#feeling incredibly grateful in this chili’s tonight | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ppersonna · 5 years ago

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repentance - knj | m

now, let's imprint my name on that trophy and come back home - come back home, BTS

↳ summary- your boyfriend, Kim Namjoon, doesn’t like it when you flirt with other guys

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 6k

↳ pairing- namjoon x reader

↳ genre- smut, this is all smut, there is nothing but smut here, there is no god in this chili’s tonight. this actively takes us further from the light.

↳ warnings- very hard BDSM, name calling, degradation, humiliation, spitting, caning/spanking, collaring, bondage, squirting, overstimulation, impreg kink lmfao, face fucking, Namjoon is a v sadistic dom but he is still sane, after care is important,

↳ a/n- well folks. here it is. The fic that pushed me past my comfort zone lmfafskadf. i am 100% grateful to @sombreboy for assisting me with this and being silly as fuck in the google doc. i could not have done it without his guidance lmfaooo. this was requested by anon and i hope i did it justice and i rly appreciate getting sent things that make me write things i normally wouldn’t! thank you for believing in me lmfao. pls feel free to interact with me however u want bc i love you all. Thanks for reading! namjoon if ur reading this pls forgive me

“I hope you had your fun, doll,“ Namjoon whispers harshly in your ear as you walk with him away from the dance studio. You’re covered in sweat, hot, and still you’re shaking like a leaf at the tone of your boyfriend’s voice.

So maybe you broke the rules. Maybe you danced with Jimin at practice a little too intensely, a little too provocatively. Maybe you grinded up against the blonde harder than you should, making the dancer sport a tent in his pants.

And maybe you did it in front of your boyfriend, that man who loved and dominated you.

Is it too late to say oops?

Namjoon is silent on the drive home. His face is expressionless, but his eyes give it away. He looks a touch angry, a touch excited, but he mostly radiates possession. If there’s something that Namjoon hates, it’s sharing you.

Your playful flirting with Jimin had been just that—playful. Jimin was your dance partner going on 10 years now, ranging from ballroom to jazz and tap, to contemporary and international. Jimin was always your go-to guy, best friend, and occasional fuck buddy. Namjoon knew this, knew the history between you two, but still allowed you your freedom in dancing and competing with the blonde. Sometimes it was just so easy to fall back on old habits, when you’d grind on Jimin so hard that he’d rip your shorts down and take you against the hardwood floor of the studio.

Even though you were quite happy in your relationship with Namjoon, it was hard to re-route the synapses that led elsewhere when you were dancing.

But you loved Namjoon, and you had for a long time. It was something you were working on, the flirting and the carelessness. Namjoon was supportive, loving, and a natural caretaker.

He was also a sadistic Dominant.

Where Namjoon was sensitive, sweet, communicative and giving in the streets, he was disgusting and filthy and downright heinous in the sheets.

And you loved every single aspect of it. There was nothing that thrilled you more than the control he wielded on you, the power in his gaze and in his hand, and the possession he took of you.

It was the reason none of your relationships worked out before him. Sure, there had been pleasant guys and excellent fucks like Jimin. But Namjoon was the entire package, plus some. You trusted him with your entire life, your whole being. He grew up alongside you, and you knew the man would rather injure himself than ever cause you harm.

It’s what made the punishments, the pain, even more delicious. He took you to your breaking point, sometimes even further, because he knew you could take it. And you trusted, loved and adored him for it.

But that didn’t mean it was easy.

No, while the punishments and pain were fun in the long run, they still sent a thrill of fear down your spine.

It’s been awhile since you got your boyfriend this worked up. Things had been pretty smooth sailing for the last few months. Sure, he was still a maniac in bed, but it was the scripted and practiced scenes you both knew by heart. Schoolgirl, nurse, secretary.

But this was real. Tangibly real. You could feel the tension rolling off his toned body, the heat of it ensnaring you, tying you up tight.

You want to apologize, open your mouth and begin the litany of sorry’s and I didn’t mean to’s, but your throat felt dry. You knew it was useless to try now, and the act might make him more upset.

The punishment he would inflict upon you would absolve you, baptize you of your sins. He’d sacrifice your flesh to be remade.

The car pulls into the garage of your shared home. Namjoon parks, closes the heavy door behind the car, then sits in the car staring straight ahead.

He’s silent for a moment. It puts your nerves on edge and he knows this, knows you hate the silence more than anything else.

“You are going to get naked. Right now.” He orders, still not facing you. He focuses his eyes on the wall of your garage. “You will leave your dirty clothes outside where they belong. And you will crawl from the car into the house.”

You nibble at your lip, waiting for more instructions. He turns and levels a look at you, and your body lights with fire.

“I want you to retrieve your collar and the handcuffs and bring them to me in the bedroom. You will get in position for me.”

He looks at you once more, seeking your eyes for any sign of fear, anything to tell him he’s going too far.

While your heart races, you nod and swallow tightly. You’re scared but not enough to stop him. You have a safe word for a reason but you haven’t needed to use it yet and you trust Namjoon more than you trust yourself.

He takes stock of your agreement and exits the car, leaving you alone as he trudged up the stairs leading to the house.

It takes one shuddering breath before you step out of the car, peel your sweaty workout clothes off, and slide down to your knees. There're cameras in the garage for security, and you know he’s watching them to ensure you’re listening to his orders.

The floor of the garage is dirty. You take one movement forward and look at your hands to find they’re already covered in black soot from the dirt and oils of the car tires driving in and out. You make a face but quickly pull out of it. This is your punishment.

You crawl up the steps and gingerly open the door, then make your way to your linen closet where your collar and handcuff remain when you’re not at home.

Namjoon gifted you with a home collar and a public collar. The public collar is a beautiful diamond circle pendant that hits right at the hollow of your throat.

The home collar, however, is made out of a study leather material, embedded with gorgeous diamonds. It’s heavy against your throat when you wear it. It’s a constant reminder of your subservient relationship to your Dom, your boyfriend.

The handcuffs hang from their specified hook. Black leather with chains connecting the cuffs. They’re strong, incredibly so, and the thought of being locked up makes your core tighten in excitement and fear.

With the items secure in your grasp, you return to your kneeling position and continue crawling towards the bedroom where your boyfriend awaits. Something inside you bubbles fiercely��what does he have planned for you? It’s been awhile since you’ve been quite literally at his mercy.

Namjoon is standing in front of the bed, arms crossed over his chest as you enter the room. You keep your eyes down, not making contact until he instructs for you to do so. You can feel the power and heat oozing off him, surrounding him like a cloud of authority. You approach and sit in front of him, knees spread wide and sat back on your heels. Your hands offer up the collar and the cuffs, palms up, as you avert his gaze.

“Look at you,” he tuts. “Filthy...” He removes the collar and cuffs off your hands and gazes at the black soot remaining from the dirty garage floor,

“But it suits you perfectly, doesn’t it?”, his voice was almost mocking you, ‘’A dirty slut.’’

Quite literally.

Namjoon sets aside your collar on the edge of the bed before crouching in front of you, a lopsided grin curling on his lips as he grabs your wrists as to inspect them,

‘’Even your pretty little hands are soiled, angel.’’ he tsked in disapproval, the mere sound of it making you feel smaller, eyes still fixed on the floor. After all, he hadn’t told you to look at him as of yet.

You don’t know why you thought he would ask you to wash your hands, but you quickly threw aside your anticipations as it catches you off guard with what he does next.

‘’Palms up, angel. Show me your hands.’’

A confused second passed, but you obliged nonetheless, raising both of your hands, palms up to him as if you were begging for something.

The mere sight was absolutely gorgeous to Namjoon.

Without a word, Namjoon collects enough saliva in his mouth, grabbing your wrists to pull your hands closer, letting his spit drip from his tongue down to pool in your hands. Your eyes widen as they stare at the floor, arms twitching instinctively at the foreign sensation.

His grasp around your wrists tightens, ‘’Stay still… Be a good girl, yeah?’’

You nod, relaxing your arms. However the muscles in them feel tired from holding them out for him like this. He knows, he can tell, but says nothing about it. He loves to watch you struggle, adamant to please him.

Besides, you deserve it, don’t you?

Once more, Namjoon spits in your hands. This time, it has a degrading intention; a harsh spitting sound as it lands in your hand. He stands up again, the angle even more delicious from above as he watches you obediently hold his pooled saliva like it was the most precious gift from him.

‘’Go on... Clean up.’’

You bite your lip as the slick saliva spreads in your hands. Your body thrums with humiliation and desire, mixing to make your legs quiver where they kneel before him. You clasp your hands together and rub your boyfriends spit in your hands, attempting to remove as much of the dirt as possible with what he’s given you. It’s messy—the spit is black from the soot. His eyes take you in, the image of you cleansing yourself with him, accepting his spit like the dirty whore you are, that he loves. It makes his cock throb in his jeans. Nothing gets him off quicker than putting you in your place, seeing you accept his degradation with pink cheeks and frightened eyes.

He pulls his shirt off his body and throws it to you carelessly.

“Use it to dry your hands,” he orders.

You comply, wiping the last off you with his shirt.

“Let me see.” You hold your hands up for him to inspect and he smirks, ‘’Good little slut.’’

His hands open the collar wide and you jerk slightly as you feel the pressure of it on your neck. Namjoon pulls it tight around you for a moment, cutting off your air supply, before he releases and secures the collar to sit high on your throat. The ‘O’ ring sits at the center proudly, a place he often uses to leash and drag you around like his pretty, perfect pet.

He moves away from you and towards the armoire at the side of your bedroom. Your heart gallops wildly. The armoire is full of his toys, punishment and reward alike. The unknowing of what he’s getting out to use on you has your cunt dripping with desire and fright.

There’s silence as he gathers his tools, then returns and places them on the nightstand.

“Look at me.” His voice is firm, unwavering.

You let your eyes flick up to his and your breath catches. He looks incredible. Shirtless, tight pants straining with the bulge of his cock, power exuding from his very pores. Your eyes dance on his chest for just a moment, soaking in the refined lines, then settle at his eyes. They’re darkened with lust, with intention. He looks at you like you are his next, and final, meal.

“I want you to bend over the bed. You will spread your legs and push out your pretty little ass. I’m going to cane you for what you’ve done today.”

Your eyes widen, and he relishes in the fright lingering. He hasn’t used the cane on you in a long time. It’s the most intense tools of impact you own—the one you’re most frightened of.

“You know your safe word, don’t you?” He asks.

You nod.

He tsks. “I asked you a question. Don’t make me open up that mouth for you. You won’t like what I’ll do.”

A shiver runs through you as you weakly open your mouth. “Yes, sir. My safe word is orange.”

He nods. “Good girl. Let’s hope we won’t need it and you’ll take what you are given, hm?” Another nod from you. “Now, do as you’re told.”

You hop up quickly, knees painfully red and sore now, and move towards the bed. You arch down, sticking your ass out towards your boyfriend and spreading your legs shoulder-length apart. He can see all of you, slick folds weeping with desire and anticipation, legs shaking in fear and arousal.

It’s intoxicating to Namjoon, the way you behave and listen. He loves the fright inside you, the way it soaks your cunt for him. He knows the cane is on the verge of being too much, he knows you’ll be weeping both from eyes and pussy at the end of it.

The wood is heavy in his hands. The cane is only a bit longer than a paddle, but it packs an even more intense blow.

“Tell me what you did today. Why do you deserve my cane?” He asks, allowing the cane to tap at your cheeks lightly. It makes you jerk and clutch at the blankets below you.

“I—I was dancing with Jimin, sir,” you murmur, voice tight with anxiety.

“Ah ah, you weren’t just dancing,” he corrects. “Don’t pretend to be innocent. You know what you did.”

As you open your mouth to speak, he brings the cane down at the tops of your thighs. It cracks heavily on the skin and makes your knees give out. The sting is like white, hot fire on your thighs. It burns, and makes your cunt clench around nothing. Tears spring at your eyes as you try to answer him.

“I was grinding on him!” you cry as your legs return to standing to accept the next blow.

“You were being a little. fucking. slut.” he intones, then punctuates his words with another whip of the cane—right at the center of your ass. The sound of it hitting your flesh echoes in the bedroom you share, and it makes you cry out in pain. Your knuckles were white from the grasp of the blankets—tears flooding you and spilling onto the duvet. “Say it!” He orders.

You whimper through your words. “I was being a slut, sir!”

‘’That’s right, you were being a filthy, horny cockslut.’’ He snarls, another whip echoing in the room as it falls harshly on your skin, ‘’Horny for Jimin’s cock with the way you were grinding on him, by the looks of it, isn’t that right?’’

He laughs mockingly, landing another whip on the same spot he previously caned, it would definitely bruise. But you didn’t care. And neither did he, he fucking loves your cries.

‘’Tell me, who’s cock are you really a whore for?!’’

He holds the cane high, anticipating your answer.

‘’Y-yours, daddy-- p-please!’’ You cry out, clawing at the sheets, legs quivering.

‘’That’s right, but apparently, you didn’t remember that today, angel.’’ He says with an awfully calm voice, cane still held high.

