something that passed between Duncan and I, I don’t understand what it was, but it had some kind of power) or Annette’s own inability to say what she was truly thinking or feeling. Or her inability to accept the idea of them, truly together. Whatever the reason, Kenzie looked away from her; she found Annette terribly beautiful, but Duncan’s mother had a strange coldness that raised the hairs on Kenzie’s neck, drained the blood from her fingers. As Annette spoke, she seemed to gain momentum, falling back into her clipped cadence. “That will include making public appearances with us and coordinated communication with the press. I’m sure Duncan has mentioned this, but I expect you to come to the house tomorrow to do a fitting for the Gala. Everything has to be carefully planned, it’s the most important public event of the year for the organization. From now on, you’ll be expected to present yourself publicly with physical, verbal, and behavioral sophistication. Duncan himself has been a poor example of that lately.”

Kenzie looked back across the table to Duncan; his eyes betrayed none of his discomfort, but she felt his annoyance, drifting in dark colors: To hell with sophistication, keeping her safe is what I care about. If she isn’t happy, nothing else matters. His thoughts fell over her with fierce warmth; Kenzie felt as though she could drink them, swallow them, absorb them, feel them as though his fingers were all over her.

“Mackenzie, do you understand me?” Annette took another long drink from her wine glass, eyes hovering across the table at Kenzie.

“I...yes, Annette. I think so.”

“That article published today was an opposition to the company. I expect you to turn down editorials of that nature in the future.”

Kenzie was silent, pressing her lips together. No, I don’t think so. I’m going to write about what I feel strongly about. Or why write at all.

The waiter returned at that moment, mercifully, and Kenzie breathed a silent, internal sigh of relief. She had the distinct feeling that Annette not only did not tolerate being lied to, but that she was preternaturally skilled at sniffing out said lies; that she could pinpoint them with precision and yank them out of a person. Better to lapse into silence than to lie to her, I think. Annette ordered foie gras; Duncan ordered lobster. Kenzie looked down the menu, lost; she hadn’t even contemplated food under Annette’s steely gaze, and it seemed to be in a foreign language, suddenly.

“I think you’d love the risotto, Kenzie,” Duncan said to her gently. She nodded to him gratefully and said “I’ll have that.” Thanks baby. Affection washed over her again and he gave her a little smile. Baby, you’re doing so good. Just a little bit longer and we’ll be done. Soon, we can escape. Annette ordered another bottle of wine; the one she’d had on the table when they’d come in was already half empty. Duncan’s mother tipped it carefully into Kenzie’s wine glass, filling it about a third of the way, and pushed the stem closer to Kenzie, pointedly. Then, she poured another glass for Duncan.

“To the continued success of Shepherd Unlimited and our dynasty.” Annette raised her glass and nodded to both of them with stern expectation. Duncan raised his and nodded at Kenzie a little; she brought hers up with a timid hand and Annette clinked against it with a sharp tap. Kenzie drank a small sip of the wine; hope it isn’t poisoned, she thought wildly, watching Annette drink from her glass again, eyes skirting over to Duncan taking a deep gulp of his, as if he were terribly thirsty and it was water. Duncan looks so beautiful. But he always does. His hair fell over his forehead, perfect waves down the sides, falling behind his ears. The velvet blazer gave him an almost royal appearance; like his throne was sitting in some vast chamber somewhere, waiting for him. His straight nose and full lips were like a statue carved by a master sculptor; he seemed too lovely to her to be real, I don’t think I’ll ever stop thinking that, feeling that way, like he’d been molded from the first human clay and every piece of come after had been slightly less. He pressed one long hand against the side of the stubble at his cheek; I want to bury my fingers in that stubble, I want to breathe it deeply into my senses, impossibly intense blue eyes carefully switching between the two women sitting in front of him, warily at Annette, with aching affection at Kenzie, then back again.

“I am capable of putting my differences with Madeline aside if you can conduct yourself appropriately,” Annette spoke again. Her gaze slid between her son and Kenzie; she seemed to regard their obvious adoration with a mixture of disdain and incredulousness; she can see how much he loves me, and it’s upsetting her, Kenzie thought. Well, Annette, get fucking used to it.

“Do you think you can do that?”

Annette stared at her, hands around her wine glass, head cocked slightly, her eyes like dark pools. This woman is like a very dark well, Kenzie thought. And I don’t know how far down the bottom of the well is. I think it might be a very long well, and very, very dark. But she loves Duncan. I can tell. I don’t know if the love is the kind of love I know, the kind I feel for those I care for; her love is different, I think. But I do think, in his case, it’s real love, in her fashion.

“I’ll do my best, Annette.”

“Your best must be as close to perfect as you can possibly make it, dear. Or else you will not last long in our world. Steel your mind, Mackenzie. You no longer have the luxury of living anonymously. To be part of this family, however long that may be, you accept the scrutiny and criticism of the nation.”

Kenzie bit her lip, clutching her hands together in her lap. “I can handle it.”

Duncan’s eyes flickered over her, bright with intensely warm emotion. So brave, so brave, she heard him think. ....your strength around you like gold...oh, Kenzie…

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Annette replied, and Duncan said, immediately, “She can, Mom. She’s one of the bravest people I’ve ever known. She’s amazing.”

“You sound drunk already, Duncan,” Annette rolled her eyes, her expression annoyed.

“Today someone got up into her office and tried to attack her,” Duncan said, his tone going dark as he looked at his mother. “They said something about the Shepherds taking everything away from them, so they were going to take something away from the Shepherds. I hired her a bodyguard yesterday, thank god--he’s the only reason she wasn’t injured. Being thrown into our world can’t be easy, and yet she was the one who insisted we still come to dinner tonight, Mom. I was contemplating cancelling on you. Already Kenzie has proven she is more than capable of navigating this world and has the resolve it takes to weather whatever comes her way. And she deserves your respect.”

Annette was silent and looked down; there was a flicker over her features; “I didn’t know about that,” she said, carefully. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Mackenzie.”

“I’m okay,” Kenzie said, fighting to keep the trembling edge she felt out of her voice. The truth was she didn’t feel very okay at all; the incident at One Franklin Square had terrified her and Kenzie longed for nothing more than the dinner to be over and to be held in Duncan’s arms in the safety and quiet of their bed with the rain falling against the window. Sweet Fates, hurry us on to that place, through this storm, through this rain, through this difficulty, she thought, looking into his eyes, fighting the bubbling emotion that threatened her again, feeling crushed and laid bare by the beauty of his face and the love in his eyes. She wanted to tell him what had happened in her own words with her own mouth and then she wanted him to press his mouth with aching need into her body and tangle the black sheets into symbols of their passion and their love and their devotion and press his fingers into her mouth and against her throat and down between her legs, where they belong my love, where you belong, pressed against me. I want to be alone with you my love and I don’t want to be here anymore. But Kenzie knew that this was part of the test; the test of knowing if she could indeed suffer a lifetime of Annette Shepherd; if she could put her love before her exhaustion and help Duncan in this way. And so she said again, “I’m okay. I would do anything for Duncan. I will do anything.”

“God, but you do remind me of Madeline.” Annette shook her head, as if to clear away her disorientation.

Two waiters came in then with their dinner; Kenzie’s risotto was delicious, savory and sweet, and she sent warm, grateful thoughts across the table toward Duncan again; he smiled at her and she was struck with another ache to hold him, to touch him; she watched his fingers stretch out at the side of his salad fork, towards her; he tapped them a little every now and then, and she could feel his impatience, his restlessness, his aching need for her. She wondered if Annette garnered strange delight from keeping them apart like this, even across a table; Duncan’s mother seemed like the kind of person who never did anything on accident, everything, every movement and inflection and gesture, ever-calculated. She’s trying to exert her will over him, Kenzie thought. Show him that she still owns him even though he belongs to me now and his desires have changed and she wants to pretend like she can’t see it but she can and that’s what made her so disoriented. She didn’t expect to see love in his eyes when he looks at me, because she hasn’t seen it there before, not like this. But she saw it. And now she knows. Now, she can’t pretend it isn’t real, or that he’s infatuated, or what he feels is only lust. Even Annette can’t deny that Duncan Shepherd fucking loves me. He loves me. He loves me.

Kenzie couldn’t help it; she smiled at Annette, and Annette returned it, but very small, a smile that did not extend to her eyes. You think you’re going to be able to control me now, Kenzie thought. But you won’t be able to. Duncan is going to change your company. He’s going to change everything, and I’m going to help him. We’re going to take all of Shepherd Unlimited and we’re going to give its riches to people who need them and we’re going to create beautiful things and we’re going to help people and you won’t be able to stop us. I know it, deep in my bones. Kenzie turned her eyes to Duncan and he was watching her with intense concentration, a morsel of lobster paused in his fork in midair, halfway to his mouth; as if he had heard everything she’d been thinking and was struck with it, as if her could see her drawing him a map that was invisible to Annette even though she was sitting directly in front of them, and the luminous smile in his eyes filled her with a depth of glowing energy that felt like sunlight on her skin. Yes baby. Yes, we will.

-------

It was well past 10 when Annette finally released them; by then, Kenzie felt as though her body was in physical pain, such was the depth of her desire for Duncan to hold her. I thought yesterday had been long, she thought, but today was almost unbearable. Annette had insisted on discussing endless details of the most recent episode of Duncan’s show, and he answered her in clipped, short sentences. Every now and then she shot Kenzie a suspicious look and seemed to change the way she was about to say something; she thinks she can’t trust me, and she’s not necessarily wrong, Kenzie thought. Finally, Duncan had come around the table and helped her out of the seat on Annette’s left side; relief flooded her at the warm, smooth feeling of his large hand grasping around her fingers; “It’s time for us to go, Kenzie had a very long day today, Mom.” “I expect you at noon sharp, Mackenzie,” Annette had said, her eyes flashing at Kenzie with a dismissive shimmer; Duncan leaned forward and she inclined a sharp cheekbone for him to kiss. Then, Duncan pulled Kenzie out of the room with a pointed determination, leaving his mother there to her own devices; Kenzie followed behind him, dizziness washing over her in a wave as they stepped out of the cocoon of the secluded room and back into the warmer light of the restaurant, and then out to the polished foyer. She could hear the rain falling against the windows; Duncan had pulled out his phone with his other hand and was texting Samuel, then he looked at her with a terrible softness (those eyes, my love, those blue eyes) and tucked the phone back into the inner pocket of his velvet blazer, his fingers coming up to her cheek, their warmth sending a flutter of sensation down her skin.

“Baby, you did so fucking good,” he whispered down to her mouth, and Kenzie sighed at the sound of his voice, her body flooding with the relief of his touch. “God, I wanted to touch you so much, that was agony. You are so brave and I’m so proud of you, Kenzie--”

“I wanted to touch you too, baby, Duncan, I wanted to so much--” Kenzie pulled him down into her roughly by the lapels of his velvet jacket, his full lips crashing against hers with a deep heat, her hands going into his hair, those waves like fading autumn and Duncan’s hands fell down to the small of her back, pressing her tightly into him, the desperation in his touch filling her with coiled hunger, her hips grinding against his thighs. The doorman and the people at the reception desk nearby carefully ignored them; Kenzie felt grateful towards them. Four hours with Annette Shepherd unable to touch each other and I think we’ve earned this. Duncan’s phone sounded; “Come on, Samuel’s here,” he breathed into her and his breath was sweet with wine and the chocolate mousse they’d had for dessert and Kenzie heard the tiny moan that escaped from her lips as he pulled away from her, such was her need for him. “Come on baby,” Duncan said again, pulling her gently through the door, “let’s go home.”

In the shadowed backseat of the BMW Kenzie folded close against him, her shoes kicked off and her legs tucked under her; Duncan’s arm was around her and her head was in the crook of his chest, her face pressed into his smooth shirt, and Duncan was looking down at his phone; emails. “I messaged Ben today,” he murmured to her, softly, tucking his phone away, as Etta James floated towards them from the stereo again (I want a Sunday kind of love...a love to last past Saturday night...and I’d like to know...it’s more than love at first sight...), “I want you to sit in on the interview, baby, okay?” Kenzie smiled despite how tired she felt; “I’m sure Ben will love that.” “It doesn’t matter what he thinks of it, because I’m not doing it if you aren’t there.” Kenzie nodded; she looked at Duncan in the dappled color of the neon lights they passed and was struck again by how beautiful he was; feeling shy suddenly, her affection tumbling out of her, unable to be contained: “Duncan, you look so handsome right now.” He turned his head to her, smiling, and she saw the shyness in it; in him. “And you look so lovely, baby.” That he felt shy before her, too, made her heart clench. Kenzie pulled her phone out of the little clutch on the seat beside her; she opened the Instagram app on her phone as Duncan said “Baby, what are you doing...”

“I think it’s time we took a selfie together, baby,” she said, matter-of-factly. Kenzie lifted the phone above them and reversed the camera so it faced them; she looked up into it, her eyes bright and wide under her dark eyeshadow and carefully applied mascara, her head still tucked under Duncan’s arm, and he inclined his head down to her, pressing his nose gently against her hair, closing his eyes. Kenzie snapped a picture; Samuel had been driving through the glow of downtown still, and the lights had fallen over them in pink, blue and gold; over Duncan’s cheek and Kenzie’s forehead, giving the picture a haunting luminescence. Kenzie brought the picture up to her eyes--it stopped her heart, the peaceful expression on his profile, the glittering aspect of her gaze, the lights falling over them.

“We look so good together, baby--” Duncan whispered into her ear, and his lips fell into the small space below; Kenzie gasping at the sweetness of the sensation, “--you are so fucking beautiful.” Kenzie sighed into his lips, pressing closer to him as she typed: The longest day, the greatest love. She hit Share with a satisfied smile. “You always look fucking beautiful,” she argued, her voice soft. “No, you fucking do,” Duncan murmured as his lips fell down her neck, his fingers threading through her hair. “You do angel, you do…”

Kenzie was aching for him, her body pulsing with need, but she hadn’t really told him what had happened that day, and she longed to; the burden of it was pressing into her heart, and she felt as though the weight of it was crushing her. “Baby, I...wanted to tell you what happened today.” Duncan lifted his head up immediately, leaning back to look at her, his face serious. He looked over her shoulder; “We’re home, baby,” he said, and Kenzie glanced behind her to see Samuel had pulled up to the high-rise. Finally. Samuel handed the roses to Duncan carefully as they got out of the car; there were no paps anywhere, and the rain was stopping again, the thunder moving off far into the distance and a barely-there drizzle fading away, the sky finally clear. The moon had returned though it was again barely a sliver in the sky; it hung there over the building as Kenzie looked up at it, an omen of the new cycle that had begun in earnest now; my new life has begun, and my life of anonymity is gone, she thought, the echo of Annette’s words falling down. Duncan carried the flowers carefully beside her as they moved upstairs; Anchaly gave him a nod, then looked at Kenzie with a smile; “you look lovely, Miss Stone, I trust whatever was distressing you earlier has been taken care of,” and Kenzie smiled back at him, nodding. Anchaly had a new book now; it was The Year of Magical Thinking, by Joan Didion. “Yes, I’m better now, thanks, Anchaly.”

In the elevator they stared at each other, Duncan’s hands full of roses, Kenzie’s hand reaching out to tuck around his arm. “Before the man got upstairs, there had been some other people who had tried to get up, reporters from a magazine or something, I’m not really sure,” she started. “But the security downstairs caught them before they got to the elevators. The other guy was faster, I guess, and he didn’t really look like paparazzi--I don’t think he was.” The elevator slid open quietly and Kenzie used her key to open the penthouse door; Duncan continued to listen to her, quietly, as he opened the cupboard under the sink and brought out a Waterford vase for her roses, which had begun to wilt a little; fitting, because that’s how I feel too, Kenzie thought. Kenzie took the vase gently from his arms and brought it over to the coffee table alongside the low leather couch; the roses immediately threw their brilliant color against the juxtaposition of light and shadows there, one of the reading lamps switched on by the housekeepers. Kenzie looked down at them, emotion washing over her again. Then she turned to him and folded herself into him and Duncan kissed her hair and closed his eyes. “He had really wild eyes, I remember that. Like he was lost. But Harris had just gone to the bathroom...he was only away from me for a minute, I swear. The man comes up to my desk and he’s in a big overcoat and shaggy hair and he smelled...strange, sort of like gasoline. He grabbed my wrist with this terrible grip--” at that Kenzie looked down at her wrist and for the first time that day noticed a small purplish bruise that had begun to form there, Duncan reaching down delicately to examine it, bringing his lips down to her skin; “and he hisses into my face, looking right into my eyes. He said “There you are. I saw you on the videos. The Shepherds took everything away from me, so now I’m gonna take something away from the Shepherds.””

“God, baby.”

“He starts dragging me and Precious sees him but she’s too far away, she’s down at the other side of the office, and he’s so strong it feels like he’s going to snap my wrist and rip my hand out of my arm and I’m trying to get out of it but--but he’s just too fucking strong.” Kenzie felt tears in the back of her throat; she turned, pushing her hair to the side. “Unzip me, baby,” she said, and felt Duncan’s warm, long fingers between her shoulders, gently pulling the zipper down, his face pressing into her hair. Kenzie reached for his hand and then she pulled him, slowly, softly, into their bedroom (ours) and pushed the dress off her shoulders, stepping out of it, her hands coming up behind her to unclasp her bra and she could feel Duncan hovering there, close, but it was as if he was afraid to touch her. She turned and looked at him for a moment; he was still fully clothed and absolutely regal in his velvet blazer and she shivered, vulnerable; she pressed against him in just her panties now, his arms coming around the softness of her bare skin, and cradling her with his body, so much larger and so warm. “Harris comes out of the bathroom--” Kenzie continued, feeling able now that he was holding her again, “--and he sees this man pulling on me and I look at him and I scream help Harris help me and he goes up to this man and he hits him right in the throat under the chin with the flat of his hand and...the man just crumples like he’s made of paper.” Kenzie drifted her hands down the soft velvet of Duncan’s arms and turned her eyes up to him; his expression a dagger into her heart, his eyes dark with the memory of the fear she had seen there when he’d run out of the elevator and to her desk, his face white, his body shaking as she fell into his arms. “I just sort of stood there in shock for awhile, by the time I felt like I started breathing again I realized Harris was holding me up and my knees were buckling and he picked me up like I was a doll and set me in my desk chair and I just...I just burst into tears…”

“Oh Kenzie, oh, baby, oh no…” Duncan’s lips came down and kissed her eyelids, first one, then the other, his mouth came down and kissed the tip of her nose and then her cheeks, one at a time, and then her mouth, kissed her mouth with aching supplication and Kenzie thought that’s enough, I’m done and I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight, I just want you to kiss me, kiss me everywhere, kiss me forever, and Kenzie whispered “Duncan,” into his mouth and she turned away from him to the lamp beside the bed and switched it off and they were bathed in darkness, the low light from the living room spilling through the doorway for a moment; “Shut the door, baby,” she whispered, and Duncan obeyed, turning and pressing it closed, and now they were in darkness entire, but for the low glow of the city somewhere far away through the window. “Your eyes look like gold,” he said to her, and he threw his blazer onto the floor (that’s right baby, abandon everything except for us) and moaned softly into her as her hands came up to unbutton his shirt, pulled his belt out with aching ease, unbuttoned his pants and pushed them away. “And yours look like blue fire,” she replied, up into his lips, pulling him down to her as she fell back onto the bed. He hovered above her and she could just see the outline of his hair over his eyes, the shape of his jaw, the shadow of his stubble, the soft shape of his lips, open and his stare falling down over her, and Kenzie loved the darkness because in that moment it felt like it was holding them, shielding them truly from the eyes of the world, creating a secret place where they could hide and all other thought could fade and only the two of them existed, in this place. His lips came down to her nipple and sucked with urgency, fingers coming around to push her breast into his mouth, and she shivered as his hair fell against her collarbone, a whisper of his love, and her hands went down his back, nails digging in and leaving red trails that were lost in the shadows, her legs coming around him, crossing at his back, pressing her sex up into his groin where she could feel the hardness of his cock through the two thin layers of fabric that covered them there. Duncan continued to suck, swirling his tongue over the hardness of her nipple again and again, then moved to the other breast and worked at it carefully, his free hand drifting down to the waistband of her panties and toying with it carefully in his thumb and index finger, pressing into her hip bone, but not moving them further down, not yet.

