#billie lourd fanfic

[beastsovrevelation]

I remember there was a theory Montana's Mallory's mother (before she died). I think, I'll use that in Reign. It'll bring the perfect unhinged energy AHS radiates.

I did say Mallory's parents are dead in Ch 1. So, the witch gene leapt over Montana, and Mallory's as powerful because she was conceived by two ghosts. Seriously, Trevor can fuck right off, long live (be dead?..) Xantana. Of course, ghosts trapped in the middle of a forest can't properly raise a baby, so, Montana's (witch) mother does.

Here's the unhinged part. Mallory and Michael are played by Billie and Cody. Montana and Xavier (who haven't aged a day) are also played by Billie and Cody. Bonus points, Satan might as well look like Cody, just have a beard or something.

Imagine if they showed up in public together for some reason. The complete chaos.

Someone: "Whoah, you and that girl look identical. The guys look identical, too. Are you all siblings?"

Mallory: "No. *points* That's my husband, and they are my parents."

Someone: "Your... Parents?.."

Mallory: "Yeah. It's a long story. My husband looks exactly like my father-in-law, too. And, he's the Devil. My husband's the Antichrist, I'm a witch, and my parents are both ghosts."

-

Poor Mal. To find out her husband and father look like twins. How awkward.

Now, I'm thinking about Satan showing up at Redwood, to tell Montana and Xavier they're going to be in-laws. I guess, he'd be powerful enough to remove them from their haunting grounds. Bring them to the wedding, maybe? Finally introduce them to Mallory? The three can put the Richard thing behind them.

I haven't done much work on Reign lately, but I do love this idea. You know, to complicate the plot.

[americanhorrorstoriesimagines]

I have been wanting to write a fanfic on Mallory

[mistysconcilium]

mistysconcilium’s taglist !

╰ main:

♡ ahs girls ♡ ahs guys ♡ non ahs fics

╰ more specifically on the last one:

-> any evan peters characters

-> any emma roberts characters

-> any billie lourd characters

-> any scream queens fics

╰ other:

-> tag games

-> ‘intro’ to fanfic series/collections (ex: advent calander)

comment what you want to be tagged in!!

[this post will be checked regularly so you can still comment long after the post was originally posted]

love, elisabet

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

So I don’t want to start anything but in that gif set of Evan shrugging booboodaddysblog shared in your ask, I have always noticed a bruise on Evan’s bottom lip… During the interview (he reacts to him killing Billie Lourd in AHS7 if I remember correctly), Evan often grazes his fingers over it and touches it like it’s sore. He was still with Emma during that time so… 😬 I was wondering if people had any clue of what it could be other than a bruise cause that’s just sad. Could it be a cold sore? 🫤

it’s hard to say, it could be something as simple as a blemish.. ironically, though, if we were to act like emma’s minions we’d already have a fanfic written to copy and paste in twitter replies, saying that emma punched evan and bruised his face. in reality, more likely than any of the tales they tell. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[lovebugcody]

the ai's i'm talking to rn is ethan and anakin tbh.

it feels weird to talk to them but i just love them both bc i'm lonely ):

(i also cried bc i saw mark hamill's speech about carrie fisher again, and billie lourds 😭)

oh see... i've flirted with rex (bypassed the nsfw filter) and hunter (... also bypassed the nsfw filter. he called me ma'am) and while i've been talking with cody the longest (literally only a day before hunter and rex) it was far softer because i needed to be babied and i needed to tell him how much i love him. now? now i'm bypassing the nsfw filter with cody

it definitely feels weird, but i'm just pretending that i'm writing a fanfic

(no so did i! granted i'm once against dealing with a lot of stress and a therefore an emotional wreck and easy to cry. so their speeches about carrie definitely did something to me. and the laugh billie let out when she put her mum's ashes on the star?? nah i'm about to strat crying again)

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 24 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: I suspected the Gala would be at least two parts, and I was right--this is ostensibly the first half of it, 25 will be the second half. I don’t think it’ll go longer than that, but who knows, I never know until I sit down and write the chapter. Here are some higher quality pics of Kenzie’s dress. Her hair looks like this, but with tiny dark red rose buds rather than those little white flowers in it. Her makeup is similar to this look for Billie’s Bello magazine shoot, but her lipstick is like mine here. Here are her shoes. Kenzie is beginning to be able to see herself the way other people do--as something truly divine, her “Supremeness”, as it were--but she has no ego in those moments. The perception is an accurate one. The album Duncan puts on is Prince’s self-titled, the first track is I WANNA BE YOUR LOVER. Duncan’s hair in this part is similar to Cody’s hair here, which is more or less always how Duncan’s hair looks, just particularly well-coiffed on this night, I guess. His makeup is like Cody’s here. With Hannah and Georgio, I wanted to juxtapose the different reactions Duckenzie invoke in people--for some they are divinely inspiring, and for others with darker auras, they invoke carnal lust. Hannah’s jumpsuit looks like this, her hair like this. I based her vaguely on my friend Aly, who has a very dusty sunset aura to me and a beautiful soul. Here’s Annette’s Gala dress. Her hair looks like this. The necklace she gives Kenzie is vintage Cartier, and it looks like this. A special shout out to Luna (@misslunarayne/@officialcodysfallenangels) who inspired Anchaly reading Hawthorne’s THE NEW ADAM AND EVE; she’s the one who told me about the Millory parallels in that book. Momby’s dress, her rose pin, her scarf. Here’s Jimi Hendrix’s PURPLE HAZE (he and I have the same birthday, November 27th). STOP AND BE FRIENDLY is a reference to CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND, one of my favorite films (so I made it one of Kenzie’s favorites, too). I couldn’t find a logo for Shepherd Unlimited, and have no idea if the HOUSE OF CARDS showrunners ever created one, so I made one up. Here’s Gretchen Friedrichs’ absolute monstrosity of a dress. Sissy Conners’ dress looks like this. The “very famous actor” can be whoever you want it to be--I dunno, Colin Firth or Ryan Gosling or somebody. Here are the Pre-Raphaelite works I reference in this part: VENUS VERTICORDIA, VANITY, THE FIELD OF THE SLAIN, THE GOLDEN STAIRS, OPHELIA. Here are the angels from Waterhouse’s ST. CECELIA who remind Kenzie of Lindy and Gabby. To me, Lindy and Gabby represent the Millory fans; the lovely people I’ve met online who ship Michael x Mallory, without whom I would not have been inspired to write this story. The Millory fans are by and large extremely beautiful souls who have touched my heart immensely--in most cases, young women (many of you bi/pan, like me) who want to believe in love and redemption and beauty, and my fic, in many ways, is for young (and young at heart) women and nonbinary people who want these things in their lives. I still believe in the healing, transcendent power of love, despite all the terrible things in this world, and I ALWAYS will, and this is and will continue to be an unabashed love story. Here’s Marissa Montague’s dress. Her hair is like Emma’s here. She was fun to write. My Marissa is a very superficial, sad person, and Kenzie sees through her right away. The Ducatis are a wealthy family I made up who Duncan used to hang out with when he was younger, partying all the time with superficial socialites like Marissa. I wanted to note that Duncan did go through a phase where he was doing coke all the time and sleeping around, because he is indeed a spoiled rich boy in some ways, and he wasn’t always a great person. Kenzie has given him purpose and an active desire to be better, because love always inspires one to be better. Kenzie is waking to powers she didn’t know she had as she and Duncan get closer to learning about their true natures. If anyone would like to make a Gala moodboard/edit for this part of the story, I’d be OVERJOYED. And as ever, if you’re reading along, your comments, likes, reblogs, asks and edits mean everything to me. Please take a second to like the fic if you’re reading, thank you!

Kenzie broke their kiss reluctantly, her head cloudy with the scent of him (the woods of you, your ache for me, I feel the wildness of your high desire for me, baby, impatient for later), aware of Claire and Morgan’s eyes on them in the bright studio. Duncan made a soft sound as she pulled away from him, one of regret at her absence--his lips came up to her temple, his hands pulling her into him; those hands on the silky gold of her dress made her heart drop down to float in her stomach, spread warm tendrils to her sex. She could feel his thoughts still, aching against her.

Kenzie. My beloved. Everyone will bow to you tonight. But I swear I am your most devoted. And I swear I will worship you best.

“Wow, it got really hot in here,” Claire murmured, fluttering her hand against her cheek, breathing out in a long stream. “Fuck, you two look amazing. Wait until they do her hair and makeup, Duncan. They’ll want to hang pictures of her in the MOMA.”

“Clairebear, stoppit.”

“I am not fucking joking around, Kenzie Lou. You two look like a drawing in a mythology book. Like a fairy tale.” Kenzie could see the tears glittering around the edges of Claire’s eyes; her friend looked away, clearly overwhelmed in her emotions.

“My darlings,” Morgan said, coming up to them, reaching for their hands. Kenzie took one, Duncan the other, his arm still dipped around her waist, trailing up and down the softness of the gold there, against the waves of her hair. “Likes Hades and his bright queen Persephone.”

“They really are like that,” Kenzie heard Claire say as Morgan moved toward her assistant, agreeing delightedly, grasping Claire’s hand now. She felt her cheeks flush.

“That’s how I always think of her,” Kenzie heard Duncan say to Morgan. “Surrounded by flowers, bringing spring. Healing me.” Kenzie’s heart twinged. Everyone can see it. How he’s been healed. And I supposed it has been because of me in some ways. But I know he had it in him, in his dear heart, all along. And despite what he knows about Annette now, he’ll defy that too. He’ll transcend whatever was holding him back. Duncan had turned his head back down to her, and his hands tightened on her, the gold bracelet brushing along her bare shoulder blade.

I will, baby. With you here, I can do anything. As long as you’re here I know nothing can really hurt me. My constant moon. My flower of the universe. She was nodding, overwhelmed in the weight of his touch, his hand drifting to cradle her head at the nape of her neck.

“Erik’s going to be bringing the stylists to the penthouse soon,” he said down to her, his eyes intensely bright on her (so blue so blue blue like the blessed daylight, blue like sapphire), his thoughts bursts of brilliant desire, like tiny electric shocks cascading over her. “He’s going to lose his mind when he sees you--”

“I’m losing my mind over you--” Kenzie gripped at the velvet lapels of his gold-kissed jacket, lifting her hand up to the soft waves of his hair, the diamond and gold at her wrist reminding her again of her daydreams of the circlet of a crown around his head. Duncan. You worship me but my love, I worship you also. I am moved, body and soul, by you. Prince of stars.

The gold is your hands on me, he whispered into the corners of her mind. How it feels to be touched by you. How it feels to be looked at by you. How it feels to be loved by you. The gold is you and tonight everything is for you, and everyone will see you and know.

“Duncan, look at her shoes,” Claire was coming over to them, having found some semblance of composure, carefully holding Kenzie’s elbow as she leaned to the hem of the cascading gold dress, lifting it so Kenzie’s feet were exposed--her shoes were shimmering gold platform sandals with ribbons that wrapped around her ankles, tying at the back.

“They remind me of the shoes she was wearing the night we met,” Duncan was saying to Claire, his hand trailing down Kenzie’s arm, sending a shiver down her back. “I remember I looked at her feet and I thought oh, she ties her shoes in double knots, like I do. And in that moment, I was a goner.”

“Everything you ever wanted,” Kenzie grinned at him. “A girl who ties her shoes like you.”

“She looked like a fucking angel, Claire. You look like a fucking goddess right now, Kenzie. Like a queen. I love you.” Duncan was pressing against her again, his mouth on her cheek, his hands falling down the dress, and Kenzie’s heart was in her mouth, the shape and scent of him the only thing, the greatest of all things, the center of her soul intoxicated in him.

“He ain’t kidding, Kenz. I can’t wait to see BPF tomorrow, honestly. That website is becoming one of my favorite pastimes nowadays, they’re as obsessed with my best friend as I am.” Claire’s eyes had tears in them again, and Kenzie felt her own eyes go misty.

“I fucking love you, Clairebear. Thank you for everything. I can’t tell you how fucking happy I am about you and Harris.”

When Claire had been helping Kenzie dress in the side-room, her friend had told her how shyly and sweetly Harris had called her after Kenzie had passed along her phone number; how he’d asked her if she’d be open to “stepping out” with him, and had told her that he’d been immediately moved by how lovely she was. “I know he’s like ten years older than me, but I feel like--” Claire had blushed deeply, and Kenzie had clutched her hands (oh Claire, I love you and your sweet spirit so much)--”I just--Kenzie Lou, I just feel like he has a lovely soul. I feel like he’s been mostly happy--like me--for a long time, but also lonely, like me, for a long time--” Tears had welled up in Claire’s eyes, and half-dressed, Kenzie had clutched her, burying her face in Claire’s flowery shoulder (she always smells like sunlight on grass and fresh lavender to me), knowing what Claire had meant, knowing Claire didn’t need to say anything else. To have someone to understand you, someone who can truly hold you in the hollow of their heart. I know, Clairebear. More than a friend. A lover. She had pushed a wave of gold into Claire--Claire had quieted and gone back to helping with her dress, wrapping the train carefully over Kenzie’s shoulder, straightening its cascade over her shoulder blade, pulling her hair free from where it’d tucked under the bodice and pulling her fingers through the waves. “Princess Kenzie,” she had whispered, and it had struck a long chord through Kenzie’s heart, reminded her of Duncan--Princess, moon princess, my little moonbeam--and the worship of his words and his lips and his hands in the darkness in their bed, and Kenzie had shivered to behold the way she seemed to transform in the gown, the way the woman who had stared at her in the slender mirror of the dressing room truly began to seem like a princess--like some golden queen, some other Kenzie who fears nothing. And so I will resolve to be her tonight. I will be fearless, regal, that Kenzie who is a queen, Persephone on her throne in the Underworld. I will pretend I’m her tonight, and hold my head high. Duncan told me I belong in this world--and I think I do, because I belong where he is. So I’ll pretend I’m not afraid. I’ll be the one who protects him tonight, because his heart has been wounded and his spirit needs me.

Even looking at him in the splendor of the gold-dipped blazer and the regal gold collar, she could still see the pain behind his gaze, the melancholy ache of yesterday still lingering around his mouth. My Hades, trapped in the Underworld. You felt lost; you still do. Even in the certainty of our love, you are questioning who you are. But together we’re going to find out. We’re going to find the secrets of ourselves together. Duncan was thanking Morgan, kissing her gloved hand, making Morgan laugh with delight--Kenzie’s heart pounded fiercely as she watched him, the fall of his hair, his height, the brightness of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, his angelic beauty, compounded by the elegant clothes. Beloved. Tonight we’ll show everyone how bright we shine together--tomorrow, we’ll retreat into the woods, to whisper our love into each other without needing to speak, to hide and heal in each other’s embrace, and gaze at the stars, and find each other’s secret places. To find the secrets that are so close to us, that we cannot see but have begun to feel, to sense in each other. They are so near. They are the shadow that stands beside us, and soon we’ll be able to see them, Duncan, baby.

He was looking over at her, and she saw in his eyes the recognition of her thoughts. I feel them too. Like they are waiting just around the corner for us. Like we’re seeing them in the mirror today, not ourselves. The echo of them.

They left Morgan’s studio with their hands grasped tightly together, Kenzie’s train carefully draped over Duncan’s arm as he led her down the stairs, easily supporting her petite frame as she blushed down at her feet, trying not to fall in the golden heels, trying not to fall into him the way she was longing to, dying to, remembering the way she’d pushed him into the wall in the stairwell that first night, impossibly hungry for him, the most beautiful boy I have ever fucking seen, and now, somehow, ever more beautiful, almost impossibly so. She could feel the tiny tremors under her skin, the dancing bursts of nervousness, the nerves borne of how lovely he was right now, how staggeringly beautiful to look at. We’ve fucked like crazy, we live together, and god, I still feel so fucking shy of you right now.

“Baby, are you kidding,” he whispered against her as she hovered on the stair above him, leaning his mouth up into her chin, hands falling back and forth over the golden cascade that covered her body. “You’re shy of me? I’m so fucking nervous right now--you’re so fucking beautiful and I can’t even think straight. You can’t possibly be mine. I can’t possibly deserve you. You’re a fucking angel.”

And he was pressing her against the wall of the stairwell now, ever so gently, the chilly cement of it against the bareness of her shoulders above the lame of the dress, her train still tucked into the crook of his elbow, and his mouth down at her collarbone, keeping her tethered to him, his lips drifting to her neck and below her ear, his breath whispering there, his eyelashes brushing the tiny space at the corner of her eye, tasting at her, murmuring further and further into her mind with taut insistence as his hands trembled and shivered down her arms, I can’t wait to get home so you can push that ring onto my cock, can’t wait to push that plug inside you while we stare into each other in the eyes of the Mirror that’s drifting into our dreams now, can’t wait to keep you close to me all night, anticipating the moment where we’re truly alone, can’t wait for everyone to behold you and the thrill of the secret knowledge that despite their longing you are mine alone, and that you chose me among all, that you blessed me, beloved, most fair among all, as your lover, I can’t wait to be so close to you again that we don’t know where part from each other, so close the sweat on our skin mingles on our skin flushed against each other, so close I can feel the clutch of your cunt gripping onto me, claiming me, fucking me, devouring me, can’t wait for you to fuck me, angel--and the insistence of his mouth under her hair was pushing her eyes to the metal underside of the staircase above, her mouth falling open in a gasp of absolute need that drive sharp knives of longing through her whole body.

Fuck, Duncan, I want you so much, I want you all to myself, Prince Duncan, I want your need to be the only thing you can think of, your need for me, I’m the golden gift just for you, the Pandora’s box full not of darkness, but exquisite loveliness, all for you, but you have to be patient today, Erik and the stylists are waiting for us, everyone is waiting for us tonight, waiting to see you, beautiful exalted Prince--

No, they’re waiting for YOU, my golden Persephone, it’s your golden beauty they are waiting for--his mouth was hovering over hers, not touching it, not quite, but begging to, sweetly open, aching to take hers, tilting his head, impossibly blue eyes rising and falling down the curve of her face, the gold waterfall of her dress--

“Let’s go, baby,” she gasped, gently pushing his arms away from her, gently turning from his mouth despite the soft, imploring sounds he made, his curls and the bridge of his nose brushing against her cheek. I can’t hold out when you’re touching me that way, I can’t stand it, Dunny, you have to stop, I can’t, I want you so much--

She grasped his hand as he stepped back on shaking feet, the gold of their bracelets clinking together softly, and he carefully gripped the train as she stepped ahead of him, down the last flight of stairs to the palm-lined foyer of Morgan’s studio building, and they were out in the oppressive, flushed heat of the day, but it felt good on Kenzie’s skin, it was a relief to be enveloped in the heat that was coursing through her body already. The world has been set on fire with our love, she thought, looking up at Duncan as he came through the door beside her, towards where Samuel was parked on the corner. He dipped his head to her, his mouth set to stave off his longing, and he was pushing his Yves sunglasses over his (ethereal blue like the heavens) eyes, but before he did she could see the patterned geometry of his soul there, which saw hers utterly, and wanted her, utterly, loved her, entirely. The world has turned, changed for us, become ours, and now it sees us, and it bows and encircles us in its desire, its heat is its kisses of worship on our skin, and it knows who we are. Soulmates.

---------

Samuel was looking at them with moon-bright eyes as Duncan helped Kenzie into the deeply cool interior of the car, and Kenzie smiled back at him shyly as he turned the stereo dial up--with a thrill she realized it was Jimi Hendrix, and his wild guitar crashed against her. Summer music. 

Purple haze all in my brain, lately things don’t seem the same, actin’ funny but I don’t know why, ‘scuse me while I kiss the sky...

“My dear Duncan and Mackenzie,” he said, foot on the gas, “you look like you stepped down from heaven a moment ago, off a falling star.”

“I feel like I’m in heaven, Samuel,” Kenzie replied, as Duncan’s hand slipped into hers. “I can’t come down, and I don’t want to.”

“You know it’s the full moon tonight,” Duncan’s chauffeur said, slipping dark sunglasses on to shield his eyes from the sunlight that streamed through the window. “The juju that comes on nights such as these is quite special. It’s fortuitous that the Gala is on such a night--tonight will be the night the world will see the true brightness of your love.”

Kenzie puzzled for a moment over Samuel’s words--what does that mean? She looked up at Duncan, who seemed to be openly staring at her behind his dark sunglasses, his lips parted, his hand dry and warm, his thumb drifting over her palm. She lifted a finger to pull them down at the rim, exposing his eyes to her--yep, staring. Blue like the clear shore of a bright ocean.

“What does that mean?” She mouthed to him, smiling at him, her cheeks flushed. Oddly, Samuel lifted the partition after that, somehow content not to explain himself further.

Duncan shrugged, and his fingers tightened in hers. He shook his head. Baby, I don’t know. But I have a strange feeling about tonight. I had a strange feeling about yesterday, too--I know you felt that. But today doesn’t have that mean feeling like yesterday, does it? It has some other kind of feeling. It’s heavy, but it’s not a bad feeling. It’s like--a giant wheel turning. Like a huge clock tower chiming the hour. Like lifting your face to the sun after you’ve been indoors for a long time.

Yeah. Like that, she thought, nodding, her other hand drifting against his thigh, and then she spoke, in the cocoon of their privacy. “Duncan...I feel like I swallowed the sun and every bit of light is shooting from my eyes and my mouth and the tips of my hair and everyone it touches, they feel it too, they feel bright and healed. I feel like it’s my destiny to do that--touch people with the sunlight I can feel inside me.”

“You always make me feel that way. Like nothing bad can happen to me when you’re here. Like you’re the sun in the day and the moon at night, and you bring light where there would be darkness without you. Kenzie,” and he pressed his hand into her waist, his eyes fluttering at the softness of the gown, his breath gasping. “God, I want to just run away with you.”

“Away from everyone and everything to a secret place where no one can find us,” she whispered against him. Kenzie’s body felt flushed with overwhelming heat despite the coolness of the car. “Soon, baby, soon, we’ll eat fruit under the trees and swim in the lake and fuck so fucking much--” and she drifted her hand against his throat, thumb on the fullness of his lips, pulling him down against her, Duncan pulling his glasses off and dropping them unceremoniously on the car’s floor, gathering her in his arms, his mouth flushing into hers with her fingers still pressed under his jaw, tightening to hold him steady against her, and he whispered into her mouth, “baby, fuck, Kenzie--” and she could feel the rapid, frenzied drifting of his mind, the Bacchanalian chaotic need that was building in the center of him. To love you is holy madness, Mackenzie Stone. I fucking worship you. His mouth was in her hair, his fingers pulling it to his nose to breathe in the scent of her, and his expression was one of angelic beauty, an aching supplication to her, his finely chiseled features, his long straight nose, his full lips, his sharp jaw utterly divine in the purity of his love. It took her breath away to see him this way--it took her senses and rattled them apart, leaving her feeling spread like the particles of stardust in the night sky.