He ends his caning with one final blow, and it makes your vision black out with the intensity. You’re sobbing now, weeping into the blankets as your legs shake.

It’s the most intense pain you’ve ever felt, ever been dealt from your loving boyfriend. It forces you to understand just how upset you made him, just how angry watching you attempt to seduce another man makes him.

“You’re my little cumslut, you hear that? Mine!”

His hands smooth over your reddened ass, harsh burgundy lines marking where he punished you thoroughly. It makes you whimper through your cries, his warm hands simultaneously soothing and agitating the marks.

He only remains for a moment, ensuring the flare of pain is soothed. As sadistic as he is, he remains sane enough to ensure your safety. Your whimpers have slowed slightly, and he takes it as his opportunity to move on.

He reaches for the handcuffs and takes advantage of your prone position, bent over the bed. He works them around your wrists, tightening them just enough to leave you helpless. He pulls you up and presses his back against you, face at your ear.

“You took your first punishment well,” he encourages as he licks a stripe on your throat, right above the collar that symbolizes you as his. “But I’m not finished with you,” he sighs. “Little cock whores like you are never satisfied with just one little punishment, aren’t you?”

You sniffle and nod. “No sir, I n-need more.”

He chuckles—it’s dark and ominous.

“Dirty fucking slut.”

He turns you to face him and he kisses you roughly, no sign of the sweet and sensitive boyfriend. It’s the Jekyll to his Hyde; the sadistic Dom now kissing you cares only of getting off and making you take it.

His mouth is fiery—teeth biting at your lips and growling when he slips his tongue in your mouth.

“Gonna make you remember who the fuck you belong to, baby girl,” he warns as he pulls away. He urges you down to your knees and you’re easily complying.

His hands are at his jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping and making your mouth salivate in anticipation.

He steps out of his jeans, and you’re rewarded with his thick cock springing free from the confines of his jeans. You should have expected your boyfriend to go without boxers, but it’s a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

“Look at you,” he notes. “So desperate for my cock.” He grips it and teases it in front of you. You want to lean forward, capture it in your lips but you refrain and wait for the order.

“You think you deserve this? You think I should let you suck my dick after that little show you put on today?” He gives his length a stroke and it makes you nearly whine with need. “Little fucking bitch wants any cock she can get, why should I let you have mine?”

Your eyes shine with tears, still lingering from your caning and refreshing now with wet, hot desire for him.

“Beg.” He orders, holding his dick in front of your face tauntingly.

“P-please, daddy. Let me suck your cock,” you blubber. “Let me show you that you’re the only cock I need.”

He hums and strokes himself. Watching you nearly weep with want and beg to suck him off has his head reeling. The power rushes through his veins like a drug.

“I think you can do better than that,” he sighs. “Why shouldn’t I just jerk myself off and cum on that pretty face of yours?”

Tears freely spill down your face now. “I want you to use me, I want to let you fuck my throat raw, please, sir!” You sound completely gone and Namjoon feels his impossibly hard cock flex at your needy tone. “Please fuck my throat like the cock whore I am!”

“That’s fucking right,” he grunts. “Open that fucking mouth for me.” Your mouth opens and he’s leaning down to spit harshly at your waiting tongue. It makes you jerk, but you reserve yourself and accept it. “Filthy little bitch.”

He moves forward and sets his cock on your tongue and almost groans at the feel of your hot mouth, swirling with his spit now.

“Make me cum with your mouth, you don’t get to use those hands today.”

He wastes no time on shoving his length into you and down your throat. He gives a few precursory thrusts and sighs as he feels your throat gagging around him and hears your desperate, wet sounds. Tears flow freely—your mascara is smearing down your face as you look up at him, mouth stuffed full. It’s the prettiest sight he thinks he’s ever seen. You’re desperate, absolutely fucked out for him. Saliva dribbles down your mouth and he fucking loves it when you become a mess on his cock.

“Pathetic.’’ He murmurs. But truly, he thinks it was beautiful—the way you desperately take his cock down your throat, the needy look in your teary eyes and the muffled whines vibrating in your throat at his fake disapproval. It makes you work harder, eager to make him feel good.

You bob your head, keeping your eyes locked on Namjoon—he loves it when you’re giving him your undivided attention. It’s sloppy, and you’re loud. Namjoon fucking lives for when all your inhibitions are gone and you’re wanton and horny like a porn star desperate for work.

“Fuck, such a good throat,” he drags a finger up it as he forces his cock to the back of your mouth. He can feel the ridge of his cock through your neck and he nearly cums from that alone. “Taking it so fucking good.” He grips your head and desperately fucks into your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut and will your gag reflex away, let him use you as he sees fit. You egg him in with licks of your tongue as he thrusts in and out, and by the filthy noises you make with each press.

Saliva is dropping out of your lips, and his it covers his cock. Namjoon feels his balls tighten impossibly and knows he’s close.

“Does my cockslut want daddy’s cum? You want me to coat that little throat with it?” He keeps his pace and you nod through your tears. He grunts his approval and picks up the pace, only to explode through his orgasm soon after. His cock pulses as he emptied himself into your mouth and throat, and you suck harder as if thirsty for it.

He pulls it out a moment later with a sated sigh. “My little cum dump,” he smirks as he runs a finger over your lips. “Swallow it all.” You nod and visibly swallow his load, then hold your tongue out to prove it.

“Shit—so good. You’re such a whore you could drink my cum all day, couldn’t you?”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper. Your throat is rough and sore from his thrusts but you can’t find it in you to care, not even a little bit.

You remain on your knees and he puts a finger under your chin and lifts it higher. “Doing so good, angel. Making me proud.”

It makes your heart nearly implode. Namjoon is sadistic and thrills in your anguish, but loves you all the same. He knows you’re not just able to take it, but you’re desperate to take it. You trust him to never hurt you in a way you couldn’t handle.

“Still have more for you, little one. I don’t think you quite understand who this body belongs to.”

Your eyes shine with excitement and Namjoon can’t help but to smile at it. He uncuffs you and you look perplexed. He never lets you out early.

“Up on the bed, on your back,” he states as he ignores your questioning look. You know better than to deny his order, so you rub at your wrists as you move towards the bed. Your knees are still throbbing from the pressure and you heave a pleased sigh as you melt into the mattress.

“I wouldn’t feel too comfortable,” he chuckles. “It won’t last long.”

In Namjoon’s hands is red shibari rope. It makes your stomach flip. It’s been so long since he’s trussed you up and it thrills you to see the familiar smooth bindings.

“Thighs to your chest,” he orders. “Spread them wide, show me this needy little cunt.”

You do as he says, pulling your thighs up to meet your chest and spreading them open. He stares at your core, it’s dripping now. It drips down you and stains the comforter. Namjoon tuts. If you’re this wet already, he knows he will need to change the sheets after he’s done with you.

“Look at you,” he intones. “A dumb little slut, open and ready for any cock she can get.” He drags a finger up and down your thigh.

Namjoon gets to work. He loves the way he loses himself in the art of tying you up. He loves watching your chest rise and fall and the little squeaks that come out of your mouth as he knots you up. He loops the rope around the left thigh, then draws in your left calf to tie it in. You’ll be spread open, unable to stretch your legs out until he gives you permission.

He glances up at you every so often as he continues, checking to make sure he’s not cutting off any vital circulation. As cruel as he is, he doesn’t intend to actually maim you. You never show a sign of pain, just the glazed look you hold as your body gives in to your subservient intuition. It makes Joon smile and his heart clench in his chest. He really fucking loves you.

You’re soon tied up completely from the waist down, both legs tied together and spread open with pussy on display. Your hands are free and just as you’re about to relish in it, Namjoon is looping more rope to tie each wrist to a bedpost. He grins as you gasp. You’re completely tied up and at his will, and you’re embarrassed at how open you are in front of him, how dripping wet you get from being tied up and useless.

Namjoon is moving around and you suddenly hear a vibration and it gets closer as he approaches you.

“Gonna make you cum for me, babygirl... Gonna play with you until you fucking squirt everywhere.”

Your legs clench together as you notice he is holding a Hitachi wand in his hand. You know the power it wields. It brings you to your finish nearly instantaneously. Which means Namjoon has decided your next punishment will be denying you any orgasm and continually bringing you to the edge… or making you cum so much your cunt hurts. You don’t know which is worse.

He notices the look on your face and grins. “Yeah, you know what this is, don’t you?”

Namjoon places the bulbous head of the wand on your cunt and you cry out instantly. He drags it up and down your drenched slit and you’re already feeling so close to the edge.

“You better fucking scream, don’t hold back,” he orders. “Remind this whole fucking neighborhood who gets you off. Make sure Park fucking Jimin hears it.”

He stops rubbing it up and down and lets it sit right on your clit and watches your face contort as your tied legs struggle against the wrappings. It’s too much, it feels like you’ve been lit up. Namjoon gloats in your struggle. He sees your cunt dripping with increasing fervor, can tell you’re squeezing those walls around nothing. He can’t wait to bury himself inside you once and for all and coat your walls with his cum.

“You know you better fucking ask permission to cum,” he reminds you. “You better not cum unless I tell you.”

Your tear-streaked face is twisted in pleasure, in pain. You feel yourself unwinding, increasing towards your finish like a bullet.

“D-Daddy! Please! I need to cum! Please!” You’re begging harder than you’ve begged in your life, you’re certain. It feels like the string inside you will snap any second now and you’re holding off the orgasm as hard as you can. Without the use of your legs, you find yourself unable to slow the inevitable.

“No,” he states firmly. “Fucking take it. You can keep going.” He growls his words and watches as your cunt is helpless. “Little whores like you can fucking take it.”

It’s useless, you’re falling apart at the seams. You’re pleading with him to let you cum, legs now completely convulsing in their restraints. It snaps, the coil inside bursts and you’re careening towards the end. You whine and cry helplessly as your pussy pulsates around nothing and oozes out your arousal. Your face burns in shame as you come down-—you know exactly what you’ve done wrong.

“S-sorry! I’m so sorry, Daddy!” Tears fall harder and you’re gasping for his forgiveness, for his mercy. “I’m so sorry!”

‘‘Tsk, tsk.’’ Namjoon tuts. “My little slut couldn’t even follow her one and only instruction.’’ He removes the wand for just a moment. “You better fucking listen this time.”

Your body feels overstimulated. The pleasure is bordering on painful and you yelp as Namjoon places it back on your overworked clit.

“You can make up for it if you squirt for me,” he grits. “Maybe I’ll stick my fingers in this tight cunt. Always so desperate for Daddy’s help, aren’t you?”

You whine at the thought of him filling you, but it’s overtaken by the feeling of the wand back on you. It’s painful, but it feels so good. Your body is held back by one single tripwire, ready to snap at any moment. Namjoon knew that restraining your arms and legs left you completely helpless to slow your own orgasms. He wanted you to fail, wanted to punish you for cumming when he knew damn well you wouldn’t last a fucking second under the wand’s vibrations.

“P--please!” your whines are breathy. You feel as if you’ve just run a marathon and you’re desperate for air. Your entire body is singing with rapture, with pain. You feel a deep desperation to feel him inside you. “I need you! Need your fingers!”

Namjoon groans at the sound of your whines. It’s his favorite, when you’ve finally snapped past a breaking point and he pushes you beyond. The way you’re desperate, begging and crying for him is pathetic. He fucking loves it.

“Fuck, listen to yourself,” he comments. His cock is raging again, hard and ready to bury itself inside you. But he waits. He’s nothing but patient for you. “You sound like a little fucking whore. Are you Jimin’s whore?”

You blubber a cry and shake your head, feeling the oncoming orgasm approaching again. It feels even more intense.

“No! I’m yours! O-only yours, Daddy!” The simple crying is turning into sobs and you both can tell you’re nearly on the edge.

“That’s fucking right,” he snarls. “This pussy belongs to me. Not fucking Jimin. Not even you. I own you.” His words run cold through your body, it feels as if your veins have iced over. You’re absolutely under his spell and control, and you’ve never loved anyone more.

“Cum for me, filthy slut. Let me see you get Daddy nice and messy.” He shoves two fingers inside you, and curls them to reach the spot that has you reeling. He knows he’s made it when you’re arching on the bed and screaming through your sobs.

“G-gonna cum, oh god--” you’re gasping for air, greedy for it. “There, f-fuck!”

The orgasm that hits you is stronger than any before. It feels like your cunt turns into a vice and you’re squeezing around his fingers so hard it makes Namjoon hiss. Your body spasmed and trembled as you came, and finally Namjoon is rewarded when your cunt gushes all over his fingers, dripping down his hand.

“Holy shit,” he gapes as you finally return to earth from your skyhigh completion. “Dirty fucking slut. You did so good.”

Namjoon’s cock is pulsating. He’s sure if he doesn’t get inside you, now, he’ll shatter.

“Nasty whore is going to get one more. You’re gonna cum on Daddy’s cock, aren’t you?”

You’re nodding weakly. You’re far gone, mind so dizzyingly high and body exhausted. “P-please, need you.”

He takes no care to line himself up or take time. He’s pressing against your hole in one moment and is buried to the hilt the next. You’re so wet it feels like he’s drowning and he throws his head back in bliss. Even after two explosive orgasms you’re tight around him, molding around each ridge of his cock.