“I think my mother liked to try to keep us apart tonight,” he whispered against her between sucking on her, the tickle of his breath against the wetness he’d left on her making Kenzie’s eyes flutter. Duncan’s musky-wood smell was falling over her in the darkness and it made her heart beat wildly up into where his lips were devouring her, and she was dizzy with the strength of her senses, the presence of him in the absence of sight. “She wanted us to not be able to touch each other, but she failed, because I’m going to touch you everywhere now, I’m going to touch you until you’re written into my skin like a tattoo that can never be erased, I’m going to kiss you a thousand times, baby, kiss you until I’ve memorized every inch of you...”

Kenzie was murmuring before she even realized it herself; a low hum of yes, baby, yes, mhmm, yes, fuck, the feeling of his mouth on her in the darkness kindling a fire low in her body that made her want to writhe, and she was pulling his face up to her to taste him, breathlessly connected, and her hand fell down his ribs to his hip bone and into his briefs where she wrapped her fist around his cock--it was achingly hard, thrilling her again, sending a shiver down her body and he arched into her, moaning into her mouth as she pushed the fabric off him, cradling his ass in her hands for a moment, dragging her nails down to his thighs as she pushed the underwear off him and he said “Oh fuck, baby, that feels fucking good--” and then he yanked her panties down with one terribly strong hand and Kenzie’s heart stopped for a moment with the force of it, gasping as his index finger pressed harshly between her legs, into her clit, his mouth hovering over hers again; if she’d been standing her legs would have buckled instantly, instead, her legs keened back, lifting her sex up towards his hand, up so her ass fell against his thighs with a low slap, and she uttered another little moaning cry into him, her fist still clutching his erection and his hardness was sending currents of energy through her core, her cunt convulsing for a moment in anticipation. Duncan seemed to feel this current under his fingers flush against her; he let out a pitiful groan into her cheek, and she felt his cock convulse under her fingers.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he whispered, his blue eyes staring down into hers in the dark, penitent, devoted, and the outline of his expression in the deep shadows one of aching adulation, and it made Kenzie feel as though he was whispering a prayer into her, a prayer of worship, a prayer to her only and always, a priest to her, and a prayer so fervent it made him most beloved in her eyes. “I’ll do anything you want to you, I’ll let you do anything to me, fucking anything. Tell me, angel.”

“I want your lips on me and I want mine on you, baby, I wanna suck your gorgeous cock while you eat me,” Kenzie whispered, and she moved from underneath him, pushing his arms gently so he lifted away from her, following her carefully, completely supplicant to her direction; Kenzie pushed him down into the pillows now, his head falling into their softness, his long form stretched out underneath her, and she straddled him for a moment, staring down at him. Her eyes had begun to adjust to the darkness and she could still see that aching devotion falling down the beautiful contour of his face; he reminded her of a Renaissance painting, a man who also seemed unlike a man in that he was so radiantly graceful and sublime, a higher form of man, an ideal of the ecstasy of human imagining. How are you mine, she thought again, dumbstruck and shivering, and his hands came up to cup at her breasts, and she pressed a finger down between his lips and he sucked at her skin, her thumb grazing down his stubble. Kenzie moved back a little, moved until she felt the hardness of his cock brush up the sensitive, wet space between her legs; Duncan moaned into her finger, closing his eyes; those eyes, low blue flame, a constant candle lit for her and her alone.

“Am I your angel, baby,” Kenzie asked, her body thrilling at the feeling of his length flush against her pussy and ass, her cunt twinging again, the spasm of the muscles there sending a thrill of demanding need through her thighs. She let her sex press into him that way for a long, aching moment, knowing it must be as intense and terrible for him as it was for her, relishing the intensity, pressed against his need.

“Fuck, Kenzie, yes, you’re my angel, you are the only one,” he said into her fingers, and her hand fell down to clutch around his adam’s apple, desirous for more, a longer prayer, a deeper worship, a worship from his mouth into the core of her being, and she squeezed a little, her nails pressing into his skin, and he gasped. Kenzie’s mind filled with heat, her senses suddenly feeling like scalding water overflowing, and she raised her little palm and brought it down against his cheek with a snap, the little slap startling her ears and his eyes flashed at her in the dark and Kenzie said “Worship me with your mouth now, baby,” and he said “Yes, baby, come here,” and she knew he was commanding her--the slap and her hand at his throat seemed to have kindled an animalistic rush in him--and her need to be filled was bleeding into a need to do what he wanted now, and she was lost in the clash of her desires as he gripped her thighs and carefully pushed her down so he could turn her at the hips (god he’s so fucking strong, his hands could rip the life out of me, drag me down into oblivion, my Hades dragging me down with his beautiful, terrible hands, down into the depths to be devoured by him entirely devoured this way devoured in his aching lips), flipping her carefully but with an ease that made her heart jump into her throat; suddenly her back was facing him, her legs slipping down to straddle on either side of his chest under his arms, his cock pressing between her breasts now, and he yanked her up, demanding, to his face, so her cunt hovered just below his lips and his cock was brushing against her jaw; he pulled her into his mouth and Kenzie cried out, whimpering helplessly as his tongue immediately pressed into her clit, terribly warm and dripping wet, and her head fell and she drooled onto the head of his cock; she felt her eyes roll back into her head as he ate at her, and Kenzie steeled herself and opened her mouth and took his hard cock (fuck he’s fucking big when I look at him this way fuck he’s huge) into her and carefully pressed down, her tongue working against his length, and she felt him shuddering under her as his tongue probed into her soaking wet cunt and back to her clit again, focused there with a precise, deft rhythm; Kenzie opened her throat, willing herself not to gag as she took his whole length into her for a moment, then worked herself back up carefully. She could feel her thighs shuddering, the feeling of his mouth shattering her desire for control; it was bleeding out into a desire to give him terrible, transcendent pleasure--in this moment, Kenzie felt gold waves of emotion falling from the top of his head down into her body; I want you, only you, only you and always, always to be pressed into you this way, only to worship you, only to feel your mouth, only to feel you, you belong to me and I am yours entirely and there is nothing without you, there is void in your absence, that is all I know for certain, I wanna fuck you until I am lost in you and I become you and you are me and together we are something else, I wanna fuck you endlessly and so hard and so deeply and so often--

Kenzie moved her mouth up and down, working her hand at the base of his cock, her tongue swirling at the sensitive hole at the smooth head of his length; her saliva dripped down from her lips, down the shaft of him, and she moved her hand up and down and the sound of the wetness sucked in her ears as she moved her head again, faster for a moment and then with aching slowness, and Duncan moaned against her, against the swollen lips of her cunt, swollen with his attentions, swollen with terrible want. “Fuck baby, you taste so fucking good, god, your mouth feels so fucking good, fuck, I can’t--oh, fuck--Kenzie, fuck, baby, gonna--” Kenzie could hear the tremble under his words, the edge, and she dipped her head down further so the head of his cock pressed into the back of her throat and she felt his tongue lave out and press harshly into her clit, press there with wanton concentration as his hot come spurted into her mouth and she swallowed, once, twice, the taste of him salty and thick, her eyes going hazy as she felt the edge of her orgasm cresting down between her hips; she pulled back and up so she was sitting on his mouth, her ass at his nose, and pressed her hands into his torso, the taste of his come coating the inside of her mouth, and she looked up at the ceiling, dark with shadow, and his hands were on her thighs pressing her down onto him and Kenzie cried out as her orgasm forced itself roughly down through the center of her and bright flames burned behind her sight, filling the blackness of the room with intense light as she lost herself in his devoted prayer, the most ecstatic of prayers, his mouth and his tongue rushing every bit of her out into him in that moment, extending her helplessly into oblivious exaltation.

“Kenzie, baby, oh, baby, Kenzie--” Duncan’s hands were pulling her softly down, murmuring her name with aching softness, and Kenzie felt like she was coming back from a far distance to his arms; back from the brink of of edge of the universe, and she was sliding off him and she was beside him now, her head falling onto the pillow, hair falling across her cheek, close to his face, his arms clutching her with fervency, as if he couldn’t stand the sudden cease of the closeness of their orgasms; she pressed into him, her leg coming over his thigh, and he kissed her and the taste of her sex filled her own mouth as he did, and her tongue came against his and Kenzie thought I could die, I love him so, I could die right now and this would be enough for me, how can I bear this, how can I bear how much I love him, it’s so much, it fucking hurts, it aches.

“Duncan, I love you. I love you so much. I wish there were other words--”

“Shhh, baby. No. I know. I have to ask you something,” and his mouth was at her forehead, his hands threading her hair, his fingers pressing to the sides of her face; Kenzie could feel the weight of his cock, going soft, pressing into her stomach, and the thin film of sweat on his skin against her, and his eyes seemed almost white in this light, ethereal in post-coitus. “Do you feel like...sometimes...you can hear what I’m thinking? I know...I know it sounds crazy--”

“Yes, baby. Yes. I heard you tonight, I think, when we were with your mother--it’s not the first time, but I...I thought I heard you think that I was so brave, brave and that my strength was like gold, and, before that...you looked at me and it felt like you pushed something into me, you pushed you love and your faith into me and it spread around us--”

Duncan was nodding into her--“Yes,” he was whispering, “yes, baby, yes, I didn’t imagine it, yes, that happened, yes, you can hear me, you heard me, you felt it too,”--and she could feel the smile on him, though she could barely see it; his body felt as though it was smiling, a coiled joy in him as he pressed more deeply into her, his hands falling down her waist to clutch her hips into him and his hips ground against her and she sighed; a sigh that was more like a cry, and tears came instantly into her eyes, tears at the intensity of her orgasm and at the intensity of what had just passed between them; the realization that they had both experienced that energy tonight, that they had both heard each other’s thoughts, somehow, madly, impossibly, and yet somehow possible, and the wildness of this revelation stopped her heart; sweat broke out instantly on her skin and she was filled with terrible longing for him again, in a sharp wave that crashed into the center of her chest.

“How--” and Duncan was kissing her again, his mind falling into her and it felt like a thousand pinpricks of light that had burst into brilliance under his skin, in the lining of his soul; how, how, how, but the how suddenly meant nothing; the only thing that mattered was the understanding, the reality, the knowing, and Kenzie wondered if she willed it enough, if she wanted it, if she could hear him now--she focused on the feeling passing between them, the connection of their mouths pressed together, the salty sweetness of his skin, the musky smell of him that fell over her in bursts, the aching strength of him pressing into her, the soft cascade of his hair as she pushed her fingers through it, in the dark; I don’t need to see him with my eyes to see him, to truly see him, the low blue glow of him, the radiance of his beauty. I think I could see him, really see him, at the very end of time. I think I could pick him out of a million other souls and know him, instantly. And then she did hear him; heard the tenderness under every beat of it, and she felt lost in him, like he was pressing his lips onto the deepest, most secret part of her: Kenzie, I think I’ve always known you, I think we knew each other in some other time and in some other place, and I think we were together then, and I think it’s destiny that we found each other again, and I think no matter what happens someday we will find each other again, because that’s our Fate; that’s what they wove for us, when time began, they wove our souls together and it cannot be changed and we cannot be long parted from each other and we will always find each other again, because they will It--and their will is the way of things. You are my One, the only One, until the end of all things. Mackenzie. I love you. I love you. I love you…

Kenzie pressed into him, pulling him gently so he was on top of her now, their mouths still crashing against each other as these thoughts, his thoughts, and she knew they truly were this time, fell into her like a waterfall, like a rainstorm, and Kenzie’s hand came down to his cock again and slid up and down as he grew hard and she lifted her hips up onto his thighs and slid down onto him, her cunt slick with release, and they gasped into each other, his hands buried in the golden cascade of her hair and clutching her hip so she was pressed flush into him and this way, us together, it’s the only thing, she pushed the thought into him and she knew he didn’t need to speak, knew he heard her, his eyes staring into hers then closing, overwhelmed, and Duncan nodded into the bridge of her nose, his hair falling against her eyelashes, yes, the only thing, the only thing, to be here with you, beloved of all, most beloved, my love. He pressed into her, then out with aching slowness, then began to ride into her with a measured, building rhythm; his hand came down from her hair and Duncan brought his fingers up to his mouth to suck them carefully, not breaking the tide of his concentration as his length pressed into her with wild urgency, and brought them, slick with his spit, into her swollen clit, still, already, aching with wetness from his mouth; his other hand came up from her hip to press into the center of her chest, between her breasts, as if to hold her heart; as if to feel its luxuriant pounding through the tips of his fingers; his thighs pressed down into her, forcing her legs wide, and he was so hard Kenzie ached; ached with the knowledge of him. Their minds came together again, for a moment, from spinning around each other; the intensity, the intimacy of the touch--of our souls, she thought to him, and into her he pressed another thought--our bodies and our souls, Kenzie, for both of mine are yours.

“You’re gonna come,” she breathed into him, her mouth pressing into his nose, pressing against his eyes, which fluttered closed against her; “and I’m gonna come at the same time, okay, baby?” She arched up into his hand, the feeling of his fingers making her want to scream, making her hips grind up, making her want him inside her always.

“Okay, Kenzie, baby, okay…” Duncan’s eyes stared into her, needy, aching--and then he let out a little whine into her that seemed involuntary--a little cry that seemed to echo out from the center of his being, and Kenzie said “Shhh, baby, I know--” “Kenzie, how, I found you, somehow I found you, fuck me, I fucking found you--” “Fuck me, baby, fuck me,” Kenzie demanded, her eyes rolling back as the sensation of his fingers rushed her up to the edge, “Fuck me like that, fuck me hard like that, give me your hard cock, baby--” and Duncan pressed into her with such force that she felt the scream building at the back of her throat--”I’m going to--come--”

At that moment Kenzie felt herself slip down over the edge of her orgasm; felt it cascade up through her, from the ends of Duncan’s fingers deep up inside her where his cock was buried in her, and at the same time her cunt clenched down onto him with ravenous need and her scream, completely overcome and tinged with a sob, rattled out of her--and then she felt Duncan press his mouth into her neck to stifle the strangled scream that came from his own throat, and he came deep inside her and they clung to each other, convulsing, trembling, and Kenzie could feel the hot wetness of his tears falling into her hair and against her skin where his face was buried against her ear and she felt the sob of his body as her own hot tears coursed down her cheeks and her arms clutched around his back and her sex spasmed again and again against his length, sending dizzying shocks up her body. Kenzie brought her hand to his cheek and her heart spasmed painfully at the wetness there; in the darkness she could see the glowing white-blue of his eyes again, now overcome by his orgasm and the emotion that had fallen out of him with it--Duncan Shepherd, her prince, so soft and pliant and vulnerable in her arms, and she gathered his sweetness in this moment against her and knew she would remember it always; Kenzie knew that she would look back on his tears in her hair on this night; knew that if she ever doubted at all that he loved her, she would look back to this night, the tender color of him as he clung to her and know that he did; know that he always would, would because it was their destiny to love each other, through every shade of time.

------

Later, after their tears had dried, Kenzie lay against him with her head in that space under his arm; her space, and Duncan’s hand threaded through her hair behind her, lazily, absently, her leg crooked over his thigh, one of her hands on his belly with his hand hovering above, his pinky crooked against her thumb; they were silent, the only sounds coming from the faraway drift of the night outside, and Kenzie couldn’t hear any of his thoughts now; couldn’t perceive their shape, knew that they were hazy with the weight of his orgasms, hazy with tiredness, hazy with the depth of the emotion they had shared, and she felt sure hers were hazy in the same way, that he couldn’t see them; she was on Duncan’s side of the bed (somehow she knew this inherently; that she would always sleep on the other side, but tonight they hadn’t moved from the way they’d fallen post-coitus) and had switched on the lamp there, on the lowest setting; the bronze light fell over them as they stared up at the ceiling, and seeing him now, after the sensation of him bathed in darkness, struck her with wonder; to see you that way, and then this way.

“I think we can only hear thoughts when...when whatever is happening is really intense,” she murmured into his cheek, and Duncan sighed into her, closing his eyes; “I think you’re right,” he said, hand coming from her hair to hold her at the incline of her arm above the crook of her elbow, press her naked torso into his hip. “Kenzie, I can’t believe it...it’s so incredible…I never believed in anything like this before now. I never believed in things I couldn’t perceive with my own eyes. Now...I do believe. I believe in all of it, now. To be near you is to believe.”

“You think of me so tenderly,” Kenzie whispered, looking up at him. “It takes my breath away.”

Duncan’s eyes were still closed, as if he was afraid to look at her; “I love you so much, Kenzie. I don’t have words for it. It...scares me. But it’s the most amazing...the most moving thing I’ve ever felt...” Kenzie’s eyes fell over his wildly beautiful face; like this, he was like an aspect of the Pieta, or some aching divinity; to be loved by him shatters my soul into a thousand pieces, each one raw with sensitivity, each one alive with so much feeling I can barely stand it.

“I love you too, Duncan. Please tell me you felt it from me.”

He nodded; his eyes opened and they were shining with tears again. “I did. I do. And I heard those thoughts towards my mother from you, baby--I heard you--that we’ll help people and create beautiful things--and we will, I promise we will, I love you so.”

Kenzie sat up and pressed a kiss into him, and smiled; “Oh, Duncan.”

“With you beside me, Mackenzie, I promise we will make everything I have--everything we have--into something beautiful. Baby, I swear.” He brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing along her fingers, making low heat coil in her belly.

“Duncan, we can make so many people happy. As happy as this. As happy as we are,” she said, and then Kenzie suddenly pressed the tips of her fingers into Duncan’s torso, unable to keep her smile at bay, dancing them along his skin, all of her joy spilling out of her; a peal of laughter burst out of him and Duncan jerked to the side to get away from her tickles, and then he pulled her down onto him and rained kisses between her breasts and Kenzie thought more joy is coming and our love will make us brave and so bright and our love will bring light to others and she knew, in the deepest part of her soul, that it was true.

------

When Kenzie woke the sun was shining down onto the bed (it’s summer, she thought, we should go to the beach soon, I’d love that, kissing him in the sand with the blue ocean stretched out before us) and Duncan was (wonderfully, blessedly) still sleeping quietly beside her. They’d slept naked (like that first night, Kenzie’s thoughts drifted, sleepily, eyes roving over his saintly face, the delicate incline of his eyelashes, the pout of his lips, whatever dream she’d had instantly forgotten, that first night where my heart was shattered by you and you kissed my ankles and said god, you taste good and I fucked you wearing that necklace that had taken me so long to save the money for and when you woke you hovered over me again, desirous, and I knew it hadn’t been a dream, and I knew I’d be content to always be in your bed, a bed we’ve now made ours from our passion), and Kenzie could feel the delicate press of his fingers against her hip, their bodies turned towards each other, Duncan’s curls falling over the pillow. She pressed her toes into the incline of the top of his ankle, down his foot and up again, where she could feel the hairs on his smooth, long leg, and pressed toward him, hungry for his heat. Kenzie lifted her face up into Duncan’s neck, sending little kisses down from the incline of his jaw to his adam’s apple and the elegant fall of his collarbones; Duncan let out a little pliant sigh, his big hand coming up from her hip to clutch her against him, immediately needy; she marveled again at the way it seemed to cover so much of her body, wherever it touched her; she felt enveloped under his hands, cradled in his colossal embrace. Kenzie felt the hardness between his legs press between hers (fuck, he always has an erection in the morning, ugh, fuck me baby) and the musky smell of him fell through her (he smells like sex, like the woods after warm rain) and he said “Kenzie,” and she thought like a prayer, he says my name so lovingly, “what time is it, baby.”

“Only after 8.” The smell of him was making her dizzy, making her cunt pulse down towards where she felt his cock pressing to the inside of her thigh; Duncan’s eyes opened to stare at her, and Kenzie breathed out a little, wondering if she’d ever not feel frozen with the intensity of his gaze. “We can sleep for hours still if we want to, baby...”

Duncan kissed her gently, just once, sleep still clinging to his eyes; Kenzie brought her hand up to brush the bits of skin that had gathered at the corners of them away with one careful finger, admiring the hairs along his jaw and the straight fall of his nose, the dusting of tiny beauty marks along his left cheek. His eyes were open still, half-closed with the remnants of the sleep he’d just left; and he said “You were an angel in the dream I was having,” and his eyes fluttered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed, one of his hands coming up between her shoulder blades, one falling down to clutch, fingers spreading, over her ass cheek.