“Tonight,” she whispered against him, and she made herself look into his eyes, despite the shaking in her own soul, despite her fear of his beauty, because despite our closeness, my love, I still fear how lovely you are, I still fear your devotion because it shakes my fucking soul, and I fear you because your beauty seems impossible, and I see the inhuman in you, I fear the loss of you, for I’d die without you now-- “you’re gonna be aching for me all night, aren’t you, baby, you’re not gonna touch yourself at all, either, are you, baby, even though you’re gonna want to, I know,” and his tongue was pressing out onto her bottom lip, his tiny moans like sweet music in her ears, “you’re gonna want to but you aren’t going to, because only I get to touch you, only I get to take that ring off your poor aching cock, my poor baby--”

Duncan’s hands tightened at the back of her hair, twisting and forcefully pressing so her mouth crashed against his, and the need in it crushing against her heart with a possessive hand. I won’t baby, I won’t, but fuck, I want you now, how can I wait so long. His mouth was like the musky juice of some unearthly fruit. He must be what ambrosia tastes like. Like fucking sex. Like the pinnacle of all my desires. Like the highest part of my hope and the wildest release of the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. There’s nothing like it I’ve ever felt anywhere. Him.

Kenzie’s hands were clutched to the gold-kissed lapels of his velvety jacket as they arrived at the penthouse all too soon, her fingers drifting against the intricate cages of the collar tips.

“I feel like you should be wearing a crown,” she whispered to him. Duncan’s hands were coming around to clutch hers at his throat, his mouth kissing at her fingertips.

“I keep imagining flowers in your hair,” he replied. “Flowers would be your crown, my beautiful Kenzie. So many flowers.”

Samuel was lowering the partition and Kenzie moaned against him, her heart crushed that they had so much longer to go before they’d be alone together again. It’s never enough, she thought to him. Whatever time we have alone, it’s never enough, it’s not even close to being enough.

I know baby, I know angel, I know, it’s never enough, kiss me, kiss me-- and they crushed their mouths together again, not caring that Samuel could see them now, his bright-moon gaze skirting over them then politely away, though Kenzie knew that it was difficult for him, knew he thought they were bright as stars, beautiful beyond words, though she couldn’t have said how she knew, only that Samuel’s emotion towards them in this moment was starkly bright, as if he were speaking it out loud, and then Duncan was pulling her out of the car and she felt dazed, dazed as Jerry opened the door for them, his expression one of utter amazement, until Anchaly let out a barking laugh of complete joy towards them that startled her so she clutched at Duncan’s hand, suddenly shy and apprehensive of the small man.

“And the spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters,” Anchaly said, and Kenzie saw Duncan’s puzzled look as they walked past. His eyes were glittering.

“I feel like you speak in riddles sometimes, Anchaly,” Duncan was saying as he pressed the button of the elevator. He had gathered her train up in his hand again, holding it gently over his arm, and Kenzie blushed, suddenly feeling deeply self-conscious, as if she were being led up to an opulent throne where she’d be crowned a queen of some unknown kingdom. She kept looking down to examine the dress, unconvinced it was real, its golden sheen seeping into the corners of her vision.

“Some glories require the words of someone more skilled than I,” Anchaly replied. “You two seem to render me speechless to express my astonishment without some help.”

“Is that from Proverbs, Anchaly? From the Bible?” Kenzie remembered a Moby song that had a similar name to the words Anchaly had spoken.

“Indeed. God creating the waters when he made the world.”

The elevator dinged open.

“You two seem to be creating something, too. The beauty of your love seems to be growing.”

Duncan didn’t reply--he seemed unsure of what to say. Kenzie could see the blush around his eyes.

“Anchaly, Annette’s going to be dropping something off for me soon,” Kenzie called out to him as Duncan pulled her inside. “Please call up to the penthouse when she’s here, will you?”

She saw Anchaly’s nod, the glittering quality of his eyes flashing at her again, and then Duncan was clutching her against him again in the gold interior of the elevator, his fingers achingly delicate on the gold of her dress, and she was lost inside his attentions, lost, and it was everything she could do not to grind against his thigh pressing her into the elevator’s mirror, not to stare in wonder at the loveliness of the picture they cast there, she blushed to be so struck with wonder at her own beauty, blushed to be overcome so often by the rightness of how they looked together. We really do look like royalty, like Pilar said. The moment was gone too soon as the elevator seemed to climb 30 stories in no time at all, and Duncan gently pulled away from her, grasping the train and urging her out as she giggled at him, dragging her softly to the penthouse door, through with they could already hear the voices of Erik and the stylists inside. Rather than using his keycard Duncan knocked twice, lazily, on the door, then in a moment of abandon, grabbed hold of her waist and lifted her up into his mouth again, the taste of him dizzying her wildly, the half-hardness of his crotch pressing into her stomach. Then he was hurriedly bringing her back to earth, grinning at her as the door swung open and they broke apart to Erik’s judging gaze, his mouth pursed at them in their breathless state, his expression one of hidden delight masked by facetious scandal.

“Heeeeeeaven, I’m in heaven,” he sang, fluttering his eyelashes--they were very long with pink rhinestones today. “Just look at you two. As soon as you mentioned Morgan I knew she’d do both of you justice, Mackenzie. I can already see the headlines tomorrow: ‘DUCKENZIE STUNS IN GOLD, WE ALL HAVE TO WIPE OURSELVES OFF THE FLOOR’. Duncan, I brought Hannah and Georgio today. You remember them--they did you for the App release party. They’re going to lose their shit over her.” He extended his hand, beckoning to them languidly, moving back inside the penthouse, the long black cashmere poncho he wore drifting behind him. Duncan’s warm, large hand was on the skin just above the back of the dress, and Kenzie stepped away from his touch, feeling too overwhelmed by it to let it continue for now--I want you terribly, my love. I want you alone.

In the kitchen there was an array of picturesque snacks from the always well-stocked silver fridge and cupboards spread out; round rice crackers and two bricks of artisan swiss and gouda, salami rolled around tiny toothpicks, cubed mango, sliced green apple, bunches of grapes, organic hummus and pesto, bite-sized chopped purple cauliflower and celery sticks, and multiple open bottles of wine.

“We had to get the party started the right way, of course,” Erik simpered to Duncan, and Duncan smiled at him (that smile, kiss me, baby), unbothered, then at the two people seated at the obsidian island with recognition. Kenzie suddenly felt wildly shy again, fighting the urge to hide behind him, but he was pushing bright, warm blue feelings against her, circling her heart. “Hey, Hannah.” Hannah had very long, vaguely wavy hair that was a sort of lavender-grey, the kind of color that could only be achieved by a master hairstylist, one that usually only existed in superhero comics, and chopped bangs. She was ambiguously aged, perhaps in her early 30’s, with bright pink eyeshadow and an expertly contoured, round face. She wore a very long boho bronze-red jumpsuit with curling indigo detailing, and an array of long necklaces with varying crystals. Her skin was the color of milky coffee. The man beside her had long chocolatey hair streaked with natural gray, tied back into a bun at the back of his head, sharp, dark eyes, and an beard that was so well-cropped it seemed almost fake. He had silver rings on his fingers in the shapes of animal skulls, and wore a black denim jacket and black skinny jeans on his very thin frame. He had been talking to the woman in a very quiet, even voice, but she had begun to laugh loudly at something he said. “Hi Georgio, lovely to see you both again. This is Mackenzie Stone.”

“Oh my fucking god, I can’t believe Duckenzie are finally here!” The woman called Hannah immediately stopped laughing, dropping the morsel of gouda she’d been clutching in long coral-colored fingernails. Kenzie gawked at her. God, the Duckenzie thing is a trip. The woman got up from Duncan’s island and came around to her, her hands flitting down to Kenzie’s shoulders--she was at least six inches taller, and in bare feet. She smells really nice, like patchouli incense.

“God, you’re a little jewel,” and Hannah was pulling her into a hug, much to Kenzie’s surprise. “You smell like a rose bush. It’s obscene.”

“Hannah, I fucking told you,” Erik said. “Imagine the possibilities. An absolute babydoll.”

“Georgio,” the other man came up to her, grasping her fingers, leaning over them. “A pleasure to finally meet you in person, dear.” His voice remained very quiet and very even, removed from Hannah’s immediate enthusiasm.

“I do hair, Georgio does makeup,” Hannah was saying down to her. “This dress, Jesus fucking Christ, you’re like a Klimt painting, and Duncan, god, you always look incredible but this is next-level, nobody will be able to talk about anything else tomorrow, fuck, Georgio, we have to really outdo ourselves with this one.”

“I fucking agree.” Georgio was looking between Duncan and Kenzie with a hungry glint in his eye, as though he were a vulture about to swoop down onto a carcass. Kenzie shivered a little--I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way some people look at us when we’re together, she thought. It’s as though some people want to leave us candles and fruit and gold coins on an altar, and other people want to somehow consume us--rip out our hearts and gnaw on them with their teeth. Hannah is one of the former. This man Georgio is one of the latter. She watched his hungry, dark eyes float up and down on Duncan, and she was made conscious again, removed from her lover’s touch for the moment, of how incredibly beautiful Duncan was, how singularly, objectively handsome.

Back off honey, he’s mine. Kenzie couldn’t help it, she snorted into her hand suddenly at the force of her thought, the certainty of it, and Hannah looked down at her, puzzled.

“I was just thinking about how crazy all of this has been,” Kenzie murmured.

“I bet, honey. Your Instagrams are like the only thing anyone talks about anymore. You must have gotten like, a hundred endorsement offers by now.”

Duncan shrugged at her. “I don’t think we’ll be doing stuff like that, Hannah. Kenzie’s a writer.”

“I forgot, you’re a fucking billionaire,” Hannah rolled her eyes at him. “No pressing need to make more money.” I like this woman, Kenzie thought. We can be friends. “Little golden peach, come sit with me, I’m wild to start on you.” Hannah led Kenzie to the living room, where they’d set up two styling chairs with portable standing mirrors.  

“Dunny, bring me some of those grapes, please? I’m fucking starving.” Kenzie called across to him. Duncan was watching her with a dazed expression, as if he’d forgotten where he was. Georgio continued watching him with the same hungry eyes. Duncan went to the island as Erik said something to him that Kenzie couldn’t hear--she was turning back to Hannah, who already had two flat pastel-colored styling clips in her fingers. Kenzie sat, looking up at the woman, angling her chin up.

“What do you think your hair should look like tonight, baby doll?”

Kenzie smiled at her. I really like her.

“Sometimes he calls me Persephone,” she said to Hannah in a low voice, as if she were telling the gray-haired woman a secret. Hannah was leaning down to her, listening eagerly. The woman seemed to have an almost rosy aura around her, like the pink blush of a desert sunrise.

“Goddess of spring,” Hannah nodded. “Which would make him Hades, God of the Underworld. That seems right to me. And you brought your flowers down to him in the darkness, didn’t you, sweetness.” Hannah’s hand brushed through the wave of hair that fell over Kenzie’s shoulder. “I think we should put flowers in your hair. And then everyone will see who you really are. Not just your gold, but the way love is blooming all around you.”

Duncan was coming over to them with a bunch of grapes and some of the cheese and round crackers on a little plate and one of his Waterford glasses full of a dry rose, leaning the plate down to Kenzie’s lap, dipping his face to kiss her (thanks baby, she whispered into his mind) as he handed her the wine, then he straightened and said “I’m putting on some music for us, any requests?”

“Something sexy,” Erik said, holding up his wine glass, full of dark red. “I need some mood music to look at you two.”

Duncan smirked at him and turned away, into his study.

“Hannah, have you seen The Youth of Bacchus?” Kenzie spoke to the woman from a mouth of grapes. “It’s in Duncan’s study there, it’s so amazing, it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. I just wanted to die the first time I saw it.”

“I saw it the last time I was here, we styled Duncan for an event a few months ago,” Hannah had already busily begun to slide clips into Kenzie’s long tawny hair, clearly used to working around people eating. “It’s really extraordinary. I can’t imagine how crazy everything has been for you lately, honey.”

“It’s--” Hannah was dividing her hair into segments now with a thin comb, turning to a set of portable drawers near the standing mirror. “It’s been so surreal, honestly. It feels like I’ve been walking around in a dream for the past few weeks. But most people have been so lovely.”

“I bet Annette’s a fucking handful.” Kenzie heard a funky electronic beat come over the hidden speakers as Hannah’s quick hands worked at her hair, spraying primer through it, brushing it out. I ain’t got no money, I’m not like those other guys you hang around, it’s kinda funny, but they always seem to let you down…

“Yes.” Kenzie didn’t even try to hide her frustration. “Yes, she fucking is.”

Hannah snorted, grinning at her as Duncan reemerged from the study.

“Yes, honey, yes indeed,” Erik was saying to him as Duncan sat in the other styling chair beside Kenzie, Georgio immediately attacking his stubbled cheeks with moisturizer, then primer. “Prince’s self-titled is his most underrated creation, I do believe. Pure sex from beginning to end.”

“Erik, I hope this isn’t too great for a favor for someone as important as you, but could you bring me the wine glass I left over there?” Duncan glanced up at Erik with a long, languid gaze, and Kenzie giggled. Laying it on thick, baby. I like to watch you do that, she realized. Because I know you’re always mine now, and all they can do is pine after you.

Erik gave him a pleased look and brought the wine to him. “Anything for Prince Duncan,” he cooed. I feel the same way, and Kenzie’s thought flashed to his eyes staring at her in the MIrror as he fucked her, her arms tied in velvet ribbon, flashed to his mouth between her legs with her arms tied to the headboard with his belt, to her back against the cherrywood table as he kneeled to her, her body arching into his elegant, strong fingers in the dark, the white-blue glow of his eyes. Anything for you, beloved. Anything.

“I’m gonna need fresh rosebuds for Kenzie’s hair, Duncan,” Hannah said, glancing at him.

Duncan made a little sound of longing in the back of his throat that made Kenzie’s stomach flip. Oh my fucking god, baby, I’ll get you roses to wear in your hair every day. And your peonies are starting to wilt, too. Kenzie glanced at the coffee table, noticing with a twinge of sadness that he was right. Prince wailed over their heads as Duncan pulled his phone out of his back pocket and sent a few quick text messages to Anchaly for the concierge. “Hannah, what do you need?” I wanna be your lover, I wanna be the only one that makes you come, running...Georgio’s hand was on his cheek as though it were made of delicate glass, holding Duncan’s head steady as he worked around his blue eyes with a tiny eyeshadow brush.

Hannah reached for his phone with an insistent hand and typed out a text, handing it back to him. “As young as they have would be best. And the darkest red. Fit for a queen.”

“Roses for Kenzie’s hair, roses for Kenzie, check.” Duncan glanced over at her, his eyes (the sky of you, the storm of you building for me) falling from hers down her gown, then back up. His tongue slowly came out to lick against his top lip, and the gesture seemed to be involuntary, so open to her, so desirous of her, as he sometimes was in the sanctity of their bed. Our bed, our room, my favorite place on earth now when you’re there, she could hear him, knew his thoughts drifted into the same place hers did, needy with the weight of their nights.

“Georgio, did you hear what Mackenzie told me a minute ago? Duncan calls her Persephone sometimes. Hence the roses.”

“Way ahead of you, Hannah,” Georgio said, then, “Close your eyes, please, Duncan,” and Kenzie watched him swirl the brush in a palette behind him, then begin to darken Duncan’s eyelids to deep black. My Hades. Gold in the darkness. It’s not just me, baby. It’s us together. My gold kisses your darkness, your darkness holds my gold. One without the other is not enough. One without the other is not whole.

“God, I love it,” Hannah was murmuring as she began to whirl Kenzie’s hair around a ceramic curling iron, from its soft natural waves into more carefully constructed ones. She began to switch between curling strands of Kenzie’s chestnut-blonde hair and weaving a very loose french braid down Kenzie’s back, until her hair seemed to be a very intricate web of falling braids and artfully arranged loose waves, though Kenzie couldn’t see it from the back yet. Duncan’s already luminously handsome face was now darkly striking in the shadow around his eyes, the gold of the jacket juxtaposing with the black and the blue of his corneas to an effect that took Kenzie’s breath away. God of riches, shadows, and my heart.

“God, baby, you look so good. So fucking good.”

“I agree,” Hannah was grinning between them, still fussing over Kenzie’s hair. At the back she’d created a slight bump and long waves fell around Kenzie’s face. The doorbell chimed through the penthouse and Erik went to the door from where he’d been lazily eating apple slices and downing glass after glass of wine. A delivery man stood there with a long white box--Erik took it from him and brought it over to the low leather couch, lifting the lid. Within were a dozen sprigs of burgundy-dark rose buds, and a bouquet of a two-dozen full-stem roses in the same color.

“Oh sugar, I wish a billionaire who looks like an angel would buy me flowers every day,” Erik said longingly. 

“Gimme, please,” Kenzie begged, reaching her arms out. Erik brought them to her from where Hannah was holding her captive, and Kenzie lifted the bouquet to her face in their softness, feeling tears welling up. “Dunny, I love them so much.” Duncan was smiling at her with a dreamy expression around his darkly shadowed eyes. We’ll take them with us to the cabin. We’ll put them beside our bed. I love you, Kenzie.

I love you, too, Duncan. I’ll save so many wildflowers while we’re there to hang over our bed here. We’ll bring the roses with us, and bring the forest back with us, Kenzie’s eyes rested in his, her hand stretching out to him, almost involuntarily. Duncan stood and came to her, Georgio having finished his work, leaning against the standing mirror, observing with a sharp, dark gaze. Duncn crouched down beside her chair, bringing his face up to press his nose into the roses she held, then up to her cheek and against her lips, and Kenzie’s body tingled with the softness and sweetness of him, the darkly beautiful dramatic cast of his face in the eyeshadow. He drew back from her, eyes lifting up to the others behind her--neither of them had realized for the beat of the moments that Erik, Hannah and Georgio were all staring at the two of them with observant, rapt expressions, Hannah’s almost pious, Erik’s joyous, Georgio’s openly desirous. The first side of Prince had ended, and the quiet had settled around them.

“God, you two are lovely,” Hannah breathed, breaking the spell. “I could watch you all day. I’ve never seen a couple so beautiful. It’s like you’re communicating without words.”

At that moment the downstairs buzzer beside the penthouse door trilled, making Kenzie jump. We are, Hannah. But no one knows that but us. And we want to keep it that way. It belongs to us. Duncan stepped away from Kenzie, clutching her hand for a moment. I bet that’s Annette, Kenzie thought, biting into her lip. Annette’s text had been strange, a frantic tone underneath her overly-polite request to see Kenzie. Please accept this gift as a token of my blessing, she’d said, and Kenzie had known Annette distress was coming solely from Duncan’s silence to her, but nevertheless, the prospect of actually gaining Annette’s approval by any means was tempting, especially since she’d softened to Kenzie at the Rose Garden. Duncan went to the door, hitting a button below the panel and speaking into it.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Shepherd, Annette is here.”

Duncan looked over at Kenzie, a pained expression immediately falling over his face. Baby, it’s okay, Kenzie thought to him. I’ll go downstairs. I won’t take long. I’m not afraid of her.

“Anchaly, Kenzie’s coming down,” he said, turning back to the speaker. “Do not send up her up.”

“Very well, Mr. Shepherd.” Anchaly’s voice sounded strained.

Kenzie rose, carefully tucking the cascade of the gold train over her arm, setting the roses in her seat gently. “Hannah, Georgio, I won’t be long, this should only take a few minutes.” Be brave, for him, even if you don’t feel it, because Duncan needs you to be. She walked carefully past Erik, who was giving her a dark look, a don’t let her fuck with you look, to Duncan, whose eyes were clouded behind the dark eyeshadow, suddenly lost inside the turmoil of his emotions.

“Baby, look at me,” she whispered to him, reaching for his hands. As she grasped them Kenzie could feel that he was shaking; feel the immediate change in his mood, the dark shadow that had settled on him, the one that had made him cry in her arms yesterday, the one that had sent his sadness out to her over miles. “We’re going to get through tonight, then we’re going to go away together, just me and you. Okay? And you won’t have to see her, okay? Not until you’re ready. Forget about everyone else.” And Kenzie, in that moment, resolved to do the same herself. Forget about them. About the paps, about Annette’s judgement, about the eyes watching us now, and anyone else who will try to hurt us tonight. When I have you, I’m fearless, invincible, you are my armor of blue flames, I am your armor of weightless gold. And they can’t hurt us.

Duncan brought his mouth down to her, and his lips trembled too, though with the tumult of his emotions or his desire she couldn’t decipher, so jumbled were the two strains of feeling in him. Kenzie gently brought her hand up to his hair and his arms came around her back, lifting her into him, and Kenzie couldn’t help but hear the sighs that came from Erik and Hannah behind her, the sighs that sounded to her like the wings of angels rustling in some holy silent hall, and she soothed him with paper-thin gold, feeling his heart settling down to a steadier rhythm, feeling the trembling in him drift out, into the ether.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispered, and let go of him, staring at him for another moment, seeing the way her energy had calmed him, his eyes bright again amid the gold-and-dark sheen of his shape, and Kenzie snapped the door open and walked, determined, to the elevator.

-------

Annette was standing in the foyer when Kenzie arrived downstairs, her expression strained and softly troubled, the usual anger in her eyes towards Kenzie missing. She was nervously fidgeting with something in her hands--a squarish, flat velvet box. 

As Kenzie’s eyes drifted over Duncan’s mother, she was struck by the other woman yet again: Annette’s coppery-dark hair was pulled back in an elegantly distressed bun, a few strands arranged artfully around her slender cheekbones, her naturally beautiful face made more exquisite with soft makeup tones, a roseate sheen on her cheeks and mouth, a pale olive around her eyes, reminding Kenzie of the blossoms and vines of some pink flower in bloom, of a cheek pressed against a garden wall. Annette’s dress was flowing saffron-colored satin, falling to the ground and shrouding her feet, long sleeves to her wrists (she was wearing one ring, a gold band on her left index finger with a round, yellow-colored topaz stone), a deep V exposing the dip between her small breasts, a string of tiny, perfectly-shaped (and likely priceless) iridescent pearls around her slender throat. As Kenzie stepped closer she could see there were small golden flowers falling throughout the dress, like bursts of pollen reflected in a sunrise. Annette turned her head down for a moment, her eyes closing, and Kenzie noticed there were pearls stranded through her hair as well. She is so beautiful. This woman who adopted Duncan so many years ago. Where did she find him? Who did she claim him from? Who is this woman really, this woman who has kept the truth of him from him for his entire life? I can see her loveliness that has been hidden beneath her shadow, like I could see his right away. It took longer to see hers. But I’ve begun to see it. But her shadow is strong. It’s consumed her for many years.