“Oh, god--” he groans. “Sweetest pussy I’ve ever been in.” The praise doesn’t last long, so you soak it in while it lasts, ‘’Gonna pump you full of my cum, angel-- f-fuck..’’ You’re crying and whining as he pumps into you. It feels so good.

‘’Gonna have you nice and swollen with my child, so everybody knows just who the fuck this little whore belongs to.’’ His thrusts are so powerful that it’s almost as if he’s trying to fuse with you, he’s no longer holding back any reservations. His hips bump against you as he stuffs you full, chasing his end. He drops a hand to your clit, knowing it’s battered from the wand but can’t find it in him to care anyway. He wants you to orgasm again, and he’s going to get it. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To be so plump and pregnant that everyone will know what a depraved, little bitch in heat you are for me.”

Impossibly, you feel your belly tighten and tug and you’re edging closer and closer to yet another orgasm that Namjoon will wrench out of you. You’re crying out, only able to whine and sob his name. He’s fucked the ability to talk right out of you, and you can only think about Namjoon and his fat cock drilling into you and filling you up as if his life depended on it.

Namjoon loves it when you’re fucked out completely. He can tell he’s close, and nearing closer as he watches your sobbing face, smeared with mascara, cry and gasp for his cum. He could cum from watching you beg alone, and now as he pounds into your juicy cunt he’s surrounded in pleasure.

“I’m going to cum--fuck. Gonna fucking fill you,” he hisses as he thrusts so hard it’s nearly bruising. His grip on your hips tighten, blunt nails digging into your skin as he lets out a loud and guttural moan as his cock desperately throbs inside of you. He keeps his power, but the pace dies down with each thrust. He fucks his cum deep inside you, and rubs at your clit punishingly. His warm seed jammed inside you snaps everything and you’re crying pathetically as you reach your high, walls contracting and milking him. Your vision is black and you only hear the rush of your blood in your ears.

It takes a few stuttering breaths to finally come to, and your vision returns to normal. Namjoon remains buried inside you and he’s panting just as hard as you. You’re both dripping in sweat and covered in your combined juices. He cups a hand on the side of your face and smiles at you as you both attempt to return to normal.

“That was good, wasn’t it?” He asks with a chuckle. He slowly pulls out of you and you’re wincing at the loss. You’re sure you won’t be able to walk, let alone even stand.

You nod gingerly. “Really fucking good.” you whisper. Everything is sore, and it’s a feeling you can’t compare to anything. It’s a burning ache that reminds you of Namjoon, of your love, of the trust you willingly hand over to him and the bliss he gives in return.

“Let’s run a bath,” he states as he leans down to kiss you, pressing his lips on yours in a sweet kiss. The Namjoon you love is back, the sweet and compassionate lover who cares about every single aspect of you.

“I would love that,” you sigh. “But, could we maybe untie my legs before I lose any more circulation?”

The both of you erupt into laughter as his hands work over the intricate knots. He winks.

“Needy little whore.”

#bts fic #bts smut #bts imagine #bts namjoon #hyungsmutsociety #ksmutclub #bts rm #namjoon smut

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rubykgrant · 3 years ago

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(Y’all want a tiny sample of Grif and Simmons being all domestic for the first time once they start to actually be boyfriends? Sure you do~)

“I should have just done what I always do and changed into something else before coming back here… and YOU should have taken all your armor off in one place. Now you’ll have to carry those pieces back with you when you have to wear it again,” Simmons teased him as he started to take off his undersuit.

“Dammit, you’re right… but I REALLY wanted to get back here first, and you change so fast!” Grif told him. He undid the little clasps so the armor fell off him, bit by bit, section by section, then kicked it under his bed.

“Pff, WHY?”

“Oh, I was gonna wait for you on your bed with a rose in my teeth, and-”

“You were NOT!”

“Yeah, no, I wasn’t…” Grif admitted. Now that they were both changing and talking casually, he felt himself relax. “My actual plan was to get under my covers and pretend to be asleep, then jump up and surprise you,”

“You probably would have fallen asleep for REAL if you did that, and then what?”

He heard Simmons chuckle, and Grif glanced over in that direction. Simmons had already gotten his sweatpants on, and was now pulling on a t-shirt. Grif had almost the same sweatpants, but his were bigger and more worn-out (Simmons’ were still a dark black, while Grif’s were faded to a dingy gray… showing a few stains from where he had once spilled some chili in his lap). Grif pulled a tank-top from his clean-clothes-pile, slipping it over his head, unable to stop looking at Simmons. Sensing Grif was watching him, Simmons looked over and smiled at him. Grif smiled back, and he didn’t have to look away, or pretend he was just spacing-out, or make some joke, or insult Simmons as a distraction; this was his boyfriend now. He could look at him. Actually, he could do a lot more.

Grif walked back to him, and Simmons opened his arms to embrace Grif. For a moment they stood like that, holding each other, feeling the way they both breathed in and out.

“If I DID fall asleep before you got back… you could just, y’know, come over and… get into bed with me,” Grif told him, pressing his face into the crook of Simmons’ neck (this was quickly becoming his favorite place to nuzzle; he could feel Simmons’ pulse, the muscles twitch when Simmons swallowed or talked, and it was so warm right here).

“Yeah?” Simmons asked.

“Yeah… not like it’s the first time we’ve ever slept together. Now we can actually cuddle, though. Um, we could just go do that… right now… if you want,” Grif didn’t want to sound too much like he just wanted to sleep… true, that was one of his favorite things to do, and he was tired from racing through the ship, but his actual motivations revolved around being able to keep holding Simmons as long as possible.

“Well, I don’t know… your bed is all the way over THERE. That’s WAY too far. My bed is right HERE, though. How about we just crash at my place?” Simmons laughed at his own lame joke before letting go of Grif, leaning over so he could pull back the blankets. “You get in and get comfy, I’m gonna go get something…”

Grif hopped into the small bed; they would pretty much have to sleep right on top of each other… Grif felt overwhelmed by several different emotions. One, his natural laziness was indignant over the running incident, and now very content to simply pass-out. Two, he was incredibly endeared by the fact that Simmons was not only willing but looking forward to sharing a bed with him (and even appealing to his laziness by offering the closer bed). Three, he was just ever-so-slightly aroused… because Simmons was being far too cute, and all this casual intimacy was deceptively hot. Four, he was still a bit awkward and unsure about what to do, because he didn’t want this to somehow go wrong, he wanted this to be GOOD, he wanted them both to be happy together (and whole thing about being in the closet on Chorus was in the back of his mind. That had been too fast and too blurry… whatever they did next, Grif wanted it to be slower and sweeter).

The laziness and the awkwardness were drowning out the arousal, but the endearment was making up for it all; Grif was happy to do this, sleep and snuggle with Simmons. Maybe they could do this every night…

Simmons returned, sitting down on the side of the bed. He had a few small objects in his hands.

“Here, disposable tooth-brushes. They have this coating of tooth paste, so they get foamy while you use them. Oh, and see? I’ve got a bottle of water right there on the nightstand. Here’s a little paper cup you can spit in to rinse when you’re done,” Simmons explained as he handed Grif one of the tiny tooth-brushes.

“Haha, dude, seriously? I was just gonna skip it tonight…”

“NO, you need to brush every night, Grif! Ugh, how can you sleep with plaque on your teeth? I can’t stand it,” Simmons shook his head in mock-disdain. “And I have more of these, too… I know you don’t have your own tooth-brush here,”

Grif had to smile at that; Simmons was still sore about all the times Grif had used his tooth-brush in the past, but clearly not genuinely mad. Grif did as he was told, grateful at least that Simmons had brought all this to him instead of making Grif get up and walk outside to one of the bathrooms in the hall (no personal bathrooms on this ship… not even for important space heroes). Once they were both finished, Simmons threw the used tooth-brushes and cup away. Finally, he turned off the light, and slipped into the bed with Grif.

“You good, dude?” Grif asked as he settled.

“Yeah… you’re even softer than the bed, so this works out just fine for me!” Simmons had practically draped himself over Grif. “What about you, OK?”

“I am way beyond OK…” Grif sighed, enjoying that was once again able to press his face into Simmons’ neck. Oh yeah, he was great… this was perfect…

“Oh, I just remembered something I wanted to tell you!” Simmons said. “I figured out how to access the satellite signals for this place without disrupting any of the important information messages,”

“Mmm… yes, that sounds very impressive… good nerd, smart nerd…” Grif patted his head.

“That means I can get us Spaceflicks on my helmet,”

“Oh, what? For real?” that got his attention.

“Yep. We can do a movie marathon when we both have the time. Now, say it like you MEAN it!” Simmons smiled smugly in the dark.

“Good nerd, smart nerd!” Grif repeated with more emphasis, running his hands through Simmons’ hair. “Clever nerd, cute nerd, funny nerd, sweet nerd, MY nerd…”

Simmons damn near purred at all the praise.

#writing #red vs blue #dexter grif #dick simmons #grimmons

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khrfandomconfessions · 3 years ago

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I'm feeling much love for the KHR fandom in this Chili's tonight, and much love especially for every organizer, mod, participant, content creator, and consumer that makes the amazingly frequent amount of community-driven KHR events we've had this past year possible.

From the zines (drawing days, khr uniform zine, all the incredible russian-language zines), to event weeks (khr week, khr valentines event, khrrarepairweek, khrsafeweek, khr angst month, khr paranormal week, khr halloween event), to writing challenges (khr remix, last year's khr big bang that produced great content even if it had to be ultimately cancelled, previous years' khr secret santas), and more, I'm grateful that we have the ongoing passion of fandom and creators to make these kinds of events possible. There are events to meet every person's needs, whether they need strict safe spaces, like platonic or gen content, love problematic content, feed off crack content or certain tropes/themes/AUs, everyone is valid and have been able to produce or consume content to their taste thanks to all these amazing events keeping the love and diversity of this series, characters, and fans alive!

(This absolutely goes for the awesome submission-driven blogs, such as this one, headcanon blogs, incorrect quote blogs, etc, as well. Thank you all for giving the many different fandom voices a chance to be heard and opportunity for participation/interaction/acknowledgement with fellow fans. You all keep us connected, the webbing holding this fandom together, elevating it, and progressing it. <3)

Much love, everyone! Keep creating and connecting with one another!

Thank you to everyone

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #khrfandomconfessions

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poisonedapples · 4 years ago

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I’m feeling aroallo love in this Chili’s tonight, so have some service dog au Patton, who is aroallo:

- Patton is aromantic and gay. He’s never felt any interest in romance and jumped onto the aromantic label the second he found it because of how well it fit. However, boys are incredibly pretty and he can not deny that

- He’s very romance repulsed and sick of seeing romance everywhere. He doesn’t think highly of shows where love interests suddenly show up and isn’t a fan of romance being a main plot point at all. He tends to read juvenile books mostly because of this, because they usually don’t have any romance at all (at least compared to adult fiction)

- He doesn’t harass anyone over PDA obviously, but he looks away when people get a bit too romance-y with each other. He does not like kissing and will always look away

- He’s not very big on QPRs, either. He’d rather just live with a bunch of pets and plants and go visit his friends when he’s older

- He has a giant aro flag above his bed and he loves it

- He also loves the alloaro flag solely because he loves the color yellow almost as much as he loves sky blue

- He helped Virgil also figure out his sexuality because he knows a lot about the aro and ace communities, even if he’s not ace. Virgil is eternally grateful

- Virgil shows this gratitude by teasing Patton every time he stares at Pretty Boy and gets flustered over it

- Patton is incredibly valid and I love him

#bird chirps #service dog au

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cdelphiki · 5 years ago

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There Are Worse Ways to Spend Christmas

Honestly, holiday travel was the worst, in Tim’s opinion. The absolute worst thing on the face of the planet, and an all around terrible way to spend time right around Christmas.

Between crowded airports, snobby entitled irate passengers, and frequent weather cancellations, traveling during December was probably the worst thing ever.

And yes, that was very much exaggerating, because Tim’s mind immediately supplied several things that had happened that year that beat flying near Christmas in the ‘terrible’ category, but he just wasn’t in a good mood, so he was going to be dramatic about it.

Bruce wanted the lot of them to meet up at the cabin in Colorado to have a nice, quiet Christmas with just the family. Which, on paper, sounded nice. Christmas with all the kids plus Alfred and Bruce, far away from Gotham and the social engagements they’d be expected to attend otherwise sounded incredibly relaxing.

But that was before Tim processed that he’d have to fly with Damian, commercial, to Colorado to meet up with everyone else.

Why?

Because his family hated him, obviously.

The private plane was currently in Japan, where Bruce and Alfred were finishing up a series of meetings at the Tokyo office, and since it would be bringing them to Colorado that day, it was unavailable to bring Damian and Tim, the only two left in Gotham so close to Christmas, to Colorado. Stupid school lasting until the Friday right before Christmas Eve, which was on a Monday that year, meant they couldn’t have just left early to allow the jet to bring them all.

No.

Tim Drake and Damian Wayne had to fly commercial. On Christmas Eve eve.