“Oh really. An angel, huh?” She pressed more kisses into his chest; into the bones of his shoulders, still marveling at his smell. Duncan was nodding into her, greedily; pressing her mouth up into his, his fingers tightening around her skin, speaking between their lips; “Yes. You had wings and a halo that looked like it was made of stars...of starlight. I was...I don’t know who I was. I was dark. I was something dark. And you put your arms around me and I was full of light and relief. Your touch was...healing. It healed me. You were divine, baby. You are divine.”

“You aren’t dark, Duncan. You aren’t.”

“Kenzie...I’ve done...there are things I’ve done that--”

“Shhhh. They don’t matter now. We’re together. You aren’t dark. You aren’t.”

His tongue was in her mouth and she was shifting up onto him in the soft morning light, on the incline of his hips against the trail of hair on his abdomen that led to his groin, pushing herself up from the center of his chest so the lips of her vulva were pressing down into the upper side of his morning wood, and he moaned into her; “I’m never gonna stop wanting to fuck you, Kenzie,” and she said “Good, baby, because you’re gonna fuck me again right now,” and she lifted her hips and pushed herself down onto his thick erection so she was straddling his thighs and Kenzie whined as he filled her, “god, baby, you’re so fucking hard,” and he groaned a little, as if trying to steel himself against the intensity of the sensation, and Kenzie put two fingers in her mouth and rolled them along her tongue; saliva dripped from them as she brought them out and pressed them against her clit and worked at herself, hard and immediate, as she rolled her hips on him, his shaft totally buried inside her so she could feel the knobbed surface of his balls against the bottom of her ass, feel him throb deep inside her, filling her so much she wondered if he’d tear her apart; it made her shudder and throw her head back, and she watched his eyes, hazy with sleep a moment ago, go wide and roll back as she rode his aching cock.

“We all have darkness in us--” Kenzie breathed down at him as she moved her hips and rubbed at her clit, building a tantric cadence with her body, “--but you have so much good and so much loveliness in you, baby, and it was there before we met, I know it--”; Duncan’s hands came up, one pressing to her breast and kneading at her nipple, hard now in her arousal, the other at the small of her back, his nails digging into her skin there, as if to chain her against him; “Don’t stop, baby, god you feel like fucking heaven, fuck me,” and his voice begged, she could hear the edge in it, the need; she smiled, and he gazed up at her, his expression rapturous; that beautiful face, that gorgeous face, like a God, like Hades to his beloved Persephone, like Dionysus beholding Ariadne, like Apollo, most fair, smitten with Daphne, or Eros folding Psyche into his arms: just for me, when he looks at me that way. It’s only for me, and I know it. I can feel it. That gaze is for me and me alone, for I am most beloved among all to him.

“Kenzie, angel,” he breathed, and she watched his eyes flutter with the wave of his release rising, the intensity of the softness and wetness and tightness between her legs; god I love to see him in the light, she thought, I want to stare at him all fucking day, I want to drink him like wine. Her sex ached; ached with their fucking from the night before, ached with need for him now, ached so wonderfully that she thought she might faint from it, the intensity of the want there coiling like a spring that would cut and maim when it broke forth; “let me, baby, please, let me touch you,” he whispered, and she lifted her fingers from her clit to let the large, warm pad of his index finger flush itself against the bud of nerves between her legs, her hand falling down over his palm to grip at his wrist, holding him there--”There, that’s better, baby,” he murmured, “God, I can’t wait to get that fucking mirror,” and she nodded and said “You wanna watch yourself fuck me, huh, baby,” and he said “Fuck yes, I wanna watch myself fuck you, Kenzie, angel baby, fucking goddess,” and she laughed a little, and her laugh seemed to stir his desire further and she felt his length spasm inside her and his other hand came up from her breast and around her neck and she gasped a little “Fucking yes, baby,” and he squeezed, the pressure of his fingers constricting the air from her lungs and Kenzie’s heart pounded harshly in the center of her, and her sex twinged under his fingers and then he was pressing his hips up into her and moaning her name as he came, “Kenzie, angel, Kenzie, baby--” and she whimpered as he hand went tighter for a moment, tight enough to make her gasp longer, harder, fuck yes, baby, I love your hand there, forcing me down onto you this way, she knew he heard, and then she came under his hands, came and knew that as she did, he saw the halo around her head as she hovered over him in the sunlight; the halo he’d seen in his dream.

------

“Baby, I was thinking--” Duncan said as she sat at the black obsidian island in the kitchen, in the Marie Laveau tee shirt, staring down at her phone in one hand (Instagram; the comments on the photo of them together were absolutely wild and it had wracked up over 35,000 likes; Claire had already sent her several links to websites gushing about the photo, including one from BPF.com: DUNCAN SHEPHERD AND GIRLFRIEND MACKENZIE STONE POST FIRST SELFIE TOGETHER ON INSTAGRAM; LEGIONS OF FANS COIN NICKNAME “DUCKENZIE”), hair over her shoulder, a spoon poised in her other hand over the bowl of granola with blueberries and blackberries he’d given her, to her delight--”We own a cabin around Deep Creek Lake...it’s about a three hour drive from the city, and it’s...well, it’s a very large cabin, very secluded. Sometimes my Uncle BIll and my mother still use it for private parties, mostly. We used to go there more often when I was young, but it’s been about two years since the last time I stayed there. I was thinking...we could go there and stay for a few days. After the Gala. We could get away from the paps and my mother and everything...all of this. It’s so beautiful there and there are deer sometimes and I think--”

“Yes, baby, fucking yes,” Kenzie cut him off. “Dunny, I would fucking love that.” She couldn’t stop the grin that broke over her face as he turned to her, his blue eyes smiling down at her incredulously, the espresso he’d just made her in his hand. “Dunny, huh? That’s a new one.” He brought it over to her (he was in black sweats again, his torso bare) and she leaned up as his face came down to her; his kiss tasted like bitter coffee and sweet berries and him, all of him, and she sighed into him, gently pulling the copper espresso cup from his hand, her fingers trailing over his languidly.

“That’s what I wanna call you, baby,” She grinned again. “Dunnybunny.” She laughed. Duncan snorted, his face breaking out into a smirk that became a snorting laugh of his own. “I can’t wait to see my mother’s face when you call me that in her presence.”

“Oh, I definitely will, in that case. Not much will make your mother like me less than she already does, so I have nothing to lose.”

“She does like you, though. She can’t help it. The way she kept mentioning that you look like Madeline; that was her way of showing you affection. How could anyone not like you, baby?” His fingers came across the island as he leaned down onto it, trailing down her arm, her wrist, her hand; Kenzie’s phone lay just beyond her fingertips; Duncan glanced at it, noticing the Instagram photo open on it, eyes falling over the hundreds of thousands of likes. “Everyone loves you. And they should.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she smiled up at him, toying with the ends of his fingers, feeling her cheeks blush. Duncan smiled again as he turned away to make another espresso, this one for himself. “Yes, Miss Stone, whatever you say, Miss Stone.”

“Ugh, no, don’t,” and she stood and ran over to him and threw her arms around his back, burying her face in his skin, hair falling in her eyes. “Don’t call me that. Call me baby. Call me Kenzie. Call me angel.”

“Fuck,” and he turned around so she was looking up into his eyes and he said “Kenzie, I will call you angel a thousand times a day if you want me to, anything you want belongs to you now, just say it, just tell me what it is and it’s yours, okay? I mean it. Anything, baby. When’s your birthday, anyway?”

“July 17th. Anchaly told me you’re a Cancer too, so yours must be close to mine.” Kenzie’s arms still gripped Duncan’s hips, and his hand had come around to that soft spot under her ear, down into her hair, the tangles of sleep brushed out. “July 6th,” he answered, pressing his lips into her forehead as she stood there barefoot, feeling tiny in his embrace again, wildly vulnerable and soft and small. “My mother always insists on having a huge party...invites a hundred people, all politicians and celebrities, god, I always hate it, but this year--this year I’ll love it because you’ll be there.” “Mmhmm, of course I will, baby...but I have no idea what to do for a present--what do I get for the man who has everything?” She grinned up at him.

“I do have everything. Now, I truly do, baby. Now the party will always be for you, too. Oh, Kenzie, I love that. I love that our birthdays are close.” He pushed his fingers gently along her cheek, his arm around her shoulder; the tenderness in his voice made her heart shake. “Kenzie, I love you so much, being with you is like--like I’m fucking high as a kite all the time, wonderfully drunk--” he pressed his lips down onto her cheek, along to her ear, and Kenzie shivered, her body arching up into him, unable to stop herself. “That cabin sounds so wonderful, baby,” Kenzie said, trying to break the spell that had begun to weave between them again--she’d have to get ready to go to the Shepherd mansion soon, it wouldn’t do to arrive disheveled in front of Annette Shepherd from fucking her son on the table. But I do want him to fuck me on the table, Kenzie realized. We haven’t fucked on the table--not this one or that fucking beautiful cherrywood table in the other room--I want him to lay me down on it and fuck my fucking brains out standing. “To get away from everything like that sounds so perfect, everything has just been so insane…”

Duncan pulled away from her, nodding. “That’s why I thought of it. I don’t want you to get...overwhelmed. The paps are enough to drive anyone insane, but they hound this family like wolves at raw meat, ever since my grandfather became one of the richest men in America back in the 70’s. And the way they’re acting around you scares me. I want you to be safe and happy more than anything, baby. And it’ll be just the two of us. Just us.” His hand fell against her lips, probing gently. Kenzie opened her mouth a little to let his finger in, tongue swirling over it, her eyes lifted to his and she could see the heated desire coiled there again, could see the shape of the thoughts drifting inside him; he’s thinking about getting a hook for the ceiling in our bedroom, a hook to hang velvet rope, rope to tie me up and fuck me standing while we watch each other in a gilded mirror and I fall down onto his face as he eats me on his knees and he’s thinking about using that plug on me and then fucking my ass himself, fucking me hard in the ass with his big cock and coming inside me there, and her senses tingled and vibrated with the onslaught of these thoughts. Fuck, baby. Fuck, yes. She sucked at his finger as his thoughts crashed against her, and his eyes went bright with his arousal--blue like the summer sky drifting outside these windows, all my little plants hanging along it now, resting on the spotless sill--Kenzie was sure she had never wanted a man so much in her life as much as she wanted Duncan; she wanted every part of him, every secret, every shadow, every crevice and contour of him memorized, every inch explored, and the desire for him seemed to grow rather than dissipate every time they fucked, every time they came close together as if their minds were linked (but they are, we can each other’s fucking thoughts sometimes), every time he made her come with his mouth and his hands and his hard cock. The thought of exploring each other for days, sheltered by woods and a lake and the quiet of nature, with no one to tell them where to be and no one to take photos of them and no one to stare at them or scold them or probe them for details made her ache; god, that couldn’t come soon enough. But there was so much still to get through, first. Ugh.

“I should get ready to go to your mother’s house, baby,” Kenzie whispered, with regret. Duncan was leaning down to her again, his nose brushing against hers, his mouth hovering just above hers, his breath shallow, his thumb wet with her spit, now trailing along her bottom lip. “But I heard that. And the answer is yes.”

“Fuck, Kenzie.” He pushed his mouth onto hers and she returned his aching kiss for a moment, then pulled back and spoke into him, hearing his breath go ragged.

“While I’m with your mother, you should do some shopping. For us.”

“Uh huh, Kenzie. Yes, baby.”

She slid out of his grasp; Duncan groaned in frustration, and Kenzie could see the flush of his skin, looking at him over her shoulder as she stepped towards the bedroom. Her hip ran into the edge of the island, not looking where she was going; she blushed, wincing, and Duncan bit his lip, looking down at the floor and then back up at her, shyly. Kenzie saw the vulnerability in his gaze at her having heard those thoughts, raw and carnal and full of hedonistic want of her; but they had sent a thrill through her, one that made her think of the colossal painting that stretched across his study again; The Youth of Bacchus, the pleasures of the flesh, my body and your body, baby, together, where they belong.

“Wanna come watch me get dressed, baby?”

“Ugh, yes,” Duncan groaned, and came after her as she ran towards the bedroom, past the dark red roses on the coffee table, laughing.

------

Most of Kenzie’s clothes were still on the rolling clothing rack she’d used in her old apartment; the clothes that had been in her sun-and-moon dresser still stacked neatly in large boxes. Duncan had, somewhat shyly, asked if he could put all her things away for her--while she was busy with Annette--in the drawers on the right side of the walk-in closet; “I’m going to move the things I have in there out; it’s your side now.” “Are you kidding, baby, it’s my dream for someone else to do my laundry for me. You can put my clothes away every damn day. You can be my personal stylist,” and she clutched him around the waist for a moment, pressing against him, and he smiled down at her. “You’ll have one of those for real very soon, baby,” he replied. “Annette insists, for all public events. Also--now that I’m thinking of it--I have a service deliver groceries here several times a week. If you write down everything you think we need and give it to Anchaly in the morning, it’s here at night. It’s safer--and especially after that incident yesterday, baby, I think you shouldn’t go out alone for things like that. Harris should be with you if you need to go shopping for any reason. You should use the card I gave you to order anything you need online as much as you want to; Anchaly signs for packages, too.”

Kenzie frowned a little, leaning away from him, going over to her hanging rack and pulling out a black collared sweater with short sleeves, throwing it on its hanger on the bed. She leaned over one of the boxes that littered the corner, finding the high-waisted mini skirt she was looking for; it was black too, with gold buttons down the front. She pulled the Marie Laveau shirt off, standing there in just her underwear for a moment; as she pulled the skirt up, wiggling it over her hips, she avoided Duncan’s gaze from where he stood standing at the door of the walk-in closet, leaning against it, eyes focused on her; she couldn’t hear him right now, but knew anyway that he was looking at her with both affectionate concern and desire.

“Kenzie. I understand your frustration, baby. I do.”

Kenzie breathed out, leaning over another box, finding a strapless tan-colored bra, snapping it over her arms and pulling the cups over her little breasts (she’d remembered reading somewhere that for fittings a strapless bra should be worn), and then she turned to him, in just her bra and skirt, the frown still creasing over her face. I can’t help it, she thought. This sucks. “It just...makes me fucking sad, baby,” she said, tucking a golden-tawny wave behind her ear, reaching for the shirt she’d tossed on the bed. Duncan came over to where she stood; he slid onto the bedspread, grasping her hand before she could pull it away, crossing his legs, pulling her gently down to him. “Like I’ve given up a part of me...one that could go to the grocery store and just...get groceries. Fuck.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s like this.”

She knelt on the bedspread, mussed from their passion and their sleep, looking at him; the bareness of his shoulders and the fall of his hair and his expression of remorse, blue eyes burning, oh, those eyes; then she pressed her arms around his neck, and Duncan put his face into her hair and pulled her into his lap, breathing her in.

“I know it’s not your fault, baby,” she murmured. “I just...I can’t believe...in just a week...so much can change. Everything. You know?”

“Baby, I know. Everything is different now. It feels strange to me too--everything I thought I wanted for the company...it was really something my uncle wants-- something my mother wants. I want something else. I want what you said, what you thought across that table when you looked at my mother--to bring other people happiness like this.”

Kenzie nodded into his neck, her body filling with sweet affection for him, a golden cascade of love--to choose your light over your darkness takes courage, my dearest love, and I am so proud of you, so proud to know you and love you in this moment, was the thought she pushed into him, and his arms tightened around her and she felt the emotion in the way he moved his head against her, felt the tremor in him, overcome with her admonition. You aren’t dark. You’ve chosen to be something else. That’s what matters.

Kenzie heard her phone trumpet from the kitchen island where she’d left it; she glanced over at the silver alarm clock on Duncan’s side of the bed and noticed it was 11:30 exactly. “Baby, I think I have to go soon,” she whispered into him and Duncan sighed. “I wish we could just stay home together, today,” he murmured into her.

“Me too, baby. But tomorrow we can. Tomorrow we have the whole day to ourselves. Maybe I can finally put all my things away.” She kissed him and Duncan closed his eyes; “Or we can just fuck all day, baby,” he said into her mouth, and Kenzie grinned into him, shivering. “I’m curious how many times I can make you come in a row--” And she wiggled out of his arms teasingly as he said this, loving the hungry look in his eyes. “Get that mirror and that hook,” she said, staring at him for a long moment, “and we can test that theory,” then, Kenzie went back over to the boxes in the corner, pulling out a pair of black socks, slipping them on her feet. Duncan watched the incline of her leg, letting out another soft little moan, almost involuntary; then he climbed off the bed and went to the walk-in closet, pushing his sweatpants down as he did, kicking them off, still looking over his shoulder into her eyes as his cock came free of its constraints, not quite erect, but not soft either; in that between state of arousal and anticipation; he slowly moved his hand down to it, gripping its shaft for a moment, leaning against the doorway, eyes falling up and down her body in the little sweater and mini skirt, his mouth open just a little, and Kenzie bit her lip. “Bad boy,” she whispered. “I’m gonna punish you later.” He grinned at her and went into the closet. Kenzie passed by to get her phone from the kitchen and couldn’t help but glance to him undressed, his back turned to her now; his wide shoulders extending down to his round ass and thick thighs, the fine hairs on his legs visible in the warm light of the closet. Beloved. Like the statue of David. I really do wish we could stay in bed all day, worshiping each other. If we ever get tired of fucking, it won’t be anytime soon.

Kenzie reached for her phone as she reached the island, looking down at the text.

Samuel: Miss Mackenzie, ready when you are.

Harris had today off; Kenzie supposed it wasn’t necessary to have him at the Shepherd mansion (there was no chance of paps being there; there was heavy security around the clock), though, she thought, it would have been nice to have his large presence beside her, in case Annette tries to poison me, only half-facetiously, biting her lip. On my way down in 5, she replied. Thanks Samuel. Kenzie went back to the bedroom, stopping in the doorway of the walk-in closet; Duncan was mostly dressed now, in tailored black slacks and a short-sleeved button down; “I don’t think I’ve seen you in short sleeves yet, baby,” she said softly, coming up to him as he did the top button, facing her; glancing up at her. “You look nice. You always look nice. But I like you in short sleeves. You look more...relaxed, or something.”

“I’m pretty sure naked is the most relaxed state you’ve seen me in, Kenzie,” he said, eyes in hers, his radiantly beautiful smile making her shy again. “Also, the short sleeves are for practical reasons--the high today is 81.” Kenzie turned to where several pairs of her shoes were lined against the floor; she hadn’t had time to organize these yet either, but she picked out her long black pointed boots, leaning against the drawers as she pulled them on under Duncan’s watchful eye; he was switching between buckling on his black Movado and staring at her legs again as they vanished under the black velvety fabric of the boots; they always made her feel pretty when she wore them, and she felt like she could use all the help she could get if Annette was going to be breathing down her neck for a few hours. “Samuel’s waiting for me downstairs, baby,” she said, looking up at him, straightening, clutching her phone in one hand, reaching for him with the other; he grasped her arm, stepping forward, and leaned down into her, and his heady, musk-wood smell fell over her again, dizzying and deep. “I’ll text you when I’m done with your mom, okay?”

“Okay, baby. Thank you for doing this. But remember what I said, if you don’t like what she wants you to wear, you don’t have to wear it. Erik is reasonable, he’ll understand.”

Kenzie reached over to where some of her jewelry was lined on the accessory shelf built into the side (her side) of the closet; she slipped the long necklace with tiny gold star charms on it around her neck; it dangled to her stomach, and she flipped her hair back over her shoulders, placing her hands on her hips. “How do I look, baby.”

“Like my Kenzie. Like a fucking angel.”

“Can you see my halo and wings still?”

“Always.”

She blushed; ugh, this fucking Prince. Fuck me, pressing her face up to kiss him again, then dancing away as he tried to grab her closer--”You are too fucking good at that,” he said after her, his eyes like deep ocean, and she giggled as she snatched the little convertible bag from where she’d left it by the wall in the living room, dipping down to smell the roses on the table, their evocative sweetness floating up at her; she glanced towards where she knew his bust of Nike was on the left side of the Bouguereau prints, and spoke a silent prayer for a day that wasn’t rife with the stresses of yesterday; spoke a silent prayer that in Annette Shepherd’s presence, she would be fearless and calm. Duncan followed her out, barefoot; he watched her go to the door and pull it open, and she said, “Wish me luck, baby.”