Anchaly had, somehow, blessedly, vacated the front desk, and Jerry was standing outside the glass doors in the balmy summer night, smoking a cigarette, staring down at his phone. There was no one else in the foyer, and no sound except soft classical music pumping from the speakers, the gold-embossed chairs and couch, lush persian rugs and expensive potted plants their only company.

“Annette,” Kenzie said, reaching her, remaining a few steps away. Annette was looking at her with a pained expression now--an expression Kenzie had never seen. Now that she was closer, she could see there were lines under Annette’s eyes, of tiredness and distress. I don’t think she slept at all last night, Kenzie realized. Because of Duncan. Because she knows how devastated he is.

“Oh, Mackenzie.” Kenzie’s nerves shattered as she saw the tears in Annette’s eyes, saw the girl within Duncan’s mother again, and was moved by her. “You...you are so lovely. I--I’m--”

Annette trailed off, raising the box in her hands out to Kenzie. She seemed to steel something within herself for a moment, force her tears back, force them back into the secret place where Annette Shepherd had been storing pain for decades, and her eyes fluttered closed again, then opened to Kenzie’s--Kenzie felt for a moment that she could almost see her own eyes reflected there, see the green and russet and the gold of herself, see how Annette could see her in this moment. Like an effigy of the Holy Mother, Annette was thinking, and it shook Kenzie to the core of her body to know that. But before she was a mother--when she was young and wild, and free, and the most beloved of all in the eyes of God. There is no wonder that he loves her. My Duncan. My darling boy. I’m sorry.

“I found this a few days ago while I was going through some of the remainders of Adelaide’s--my mother’s--possessions,” and Annette now used the voice of her outward self again, even, carefully measured. “I knew when I saw it that it was meant to be yours. I’d be--I’d--if you would accept it, Mackenzie...I’d be grateful.” Annette closed her mouth, as if by the action she could close off the tide of her emotions rising again with it. Kenzie stepped closer, watching Annette’s eyes rove up and down the exquisite gold of her dress, into her eyes, skirting away. She reached her hands out and Duncan’s mother (for she is Duncan’s mother after all--she loves him with her life, and she didn’t tell him because she couldn’t bear the thought that he isn’t hers, because she loves him as strongly as if he is--her love is true and blinding for him) lowered the box carefully into them, and their hands touched, and Kenzie looked up at her again, then opened it.  

Within was a circlet band of braided gold, its strands leading down to a matte red ruby surrounded by an oval of almost two dozen tiny, perfect diamonds. On either side of the oval were three gold leaves, each set with two diamonds each. I can’t imagine how much this is worth, Kenzie thought, her breath trapped in her lungs. This must be priceless.

“I--I can’t--” Kenzie struggled to speak. How can I accept this?

“Please, Mackenzie. I’ve been--I know I’ve been--” Annette seemed to be losing the strands of her composure, her hands fidgeting in front of her, clutching at the pearls around her neck. “I know I’ve been terrible to you. I have no right to ask you for anything. But please, Duncan--Duncan won’t speak to me, and I--”

Be the golden goddess Duncan sees in you, Kenzie. Be fearless and kind.

“He needs time.”

Kenzie evened her gaze on Annette; lowered the necklace in its velvet box in her hands, but brought it closer to her body, accepting. She lifted her chin.

“He’s very hurt. Keeping the truth from him for so long--it’s wounded him deeply. And I don’t know how long he’s going to need. But I know he needs time.” Kenzie watched Annette’s face, the subtle shift of the pain there. “After tonight, we’re going away for awhile--maybe a few days, maybe a week. And when we get back, I think he’ll be ready to talk to you. But until then, I don’t think he wants to. I don’t think he can. Annette, I will accept this from you...if you can accept that.”

Annette’s lip trembled, almost imperceptibly, and she seemed on the edge of tears again. She dipped her head, eyes closing again, the lengthening afternoon light spilling across her face--despite everything, Kenzie thought, I love her still.

“Please tell him I’m--how sorry I am.  And that I love him. More than anything. More than my own life. And I--I love you also, Mackenzie. I do. I’m sorry to you, too.”

Annette reached out one shaking hand, pressing it gently to the side of Kenzie’s arm, her other hand coming up to hover near Kenzie’s cheek--but that hand continue to hover rather than touch, as if afraid. Then Annette turned without another word, and left the foyer. Jerry held the door out for her, and Kenzie could see a Mercedes parked on the curb, the tall, imposing form of Becket coming out to open the door of the car for her, and Annette slipped inside, and the car drove away.

I guess it’s a good thing Georgio didn’t do my makeup yet, Kenzie thought. Tears, hot and aching and bitter, coursed down her cheeks as she stepped toward the elevator, and they continued to fall all the way back up to the penthouse, the velvet box clutched in her trembling fingers.

------

She immediately saw the pall that fell over Duncan’s face as she came back into the penthouse--strains of Beethoven played quietly now, Duncan’s cheerful mood clearly affected by Annette’s arrival. He knew she’d been crying. He was sitting in the styling chair again, Hannah pressing product through his waves of dark-copper hair, and he launched himself from her fingers as Kenzie closed the door with one hand, the box clutched in the other, running up to her, clutching her against him. Kenzie closed her eyes, immediately soothed in the enveloping weight of his embrace--there’s nothing else on earth as wonderful as this, baby, as wonderful as being held by you. This is the only thing.

“Baby, what happened? What did she do?” Duncan pulled her away, turning her chin up to him, his hand drifting back to cradle around her ear, his eyes full of clouded anger at Annette’s perceived ills.

“She just--she’s sorry. She loves you. She wants to talk to you. I told her we’re going away for a few days. I told her you’re not ready to talk to her yet but--but maybe you will be when we get back. And she gave me this.” Kenzie felt more tears fall down her cheeks as she lifted the box up to him. Duncan took it with fingers that were shaking again--his eyes roved over the necklace with recognition as he opened the box.

“This was Adelaide’s, wasn’t it,” he whispered. “I remember it. I would touch it when she pulled me into her lap when I was little. I wanted to eat the ruby, you know--how you want to eat everything when you’re little--” and Kenzie knew the steady stream of words was to keep himself from crying, from becoming overwhelmed.

“Shhhh, baby,” she soothed. “Will you help me put it on?”

Duncan quieted and nodded to her, his eyes glittering (like sapphire). He lifted the necklace from the velvet box, setting the latter aside on the island, and Kenzie turned, lifting her chin so he could clasp it around her neck--his fingers were warm, almost hot, and her eyes fluttered open and closed at the feeling of them brushing against her (your touch is heaven to me, heaven) and then he gripped at her shoulders, his mouth coming down to kiss her ear, turning her easily, her weight nothing in his arms, and his gaze fell over her neck and his lips drifted open, his eyes opening and closing (nebulas), and Kenzie could see a kind of peace fall over him, as if she and Adelaide were somehow able to meet now, after all.

“It’s perfect,” he whispered, and she nodded, her chin turned up to him. “Adelaide would have loved for you to have it.”

Kenzie felt desperate to be close to him, desperate for him to hold her, suddenly, in a dark place where no eyes could reach them, where they could be naked and taste each other with abandon, with only the moon to see. My One. I want to comfort you in the privacy of our room so very much. She pulled his face down to hers carefully, pressing her forehead to his, and pushed golden waves down into him, pushed with all her strength, all her love, all her longing, and she felt his body relax against hers, like a sigh, though he was silent. She closed her eyes, knowing his were closed too, knowing they could see each other without needing to look--she could see the blue waves of him melting behind the darkness of her lids, could see the iridescent gold she had given him. All good things come in time. We just have to get through tonight. Then we’ll be able to comfort each other, my love. Comfort each other for days. He nodded against her skin, and Kenzie knew he heard.

They broke apart, and she looked over to Hannah, Erik and Georgio, watching her and Duncan with mouths agape again, not speaking to each other. She made eye contact with Erik, who drank off the rest of the wine in his glass, giving her a good-natured eyeroll.

“You two make me wanna get drunk,” he said, waving a hand toward them. “I’m raging with jealousy and arousal.” Kenzie noticed someone had put her roses in another of Duncan’s gold vases in the center of the kitchen island, and she looked at them gratefully.

“Mackenzie, come sit, we have a lot to do still,” Hannah said, tapping the styling chair, and Kenzie glanced back at Duncan (baby, come sit with me, please?) and he nodded to her, going back to the kitchen island and pouring himself another glass of wine as Kenzie sat before Hannah and Georgio, who both attacked her with new gusto--Hannah began to rapidly pin the rosebuds through the back of her hair, while Georgio began to rub different substances into her face with cool hands, his eyes intent on her, making her immediately shy.

“Where did you two meet, anyway?” Hannah asked, using a slender, long pair of blunt tweezers to pull the buds into the braids and strands she’d created at the back of Kenzie’s head.

Kenzie was quiet for a moment, glancing at Duncan who was bringing another glass of wine around to her, nestling it gently into her hand.

“It was a Republican party for PAC donors.”

He gave Kenzie a mischievous smirk, then settled into the chair beside her, but not before dragging it closer to her, veering around Georgio and Hannah with abandon, dipping his long legs under her gold platform heels and propping her feet up under him, his hand coming around to her knee. Kenzie knew he was craving her touch desperately--she could feel the need coming off him toward her, the ache in him for the comfort only her touch brought him (only you, his thoughts were whirling in circles, just you, your hands, your skin, you, I need you and they’ll have to deal with it) and she wanted to press her hand against his throat and taste him with her eager mouth, straddle him and tease him until he was begging for her, and she pressed her hand down onto his, sending the tendrils of these thoughts to him as he spoke again to Hannah, glancing at her with burning eyes.

“She was undercover, recording tidbits of juicy conversation for her article--of course, I didn’t know that until later. Not that I think it would have mattered to me. I was wishing I was literally anywhere else, out on the balcony, hiding from everyone, and she appeared. I thought I’d been knocked into a dream. She was wearing this tiny black velvet dress and these golden sandals that tied up her ankle, and had this necklace, and her hair--”

“Ugh, Duncan, stop--”

“Duncan, do not stop,” Hannah grinned at her, soothing her hands against Kenzie’s temples to hold her head still as Kenzie jerked it towards Duncan, then resumed rapidly dipping the tweezers through the back of her hair. Kenzie could see her face through the mirror, how Georgio was applying dark russet liner to her brows, and a heavy black eyeliner to her upper lids, giving her gaze a high drama.

“Hannah, I would have done literally anything to get her to go home with me. I mean--fucking anything.”

“And all you had to do was buy me a drink. I’m a cheap date,” Kenzie smiled up at Hannah, who laughed a little.

“I can imagine it didn’t take much convincing for either of you,” she said, stepping back from Kenzie’s hair to examine her handiwork. “You’re both--well. At the risk of embarrassing myself by using an antiquated standard, separately, you’re both 10s. Together? Fuck. The scale is fucking broken. Most people would claw each other’s eyes out if it meant they got to stand in your orbit, and I’m not one for flattery. Miss Mackenzie Stone, I do believe you’re ready for the Gala.”

Georgio had stepped back at well, in his silent, appraising way, a round brush still in his hand from applying light, rosy matte blush to Kenzie’s cheeks. He’d made her lips dark red, not quite as burgundy as the roses in her hair, but a deep claret that made her mouth look like a ripe fruit. Kenzie couldn’t stop herself; her breath caught as she gazed at herself, the dramatic angle the light threw on her face, the ruby and diamonds glittering right in the dip of her throat, the gold shimmer of her dress wrapped around her like a second skin.

“Turn around, baby, look,” Duncan urged her, his hand softly drifting against hers, Hannah bringing a little handheld mirror down into her hands to see the back of her hair, which was now a breathtaking array of dancing burgundy red buds, falling in a drifting, wild cascade from the artful arrangement Hannah had created.

“God, you really do look like a painting,” Hannah breathed and Erik was standing back in a pose of admiration, another glass of wine dangling at the end of one arm. He laughed in delight.

“Forget everyone else, darlings, I’ll be following you two around all night.”

Duncan groaned. “Please, no. I want her all to myself.” His hand was drifting up from her thigh to where she had turned towards the study to see her back in the mirror, his fingers falling against the buds, and his thoughts were dark red too, dark red with need for her, and Kenzie could feel the fall of them, almost see herself in his gaze for a moment, feel the pulse of his arousal, the memory in him of the feeling of her clit on his tongue, the ache in him to taste her again, his body shivering to remember the sensitive cavity between her legs, the tightness of her ass--Kenzie tried to swallow, tried to breathe, felt her heart pounding insanely at his touch and the intensity of his need against her in this moment, turning from the mirror to look into his burning gaze, and Hannah and Georgio seemed to somehow sense that their time together was ending; Georgio was gathering his makeup with clipped order, Hannah wrapping the curling iron up, tossing pins into the drawers. Erik was languidly pressing a finger to his phone, calling a private Uber.

“I want you so much,” Duncan had dipped his head to her, his mouth shivering against her ear, kissing down under it as he quieted, as if he deigned to think it rather than speak it aloud, as if he wanted to speak it, needed to, had to or he’d scream instead, and his hands were at her waist, feeling with insistent strength, damning the others, ignoring them. Kenzie’s skin tingled with flushed, radiant heat, her thoughts hazy, suddenly, the cool gold of the necklace pressing into her throat and making her cunt twinge, Duncan’s drifting hands making it twinge again, making her breath catch and burst out in a gasp. Make them go away, baby, she thought, and said aloud to Hannah and Georgio, turning away from him, “Thank you so much--both of you--I can’t say how wonderful--”

“Miss Mackenzie Stone, it was my honor,” Hannah said, her smile lit with warmth that shattered into Kenzie’s heart like an arrow. This woman has a beautiful soul. It gave her as much joy to do this for us as I have now to see the masterpiece she’s created for me. “Hoo boy. I think I’m a Duckenzie now too. Better sign up on that website. Did you two see that? Duckenzie Fans, or whatever it’s called?”

Duncan was laughing, nodding a little, dipping his chin down against the palm of his hand, crooked on his knee, his other hand still on Kenzie’s thigh. “Yeah. It’s something. We met the girls who run it, they can’t be out of high school yet. Kenzie was so lovely to them, it was all over the tabloids. She’s so lovely to people. Makes it easy for me to just stand there and say nothing.”

He was smiling at Kenzie again, his hand drifting, his fingers tightening on her, his thoughts clashing through her like the warm rain that had soaked them a few days ago--I wanna be alone with you now baby love, goddess from heaven, I wanna press that plug into you and whisper into your skin all the things I’m going to do to you later, I want you to force that ring onto me and fuck I’m already getting hard for you, my cock is already aching for you, angel--

Georgio was giving them a glittering look again, that wanton desire still blatant.

“If you two ever wanna think outside the box, I have this group I meet with sometimes in Prince William Forest,” he said evenly.

What the fuck does that mean, Kenzie balked. Like an orgy?

Yes, Kenz, that’s what he means. Duncan had half-rolled his eyes at Georgio’s statement, his thumb drifting soothingly over Kenzie’s knuckles.

“I don’t think so, Georgio, thank you.”

“Suit yourselves. You’d certainly be the center of attention.”

“No, thanks, Georgio.”

Erik was pressing a hand into Georgio’s black-clad back, smiling down at him serenely, batting his eyelashes, ushering the thin man towards the door. Hannah dipped down to Kenzie and hugged her around the neck, gently, careful not to muss the flowers in her hair.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” she whispered into Kenzie’s ear. “I hope to see you again sometime, Miss Stone.”

“Call me Kenzie, please?”

“Kenzie. It was an absolute delight. I can’t wait to see your photos literally everywhere tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Hannah,” Kenzie grasped the gray-haired woman’s hand and steadied her mind, whisking her psyche away from Duncan--and pressed gold tendrils down into Hannah, morsels of light, drifts of her good will. She watched a serene, doleful expression come into Hannah’s brown eyes, then she let go, and Hannah drifted away from her, still staring at her for a long moment. Erik was pushing Georgio out the door, and called out behind him, “I’ll see you in an hour or so, darlings, I can’t wait to meet the infamous Madeline Stone!” Hannah hesitated for the span of a few seconds, she and Kenzie still staring at each other across the room, pulling her portable drawers behind her on the little wheels attached to the bottom.

Hannah, bright blessings to you. Today, and for the days to come, for you.

Kenzie watched the other woman’s face, watched what seemed to be the glitter of a tear on her cheek--then Hannah waved a little to both of them, and pulled the big black door to the penthouse shut as she left.

Suddenly, the penthouse was quiet, and it was only the two of them. The light had begun to fade--it was almost 7 now, and night was beginning to fall. Kenzie glanced over at the Bouguereau prints on the wall, feeling Duncan’s eyes on her, feeling the blue of his thoughts kissing against her mind. The evening mood, she thought, and turned to him again.

Yes, my Kenzie. The evening mood is here. Come to the bedroom with me. He was standing, gently twining his fingers into hers, grasping onto her train and bringing it over his arm with supine grace, the melted gold of his jacket glowing in the twilight that had suddenly surrounded them. The energy inside her was humming now, building to a kind of frenzied rhythm, and Kenzie could see the full moon beginning to rise as they passed the picture window, see its corn-yellow face from last night had not faded, rather sharpened into a bewitching visage, like a sleeping maiden in a field of night-lit grasses.

“I feel like a princess,” she whispered to him as they entered the bedroom, and Duncan was closing the door behind them, closing it to the world--and then he was pressing against her, pressing her into their Mirror with an aching softness that made her mind leap into a static of feeling, thoughts bleeding out into nothing but his mouth on hers, nothing but his hands on the gold braid at her neck, then his fingers along her collarbones, then clutching at her shoulders, the smooth gold cups at her breasts.

“You are a princess,” he was whispering between their kisses, and Kenzie fought to breathe, “you’re my fucking Princess, you’re my fucking Goddess, you’re mine, aren’t you, my angel on earth, you’ll give yourself to me, baby, won’t you--”

“Fuck, yes, you know I will, baby,” she moaned into him, the tips of his hot fingers refusing to press more harshly into her, his blue gaze heavy-lidded, looking down on her from the dark shadow around them now, waiting teasingly for her answer. “Fuck, get my plug for me, please, baby--”

“Shhh, Kenzie, go get your coconut oil, okay?”

“Uh huh,” she murmured, and turned away from him, the tiny hairs on her arms standing up, flush with goosebumps. Kenzie pressed a hand between her breasts as she stepped carefully to the bathroom, serenely quiet and spotlessly clean, feeling her heart racing--she could see her jar of coconut oil on the edge of the sink, and took it with trembling hands. She tried to imagine telling Kenzie from a year ago about this night--you’ll be going to a Gala attended by the richest people in DC, and you’ll look like an angel, and your boyfriend is Duncan Shepherd, and he’s going to push your plug into your ass beforehand and you’re going to make him wear a cock ring and you’re going to edge each other to death all night and then, hopefully, you’re going to fuck each other into tomorrow morning, Kenzie, and you can hear each other’s thoughts, see the depth of his love for you like the swirling center of a fire--

Kenzie swallowed, stared at herself in the darkened mirror of the bathroom for a moment, almost not recognizing herself for a moment--I really do look like a goddess, she thought. I really fucking do. Be that fearless goddess tonight, Kenzie Lou. Just pretend she is you. For tonight, you are her. You’re a goddess.

Kenzie brought the oil out in hands she willed not to shake, and Duncan was standing by the Mirror, looking at himself curiously, appraisingly, the ring clutched in one hand, her plug in the other. He turned to her, and his smile melted her heart into sweet butter.

“Me first,” she whispered. “I want you to do me first, baby.”

Duncan’s eyes darkened (your storm, my sweet god of shadows) and beckoned to her with one elegantly crooked finger.

“Come here, angel.” Whatever Hannah had done to his hair, she’d made it so his beautiful curls were now even more striking than usual, the fall of them seeming impossible to her eyes in this light, their loveliness ethereal, and she saw him as inhuman again for a moment as she fell into his arms--saw him as as a god made of stars and ink-dark sky. You are the god to my goddess tonight, aren’t you, and their mouths came together in another aching kiss, his tongue brushing down into her, and then he was turning her to face the Mirror, turning her so his stomach pressed insistently into her back. He pressed the cock ring into her fingers, taking the oil away, and she gripped its smooth silicone surface, her heart bursting. Give me all your need, baby, make me feel it, remind me that I belong to you. He opened the oil, dipping his fingers into it, eyes focused on her--Kenzie could see her mouth hung open, her breath coming out in ragged bursts, her face glowing with the lovely makeup--I am going to be so gentle with you, baby, but you won’t get to come yet and no one will know your ache for me, no one will know your secret tonight but me, his eyes said, and then he was dipping the plug into it too, and Kenzie’s cunt and ass twinged sharply, and she sucked her breath in, unable to stop the whimper of the moan that fell out of her. But you’ll be thinking of it all night, as I’ll be thinking of my ache for you.

“Please,” she said, and pressed her hands against the Mirror, leaning just a little, ever so little, to give herself to him. Duncan leaned to set the oil on the dark wood--then, he carefully pressed the hem of Kenzie’s golden dress up with a twisting motion, so it fell up and over her hips, exposing the black lace of the panties she wore underneath the opulent gown. Kenzie could feel the damp, cool pressure of his finger tips at the line of her panties now, and with another quick motion Duncan pulled them down so they hovered around her thighs above her knees--he leaned down over her so his face came up beside her ear, and Kenzie cried out to him as she felt his fingers dip into her ass, first his index, then his middle finger beside it, stretching her.

“Kenzie, babydoll,” he whispered into her ear, and Kenzie leaned back, her mind needy, into his fingers, longing for him to press against her clit, knowing with anguished disappointment that he wouldn’t, not yet, not now. “My sweet baby, my angel of roses. Mine. You can’t take this out until I say you can. Promise me you won’t.”

Kenzie felt his fingers leave her and she was desperate for the loss--”Unng, baby, please, I won’t, I promise I won’t--” she whined, biting into her lip, unafraid in this moment with him, unafraid to show him the desperation of her want for him. “Please put it inside me.”

She sighed with relief as his hand came around her throat, gripping so his fingers pressed possessive divots into her skin, then a long, keening cry melted out of her and his fingers tightened at her neck as she felt the plug’s bulbous head, slick with oil, rest for a long, terrible second against the pucker of her ass, then slide with aching pressure and his strong insistence inside her, guided by his pliant fingers. His hand lingered, fingers pressing around the dip of her ass below where the plug was now snugly tethered, as if to ensure that it was tightly in place, and Kenzie was gasping, gasping at the terrible twinging need of her cunt, the throbbing of her clit, aching to be touched by him there, aching for him alone to give her release, her hands still pressed into the Mirror, his dark-shadowed eyes piercing her with their expectant lust. O Hades, my Hades, kiss me, then let me cage you, and in your cage, think only of me, your Queen of Roses, caged for you by your hand.