First class, of course, but on small little regional jets, first class was a paltry comparison to the comfort to which they were accustomed. And the whole “unaccompanied minor” thing was really grating at Tim’s nerves. Because Damian wasn’t unaccompanied. Tim was right there. He was 16, and according to the airline’s policy, that made Damian accompanied. But that didn’t stop the stupid flight attendants from being extra attentive.

At least they were being left relatively alone during their layover in Chicago.

Which was how Tim found himself curled up into one of the kind-of comfortable waiting chairs near their gate, playing a game on his iPad, completely ignoring his little brother. It was the most peace he’d had all day. He could still see Damian over his knees. Kind of. Saw his spiky hair in the next seat over, at least, so he wasn’t being entirely neglectful.

But Damian wasn’t bothering him. Wasn’t trying to pick a fight or release his frustrations on Tim, so Tim was going to enjoy every single second of it.

Then, of course, the gate agent had to ruin the entire night.

“Attention passengers, Flight 1029 to Aspen has been delayed,” she announced over the speaker, and Tim couldn’t make out the rest of her announcement over the loud chorus of groans from everyone around them. Because the flight was supposed to begin boarding in about 10 minutes.

His phone buzzed with a notification from the American Airlines app, which informed him that it was delayed by three hours.

“This is ridiculous,” Damian pouted, hitting Tim’s legs with his coat as he slung it off himself to stand, “the third weather delay today. You would think airlines would be used to flying in the snow. It’s not like it doesn’t happen every year.”

“It’s one of those dumb named storms,” Tim said, scrolling through the weather report in Aspen to see if in three hours it would be any better, “it’s basically a blizzard.”

“That does not change my opinion,” Damian drawled, rolling his eyes as he stared out the window directly behind Tim.

“So because hurricanes happen every year, pilots should know how to fly through those? Get real, Damian.”

“Tt. It’s just snow.”

“Snow and wind and zero visibility,” Tim said, flipping to the Hilton app to reserve a room at the airport’s hotel. The weather report wasn’t looking good, and he had a feeling that the flight would be outright cancelled. If that happened, he wanted a room in the airport. He’d rather not deal with crowded shuttles to an off-site hotel once the airport finally cancelled all the flights to the areas being assaulted by Winter-storm Fisher.

Seriously, why the hell did they name snowstorms now?

Tim reserved the room under Bruce’s name, because it would be impossible otherwise to get a room for a 10 and 16 year old. The hotel really didn’t need to know that Bruce wasn’t even in the country and wouldn’t be staying with them.

“Damian?” one of the gate agents said, as she approached the two of them in the waiting area, “So the flight has been delayed by-”

“Yes, three hours. We are aware,” Damian snapped, “As I keep telling you people, I do not require your hovering. My father did not request the unaccompanied minor service, so I do not see why you are providing it anyway.”

“We are just ensuring that-”

“I don’t care,” Damian said, waving a hand at the woman as he turned to gaze out the window again.

Tim just shrugged at the slightly flustered woman and offered a simple, “Sorry. We’re tracking though, thanks.”

“Tt. I am never flying commercial again.”

“Bold declaration for 10,” Tim said, just before he sighed and sat up. It was nearing 6pm. They should probably go grab dinner while they had the time, on the off chance that the flight actually did happen.

“I am a Wayne, if I want to fly exclusively by private jet, there is literally nothing stopping me.”

“Except Bruce hogging it,” Tim said, shoving his iPad and headphones into his carry-on. For the first time, he was so glad Alfred had convinced them to pack into carry-ons instead of with checked luggage. He enjoyed the freedom and ease of traveling with just a simple messenger bag to carry around, but knowing that they had their clothes and toothbrushes with them was a relief. They wouldn’t be buying ridiculous Chicago themed clothing tonight in one of the overpriced gift shops.

“What are you doing?” Damian asked, eyeing Tim as he slipped his boots back on and tied them.

Instead of answering, Tim asked, “Chili’s or the Macaroni Grill?” as he stood to his feet, attaching his coat to the top of his luggage.

Damian straightened up a bit, to Tim’s amusement, at the prospect of food and shuffled to gather up his items as well. “The Macaroni Grill,” he finally said, making a face at the suggestion of Chili’s.

Dinner went a lot smoother than Tim was expecting. In fact, the entire day until that point had gone smoother than he expected. Even with leaving for the airport at 5am and spending nearly every moment since together, the two of them really hadn’t fought much. Every once in a while Damian would make a scathing remark, but would then be quiet for at least half an hour after he did so.

It was nice.

“Why’re you being so good,” Tim asked over their pasta. They still had a little over two hours until boarding. Perhaps he shouldn’t be looking this gift horse in the mouth, but he was genuinely curious.

“I know how to behave in public, Drake,” Damian drawled, pushing around the last bits of his dinner on his plate before taking a sip of his soda.

Aside from the fact that Damian did not know how to behave in public, that really didn’t answer anything.

“Besides,” Damian continued, “our every move is being watched here, and Father told me if we get arrested by security for any reason he’s holding me personally responsible.”

“He did not,” Tim said, grinning wide.

Damian scowled at Tim and snapped, “That was not a challenge, Drake. I will inform Father if you sabotage our travel for the express purpose of getting me grounded.”

Tim just laughed and said, “Unlike you, I’m not a demon, I wouldn’t do that,” just as his phone started buzzing in his pocket.

When he pulled it out, he saw Bruce’s face staring at him. “Speak of the devil,” Tim muttered as he slid to accept the call, “Hey Bruce.”

“I see your flight has been delayed again. How are you two holding up?”

“Let me talk to him,” Damian said, reaching out for the phone.

Tim swatted Damian’s hand away and said, “We’re fine. Annoyed, but we went ahead and got dinner. I know we were supposed to eat together there, but you know.”

“We had to land in Seattle and won’t attempt again until morning, anyway. Dick and Jason got in just before it started to snow, and Steph and Cass are still in the air, but I don’t think the flight will make it to Aspen. So most of us won’t get there until tomorrow, anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m expecting American Airlines to just cancel to try again tomorrow,” Tim said, taking one last bite of his food, “so I booked us a hotel tonight just in case.”

“Let me know if you have trouble checking in. The storm is moving across the country toward you, I would not be surprised if O’Hare cancels flights tomorrow as the storm passes over you there.”

“Great,” Tim said dramatically, leaning back in his chair. Damian was just glaring at him expectantly, “Damian wants to talk to you.”

“Okay. Stay safe and just be patient. Delays and cancellations are better than plane crashes.”

“Yeah, thanks for that thought,” Tim said just as he handed the phone off to Damian.

“Father, I refuse to fly commercial ever again, this method of travel is-” Damian started, then paused and listened with a pinched face, “Yes, but- No. No.”

Tim tried his best not to look too amused as Damian went from smug and entitled to adequately chagrined as he listened silently to Bruce for a full minute. Bruce must have lectured him pretty hard.

“Fine. But I will not fly commercial at Christmas. This holiday is ridiculous and the number of people in this airport is unacceptable. Yes, Father. I will. Goodbye.”

“Sounds like you will be flying commercial again,” Tim said in amusement as he took his phone back and pulled a $100 out of his wallet to give to the waitress to cover their meal and her tip.

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian mumbled as he dragged his suitcase behind him in the most pout-filled way Tim had ever seen.

And that’s how the rest of the evening went. Silently as Damian pouted. As their departure time came and went without so much as a boarding call, Damian began getting antsy.

“This is the fourth time they’ve delayed us by 15 minutes,” he exclaimed after yet another announcement over the PA system, “this is unacceptable.”

“You know they’re going to cancel the flight, right?” Tim said, turning the page in a book he’d picked up in the airport bookstore, “We’ll probably sit here another 30 minutes while they continue deluding themselves about not cancelling a flight on Christmas Eve eve.”

Damian let out an angry growl, which just sounded like a child throwing a tantrum, and flung himself down on the chair next to Tim. “I hate this.”

“Take a nap,” Tim said as he pulled his coat out from the chair under him to let Damian use it as a pillow, “I’ll wake you when they decide what they’re doing.”

“I will not take a nap,” Damian pouted, “I’m not tired, just frustrated.”

“You’ve been awake since 4am, you’re tired.”

“So have you.”

“Yeah,” Tim said patiently, “but I took a nap after lunch, so.”

“I will not take a nap,” Damian repeated, aggressively grabbing Tim’s coat to lay against.

“That’s fine,” Tim hummed, trying not to smile as he continued reading.

“And Christmas Eve eve is not a thing,” Damian mumbled, burrowing himself down into Tim’s coat with his own wrapped around him, “stop being ridiculous.”

“Of course it’s a thing,” Tim said, lifting his feet up onto his suitcase so he could get settled back a little more comfortably, “It’s what today is.”

“Hmph.”

It took another 45 minutes, but finally the flight was outright cancelled. By that point, everyone was too exhausted to put up too much of a fuss, and the groans heard around the gate were more out of obligation than actual anger. Tim had heard several people all around him make arrangements for the night already, so this was clearly no surprise to anyone.

Tim took his time using the hotel’s app to “check in” before he began gathering up his things. He put his boots on and shoved his book and tablet back in his bag before he finally nudged Damian.

“Okay, Demon, nap’s over.”

“I was not napping,” Damian mumbled, rubbing at his eyes as he sat up.

Tim grinned and liberated his coat out from under Damian. “No you’re right you were just resting your eyes.”

“Shut up, Drake.”

Checking in was remarkably easy. When Tim told the person at the desk that ‘his dad had checked in on the app,’ he was easily handed a couple keys to the room without a single question.

Tim took his time in the shower as Damian lay on one of the two beds in their room, watching the news report. When Tim finally emerged from the bathroom, Damian said, “Much of Colorado is without power right now, and the storm is expected to hit the midwest just as hard.”

“Well isn’t that just dandy,” Tim said as he dried off his hair, “you packed a toothbrush and stuff, right?”

“Yes, Drake, I am not incompetent.”

“Right, whatever. Take a shower if you’re going to, I’m going to sleep. The flight is scheduled for 8 so we need to get out of here absolutely no later than 7, preferably earlier. We’ll have to pass through security again.”

“I hate everything you just said.”

Sighing, Tim set his phone to wake him at 5:45 while he listened to Damian slam the bathroom door.

Being responsible for little children was just so fun.

Next thing Tim knew, his alarm was going off. He sat up to find Damian already awake and watching the Weather Channel on mute. It took blinking for a minute before he could make out the numerous notifications on his phone, but the one he had wanted to find the least was another delay notification.

Now the flight wasn’t going to attempt until 10.

“The storm hit early,” Damian said, glaring at the television as if it were responsible for everything going wrong in their travel.

“Well do you want to sleep in longer or get breakfast?” Tim asked, rubbing at his face. He’d enjoy sleeping more, but he had slept for a good 6 hours. It was certainly more than he was used to.

“Breakfast,” Damian said simply, “I was waiting for you to wake up so we could order room service.”

“We could go get something. There’s time now.”

“Look outside. I’d rather stay here where it’s warm and dry.”

“Right,” Tim said, picking up the room service menu. After he called in their order, he looked at the weather report for the day and went ahead and extended their stay one night. If this storm cancelled all flights leaving Chicago, it would be much more difficult to get a room. Bruce honestly wouldn’t care about spending the money unnecessarily if their flight really did take off at 10.

But of course, it didn’t. At just past 8, they received the notice that the flight was cancelled.

Bruce called again, within minutes of Tim getting the text, to check up on them and assure them that the family wouldn’t do Christmas until Tim and Damian made it to Aspen.

“I’ll come pick you up myself,” Bruce said over speaker, “The weather should be fine tomorrow, I’ll head to the airport and get you boys, okay?”

“Tt,” Damian pouted from where he lay on his bed, arms crossed and glaring at the ceiling, “If you ever suggest I travel alone with Drake again, I will return to Mother.”

“Ouch,” Tim said, “he’d rather live in a ninja death cult than travel with me.”

“Damian,” Bruce sighed, “I’m sorry, but we’ll extend our vacation out until after the New Year, okay? I’ll make it up to you.”

“He’s pretending to ignore you,” Tim said, grinning at the scathing look Damian shot his way for the comment, “he’ll get over it.”

“The pilot wants me to turn my phone off, so I’ll text you when we land. How about we all FaceTime tonight, okay?”

Tim nodded. “Yeah, that’ll be good. Dick wanted us to watch The Polar Express tonight, we can always just do it while facetiming. I’m sure I can find a copy somewhere around here.

“Okay, Merry Christmas, boys. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“I can’t believe it’s Christmas Eve and I’m stuck in a snowstorm with you,” Damian said once Bruce had hung up, still glaring up at the ceiling.

Shrugging, Tim said, “There’s worse company.”

“Doubtful.”

“Don’t worry. Santa will still deliver your presents to the cabin tonight.”

That finally made Damian sit up, but only to throw a pillow at Tim. “Santa’s not real, Drake.”

“Now you’re ruining my Christmas,” Tim said, laughing, as he caught the pillow, “You’re probably on the naughty list, anyway.”

“Tt.”