“You don’t need luck, Kenzie. You are beloved of the gods.”

She stared at him, puzzled; she could feel the small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “That’s a funny thing to say, Duncan.” He came up to her, hands falling through her hair with adamant affection, before she could slip away from him again. “It’s true. I said it because it’s true. I feel it. Destiny. Our destiny. This wasn’t luck. It was destiny. It is our destiny.”

The doubt slipped from her mind; the confusion melted. “It really is, isn’t it.”

“Yes. It really is.” He kissed her fiercely again; his mouth bruising into hers; touching in thin tendrils down to her stomach. She pressed into him for a moment, suddenly possessed by her sadness at leaving him; then pulled away softly and stepped into the hall.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, baby.”

“Mhm, Kenzie. I love you.”

“And I, your Persephone, love you.”

“Oh, baby--”

Kenzie ran away from him down the hall to the elevator, which magically, somehow, opened for her before she even pressed the button. She turned as the doors slid shut, and he was leaning against the frame of the penthouse entrance, arm clutching the lintel, eyes on her, and she knew he was thinking of flowers in her hair again, petals floating down and leaving a secret trail behind her as she descended back to earth.

-----

Samuel had his foot on the gas of the BMW as soon as Kenzie slid into the backseat; she’d taken more time than she thought upstairs (your son was distracting me, Annette) and it was fifteen till the hour. Today he was listening to Fleetwood Mac; Kenzie clapped her hands together, delighted; listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise--”Samuel, can you turn it up?” She saw Samuel’s very white grin at her in the rearview, and watched his hand reach out to the knob on the Harman Kardon sound system; Stevie and Lindsey’s voices crashed into her on either side as if they were in the backseat with her.

“And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again, I can still hear you sayin’, you would never break the chain--” Samuel had the windows down and the wind whipped her hair across her cheek and neck, and Kenzie thought of Duncan’s hands and his blue gaze and his mouth and his hair on his forehead and the stubble on his cheeks and his height towering over her but his looks of longing into her eyes and toyed with the little stars on her necklace, feeling them carefully, singing along softly to herself. We can hear each other’s thoughts sometimes. A week ago I would have thought current me had lost her fucking mind. But I know it’s real. How can it be real? I don’t fucking know. But it is.

“Miss Mackenzie, your voice is so beautiful,” Samuel said, glancing up at her, the smile still at his mouth. “You should have been a singer, like Ms. Nicks.”

“Thank you, Samuel. To be compared to Stevie is the highest of compliments.”

“Just so.”

Chain, keep up together...Chain, keep us together…

As Samuel pulled up to the gate of the Shepherd mansion, Kenzie’s stomach did a backflip and she floated away from the strains of Christine’s high, cheerful voice: you, you make loving fun, it’s all I wanna do--Holy fuck, Kenzie thought. This is huge even for a mansion. She could see the tall Colonial-style windows over the gate, the Roman pillars extending in the doorway, a balcony above. I need to remember Duncan’s family is one of the richest in the country. Fuck. Am I ever gonna get used to this? Samuel spoke into the intercom (“Mackenzie Stone here to see Annette Shepherd,”) and the gate buzzed open. Kenzie glanced down at her phone; it was five till. She silently thanked Samuel’s magical powers of speed again. Samuel pulled up around the curving driveway to the entrance; vast double doors seemed to stare down at her with hostile judgement. Kenz, you got this. Remember the way Duncan pushed his love into you last night. The way you gathered it and moved it and made it more. You can gather it that way again, just remember that feeling. Be brave like Momby.

Kenzie breathed out, thanked Samuel (and silently, Stevie) and stepped out of the car, boots clicking on the smooth, tasteful cobble of the driveway, looking up at the house, bag slung over her shoulder, phone clutched in her palm. It was sunny and beautiful today; it was truly beginning to feel like summer. Kenzie breathed in deeply and let it out again; don’t let her get to you, no matter what she says, Kenzie. Momby wouldn’t. Duncan wouldn’t. Don’t do it.

She waved a little at Samuel before she shut the door; “I’ll text you when I’m done, is that okay, Samuel?” “Of course, Miss Mackenzie. See you later.” She turned away as it clicked shut, steeling herself again for a moment, then going up the three wide, smooth white steps to the double doors, both with opulent knobs made of embossed gold; she hesitated, unsure of the etiquette; do I knock? Kenzie reached out and turned one of the knobs, apprehensively, peeking her head slowly into the interior of the house. Inside, it was as opulent a place as she had ever seen; if Duncan’s penthouse was spotless, you could eat a steak off the floor of the foyer of this house; Kenzie felt immediately far too ordinary to be here; too flawed, too insecure, and far too human. She toyed with the idea of running out, waving Samuel down and speeding off. But that, of course, was impossible.

A woman came towards her, beckoning sternly. She was very tall (probably taller than Duncan, Kenzie thought, reminded of Harris) and had hair so blonde it was almost white; it was pulled back into a very tight bun that looked painful to Kenzie, and her face was done up with carefully-applied, subdued makeup, her thin, nude-lipsticked lips pressed together tightly. She wore a very tight, very neat pantsuit in dark gray with low black kitten heels, and she looked very strong, with wide shoulders and hips. “Mackenzie Stone, come here.” Her voice had a slight accent, one that Kenzie couldn’t place. Danish? Swedish? “I am Ingrid. They are in the South Wing.” Kenzie jumped inside, pulling the big door shut behind her; the foyer was eerily quiet but for a huge grandfather clock swinging in one corner. Ingrid beckoning with a short motion again; “Come, now, thank you.”

Kenzie stepped quickly behind the woman, who moved very fast and almost noiselessly; I bet this woman could kill someone easily without ever getting caught, Kenzie thought with a chill. I guess Annette needs people like that around her. Ingrid led her around the right side of the curving double staircase, down a hallway hidden behind it, towards the far end of the mansion; if Duncan has one Bouguereau original, I can’t even contemplate how many of these are authentic, Kenzie thought, gazing around at the paintings that adorned the walls (they seemed to mostly be a mixture of Impressionist and Modern art--but there’s nothing here as beautiful as The Youth of Bacchus, she thought, it’s the most beautiful painting I have ever seen, and my boyfriend OWNS it), the sconces and shelves that held Ming vases and sculptures and china and embossed books. Ingrid turned a corner sharply, then opened a long white door (another embossed gold knob) to a round, wide parlor room, modified to look like a dressing room, with a round dais in the center and several mannequins along one wall, a few very beautiful Regent-style white-and-gold armchairs littered here and there; Kenzie saw Annette stretched languidly in one of them, dressed in a flawless cream-colored wrap dress with a black sash tied at her waist, her perfectly styled hair falling down her shoulder, her expression hidden by the angle, and a man with a very bright floral scarf, a shiny bald head and very long false eyelashes standing with a hip cocked facing the doorway, gesturing at her flamboyantly and telling a story, animatedly.

“--I said honey-bun, you don’t get to tell me what the fuck I’m going to do, I tell you what the fuck I’m going to do, then you give me the time I need to fucking do it.” The man cocked his head, batting his lashes. Annette let out a little barking laugh. “Needless to say, I--” The man broke off, noticing Ingrid at the door, and Kenzie hovering behind her.

Annette glanced back. “Oh. Mackenzie. You’re actually on time.”

Uhhhhh. Kenzie’s hands came up to the star necklace, noticing her hand was trembling. What would have happened if I wasn’t?

“Thank you, Ingrid, you can shut the door.”

Ingrid gave Annette a curt nod, and gave Kenzie a long glance as she left, her eyes going from Kenzie’s feet up her body to her hair around her shoulders and down again, a judging glint in her cold eyes. Yep, you got it, I’m fucking Duncan, you’re right, Kenzie thought. Stare away, make sure I have the right genetics and the birthing hips and my boobs are the right size. I wonder what Annette will say when she hears I don’t want to have kids, ha! The door shut behind the woman with a loud, clean click, and the man in the eyelashes came toward Kenzie, pressing his hands theatrically to his cheeks.

“My, my, my, what a little cupcake you are.” He reached for her hands and Kenzie extended her palms into his, her cheeks burning with apprehension. “A little rose petal, a babydoll blooming bud, a teensy slice of delectable red velvet. I’ll bet he’s been nibbling at you night and day.”

“Erik, that’s enough,” Annette said, and Kenzie glanced over to her to see an expression of sharp annoyance in her eyes; whatever mirth may have been on Annette’s face a moment ago was gone, replaced with a calculating neutrality.

“Lord, Annette, as if you can’t see why he’s absolutely head-over-heels.” Erik rolled his eyes, letting Kenzie go, giving her a little wink that Annette couldn’t see from where she sat. Kenzie pressed her lips together tightly, trying not to smile. I like him. “She’s like a tiny little princess in a fairy tale. Snow White. Rose Red. Princess Peach. I’m Erik, sweet thing. And you’re Mackenzie. And this is Annette--oh, you knew that, of course.” Erik turned to Annette, giving her a long look and a coy smile.

“Mackenzie, come here, we have a lot of work to do and I have a meeting at 3,” Annette said to her curtly, standing up and beckoning to the dais. “Erik needs to take your measurements, and then we need to discuss a color palette.”

“I’m thinking mod,” Erik gestured vaguely towards Kenzie’s hips, flicking his wrist. “Like Edie Sedgwick at a Renaissance fair.” Annette made an exasperated noise from the back of her throat as Kenzie came up beside her, heart pounding, and grasped Kenzie’s arm suddenly with a tight, pinching grip, pushing her onto the dais. “Measurements, please, Erik. Mackenzie, hold still.”

Erik spent the next ten minutes or so pressing a measuring tape along Kenzie’s body as she moved as he told her to; Kenzie looked down from Annette’s appraising gaze, which seemed as cold and heavy as ice; she tried to remember the warmth that had spread around the table over dinner last night, but it slipped away from her, just beyond her grasp; without Duncan there, Kenzie felt lost inside her doubt, caught in the approximate, austere eyes of his mother. I doubt those comments from Erik helped warm her heart to me today, Kenzie thought, exasperated. Her stomach felt sour and she contemplated asking for a glass of water, but Annette’s frown deterred her. She remembered Annette didn’t know she’d moved into Duncan’s penthouse yet; oh fuck, she’s really gonna love that one. Annette’s quietness unnerved her--who knew what Duncan’s mother was thinking behind her dark-well eyes. Erik fussed over her, as if to fill the silence between them: “Look at your tiny little hourglass! Those hips, my dear, absolutely to die for. A pity you’re not a little taller, then again, Madeline was never known for her height, was she. How is she these days, by the way?”

“Very well, thanks for asking.” Kenzie’s eyes slid to Annette, who raised her eyebrows, then back to Erik, who was pressing the measuring tape along her bust with careful precision; he had clearly done this a thousand times before her, and his interest in her breasts was completely non-existent beyond the practicality of his duties. “She’s retired now. We had a wonderful time with her the other night.” She looked at Annette again for a moment, seeing the angry flash in the other woman’s eyes; kicking the hornet’s nest, Kenz, she scolded herself, but it was too late; heat was rising behind her temples. I am good enough for your son, Annette. You may never think so, but that doesn’t fucking matter. You’re going to accept me eventually because your son loves me and that’s not going to change. This is our destiny. He said so himself to me. He knows it too. I may not be the trust-fund heiress to an oil company in Texas you would have chosen for him, but I’m the one for him, tough shit.

Erik seemed to have finished his measurements, taking note of them on a little yellow notepad with a fountain pen in his manicured fingers; “Annette, what do you think for colors. I’m thinking black and white with a gold embellishment.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Annette said, her tone biting. She sat in the armchair facing Kenzie, eyes falling down Kenzie’s small form; half-full of resentment, half a simmering superiority.

“Ummmmm,” Erik said, rolling his eyes a little again. “Honey, you’re the one who insisted she do this with you in the first place.” Kenzie gave him a grateful look.

“Mackenzie, I hope you understood how serious I was last night,” Annette said, ignoring Erik. Kenzie bit into the inside of her cheek, willing herself to stay calm. “If you are offered another article in the nature of the one published on Friday, you will turn it down.”

“Annette, with all due respect, I’m a journalist working for a liberal publication. I’m not a Republican, and dating Duncan doesn’t suddenly make me a centrist. Maybe you should ask Duncan what he really wants for the company in the first place, since he’s going to be helping you run it soon.” The words tumbled out of her, and Kenzie immediately bit her lip, fumbling her hands together. Oh fuck, Kenz. What was that.

A cold pallor fell over Annette’s face; it made Kenzie’s blood chill in her veins. Erik’s mouth snapped shut and he raised his eyebrows, a little hiss of air escaping his lips. Annette sat up very straight in the chair, setting her hands on the armrests with her fingers tightly curled. “He told you that, did he,” she hissed.

“Yes. We’re together now. I deserve to know about his life.” Kenzie tried to quell the tremble that had started in her hands; adrenaline pumped through her, making her feel as though she’d just taken a hit of weed. “You seem determined to hate me, Annette, but I don’t hate you at all. I wish you could see that Duncan doesn’t want what you want; that he’s sensitive and good and kind and wants to be surrounded by real things, beautiful things. He just wants to be loved, just wants to love--and we love each other. Why would you try to deny him of that?”

“I don’t have time for this today.” Annette stood, eyes blazing. “Mackenzie, if you speak a word of what Duncan has told you to anyone, I will make sure you seriously regret it. Erik, get her a fucking dress, I don’t give a shit what it looks like. Give her a fucking brown bag to wear for all I care.” She stormed out the door, slamming it behind her.

“Oh, honey, you are Madeline Stone’s daughter, aren’t you?” Erik turned to Kenzie, a grin falling over his features, his long eyelashes batting at her. “She had that coming; and you have nerves of steel.”

“Not really feeling like it at the moment,” Kenzie said, voice audibly shaking. Now that she had started to come down from the adrenaline, she felt woozy and sick.

“So, what do you want to wear?” He pressed a finger to the side of his face.

Kenzie tried to clear her head, her mind frenzied and racing from the exchange with Annette; then, like clouds parting to the sun, she thought of the one friend who had been a constant in her life since they were in middle school; their friendship carrying her through high school and shitty jobs and college and a breakup and her bumpy first year at the Post when her self-doubt had been at an all-time high. Clairebear. Morgan Winthrop.

“My...my best friend Claire. She works for a designer. Morgan Winthrop.”

“Oh, honey, I know Morgan. We go way back. We used to go to Studio 54 together. You want Morgan to make your dress?”

“I--Yes. Yes I do.” Kenzie tossed her head back, pushing her chin out. To hell with this. It’s my life and my relationship and if I have to go to this Gala, I want to wear what I want to wear. The theme is based on me after all. Gold in the darkness. He said it was based on me. That it’s for me. It’s me.

“Darling, I think that’s marvelous.” Erik tucked his head down to her conspiratorially. “I can see why you’d be drawn to Morgan’s aesthetic. And I think she’d know just what to do for you. A little birdy told me Duncan based the theme on you, a little slice of starlight--little golden moonbeam that you are. I’ve never seen him this way. You’ve gotten down under his skin, babydoll. You’re in the soul of him, now.”

“So...you’ll help me?”

“Darling. In a minute. I want to see that boy happy. And Annette does, too. She just needs to realize that. With your help, I have a sneaky suspicion that won’t take as long as one might have thought. You’re a bold little burst of fresh air.”

Kenzie hopped down from the dias, heart pounding, and went to the armchair where she’d placed her convertible bag, pulling her phone in its gold case out, opening her contacts to Clairebear. She hit the call button, raising the phone to her ear. Claire picked up after two rings. “Hello, Kenzie? Is everything okay?”

“Clairebear, I need your help. I need Morgan’s help. I need Morgan to make my dress for the Shepherd Freedom Foundation Gala. And I need it to be the most amazing fucking dress of all time.”

[a-splash-of-stucky]

Interrupted [1/3]

Pairing: Bucky x Steve || Bucky x Steve x Reader

Summary: You walk in on a private moment, forcing the three of you to have an awkward conversation.

Warnings: Language, M/M action, bondage, female masturbation, oral sex (m/r and f/r), threesome.

A/N: This is a re-post. Originally written as my entry for this writing challenge and posted on my other blog. 

My prompt was “Okay…but seriously what the hell is going on?”, which I have put in bold somewhere in the story. Enjoy!

[1] [2] [3] || My Masterlist

“Ms Y/L/N?”

“Yes, FRIDAY?” you reply, setting the book you’d been reading down on your bedside table.

“Boss is requesting your presence in his lab. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes have returned from their mission,”.

“Ah, right, thanks FRIDAY, I’ll be there soon,”, you say, swinging your legs off the bed and sliding your feet into your shoes.

For the past three years, you’d been working as Tony Stark’s glorified lab assistant.You’d dealt with  everything from dousing his fires, to testing his prototypes, to de-bugging his software, and, as in today’s case, sifting though terabytes of data, deciding what should be stored within his database, and what to get rid of. Steve and Bucky had been sent to infiltrate an abandoned Roxxon Oil base on the coast of Brazil. Their mission was to break into the server room and retrieve all the data they could possibly get their hands on. The team had reason to suspect that Roxxon Oil had been acquiring huge sums of money via less than honest means — namely, the development and trade of WMDs — and needed as much info on the company’s history as they could get.

You bounce into Tony’s lab and grab a Stark tablet off one of the worktops, before coming to stand by his side. “Hey Twinkle-pop,” he greets, not bothering to look up from whatever it is he’s tinkering with, “Romanoff’s just delivered the Stark-drive they took on the mission, it’s over there somewhere,” he says, waving vaguely towards the right side of the room. “Take a look at it and start…doing whatever you need to do,”.

“What exactly am I looking for?” you ask, wandering between the tables, keeping an eye out for the sleek, black hard-drive. You crow in triumph when you see it balanced precariously on top of an enormous stack of papers.

“Uh…transfers of huge funds, mentions of weapons, anything…suspicious looking,” Tony mumbles, brow furrowing in concentration as he picks up a pair of tweezers and starts poking at his latest invention. Figuring you’re not going to get much more out of him, you plop yourself onto a stool and connect the Stark-drive to your tablet, so that you can transfer the files into FRIDAY’s system and start working through them.

“Heavily encrypted,” you announce.

“Can you handle it?” Tony asks, his tone distracted, suggesting that he’s only half-paying attention to you.

You snort indignantly. “‘Can I handle it?’ he asks. What am I, an amateur?” you grumble, fingers already tapping away at the screen as you blast through the meagre security measures put in place. A frown comes over your face when you glance at the file-transfer progress bar. “Tony? You sure this is all we got? Looks like only about half the size we were expecting,”.

“Hmm?” says Tony, not hearing you, focused as he in on wiring up his gadget.

You groan frustratedly, looking back at the tablet in your hands and chewing at your bottom lip as you deliberate your next action. Maybe a visit to Steve is in order. If you can figure out how he and Bucky got ahold of their files, or at least get an idea of what kind of equipment they were dealing with, you can determine whether or not they successfully retrieved all the data.

“Tony, I’m gonna go talk to Steve about this, okay?” you say, as you turn off your Stark tablet and get up from your stool.

Tony waves a hand at you offhandedly. “Yeah, sure, go ahead,” he replies, “Say hi to Cap for me, will ya? Haven’t seen him all day,”.

“That’s because you’ve been holed up in this place all day,” you mutter, pulling your phone and earphones out of your hoodie pocket and slipping them into your ears. Steve and Bucky’s shared apartment is literally located in the farthest fucking corner of the compound there is, so you walk at a brisk pace to get there, nodding your head to the beat of the song blaring in your ears.

When you get to their door, you don’t bother knocking, as the three of you are prone to showing up unannounced at each other’s room at any give time. Your little trio has developed such an easy-going friendship in the time you’ve known each other, that it’s second nature for you, by now, turning the handle and pushing the door open, as you pull your earphones out of your ears.

You wish that you had knocked, though.

Because what greets you on the other side shocks the living daylights out of you.

Who knew Bucky Barnes was into bondage?