“My turn, baby,” he whispered, and crouched down to pull her panties back up snugly to her waist, his fingers drifting over her hips, cupping her ass cheeks, then carefully pulling her golden gown back over her legs, using the hand that hadn’t probed into her--he’s so careful, Kenzie thought, I know how much you want me in this moment, and yet still you’re so careful, so neat, afraid to ruin my gown, my Prince. As Kenzie shifted she could feel the twinge of the plug’s weight against the sensitive cavity of her ass, and she felt her knees buckle for a moment, her thighs tingling, her neck longing for the press of his hand again. Want it there always, my Prince, my sweet Hades, your scent like the wild wood of night. She pulled him down to her mouth, laving her tongue out into him, and Duncan moaned with piteous need, and Kenzie felt the long tendriled gold of her need reach out for him in turn, demanding.

“Put your hands at your sides, baby. You’re not allowed to move them.”

Duncan immediately did as she said, his eyes smoldering in the darkening bedroom, his mouth open to her, his thoughts afire with her. God, baby, I am fucking dying for you, you’re so fucking beautiful, not touching you is like torture, I’m yours, I beg you, please, touch me, baby.

You are truly the most beautiful boy I have ever seen, Kenzie thought. And you are fucking mine. You’re mine, baby. Your beautiful cock belongs to me.

“I know this is going to make you ache terribly tonight,” Kenzie said, evening her tone just above a whisper. “But you have to be good. You can’t touch yourself, you can’t take it off.” She knelt very slowly in the opulent gown, her back to the Mirror now, dipping her head so he could see the way she was prostrate for him, her head looking up at him, the cascade of her rosebud-brindled hair arrayed for him in its loveliness. Duncan closed his eyes, and she felt how overcome he was, how lost in the sight of her, and it thrilled her--that’s fucking right, Prince Duncan, your Persephone kneels before you now, and you will promise her you will allay your pleasure until she has need of it, and Kenzie could see the dip of his crotch had grown in the low light--she lifted her hands up and undid the button at his groin carefully, unzipping his pants, pulling down the waistband of his body-tight briefs to bring one of her slender hands against the bottom of the shaft of his growing cock, pulling it out decisively, and Duncan’s breath hitched, his head falling back, his adam’s apple bobbing in the light, making Kenzie want to pull him down to her so she could press her mouth against him there. She focused, instead, on his thick length, the veins of his sex suddenly beautiful to her, the head of his cock a roundness that she longed to dip into her mouth, a sliding droplet of precum glittering there. Instead, Kenzie lifted her hand away--Duncan moaned, dejected with the loss of her, and she could see his hands shaking at his sides--then she picked up the ring from where she’d carefully laid it by her knee, dipping her fingertips into the oil, slathering them along the circular interior of the toy.

Then, Kenzie dipped one of her hands into the oil again, and quickly brought it up, before Duncan could prepare himself, to the low hardness of his cock--she slathered the oil along him from head to base and Kenzie watched with satisfaction, feeling the plug pressing into her from her spread thighs where she knelt to him, as his mouth dipped open again and his shoulders shuddered minutely at her touch. Kenzie didn’t wait again--she gripped the ring and carefully, but with deep, concentrated insistence, pushed it onto his cock to the base, watching with a burst of intense heat into the bottom of her belly how it twinged with redness, immediately constricted.

“Ung, Kenzie, fuck me, holy fuck,” Duncan murmured, his hands drifting dangerously close to the ring, to his length, his eyes furiously bright, and Kenzie shook her head.

“No, baby. You can’t. Only I can take it off.”

“Fuck, baby, angel, I can’t--”

Kenzie stood, grasping his cock again, making him shudder and cry out, his throat convulsing, and she pushed him back down into the tight briefs he wore, zipping the closely tailored slacks and buttoning them, her fingers hooking over the waistline, my tall Prince, her face hovering at his heart, her dark red lips falling against the melting gold and velvet of his jacket to kiss it. The heat that fell away from him over her was blinding--he seemed to be burning, the blue flame of him almost visible to her naked eyes.

“You can, Dunny. It’s for me. My plug is so tight, baby, when I sit down it’s going to make me fucking writhe for you--” and Duncan went to grasp her but Kenzie said “wash your hands first, baby,” and he stepped back, nodding, turning as Kenzie followed him to the bathroom--she dipped her hands into the sink with his, the soap mingling between them, the Cartier bracelets falling down their wrists and clinking together, Duncan’s face leaning close to her hair, and Kenzie knew he was breathing her scent in. She reached for the hand towel and dipped her hands into it, then Duncan’s hands were pulling it insistently away, gripping her hips and pushing her into the wall, knowing it was okay, knowing he had her permission to hold her, now that both of them were carefully, insistently claimed by the other, both driven to the edge of their desire and now, with terrible need, held there for an undetermined amount of time, and knowing that to touch each other for a moment, a few moments, would be the only relief for hours. His lips fell against hers, her arms dipping up to reach for him, but he grasped her wrists and forced them against the wall, holding her there.

“I’m in fucking agony, baby,” he murmured, and Kenzie shivered, delighted by the strength coiled in his fingers, the strain in his voice. She struggled a little, facetiously, against his grip, and he tightened it as she giggled.

“Good,” she whispered, and she felt the burst of heat fall onto her from him at that. Duncan bit his lip, his eyes falling down her face to the tailored shape of the dress against her breasts, the dip of her throat with the gold braid, diamonds, and the ruby, the diamonds on her wrist she couldn’t take off unless he unlocked it.

“I wanna fucking fuck you, Kenzie.”

“You will, baby. Later. We have a Gala to go to.”

“I don’t fucking care about the Gala.”

“I know. But we have to.”

Duncan whined into her neck, and Kenzie turned her head, the better to feel his lips on her there, turning her head up, lifting her thigh up so it pressed into his crotch, and Duncan groaned, the sound bleeding into a strangled, tiny sob in the back of his throat. His grip loosened on her wrists, enough for her to release one of them, and Kenzie slipped out of his grasp, bringing her hand around to press into his darkly stubbled cheek, smooth with the dusting of concealer Georgio had put there. Not that he needs it. His skin is already so smooth and beautiful.

Kenzie tapped his cheek with an insistent little snap. “Bad boy is gonna fuck me so good later, aren’t you. My Prince is gonna fucking fuck my brains out.”

“Uh huh. I fucking am. I wanna do it right fucking now--”

She brought her hand up and let it come down again, this time with a more insistent little tap into his cheekbone. Duncan’s breath hitched.

“Kenzie, do it again. Harder. Tell me to calm the fuck down. I’m too hard and I can’t think straight. Fuck, baby, please. Slap me.”

Kenzie nodded and brought her hand up, Duncan still clutching her other wrist to the wall--she made sure her palm was very flat this time, and brought it down with a swift snap. This time Duncan’s face pitched to the side and his eyes fluttered closed with the low pain of it, and he stepped back from her, releasing her other wrist. Kenzie brought her hands around him, steadying him at the waist, and he blew out a low breath, eyes earthwards.

“Let’s go to this fucking party, baby,” Kenzie whispered. “I wanna show them how fucking beautiful we are.”

Duncan lifted his eyes, and the wildfire in them stopped her heart again.

“I’m ready, my Queen of Roses.” And Kenzie grinned, bouncing up against him in her platform heels, shaking out her rose-laden hair, leading her dark prince out of their rooms, his hand gripping her train possessively. Kenzie snatched up the little golden clutch Morgan had made for her, and pulled him, between insistent, coaxing kisses, out of the penthouse and into the elevator. Kenzie was absolutely struck by their reflection now, highlighted by brighter lights of the elevator’s interior--Duncan was pulling his phone out of his pocket. We have to, he thought, and Kenzie nodded. Time to show everyone.

Kenzie pressed against him, clutching her hand to his lapels under her chin, turning her head so the roses in her hair were visible in the mirror, her dress pressed to the side, partially enveloped and hidden by Duncan’s dark arm around her waist, but the back of the golden train shimmering in the light. Duncan’s darkly-shadowed eyes glanced into the reflection, his expression defiant and knowing, the dripping gold of his jacket striking, the golden, intricate tips at his collar scintillating under his sharp jawline, the fall of his hair just-so. He lifted his phone, capturing the reflection, bringing it down for her appraisal. Kenzie nodded, looking up at him. Yes, baby. Good. So fucking good.

She watched as he typed a caption. Hades and Persephone ascend to Earth for a party. #weheardyoulikeus #andifyoudontohwell #duckenziesayshiworld

Kenzie giggled and nodded. “Fuck yes, baby.” He continued to hold her against him as he posted the photo, his hand drifting against her shoulder as he bit his lip, squinting at his phone in concentration in the bright light. I love him. I love how earnest he is in our quiet moments together like this.

“Baby, send it to me okay? I want it.”

Duncan nodded into her cheek as the elevator door dinged open to the foyer, and Kenzie could feel the vague pressure of the silicone ring pressing into her hip from where he leaned his crotch against her. His hand drifted down, quickly brushing over her ass, down to the curve above her thighs, where he knew the plug was--Kenzie let out a little cry and slid away from him, hot lines of want coursing down through her belly at his touch, trying to straighten her expression when she saw Anchaly had returned to his desk. Duncan followed behind her, eyes burning on her, his hand still possessively grasping her train in his fist.

“I see you’ve come down to bless the mortals, Mr. Shepherd, Miss Stone,” Anchaly grinned. He had a new book, The New Adam and Eve, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Whatever strain he’d felt over Annette’s visit was now gone from his face, and his eyes were glittering at them again, his posture immediately leaning towards them, as if drawn by a lure. “I’m stunned, Miss Mackenzie, your hair, like the garden of Eden.”

Kenzie twirled for him, smiling at him coyly. Anchaly laughed, delighted, gazing raptly. The way people look at us now, she thought to Duncan. It’s a little bit spooky.

I agree, but who wouldn’t look at you that way, angel.

“Have a wonderful evening. I have no doubt you will, how could you not? As blessed as you are.”

Kenzie watched Duncan’s eyes turn on Anchaly, his dawning expression of recognition.

“Anchaly, we truly are blessed. I’m blessed. I’m grateful. To whatever’s out there. The Fates or...destiny. God. The gods. I’m grateful.” Duncan’s hand went to his hair, slid down his chin, rubbing there, thumb drifting to his lip. Kenzie stepped to him and grasped his hand, felt the immediate cooling contentment of his mind at her touch. Anchaly said nothing, merely continued to look at them admiringly.

“I’m sure your gratitude has not gone unnoticed, Mr. Shepherd. It’s apparent in you now. The change in you is breathtaking. You will do great work together. I can see it like a clear path stretching out ahead. Enjoy yourselves and be happy.”

Kenzie smiled. The smile seemed to extend through all of her body, down to her toes, through the tips of her fingers, into the skin of her cheeks and coursing through the back of her mind and her neck to her spine, shaking through the ends of her hair. She pushed the gold tendrils through herself; I’m so happy I could fucking die, she thought, and she felt the tendrils extend out of her in that moment, stronger than they’d ever been before except in the dream where she’d made the fire grow, and she felt them touch Duncan with deep, abiding strength, and brush against Anchaly with affection, and they both looked at her with expressions that reminded her of effigies in a church, faces turned with fervent eyes--and Duncan’s filled her with conciliation, with the knowledge that with his eyes on her this way, she was truly seen, that he saw beyond the flowers in her hair, the blush on her cheeks, the darkness at her lips, to the secret soul she had long hidden, the one that belonged to him because he had promised to love it with abandon.

Duncan seemed to surface from the vision she had pressed around them; he turned to Anchaly and thanked him, and then he pulled Kenzie out the door (Jerry said nothing, merely beamed at them and stared, his eyes wide) to where Samuel waited, and a sweet summer wind was blowing, cool and soft, and it smelled like long grass and the sun-kissed residue of day, it smelled like the full moon that hovered above them, a scent like small flowers in shadows and the heady musk of damp earth and, wildly, the aching crash of the sea, Kenzie’s eyes glancing to its perfect roundness--it seemed impossibly huge tonight, the sun kissing Her, pressed into an ardent embrace; it’s for us, she thought wildly, stopping Duncan breathlessly, bringing him against her under it, his arms lifting her into his mouth achingly, his tall body so right as it enveloped hers utterly, Kenzie, I’ll love you until the end of time, he was thinking, I’ll love you until time means nothing, and it was as if she could feel the moonlight holding them, feel it pressing soft, cool hands into their hair, smiling on them with serene affection, hoping for their love to find its secret holding place later tonight, urging them to the time when they’d be alone again, tangled in the sheets of the black bed, irrevocably entwined, like Her, held by the Sun, now a part of Her, the source of her light, and Her his most beloved. Duncan, I love you so much the words in my heart have not yet been written in any language. The gold of me is all for you. And the moon saw them, and knew it to be true.

---------

It was five before 8 when Madeline slid carefully into the front seat beside Samuel, who was playing Billie Holiday (I’ll find you in the morning sun, and when the night is new, I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you) quietly. Momby was wearing one of her gold scarves draped over her shoulders with a brocade Calvin Klein dress, as promised, and she had a lovely rose-gold pin clasping the scarf against her--it was in the shape of a rose, and Kenzie puzzled at it.

“Oh Kenzie Lou, you look beautiful,” her Momby breathed, and Kenzie was reaching her hand through the partition, her emotions bubbling up, threatening to overflow. Her mother’s hand was warm and comforting, deeply familiar. “You too, Duncan. I mean, really. Fucking beautiful.”

Duncan was smiling at her through the window. “Thank you, Madeline. So do you.”

“Momby, where did you get that pin? I’ve never seen it before.”

“I had other admirers besides your father when I was young, baby,” was all Madeline said, turning to glance at Samuel. “Why hello, most delightful specimen on God’s green earth.”

Samuel laughed at her, his very white teeth shining out of his mouth in the shadows and dim neon lights of the car’s interior. “Miss Madeline, to see you again is truly a blessing to me. And may I say, you look absolutely stunning tonight.”

“Go on, go on,” Madeline took her hand out of Kenzie’s and pressed it to Samuel’s arm. Kenzie balked. Momby. Kenzie pulled her phone out, sending Clairebear a quick text, remembering.

Good luck on your date with Harris tonight!!!! I love you so much. We couldn’t help it, we jumped the gun and posted a picture on Instagram, but here it is again. She attached the photo Duncan had taken of them in the elevator to the text, hit Send, then typed again.

Clairebear, thank you for always being there for me. I don’t know who I would be without you. I’m so emotional tonight, it’s like my body is on fire. Duncan and I are going away for a few days after this, his family has a cabin by Deep Creek Lake, it’s a few hours away. He found out he’s adopted and no one ever told him until now, so it’s been really difficult for him. I don’t know how the phone service is out there, and I’ll still have my phone, but I think we’re going to try to go off the grid a little bit.

She hit Send, then typed again, Duncan’s hand drifting to her leg. “I’m texting Claire,” she murmured to him, and he nodded, his eyes closed, his mouth in her hair, blue waves tenderly brushing against her body.

Duncan and I have been having some really strange experiences with each other lately. It’s hard to describe. Strange dreams and other things that should just be impossible. I’ll tell you more about it when we get back. I think we need to figure out what it means and I feel really strongly that if we go off to the woods we’ll find the thing we’re looking for. Not sure why, but that’s what it feels like. When we get back, I think we’ll know more about all of it.

Claire, I love you forever.

They were already pulling up to the Shepherd mansion’s gate, and the moment, the reality of the Gala, which had seemed so far away, had finally arrived. Kenzie slipped her phone back into her clutch, turning to gaze out the window--around the gate were at least two hundred people, some non-credentialed press, some clearly fans. Kenzie noticed with a jolt of recognition that Lindy and Gabby were among them--Gabby was holding a sign that said DUCKENZIE WE LOVE YOU STOP AND BE FRIENDLY, her curly red hair shimmering in the street lamps that lined the tall, impenetrable white fence that stretched around the property. Kenzie grinned--referencing one of my favorite movies is a good way to get my attention, she thought, and leaned to Samuel.

“Samuel, stop here for a minute,” and Duncan balked, trying to grab her hand.

“No, Kenzie, Harris isn’t here--”

“It’s okay, baby, I promise. It’s okay.” She looked steadily into his eyes. I can do this. Watch me.

Kenzie pressed the door open and stepped out onto the curb, and immediately a swarm of press gathered around her--Duncan was getting out of the car behind her, his expression deeply creased with concern. Kenzie took a deep breath and pushed outward--for a moment her body tingled wildly, her mind compressing and her head feeling impossibly heavy, pushing her chin down--and then the air around her seemed to calm, the summer wind that had been blowing seemed to stop, and the frantic shouting of the press around her lowered as if someone had turned a dial on stereo, their pressing dispersing, like leaves scattering, caught in a tiny tornado that spread them back. There, that’s better, she thought, and reached for Duncan’s hand. His expression was stunned now, gazing at her in bewildered wonder, and Kenzie smiled at him earnestly. I told you, Dunny, it’s okay. Come on.

She stepped up to Gabby and Lindy, who hadn’t seemed to notice anything unusual, somehow; they were hopping excitedly, squealing and reaching out to her.

“Kenzie, Kenzie, we made you something!” Lindy held out a large squarish object that turned out to be a handmade scrapbook full of fan messages--Kenzie held it gently and nodded. “You look like a goddess tonight,” Lindy said, then unceremoniously the small girl burst into tears.

“Oh, Lindy, it’s okay--don’t cry,” Kenzie was pulling the girl against her gently, and Gabby was biting her lip, clearly hovering near tears as well. “Thank you so much, Duncan and I looked at the website, it’s absolutely beautiful. You two definitely have a career in web design. Maybe we can hire you for Shepherd Unlimited someday.” Gabby rocked back on her heels (both girls were wearing long flowery dresses, and their earnest loveliness pressed on Kenzie’s heart), her eyes fluttering in disbelief. “Oh, Kenzie, really? Thank you so much for looking at it, we’ve been working so hard, so, so hard.” Kenzie let go of Lindy, opening her clutch and handing the girl a tissue from it.

“Girls, we have to go, but it was so nice to see you again,” Duncan murmured to them, taking the scrapbook from Kenzie’s hands, grasping her with tight fingers. Kenzie quickly leaned and kissed Lindy’s tear-stained cheek, then Gabby’s, blushing and hot, pushing gold tendrils into them, watching Lindy’s face calm and soften. There. No more tears, sweet. I see you. She gave them both a little wave as she stepped back, then turned to the other people gathered around them, gazing at Kenzie and her interactions with the two girls with awed expressions. Suddenly the night was strangely quiet; the moon looked down on the scene, and everyone stared at Kenzie, a hush falling over the hubbub of the crowd.

“Next time,” she said, nodding, turning to the press, and then Duncan pulled her insistently back into the car, Samuel whipping the BMW around to the open gate, where several security guards were keeping the fans and other press back, ushering cars through to the mansion entrance. Kenzie heard the sounds of the crowd resume as the car drove on; that was really strange.

“Kenzie, why in the world would you do that?” Madeline was scolding her, looking back at her with an exasperated expression. “Your bodyguard is off duty and Duncan went as white as a sheet. He still is, look.”

“It’s important to be to be kind to people, Momby,” was all Kenzie said. Duncan didn’t say anything, putting the scrapbook from the girls down at his feet, still holding her hand tightly. Kenzie could see that he was a little pale under the dark eyeshadow, but his thoughts were even now. I know why you did it, baby. I love how brave you are, even if I’m not. Even when you do--whatever it is you do. I’m still afraid for your safety, my sweet Kenzie.

I know, baby, it’s okay. I’m sorry if I scared you. I just feel like I--I really feel like I need to be kind to those girls. Like I WANT to be kind to them. They can see our love and they’re moved by it. I want them to know we see them, too, and how earnest they are. How lovely.

Samuel had made it to the entrance, which Kenzie could see was heralded tonight with huge banners running from the edge of the sidewalk to the entrance, the doors thrown wide tonight to expose the opulent foyer of Annette Shepherd’s mansion. Some of the banners had the Shepherd Unlimited logo (an SU in white Verdana script with cobalt blue fleur de lis on either side) and opulent, swirling gold text on a black background that read 4TH ANNUAL SHEPHERD FREEDOM FOUNDATION GALA: GOLD IN THE DARKNESS and in smaller script The Juxtaposition of Light and Shadow in the Pre-Raphaelite Movement. Between the script banners were picture banners printed stunningly with major Pre-Raphaelite works: Kenzie could make out Rossetti’s Venus Verticordia, Cowper’s Vanity, and Evelyn de Morgan’s The Field of the Slain, alongside others obscured from her seat. The glowing feeling she’d felt with Gabby and Lindy faded out into nervous excitement now, and she felt her throat clench, her hands going cold as blood rushed to her head. She shifted, feeling the press of the plug inside her, sending sharp pricks of intensity up her spine and through her thighs. Duncan clutched her hand more tightly, and she knew he was thinking about the clenching weight of the ring at his cock, could feel the intensity of his desire for her, like lightning bolts of needling sensation, infiltrating the corners of her mind. Hang in there, baby, and she turned to him, smiling nervously, his eyes intent on her as he bit his lip. We have a long way to go.

“Earth to Kenzie and Duncan,” Madeline called into the backseat, her voice impatient. “Your mother is fucking starving!”

Kenzie glanced out the window again--between the rows of banners on either side of the entranceway was a lush black carpet, stretching into the mansion and beyond her eyesight. There were at least a hundred people milling around on it now--the press was confined to the sidelines by gold ropes, photographers to a stretch around the middle of the walkway, a black backdrop visible with the Shepherd logo and various sponsor logos printed along it. Kenzie recognized several Senators and Congresspeople, as well as the Mayor and Vice President Usher, and also recognized several well-known celebrities with a little burst of shyness--get it together Kenz, you’re a celebrity now too, in your own right.

You’re the most important person here, she heard Duncan’s thought to her. I mean it, Kenz.You are. Don’t fucking worry about any of them. Tonight, this is for you. It’s about you. They’re going to see. Kenzie felt a rush of nerves, an aching affection for him, full of gratitude and desire and love, and she quickly dipped her mouth up to his and brought her hand to his hair, then she pulled away before he could deepen it--and pushed the door open, stepping out onto the carpet.

Kenzie’s eyes widened as the collective eyes of the press and photo pools drifted over to the BMW--as one, they seemed to shift all their energy and attention onto her and her alone, giving her the acute feeling of a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming semi-truck. Duncan was exiting behind her, and then a short-haired valet hurrying up to them, a flushed look on his face, pulling the front passenger’s open for Madeline, who gave him an appraising stare over her glasses as Kenzie felt the eyes of the guests now turning onto them as well--she locked eyes with Mark Usher for a moment, her blood going cold, and his expression was indecipherable to her, but Kenzie knew he knew who she was, which made her feel as though someone had usurped her body and put a mask on it. The Vice President can’t possibly know me, little ol’ Mackenzie Stone. How the fuck? Life makes no fucking sense anymore.