“You’re not exactly good,” Tim continued, having fun now at Damian’s expense.

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian snapped, throwing another pillow at Tim.

“Or nice.”

“Shut up!”

“Actually, yeah,” Tim said, laying back on the bed, “there’s no way you’re not on the naughty list, now that I think about it.”

At that, Damian got up from his bed and stormed over to the bathroom, slamming the door as he went. Tim jumped at the loudness of it, then frowned.

He hadn’t meant to push the brat that far. He’d just been teasing. Having fun. Sometimes, Tim forgot for as much as Damian could dish it out, he couldn’t take teasing. At all.

It was easy to forget. Especially when they went a few days without fighting.

‘Help,’ Tim texted Dick, ‘made D mad. Probably crying in bathroom. What do?’

The response was almost instant. ‘You made Damian cry?! Tim, why??’

Tim sighed and responded with, ’I mean, maybe? I haven’t tried to listen in on him or anything. He might just be pouting.’

‘Did you try talking to him?’

‘Why would I do that?’ Tim asked, smiling at himself because he already knew what Dick’s response to that would be.

‘You want to fix it but you don’t want to talk to him.’ And Tim could just see the flat stare Dick would have while delivering that sentence. Hear the deadpan in his voice.

Tim snorted. ‘Precisely. Glad you understand.’

‘Tim.’

‘Yeah, fine. Good big brother, coming up.’

After another minute, Tim finally got up and trudged over to the bathroom door. When he knocked, he could tell something was pressed up against the door, and was willing to bet his entire salary that it was pint sized and 10-years-old.

“Hey D? I was just teasing, you know.”

“Go away, Drake,” Damian hissed from the other side of the door.

So he wasn’t crying, at least. That’s good.

“Uh yep, nope. Can’t,” Tim said, sitting down on the floor outside the door, “The room isn’t big enough.”

Tim could just barely hear Damian’s signature ’tt’ in response.

“I wasn’t trying to upset you,” Tim offered, unsure of where to start. Or how to even do this. He’d been the little brother being talked down, never the older brother doing the talking down.

“Weren’t you?” Damian drawled.

“No, I wasn’t,” Tim said, resting his head back against the door, “I was just teasing you, that’s what brothers do to each other. They tease. You should know, you tease me constantly.”

“I do not tease you.”

Tim rolled his eyes and said, “No, of course not. You just make fun of me in hopes of getting a rise out of me. That’s totally not the definition of tease.”

“Then you admit you were trying to upset me.”

“Fine. I’m sorry, Damian,” Tim said tiredly, and perhaps a little too flippantly in his tone, “I shouldn’t have said that stuff, okay? You’re probably on Santa’s nice list. He’ll bring you presents tonight.”

“Shut up, Drake,” Damian snapped, banging something against the door. His elbow, perhaps. “I do not care about that ridiculous tradition.”

“If you aren’t upset about me saying you’re on the naughty list, then why are you upset?”

“I have been very good the past couple days,” Damian nearly shouted, “and the past year. I have worked so hard to behave myself and be what you and everyone in Father’s family would consider good. But at every turn, everyone, especially you, completely ignores all my actions and efforts and writes me off as a ‘bad person.’ I am sick of it.”

Tim blinked and ran a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t… writing you off,” he said lamely, “I was just teasing you about Santa. I know you’ve been good.”

“Then why would you say I’m not?” Damian demanded.

“It was just a joke,” Tim said, a bit more forcefully this time, “it’s just what you do at Christmas with kids. You tease them about Santa and being on the naughty list. Did the league not do Santa?”

Damian huffed out an annoyed breath and said, “The league didn’t do Christmas. So no, we didn’t ‘do Santa.’”

“You… didn’t do Christmas?” Tim said, in almost a whisper. He really wasn’t sure if Damian could even hear him. “So wait,” he added, much louder, “is this your first Christmas then?”

“Yes,” Damian bit out before slamming his head back against the door. At least, Tim as pretty sure that’s what Damian hit the door with.

“Does Bruce know this?”

After a long moment, Damian sighed and said, in a much calmer tone, “Maybe. I do not know what Father knows.”

“You should have told him,” Tim said softly, like he was talking to a victim as Robin, “He would have cancelled his meetings in Japan, I bet.”

“I don’t see how it would have mattered. It was my first Christmas here, regardless of everything, and he still left me with you.”

“Well,” Tim said, “In his defense, we were supposed to see him yesterday, so this isn’t entirely his fault.”

“I guess,” Damian said, softer than Tim had ever heard the child’s voice be.

The two of them sat there for another few minutes while Tim just frowned at the closet door in front of him. The annoying closet door that was actually a full sized mirror. So basically, Tim was staring back at himself, looking right at the terrible person he was. That he’d been over the past couple days.

Thinking back over their travel time, Damian really had been good. He’d been trying really hard to keep it that way, even when Tim teased and poked at him, or just flat out ignored him. And all because he didn’t want Bruce angry with him over his behavior. Which, usually wasn’t an issue for Damian. He never seemed to care when Bruce threatened him with grounding.

And Tim had barely acknowledged the effort.

Was Damian just trying to stay on Bruce’s good side because it was Christmas? Because he wanted a happy Christmas, just like how the holiday was always depicted in media?

Damian was only 10, after all, and all he had to go on was television.

Tim felt the bathroom door open behind him and leaned forward a bit to prevent from falling back. Damian stood in the doorway and glared at Tim using the mirror before saying, half-heartedly, “Move, Drake.”

“So if you’ve never celebrated Christmas before,” Tim said slowly as he got to his feet, “that means you’ve never done a Christmas movie marathon.”

“Thankfully,” the little brat drawled as he pushed past Tim into the bedroom.

“What Christmas movies have you already seen?” Tim asked, completely ignoring Damian’s likely feigned disinterest.

Flopping down dramatically onto his bed, Damian said, “What part of ‘first Christmas’ don’t you understand?”

“So you’ve never seen any Christmas movies?” Tim asked in exaggerated horror.

Damian just shrugged.

“Frosty the Snowman?” Tim asked, and when Damian shook his head, he said, “Rudolph the Rednose Reindeer? How the Grinch Stole Christmas?”

“No, Tim,” Damian exasperated, “none of them.”

“Oh my god,” Tim said, “Okay. That’s what we’re doing today. Starting with The Year Without a Santa.”

“Whatever.”

After a quick trip to one of the shops in the airport to purchase candy canes and a ridiculous amount of candy and cookies, because no Christmas movie marathon would be complete without a coma-inducing amount of sugar, Tim started up a playlist of all his favorite Christmas movies on his laptop.

Four movies into the marathon, Damian said from where he lay beside Tim on the bed, “These are ridiculous, you know?”

“I know, isn’t it great?” Tim said, opening another bag of Oreos for them to devour. Alfred would have a heart-attack if he knew they skipped lunch and were going to skip dinner in favor of cookies. Store bought cookies.

“I suppose,” Damian said as he took a couple cookies from the bag between them, “there are worse ways to spend Christmas Eve.”

Tim didn’t even have to look to know Damian was smiling as the opening scene to Elf began to play.

Yes. There were much worse ways to spend Christmas Eve.

Cross posted from AO3.

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lesbiansforboromir · 5 years ago

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Its been too long since I read the books and last time I saw the movies I was on denethor is a dick to my baby, let the man die. However, now I'm curious, since I remembered for instance that in the books he was devastated when he thought faramir died and your last reblog about that made me rethink my whole stance. Could you give me more positive denethor moments, or do I have to read the books again?

God I- I need so much for you all to understand how much I love asks like this, for PURELY selfish reasons, I just LOVE the idea of people like... doing what I do! Which is think about lotr and it’s characters and consider them in new angles and have fun with that! I feel connection and love in this chili’s tonight- ANYWAY.

To be clear, Denethor is one of my favourite characters, like JUST below Boromir in how much I love him and how furious I am with his portrayal in the films. I have a tag for him here that has a lot of good posts all about it. But positive moments for Denethor, yes ok! Lets start with my favourite quote from Denethor because it completely encompasses his- literally his ENTIRE book character;

In what is left, let all who fight the Enemy in their fashion be at one, and keep hope while they may, and after hope still the hardihood to die free.

Do you feel all the love and pride in his people and all the folk of middle earth who’re resisting this seemingly impossible threat? Even unto their inevitable end? Do you see the inherent belief that this is an unwinnable war, and yet how Denethor has remained Gondor’s greatest and most stalwart defender for all these years? GOD I do- ‘dying free’ is a VERY important sentiment that also puts a lot of his later, seemingly ‘mad’, actions into a much more understandable light. BUT I WILL TRY to not make this too much of a dissertation, god willing. SO! Onto Pippin’s swearing!

'Little service, no doubt, will so great a lord of Men think to find in a hobbit, a halfling from the northern Shire; yet such as it is, I will offer it, in payment of my debt.' Twitching aside his grey cloak, Pippin drew forth his small sword and laid it at Denethor's feet.

A pale smile, like a gleam of cold sun on a winter's evening, passed over the old man's face; but he bent his head and held out his hand, laying the shards of the horn aside. 'Give me the weapon!' he said. Pippin lifted it and presented the hilt to him. 'Whence came this?' said Denethor. 'Many, many years lie on it. Surely this is a blade wrought by our own kindred in the North in the deep past?'

'It came out of the mounds that lie on the borders of my country,' said Pippin. 'But only evil wights dwell there now, and I will not willingly tell more of them.'

'I see that strange tales are woven about you,' said Denethor, 'and once again it is shown that looks may belie the man – or the halfling. I accept your service. For you are not daunted by words; and you have courteous speech, strange though the sound of it may be to us in the South. And we shall have need of all folk of courtesy, be they great or small, in the days to come.’

The film really had no idea what to do with Pippin offering his service to Denethor as- well essentially an acknowledgement and an honouring of Boromir’s sacrifice for him. Because the Denethor in the film would have scorned it, but it’s an important plot point, so it’s just kinda in there awkwardly and uncomfortably. This is because Denethor genuinely appreciates Pippin’s gesture, his son died for this hobbit! But Pippin is fervent and honest and Denethor can tell! Denethor is grateful, he empathises! These are not traits film!denethor possessed, so we get the.... tomato... scene.... BUT ONWARDS, I consider this a positive scene, simply because Denethor and Gandalf’s rivalry in the books is just so much FUNNIER and interesting than in the films;

'And you, my Lord Mithrandir, shall come too, as and when you will. None shall hinder your coming to me at any time, save only in my brief hours of sleep. Let your wrath at an old man's folly run off and then return to my comfort!'

'Folly?' said Gandalf. 'Nay, my lord, when you are a dotard you will die. You can use even your grief as a cloak. Do you think that I do not understand your purpose in questioning for an hour one who knows the least, while I sit by?'

'If you understand it, then be content,' returned Denethor. 'Pride would be folly that disdained help and counsel at need; but you deal out such gifts according to your own designs. Yet the Lord of Gondor is not to be made the tool of other men's purposes, however worthy. And to him there is no purpose higher in the world as it now stands than the good of Gondor; and the rule of Gondor, my lord, is mine and no other man's, unless the king should come again.'

LIKE. IT’S FUNNY! Essentially Denethor’s like ‘oh ho I’m just an auld man dont be angry with me Gandy’ and Gandalf’s like ‘Denethor when you are ENFEEBLED by age you will DIE out of spite alone’ and Denethor’s like ‘OH FINE if you want to be that way, but you’re bloody annoying to deal with and I don’t TRUST you wholly so DEAL with it,’ And again we get Denethor’s like whole deal! Gondor is what he is here to defend! It’s his entire purpose in life! He doesn’t trust that Gandalf’s not going to use him for his own ends to the detriment of Gondor itself, which Gandalf LITERALLY admits he’d do in the next paragraph. Because he says ‘he’s the steward of everything, not just gondor’ which on the one hand is like, yeah, we get that, but you can understand Denethor’s perspective too. WHICH IS. GOOD CHARACTERISATION FOLKS!

'[Osgiliath] was 'It was a city,' said Beregond, 'the chief city of Gondor, of which this was only a fortress. For that is the ruin of Osgiliath on either side of Anduin, which our enemies took and burned long ago. Yet we won it back in the days of the youth of Denethor: not to dwell in, but to hold as an outpost, and to rebuild the bridge for the passage of our arms.a city,' said Beregond, 'the chief city of Gondor, of which this was only a fortress. For that is the ruin of Osgiliath on either side of Anduin, which our enemies took and burned long ago. Yet we won it back in the days of the youth of Denethor: not to dwell in, but to hold as an outpost, and to rebuild the bridge for the passage of our arms.��

This is just like a little thing but I think it’s just kinda important to emphasise that Denethor wasn’t just a politician, he bled heavily for Gondor’s safety too and the retaking of Osgiliath was an incredibly important victory that Denethor achieved for Gondor’s safety as a whole. Anyway SPEAKING of the tomato scene- god this really does entirely emphasise the difference between Film!Denethor and Book!Denethor;

‘Can you sing?'

Yes,' said Pippin. 'Well, yes, well enough for my own people. But we have no songs fit for great halls and evil times, lord. We seldom sing of anything more terrible than wind or rain. And most of my songs are about things that make us laugh; or about food and drink, of course.'