He’s completely naked, save for the blue cord snaking its way around his body, its bright hue contrasting beautifully against the red flush of his skin. Intricate knots bind his arms behind his back and his legs into a kneeling position — there is even a coil of blue around his cock. Your eyes can’t help but linger on that part of his body for a beat too long. It’s hard, flushed obscenely red and curving towards his belly, the tip glistening wet. Despite the absurdity of the situation, the image causes arousal to flare in your loins.

What a glorious cock it is.

If you’re honest with yourself, you’ve had a crush on Bucky for as long as you’ve known him. Seeing him wield his knives with such precision and confidence in the training room never fails to make you weak in the knees. To your shame, you’ve caught yourself thinking about him naked and in bed with you on more than one occasion — though this scenario had never come to mind.

There’s more to the scene in front of you (as if the sight of Bucky tied up and on his knees wasn’t enough?). Bucky is kneeling in front of Steve, who is sitting on a wooden chair, still decked out in his full stealth suit, minus the shield and the helmet. You might not suspect that anything was amiss, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s got his cock out with Bucky’s lips wrapped around it.

Again, your brain is torn. Part of you is wondering what the fuck is going on, and the other half of you craves to join Bucky, maybe even take his place. You’ve always had a thing for the Cap. It’s not often that you meet a man that looks like a freaking god, who also is a genuinely nice guy. And really, who can resist Steve when he’s got the stealth suit on? Clearly not Bucky, that’s for sure.

Never, in the entire time that you’ve known Steve and Bucky, did you ever suspect that their relationship was anything beyond platonic. You — and quite probably, everyone else on the team — never would’ve guessed that they were more than close friends. The situation in front of you suggests otherwise. You have nothing against them being together, as you are a firm believer that love is love, at the end of the day, but…you’re a little unsettled by this revelation, nonetheless.

But that’s more to do with the way in which you stumbled across this piece information, than anything else.

A long, drawn out moan from Steve draws your attention back to the moment. He’s thrown his head back, exposing the pink blush coating his cheeks and neck. His eyes are shut tight, though his jaw is slack, quiet whimpers falling from his parted lips. Bucky’s mouth is near the base of his cock and whatever it is he’s doing, Steve is enjoying it.

“Damn, baby,” Steve rasps, licking his lips, as Bucky bobs his mouth up and down Steve’s shaft, “F-fuck, ohh god, yes,”.

Bucky moans — and god if there ever was ever a sound to bring you to your knees, it’d be that — preening at the praise, looking utterly debauched but completely at peace with himself. Steve cards his fingers through Bucky’s sweaty hair, smoothing back the tendrils clinging to his temples. When Steve runs his thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone, the latter leans into the touch, almost nuzzling into Steve’s palm.

It’s then that you realise that this is so much more than just a blowjob; trust Steve and Bucky to turn a suckjob into something intimate, and private, and tender. A part of you wants to stay and gawk at these two for as long as you can, but you squash those urges down, feeling utterly guilty for what you have already witnessed. This is not something you’re privileged enough to see. This is not a moment that you can share with them.

And of course, just as you think that, Bucky’s eyes slide open and travel over the room, landing straight on you. You freeze in shock, heat flooding your cheeks because you’ve just been caught snooping on them. Bucky hastily rips his mouth off Steve’s dick.

“You didn’t lock the door?!” he hisses.

Steve, bless him, is still in his little sex daze, and takes a while to catch on to Bucky’s words. When he tracks Bucky’s line of sight and sees you, the pink flush on his face deepens to a bright scarlet. “I—I—well—y-you,” he stutters helplessly.

“Genius,” Bucky gripes. If the moment weren’t so awkward, you’d join in and make your own snide comment towards Steve.

“Not my fault!” Steve protests, “I—well, your hand was—,”

“No!” you interrupt, finally forcing yourself to turn away and pull the door shut, “I don’t wanna hear about where anyone’s hand was, thank you very much,”.

“Y/N!” Steve calls. You pause, half out the door, “Please come in, let’s…let’s talk?”

You swallow nervously. “Steve, uh…I’d rather you just…do whatever it is you were doing. Don’t—don’t let me ruin the mood,”.

Bucky snorts, and in your mind, you can clearly envision his eye roll as he mutters, “Too late for that,”.

“Bucky,” Steve sighs frustratedly, “Y/N, please let’s—let’s talk, I can’t—,”.

“Steve, Bucky is naked in the middle of your living room right now,” you interrupt, “I’d rather not have this conversation at this moment, so…why don’t you two get dressed and come to my room,”. From the silence that follows, you can only imagine that the two of them are sharing a look.

“She’s got a point, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs. Then, raising his voice, he calls to you, “Y/N? Sweetie, just head over to your room, we’ll see you there,”.

“Sure thing. Take—take all the time you need,”, you reply, shutting the door behind you.

——————

After practically sprinting back to your room, you make a beeline for the ensuite.You turn on the sink and splash some cold water onto your face, hoping that it’ll calm you down, somewhat. Your heart is racing, but you’re pretty sure that that’s not only because you’ve just run all the way here. Arousal is pooling in your gut, the image of Bucky on his knees for Steve forever burnished into your memory. As ashamed as you might feel, you know that that visual is going to stimulate many ‘personal relief’ sessions in the weeks to come. You clench your thighs together, hoping to take the edge off the pressure building between them, but your efforts are fruitless. With a resigned sigh, you turn off the tap and head into your room, sitting down on your bed and curling yourself against the headboard.

Not ten minutes later, the door to your room bursts open — it seems that your little fiasco earlier hasn’t instilled good practices in either of them — and Bucky comes traipsing in, a more subdued Steve sidling in after him.

“C’mere, sit on the bed,” you murmur, motioning towards the empty space beside you. At your invitation, Bucky promptly flops down at the foot of the bed, twisting onto his side and propping his head up on one hand. Steve, more reserved, chooses to remain standing.

A terse silence falls over the room, each of you waiting for someone else to kick-off what will undoubtedly be a very uncomfortable conversation. When it becomes clear than neither of them are stepping up to the task, you decide to bite the bullet.

“We—what did I just see?” you ask, fiddling with the strings on your hoodie, because you don’t really want to look at either of them right now.

“That was me giving Stevie here one helluva blowjob,” Bucky deadpans, the corner of his mouth crooking up into a cocky smirk.

“Bucky!” Steve says exasperatedly.

You roll your eyes at the two of them, but that little exchange seems to have broken the ice. Bucky’s teasing has lightened the mood in the room by only a fraction, but you’ll take what you can get. “Okay…but seriously, what the hell is going on? Between you two, I mean,” you add, gesturing between them, “Are you…a couple? Was that a regular occurrence kinda thing, or…”

You purposefully allow your voice to trail off, hoping that one of the boys will pick up the slack. Steve is shifting his weight from foot to foot agitatedly, glaring at the floor as if he wants it to swallow him whole. Bucky’s posture on the bed is still relaxed, but his expression is the complete opposite — brows knitted together, bottom lip drawn between his teeth. It’s an expression that tells you that he would rather be anywhere but here.

“Okay, look, Y/N,” Steve begins, “You can’t—you can’t tell anyone about this,”. You arch an eyebrow questioningly. “I—we’re…not…ready to tell anyone about…us,”, he explains haltingly.

“So there is an ‘us’?” you ask, your gaze flitting from one person to the other.

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but Bucky cuts in at the last second. “Yes, Y/N, there is an ‘us’, and has been an ‘us’ for as long as we’ve known each other, pretty much,” he says, shrugging indifferently. “But Steve’s Captain America and—,”.

“—and the America public might not react very well to their patriotic idol being gay,” Steve interjects, wringing his hands agitatedly.

“So can you keep it a secret, Y/N? For a while?” Bucky asks, looking at you anxiously. You get the impression that he’s completely alright with the notion of a gay Captain America, and that he’s going along with this more for Steve’s sake, than anything else. Still, Bucky Barnes’ puppy-dog begging eyes will never fail to be your weakness, and so with a lighthearted laugh, you agree.

“Of course! Consider my lips sealed!” you assure them, miming the action of zipping your lips, locking them shut and throwing away the key. Bucky grins at your antics, though Steve still looks uneasy.

“It’s okay Stevie,” you soothe, reaching out to rest your hand on his forearm. “I respect your decision. It’s not my place to tell, nor is it my secret to tell. As long as you’re happy, I’m good,”.

Steve breathes a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging as the tension flows out of his body, your words seeming to have placated him significantly. He gives you a tentative smile, “Yeah? Thanks, Y/N,”.

“So…we all good? We’re settled, aren’t we?” Bucky asks, getting off the bed and sauntering over to Steve. He slings his metal arm over Steve’s shoulders. “‘Cause if we are, Steve and I could go back to—,”.

“No! Don’t wanna hear it!” you cry, throwing your hands over your ears, just as a chuckling Steve playfully shoves Bucky away. Nonplussed, Bucky grabs Steve’s arm and practically hauls him out of your room, shouting a cheery “Goodbye!” over his shoulder as he shuts the door behind him.

——————

After the day’s unexpected events, you figure that you’ve earned yourself a nice, hot, soak. You drag yourself into the bathroom, pulling your clothes off en route before dumping them in the laundry hamper by the door. Though your bathroom is sleek and modern, the tub is a vintage clawfoot one that you’d found in an antique shop a while back. You step into it and fiddle with the taps for a bit, twisting and turning them until the water is at the perfect temperature. Now that you are naked, you are more acutely aware of the throbbing ache between your legs. Seeing the water thundering into the tub gives you an idea.

With some (a lot) of manoeuvring, you manage to hook your legs over the lip of the clawfoot tub. You grip the edge of the tub and lift your body, angling your torso until the stream of water is falling steadily over your aching clit. You moan wantonly, throwing your head back in ecstasy and squeezing your eyes shut as the intense pressure rushes over your sex.

In your mind, you’re back in Steve and Bucky’s room, naked and sat with your back against Steve’s chest, his cock trapped between your bodies. Bucky’s head is between your legs, those plump lips and clever tongue exerting just the right amount of friction and pressure on your pussy, making you squirm and writhe in Steve’s arms. For his part, Steve’s got his hands on your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between his strong fingers. And, since Bucky’s mouth is otherwise occupied, you imagine Steve’s lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his husky voice whispers filthy words to you.

That is the thought that has you coming undone. Their names tumble from your lips, your hips bucking involuntarily and back arching into an inhuman angle as the waves of pleasure roll through your body. Your thighs tremble with the effort of holding yourself against the spray of water, but you force yourself to stay still, in order to prolong your climax. It is only when you are shivering from overstimulation that you gingerly lower yourself down into the tub, sighing contentedly as the warm water envelops you.

“Ms Y/L/N?”

You groan, pulled out of your post-orgasmic haze far too early. “Yes, FRIDAY?”

“Boss is asking if you’re planning on returning to the lab,”.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and huff in frustration. Trust Tony to ruin the moment. “Tell him I’m taking the night off, FRIDAY,” you say, letting your eyes slip shut, “I think I’ve earned it,”.

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[andavs]

If you wanna write a ficlet based on the tags you put about Derek not being good at receiving compliments so stiles compliments him always I can guarantee you that I will 100% read it and reblog it and comment about how much I love it :D

Well how can I resist that??

The first time it happened, Stiles didn't think anything of it. Standing over the smoldering remains of the creature that just tried to kill them, he said “nice job”, gave Derek a friendly slap on the back, and suggested they go out for celebratory we didn't die today milkshakes. He was pleasantly surprised when Derek both agreed and paid, and he dipped fries in both to see if they went better with his strawberry or Derek’s chocolate.

(The answer was chocolate, and Derek didn’t even get mad when three of Stiles’ fries were lost in his shake.)

The second time, he was marveling at the obscure text Derek managed to track down and said, “dude, you are literally the best, I'm buying you pizza!” And shockingly, Derek let him, and even told him what toppings he wanted. That might not seem like much in the grand scheme of things, but Stiles had spent years watching in silent judgment as Derek picked off half the toppings from the pizzas he ordered for the pack, as if he couldn't get another for himself that he actually liked.

Stiles told him he liked the way he rearranged the loft, and Derek sat through the entire extended edition of The Fellowship of the Ring on his new flat screen.

When he mentioned liking the fancy pasta dish Derek made and asked for a lesson to make it, Derek agreed. He showered compliments on Derek's meticulous overhaul of the bestiary and Derek let him borrow three books.

Derek never let anyone borrow his books, they never left the loft.

These events were all spread out enough that it took a while to click, but when it did, it was both a revelation and incredibly depressing: Derek had no idea what to do with even the most casual of compliments.

Sarcasm was no issue, Stiles knew that much—he'd personally thrown out enough nice martyr complex, jackass and the like to figure that out—but anything that was even remotely sincere?

He started paying attention after that, to the way Derek would stiffen and his eyes would widen a bit before his face closed off again. He would go quiet, maybe nod, and quickly agree to pretty much anything just to get the focus back off himself.

Because Derek was actually embarrassed by compliments.

This wasn't some theory Stiles pulled out of his ass, he had done a number of experiments.

He started small, continued with the offhanded, nice job and good alpha speech, working his way up to, your hair is styled to perfection and this is the softest blanket I’ve ever felt, good choice. For his efforts, he got the last doughnut, chose the restaurant for pack dinner three times in a row, and for some reason he now owned one of Derek’s sweaters. He still wasn’t sure exactly why, but it was too soft to give back so he wasn’t going to mention it.

He ran into a pack meeting half an hour late, but one wink and that blue looks good on you, and Derek's glare evaporated and he wouldn’t meet his eye for fifteen minutes.

He casually mentioned that Derek had the best facial hair in town and got the couch to himself.

Stiles called his eyes pretty and got to drive the Camaro.

It was a good thing no one else seemed to have caught on, because this was a weakness that could easily be exploited by someone with ulterior motives—probably had been in the past by a certain Argent. And as fun as it was to get him riled up with nice words, they couldn't exactly have an alpha who could be swayed in a negotiation anytime someone complimented his throw pillows, so obviously, Stiles had the remedy this.

With excessive compliments.

All the time.

Good job on this plan, Derek.

Whoa, you built that? It looks professional!

Did you make this, 'cause this is the best muffin I've ever tasted.

You beard looks especially regal today.

He let him have it with both barrels. Anytime he saw him for more than ten minutes, Derek left that interaction thoroughly complimented and thoroughly flustered...and it was thoroughly adorable.

Up until the moment he told Derek he had excellent posture and the tips of his ears turned pink, Stiles thought he knew what adorable meant—sleeping kittens, dogs reuniting with soldiers, Scott when he spilled drinks on himself, that kind of stuff.

But no. Adorable was Derek ducking his head while his ears practically glowed in the dark, and Stiles was quickly becoming addicted to the sight. He wanted to see that tiniest hint of a smile as often as he possibly could, wanted to see Derek eat pizza he actually liked, he wanted to feel the flutter in his stomach when Derek’s eyes briefly met his for the second before he quickly looked away.

(He also wanted to never acknowledge that his longstanding lust-crush was quickly descending into something much deeper and more concerning and harder to ignore.)

It became a habit; he noticed something good about Derek, he mentioned it, and reveled in the way the alpha’s ears burned. It maybe even became a little too easy to let compliments slip out, often at inappropriate times, mid-sentence, when Derek could do nothing but glare halfheartedly while trying to refocus on pack business.

It was almost second nature to toss out a quick did you change moisturizers, because your skin is glowing, or your pronunciation of archaic Latin is unreasonably attractive, and while Derek would glare and roll his eyes and his ears turned pink, he never once told him to stop. He never said thank you or acknowledged them in any way, but he never seemed to dislike them.

At least until he did acknowledge them with the worst timing ever.

Which was just so Derek.

“Hang on, I’ve got you,” Derek was saying, hovering over Stiles where he’d just been thrown by an honest-to-god manticore. That was a new one in Stiles’ life, as was blinking up at Derek looking honest to god terrified and trying to hide it behind his usual worried eyebrows. They were really nice eyebrows.

“You have really nice eyebrows,” Stiles slurred up at him.

“Now really isn’t the time for this,” Derek ground out, hunching over him to protect him from something big swooping down on them. He was always protecting Stiles. He even jumped in to catch him mid-throw and cushioned most of his fall.

“Always the time for this,” Stiles argued hazily, because of course he did. “That was a good job, good save. I’mma take you out for pasta.”

And Derek said okay to their first official-unofficial-depending-on-who-you-ask date.

And then the floodgates opened, because once Stiles started peeling back the last few prickly defensive layers of Derek Hale, every little thing he uncovered was his new favorite thing about him.

I love the way you burn your toast.

It's really adorable how crazy obsessive you are about organizing your bookshelves.

You literally have the softest hands in the world.

You make me so happy.

And if I could write smut this is where there would be a very emotional and tender praise kink sex scene full of love and Stiles whispering a slew of compliments into Derek's throat.

And you know Derek never asked him to stop or got angry because he could hear that Stiles’ heartbeat was honest and steady and that he actually meant all of his weird compliments.

[unsettledink]

(Part two of looking back at the fandoms I was in and the fics I wrote in 2020)

(Part one here.)

*

Most popular story:

    By Kudos (and comments), Seiche : By hits, Indefensible : On tumblr, Pocket Change

Story you wish was more successful:

    Well, that’s kind of the curse of writing rare pairs. I want anything with Tony/Quentin or Peter/Quentin to be more successful, lol. Defining the feeling of success in fandoms/pairings like that is tricky, because— do I wish they’d gotten more attention? Of course! Do I consider them fairly successful because they got any attention? Yeah, kinda.

Something like Intent got very little response, but considering the size and age of the fandom, it actually felt successful to get any response?

The entire Old Adages series I really wish had found an audience; I’m very fond of it, and it’s… softer than I usually write? The filthy smutty kinky stuff always outpreforms anything else, and that sort of thing feels easy for me. And I’m extrapolating a lot for young Quentin’s characterization, so I’m a little insecure about that as well.

Most "Holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story:

    You know, there are several stories I feel like should be that? But let’s be honest, considering what I’ve written in the past, they’re not that bad. 

    So I’m going to have to go with Creepy Crawly. I mean, I get squicked a little if I read it in the wrong mindset. SPIDERS D:

Hardest story to write:

    Causality. I just… could not quite connect somehow. I had the image in my head fine, but when I went to write it I felt pretty meh. I think I hadn’t done much (any?)Peter POV at that point, so that was a stretch. And I think I’d been spending so much time in the world of Gotcha that any other version of Peter/Quentin felt strange. I got it done, I have a sequel planned, but it was a struggle.

    No Lies was also tricky. I picked the prompt ‘make-up’ because I had this crystal clear mental image of someone kneeling, crying, makeup smeared all over them. But I didn’t know WHO. I tried so many pairings and characters, and even when I figured out that I really wanted that to be Tony… who with? Could I actually make Peter behaving that way believable?? Once I got it sorted out the writing was easy, but getting there - gah.

Easiest story to write:

    Indefensible was bizarre to write, because it literally just arrived in my brain in one giant chunk, complete, and I just had to transcribe it over a day or two. Very odd. 

    Pocket Change was much the same. The idea appeared and that first image of Tony holding the bill was just… there. The rest of it fell into place so easily as I went along.

Most fun story to write:

    Just a Bite was a lot of fun to write. It’s a topic I enjoy anyway, and I like trying to focus in on one element like that. Peter discovering a new thing he liiiiikes is always a ton of fun.

    11:59 was also surprisingly fun? Like— three characters that have interesting dialogue patterns, a slightly darker Tony, being able to indulge in nasty Quentin without him being quite a villain, the constant shifting of emotions for everyone in the room. Just so much going on in small ways. There are totally at least three more fics set in that universe. 

What’s your personal favorite thing you wrote this year?

    Tough call, but probably A Perfect Fit. Really, the entire insane little universe that’s expanding into. Definitely not something I would have expected at ALL back in January. 

What’s your least favorite thing you wrote this year?

    Maybe Can’t, Wont? Idk. I didn’t have a strong enough idea for the prompt to really make something of it, I guess. And writing Peter/Quentin is kind of difficult at the moment. It feels weird because I’ve spent so much time in the world of Gotcha that other takes on the characters are odd.

If you could go back and change something about one of the fics you wrote this year, what would it be?

    Probably Want What I Want. I knew what I wanted and I just couldn’t quite make it function. So I went with a slantwise version of it - which isn’t bad, but doesn’t have the focus I wanted it to. It felt like more of a twist on the prompt than I wanted. I’d like to go back and expand it out, dig into the specifics of the prompt a little more.