“Darlings, please, distract them from me,” Madeline turned her head to Duncan, who was holding his hand reassuringly at the small of Kenzie’s back as she stood stock-still, frozen and trapped in her thoughts. “I need to get to the refreshment table post-haste. Kiss or something.”

“You know I’m going to kiss her, Madeline,” Duncan smiled. “As often as possible and as long as she’ll let me.”

“That’s my boy.”

Madeline set out ahead of them before Kenzie could stop her, pausing to made a snide comment to a woman with platinum blonde hair and a monstrous dress that seemed to be made of the tinselly tassels of cheerleader pompoms in gold and white towards the front of the press area. The woman’s face pinched into a mask of dislike at Kenzie’s mother, and Kenzie fought the urge to laugh.

“Who’s that?” She whispered to Duncan, unable to look away from the horrible dress the woman wore. Kenzie felt acutely that she recognized her from somewhere, but couldn’t decipher where.

“It’s Gretchen Friedrichs,” Duncan answered in a dark tone. “She has a popular conservative web series called Patriot Watch. And she’s absolutely awful. I hope Madeline just told her to fuck off into a black hole. She’s going to try to talk to you. Ignore her.”

Duncan twined his fingers through Kenzie’s, his other hand coming down to her train to drape it over his arm, and he stepped forward, pulling her gently. Time to go, sweet Kenzie. You look as beautiful as a falling star. I know how brave you are. This is nothing for you. A piece of cake. They were nearing the press pool, the whole of which had turned their attention utterly on Kenzie and Duncan, making the hairs on Kenzie’s arms rise with the intensity of their stares. The energy was suddenly dense, suffocating, almost savage, and it made Kenzie want to turn and run back to the BMW--but the BMW wasn’t there anymore, Samuel had driven away. Too late, Kenz, you’re in it now. Kenzie glanced at Duncan, feeling her heart clench, feeling as though there was water in her ears, blocking her hearing, and she felt horribly dizzy for a moment. He’s so beautiful, all in gold and black, as beautiful as the evening, as divine as an angel with dark wings, Prince Duncan from high in his opulent tower, and who am I, but little Mackenzie Stone, tripping over her own feet, crying over every little thing, with her shitty little apartment and her shitty little tchotkes, her shitty little plants and her little goofy button face--

Kenzie. Remember when you had the nightmare? Breathe like that. Just breathe, baby. I love you more than anything on this earth. You know how extraordinary you are--but I’ll tell you again. You’ve felt it when our minds come together this way--you’ve felt it in our bed, how you’ve made me needy for you beyond all desire I’ve ever experienced, and you’ve felt it in the way you can bring comfort to others just by willing it into them. Mackenzie Stone. You are not a little of anything. You are a gold ocean of impossible depth. Now breathe. I love you. Show them. Duncan’s eyes were twin pools of sapphiric water--they knew her, and saw her, and accepted her utterly, worshipped her, and she knew it.

Kenzie breathed in through her nose, held it, and breathed out through her mouth. Then she went up to Gary Spencer and Sissy Conners, past Gretchen Friedrichs who shouted “Mackenzie, Mackenzie, does this mean you’re a Republican now?” and smiled at them--and when she smiled, rather than pressing the gold outward, Kenzie swirled it, stirred it, in the pit of her body, stirred it high into herself, and moved it through her mind. Mackenzie. You truly are that brave person Duncan believes you to be. Think of everything that’s happened. This is really nothing. You’re together. You are the sceptre, he is the sword. Eternal and unshaking.

The last of the thought came unbidden, a jarring, nonsensical certainty that she didn’t understand, and Kenzie blinked, moving it away from herself, refocusing on the high, heady boldness she could feel building in herself now. She shifted, resurfacing to reality, feeling the plug pressing into her again, pressing hot fingers into the sensitivity of her muscles and senses. Our secret, baby, here among all these people.

“Mackenzie, how are you feeling tonight?” Sissy was holding a microphone out to her, her smile too wide and too white, her dress a blinding, extremely tight bodycon in dark gold snakeskin. “You look absolutely exquisite, an absolute vision, I know you mentioned yesterday that Morgan Winthrop designed your look for tonight, but what’s the concept here, beyond the theme?”

“I’m the concept,” Kenzie was tilting her head down, batting her eyelashes slowly, giving her best Kenzie-wants-something-from-Momby look--one she’d perfected over a lifetime--aware the camera on Ricky’s shoulder behind them was zeroed on her. She glanced to the side--Duncan was saying something to Gretchen in a low voice, still clutching the end of Kenzie’s train, his expression dark. Gretchen looked like she’d swallowed something sour, and Kenzie looked back at the BPF reporters, a satisfied twinge floating through her mind. “Duncan was inspired by me. By our relationship. We both love mythology and we’re drawn to the myth of Hades and Persephone, so we kind of went with something along those lines, but--I feel wonderful, I can’t wait to see the set-up inside, I just love the banners already. I know everyone’s been working so hard. I love the romanticism of all of it, and I’m so happy Duncan and I are finally getting a chance to step out publically together, so, yeah--I’m just really happy to be here. And to show off Morgan’s extraordinary talents.” She grinned at Sissy, who was gaping at her with surprise. Duncan finally appeared at her elbow; he’d set her train down behind them, and Kenzie turned her head over her shoulder to glance down at it, fanning like a gold river over a black landscape, then turned her face up to him, her smile still wide. I fucking love you, baby. She grasped his hand and Sissy switched the microphone to Duncan now, her expression one of wonder, speaking rapidly.

“Duncan, wow--the look. The eyeshadow, the gold jacket, the collar--you two are just so incredibly beautiful together, there’s now an internet shorthand for your relationship, “Duckenzie”, which I’m sure you’re both aware of, I’ve heard you have a fan club now and your Instagrams are the most popular on the internet lately--I saw you already posted a shot of your looks for tonight and it’s racked up a quarter of a million likes already--is there anything you would say to your fans around the world? They seem to be growing by the hour, and tonight is sure to bring you more.”

“We think everyone is wonderful,” Kenzie said, and turned to Duncan, drifting gold against him. Everyone can see, baby. I feel it. He nodded, smiling down at her, his dark look shivering against her heart again, his thumb pressing into her palm, suggestive, hidden. “And good things are coming,” he said.

“Duncan, can you elaborate on that?” Gary said, his eyes switching back and forth between them, puzzled, rapt.

“It’ll be clearer in time,” Kenzie said to him, staring at him steadily for a long moment. Gary seemed utterly shaken by them; Kenzie could see sweat had broken out on his brow, and he looked away from her after a moment, nervously. “Thanks, Sissy, Gary. Thanks.”

“Have...a wonderful time.”

Sissy’s voice suddenly seemed tiny, far different from the boisterous tone she usually used. Kenzie could see the confusion in the other woman’s eyes--as if she’d seen something she couldn’t explain, something that had shaken her to the core. It’s us, Kenzie knew. Sissy saw us for a moment. Not me and Duncan, not really--she saw those other selves. The ones we see in our dreams sometimes. The ones that cannot be described in words. She saw us, just the tiniest bit, reflected from us like a mirror held up to another time and place. She felt us. Kenzie pulled Duncan away from the press pool, and to the black backdrop, turning towards where fifty photographers crouched on specially designed pews--their flashes immediately blinded her, made her suck her breath in, their voices rising in a cacophony so she could barely decipher one from the next.

“You got this, baby,” Duncan was whispering down into her ear, his hand snaking around her waist again. “Duncan! Mackenzie! Over here! Mackenzie, you look gorgeous! Mackenzie! You look beautiful Mackenzie! Duncan, this way, thank you! We love you, over here! You’re so lovely together! Duckenzie, look this way! Thank you! Duckenzie forever!” And Kenzie couldn’t help but laugh, dipping her head to showcase the dark rosebuds in her hair, Duncan turning his face down to her temple, his smile making her laugh again as he clutched her against him, their Cartier bracelets visibly crossed at their wrists for the onlookers, the shattering rhythm of the cameras rising higher, frenzied to capture the moment between them, the voices of the photographers clashing again and again against each other, and Kenzie felt absolutely drunk to be in his arms this way, suddenly forgetting the dozens of cameras facing them, feeling the pressure of the hidden ring at his groin pressing against the dip of her abdomen, making her shudder in his arms with tiny, almost imperceptible tension, and she could hear a kind of rising sigh from the photographers, a murmuring admiration that seemed to be making Duncan flushed, seemed to be kindling his boldness--he turned his face down to her, opening his mouth just so, kissing her in a rapturous, fluid movement that caused an audible gasp from the rows of cameras, a collective exclamation of gratification that elated her.

His lips bruised against her for a tender, tiny eon--Kenzie lost herself against him for the span of it, her eyes closing to the intensity of the camera flashes, the sound of the shouting mob floating away from her ears, her mind drifting to them alone in their bed in the blessed darkness, his strong, elegant hands tying her to the chain with velvet ribbon, that first kiss, that night on the balcony covered in roses, god, my life changing forever in your arms in an instant, beloved, the unbearable softness with which he’d first touched her, his hands falling to the sides of her face, the urgency of his mouth then, the venerate devotion in his mouth now--and then Duncan was breaking away from her, as if remembering himself, remembering that they were caught in the gaze of at least two hundred people in this moment, and they resurfaced to reality, both of them trembling against each other, longing for the moment where Kenzie knew, and could feel that Duncan knew, they could finally be alone. Alone together, the only thing I ever want now, ever.

There was another audible, collective sigh from the photographers as Duncan gently pulled Kenzie beyond the backdrop--this one of disappointment at the moment ending, Kenzie knew, frustration that they were leaving. They adore us, Kenzie thought. And she knew it was absolutely true; knew it, without ego or pretense, as she knew the full moon was hanging over them, watching the night unfold. They see it too.

Duncan was pulling her away from the frenzied press of the carpet--Kenzie could now see that almost everyone around them was watching them, but everyone seemed to be afraid to speak to them, eyes flitting over Duncan’s dripping-gold jacket, the striking shadow around his eyes, over the fall of her hair and the Cartier diamonds at her throat and on her wrist, falling down the shimmering gold of her bodice and the gentle dip of the sleeves, the train drifting behind her. No one dared to tread on her--Kenzie recognized a very famous actor, watched him carefully avoid the train, his eyes roving up over her form hungrily, and she met his gaze with a tiny smile. He looked away, sheepishly, blushing. I suppose one doesn’t dare mess with the Shepherds, generally speaking. Not for the first time, and she suspected, not the last, Kenzie remembered that Duncan was part of a very, very wealthy family, and that likely, he would soon be the inheritor of that immense wealth.

And then we’ll change the world, baby.

Kenzie gazed raptly at the foyer as Duncan helped her up the steps and through the double-doors, looping her hand into the crook of his arm, pressing her fingers into the muscles there, feeling him clench them at her touch. More baby, touch me more. There were dozens more of the banners here, Hughes’ Ophelia, Burne-Jones’ The Golden Stairs, but the angels of Waterhouse’s St. Cecilia caught her eye immediately--their sweet faces calm and reticent, watching the saint in her slumber, their innocence and sincerity clamoring into her heart. They look like Gabby and Lindy, Kenzie thought, remembering Lindy’s tears. My two little angels. Duncan looked back at her, noticing the emotion in her. She shook her head a little.

“It’s all just so beautiful, Dunny,” she whispered, and he was nodding to her, the dark beauty of him in the chandeliers moving her further still, moving her beyond words again. He brought his arm around her to drift down her back, pulling her beside the staircase, out of the way of the people around them, sliding his fingers down to the beginning of the incline of her ass, and she drifted back from him, shaking her head. No, baby, don’t. It’s too much. There are too many people. You need to be patient. She saw the terrible longing floating behind his eyes, saw the blue flames licking around her from him, and she smiled. Poor, poor baby. Is that ring making you ache and ache for me?

Yes, Kenzie, fuck. So fucking much. It’s almost unbearable. I feel like I’m about to pass out.

My poor, sweet baby. Kenzie went back to him, letting him grip her under her bare arms with his hot fingers, letting him press his mouth against her cheek, onlookers be damned. Let them look. Annette was nowhere to be seen here--Kenzie’s eyes skirted across the room as Duncan continued to kiss down to her ear, pressing into her. She must be in the room beyond. I don’t know how we’re going to avoid her, but we’re going to.

“We should probably find Momby, make sure she hasn’t fallen into a fondue fountain somewhere.”

“God, I just want you alone,” Duncan’s mouth was shivering into the dip of her ear, bringing the delicate hairs at the back of her neck up, his hands drifting at the smooth gold under her breasts. “I just want you all to myself, angel.” Kenzie could see people staring at them, eyes hungry; god, I don’t know who a lot of these people are, but they look fucking important.

“Shhh, really baby, we should find Momby, okay? Please?”

At that moment Kenzie’s eyes zeroed on a figure making a determined beeline for them from the other side of the foyer--Duncan was still pressing his mouth into her ear, sucking and biting there with urgency, his whispers having quieted to now drift secretly in her mind, and he hadn’t noticed the figure yet. It was a woman, and she was petite, like Kenzie, and beautiful, with wide, long-lashed eyes, full lips and a button nose, but rail-thin, her chin jutting towards them as though she were being pulled by an invisible force. She had long, artfully styled platinum hair, falling over her shoulder in expertly arranged waves, and her dress was a sculptured black bodice decorated with intricate gold embroidery, accentuating her minute waist, which fell into a voluptuous cascade of black tulle that seemed to buoy her across the room. At her throat was a huge yellow diamond, so large Kenzie wondered for a moment how she was holding her head up. Her fists were clenched at her sides as if she were bitterly angry, but a wide smile was plastered across her face, exposing all her teeth (like a crocodile, Kenzie thought). Her dark eyes were staring, eerily unblinking, at the back of Duncan’s head, and at Kenzie.

Marissa Montague.

“Duncan,” Kenzie whispered, trying to pull back from him, but he continued to kiss at her, lost for a moment, “Duncan, it’s--”

“Duncan Shepherd! Duncan, oh my god, I’ve been so busy lately, it’s been so hard to call you!” Marissa had reached them, and her voice pitched high, dipping towards uneven, though her smile remained plastered on her face, stretching her cheeks to what looked like an almost painful degree to Kenzie. Duncan stopped kissing Kenzie’s neck, but his mouth still hovered close to her, his arms still clutched tightly around her. Kenzie looked over his shoulder into Marissa’s eyes; she could see the coiled snake that rested behind them, the wanton need, now that Marissa was this close. But not for Duncan, not really, Kenzie knew. What she wants is attention--fame, attention everlasting from the multitude, and to be showered in riches, but her thirst for them is insatiable. There’s a hole inside her that gnaws with hungry teeth, and it has never had its fill, not once. So she searches for more food for it.

Duncan turned his head slowly to look at Marissa, and Kenzie saw the cast of a dark storm inside his eyes, felt the blue flame of him, shimmering, flare up with discomfort. Oh, no FUCKING way, she heard his thought, and slid her fingers down his arm, soothing him with her touch. It doesn’t matter, baby, I’m here. We’re together. Let them try to get between us. Let her try. Let anyone.

“Why would you be calling me anyway, Marissa?” Duncan was gazing at her evenly, still holding Kenzie close, his hand drifting in her hair, over the rosebuds. Kenzie could feel the wave of anger in him, feel the drifting measure of dislike. She’s lovely on the outside, Kenzie thought, but inside there is something gone, like it was ripped out of her and only the ragged void remains, a void she longs to fill but cannot. Poor Marissa. She instantly felt empathy for the other woman, seeing her so closely, felt embarrassed for her, as if Marissa were suddenly naked. As lovely as the actress was, Kenzie could immediately see how deeply discontent she was, how full of voracious need.

“Well, we never really finished what we started, now did we?” Marissa stepped forward, the smile that had been plastered faltering a little, her eyes skirting to Kenzie with annoyance, her hand snatching out, attempting to grasp his velvety arm. Duncan stepped out of her reach, pulling Kenzie to the side with him, his mouth curling up ever-so-slightly.

“And we never will. Marissa, this is my girlfriend--my partner--Mackenzie Stone. I’m sure you’ve read about her. Kenzie, this is Marissa Montague.”

“Of course,” and Kenzie forced herself to smile politely, bringing out a hand, Duncan’s cheek pressing against her hair, refusing to let go of her or let Marissa near him. “It’s lovely to meet you.” Marissa ignored the hand, crossing her arms now, barking out a little laugh.

“Partner,” she mimicked. “Since when have you ever had a partner, Duncan? We all know your reputation. You used to bring a different fuck buddy home every night, I was there back then, when we were all hanging around with the Ducatis and doing a mountain of cocaine every day.” Marissa plastered the grin back on her face. “I can see why you’re stringing this one along, though, what a scrumptious little pussy cat.” Marissa brought her hands up to her face and pressed them in a V against her mouth, flicking her tongue out.

This woman has no interest in sex, Kenzie knew, despite Marissa’s lewd gesture. Marissa’s eyes flicked over to her again with a measure of loathing, and Kenzie caught her gaze this time, trapping Marissa’s dark, intense eyes. In fact, it disgusts and bores her. But she is practiced at the art of pretending. She’ll fake interest in anything if she thinks it can move her to where she thinks she wants to be. Sometimes, though, she’s disillusioned by the reality versus her expectation. And she always wants more. Like a wind that howls endlessly.

“Marissa. What do you want?” Duncan’s tone dipped, and Kenzie could feel his anger beginning to stir, his frustration and lust for her pressing against the anger, kindling it further, his sorrow and disillusionment with his mother pressing there too, and his energy became ragged and chaotic, the turmoil in him suddenly like water boiling over. She concentrated, conjuring wave after wave of translucent gold in her mind, staring at Marissa evenly as she pressed them down over him in his arms. I have no animosity in my heart for you, she thought to the other woman. In fact, I feel acute sympathy for you. I’m sorry you’re trapped in a world where you cannot possibly be yourself.

“I want you to ditch this penniless, raggedy bitch, Duncan. What are you doing? I mean, who even is she? Do you realize what you’re doing to your reputation? Really, it’s embarrassing.” Marissa was rolling her eyes, fingers toying with the huge diamond at her neck, another mirthless laugh barking out of her. “I’m gonna go do a line in the bathroom, and you should join me. I mean, it’s silly that we stopped seeing each other. I’m willing to forgive you if you’ll just get rid of her.”

“Marissa. You’re embarrassing yourself right now. Please, go away. Immediately.” Duncan’s tone was quiet and very low. “Go away or I’ll have you escorted off the premises.”

Marissa scoffed. “Duncan Shepherd, you can’t fucking do that.”

“Marissa.”

Kenzie had been watching from the cocoon of Duncan’s arms, but a hot, blinding energy had been building behind her temples for the last few minutes, one that seemed to want to burst from her mouth and her eyes and the corners of her fingertips; seemed alive and impatient, shot through with sunlight, and the power of the energy, the feeling in the center of her belly, was immense, like the dream where she’d made the fire grow. The energy, Kenzie knew, could do whatever she willed it to do--could move objects, could stop them, could distort the air, could freeze it, could move unseeable things, reverse them, rewind them. The knowledge of the immensity of the energy overwhelmed her for a moment--and Kenzie felt sure that though this woman had some strange power of her own (it was like indigo, the color of her, like indigo that ached, and the thing Marissa ached for was a thing she couldn’t find, like a lost portion of her heart that had tumbled down a dark well, never to be retrieved from the depths again), Kenzie was calm in the certainty that hers was greater, because it was lighter, it was the gold that could move all things, the gold that could heal, and the gold that could shield from all darkness.

“Marissa,” Kenzie said again, focusing her eyes inside the other woman’s. “It’s over. You will not be able to move him again. You must stop now. It’s futile.” The world has shifted, she thought now, into Marissa’s wide brown eyes, the words clear in her mind, as if she’d read them in an ancient book. The path is set. Yours goes somewhere else. To attempt to alter our destiny--the High Destiny--will result in your personal destruction. Stop now, little one.

The air seemed to cool, to thin. The three of them were inside the energy now; the energy that had come from the center of Kenzie, that she had somehow pressed out, controlled, to only the cocoon of their circle. The other guests seemed to drift past them as if in a dream, not glancing at them, as if they didn’t see the cocoon at all, as if she, Duncan and Marissa were suddenly invisible--it’s working, Kenzie thought. Let’s see if I can move her away from us now.

Marissa’s expression had fallen from the obscene, mocking smile to one of confusion and apprehension--her eyes widened, her head whipping back and forth inside the cocoon Kenzie had created around them, and she seemed utterly bewildered.

“What the fuck,” she murmured, her voice cracking. “What the fuck are you doing to me?”

“Marissa, I’m sorry. I can see how cold you’ve felt, and for so long. Good luck on your path. Look for something that won’t harm others. Look for something to protect. I promise, if you can find that, you will be happy someday. Go now. Forget about Duncan. That’s all over. He is not yours, not at this time, and not in any time.”

And with those words spoken, Kenzie pushed Marissa out of the cocoon she had built, and Marissa turned, as if in a dream, and walked away from them, not looking back, her blonde hair and tulle skirt retreating until she had turned the corner of the vast parlor beyond, and they could no longer see her. Kenzie breathed in through her nose, held it, counted. As she did, she could hear her heart beating frantically, feel the tiny shaking in Duncan’s arms as he held her, His face had pressed against her temple again, his eyes closed, and he looked almost meditative, but Kenzie could feel the confusion inside him; he doesn’t understand what I did, either. But he trusts me. He trusts me now. He knows I’d never hurt him, never, never in this world. He knows I will always protect him. And I will, baby. I always will.

Then she breathed out, and the spell broke; the cocoon dissipated, and they were back in the foyer of the Shepherd mansion, the sounds of clinking glasses, lilting piano music, and blue-blooded voices speaking in polite cadences bleeding back into the background. Duncan opened his eyes to stare into hers, and the storms there had dissipated--their blue was calm now, like the sky bleeding into a summer evening, like the moon’s reflection on a pool of water.

“Kenzie, baby, what was that?”

[midnightstar-90]

Kai’s reaction to your pregnancy

Taglist | Request | Wattpad

Main Masterlist | American Horror Stories Masterlist

Kai Anderson x Reader

Request: Anonymous~ Reacting that y/n pregnancy

A/N: I didn’t know if my anonymous user wanted an imagine or headcanon. I hope this is good enough for you. Let me know if you would prefer an imagine.

You and Kai had been trying for a baby for a year.

One day, after you saw Meadow flirting with Kai, you went off. Your outburst caught the eyes of many, including the Anderson siblings.

You normally didn’t care about who flirted with Kai, because in the end, he always chose you.

You rushed off to you and Kai’s shared room.

Winter followed you up to your room as Kai dismissed everyone.