'And why should such songs be unfit for my halls, or for such hours as these? We who have lived long under the Shadow may surely listen to echoes from a land untroubled by it? Then we may feel that our vigil was not fruitless, though it may have been thankless.'

In the end Pipping doesn’t sing for him but like?? Look SEE LIKE. It’s not MEAN, Denethor is in general sardonic and kinda harsh and frustrating in tone but he’s not dismissive or uncharitable or heartless; he’s interested, he likes TALKING to Pippin, he likes to hear about the world! Songs about food and drink and weather are fine! Of course they have merit!

'Not – the Dark Lord?' cried Pippin, forgetting his place in his terror. Denethor laughed bitterly. 'Nay, not yet, Master Peregrin! He will not come save only to triumph over me when all is won. He uses others as his weapons. So do all great lords, if they are wise, Master Halfling. Or why should I sit here in my tower and think, and watch, and wait, spending even my sons? For I can still wield a brand.'

Do you hEAR the bitterness in these lines? How he has to SIT here and WAIT as he sends his loved ones to die- but he has too, he HAS to do this, it’s not new, he’s been sending his sons to their probably deaths for years, and god he wishes he could be a reckless man and just ride out himself again but there IS no one to step into his place if he should be lost and Gondor just can’t take that! IT’S cOMPELLING. And so... now we’ll end on the part you mentioned, which really is like... AGONISING, it’s heartbreaking, especially after Denethor’s manners and character up until this point, sharp, sardonic, dauntless, uncowed by ever new loss, every new defeat, Boromir’s death even did not crack him completely but now-

And as [Pippin] watched, it seemed to him that Denethor grew old before his eyes, as if something had snapped in his proud will, and his stern mind was overthrown. Grief maybe had wrought it, and remorse. He saw tears on that once tearless face, more unbearable than wrath.

'Do not weep, lord,' he stammered. 'Perhaps he will get well. Have you asked Gandalf?'

'Comfort me not with wizards!' said Denethor. 'The fool's hope has failed. The Enemy has found it, and now his power waxes; he sees our very thoughts, and all we do is ruinous.

'I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed, out into needless peril, and here he lies with poison in his veins. Nay, nay, whatever may now betide in war, my line too is ending, even the House of the Stewards has failed. Mean folk shall rule the last remnant of the Kings of Men, lurking in the hills until all are hounded out.'

Men came to the door crying for the Lord of the City. 'Nay, I will not come down,' he said. 'I must stay beside my son. He might still speak before the end. But that is near. Follow whom you will, even the Grey Fool, though his hope has failed. Here I stay.'

I’ll NEVER forgive the appropriation of the ‘my line is ending’ line, he doesn’t MEAN that he’s grieving the loss of his lineage, he’s grieving the loss of his WHOLE COUNTRY, of his people! As well as his son! And in this final moment with him his priorities of heart surface, where his people are banging desperately at his door, begging for their Lord to come to their aide, he refuses, because Faramir is far more important to him in this moment.

I said I wasn’t going to make this a dissertation but WHATEVER, there you are anon, hope it’s what you wanted than thANK YOU AGAIN for the ask :)

#denethor #tolkien #erran vs tolkien #chats #Anonymous

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tswift · 5 years ago

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ok so i’m kinda drunk but I just wanted to say that I feel so incredibly thankful and I truly feel god in this chili’s tonight. i’ve been a fan of taylor’s since her debut era, and i just NEVER thought i’d be noticed by her. not with a like, a follow, a donation, a meeting, anything. and now all in one day... she dm’d me, TYPED OUT MY NAME, wrote in my paypal name (thevampireslayer.. it’s just so funny to me hjsdsgd), and hours later decided to follow me??? just the other day, like so many times before, I was feeling so hopeless. about so many things. an endless amount of things. and now I just feel ?? so grateful and special and emotional?? like I got the person that has helped me through the darkest of days, has been a constant comforting presence in my life for over a decade, a superstar, an amazingly talented person, my favorite person, to not only acknowledge my existence, but REACH out to me. I know this is so dramatic and over the top and i’m drunk bc I drank champagne and this is embarrassing and I will delete this tomorrow but I am HAPPY

#MY HEART IS SO FULL!!!#rambles

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today-only-happens-once · 5 years ago

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a good kind of call-out post?

I wanted to gush about lots of people but decided maybe I’d space it out a bit over a few days instead of one long list of me rambling. Also, it’s almost midnight and I am v tired even if I’m feeling like validating peeps in this Chili’s tonight.

So anyways. In which Grae rambles about @justisaisfine

Listen, Isa’s Sanders Bro AU means a whole hecking lot to me. Something about it helped me through some really low moments over the past year (probably was the whole idea of clinging to the people you love and who love you back to get through the dark and into the light on the other side?), and I’m so grateful that it exists. But even more than just coming up with the ideas in the first place, Isa continues to bring such vibrancy and genuine love for these characters and the world they create with them. You can tell in every piece of art for it they produce and in all of the asks they answer. There’s so much thought and care put into each character--how they develop and grow, the things they deal with, the other characters they lean on, etc. They’ve said (I think) that it kinda comes to them as they go, but you can tell if you look through it that there’s so much of their heart in what they’ve developed. It shows in droves.

Plus, Isa is so gracious and kind about everything. The times I’ve come to them to ask them a question or permission to write for their AU, they are always so incredibly welcoming and excited and awesome. I’m truly grateful for that. Their art blows me away–it’s always expressive and is able to say so, so much–and they’ve clearly worked very hard at their craft. Just. Isa is a gem of a human being, and I appreciate them so freaking much.

#fanders #famders #positivity #not really sure how to tag this otherwise lol #sanders bro au #appreciation post #content creator appreciation

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slasherscream · 5 years ago

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May I request a uhhhhhh Sidney Prescott with silent but protective Reader. Gender neutral mayhaps. Headcanons or one shot is up to you.

A/N: sidney prescott request? i'm eating so well in this fucking chili's tonight.

sidney prescott + silent protector + gender!neutral reader

——————–

You'd been vaguely friends for years. Not particularly close but definitely friendly. You admired so much about her and it was always clear to you she was special. But the two of you had never really managed to click somehow.

That was probably your fault.

Sidney was a popular girl and while you weren't unpopular you kept to yourself mostly. You were a person of few words and you liked being that way.

You can tell she doesn't really know what to do with someone like you. Not used to being around people so quiet. High-school is full of talkers. Full of noise and insecurity. People trying to make themselves be bigger and tougher cause they don't really know who they are yet.

You're a steadiness in the stream of uncertainty. So pensive and watchful. Always certain. You weren't like anyone else and you weren't trying to be. It almost unnerved her when you first started high-school together and she really came out of her own shell and you seemed to grow ever quieter. Really, you were just settling into yourself.

Then suddenly her world fell apart. A brutally murdered Mother. What teenage girl can handle losing her Mother in any way? Let alone so cruelly. Your heart breaks for her and you begin making an actual effort to be around her. Support her. She needs support more than anything.

There are so many people around her, watching and hovering but you can tell she feels more alone than ever. She's being watched like an animal in a zoo. When people ask her what's wrong they're looking for hot gossip and not checking up on a poor, scared teenage girl.

You start checking up on her. Quiet and forever faithful you. She begins to crave the peace you bring with you instead of being made nervous by it. Sometimes the two of you don't talk at all. Just sit with each for hours. Sometimes she cries and sometimes she doesn't. But no matter what you stay with her.

Eventually you start reaching for her hand during these times. Then you start holding her. You've fallen in love but she's with .... Billy and the one thing she doesn't need anymore of is change. You don't say anything. You're content to just be there for her. Be around her.

You become a staple in her life. She seeks you out in crowds and panics when she can't find you, at times. You start sticking to her more closely. At school. When she goes out with other friends. You become her best friend second only to Tatum.

This new closeness to every part of her life leads you to spending a lot more time with Billy Loomis. There's something about him you don't like and definitely don't trust. When Sidney starts describing relationship frustrations and troubling little "fights" you try to stay as quiet as you always are.

You're afraid your advice will be colored by jealously. Selfishness. You just make a small noise of discontent. Tatum hits you when Sidney walks away. That had been the perfect chance, dummy. She's always liked you more than Billy.

When the murders start your skin crawls. You stick to Sidney like glue. There's something in the air you don't like. Something you don't like at all. When they target Sidney next you understand why you've been so on edge. You have a sixth sense when it comes to her safety.

You're at the police station when they interview Sidney. They can't find her Dad and you feel a little sick. Then you feel angry when you hear Billy's voice calling to her. You stand up and look him right in the eyes as you cover her ears so she can't hear him while the police drag him away. The look you exchange is chilling. It feels like war.

You spend the night at Tatum's with Sidney and are there when she gets the call. If not Billy then who? Who else could the killer be? You're usually so certain of everything that you feel like falling apart. One look at Sidney's face and you don't. You just open your arms and hold her tight when she falls into them.

You tell yourself everything will be fine because you'll make sure of it. You even say it out loud. Sidney stops crying almost immediately. She trusts you and trusts that you'll keep your promises no matter how big.

The killer attacks you the next day. You're still staying at Tatum's figuring safety in numbers. But you swing by your house briefly to get some clothes and other essentials. That's when they strike.

You manage to fight the killer off, though you don't escape unharmed. You wound up hurting your arm and your leg but you escape.

Sidney cries when they finally let her see you at the hospital. Your parents having the doctors let her in, insisting the girl is practically family. You kiss the side of her head and give her a small smile, a silent "i'm fine" or maybe a silent "i love you". She doesn't stop crying this time but she does smile at you before she keeps hugging you.

Your parents take you just out of town because they're terrified you're still a target (you absolutely are). You're terrified that Sidney is still one. They invite her to come along but she doesn't want her Dad to come back suddenly or try to reach her without being able to find her. She stays. She stays and you go.

You get a call in the middle of the night. Sidney is crying. Babbling about Tatum being dead. Billy dead. Killer at Stu's. Hunting me down. Help, help, help, please Y/N-

You call the police panicked and drive all the way there breaking every speeding law in the world. When you get there it's already over. She's covered in blood being looked at by the paramedics. Randy and her Dad are sitting beside her. The scene is hectic but you don't see anything but her.

You rush over to her and the blank expression on her face fades away. She's reaching out for you and this time you fall into her arms, so grateful she's alive. You're crying, and she's crying, and you can't hold your feelings in anymore. You cover her faces in kisses whispering how glad you are she's alive. She doesn't get in the ambulance till they let you ride with her.

The reporters are even more relentless and heartless this time around. But this time you're here from the very start.

Sidney is quieter now but there's a strength to her that's incredible even as she's heartbroken and depressed. The first time she laughs in weeks it's because you take a reporter's camera and throw it into the street so hard it shatters. She laughs until she cries.

The funerals for your friends and all the people you knew come and go. The first time she kisses you, you're alone at her house, both wearing black because you just came back from Tatum's funeral. You're holding each other's hands and just staring at one another. Sitting with your legs crossed, knees touching. Slowly she leans forward and kisses you. You don't lean in to make the kiss deeper and when she pulls away quickly you don't take personal offense.

Instead you press your foreheads together and just take a deep breath. She mimics you. Puts her hand over your heart so she can feel the beating and breathes.

You stay like that all through the night. When she falls asleep on you and wakes up the next morning without having had a nightmare she knows it's because you kept the bad dreams away.

——————–

#stumacherstan #sidney prescott x reader #sidney prescott imagine #final girl x reader #adjkl can i tag this as slasher x reader?#i'm gonna #slasher x reader #honestly? fuck everybody else i respect YOU #i doooooon't and refuuuuuuse to remember any of the other scream mooooovies #so this is very vague adjkl but i LOVE sidney i'm OBSESSED #she's my WIFE FOR LIFE #not sure if you meant entirely silent like...basically mute or just very quiet so!#me: a shameless stu and billy stan #me whenever i write for tatum or sidney: eat SHIT bitch ass bitch boys

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witchqueenofthemoon · 6 years ago

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BODY AND SOUL Part 28 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: I am really proud of and happy with this part; I cried like four times while I edited it. While I’m writing I can never really tell how my stuff is turning out; only reading over it later do I get a real feel for it, and this one made me feel some BIG emotions, which is always the goal with Duckenzie. As for the details, as usual: There are basically an infinite number of combinations of food you can put in tinfoil dinners; here’s 30 examples. The fire pit enclosure is built like this (but with brick instead of gravel), the copper pit itself looks sort of like this, but embedded in the pit. Obviously, both Duncan and Kenzie manifest Pyrokinesis in this part. In my AU, neither Kenzie nor Duncan are as powerful as their Michael/Mallory selves, as I mentioned before (more about that later); and Duncan’s right, Kenzie is more powerful than he is, and she always will be. ROCK A LITTLE is MY favorite of Stevie’s solo albums, so I made it Kenzie’s favorite, naturally. It’s wildly underrated in my eyes, an album with very strong feminine energy, and an incredible album to dance to (like Stevie, I think of Kenzie as always dancing). TALK TO ME is one of my favorite Stevie songs, period; it’s about the connection you have with someone when you can see who they really are, the assurance sent out that you love them unconditionally; of course it fits Duckenzie, because their love for each other is absolute. I also wanted to play on the idea of them needing to talk to each other out loud versus being able to really hear each other--that is, feel what the other is feeling--without words.The sound system built into the stone path is something like this. I cut Duncan’s dream off before Michael’s snow goes evil--I wanted the moments after they wake up from the dreams to be happy and sexy, but he will find out about his Michael!otherself soon enough, just as Kenzie will learn of her Mallory!otherself...very, very soon, in fact. I realized after I wrote this part that @spellman made a gifset awhile back featuring both of the scenes Duncan and Kenzie dream about, which is so perfect, here. I also really realized consciously for the first time that while Michael’s hair is blonde and Mallory’s chestnut-brown, my Kenzie’s is chestnut-blonde and Duncan’s is a russet-brown, which is sort of a lovely dichotomy between the two universes (I live for shit like that). Don’t worry, Kenzie’s going to get a ring (my dream ring asdhdjdgsh), but i wanted her initial acceptance of Duncan’s proposal to be more organic, and I’m so happy with it here--Duncan is ostensibly offering himself rather than anything material in that moment, which was SO important to me. Can’t wait to write the scene where Duncan calls Madeline Momby to her face for the first time. Soon. The next part is Big Cosmic Vibes and I can’t wait for everyone to read it. As ever, your asks, comments, likes, edits and reblogs mean everything to me.