    And tbh, I got a comment on that very point. I’m normally really good about letting go of comments? But it was something I’d questioned myself, so it stuck more.

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters:

    (Just) Waiting Around? Maybe? As much as I love top/experienced!Peter, I had to sit down and figure out how I might be able to actually get him there, convince the reader that this was a Peter that current Peter could become. 

    And any of the Tony/Quentin fics. There’s not a lot given for Quentin in canon; taking those little bits and trying to follow them back to these younger version of Quentin was really interesting and difficult. How do I make this character the softer, more open, more vulnerable, less confident version of himself from 10/15 years ago, and still keep those sharper edges that will grow and take over? How do I make the reader believe both that this version could have existed and that version could actually become the canon one? 

Story that was most different from what you usually write:

    I mean, Relief? I’ve never written het before (and probably never will again, lol), but I wasn’t going to let the chance to write redwings pass me by. 

    In general, all the freaking ABO. Which I’d never written before this fandom, though I’ve read tons of it. Not something I really expected to write? And then suddenly I’m not just writing it, I can’t seem to stop. 

    Sustain felt pretty different, and it took me a moment to figure out why (don’t laugh at me!). I’ve never written straight up non-sexual kink before. Not just a kink scene that doesn’t have sex, but a kink scene that doesn’t even have the intention or desire for sex. Completely removing that additional layer of tension and complications is fascinating. I’m really interested in expanding that verse.

Most unintentionally telling story:

    Oh, other than Gotcha, lol? Um. I don’t know if any really are? Maybe Backhand, or Sustain. Hmm, maybe Getting Started, though it’s not finished. 

    Now I wonder what conclusions those have people drawing.

What’s your favorite piece of description or narration?

    Oh my god, what an impossible question. Uh. This is difficult because I… think of images in words? I feel very odd about the bits I picked, Idk. 

    It’s so small, and I don’t know if I captured it as well as it is in my head, but I come back to it so often:

Stark sits on the bed, and then seems to get lost, or distracted, not moving again until Phil pushes him gently towards the middle of the bed. He gets Stark curled up on his side, just a sliver of his back touching the sheets.

There's a chair against the wall that doesn't look too modern, so hopefully more comfortable than most of the monstrosities around here; Phil has a feeling he's going to be here a while, watching Stark come back up. He stands, about to walk away when there's a soft touch on his hand. He looks down.

Stark's arm is stretched out, his fingers just barely resting on the back of Phil's hand. He's looking up at Phil out of the corner of his eyes, head just barely turned towards him. It's a clear a request as anything spoken; stay.

"I'm not leaving," Phil tells him. "I'm not even leaving the room. I was just going to get a chair.'

There's a breath, a hesitation, Stark's hand not leaving his, and then it's gone, Stark dragging it back in, turning his face into the pillow. That was the wrong response, something about it was just... wrong.

"Stark," Phil says, leaning onto the bed. "Do you want me to stay here? On the bed? I wasn't sure you'd be comfortable with that." After all, this doesn't seem to be at all sexual for him.

Stark doesn't say anything—Phil's not entirely sure if he's nonverbal or not—but he turns his face back towards Phil a little. Doesn't quite look at him, and doesn't make a move; he's not going to ask again, not after what he obviously took as a rejection. His reactions are odd, not much like Phil had expected. 

    - Sustain

Or:

Beck gets Peter turned around, still kneeling but settled back against Beck's legs, leaning into it. "Toss me his shirt," he says, and Tony throws it at his face, Beck managing to catch it before it connects. Laughs, like this is fucking funny. He slips his hand into Peter's hair and tugs his head back a bit, wiping the come off his face.

"Take five, baby," Beck says, and Peter hums, resting his head on Beck's thigh and staring at Tony. Beck's petting him, hand sliding slowly though Peter's hair, and it's a fucking nightmare that Beck knows what that feels like and Tony doesn't. "You see?" Beck says. "He likes it a little rough. A lot rough, sometimes, so don't worry about hurting him. Don't worry when he cries," and Tony glares at him.

Beck's looking down at Peter, though, and then Tony is too. He's turning red again as Beck talks, but he's not denying anything, and not looking away from Tony.

Beck's hand trails down Peter's neck, hooks around the front and pulls him back; Peter's head tips back, exposing the whole of his throat to Beck's hand. "He's a little embarrassed by it," Beck says, "but he's an awfully sweet submissive too. Aren't you, honey?"

Peter looks up at him, his expression soft, open. "Yes, sir," he says, and Jesus Christ, Tony had no idea how much he wants Peter to say that to him. Peter likes it too, not just giving it lip service judging by the way his cock is getting hard again. Beck smiles.

"I'm going to miss you," he says. "You've been a lot of fun, baby." He looks up, catching Tony's eye, a smirk growing slowly on his face. "Guess I'd better make sure the last time makes up for it."

     - 11:59

What’s your favorite piece of dialogue you wrote this year?

I mean, I’m very fond of Hang Up, it’s like 85% dialogue.

Alternatively:

"Looks like you're finally ready to be fucked," Tony says. "Bets on if you'll come on my cock, or if I'll have to give you a reach around with this?" settling the gauntlet on Quentin's hip.

"No," Quentin says, shaking his head as much as he can manage, "no, no, Tony—"

Tony leans in, thighs pushing Quentin's legs apart, the head of his cock bumping up against Quentin's ass. "If you manage it just once without my hand," he whispers, ducking his head and rubbing his beard over Quentin's shoulder, "I'll fund every last thing you ask for."

"No," Quentin moans, because he can't.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Tony says. "I'll make sure you can."

    - Make Sure

Story with the single sexiest moment:

    AHHHHHHHHH fuck this is the hardest one. 

    Secondhand and Gift Wrapped both have some of the hottest moments, I think:

    Peter's so hard he can barely think, absolutely can't control the way his dick jumps in Quentin's hand. He doesn't want to hear about this, doesn't want to imagine Tony with Quentin at all. Doesn't want Quentin to stop.

Quentin kicks off his pants and then he's crawling up over Peter, staring down at him with that manic glint in his eyes that Peter knows well enough by now to worry about. "He fucked my face like that," Quentin says, watching him. "Kept babbling that shit and fucked my throat nearly raw. Can't you hear it, honey?" and Peter can, he can.

"Can't you imagine it?" Quentin asks, and Peter can.

    - Secondhand

And:

    Peter wants— he curls his fingers in Tony's hair and yanks, Tony's head hanging loosely from his hands. He looks wrecked, sweaty and his whole face is dark, his lips wet and red and puffy, all from Peter's cock. When he opens his eyes, it's like he's not even seeing Peter, completely lost in his own little world; he's stiffening slowly, his spine rounding and he tries to brace himself, his eyes going wider and his breath getting shorter and— and is he about to come, Peter wonders. Is he really going to come just like this, from being fucked like this?

He is, he totally fucking is because a moment later Tony stops breathing entirely, his head jerking hard against Peter's hold, his whole body jerking as he comes. He gasps, eyelashes fluttering, and Peter can feel Tony's come landing on his legs, holy shit.

Pepper eases her thrusts, sinking into Tony and just rocking against him while he comes. Waits until he's gone limp, sunk down even more between her hands and Peter's; "Peter," she says. "Get a good grip on him for me. He gets all wiggly afterwards and I'm not done."

    - Gift Wrapped

    But if it comes down to what is probably my favorite - 

    Peter had already been pretty out of it when Tony came back, already wound up and just existing, no thoughts and no worries, nothing but want and feeling and response. He’d already been awfully close to flying, and this— this drops him over the edge, completely. 

Some part of his head is aware of the way he’s thrusting up into Tony’s mouth, Tony taking it happily, drooling around him; is aware that Peter’s tossing his head back and forth, fighting against Rhodey’s tight grip on his hair, only making it worse with every yank. Is even a little aware that the others must be watching him, watching them, watching just like Rhodey’s looking down at him, Tony looking up, their gaze so heavy on Peter he can feel it, just like he can feel everything, every touch and every texture and every single spot his body is in contact with anything. Can feel everything, too much, overwhelming, amazing, and he doesn’t know if it’s that, or the pain of Rhodey’s grasp, or the wave crashing down on him as he comes that have him crying. Maybe it’s all of them, or maybe it’s just that he’s wanted like this, kept and held and wanted. 

Rhodey kisses him, gently, and Tony crawls up over him; kisses Rhodey and kisses Peter and Peter could stay just like this forever. He can see Tony’s mouth moving, talking to him, then Rhodey, then him again, but his head is full of nothing but static, white noise.

    - Flaunt

    (So, uh, what does it say that all of those are threesomes?)

*

Stories I haven't yet written, but intend to:

    SO MANY. Beyond the fics I’ve got going for other people and Gotcha, and the (hopefully) one off continuations of kinktober fics, I really want to focus on - 

    The rest of Deep End (I know it all exactly!)

    The sad AI Peter/Tony, real!Peter/Tony

    Branches of Aegis

    ONE of my longer ABO pieces. 

    Fluffuary & Kinktober, again. 

Fingers crossed. I don’t even want to think about how many more ideas will come creeping in.

[lavenderek]

Pls write about pining bestfriends Sterek. Please please please!

stiles dreams about him. he has dreams that center around entirely unrelated events, but derek is with him. he has dreams where derek is lost or in danger or taking off his shirt and pressing stiles against a wall. he has one particular dream that has him searching for derek through a very crowded space, the people getting closer and tighter together the farther he goes, until finally he finds derek and is pressed so close against him that he can’t move, and he is frantic wondering how he’s going to keep derek from noticing his hard-on, and he’s starting to lose his breath, and he wakes up having twisted himself onto his stomach with his face against a pillow and his arms trapped under himself. he has dreams in which derek leaves, in which derek comes back from a long absence, in which stiles leaves and no one notices but derek, in which he and derek have sex. and more often than not, he dreams that derek doesn’t want him.

of course he never mentions these dreams to derek. derek’s entire life has been pressure, someone pressuring him to do something, something pressuring him to do something else, and stiles emphatically will not pressure him to reassess his relationship with stiles unless and until he decides to of his own volition. (and besides. if derek turned him down, stiles is man enough to admit to himself that he honestly couldn’t take it.) he does, however, reach for his phone while he’s still reeling from whatever the latest torture it is that his brain has subjected him to, and typically he will find an article lydia has DMed him on twitter (always a fun and/or interesting article; god, but she gets him) and a text from derek. stiles is the only person derek texts - he doesn’t even really text cora - and if you think stiles doesn’t slow-boil himself in that fact constantly, every day of his life, you are wrong.

after work, stiles will sometimes go straight to derek’s apartment, where derek is never surprised to see him and for all his nasty attitude and dirty looks, stiles is always allowed inside. he goes to the couch and peruses what derek was doing before he showed up - an old, deckle-edged book with a fraying cover, or a documentary on the history of soda on tv, or an engine part on an old towel on the coffee table that derek is doing something to that involves a lot of black grease - and observes derek in his environment like attenborough or goodall. derek isn’t an avid cook because he doesn’t really like eating (”it’s a biological function”), but when he does make something (”i literally just threw everything in my fridge into a crockpot, stiles”) it’s amazing. derek enjoys reading (”stop touching my books”) and long walks (”did i invite you?”) and his cat (”if you keep picking her up, she’s going to scratch you, and you will deserve it”). derek doesn’t really like music (”oh... i guess i don’t. i never really thought about it”) and he always wears shoes and socks if he can, because he doesn’t like feet (”what? no”). derek is warm and smells good and on bad days, when stiles looks away from the game on tv and over at derek, one arm resting on the top of the couch, the desire to tip himself over and lean into him is strong enough that stiles feels it pulling sharply in his chest and the backs of his eyes. the longer this goes on, the lonelier stiles gets, and at night he starts bracketing himself into place in his bed with pillows: one on either side of him, so he can both hug something and get spooned. stiles never gets spooned anymore. he tries dating a few people in the hopes that he will end up getting spooned, and it never works out. it doesn’t help that stiles is in love with derek, a thing they always notice (which is disconcerting, considering derek never seems to).

lydia notices also, but she employs a policy of not asking about it: because she is busy and lacks the emotional capacity to take on stiles’ lovelorn misery, because stiles is an adult and doesn’t come whining to her for advice or sympathy, and because, frankly, it’s none of her business. derek and stiles interact so often that it’s hard not to acknowledge it, though, and lydia’s surprisingly bad at not acknowledging things when they’re right up in her grill. she points out that derek is the first person stiles talks to when he wakes up and the last person stiles talks to before he goes to sleep. she points out that he’s closer to derek than he is to scott (because he doesn’t generally have sex dreams about scott; if he did, he would contact scott about them immediately) and that he always finds one reason or another to not date anybody else. he’s busy, or he’s not “ready yet” (his last relationship that lasted longer than two months ended three years ago), or whatever and blah-blah, and she lays all of this out in a francesca’s, and he says, “fine. you got me. i love derek, and i’m not interested in anybody but derek, and i would rather live in petrified stasis than risk getting rejected by derek, because i love him. you got me. congratulations.” she hasn’t seen him looking so suddenly despondent in a long time, so she wordlessly selects a beaded pendant from a velvet display and lays it around his neck.

once, late at night, derek reaches over and takes stiles’ hand - not holding his hand, just looking at it, turning it palm up and looking at it, probably counting his fingers or something, stiles thinks. and derek traces his fingertip in stiles’ palm and says, “you have chains in your head line,” and stiles gets goose bumps. because derek knows a lot of things. they aren’t things that stiles thinks it’s normal to know. sometimes if they go to the drugstore to pick up stiles’ prescription and some pita chips, stiles will select a random vitamin supplement and feign curiosity and ask derek what it is, and derek almost always knows. “ginkgo?” he says irritably, distracted by the starter pack for alli. “it’s a tree. from china. you take it for dementia.” then he glances over at stiles. “you know that.” stiles does know that. he also knows it doesn’t work. stiles proffers another one. “that’s for cardiovascular disease, but don’t bother trying to buy it, because your dad is already on lipitor.” stiles puts it back. “stop dicking around so we can go. would you put that down? that’s for menopause. jesus christ.”

derek can pronounce stiles’ name. derek takes for-fucking-ever in the book store, to the point that stiles whines and complains whenever he suggests that they go to a book store, which, obviously, makes derek want to go to the book store even more. derek can do a pull-up as easily as stiles can pick up an empty gladware container. derek knows about seventy different uses for wolfsbane and is accustomed enough to its presence that he can and does go out to the preserve and wander around the skeleton of his house and thoughtfully pick a handful them like pollyanna. derek majored in history, and can sum up pretty much any historical event that took place before 1500.  derek is so unused to receiving presents that when stiles brings him things he looks like he’s short-circuiting for a minute - so stiles starts doing it all the time. and he gets really good at it, too, books derek will enjoy having, movies derek hasn’t seen, a navajo horsehair pot (”you can see the influence from other traditions,” he tells stiles, smiling a little), nice socks. derek is fluent in 38 languages, including mandarin, old norse, and six dialects of spanish, but he never speaks them. one time they went to san francisco to see a night game between the mets (stiles) and the giants (derek) (they are both orange!), and someone tried to mug them, and pointed a gun at stiles, and derek broke his wrist, and knocked him back against a lamppost and caused permanent brain damage. he said he was just in a bad mood. the scene replays in stiles’ mind repeatedly, the exact moment he saw derek snap, which happened to be immediately after the gun was directed at stiles.

derek has become a slow and methodical person in general, and an impulsive and violent person about ten percent of the time, and both parts of derek leave stiles sparking with desire. he wants to be in derek’s bed. he wants to give derek intense pleasure and show him exactly how grateful he is to derek, both for rescuing him from muggers (as if stiles has never disarmed someone with a gun before) and for taking him out for greek food in the middle of the night. he wants to see every part of derek. he wants derek to hold him down. he wants to get on his knees and take in every inch of this relationship. he never wants to leave derek’s apartment, but he does, because he doesn’t want derek to get sick of him; and he goes home and takes long showers. he can’t think straight when he’s horny, and after he comes he nearly collapses under the weight of how alone he is once he’s left derek’s apartment. he realizes one day that derek never reciprocates his giftgiving and it starts to occur to him that he’s reading a lot into things that simply don’t have the meaning he’s assigning them. derek probably lashed out at the mugger out of instinct. he’s probably just appreciative of the historic value of the postcard of the bünting cloverleaf map stiles got him.

stiles stops sleeping again, because he can’t. he’s up all night thinking about derek and about being mugged and about derek and about sinking into a filmy ether and losing his autonomy and about derek and about train stations and about derek. and he is up all day because he has work and then he wants to be awake in case derek wants to take him someplace or sends him a text. he passes out on derek’s couch one afternoon. he was only asleep for an hour or two, but he wakes up and feels unreasonably stupid. there derek is, next to him, dicking around on his phone. stiles’ phone is on the coffee table, too, and stiles has had the screen timeout shut off for over a year because he has to set down his phone when he gets interrupted at work and he hated the way the apps refreshed when he got the thing unlocked; so there it is, with a wikipedia article open on the screen, and if derek snooped through his phone he would find, in stiles’ notes, stiles’ dream journal, many of which heavily involve derek; but the phone is untouched, the wikipedia article open right there on it, on the line stiles was reading before he set his phone down. derek wouldn’t look through stiles’ phone. stiles might look through derek’s phone, because stiles is a bad person with poor impulse control, and derek wouldn’t look through stiles’ phone, because derek is a good person who is, in general, not curious about anything that didn’t take place in antiquity. stiles can trust derek with anything: his life, his potted cactus, his privacy. in fact, derek takes better care of the cactus than stiles does. of stiles’ life, too. stiles sits up and looks at derek, sleepy-eyed. derek rests his phone on his knee and looks back. he asks, “when was the last time you slept?”

“about forty-five seconds ago,” stiles answers.

“you’re being deliberately obtuse,” says derek. “if you stopped taking your prazosin again - “

stiles thinks it’s as a result of his sleep deprivation that he kisses derek: it’s like, for a second, stiles forgot they don’t do this. the realization doesn’t hit him suddenly: like drinking a glass of juice, he takes it in pull by pull. this isn’t normal, he thinks, derek probably doesn’t want this, he thinks, but he decides he can put off the reaction a little longer. he pulls back finally and can’t figure out if derek was kissing him back or not. but based on the furrow in derek’s brow when stiles opens his eyes, stiles can guess he was not. “oh,” he says. “oh, shit. i’m sorry.”

“you’re sorry?” parrots derek hoarsely.

“i’m sorry,” stiles says again, body finally twitching into motion, “i’m sorry, i’m s - “ he runs out of panicked speech and snatches up his phone and trips toward the door. he’s so inept that derek catches him before he makes it to the door. “i’m going i’m going,” he’s saying, “you don’t have to - i know, i get it, you don’t need to - “

“i don’t need to what, stiles?” asks derek. stiles pulls once, and derek doesn’t budge. the guy punched through a car door once, stiles was there. through it. “kiss you back? take you to bed?”

“reject me,” says stiles in a whoosh. “you don’t have to. i can infer it.”

“infer this,” says derek, which is a stupid line, and he kisses stiles so deep stiles feels his whole essence spin - and he’s pretty sure it’s not the prazosin, which he did not, in fact, stop taking. stiles hums helplessly, hangs on derek’s forearms when derek cups his face. ostensibly, the kiss ends, but stiles hovers in that space for as long as he can. then he opens his eyes and blinks something out of his vision. “sorry,” says derek when stiles looks at him again.

“you’re sorry?” parrots stiles hoarsely.

“i didn’t mean,” says derek haltingly, “to make you think i would reject you.”

“you knew,” stiles realizes.

derek admits, “sort of.” he lets go of stiles’ face, but not in a way where he’s stepping back and relinquishing him. there’s something warm and inviting there. “i wasn’t sure. i didn’t - i wanted some time,” he finally says, “to... live in it.” stiles blinks stupidly at him. “am i making sense?”

“not really,” says stiles, “but i still get it.”

“i do need to, actually,” derek tells him.

“need to what.”

“kiss you back,” derek says. “take you to bed.”