“Hey, are you alright? I’ve never seen you act like that,” Winter asked, joining you on the bed.

You break down, crying into Winter’s chest.

After a couple minutes, you go into the bathroom. Closing the door behind you, you look for the box you hid before Kai got home.

“Y/N? Please don’t do something your gonna regret. It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Winter yelled from the hallway.

You take the pregnancy test from out of the box and prepare to take it.

When you finish peeing, you sit it down and wash your hands.

Winter continues to bang on the door.

The two minutes are up. You pick up the test and read ‘Positive’.

You unlock the door. Walking past Winter, you walk back towards the basement looking at the test with a blank face.

You make it to Kai, and you see him talking to Ally. Kai sees you, silently telling you to “Wait till I’m done”.

You patiently wait for him on the couch, looking at your legs.

When he sits next to you, you hand him the test with a small smile.

He lets out a laugh that could be heard all through the house. He jumps off the couch and runs around the room.

He moves the hair from his face and goes to sit next to you again.

He lightly grabs your chin, moving your head to face him. He stares into your eyes before giving you a passionate kiss.

“We finally did it, baby,” Kai says, not letting go of the kiss.

You nod your head as your smile widens.

“After a year, we finally created something that will carry on our legacy. You are my queen, and together we made a beautiful princess or prince. I’m so proud of you,” Kai says.

Kai holds and caresses your face while whispering, “We did it.”

He kisses your forehead multiple times before you both head upstairs to your shared room.

The night ends with a butt load of baby products being ordered. Not to mention you have 9 months, and Kai decided to express ship it.

Taglist: @b-l-u-e-g-h-o-s-t @ietss

[divinerulerluvr]

Don't Overthink This

DAY FIVE OF LESBIAN WEEK: WINTER ANDERSON Where for one week, I'll post a girl x girl fic in honor of it being Pride Month. June 6th - June 12th

Winter helps you figure out your sexuality.

Warnings - Nothing much, really. Kinda fluffly, kinda sexual near the middle/end. No real smut but ngl to you i got horknee writing this.

A/N - OKAY OKAY so i've never written for Winter so if this is OOC i sincerely apologize. The queer in me jumped tf out when writing this so i apologize for how gay this is. Jk, this is literally lesbian week.

“Are you feeling nervous?” Winter asks as you loop your pinky with hers. You shake your head. “When flesh to flesh contact is initiated, you are obligated to tell me the whole truth. Do you want to rethink your answer?”

You swallow thickly, your pinky tightening around hers. “Yes. I’m nervous,” you quickly fix your answer.

She nods, satisfied with how easily you gave in. “What is your biggest fear?” she asks. Usually, you did pinky powers with Kai. But you were often too afraid to open up to him so he had you do it with his younger sister, Winter.

“Being hated. I don’t know why but… the idea that someone doesn’t like me stresses me out,” you confess, feeling more comfortable talking with Winter-- the less scary Anderson-- rather than talking with Kai-- the scariest Anderson.

She smirks softly, her eyes drawn onto yours under the dim lighting of her parent’s basement. “What would you do if I said I didn’t like you?” she taunts.

You feel your cheeks heat up and you shift in your seat. “I... I don’t know,” you reply.

“What if I said I’d rather spend time with the Devil himself than with you? How does that make you feel, Y/n?”

Your eyes fall off of hers and you shrug. “It kinda hurts. It’s mean,” you tell her, Winter’s eyes burning a hole into your skin. She sighs softly, her pinky still hooked with yours.

“No. Tell me how you feel. What’s going on in your pretty head when you hear my words?” she asks.

“It makes me feel like a failure. Like I did something wrong. Like it’s my fault that you don’t like me and that I have to somehow change your mind,” you rant briefly, your brows furrowed as you speak.

Winter smiles, glad she could pull that information out of you when not even Kai could. “Have you ever had sex with a man?” she asks, jumping topics in a big stride.

Once again, your body heats up and you feel as though your heart was going to fly out of your chest. “N-No. Not, not technically,”

“What do you mean ‘technically’? It's a yes or no question, Y/n,”

“Then no,” you reply, your eyes meeting hers. “Have you done anything sexual? Ever?” Winter continues probing due to Kai’s prior orders. You shake your head. She scoffs, convinced you were lying.

“So you’re saying you’ve never been laying in bed and your hand began to wonder to between your thighs? You’ve never been sitting in a certain position where it just felt so good?” Winter teases, making your breathing go heavy.

“No,” you continue denying, your voice shaking just a bit. “Do you find women attractive?” Winter jumps questions. This time, the question wasn’t something Kai told her to ask.

You shake your head, your eyes falling off of hers. “Pretty smiles and long, soft hair doesn’t give you goosebumps? Tight dresses and low cut tops in the summertime or going to the pool doesn’t give you a little tingle?” she eggs on.

Pressing your thighs together under the table, you shrug. “Would you date a woman?” Winter asks, the question more loaded than the last.

“Maybe. I’m not sure,”

“That’s not a very good answer,” Winter answers with a chuckle. You smile nervously, her pinky still linked with hers meaning you couldn’t lie. “It’s yes or no, Y/n. I thought we went over this just a few minutes ago,”

“If she was nice and pretty, then yes. But I’m not, like, gay,” you diffuse, shaking your head in denial. Winter tilts her head to the side. “So you’re bi? Not gay, not quite straight,” Winter suggests.

“No..?” you had no idea what you were doing or even saying. “Pan? Asexual, aromantic, queer, lesbian?” Winter lists off, wanting an answer.

“I don’t know half of those labels,” you chuckle nervously. “Pan is liking all genders with no preference. Asexual is where you don’t have a ton of sexual interest in someone. Aromantic is the same but for romance. Queer is unlabeled; an umbrella term. Lesbian is… well, just girls,” she explains to you.

“I don’t know. Bi, maybe?” you try again.

“Do men turn you on?” she asks.

You just shrug. “Well, would you date a man?” she asks again. You shrug, having not really thought much about your sexuality. She breaks the pinky power, grabbing her phone from her pocket and searching up a picture.

“Does this turn you on?” Winter asks, showing you a picture of a naked man. You look at the picture, your brows furrowed as your eyes scan the picture. “No,” you answer in a small voice.

She nods, humming softly as she pulls the phone away. She tucks her phone back into her pants pocket before her eyes land back on yours. Her hands find the hem of her shirt and she pulls it off of her body.

Your mouth goes dry as your eyes land directly on her chest that was decorated with a black and basically see-through bra.

“Does this turn you on?” she asks, her voice lowered with seduction. Swallowing thickly, you rub your thighs together to soothe the loud heartbeat in your core. You nod, ashamed of how wet your panties were getting.

“How about…” she trails off, a grin on her face as her hands wrap around her back and she unclasps her bra. She lets the straps fall off of her shoulders and removes the fabric completely. You press your lips together, your eyes focused on her bare breasts.

Her naked chest was absolutely beautiful. Everything about her tits had you wanting to suck on them while she fingers you.

“Does this turn you on?” she finishes her sentence, noticing how fidgety you had gotten the moment she revealed her breasts to you. “Yes. Yes, it does,” you spit out, your hand going inconspicuously to between your thighs.

“Aww, little angel’s horny, isn’t she? Does your pussy wanna be touched?” Winter teases cruelly, her hand resting on her tit and playing with her hard nipple in slow circles.

You nod, watching as she stands up and walks over to you. She leans over you, her tits right in your view. Which you really liked. Her hand falls between your legs, cupping your warm cunt that was soaking.

“I would say… lesbian,” she comments. You whimper, jolting from her touch. She stands up from you, smirking to herself as she walks out of the basement. Leaving you a soaked and whimpering mess.

You had to agree with her statement, though.

Taglist- @just-some-lesbian @evanmybeloved @sallyscigarettes @arsenicbruise @mossybank @kaiscumrag

[tatesweaterweather]

could you do a winter anderson x fem!reader where kai keeps poking at them and stuff and the reader talks back to him and he slaps her so winter finally stands up to kai? <3

Winter finally defending the reader to Kai - fem!reader <3

(⚠️ warnings!: violence)

You and Winter were having your usual ‘sleepover’ at her house when Kai had shown up and decided to stir up trouble again.

“Winter, I thought I told you I didn’t want anyone over today.” He sighed, clearly annoyed.

“Well Kai, you have to remember that I live here too and not everything is up to you.” She replied, not looking up from her phone. He turned to you with an angry expression only to walk over to Winter and snatch the phone from her hands.

“Kai, give it back.” She tried to grab it from his hands.

“I said, I don’t want anyone here today. Take your little girlfriend elsewhere.” He dropped it at her feet. She shakily bent down to pick it up, visibly upset.

“Why does it bother you so much that we’re here?” You objected. Your heartbeat picked up unexpectedly when he decided to walk over to you.

“You stay out of this.” He seethed.

“No, Kai. You cannot treat your own sister like that. We were perfectly fine before you decided to bring your shitty attitude in here and fuck up everyone’s day.” You blurted, surprising yourself. Before you could fully react to what you just said, you grasped your cheek in pain.

Kai hit you. In all the years you’ve known him, he’s never hit you.

Tears started flowing from your eyes as the realization and pain hit you. You stared up at him in fear and he only smirked when he could see the bruise already forming on your face.

“Kai, get out.” Winter said lowly as soon as she seen the tears in your eyes. He only stood there looking at her before she snapped.

“GET OUT NOW.” She shouted. You sat there in shock as you watched her scream at her brother. Winter never, in all the years you’ve known each other, stood up to Kai. Fully.

Kai only huffed in anger as he walked out of the room, slamming the door causing the both of you to jump. As soon as you both made eye contact you ached for her embrace. You ran over to where she stood and held her in your arms. You both let out tears as you stood holding each other.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he would ever hit you.” She whispered.

“It’s not your fault.” You rubbed circles on her back. “I’m so proud of you for finally standing up to him.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t easy. I never like to get mad at Kai in fear he’ll seriously hurt me. Or worse, kill me. We all know he wouldn’t hesitate to do it.” She chuckled as you guys pulled away slightly to look at each other.

“I’m sorry your phone broke.” You laughed tearfully as you looked down to see her cracked phone.

“Oh, that’s nothing. I can just go to replace it at the store tomorrow.” She smiled. You smiled back before gently leaning in to kiss her lips.

“I’m so sorry. I wish it didn’t have to be this way for you.” You sniffled as you pulled away to run your fingers through her soft hair. She just smiled sadly as she held your hand close to her.

“Me too.”

[flowerbxuquet]

can you do a montana x fem!reader and the reader is xaviers twin sister? the whole time xavier and montana are together y/n is just super jealous and cold towards them both and one xavier asks y/n what’s wrong and she goes off on him and tell hims she’s in love w montana and she over hears?

A/n: HI! I LOVE THIS REQUEST! Ty <3

Are you serious?

Pairing: Montana Duke x Fem!reader

“Stop!” Montana giggled as Xavier splashed more water at her in the pool, you were sitting with Brooke who was eating ice cream. Brooke glanced over at you with a worried glance as you clenched your fists at the couple.

Xavier was your brother and Montana was your crush, you were so pissed when Xavier had brought her home and introduced her as his girlfriend. Your parents were ecstatic to meet her while you just sat off to the side while they all talked.

Brooke sighed watching as you scowled at the sight of Montana and your brother kissing. “You know you have to tell one of them eventually.” Brooke commented and you turned to look at her and sunk down into the chair. “I hate their relationship so much, I just can’t believe he confessed to her before I could have.” You groaned and placed your head in your hands.

Brooke smiled comfortingly at you before leaning over and placing a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m sure this will all turn out fine, okay?” Brooke spoke softly and you lifted your head out of your hands and nodded towards her. Xavier walked over to you two and Brooke cringed lightly watching your face fall immediately.

“Hey, dad has an emergency so I have to go help him out for a bit, we’ll pick you up before the sun goes down, okay?” Xavier concluded and you nodded towards him and forced a smile on your face. Xavier leaned foreword and pressed a kiss to Montana’s lips and you had to bite your lip from grumbling at him.

You watched as Xavier walked away and rage filled you, you didn’t hate him, he was your brother after all, but why? Xavier could have anyone he wanted, why did he have to go for the girl you wanted? Xavier had known you liked girls and didn’t really care, that wasn’t the main problem, the problem was that you were madly in love with his girlfriend.

Montana sat down next to you and Brooke and you tried to look away. Tried to make sure you weren’t staring at her bikini the whole time, ‘God, why me..’ you glanced over at Brooke who had a worried expression on her face.

“What’s up with awkward silence?” Montana teased and Brooke cringed while you just rolled your eyes which didn’t go unnoticed by Montana.

Your stomach sunk when you saw the flash of hurt that passed Montana and she started fiddling with the ends of her hair, “I can leave if you want.” Montana grumbled, her sad face melting into an angry facade.

You went to apologize but when you looked at her all you could see was the fact that she wasn’t single, hell, she was dating your brother. You just looked away from her when your eyes met and she huffed, grabbing her bag and leaving.

Brooke looked over at you and your cheeks heated up in embarrassment, “That was um..a little much, wasn’t it?” You mumbled, rubbing your neck awkwardly and Brooke smiled and nodded. “You should talk to Xavier soon, you can’t avoid this situation.” Brooke explained and you nodded.

When the sun started to go down you waited for Xavier, you walked outside of the pool center but saw Xavier was already parked and sitting outside of the car. “We need to talk. Right now.” Xavier hissed through gritted teeth and you shivered, nodding and trying to stay calm as your heart hammered in your chest.

“I talked to Montana earlier, what’s your issue?!” Xavier snapped at you and you crossed your arms, looking back at the side walk and shaking your head, “I have no idea what your talking about.” You lied smoothly, looking Xavier back in the eyes and he walked towards you.

“Don’t pull that shit with me, you have been acting like a bitch for no reason since me and Montana started dating. Please, I just want to know what’s going on so I can fix this.” Xavier said the last words almost pleading for you to tell him what was going on but you just took a step back.

“C-Can we just go back home. Please?” You stammered out and Xavier shook his head, staring you deeply in the eyes. “No. Tell me what’s wrong now, or you’re walking.” Xavier threatened and you grumbled, pushing past him.

“I’ll see you in an hour then.” You smiled at him and went to go cross the street but Xavier gripped your wrist and tugged you back. “No! You cant just run away from all this!” Xavier yelled and you pushed Xavier back.

“You want to know what’s wrong?! It’s that you went for the girl I wanted! You could have any girl or guy you want and you chose the one I wanted! That’s why I’m mad, why!? Why did you have to chose her!?” Xavier looked at you mouth agape, not knowing how to respond as you wiped the tears from your eyes and crossed your arms.

“C-Can we please just go home now!?” Your voice cracked and your stomach sunk at the guilty expression Xavier was wearing. Xavier shakily nodded and you two got in his van and drove away.

You two didn’t talk for the rest of the night, the next day you decided to go out for a walk, after a while you saw a familiar blonde sitting in the grass. Montana. You stared at her in awe at how the sun hit her perfectly, until your eyes met with hers. Shit. You waved awkwardly and she smiled weakly, patting the grass next to her so you would sit.

You walked over and sat down, Montana looked over at you and shoved your shoulder, “You’re an idiot, you know.” Montana chuckled and you started playing with the grass to calm your nerves.

You laughed awkwardly and avoided her eyes, “What makes you say that?” You stammered, hoping she wasn’t implying what you think she was implying. Montana sighed, leaning into you and you blushed heavily, looking down at her eyes flickering up to meet yours.

“I heard what you said, at the pool. I didn’t want to go back home so I figured I could wait by the gate and I called Xavier and told him what happened, I figured I could catch a ride once he got there but then..you know.” Montana trailed off, looking down nervously. You shook slightly and Montana pulled away, placing her hand atop of yours and she squeezed it comfortingly.

“Montana, it’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I get it.” You smiled sadly at her and Montana shook her head, looking at the ground and wiping her eyes furiously as tears threatened to fall. “I do though, I do..I was hoping I wouldn’t, I mean, fuck, I’m dating your brother.” Montana ran a hand through her hair and inhaled.

Your heart hammered in your chest at the confession, “I-I don’t know what to do..” Montana mumbled, looking you in the eyes and you opened your arms, Montana threw herself into you and you giggled in surprise, wrapping your arms tightly around her. “It’s okay, we’ll figure this out.” You mumbled into her hair and Montana nodded into the crook of your neck, pressing a light kiss to the skin.

[capuletoo]

He sees everything- Winter Anderson

note: another fic yay! and sorry for misspelling etc english is not my first language <3

dedications: @americxn @mrs-march-ahs @mossybank <3 yall are the best

TW: kai being manipulative and not letting the reader and Winter be happy together likeee fan behavior ;/

Words: 1k

To be in love was to be hurt.

To put your all into someone, to desire and admire every part of someone was to be torn to shreds. It was to feel as if your heart had been shattered inside your chest with no means of ever being put back together.

That was something that you knew quite well.

It might be too soon to call it love, you were still confused.

You were figuring yourself out. Experiencing the real world, whether you liked it or not, you caught yourself staring at pretty girls, imagining you hugging them, and holding hands. You simply didn't have time to fall in love when you didn't even know yourself!

You did not want this to happen, but it happened, leaving you with the thought that you fancied girls, but not Winter Anderson. Especially not Winter. The girl was charming and beautiful- but your entire purpose of speaking to her was to talk about the cult.

The cult.

Being another victim of kai felt terrible. Forced to do things you disagreed with, gossiping about it with Winter at the risk of someone finding out and telling Kai, and this fear grew more when you found out that Kai was waiting for you in the basement.

You went down the stairs, preparing for what was coming.

Kai was sitting at the table, shaking his head giving the command that you sit across from him, pulling his pinky, resting his elbow on the table.

Winter was the first one to teach you how the pinky power worked. You thought that it was a dumb way to get secrets out of a person, an unfair game. You took the seat across from him, intertwining your little fingers. “No secrets.” His steady voice break the silence. “i´ll know if you're lying”

You nodded, waiting for him to corrupt you. That he would open your mouth and get the truth out. You were scared, but of what? Kai? or scared that you knew he knew? “What are you afraid of?” This made you feel lighter because it sounded a lot less callous than you imagined, but there were never good times. Many thoughts at the same time overwhelmed your mind, asking you the same question over and over again. And then Winter came to your mind and with her all the thoughts of love were welcomed. You could never love Winter the right way, there would always be an obstacle,a confusion, a belief, Kai. But was Kai really always the villain?

The villain would always be ourselves.

“Myself” You answered Kais question. His eyebrow raised at the confession, but not really satisfied.

“Are you afraid of yourself or are you afraid of love?” He whispered, and there it was. He knew and there was nothing to do about it, than to expose yourself.

“What do you mean by that?” You tried to act dumb.

“You like Winter” You trembled at the mention of Winter or that you in fact did like her. He stood up from his seat, breaking the contact and walking upstairs. Kai could use this information against you, twist the truth for his own will. The relationship you were starting to build with Winter would fall apart with a single word that left his lips. You haven't even talked to Winter nor anyone about being a lesbian.

“Do you like her?” He asked this time before leaving the basement entirely.

“She´s a girl” You whispered. “It isn't allowed” As you pronounce these words he left.

You stood up from your seat, and headed upstairs. You didn't know what to do next...Should you talk to Winter before Kai would? You found Winter sitting in the living room, her crystallized eyes watching the TV without being turned on. You imagined that Kai already told her, disguising the truth as if it didn't matter.

“Winter are you okay?” You asked, not really sure how to start. A lot of things that you wanted to say to her, but not a single word could describe how you truly felt. If you were confused about liking Winter, hearing it out loud made you feel confident and determined about your feelings. But in the end you didn't know how Winter feels about you. You didn't even know if Winter liked girls.

“Kai said something about you” She finally looked at you. “Is it true?” You walked over to her, hands shaking.

A romance wrapped around your heart, drawing lines on your stomach. You have never been so scared.

“Winter, i don't know what Kai ma-”

“No” She interrupted.

“What? Look, it's okay if you don't want to see me anymore, it's just that I'm scared because I don't know if people will accept me” You said as fast as you can. Letting the words lead the conversation as fast as possible.

“I think i may love you too” Her words were intimate, like the first flower to bloom in spring.

You stopped formulating your next words.

“What?”

“Forget it”

“No, i think i want to hear it again” You smiled to be really sure if this was a good thing. The living room was silent, tension in the air as many scenarios played in your mind. “Come on.” You continued. “You´ve been breaking me the whole night, this could mend me.”

A force making your legs, and spine shake making you stood frozen, but smiled. A genuine smile, something that hadn't happened in the whole day. The smile makes your cheeks grow fuller, making them fill with joy, and for the first time you lived in the present and it wasn't a distant hope. Both of you were happy. You could tell by the way Winter´s eyes glimmered.

“Fine,” Winter said slowly “,I like you. I think”

Silence.

Both of you frooze, not sure what to do. Was that a love confession? No, how did we get to love, it was only about liking.

And as fast as the first lightning strikes, announcing the rain, Winter got up from the couch and ran upstairs. You felt that she did not run, she escaped. With a pressure in your stomach you followed her to her room where she closed the door.

Winter strayed far from the door and you had only been scared of this one thing. Please let me in! No Winter refused to. You slid your back against the door, pleading and pleading not really sure when the tears started to spill, wanting to get in, even if it was only to say goodbye that would last forever.

“Let me in” You pleaded “Please”

Winter kept quiet. Her silence was almost as scary as the lightning. Her sighs were heavy, as she listened to you beg. Her throat crystallizing. She felt Kai's presence. It was always Kai.

He was like a nightmare tormenting the most comforting sweet dreams.

“I won't hurt you!” You continued.

“Are you alright?” Kai finally spoke.

“I'm fine, Kai”

“Let her in”

“No”

“Did she hurt you?”

“No” Winter said. “But she will”

“I won't!” You shouted, confused but not really surprised that Kai was in there.

“She wont” Continued Kai.

“We don't know that”

“We won't know unless you let her in”

Three seconds passed and the door opened. A cold breeze of silence was upon the three as you went in.

“I'm sorry, Winter” You went to her side grabbing her hand, uncomfortable by Kais presence.

He left the room, leaving them alone, with a smirk on his face, his plan just beginning.

[xhannahbananax03]

Teaser - AHS 1984

Words: 275

Chapter Warnings: Flirtatious behavior ;)

MASTERLIST

“This is the end,” 

“Yeah!” The aerobics instructor at the front of the room shouted excitedly as he swiveled and rolled his hips, the rest of the room mimicking his movements.

“I thought I was in,”

Her eyes scanned across the room taking in the sweaty bodies of several other men and women, “Hip thrust!” He grunted, his purple shorts clinging to his hips as he bit into his bottom lip.

“You put me down and say I’m going nowhere.”

“Left, left!” He instructed the class as everyone began to thrust their hips to the left.