Kenzie ran up the stairs towards the bedroom, heart hammering. What is that place. That place surrounded by black oaks, growing impossibly close together, so quietly, with no wind? Like a doorway. Like that hidden door that flew open for us when we met. It’s one of those places. There was one on that balcony that night; the roses, the solitude, the quiet beauty of that evening. That was a thin place too. I see that now. Duncan and I were meant to meet each other that way, in that thin place; to see each other. To recognize each other.

Because--what. We’re fucking Soulmates. I think that’s what it means. I don’t know. But I think so.

Kenzie pitched herself down to her suitcase, tossing it sideways, unzipping it in the fading light of the bedroom. The window was still open--the coming night was drifting in, tossing the tiny flowers in her hair. Kenzie thought of how Duncan had appeared in the doorway that afternoon; after he’d fucked her so passionately on the silken softness of this vast bed, left the loving marks of his attention on her--you have magic in you that you’ve only begun to discover, Duncan Shepherd. Together we are going to do something incredible, something we can’t see the exact shape of yet, but when we’re together I can feel the magic growing, like a tree that took root in the center of my body, and now it’s shooting up and its leaves are reaching through my arms and my throat and around my heart and filling my mind with their gold and every part of me is tingling with it, it’s like the way I feel when we fuck, it’s so beautiful and intense I can’t breathe. It’s the rightness of it that moves me so much. It’s the exact right thing. You, and the energy that is being stirred up between us. It’s our destiny.

She wrapped the grey cardigan around her shoulders and pulled out Duncan’s Brooks Brothers’ cardigan after it--for him. Let him wear it tonight, wrapped in the scent of me now, as once it smelled like him so much, comforting me when I told Momby I loved him. The tender way he wrapped it around me after that first night--I saw the promise in his eyes. Even then, I knew. We both did.

Kenzie stood and gathered Duncan’s discarded shirt from its pile beside the bed, then flipped the slender copper standing lamp beside the door on before she left--it illuminated Cupid and Psyche in its rich glow. Kenzie stared at it, bathed in the soft light; her eyes drifted over the flowers in Cupid’s hair, sweet alyssum, a crown for a prince of beauty. My prince. Maybe someday we can hang this picture somewhere in the garden house.

Kenzie suddenly felt like crying. Fuck. I love him so much. Oh, Kenzie Lou. You must have really paid your dues in another life. Just be grateful for every minute, every second with him. Watch the wondrous way the light is kindling up in his soul. It’s so beautiful I could just die.

Kenzie started at the stop of the stairs, then stopped.

I wonder if I can do that. What Duncan did. Appear somewhere else.

She gathered the cardigan and Duncan’s shirt in her arms against her chest, tightly--then Kenzie closed her eyes, biting into her lip. The deck. I want to be on the deck. For a moment, there was nothing--the silence extended, nothing moved, there was no sound in the house but the whispering rattle of the summer wind upstairs through the open window; the softest calling of a loon out on the lake, far off.

And then, she shifted. And she felt the wind on her cheeks distinctly, could feel the change in the air; the richness of all the scents of nature. Kenzie opened her eyes. Duncan was coming through the deck door from inside, the fireside cooking kit under his arm, a long box of tinfoil atop it, and in his other hand a carefully-balanced serving plate of the cold chicken seasoned with lemon pepper, red chili pepper and garlic, raw carrots and celery and some of the little sweet peppers, also tossed in the seasoning and olive oil--Kenzie could see them glistening in the low light.

“Baby. I did it. I just did it.” Kenzie hopped on the heels of her sneakers, overcome; she clapped her hands and rushed to him, carefully gripping the bottom of the plate, setting it on the deck’s round wooden table. Duncan stared down at her, puzzled for a moment, then a dawning expression of understanding came into his eyes.

“You appeared down here. You moved. Like I can. Fuck.”

“Dunny. I bet you can do things I do, too. Try it. Try moving something.”

Duncan blew air out of his nose, set down the other things he was holding. “Okay.” He closed his eyes for a moment, held his palm out flat towards the serving tray. For a moment, one of the carrots shivered, then rolled; back and forth, as if pushed by a particularly strong gust of wind. Then as Kenzie’s eyes focused on it, it shot into Duncan’s palm, leaving a trail of olive oil along his skin. Duncan grinned at her, his blue eyes lifting up in the shadows that had begun to gather around them, flashing almost white; then he laughed in amazed wonder, throwing the carrot into his mouth and crunching it with a triumphant immediacy, and Kenzie hopped on her heels again, laughing with abandon, too.

“This is fucking amazing,” he whispered as he swallowed. His hair was wind-tossed, his expression achingly sincere; his eyes seemed to be an indigo sky with drifting, shadowed clouds. Kenzie ran to him and threw her arms around him; she could feel the goosebumps that covered him now, and immediately unfolded his shirt in her hands, pulling it around him--he slipped his arms through, his expression full of aching affection for her.

“And now it smells like me,” she added, gently holding out the black cardigan as Duncan worked at the shirt’s buttons. He took it from her, almost reverently, pulled his arms through it and as Kenzie watched, heart aching, he brought the sleeves up to his nose, closing his eyes.

“It really does. Since I can’t really fit into any of your other clothes, this is the next best thing.” He gathered her against him. Kenzie, my sweet little firefly. We can do magic. Can you feel that? The air is vibrating because of us. It’s coming from us. Kenzie buried her face in the softness of his shirt, gripping onto the edges of the cardigan, lost in the feeling of him; you’re so much bigger than me, my sweet Dunny, you’re so warm, you could be my blanket at night, my coat in the winter. You are. You’re my shelter from everything. And here are the tears again; tears forever and ever. I don’t think I’ll ever stop crying again.

“Kenzie, cry as long as you want to.” Duncan’s lips were at her ear, the night wind drifting as the sun began its final descent below the horizon. “You can always cry with me, baby. I love you. I’ll kiss every fucking tear.”

The fairy lights along the deck had come on, and there seemed to be a hundred of them, in dipping echelons all along the sides of the surrounding fence, lifting up to the lintels. Kenzie noticed tiny lamps, embedded in the ground along the sides of the stone path, for the first time; they extended all the way to the dock and encircled the gazebo. Duncan must have set the timer, Kenzie thought, and more tears leaked from her eyes. Baby, you’re so thoughtful. You remember all the little things I say even when I don’t realize you’re listening. Duncan didn’t speak, but she felt the drift of his reply: everything you say I hold close to my heart. I wish I could memorize all of it--I wish I could tattoo your sweet voice onto my skin. It’s heaven to listen to you and I feel blessed that you would chose me to be the one to hear the things you say.

Kenzie looked up from the halo of his arms, past his earnest, dark-sky eyes, her gaze drawn up in shock--with a little gasp she realized the stars were coming out in earnest now, their cascade immediate, overwhelming, and deeply clear already. Nothing hindered the sky here; Duncan had been right. None of the haziness of neon lights to impede nature’s opulent display of cosmic wonders; a billion pricks of light were bursting in heaven, each one with a story so vast and infinite, Kenzie knew, it was enough to make one sob. She bit into her lip, pressing her cheek into his warmth again, closing her eyes; fuck, baby, that’s too fucking beautiful, I can’t stand it. She felt his cheek fall against the top of her head, and his arms held her so tightly they seemed to be crushing the breath from her lungs, but she didn’t care, no, no, to be inside his arms this way was the sweetest of all things, and she wanted it to go on forever. The thought of him letting go of her now made her want to wail like she was a little girl, bereft from the loss of Momby holding her. Her tears began to wet the front of Duncan’s shirt--she tried to lean back, upset to sodden it, but he shook his cheek against her.

“It doesn’t matter, baby, it doesn’t matter--I love you, I love you--”

Kenzie sniffled, letting out a shuddering breath, breathing the deep jasmine of his clothing into her; then she murmured “I’m hungry, baby, and I want music.”

“Mhmm, Princess Kenzie.” Duncan leaned his face down to her, kissing her wet cheeks, her mouth with tiny, tickling, pecking kisses--soon Kenzie was laughing through her tears, unable to contemplate anything but the sweetness of his touch now. Her stomach rumbled; Duncan gently let go of her and turned back to the dinner supplies.

“In the corner there, baby, you’ll see there’s a stereo setup.” Duncan nodded to the left side of the sliding door that led back into the cabin as he began to pull out two long sheets of the tinfoil. “Put something on. You’ll see. There’re hidden speakers all along the path,” Duncan said, “--and some in the gazebo, too. The music will echo everywhere. You can even hear it out on the lake for a little ways.”

“I should have known you’d know how to make tinfoil dinners without me telling you,” Kenzie shook her head, stepping away from him to where outdoor stereo system was protected under an awning that seemed to have been built specifically for it--she pressed a round power button and a menu came up on the interface with endless options; Sirius XM, Spotify, Pandora, and a digital library of over 100,000 songs. “Never met a rich boy who could cook like you. Then again--I didn’t meet many rich boys before you. Not my crowd.”

“I’m the only good one. Most rich people are terrible. Take it from someone who’s been around them their entire life.”

“That’s exactly the sort of thing a rich boy would say, Mr. Shepherd.” She turned back to him, sticking her tongue out, wrinkling her nose. Duncan had a laugh playing around his mouth now, glancing between her and his work as he arranged their dinners carefully on the foil sheets, the cold chicken in the centers surrounded by the vegetables, wrapping up the edges, making two foil lids to place atop them. She went back to the stereo, opening Spotify, searching for a specific album.

“But you actually are good, baby,” she said, over her shoulder. “You’re so good it makes me want to scream, honestly--and the fact that you aren’t hiding it anymore is something you should be proud of. I remember this one interview I saw of yours on TV last year--oh god, this is funny to think about now, baby--but you were so stoic in it, I thought, god, he’s so fucking handsome, but he seems so cold. Well. Duncan Malcolm Shepherd: you’re a big faker.”

She looked back at him, smiling, playful. She could see the blush on his cheeks in the glow of the fairy lights, the admission on his face. You’re right, of course, baby.

“Guilty. I am. Or, well, I was. I was good at it, too.”

“I saw through you, right away. I never would have gone home with you otherwise.”

“I couldn’t believe it when you said you would. I was so fucking nervous, Kenz. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything as much as I wanted you. The minute I fucking laid my eyes on you. It was like being slapped in the face. My heart just--fucking stopped. Like I--I recognized you. Like I knew it was you.” Duncan was wiping his hands on a cloth napkin he’d tucked under the serving tray as Kenzie hit PLAY.

“This is my favorite of Stevie’s solo albums.” Kenzie came over to him, sitting at one of the deck chairs, its spindly finely-wrought metal reminding her of a throne. Duncan was taking the fireside cooking kit out of its box; he leaned over her to kiss her, and she lifted her hands up to this cheeks, holding him against her for a moment. I can’t wait...the first line echoed into an electronic wind-up--it rang out over the stone path and seemed to skim across the lakeshore, dancing off onto the serene surface of the water. Now that I love you…the riff of an electric guitar bled out, flitting away from them on the deck, down the lights, through the trees, and Kenzie rattled her head from side to side with the music, grinning now. Duncan dipped away from her, laughing at her. Love you love you love you--she could hear him humming against her mind, could feel the sincerity of him, like a mantra whispered into her ear.

“I’m gonna go get some wine,” she said, hopping up. He nodded, the portable stove-top under one arm, their wrapped dinners on the serving tray in the other. “Get that sauvignon blanc, baby--I think you’ll love that one.”