“ohhh, please,” says stiles, melting into him, getting back into that kiss-zone where he’s pretty sure he will build a house and live forever. he can already feel derek hot against him, and he wants it even more, in places he’s never felt anything before. “i’m gonna say it later,” he adds, between kisses, in derek’s bedroom as derek undoes his belt, “i’m gonna say it when you least expect it.”

“okay,” says derek.

much, much later, in bed, holding him down, derek tells him, “i don’t know if i can say it. but i’ll think it.”

“okay,” says stiles.

then he takes derek in. it’s better than his dreams. he never wakes up.

[swimintothesound]

Lil Pump Versus The Elderly: A Long and Storied History

Letter From the Editor: The writer of this piece would like to apologize in advance for the abject stupidity contained within the following wall of text. If you’re brave enough to subject yourself to the mania that’s about to unfold, then you have my admiration, gratitude, respect, and appreciation. Thank you for understanding, and may God have mercy on your soul.

Pumpology 101: The Mystifying Origins of Gazzy Garcia

Lil Pump is a dreadlocked 17-year old rapper from Florida who first began making waves in late 2016 when his song “D Rose” became an unexpected viral hit. Over the span of a few short months, the wrist-obsessed track had garnered millions of plays on Soundcloud and over one hundred million curious YouTube clicks. By the end of 2017, Lil Pump (whose real name is Gazzy Garcia) had established himself as a mainstream success when his song “Gucci Gang” peaked at #3 on the Billboard charts. Spawning from his self-titled debut, the alliterative hit quickly became the focal point of a heated debate on the declining state of rap music rap music, the ongoing idocratization of popular culture, and the bare minimum required to pass for lyricism in the year of our Lord 2017.

Expertly covered by both Rolling Stone and The New York Times, Mr. Pump has become a figure at the forefront of the budding “Soundcloud Rap” movement. This subgenre is a spin-off of Trap that’s focused on crafting a particular brand of blown-out, vapid, and repetitive hip-hop that, while lyrically substanceless, still manages to be catchy, memorable, and (most importantly) energetic. It’s hype-up music that’s been distilled so many times that words practically don’t matter.

I’ve already discussed my conflicted feelings on the genre back in August, and while some members of this scene are still objectively-horrific human beings, I’m willing to admit that I’ve come around to Lil Pump thanks to the catchiness of the aforementioned “Gucci Gang.” While the man himself should never be looked up to as an idol, Garcia is still making exciting creations within a field that I’m morbidly fascinated by.

The Lyrics (or Lack Thereof)

Like most rappers, Pump’s songs typically center around the same award-winning trifecta of drugs, money, and women. What makes “Gucci Gang” unique is the fact that it ticks all these boxes while also managing to be accessible to a mainstream audience. Soundcloud Rap’s previous biggest success came in the form of “Look At Me!,” a song whose lyrics are probably just a touch too edgy for mainstream audiences.

Meanwhile “Gucci Gang” has just the right mix of garish colors and catchy lyrics, both of which are accompanied by a distinct feeling of “newness” that helped it stand out from the crowd. Additionally, the song’s bouncy three-syllable chorus proved perfectly memeable, ripe for parody, and endlessly reworkable, all of which led to a song that hit, and lingered in the cultural consciousness for longer than anyone ever expected. Possibly even a reflection of our society at large, “Gucci Gang” is an undeniable success no matter how you cut it.

Outside of the song itself, Lilliam Pumpernickel has also gained fans through numerous extra-musical antics including second-floor balcony jumps, a love for iCarly’s Miranda Cosgrove, and a running joke that he’s a Harvard Graduate. Essentially, he’s not afraid to be a meme, and that lack of fear makes him even stronger. Complete with his own catchphrase, there are many reasons to be entertained by Lil Pump, and all of these elements combined help explain his meteoric rise to success.

The Emergence of an Astronomical Happening

Though my numerous listens to “Gucci Gang,” I began to approach the song the same way that many others did: first with curiosity, then ironic enjoyment, then genuine adoration. I can’t stress enough that the lyrics are nothing to write home about, however one stanza in particular stands out amongst the rest like a bright, shining star:

My lean cost more than your rent, ooh (it do)

Your momma still live in a tent, yuh (brr)

Still slangin' dope in the 'jects, huh? (yeah)

Me and my grandma take meds, ooh (huh?)

These bars initially seemed like a single metaphysical barb amongst a sea of relatively-straightforward brags and boasts, so I explained them away as a one-off lyric with no deeper significance. Unbeknownst to me at the time, this line was just the tip of the iceberg.

By the time December had rolled around, “Gucci Gang” had won the honor(?) of being recognized not once, but twice in Swim Into The Sound’s 2017 Un-Awards. While part of a largely-negative post, I shined a relatively-positive light on “Gucci Gang” as my second-biggest “WTF” moment of the year (second only to Bhad Bhabie) in which I found myself surprisingly endeared to both equally-trashy artists. Later on in the proceedings, I cited the lyrics above specifically as the single “Weirdest Flex” of 2017 (barely edging out a Drake lyric about napping).

In researching the Pump-penned lines for that write-up I found myself jumping between various Genius pages and in doing so, I quickly began to uncover a conspiracy deep as the Carly Rae Jepsen Cinematic Universe: Lil Pump has an unshakable fixation with the elderly.

The Quest For A Universal Truth

It’s no secret that artists tend to use the same concepts, thoughts, and ideas over and over again throughout their work. Usually in hip-hop, these recurring topics (like drugs, money, and women for instance) are framed by using twists on conventional language that are given new meanings within the scene’s culture. From “bricks” to “bands” to “bitches” every possible theme has dozens of different synonyms that can be switched out interchangeably to keep the rhyme fresh and the topic from going stale.

However, slang goes in and out of popular vernacular like the tides of the ocean, and Monsieur Pump is not above these familiar tropes. While drugs, money, and women remain the primary topics around which Pump waves his tales, he, on more than one occasion, has used his grandma, or the grandmother of the listener as a reference point for these interests.

Of course he likes lean, and naturally, he talks about it, but what makes Pump unique is his ability to relate that commonplace idea to the elderly in a hilarious and unexpected way. He’s using age as a barometer by which to measure his own life; the elderly representing an extreme through which he can cover these well-trodden topics.

It’s quite the signature flair for a 17-year-old to brandish, but perhaps through these lines he’s revealing his own obsession with death and mortality. Maybe these grandparent-based lyrics are allowing us a brief peek into the inner machinations of Lil Pump’s mind and we are learning what troubles him on a deep, cosmic, existential level. The philosophical reaper that keeps him up at night. These lines act as an illumination of the human experience as told through the grounded eyes of one man who yells “ESKETIT” like it’s his Pokemon name. What follows is a comprehensive list of every time Little Pump has rapped about senior citizens. You are welcome.

Exhibit #1 - “Gucci Gang”

My lean cost more than your rent, ooh (it do)

Your momma still live in a tent, yuh (brr)

Still slangin' dope in the 'jects, huh? (yeah)

Me and my grandma take meds, ooh (huh?)

For the sake of completeness, we’ll begin with lyrics that started it all. The quote above comprises exactly 25% of the sole verse found on Lil Pump’s breakout hit “Gucci Gang.” In it we find Pump surveying his surroundings, living situation, and pattern of systematic drug use over a bassy beat and twinkling piano line.

First, we get the worrying comparison between the upkeep of his own opiate addiction to monthly rent, then the (uncalled for) implication that the listener’s mother is homeless, and the final cherry on top: the fact that Pump spends quality time popping pills with his grandmother. While the specifics remain vague here, it’s implied that he’s taking drugs recreationally while she is taking them for health reasons.

This being one of Pump’s numerous references to the elderly, the topic’s pervasiveness now leads me to believe that this is both a genuine lyric, as well as a thinly-veiled cry for help. As distressing as the lyric may be, at least he’s spending some quality time with his elders before they pass. Even if it’s a drug-fueled haze, I hope that both parties treasure their remaining time together and cherish each other's company.

Exhibit #2 - “Fiji”

I got Fiji on my neck

I got Gucci on my chest

And my grandma sippin' Tech

Off a Xan like Ron Artes

In this one-off Lil Pump loosie, Young Gazzy uses the artesian water brand as a descriptor for both his jewelry and his sex life. Following a similar structure as “Gucci Gang,” this track features a brief intro, and one verse sandwiched between two short choruses. Clocking in at a mere 88-seconds, “Fiji” is a striking minimalist creation that embraces reductionism and revels in ambiguity.

Within the world of hip-hop, “Water” can actually mean many things. From sex to swagger, the use of ‘water’ in-song is generally something you have to pick up from context clues, and this track is no different. In “Fiji” Pump walks a beautifully-ambiguous line between these typical definitions of earthly possessions and literal water, turning the brand’s name into a primal chant of “I pour Fiji on her neck.”

After a brief water-laced refrain, Pump proceeds into the meat of the song: a 45-word verse that discusses his public persona and ticks all of the seemingly-mandatory drug-based name-drops. He has jewelry on his neck, a Gucci logo tattooed on his chest, and most importantly the incongruous mention of his grandmother casually enjoying some hitech (aka Lean).

Perhaps elaborating on the lines of “Gucci Gang,” this lyric implies that maybe he and his grandmother both enjoy drugs on the same recreational level. Later on in the song he continues:

Slice your auntie in the neck

Lil Pump disrespect

Run up on you with that 40

Grab your grandma by the neck

After the verses earlier drug revelry, Pump seems to “set his sights” on the listener, attacking us via multiple familial ties. In a single moment of clarity he utters “Lil Pump disrespect” as if he knows what he’s doing is morally reprehensible, but remains out of his control. A haunting sentiment to say the least.

His hunger is insatiable, and your grandmother is his target. Violence is the only thing he understands, and your grandmother is the only thing he can grasp onto, both physically and metaphorically. And then, just as suddenly as the attack unfolded, the song fades into nothing, leaving the listener in the bloody aftermath.

Exhibit #3 - “Smoke My Dope”

Whippin' up dope in the trap spot (what)

Sellin' cocaine to your grandma (yuh)

Whippin' up dope in the trap spot (yuh, yuh)

Sellin' cocaine to your grandma (yuh, yuh, yuh, yuh)

In this early-album cut Lil Pump and fellow Florida rapper SmokePurpp trade verses for a compact and chaotic 2-minutes. In Garcia’s second verse he exerts himself enough to present one specific instance of creating and selling drugs over a series of escalating “yuh’s.”

In this simplistic portrayal of Pump’s supply chain, he gives his process away to the listener:

Whip up an indeterminate amount of “dope” within the “trap”

Proceed to sell that cocaine to the listener’s grandmother

Perhaps connected to the seemingly-uncalled-for violence depicted on “Fiji,” these lines seem to explain how Pump has obtained his wealth. I imagine that the elderly are comparatively easy-going when it comes to the purchase and intake of drugs, so it’s presumably easy money for Pump and a decent enough business model. Backed up by voracious twitter claims that echo the song’s lyrics, Pump has given us no reason to doubt him or his business acumen when it comes to selling the white stuff to the Greatest Generation.

Exhibit #4 - “Had”

My loud pack smell like fish tank

My backwoods filled with dumb stank

I can't fuck with you, cause I know all you ni**as stains

My grandma selling loud pack and she selling cocaine

She run up on your block and she'll shoot you in the fuckin' brain

With “Had” it seems that there’s a new wrinkle to Pump’s drug operation as it’s revealed that he’s running a family business by employing his grandmother as a key player.

Depicting his bubbe as savage and violent as himself, this example could possibly explain Pump’s own outwardly-destructive actions as a learned behavior. In portraying a systematic issue within our society, this line directly tackles how family can fail us, or lead us to repeat the same mistakes as those that came before us. It’s a tortured and agonized call for help as Pump removes himself enough to realize the trauma that he has indirectly absorbed and the conditions that he has had no choice but to grow up in.

This all said, it’s still nice that people like Pump’s grandmother can find purpose in the fast-paced working world and be driven by the fulfillment of a hard days work. The fact that she’s willing to kill on top of the drug dealing means that she’s committed to the cause, and is likely quite experienced, even in her old age. At the very least, Pump must come from good genes!

Exhibit #5 - “At The Door”

I got junkies at the door

I could serve you 2 for 4

I could serve you couple Xans

I could feed your bitch some coke

Yeah my Uzi automatic

Make your grandma do a backflip

On this mid-album cut, we see yet another allusion to the violence that Pump has inflicted upon the listener’s grandmother specifically. Perhaps wielded by Pump himself, or maybe even his grandmother (as we saw in “Had), it appears as if the drug dealing illustrated on “Smoke my Dope” has gone sideways for one reason or another, and Pump has been forced to resort to violence.

This line is actually one of the multiple familial references within this verse, the others being father, daughter, and aunt, so while this reference fits squarely in the bounds of the topic at hand, there’s no getting around the persistently-elderly angle that Pump takes.

This is yet another line later echoed in a Tweet by Pump, either lending further credence to his unfeeling savagery, or (perhaps) his commitment to our society’s collective physical fitness by inspiring the elderly to do advanced-level gymnastics.

In Conclusion

None of this was good. While Pump’s initial references to the elderly seemed to be a twisted form of mutual enjoyment, things quickly devolved into selling drugs, and eventually inflicting violence directly on the listener's grandmother.

This analysis is absolute stupidity, but I find it too amusing that a 17-year-old who has so few songs officially released has referenced the elderly half a dozen times throughout the history of his recorded work. The way I see it, there are a few explanations for this lyrical ouroboros:

It’s a creative crutch.

Lil Pump has that little to say that he keeps defaulting to “grandma.”

Deep-seated familial trauma in his own past that Pump may or may not be cognizant of.

Pump thinks that the savagery of his grandma implies, dictates, and directly translates to his own.

By “attacking” the listener and showing disregard for their loved ones, his devil-may-care attitude is preemptively deflecting any criticism they may have of Pump or his music.

Lil Pump truly does fear the uncertainty of death and projects that concern through the multiple references to the elderly in his music. 

It very well could be all or any combination of all of these, but in any case, I feel it’s safe to say that this qualifies as an unhealthy fixation. Whether it’s a profound fear of death, a thinly-veiled attempt to address his own mortality, or irreconcilable childhood trauma, I genuinely hope that Gazzy Garcia can get the help he needs to get over this mental block.

He’s still got many years ahead of him, and a full life to live. If he wants to make it to the status of “Grandpa Pump” he’ll have to overcome this irrational fear and tackle his issues head-on, or else they will continue to emerge in unhealthy ways.

Here’s to you Mr. Pump, I hope you get the help you need and deserve.

I’m sorry for writing this.

[gothify1]

In John Green’s seminal work of sad teen fiction The Fault in Our Stars , he writes a particularly apt description of the onset of young love: “I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.” Cutesy? Yes. Realistic? Also yes, but so too is the reverse, the erosion of love that slowly eats away at you over time without you really even noticing. Imagine going to yet another weekly brunch with your S.O. and inquiring about their huevos rancheros, only to be met with an abrupt and devastating declaration: “I don’t love you anymore!” (Talk about all at once.) This earthquake of a wake-up call hits Jules, Kat Dennings’s character in the new Margot Robbie –helmed Hulu comedy Dollface , within the first 30 seconds of the pilot. It’s clear from the get-go that she’s going to be in for a bumpy ride of finding herself and her place among her friends post-breakup. Dollface is the endlessly amusing gift that results when Haruki Murakami–style magical realism meets the Millennial Pink, Goop-ed world of today. (The first person Jules encounters after her brunchtime breakup is a literal Cat Lady—Beth Grant in CGI cat face, whom Dennings calls “an absolute legend.”) Think a more bubblegum Sex and the City but 10 years younger and in L.A.—with cats, dreamlike interludes, a Gucci belt in a silverware drawer, and, of course, a formidable girl gang: Dennings, the heartbroken-ish leading lady, alongside her estranged besties, played by Shay Mitchell and Brenda Song, and a co-worker turned confidant, portrayed by Esther Povitsky. All of them are scene stealers at one point or another. While looking for a unique project, Dennings got the Dollface script from LuckyChap, Margot Robbie’s production company. Naturally, “If Robbie gives you something, you just say yes to it,” she confesses, so she signed up to star and be an executive producer. Plus, Dennings saw the potential in the show, which gave her a chance to play a character different from herself and the previous roles she’s had (notably, as Max in CBS’s 2 Broke Girls ). Post-breakup, her character, Jules, struggles with finding her way back to her friend group, which she neglected during her relationship with her ex. Losing touch with friends is a universal result of aging and occasionally an unfortunate side effect of being in a relationship—people get married , move away, have kids, become vegan; it’s something Dennings relates to on a personal level. “I’ve been a career girl and been really focused, and all of a sudden I’m like Where did everybody go? ” she says. “My closest friends are all over the map. My best pal has two kids now and is married. And it’s still the same person, the same love, but you just stand there and you’re like Did I just miss all the things? ” On the flip side, friendship was easy to come by on the set of the show, and Dennings had no trouble establishing a rapport with the rest of the cast. “There’s no better friendship environment than working on a set together because you’re basically at sleepaway camp,” she tells me. “You start at the crack of dawn, you get ready together, you get coffee together, you eat your breakfast together, you huddle in your little set, you find your little space. It was kind of magical in that way because the four of us got very close.” That closeness supports the characters in their various struggles—Jules’s struggle to show her friends she appreciates them, the group’s struggle to find its footing, everyone’s struggle to identify what feminism means in 2019. (Keep your eyes peeled for episode nine; it’s special.) According to Dennings, “It felt very emotional because there’s so much love there. I think viewers will feel that.” Throughout the series, Jules’s particular struggle gets lessened somewhat by her fairy cat mother, the Cat Lady, who takes a staid old stereotype and flips it on its reductive head. Benevolent and hilarious, the Cat Lady magically pops up to zap Jules out of many an inward spiral, dispensing advice and necessary reality checks along the way.  “I really liked calling her the Cat Lady because what it begins as is a culmination of Jules’s worst fears, which is like ‘Oh, society says if I don’t do this and this by this time, I’m going to be an old crazy cat lady,’” Dennings says. “We’re all told this, and it’s so ridiculous when you think about it. I don’t know, I have a cat, and she’s the best. What’s wrong with being a lady who has a cat?” (For the record, Dennings’s cat, Millie , is adorable.) “It starts there, but it becomes more of a symbol of strength and independence,” she continues. The Cat Lady is something Dennings would like to explore more in the show, and as executive producer—aka she has a hand in casting, show notes, and production meetings—she has the power to help steer the show in that direction. “I had a decent amount to contribute from my experience,” Dennings says of her EP role, “but then I enjoyed sitting back and learning from other departments when I hadn’t dealt with something before. I also wanted to be an ally for the actors, to make sure they knew they could come to me with anything and everything.” She also literally gave the show its name. An ex used to call her dollface, which she never liked, but she did think it could make for a punchy title for the series. Clearly, she’s got good instincts. Dennings was also heavily involved in her wardrobe and collaborated with Costume Director Ernesto Martinez on paring back Jules’s looks. “I had to kind of fight against the fashion aspect for Jules a little bit,” she says. “The temptation with a show with four female leads is to really have fun with it, which is so great and definitely works for Brenda’s character and Shay’s character, but for Jules, I didn’t want her to seem extremely confident at work and at life.” However , there is a monochromatic maroon moment in episode three (above) where Jules is in head-to-toe Norma Kamali that’s very F/W 19 , and we should all take notes—just saying. And she may or may not have also worn a dangerously sheer floral D&G top that I wanted to snatch right off the screen. Day to day, Dennings herself is more of a black-Amazon-leggings kind of girl—aren’t we all? “I really honestly wear black leggings from Amazon every single day,” she confesses. “I got inspired by that fashion lady with the glasses—Jenna Lyons. She’s a fantastic woman who wears black leggings and a blazer and her glasses and loafers, and she always wears some version of it and looks amazing. I was like, I’m going to be like that. ” Maybe one day she’ll wear one of the hats she’s knitted lately too; it’s a hobby that doubles as stress relief (one she and Song share; they used to be neighbors and go to yarn shops together). “Knitting is one of those things where it keeps my hands busy and my mind busy, so it’s definitely a calming thing for me. At times I just need to make a scarf that just has one kind of a stitch so I can zone out,” Dennings confides. She gets way more into beauty, to tell you the truth, and couldn’t say enough good things about the makeup looks Dollface makeup artist Mary Klimek created for her. “We had a lot of really exciting lip looks in the show,” Dennings exclaims. “One was Lime Crime in Red Velvet. That was one I wore in the Christmas episode; it’s a great red liquid lipstick. Then we mixed a lot of Rituelle de Fille. We used Rituelle de Fille in almost every single episode. My makeup artist, Mary Klimek , loves to combine shades. It was two to three per look, but we used pretty much any Rituelle de Fille. The brand is pretty awesome. I’m going to preach for it all day. It also has a balmy hydrator that we used every episode as well.” Personally, I can’t wait for season two of Dollface —the more explorations of female friendships the better, I say. Dennings is hopeful too, but for now, she’s concentrating on her next project for Disney+, WandaVision . “I am not allowed to say a damn thing—I signed 700 NDAs,” she laughs. “But I’m very excited!” Same, girl. Dollface premieres on Hulu on Friday, November 15. Next up: Kat Dennings’s Dollface co-star Shay Mitchell is a master traveler and shares her packing tips .