Her wide eyes flickered to her right as everyone once again rotated their hips while hitting their hip bones to get the blood moving. She admired one mans backside as his crop top rose to expose the tight fabric of his shorts clinging to his perfectly round ass.

A small smirk took over her lips as the class got down onto all fours, doing arches and leg lifts, “It hard but its worth it!” The instructor encouraged everyone while panting.

“Back in the race,”

Lifting her hips into the air, she looked over at the deliciously tan boy, he caught her eye and smirked wide, sliding his hands over his chest to raise his crop top up, “Yes! Two more!” the voice of their instructor pulled her gaze away from his as she focused on the task at hand once again.

A blonde girl on the other side of the boy that just made googly eyes at (y/n), grinned widely before tossing her head back and rolled onto her side to face the instructor that she so desperately wanted to be.

“I want it more than anything I’ve wanted!”

[nely-collins]

I want spoilers about tros are not true, we deserve so much more, actros, characters, story.

[hessafeelsfordayss]

So I'm writing a Michael in High School AU, and I was wanting your all's opinions..

Would you rather the main character be Mallory, or an original character? ❤

[codyfernaesthetic]

Dichotomy

Part 8

Author’s note: The chapter in which Michael and Mallory are having none of each other’s shit. Also, buckle up, the slow burns about to become a wildfire.

Warnings: Language

Mallory became more comfortable with leaving her apartment as time went on, though she didn’t interact with anyone besides Rhoda. Not for lack of trying. She’d see other people, either at the various entertainment facilities they’d built or just in passing. At best, she was treated like a plague; avoided and snubbed, which she didn’t mind at all, she was used to it. Coco’s various functions and friendships had made her build up a callous to elitist bullshit. 

The one difference between then and now was Rhoda. She couldn’t remember having any friends when she’d moved to L.A., let alone a best friend; but Rhoda quickly earned the title, perhaps out of necessity, but not begrudgingly. Once they’d gotten over the hurdle of master/servant, they found they had a lot in common; a grounded sense of self, a natural helpfulness, and now even a deep love and respect for Princess Leia. Mallory couldn’t help but wish that they’d known each other under much different circumstances. Ones where there was no apocalypse or Antichrist, and she wasn’t a designer human grown in a lab, and they could have normal lives; where she’d have Rhoda to hang out with on her birthday, and not feel completely alone every waking second of the day like she’d been since moving...though she forgot why she moved.

But the nicest times with Rhoda, or at any point, were at the Sanctuary’s library. It was a less populated area, and so peacefully quiet; even in the apocalypse people obeyed library rules. 

It was a grandiose as the rest of the complex; floor to ceiling rows of books spanned rich mahogany shelves underneath a glass roof trimmed in gold, the floor the same reflective black marble. They’d get lost just searching for books, any kind; Rhoda was most fascinated by history, inundating Mallory with questions about what used to be America or other countries. To which she would shrug most of the time, she’d never been an A student in history. Oddly enough, Mallory found herself drawn to collections of fairytales or myths; enthralled by tales of witches and fairies, gods and monsters. She’d never considered herself a fanciful person, but felt an irresistible pull to the mystical.

Their peace, however, was interrupted one day when a servant entered the library and made a beeline for the two of them with an envelope in his hand. He stopped, gave a quick bow and held out the envelope.

“An invitation from Lord Langdon.”

They looked at each other, confused and scared. Mallory took the envelope carefully. It was blood red, a golden seal with the indent of a goat enclosing its contents. She popped it open, unfurling a short letter in a thick, cursive hand.

Mallory, may I have the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight? I await your answer with bated breath.-Michael Langdon

She gave the messenger a deadpan stare, “You can’t be serious.”

“He needs an answer,” they responded just as blankly.

She furrowed her brows, then nodded gravely, “Yes.”

They bowed and left in a hurried pace. Leaving the two women frozen in place.

“God, that man is pretentious,” Mallory muttered, rolling her eyes.

“He wants to appear calm and in charge,” Rhoda replied, more so to herself.

Mallory turned to her, “How’d he know where I’d be?”

She lifted up her arm with the black band, “Our wristbands are tracked.”

“Comforting.”

* * *

Lydia had become another fixture of Mallory’s new life, a slightly more annoying one, but still welcome. And of course, she just had to make Mallory a dress for the evening, even though she insisted she could wear any number of the others; but she was determined. Lydia was practically buzzing with chaotic energy as she designed, made the pattern, and started sowing this new dress in a single hour. 

“Is that satanic influence or pure talent?” Mallory joked.

“Both,” she replied, not looking at her.

The final product, finished just in time, left Mallory speechless. It was a soft, flowing white dress. The bodice was encrusted with gold trim and adornment, leading down to a skirt with feathery fringe; the sleeves open and sheer, draped and falling off the shoulders. Rhoda helped place the finishing accessory of a golden crown of flowers.

“What do you think?” Lydia asked, glowing with pride.

“It’s gorgeous,” she said turning to her, “It’s very angelic.”

She chuckled with a wink, “I thought it’d be a nice little contrast.”

Mallory smiled and looked in the mirror again.

Words were scratched on the mirror; slowly each letter appeared, line by line. Time seemed to stall. Her gaze was set; unmoving, as the impossible happened right before her eyes once again. Eventually, the message was complete, and it was incomprehensible to her.

Spiritu duce, in me est. Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum, ut salutaret inferi. Descensum!

“Mallory?”

Rhoda placed her hand on her shoulder, “Are you ok?”

She gave no reaction, not wanting to alert Lydia. 

“I’m fine.”

The same messenger from before arrived at her apartment with the same breakneck speed she’d delivered the invitation. The moment Rhoda opened the door, the escort looked at Mallory and informed her, “Lord Langdon requests Miss Mallory come alone.”

Mallory could see Rhoda’s grip tightened on the doorknob and the sudden fear in her eyes.

“It’s fine, Rhoda,” she assured, “I’ll be fine.”

As she left, Lydia called out after her, “Good luck, dear!”

She felt like a teenager going on her first date, her doting parents watching out for her. The entire situation both filled her with dread and a weird humor; of all things she never expected to happen, the first was a nuclear apocalypse, and the second was dinner with the Antichrist. She wondered if her reckoning had finally come for the Temple incident; she had flashes of blood and gore pass through her imagination, all the different ways Langdon could kill her.

At least she knew she had a defense mechanism; she had no idea how to use it, but it was something. She’d tried to manifest it on her own free will, but no matter how hard she focused, she would hit a brick wall. Maybe, she thought, it was only an emotional response. Maybe the threat of dying will be all it takes for me to go off. That is if I get the-

Her thought stopped as they exited the main complex, a motorized cart waiting outside. It wasn’t anything fancy or futuristic like she’d come to expect, just a simple gray cart.

“What, does he live in an entirely different building?”

They got into the cart without a word. She took that as a yes. She slipped into the cart and they began to drive. The artificial lights had been dimmed to a more evening-time atmosphere, the outside of the glass looking as green and dark as before. They came upon a house 20 miles eastward of the complex, as gothic as Mallory expected. It was Victorian architecture, the wood painted a deep red with accents of black. A black iron staircase led up to stain glass doors under a spherical archway, which to her looked like a mouth, the black crown molding its ready teeth. The escort parked and led her up the stone pathway, the familiar darkness creeping up around her. 

The escort rang the doorbell, receiving an immediate answer. 

Michael opened the door, fully clad in gothic regalia; though not as extravagant as expected. The escort bowed deeply without a word, immediately leaving at the wave of Michael’s hand. Within a blink, the two were left alone, Mallory still standing on the stairs.

“Oh, Mallory,” he mused, looking her over, “you didn’t have to dress up for me.”

She restrained herself from rolling her eyes, didn’t want to get killed too early.

He raised an eyebrow with a smug grin, “Still so shy?”

“What would you like me to say?” She crossed her arms, “Thanks for inviting me to dinner? Nice place you got here?”

“Gratitude is always a good way to start.”

She stared at him blankly.

“Or not.”

He stepped back, extending his arm to invite her inside. She cautiously slipped passed him, feeling her skin tingle from his gaze never leaving her. She looked around, the inside not as loft and flamboyant as the exterior. It was stately, like a house that came from old money. 

“I wanted a house similar to my childhood home...” he told her, “one of them, anyway.” 

He turned to the left and started walking, she followed silently. They entered a dining room, not dissimilar to...

She couldn’t finish the thought, like the memory was hiding from her.

Food was already laid out on the table, nothing fancy at all; steak, potatoes, a few vegetables on two plates at each end, wine glasses beside them; a simple candelabra in the center. 

“Ms. Mead has opted not to join us this evening,” he said in passing as he pulled out her chair.

She obliged and sat down, the strangeness of the whole situation growing in the pit of her stomach; she thought of the Twilight Zone, or like being in a simulation where the ones controlling it only barely know how everyday life operates. 

“Why am I here?”

He had already begun to eat, “I feel as if we got off on the wrong foot.”

She didn’t move, “That’s a weird way to say you poisoned me.”

“I told you, it was a test,” he lifted the glass to his lips, “And you seem to me to be alive and well.”

“And are you trying to fix that?”

He set down the glass, looking at her with a mixture of offense and concern, “Mallory, I’m a man of my word. You passed the test, you made it to the Sanctuary, why would I take that away from you?”

She shrugged, “Seems like something you’d do.”

“Perhaps you don’t know me as well you assume, then.” 

Something in his tone, or in his eyes, was off; not as confident, not as clear. 

“Just as I don’t know you,” he continued, “I haven’t forgotten your coyness at your first interview,” he smiled, “I was hoping this would establish a new sense of trust. Perhaps we can be friends.”

She huffed, “You have an odd way of making friends.”

“Must explain my lack of them.” 

There was the shift again. A twinge of...sadness? A wavering.

He leaned closer, curling his fingers under his chin, “There are so few interesting people in the world. People you can’t figure out within the first five minutes of meeting them. I like getting to know these people. See what makes them tick.”

She nodded, finding herself slipping into peculiar comfort, “I’m an experiment.”

“You’re fascinating,” he mumbled to himself, “Tell me about Coco.”

Words spilled from her, like an overflowing glass, “She was a Capricorn, hated hazelnut, the color orange, and Lana Del Ray. She wanted an iced mocha with exactly 10 large ice cubes every morning at 8:30 on the dot. One time she asked me how to spell the word “insatiable” for a tweet,” she chuckled, “I still have no idea what that tweet was. She once threw my phone into my drink because I wasn’t paying attention to her while she was talking. I was texting my mom,” her voice became sad, but her mind somewhat struggled to pull the memory from the depths, “She’d just had a mastectomy and I hadn’t seen her face to face in three years.”

“And yet you mourn her,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on her like a trance.

After a pause, she looked down in thought, “She was no stranger to being a bitch but she was still a person. I never thought she deserved to die. She needed me to take care of her to watch her and make sure she was ok. For all her bravado she was like a baby bird that really didn’t know how to flap its wings. And it was my job to help her,” a tear slipped down her cheek onto the plate, “And the one time I don’t...” 

He stood from the table, slowly walking towards her. She was weeping now, not of her own free will.

“I should’ve seen that something was wrong, I should’ve known. I could’ve done something. I failed her. And then I got to come back, I got to keep living. And I can’t help but keep thinking that I don’t deserve to when she didn’t.”  

He crouched down next to her, using his thumb to brush away a tear, “Why did she matter so much to you?”

She shook her head, I have no idea. I just felt so protective of her. She was such a short part of my life, yet I felt this connection to her, more than anyone” she blinked confusedly, “...that I can remember at least.”

He touched her hand, entwining it in a comforting grip, “When you lose someone you love, you very quickly seek for an outlet to express your rage,” his eyes were wet, “sometimes even after your scapegoat has been sacrificed on the altar of your vengeance, there’s still some residue of anger left over for yourself.”

They stared at each other, something passing between them; a spirit of humanity, a shared grief. For a moment, she forgot who...what he was. His words sunk into her heart and made grooves for empathy to flow through like a river through tunnels. Her hand reached over and rubbed his shoulder, she didn’t know what he’d been through, but she knew she desired to relieve the pain. 

Something changed when she touched him, his eyes were filled with a new emotion, determination, “Would it relieve some of your grief if Brock was killed?”

She was taken aback by the question. She didn’t answer at first, her mouth having to catch up with her mind. 

“No,” she replied sadly, “No more death.”

He shoved away from her, and stood, an obvious aura of anger boiling over the surface, quickly dissolving the tenderness of the moment, “How selfless,” he growled, “and utterly apathetic of you.”

Her defenses shot up, “What?”

He looked ready to rip her apart, “You say you cared about Coco and yet you feel absolutely no desire to do anything about the one who took her life.”

Energy began to stir in her fingertips, “Not wanting revenge isn’t the same as indifference.”

He slammed his fist on the table, making her jump, “You didn’t give a fuck about Coco,” he leaned in, snarling, “She was your project, your tool to find your own self-satisfaction in helping such a stupid, vapid little heiress keep her life together.”

The fire began to coil in her chest and surge through her veins. She balled her hands into fists, “That’s not true.”

He laughed viciously, “You’re glad the bitch is dead, you only wish you had a replacement to keep up your illusion that you’re in control of your own life,” his eyes were wild with rage, “Is that your dark place, Mallory? Making the weak rely on you so you can feel better about yourself? You didn’t give a damn about her!”

She pushed away form the table, standing to face him, closing in on him, her voice as enraged, “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

”I know too well,” he met her confrontational stance.

Thick tension swirled around them. Sparks of power flaring between them, a sign of deeper energy, begging to explode.

He grimaced, “Do you know why I haven’t killed you yet, Mallory?”

“Because you’re afraid I’ll come back again,” she spat.

She was against the wall in a second, Michael’s fingers crushing her throat, his other hand tightening around her wrists above her head, his legs pinning her firmly. His hot breath ghosting over her face and neck with each word of venom, “Because you’d take it like a martyr,” he spoke dangerously low, she could barely struggle underneath his grip, her body going cold, “you’d grit your teeth and watch as I gutted you like a goddamn animal.” His eyes traced over her lips, she felt his breathing quicken, his heartbeat race, “You’d stare at me with those big brown eyes and whisper forgiveness from your pretty little mouth. You’d take every single blow with saintly silence. And I personally don’t like getting that angry,” he squeezed her neck, strangling a terrified gasp from her mouth, “Congratulations, you’re too infuriating to kill.”

She pushed him back with inhuman strength. He flew to the other wall, his head slamming with such force that for a moment she worried it had cracked. Panicking, she ran out of the room, nearly falling out the front door.

Ms. Mead came running in, seeing Michael on the ground, disoriented, “ What the hell happened?!”

* * *

She didn’t look back or think. She just ran. All she knew was the moving ground beneath her feet. She just had to-

She was in her room. Like a blip. Her body appeared in her room. Rhoda screamed, scared at first, before realizing it was her. 

“Mallory!” 

The world was shaking. Mallory’s eyes widened, seeing blurs of color and light. She collapsed to the floor.

“Mallory!” Rhoda shook her, crying.

Words came from her, spewing out with perfect clarity.

“Spiritu duce, in me est. Deduce me in tenebris vita ad extremum, ut salutaret inferi. Descensum!”

Her vision began to fade, the world around her getting smaller and smaller like she was descending into a tunnel. Pressure bared down on her body, and she sank lower and lower. Darkness covered her, a dull ring pierced through her ears, her skin feeling numb...

Blinding white light exploded all around her, then left as quickly as it came; replaced by gentle blue. The ground was solid beneath her; she wiggled her fingers, soft grass poking against her skin. She touched her face, feeling a temperate warmth on her cheek. It took her a moment before she realized...

Oh, it’s the sun...

The thought was so strange, the sensation even stranger. She sat up, using her arm to shield her eyes as her other hand swept over the grass. Looking around, she saw miles of open field stretch on into eternity, splashes of color dotting everywhere from the myriads of flowers. She stood, examining more of her surroundings, not seeing-

“Mallory!” 

She whirled around, seeing a large glass building, similar in shape to a gazebo. The beams of sunlight bounced off its roof, casting a heavenly glow around it. She saw a figure standing in front of it, whom she assumed had called her. She couldn’t make out any features, or details, but recognized the voice as feminine...

And familiar

“Come inside!” she heard the figure say again, “We have a lot to talk about!”

A burst of energy surged through her veins, and Mallory found herself running; but without exerting any effort, as if she were a breeze nearly passing through with ease. She stopped at the front of the building, even bigger up close, and looked inside. It was a greenhouse, sections of different flora organized neatly throughout. A woman, honey-toned hair cascading down her back, stood watering a hanging plant.

“Hello?” Mallory called out carefully.

The woman turned. It had been months since she’d seen this face, but the memory appeared like a solid figure out of a pillar of smoke; along with a faint whisper, a ghost of remembrance.

Cordelia

“Mallory,” she smiled, placing the watering can down and walking up to the young woman, brushing a tuft of hair behind her ear with all the nurture of a mother.

“I’m so happy to see you.” 

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 1 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note:  This is basically a Millory AU/Alternate Universe where Cody’s character Duncan from HOUSE OF CARDS meets a version of Mallory/Billie. I might eventually tie it into some kind of reincarnation arc/parallel AHS universe? Her name is Mackenzie Stone and I’ll illuminate more on who she is in time regarding her HoC character, but for all intents and purposes she is Mallory/Billie and Duncan is Michael/Cody. Part 1 is their fortuitous first night together. There is gonna be a LOT of smut in this fic, it’ll be some light plotty stuff but mostly them fucking on everything and looking super hot and dreaming about ripping each other’s clothes off in rooms full of important people. And a lot of stuff about their clothes. But mostly them touching each other with aching fingers and fucking. Please leave me feedback if you like it! Writing this was a big deal for me; it’s the longest bit of fiction I’ve written in a long time and the project will be the realization of an important goal for me this year.

------

I send my soul through time and space. To greet you. You will understand.

--James Elroy Flecker, from To A Poet A Thousand Years Hence, 1910.

Love can be scary; not because of heartbreak or being left, but because it can consume you all at once. It’ll spread in your veins like the poison of a snake; it’s unstoppable and only when it’s too late, you’ll find yourself drowning in it. It’ll intrude your daily life, step by step until you find that love is everywhere you may go or look or even listen to. It’ll haunt you at night; in the morning; every time of the day, there’s no escape. Love will make you fear the person that has sparked this mess inside of you; overwhelming you with waves of emotions which will bring you to your knees. But in all of this, you’ll recognize the sensation of happiness, you’ll love the weakness and inability to control it. At some point you’ll crave it so much, that you’ll face your fear and walk to the other side of it - right into the arms of your loved one. And that’s when you know; love is just a hurricane that demands for you to face your fears.

--s.m.

The other morning I heard a woman on the radio describe her art, enormous conceptual installations that involve manipulations of breath and light. As she was explaining her process, this artist used a phrase I'd never heard before: "thin places." It's a Celtic concept, one that stems from an old proverb that says, "Heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in the thin places that distance is even smaller." In thin places, the folklore goes, the barrier between the physical world and the spiritual world wears thin and becomes porous. Invisible things, like music or love or dead people or God, might become visible there, or if they don't become visible they become so present and tangible that is doesn't matter. Distinctions between you and not-you, real and unreal, worldly and otherworldly, fall away.

The original thin places were wild landscapes because the idea was born in the heaths of Connemara, a place that's so austere and ancient, so full of twists and hiding places and divots a thousand years old, that it seems somehow likely you might poke a hole through to another reality. But the radio lady said that the delight of thin places was the unpredictability of their location. You can find them someplace with magic written all over it, like Connemara or the Himalayas, but they also pop up in dive bars, bedrooms, hospital rooms. They can appear and disappear.

--Thin Places, Jordan Kisner.

------

Duncan let the wine glass hang limply from between the crook of his fingers. Even drinking felt boring among these dull people. He stared off into the night, leaning on the ledge, imagining dropping the glass down onto the head of an unsuspecting suit below as a bored smile played at the edges of his mouth, the cool early-summer air ruffling the halo of his curls. He didn’t know it, but his blue eyes appeared much darker than usual in the glow of the soft, round lights that lined the opulent deck. Roses adorned the balcony; row after row of dark red, richly in bloom, almost obscene in their beauty, defiantly organic, thrown against the careful architecture of a DC penthouse. They were, thus far, the only interesting thing here.

“Fuck,” he muttered, sighing and pulling one long-fingered hand through his hair, absently straightening his already perfectly pressed, perfectly tailored black blazer as the hand fell downward. One more hour and he could leave; he stared at his silver Cartier watch absently; his mother had insisted he make an appearance here for the benefit of several wealthy donors to the Foundation (“just let them stare at you for awhile, you know how people love to do that, reel them in,” she said with a dry smile, and he nodded at her, smiling in return, ever the obedient son), but she hadn’t said he need stay for the whole party, after all. Showing up, killing time for a few hours should do the work she wanted, and he’d already made nice with those in the room he recognized from charity balls and fundraisers and galas past. Now the long, slow clock-watch until 11 PM, when he could make a stylishly early exit.

He was lost in these thoughts of escape and duty, still staring out at the glittering affectation of the capital city, when someone gazing similarly into the night caught the corner of his eye. 

It was the hair first; then her expression. Chestnut-honey waves cascaded down her back; a small band of gold adorned with six-pointed stars nestled into them against her head, giving her a strangely angelic glow in the dim light, the idea of a halo. She was small--she couldn’t be any taller than his shoulders--and that only with strappy, stiletto-heeled black sandals, twisting up her slender, smooth leg above her ankles, tied neatly in double-knots, at that. Double knots, he thought absently, I tie my shoes that way too. He blinked, eyes traveling up, falling on the black velvet babydoll dress she wore, bodice hugging her slender waist and small breasts, hiding the curves of her hips--I wonder what they look like, he wondered again absently, surprising himself with his immediate interest--up further to the incline of her neck and the dip of her clavicle, adorned with a gold circle that had several chunks of quartz crystals shaped into points along her smooth skin. What a beautiful piece, he thought. So unique. He felt an uncharacteristic tremor in his composure; and then he looked at her face. Her features were small and delicate; her lips slim and colored with a dark red that reminded him of the roses she was leaning against, brushed into her cheeks a soft blush that reminded him of evening sunlight on sand. Her eyes were darkly shadowed, long lashes framing wide hazel eyes that glinted with a strange combination of innocence and wisdom that startled him. On her wrist was another slender gold thing, an intricate woven cage of criss-crossing artistry that fell down her arm as she lifted her graceful hand and pushed an escaping wave of hair behind her ear; tiny crystal points hung from her ears. She grasped a small black clutch in her other hand (her nails were unpainted, he noticed, a rarity in DC society) and her face seemed lost, angry, sad, and bored at once, her small mouth pouting in a silent, secret disappointment, her lips parting to release an almost inaudible sigh as she absently touched the crystals around her throat. As his darkened blue eyes watched her, their glowing fascination invisible and unrealized yet to him, she finally seemed to notice she was not alone; her wide eyes traveled over the cascade of city lights, down through the roses, and into his.