[spotlightsaga]

Kevin Cage of @spotlightsaga reviews… Untucked (S09E06) Snatch Game Airdate: April 29, 2017 @wowreport Ratings: 593,000+ on @youtube as of 6/15/17 Score: 8/10

**********SPOILERS BELLW**********

I made a specific contestant a promise I would go ahead and watch Untucked to not only highlight the juxtaposition of my styles of writing when it comes the two totally different series (one competition, one what’s morphed into a show of spirit and sense of community), but also because Drag Race is simply a tough one for me to review. I have a lot of respect for everyone that comes on the show and demonstrates that ‘fire’, and I get caught up in trying to both critique ‘Drag Race’ as the competition style calls for and pad my blunt critiques with humor that can be sometimes taken the wrong way. Last week’s 'Untucked’, I focused heavily on Nina, I recognized a pattern, certain tendencies, withdrawing fro. The group, and a look of the eyes that I know all too well because I myself have battled depression, addiction, dependency, a slew of shit (as most of us have) and had to figure out how to maneuver life without throwing up too many buckets of water on myself when I start to get white hot. It’s not easy, but for some people it is… And sometimes those very people want to say, 'Get over it’, 'Suck it up’, or write you off… Depression, self doubt, all these things that plague us in the cycle of the human condition are not something you can just wipe off the mirror like lipstick… But I see you Queens struggling with that too, so…

We start this 'Untucked’ off with a bit of fun, the same fun we aren’t exactly seeing translate to VH1 on the 'Main Stage’… Then again VH1 was the network that picked Wendy Williams to host the between breaks 'Viewing Party’. Just ask our buddy Jonny McGovern & his friend Erickatoure why that’s not the best move… Better yet just go subscribe to his channel on YouTube. 'Hey Qween’ is literally just waiting for you, calling your name, just sitting on YouTube Red’s digital shelf waiting for you to watch until your eyes turn glossy & red, leaving you pupils dilated to the size of mega saucers… And when you finally emerge from your house everyone will assume your either a tweaker or from Wilton Manors.

Apparently Trinity Taylor, God Bless her Floridian soul, has never seen 'Bad Girls Club’ or been the only white girl in the room… As she has no clue what 'edges’ are. I can’t tell you why this is so damn funny to me, maybe it’s Shea’s earnest and surprisingly highly detailed & accurate attempt at educating Trinity on the matter (This is emerging as Shea’s specialty, not the history and extensive knowledge of edges, but breaking things down in articulate manner that anyone can follow - plus she’s talent personified)… Maybe it’s Valentina’s adorably juvenile delivery of the line she delivers to Trinity explaining to her that she has her own form of edges, 'that black spray stuff you be spraying, DUH!’ But as god as my witness, there are simply no words to describe the laughter this scene inspires!

Trinity still doesn’t get it, she’s 'from the south’ she says we don’t use words like 'Edges’… Tho, again, I’m gonna have to break something down… South Florida and even parts of Central Florida aren’t really the south. Consider us more of the North Caribbean, hell we aren’t even really a part of the United States, thats just what it looks like on the map so everyone including your parents and teachers have told you so. But yeah, 'edges’ are most definitely still a word down here in the 'North Carribean’. Valentina’s adorableness continues… Her Hispanic background leads her to really appreciate Trinity’s astonishing ability to be 'so evil and so nice at the same time’. See, that’s how we do it here in South & Central FL… We love you, but we simply don’t have time to dance around your feelings. We’ll give you the shirt off of our backs then have you lay down in a mud puddle so we can walk over you. I’m kidding, of course. We’d obviously pick you you up and give you a peck on the cheek, dust off the mud and take our fn’ shirt back. It’s just the way the bottom half of Florida works, and that’s why I 'get’ and love Trinity Taylor so very much. Now that we got some proper Florida representation, maybe S10 we can get South Florida’s legendary 'Daisy Deadpetals’ finally on this show! Ru, please?

Enter the tops and the bottoms… Tho Alexis clearly states, 'This top is versatile.’ Told you, Alex, we could have so much fun. Tho for me it’s always much more about the passion and connection than it is about the final act. We’re getting way off topic. Sasha and Alexis go back and forth telling the others how much the judges praised each other… There is a deep respect between the two and though I absolutely loved Sasha’s 'Marlene Dietrich’ and did pad my opinion with a bit of comedy on the 'Main Stage’ review… I do want to set the record straight and say Alexis’s Liza was most definitely a highlight. Seeing the top two sit across from each other with their dignified 'Northern Poise’ is quite the scene… And Alexis’s shape from the side is nothing short of astounding. If the hair was different and the dress were pants, it would be spot on to my favorite Madonna… 'Bedtime Stories’ Madonna, particularly 'Human Nature’. Either way, I love it and for some reason Sasha’s poise is so proper I can’t help but keep rolling the word 'Yankee’ through my head… I don’t know how to interpret that for you, but I have it on pause and can’t stop laughing.

With VH1 taking the show in such a vastly different direction, I can’t say how much I appreciate this 'Untucked’ enough. Alexis, Shea, and Sasha look to immediately focus on Nina who needs a bit of love after the strange exploitation of her depression reared its ugly head the episode before last of 'Drag Race’. It’s clear Nina is feeling a bit better at this point but those kinds of battles are never over. These three obviously are aware of that and I want to show love to all three of them, particularly Shea who goes the extra mile for her and really tries to continue to hammer things back into perspective for Nina. This is the 'Drag Race’ I want to see. People have criticized the show for being too 'best friend race’ as they have with Slice’s RHOT… But we do enough of beating each other down, especially when you are in a high pressure situation constantly trying to squeeze every last drop of creativity that you can for the next challenge and the next and being paraded around on a runway and criticized, by both the judges and the world… I’m happy to see (however you want put this) the brotherly/sisterly… Straight up human empathy shining under the bright stage lights of television.

The bottoms… Peppermint, Cynthia Lee Fontaine, and Farrah Moan speak next. Peppermint is frustrated that she nailed Brittany in a prior challenge, but couldn’t nail Nene Leakes. It’s much different when you are given a character with lines & direction than when you literally have to create one from scratch… Then again, everyone knows 'Snatch Games’ is coming, so they really do need to be prepared. Farrah looks stunning, and is clearly saved by her fantastic runway look, I’m still curious as to who Gigi was or why anyone would care… Then again I’m in my 30’s and an ex-athlete, Ginger Cub who thinks the thicker the better… Im not scouring the internet for makeup tips. Either way, Farrah is just very young for this competition. Bring her back in 5-10 years and she’d be a massive threat. Her talent is there, it just needs a few years of experience before she can really show what she’s made of.

I often find myself very frustrated with Cynthia Lee Fontaine. This is a competition, I want to see the best of the best battle it out. This is Cynthia’s second time on the show and she’s screwing up essential Drag Race portions of the show… But here, she’s just so defeated, but she instantly goes through a horde of emotions within 2 seconds and is all the sudden firing herself back up with her own words, and it melts me. Despite any critiques I give as a judge would in my reviews of the 'Main Stage’, I’m a softie on the inside and nobody does Cynthia like Cynthia Lee Fontaine. I just don’t think a 2nd stent on 'Drag Race’ was in order, but there is something about that fighting spirit Cynthia displays that I feel needs to be seen, not just by this younger generation, but by everyone. Alexis takes note and proposes a toast, “L'chaim”, bitches!

World Of Wonder, come through! If VH1 has the producers focusing on the negative, then WOW always has their own freedom with 'Untucked’ to make up for that… And they do. Our girl Nina needed this video message from her mother, and that soft, loving, and tender look Nina shoots the screen that you can see if you pause the show right at 13:49 is all I needed and wanted for Nina. Keep pushing, girl… And listen to Shea! That’s a true friend, and there aren’t that many of those in the world. Like I keep saying, you can always tell who the strongest men and women in the room are… They are the ones lifting everyone up, instead of tearing them all apart.

Before I close out yet another long-winded love letter to World Of Wonder’s 'Untucked’ and all the contestants in this show… As I’ve explained in the past, I’ve always had an extremely tough time with the gay community. I sold myself at Johnny’s in Ft Lauderdale for years and nearly destroyed myself after my Aunt (who was like my sister) took her own life. My past experiences made it difficult for me to separate sex and shame, I will not point fingers as to why, but I’ve opened up about it in other reviews and will continue to do so as I sort it out as I go along. My critiques for the main stage of 'Drag Race’ are always difficult to navigate. I have a deep respect for the art form and contestants of Drag Race from Jaymes Mansfield to Nina BoNina Brown to Alexis Michelle and everyone in between, but like Trinity Taylor I try to tell it like it is from a loving place. I enjoy writing about the show. I enjoy watching the show. And if I’ve ever offended a contestant or said something that crossed a line or was taken the wrong way, I apologize. I fight to kind of hold onto the gay community in a weird way through this show, because my experiences with said community have been mainly negative in real life… Whether I was selling myself on stage at Johnny’s or Boardwalk… Or being introduced to methamphetamine at an early age.

I write because it’s my passion, and I’m starting to make a nice living at it and turning my dreams into reality. I said something in my last review of 'Drag Race’ and attempted to pad it with humor and the person who it affected respectfully came to me and talked to me about it directly. I appreciate that… And I think we were both able to see where each other were coming from and hopefully a friendship will come of it. But then this morning I wake up to death threats, 'kill yourself’, and a variety of hate speech from a community that I’ve never been able to find that true piece of love and acceptance I needed… One that for some reason is the hardest on me than any other community or subject I write on. I’m not over here crying about it, but all that nastiness will get you blocked real quick. My Spotlight Saga project, which is growing fast, and I’m happy to tell you all is being built into an online magazine slowly but surely - as well as a place where people can share perspectives to open hearts, minds, mouths, and ears, is my baby and I will fight for it till the end of time. There’s nothing in this world that I do half assed, my momma sure of that. So show love, address each other with respect, and fools… Don’t come at me crazy, cuz I’m not throwing the towel in anytime soon.

[squishylotus]

Distances Plot Pre-Draft

I thought you might find it funny to read the pre-draft for Distances. Basically, it’s plot points, dialogue bits, and notes to self. It’s step 2 of my writing process (which I can write about if you’re interested, let me know) I literally just copy-pasted it in so it has all the typos all the weird stuff, and the old order (I ended up changing a fair amount of stuff as I was writing) I knew it would end up being a longer fic than I had intended (I was aiming for about 7,000?) because just the plot is over 2,000 words long lol

Alright here we go!

Plot to the bokuaka story in your sketchbook that is literally fading away:

Akaashi CK bokuaka with background iwaoi and maybe matsuhana

Bokuto is at a resort in Hawaii with the Japanese Volleyball team following a difficult training camp Akaashi is the drop dead gorgeous guy that Bokuto gets a huge crush on They find out they live relatively close to each other back in Japan The volleyball team gets on Bokuto's case, particularly Oikawa but that's because he's deflecting

DAY 1 OF 8

Akaashi's stay is 2 weeks long, it's the beginning of his second week when the volleyball team arrives for their 1 week vacation (that Oikawa surprise booked for them as team captain) Bokuto first sees him at the beach when the team is at the beach bar after unpacking their suitcases He can't say shit, he just openly stares. Akaashi probably sees him but doesn't really think about it or make it obvious. Oikawa teases Bokuto plenty. He doesn't see him for the rest of the day

DAY 2 OF 8

Next he sees him at the pool. Akaashi is an excellent swimmer. Insert classic ladder scene at the foot of Bokuto's chair. He shakes his hair and some of the water lands on Bokuto and he mutters a quiet sorry before walking away and Bokuto is like. Oh. I. I gotta. I have to say something (but he cant yet lol) He pesters a few people around him and someone from the team gives him a line in spanish and like. they're in hawaii and he's p sure akaashi's shirt label was in Japanese but he's not creepy, okay? He's gonna make this work!

DAY 3 OF 8

They finally talk at breakfast the next day, Bokuto is a super early riser so he's usually the first one there but some guys from the team wanted to go for a run around the resort so he's there at more normal human hours today and there! he! is! Bokuto gets to use his line. Akaashi is flattered (he goes to resorts every year, knows a lil bit of spanish for it) They are at the breakfast buffet on either side of it, bond over a love of breakfast meats, share tips. Bokuto gets called over by his team who cant see that he's finally talking to his crush. Bokuto quickly says  'lets meet on the beach later!!' Akaashi smiles a small but powerful!! smile and goes with his plate to sit outside. Bokuto takes that as a yes, has to like fan himself for a minute before sitting with the team and telling them everything.

Akaashi goes to the beach, gets a drink and wanders around. He walks with his feet in the water away from the resort, and walks back when he realizes Bokuto won't be in that direction. Upon his return, he sees a group at the volleyball net, Bokuto included. He walks over calmly. They take off their overshirts to reveal matching volleyball jerseys for the Japanese national team (because theyre fuckin extra like that, and a few of them think it'll help them score. It probably does tbh) They want to play 6 on 6 but they're missing a setter (the entire team isnt here, just the people who wanted to come. People like Kageyama and Ushijima stayed behind to practice more, thinking this trip was a waste of time)

Makki is about to volunteer to do it when Akaashi (who approached without any of them noticing) speaks up. 'I'm a setter' or 'I can set' Bokuto is over the moon!!! The team is trying to be good about it but they clearly have doubts. They basically divide the team in who wants to be set to by Oikawa and who wants the challenge of someone they think won't be very good. (so like Yaku is playing as a wing spiker on Akaashi's side even though he's the libero because otherwise they'll still be one person short) They divide into shirts/skins and Bokuto wants to volunteer their side for skins because ulterior motives, but he's halfway through his exclamation and the other side is already stripped. They're doing this to make sure Akaashi is comfortable but Akaashi kind of just rolls his eyes (unseen by anyone but Bokuto, which signals to Bokuto that Akaashi is comfortable with his body, which is a good thing for Bokuto to know)

So of course Akaashi sets brilliantly. The surprise factor for the other side, along with how great Bokuto and Akaashi suddenly work together, is enough to make them win a set, and by then the other side is already getting a sunburn so they stop. Oikawa marches to the net and demands to know Akaashi's play history. Akaashi calmly states that he played for Shinzen and Bokuto went to Fukurodani? They're very impressed because it's hard to set for so many synchronized attacks. Akaashi is in the team's inner circle now basically. They invite him to join them for supper (to help Bokuto and his massive crush out especially)

Subplot Time!!

So far Oikawa has seemed pretty distracted except for when they were playing volleyball. He keeps looking around like he's searching for something or someone and it's driving the team nuts, more so than Bokuto's crushing. They finally corner him after he takes even longer than usual getting ready for supper. It turns out that Iwaizumi his childhood friend works at the resort and he's been trying to find him so they could be reunited! They talk on facebook back in Japan but Oikawa has his phone on airplane mode so he hasn't been able to contact him this whole time and he forgot to ask in what department Iwaizumi works, etc.  He tells them to go on without him.

They all show up for supper looking pretty spiffy. Akaashi is already there ofc looking amazing. Fem-cut shirt, pants that look sort of like a skirt, all in black, very androgynous. Bokuto is possibly even more taken? They have a nice night with the team. Oikawa shows up late but with Iwaizumi in tow, causing a great ruckus. They all drink and laugh and have way too much to eat and most of the team goes dancing after but Bokuto only has eyes for Akaashi so they split from the group and head off to one of the bars on the resort to keep chatting.

(The chunk that goes here is still in your sketchbook)

Ok dont be chicken here it is:

They walk on the beach back to Akaashi's room. He invites Bokuto in. They do it with the lights on, very romantic. Akaashi is still stuffed, Bokuto too tbh. Akaashi is totally the type to have brought a toy in his suitcase so he is already ready for Bokuto from the night before while Bokuto litterally jamed 3 boxes of condoms in his suitcase and has a handful of fresh ones in his pocket lol Akaashi: did you think you'd get with lots of people? Bokuto, blushing probably: I only want to get with you tho (this is super cheesy but probably still totally happens lol) They're not even tipsy, they never were actually drunk, there is very clear consent (tag it enthusiastic consent)

DAY 4 OF 8

The next morning, they have sex again. V nice, all soft, glowing in the sunrise (leave me alone) Bokuto lost his shirt somewhere between the bar and the room (he finds it later with the team, it's hilarious) so he borrows one of Akaashi's. (also later, Akaashi tries on the national jersey and looks great in it, it fits like a crop top)

They hang out with the team, Akaashi makes friends, the iwaoi subplot continues in the background. They play pool games. Akaashi doesnt think Bokuto can lift him on his shoulders but he totally can, although they get toppled almost immediately. They go dancing with the team and Iwaizumi that night. OFC Akaashi can dance really well lol Iwaizumi attemps to infuse Oikawa with some semblance of rhythm. Some spotlight on the few straight players lol Halfway through, Mattsun shows up, he's working at the discotheque that night. Makki: *lands eyes on him* *mouth hangs open as Mattsun walks away* *to iwaizumi* Is he?? Can I?? *wild hand motions*Iwaizumi: nods, laughs out a yeah as Makki rushes in Mattsun's direction, disappearing in the crowd. Akaashi walks with the group until they get to his building and he kisses Bokuto goodbye. Bokuto is too smitten to mind that they won't sleep together.

DAY 5 OF 8

Akaashi is a little bit like a cat and at first Bokuto is dejected about it, but the team pulls him out of it. He's worried he won't see him again now that they've had sex but it's not the impression he had of Akaashi. They can't text because of their phone plans and he looks around for him but can't find him. They meet up around supper and it turns out that Akaashi was at the spa all day. He really is sorry for forgetting to tell Bokuto about it the day before. They have supper separately from everyone else and talk about personal habits and needs and it goes really well. Bokuto invites him up to his room then remembers that it's a mess, but it doesn't matter. (this is when Akaashi tries on the jersey)

DAY 6 OF 8

This is the last day of any vacation that truly feels like a vacation tbh

It's the time where everyone thinks ok, what's the things I said I would do that I haven't done yet? They probably go on a fieldtrip, Akaashi to a local art place or something, they venture off-resort.

DAY 7 OF 8

It's Saturday, Iwaizumi has the day off, this is the peak of the iwaoi subplot. Deal with the MatsuHana subplot too, maybe. Start thinking about the return, about volleyball, about the rest of the team in Japan. Bokuto and Akaashi spend some time together, some time apart. Bokuto gets an earful of the iwaoi subplot from Oikawa. Maybe gives advice? Who knows.

This is also the day to insert sunset sex on the beach lol Akaashi is still mostly clothed. They almost get spotted but it's dusk, theyre backlit and the guard thinks it's just a rock or something. They lay there really still and burd out laughing once he walks away.

DAY 8 OF 8

The day goes as a last day goes, last swim, getting ready, having to leave the room, waiting with your luggage and a final drink. Akaashi is on the same bus to the airport as the team, but not the same plane seeing as he is with a different airline (definitely in first class tho) Iwaoi goodbyes, bokuaka goodbyes (exchanging numbers and addresses) Makki doesn't think Mattsun will come but it turns out he overslept, he rushes in at the last minute and lifts Makki off the ground. Bokuto and Akaashi kiss one last time before Bokuto has to cross the gate.

Flash forward to the Olympic qualifiers, Team Japan kicking ass, Akaashi cheering uncharacteristically loudly, Bokuto looking up from the court with love in his eyes. Akaashi sticking around after the win to give Bokuto a few tosses before they go celebrate with the team.