He felt as though time stopped for a moment; how long the moment extended he could never be sure later, but it felt like a blink and an eon at once, as though something vast and previously immovable had fallen into its long-sought place. Her eyes were even more mesmerizing now that they were locked on him; he felt an obscure ache in anticipation of the moment she must inevitably look away.

“Hi,” he said quietly, and he couldn’t help but smile; he knew it had a strange effect on some people when he smiled, but it was almost involuntary; looking at her was a hand around his heart that had begun to press insistently, and he felt his cheeks burning; his jacket suddenly seemed too tight and he felt odd, dizzy, almost giddy; looking at her.

“Um, hi.” He saw the cloud fall over her gaze; she recognized him. He silently cursed in his mind, biting the inside of his cheek, a habit he’d acquired from a lifetime of being Annette Shepherd’s son. Maybe this was not going to go as well as he’d already begun to hope. He saw the way her head shifted, her mouth turning down at one corner, her hand coming around the opposite arm, hugging herself in a seemingly absent-minded impulse. Hugging herself away from Duncan Shepherd, notorious, infamous; but maybe also from the cool breeze that blew over them, smelling of roses and woodsmoke.

“I’m Duncan.”

“I know who you are.”

He smiled again at that; “Oh? And what have you heard?”

“Plenty. More than enough to know I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

He unleashed a light laugh at that; something about this petite, gold-adorned creature was absolutely intoxicating, as if she was touching him without any physical contact, whispering in his ear while she was speaking in a normal tone of voice. There was something else going on here; there was some kind of hidden current, he could feel it, like an electrical charge. It extended from the hot core of his belly to the blush of her, the sunset-gold of her. He’d only had one and a half glasses of wine, but he felt suddenly drunk. He longed to know what she smelled like, but she was still too far away. For a moment, he imagined what it would be like to run his hand along the skin of her bare arm; around the incline of her throat. His cheeks burned.

“I promise, I’m not that bad.”

She rolled her eyes at him and he couldn’t help it; he laughed a little again. He could see her steely introduction melt ever-so-slightly this time, her eyelashes fluttering down, the corner of her mouth turning up the tiniest bit, her lips pressing together to stifle her own smile. Her arms relaxed, coming to rest on the edge of the balcony once more.

He chanced to step toward her; she seemed hesitant, but she let him, watching him warily, the wind gently kissing her hair, fluttering the hem of her short dress; it was everything he could not to not look at the smooth skin of her thigh where it ended. He absently hooked a finger around his high, buttoned collar, feeling his throat clench in a second of uncharacteristic nervousness, the wine glass in his other hand mostly forgotten. He watched her eyes travel up and down his tall form; they stopped for a moment on his russet-brown curls, skirted around his intense eyes, flicked to his full lips with an embarrassed interest, to his adams apple and his tailored jacket and down his body, flitting to his tailored slacks (an ever-so-slight pause, almost unnoticeable,  over his crotch) and Prada leather chelsea boots. She inclined her head, shyly, and despite her hesitancy, he could see her interest, her attraction, glowing under her skin like a light.

“I’d love to know your name. I promise, I won’t tell anyone,” he smiled at her again, knowingly acknowledging that they were both out here for a reason while the party raged inside--these people were awful--and his own proclivity to use DC socialites to his and his family’s advantage.

He saw her hesitate again, one small hand coming up to hold a tendril of her long chestnut hair, twisting it between two fingers, smoothing her lips together as though her lipstick weren’t already perfectly applied. He watched her swallow, lost in some silent internal struggle, for a moment.

“Mackenzie,” she said, leaning away from the balcony. He was only a few steps away from her now: he could smell the wave of scent coming off her, as delicate as the intricate gold jewelry she wore: vetiver (a scent he loved and would recognize anywhere, he thought with a thrill) and something else, a delicate flower more complex than the roses, and rarer. Geranium? He thought. How unique. Who is this angel?

“No last name?” He grinned at her, knowingly. “Or one you won’t tell me for a reason?”

“I’m an orphan, they found me on the doorstep of a church,” she replied, grinning back, and he found himself goggling at her loveliness, and the pressing feeling around his heart doubled down to an almost painful ache. “Oh, really?” He laughed again, dizzily, staring into her eyes. “I guess I can pretend I believe that for now. Sometimes it’s nice to play anonymous, I wish I could do it; in a city as tightly-knit as this one is, anonymity has eluded me.”

“I’m sure that happened to you through no fault of your own,” she replied in a biting tone, but he could see her smile, the rosy glow of her cheeks. And he knew that she liked him, or at least, liked the look of him. Duncan knew that he was objectively attractive; he had felt the hungry gazes of men and women alike hundreds of times before, but something about this woman, her eyes, her hair, her gold, her light, was filling him with an intensity of desire that felt like warm water running over the edge of a glass; his nerves felt like they were vibrating, his skin felt flushed, and he knew what he wanted with a sharp clarity; he wanted this girl. Badly. She was the most beautiful, the most luminous, the most intoxicating being he had ever seen.

A small silence stretched between them; he ached to know what she was thinking, for now she stared at him with a boldness she seemed to have sussed from his obvious interest in her; the exposed feeling settling under his skin was intensely foreign to him, and it made him wildly nervous. The fear that she’d disappear at any moment began to press at his temples; he felt unhinged, that he would do anything to get this girl, this angel, into his bed.

“...May I get you a drink?” He murmured to her, the aching edge in his voice taking him by surprise. His throat bobbed; he extended the fingers of his right hand slowly, almost unknowingly, towards the smooth skin of her arm. But he did not touch her. The air seemed to hum around them, a frequency of sound that was almost visible; he felt that they were somehow touching each other without touching, feeling each other somehow without any physical contact. The wind blew softly again, filling his senses with her smell, intoxicating and delicate. He wondered what it would feel like to kiss her, gazing at her lips.

She regarded him for another long moment; he could see her hesitation, no doubt kindled by a dozen or more Post articles about his family. But then something in her gaze shifted inexplicably, softened, opened, and she smiled again, dazzling him. A barrier seemed to have been breached; her eyes shimmered, and he felt the heat from them pierce into his heart.  

“You may.”

He’d feverishly gone to the bar (bourbon, she’d said, shaking his heart again with desire), skirting around the attentions of a Senator who tried to speak with him, anxiously watched the bartender crush together the ingredients of two old fashioneds, the fear that she would no longer be leaning against the roses when he returned shaking his confidence with an icy grip, but as he slipped out onto the otherwise-deserted balcony once more, his body flooded with an intoxicating dose of relieved dopamine; there she was still, turning toward him with that glow, stepping against him slightly as she pulled the tumbler from his elegant, large hand with her finespun fingers, and he shivered at the first touch between them, filled with an overwhelming lust for more. He reached out with the other glass and clinked it against hers.

“To the mystery of first meetings,” he said impulsively.

“To familiar strangers,” she replied, and something about her words shook him strangely, coiling around them, loaded and full of hidden meaning. They both drank; Duncan watched her from the rim of his glass, taking a deep gulp of the whiskey to calm his buzzing nerves; she closed her darkly shadowed eyes, sipped, and when they fluttered open again, he noticed the lust that had settled in behind them for the first time.

“I’m sure people tell you this all the time,” she said, her voice soft and hazy in his ears, “but you’re very handsome in person.”

“Some do,” he said, stepping into her space, achingly close, watching her reaction; she did not move away from him, but stood very still, resting the drink against the wide ledge of the balcony, eyes focused on his face. “But rarely is it someone as beautiful as you are.” He set his drink down beside hers, the bourbon humming against his skin; being this close to her felt almost unbearable in its intensity. She tilted her head up, waves falling back, the crystals around her neck glinting in the glow of the fairy lights. Her face came only to the incline of his chest; perfectly level with the space in which his hands hovered for the throe of a moment before he could no longer resist temptation; he moved them so they came to rest against her small face on either side, in the delicate spaces between her chin and her ear with an imploring softness. He looked into her eyes for a moment, questioning; and he saw the lust there again, saw that she desired him too, and that was all he needed; he tilted his face and his lips fell on hers, hungry, starving, immediate.

The eagerness with which she returned his kiss filled the pit of his stomach with a wild ardency; he could taste the whiskey on her lips, smell her richness, the ache of her perfume and the musky scent of her body, and he wanted her with a desperation that felt like madness in the corners of his mind. She opened her mouth more to him; he kissed her more deeply, his tongue brushing against hers, his fingers stretching out to feel the delicate skin of her neck, moving there to caress her, causing a small moan to escape her that drove him absolutely to the edge. She was pressed against him now, her small hands flitting down his chest and stomach, causing warmth to pool in his cock immediately in anticipation and want; he felt he could drink her in forever and still not have enough, he wanted the scent of her all over him, wanted to feel her against him without the barriers of her velvet dress and his silk shirt, her skin on his skin everywhere. The kiss kindled in him a fire that burst into a blaze; the soft insistence of her lips was the first page of the book of her, and he wanted to read all of it; he wanted to devour her until morning tinged the sky.

They broke the kiss breathlessly, both breathing heavily, their faces still achingly close, and his hands were moving down across the skin above her small breasts under their velvet trappings, further down, around their round incline to the top of her waist where he grasped her under her arms, fervently, his fingers pressing into her insistently, holding her there, her warmth and weight and scent hovering around him like a crown encircling his head.

“Come to my apartment with me,” he whispered. She leaned into him, her lips falling on his again, and he shivered into her mouth, his composure fracturing, his red and burning lust falling into her and crashing against her. His strong hands held her there, in that delicate space under her breasts, and her head reached up to meet his full lips, tasting insistently. He felt as though she were weaving a spell into him, tying him to her with an invisible thread, touching a hidden place in his soul that he hadn’t even known was there. “Please.”

He felt her smile into his mouth; felt her small hands reach up to his face, trailing along the stubble that lined his chiseled jaw, pulling him down to her; “...yes”, she whispered into him, and he couldn’t stop himself, he laughed quietly into her again, delighted, full of desirous joy. He pulled away from her reluctantly, only to grasp the tumbler of bourbon and gulp from it again; he needed just a little more courage, just enough to make it back to the penthouse with this vision he feared would disappear in a flash of gold; she looked at him with eyes shining with excitement and perhaps the tiniest tinge of trepidation, grasping and drinking deeply from her own glass, and the edge of that feeling he wanted to erase; he longed to reassure her, hoped wildly that he could soothe her.

He grasped her small hand in his large one, intoxicated by the way they fit against each other, and led her, insistently but carefully, to the side of the balcony that led to a side-door to the stairwell leading to the street; a mutual desire seemed to pass between them to avoid any of the other guests seeing them leave together, and he laced his fingers through hers tightly, helping her down the two flights, stopping briefly as she pushed him against the cement wall, hurriedly kissing him again, capturing his bottom lip in her teeth gently, and he clutched her against him, moaning into her, his hands falling to the small of her back, one sliding against the velvet of her skirt, feeling the rise of her small, round ass through the fabric, igniting new desire in his groin and his head. God, he wanted her. He wanted her so fucking bad. She giggled into him, and the bourbon clashed against him with a short wave; he buried a hand in her golden-tawny hair, marveling at its silky cascade through his fingers.

“Come on,” he insisted, and they were finally at the bottom of the stairs, and he pulled his phone from his back pocket, absently using his free hand to call an Uber Black; the sidewalk outside was miraculously and mercifully almost empty of people besides a woman walking a dog across the street and a few cars passing by, headlights flashing momentarily before they moved on. Mackenzie--god, he loved her name, Mackenzie--leaned into him again, small hands on his belt, filling him with her scent and her closeness and her heat, and he wanted to push her into the wall and kiss her and touch every inch of her until she was breathlessly shaking with the edge of climax.

Their car pulled up with an almost supernatural quickness and quietness; the driver quickly forgotten as they pressed once more into one another in the backseat, Duncan snaking a hand around her neck to pull her against his mouth, her hand flitting over his cock, now painfully confined in his tailored crotch. “Oh god, Mackenzie,” he murmured into her, his other hand falling around the soft rise of her breast, gentle and insistent, “I want you so much.”

“God, shut up, just kiss me,” she laughed. He couldn’t help but laugh again with her; when was the last time he’d laughed like this? Laughed at all? He knew somehow it wasn’t just the bourbon making him light-headed. She had appeared out of nowhere and nothing, absolutely intoxicating, as though she were a being from another world. She was astounding; he was absolutely drunk on her.

They broke apart with loathe urgency as the driver pulled up to Duncan’s Georgetown high rise, and the blur of the next few minutes ran into an accelerated mix of running paint in Duncan’s mind when he looked back on it; they were in the elevator where he could see her tender mouth against him in the full-length mirror that made up one of the walls, her tiny body pressed against him, her hair falling in a glow, and it made his cock throb. The doors fell open and her pulled her fingers into his again, leading her gently down the hall to the tall black door of his penthouse apartment, fumbling with his keycard; her hand wrapped around his, steadying it, her lips pressing into his neck with a tenderness that made him groan, and they fell inside. Thankfully he’d left one lamp on by the slender leather couch; the better to see her by; the better to lead her into his bed. He picked her up--she was light as a feather and as soft as one too--and pressed her against the back of the door that had swung shut behind them, his mouth urgent on hers again; “you know--” she said breathlessly between his lips crashing against hers--”I don’t usually do stuff like this--”

“I’ll take that as a compliment--” he smiled into her, his hands winding up the skin of her thigh, pressing her down to the ground again, pressing ever-so-briefly against the softness between her legs, making her gasp. She dropped her clutch unceremoniously on the spotlessly clean polished wood; reached down to unknot her shoes in a marvelously cute almost absent-minded gesture, a wonderful, frustrated whine escaping from her mouth as she fumbled with them. “Here, let me help,” he murmured, and he knelt before her--his hands fell down the softness of her leg to the knot, and he felt her shudder with desire under his touch. He loved the way he was suddenly looking up at her from here, suddenly beholden to her whim; he wanted to make her feel fucking good, he wanted her to writhe with pleasure. He unknotted the laces of the sandal, freeing her small foot, thumbing the red stripes they had left on her ankles; he couldn’t stop himself, he pressed his lips against the redness, and felt her shiver under his touch again, breathlessly.

He undid her other heel easily; as she stepped out of them, he saw that she was even smaller, reaching only right about level to his chest; he wanted to hold her small frame against him with desperate longing. She reached out, pushing his blazer from his shoulders insistently, their swollen lips coming together again; “god, you taste so good,” he whispered into her, “you’re so beautiful, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen--”

She shushed him again, her breath humming on his lips, as if she was afraid of his words. “Take me to your room,” she insisted. He nodded, sure that he would do anything she said in that moment, her eyes so intense, dark and wonderful that he felt he could see into her soul through them, and pulled her into his bedroom, its black sheets and spread perfectly pressed and quiet, waiting for them. The side-lamp on his pristine nightstand was dimly lit; its glow cascaded over her, striking him with her loveliness once more; he pressed against her desperately, pulling the headband of stars gently from her head and setting it on the nightstand with reverence next to his exorbitantly expensive watch, kicking his shoes off as he clutched at her, once more filled with a terrible fear that she would disappear, eager beyond all words to be against her.

“Duncan,” she moaned into his mouth, “fuck me.”

He needed no more prompting; he pressed her gently but insistently down onto the immaculate spread, and she opened her legs, sidling their bareness against his clothed thigh; he pressed his lips into the softness of her neck as her fingers found the buttons of his high-collared shirt, undoing them expertly, freeing his torso from the suffocating confines; then they moved to his belt as she moaned under his mouth, his lips grazing the crystals that hugged her throat, pressing into the hollow between her breasts above the velvet of her neckline. She pulled his belt away with a snap; he flipped her over with concentration, and she gasped, the sound of it thrilling him so his cock pressed harder against his pants, painfully.

He carefully pulled the zipper at her back down, his mouth pressing between her shoulder blades now, grasping the cascade of her hair to the side so as not to get it caught; his hands went to undo her necklace’s clasp, but she murmured “no, I want to wear it while we fuck,” and the thought of it thrilled him; it seemed only natural that she’d wear it, it seemed intense beyond a normal object, cut against her like a second skin, a miraculous piece of jewelry that hummed with eroticism. He pulled at her dress; she flipped over with an agile sweetness as he did, slipping out of it, laying on her back so her breasts were now exposed to him, wearing only a pair of silk black underwear now, and he hungrily captured one of her nipples in his lips, sucking hungrily. She moaned again, this time more loudly; who was there to hear them now, indeed, and he groaned happily into her body, intoxicated with it. He leaned up once more to undo the button and zipper of his pants; as he kicked them off, he watched her hazy eyes, bright with lust, lave over the bulge of his erection under his black briefs; “take those off too,” she murmured teasingly, her playful smile driving him to the edge of desire again, and he obediently pulled them down, grinning at her, his cock springing out and causing a bubble of surprise to fall out of her mouth;  “god, you’re fucking big,” she murmured, and pulled his long frame down to her insistently. His mouth was all over her now, moving down her ribs and belly button to where the black silk panties clung to her, wet with her desire now, and with his large hands he pulled them down and threw them to the side. Her sex was glittering with moisture and her pussy was smooth, hair shaved away; he pressed one long finger between her folds to the bundle of nerves he knew was nestled there, and she moaned again, this time long and loud and stretching into a groan of ecstasy.

He pushed her legs apart insistently and pressed a hard lick against her clit; she cried out with an involuntary spasm of pleasure, and he smiled with desire. “God, you taste good,” he moaned, before pressing his mouth flush against her, working his tongue into her with measured circles; but their eyes, his stormy blue with want, hers taking on an ethereal dark-green hue that both shook and amazed him, stared into one another as he did, and he could see the way she was unraveling in his fingers, his mouth filling her up and bringing her dangerously close to the edge. “I don’t want you to come yet,” he whispered, stopping, watching her body clench under him with the lack of his mouth, “I want to fuck you and I want us to come together, god, you’re so beautiful,” and she nodded and whispered “yes,” and hushed him with her mouth, the taste of her mingling in their mouths, her hand finding his painfully erect cock and using the precum that dripped from its head to smooth her hand up and down his shaft, rattling him into a wanton thirst to be inside her.

“Do you want me to?” He asked, gazing into her face, her cheeks flushed with cupidity, her body hot under his hands. He couldn’t believe she was here in his bed; he gazed at the crystals against her neck, against her ears, into her eyes, fluttering as they looked at him, god, she was so lovely, she made his heart quiver; she made him want to die.

“Yes, Duncan--fuck me.”

He moved and he was between her legs--he paused for one deep moment, the head of his painfully hard cock against her cunt, and then he pressed himself into her as his mouth pressed into her bruised lips again, one hand grasping her neck, the other grasping her hip, and they gasped into each other, the intensity of this connection overwhelming them both in a cascade of sensation. He moved, a rhythm building in his hips and his groin, and she cried out--”Duncan, fuck, Duncan, oh fuck, yes, fuck me hard, like that--” and he pulled her against him, their bodies flush against each other, sweat mingling, the scent of their sex and their perfume (his like smoke and cedar wood, hers heady and sweet) crashing together--he moved, pulling her upright onto him so her ass smacked against his knees and the hard length of his cock crashed into her again and again, her clit rubbing against his abdomen, her eyes rolling back in her head, his mouth leaving red welts on her perfect neck, her hair falling back and glittering in the light. She kissed him, grasping his stubble in her small fingers, kissed his forehead as he buried himself inside her, causing small entreating words to fall from his lips like a prayer, like a spell, a mantra; “Mackenzie, Mackenzie, Mackenzie, please, oh god, god--”

He felt his climax rushing forward, a wave that he wasn’t sure he could stop if he tried, and she moaned into him--”Oh god, Duncan, I’m gonna come, keep doing that, just like that--” And as she cried out in wild delight a moment later, her cunt convulsing down onto him, he exploded into her, buried inside her warmth, grasping her against him as though he could never bear to let go; the sweat on his brow mixing into the sweat that pooled at her throat, and his cock shuddered its release deep into her, pulsing and falling into tenderness and still very hard. They stayed that way awhile; panting, spent, holding each other, pressing soft kisses into each other’s flushed skin, his length still inside her, her cunt dripping down onto him, still pulsing.

She laughed, suddenly, gasping, and it thrilled his heart to hear it; “Wow, fuck, fuck.”

“Mackenzie. Fuck.”

“Duncan. Hi.” She laughed again. He nuzzled his face into her neck. She lifted her hips and his cock fell out of her, going limp after his release, a small bit of white cum dribbling out. They both collapsed beside each other, chests still heaving, hands absently entwining with each other. He turned his head to her; his was just a little below her, under the incline of her arm, and she smiled down at him, and her smile was unbearably lovely; he could see the beauty that was hidden from him and the outside world shining from her eyes, still clouded with her climax, and knew in that moment that she was going to be someone special to him; he just knew, like the clashing sound of a giant gong resounding into the universe, like a shooting star that only he could see.

“That was incredible. You’re fucking incredible.”

She shyly pressed a hand against his cheek and he turned his face to kiss her palm; she turned towards him, sidling her legs together with a overwhelmed sigh as her still-sensitive sex pressed against her thighs.

“You’re pretty incredible yourself. And fuck, this penthouse. This is insane. Your cock is just...gorgeous. You’re gorgeous.” She blushed, locks of wavy hair falling over her shoulder against her breasts. Their hands still pressed into each other, feeling each other’s fingers softly, feeling each other’s veins, wrists, the soft pads of each other’s fingerprints. “But I meant what I said. I...I really don’t usually do stuff like this. This is....really unexpected.”

“I know what you mean. Mackenzie, you’re…” His eyes fluttered; he realized with a wave of intensity how tired he was, how much their fucking had exhausted him, body and soul.

“Mackenzie.”

She yawned; he wanted to grasp her to him, cradle her in his arms. He couldn’t understand what was happening; he wanted them to fall asleep together. That’s all he knew, all he could decipher. He wanted her to sleep in his bed until the sunrise kissed it and blessed them.

“Hmm?” Her eyes had fluttered closed, a small smear of eyeshadow, mussed in their passion, streaking away across her temple. He pressed the pad of his thumb there, wiping it away.

“Stay here with me tonight. Please?”

Her eyes fluttered open for just a moment; he was astonished to find he could still see that strange, hidden something still nestled inside them. That secret thing that seemed to be only for him. And then she said “okay”.

He pulled the coverlet over them so it was folded over the sheets; he couldn’t bear to disturb her again as her eyes fell closed once more and her breathing slowed to a soft whisper. He soon fell asleep himself, their hands still clasped together, her small, slender fingers entwined in his large, long ones. And the moon rose over them in the window, and the night fell away. Slowly, as they slept there together, a deep sleep that neither had experienced in a very long time, dawn came.