“It’s nice to have my own private sommelier,” Kenzie drolled, blowing a kiss towards him. Duncan made an overdramatic gesture of ardency, as though he’d been smacked in the chest with cupid’s arrow, pretending as though he were about to faint. Kenzie laughed delightedly. I love it when you’re like this with me. No walls up, unafraid, unworried. Just happy. She hopped up from the chair, watching him over her shoulder as he stepped carefully down to the fire pit on the brick inlet at the bottom of the stairs, admiring the curls at the back of his hair, the wideness of his shoulders, the smooth skin at the nape of his neck.

Kenzie felt compelled to look above her again, at the radiant tapestry she knew was coming out there (the stars the stars galaxies the universe our universe, so vast in itself, so infinite), but forced herself on inside, through the sliding door at the ground level, to the side of the deck, closer to the kitchen. Soon we’ll lay under them and I’ll look for hours. I want to savor it. I want to wait a little bit longer before I really drink it in. I feel so overwhelmed--just getting to be alone together like this is a dream I never want to wake up from.

Kenzie moved through the side-room here, styled similarly to the front room; this alcove had several bookshelves, the books therein all of a similar, nature-oriented slant (she spotted Jack London and Henry David Thoreau as she walked past them), and another standing statue--this one was Artemis, her starry bow distinct, her hair tied back, a hound traipsing at her bare feet. Child of the moon; her only lover, Kenzie thought. To run always in the sweet embrace of the night--a night like this, but one that never ends. She could hear the music drifting in from the deck, Stevie’s distinct wail melting around her (well she dances around in circles, she’s got that feeling now)--the kitchen was half-lit by two identical, tiny lanterns that hung over the windows that looked out on the forest. Kenzie went to the picnic basket, now resting on the counter--Duncan had emptied it of their lunch and cleaned it--and pulled out two of the wine glasses, grasping one of the wine bottles that lined the lower shelf of the fridge (that sauvignon blanc--Duncan really does have excellent taste when it comes to wine, I’ve loved everything he’s picked out). She hesitated at the window, opening the wine with the bottle opener strapped to the top of the basket, looking out to where the dark pines dipped down. Her mind reached out to that circle of black oaks she knew lay just beyond. The gateway to another world.

She shivered, then made her way back outside.

The sharp smell of smoke on hickory hit her nose as she pulled the sliding door open with her elbow--Kenzie started with excitement as her eyes fell on the fire that now roared beyond the deck, its brilliant titian-white flaring up into the darkness. She could see Duncan standing to the side, illuminated in the light of it. He was staring down into it, standing beside the coppery basin of the firepit, his hand on his chin--he took her breath away for a moment, his expression serious and far-away, his blue eyes reflecting the licking flames with an eerie, ethereal beauty. There was something about him, silhouetted in the flames that way, that made her pause--stilled the excitement that had bubbled up in her, pressed strange apprehension into the corners of her mind--then it passed, as a vague dream, and Kenzie made her way down the steps, the wine and glasses in her hands.

“Shit, Dunny, you sure got that going fast,” she murmured, holding one of the glasses out to him. His eyes skirted to her--only then did Kenzie see the strange expression in them closely, the depth of his disbelief, his confusion. For a moment, they were both silent--the only sounds were the crackling fire, and Stevie’s soft voice--

No explanations and I tell you no...you say...nothing...that is how songs are written, stories are told, rumors are started...

“Kenzie.”

“Fuck, what is it, Duncan? What’s wrong?”

“I--the fire. I think I...I don’t know how I started the fire. I was piling the hickory in the pit and sort of, I dunno--thinking about the fire? I was thinking about it, imagining it. And then there was a fire. It was just--there. Kenz. It was just fucking there, flaring up like I’d doused the wood in gasoline and lit a match. Only I didn’t. All I did was think about fire.”

“Are you telling me you started the fire with your mind, Duncan?”

“Yes. Kenzie. Yes.”

Kenzie cupped her hand under his, which held the wine glass she’d handed him, limply. She dipped the bottle down into the rim, pouring until the glass was entirely full. Then she did the same for her own glass, setting the bottle on the round brick-lined slab of the pit’s outer enclosure.

“I wanna try.”

Kenzie clinked her glass against his--as Duncan watched her, that confusion still in his fire-lit eyes, she gulped at the wine, draining it halfway. Then, Kenzie turned to where the portable cooking stove was sitting beside the pit, still unlit in Duncan’s distraction. She knelt down in front of it.

Fire, she thought, gathering the warmth she felt on her back from the pit, the flickering orange dancing at the corners of her vision. Fire. She imagined pulling elements out of the air--carbon dioxide, oxygen, nitrogen--whirling them together, combining them.

Then, the little stove was lit; she could see the blue flicker of the flame burst up from the element at the bottom, could feel its little wave of heat spurt out towards her hands.

“Fuck.” She looked up at Duncan, whose fingers were pressed on his lips now, his eyes intense on her--a smile broke across his face, his grin kindling her heart up like the flames. As she watched he drank deeply from the wine she’d poured him--knew he felt in need of its heady courage, drifting in confusion.

“Holy shit, baby.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “We can--we can make fire.”

Kenzie stood, noticing her legs were shaking. What else can we do. What other wonders, my love. How far does this magick go? She stood facing him for a long moment--the rich scent of the fire was flushing down her senses, its flickering heat drifting her hair back around her face. She could see the white glow behind his eyes, the power that was hovering inside him in this space, beside the fire he had made. And Kenzie knew, with certainty, that it was because of her that this fire had woken inside him. Knew that it was her light that had brought him to life this way. And the deepest joy filled her, like the sunrise, like the dawn bursting over a cool horizon, dancing over a field caked in dew, warming the earth and everything it could reach--spreading itself infinitely, selflessly, without reserve. That’s how I feel towards you, beloved. I could give endlessly, and never grow tired; the more I give to you, the more I have to give.

Duncan rushed against her--she heard the pattering arc of his wine spilling onto the stones, sizzling droplets hitting the blazing fire. His lips fell into her hair, against her forehead, onto the space under her eye, the dip below her ear. She knew he could feel her; knew she didn’t have to speak, that he didn’t want to either, just wanted to bask in the glow of their extraordinary fire with her. You can talk to me, talk to me, you can talk to me, you can set your secrets free, baby--

“I wanna dance with you.” She was grinning into the sweet-smelling skin of his neck, straining up to him, his arms gathering her fiercely into him. “I love this song so much.”

Duncan laughed, pulling away from her. She could see the glittering tears, the fire reflecting them like diamonds in his eyes. He was shaking his head. “I don’t dance, baby--.”

“Oh yes, you fucking do!” Kenzie gripped the edges of his shirt, pulling his mouth down to her, lost in the woodsy scent along the prickly hairs there, smiling against him, beginning to sway, dipping her head back and forth. “How are we gonna get married if you won’t dance with me at our wedding?”

Duncan groaned at that, his longing absolute; she watched his face shift from embarrassment into one of absolute surrender. You got me. His body relaxed again from its momentary tension; the fire popped, a flare of brilliant orange flitting skyward, and he began to sway with her, leaning his forehead down onto hers as she gripped his collar possessively.

“Here it’s only us,” she whispered into the bridge of his nose. “There’s nobody else in the whole world, baby, just us, just me and you and this magick, this night--”

“Kenzie, Kenzie, my Kenzie…” Duncan murmured her name over and over, swaying against her, his face shifting, his lips falling down to speak against her mouth. The blue fire of you is so strong tonight, Duncan, beloved--it envelops me, fills the corners of my mind, the secret spaces of my body, the very center of my soul, but it doesn’t devour, no--it makes me greater. Inside your love this way, I am more whole. I am more myself than I ever thought possible. She leaned away from him, clutching his hands so he was supporting her weight as her head fell back, feeling her hair cascade down to brush along the soreness at her back, the memory of his devotions--Kenzie’s chin turned up to the stars again, finally. I’m ready now, baby. I can look now that I’m holding you. Her eyes opened--the multitude was there, as she knew it would be, and the sun was gone. In its absence, the infinite expanse of the hidden myriad; the unseen world. The cosmic tide.

Oh, let the walls burn down, set your secrets free, you can break their bounds, cause you're safe with me, you can lose your doubt, cause you'll find no danger here

She was gasping with it--the feeling of his hands, the absolute devastation of the stars above them. Who knew there were so many stars in this universe. I never really knew until this moment. They seemed impossibly bright and distinct, and she was shaken with them--had known she would be. They seemed to stare at her, at Duncan, at the fire they had birthed out of the ether; the stars seemed to know her, know them, and bless them. Those stars seemed to know and confirm what Kenzie knew in her heart to be true. Our destiny: to be together.

“I know,” he whispered. “There’s nothing like it. Nothing.” The fire popped again--the scent of burning hickory drifted up anew to them. Kenzie could hear the sizzling vibration of their dinners inside the stove’s rounded pot, forcing her eyes down from the heavens, her stomach rumbling again. Duncan was pulling away from her, reluctant but with purpose, draining his wine glass. “I’m gonna go get the blankets, baby. Let’s bring our dinner into the field. Let’s eat under the stars. The fire’ll be fine until we get back. It’s a strong fire--I--I know it is. I made it. I can feel it. How strong it is. It’ll last until morning.”

Kenzie felt her heart pounding in her throat--the certainty and strength in his gaze was so beautiful she felt faint with it. She nodded. He smiled (the smile of an angel) and stepped away from her, full of purpose. Kenzie drank her wine off as she waited for him, turning back to the fire, gazing deeply into it.

Pyrokinesis, that’s what they call it, she thought. The ability to create and manipulate fire with the mind. So we can move things, move ourselves, and create fire. I can heal people’s minds with soothing calm if I concentrate, if I will my healing gold--my energy--into them. And I invoke something in people now, too. Devotion. Trust. Goodwill. I always did, I think, but...now it’s stronger than ever. Now it’s something I can see immediately. And I think Duncan’s becoming that way too, as the light of our love really seeps into him, really touches his soul. The shadow in him will always be there, because it’s as essential a part of him as his deep goodness. The shadow is the outward self for him, the light the self within. For me, the light is outward, and the shadow within. Together we create something infinitely powerful.

Duncan was coming back, the picnic blanket tucked under one arm, two of the thick quilts under the other; his expression one of earnest happiness that clenched at her heart. Kenzie lifted the lid of the little cooking pot with a cloth napkin, a plume of steam rising up as she did, and knew their dinner was done. She placed the sizzling foil wraps on the serving tray with a pair of tongs; she dipped down to the burner underneath, hesitating for a moment, then, concentrated, drifted her fingers against the element, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, the fire had burned away--sucked back into the air, back into the energy it had occupied before. Thank you, she thought, sending her gratitude out into the night. Thank you for your gift.

“Wow,” Duncan breathed, watching her, eyes wide. “That was so beautiful, Kenz. That was so delicate and lovely. Everything you do is so lovely--the way you do this...this magic. It’s like you’re creating tiny worlds with your hands.”

Kenzie picked the tray up with both hands, smiling shyly at him. “It sort of feels like that, honestly. A tiny movement but with a huge, intricate thing inside it. It’s sort of like that.”

“I can see it. When you do it. Yours is more powerful than mine. Mine is clumsier, I have to concentrate for longer. Yours is...it’s so graceful. It’s an innate part of you. I think mine is stronger when you’re near me. When you’re away, it’s much smaller.”

“You’re in luck. I’m not going anywhere, Duncan Shepherd.”

“Baby,” he breathed, leaning down, eyes closing, brushing his mouth with aching tenderness against hers. She longed to touch his hands, but their hands were full--to the stars, the stars, her heart was pleading.

“Let’s go, baby, show me,” she whispered, and he nodded, stepping away, looking back to her. Come on, Kenzie Lou. This way.

------

They’d stepped off the path, away from the illumination of the house with its strings of fairy lights, the lamps lining the stone walkway. Here there was the outline of the forest to their left, and ahead, a thinner line of trees that she could in see beyond, see the dip of a slope, the skyline ahead, the slightest residue of night-kissed clouds drifting here, soon to dissipate. She could see the halo of Duncan’s curls, the dark slant of his back in the black cardigan, almost like a long cloak in this light, his towering height and the mounds of the blankets under his arms. He cocked his head back, his face shrouded in shadow but his eyes sharp azure, brimming with a titillating innocence here, in the balmy night, in the warm grasses, away from the clear path but knowing all the same. Kenzie felt faint with the surety she felt from him--knew how deeply he had hoped to show her this, whatever it was, knew how he had longed to, waited for this moment.

“The slope is a little bit sharp here, baby, so be careful, go slow,” he said, and she followed him through the thin line of trees, their whispering leaves brushing against her hair, as if they longed to kiss her. Kenzie’s eyes were adjusting to the dark now, and she could see the tiny bursting glow of fireflies drifting through the grass, along the treeline--she looked up and saw that the slope fell down in a slant of longer grasses, half-grown with early summer, and then drifted out to a field that extended for a hundred yards ahead, the forest surrounding on all sides. She felt sure the road lay somewhere far off into the distance to her right, but it wasn’t visible from this vantage, and they seemed to be utterly cut off from the modern world. Inside this vision before her, there was nothing but the open grass, the dark trees, the night in its full, fallen glory, and Duncan.

She followed him down the slope, eyes on her feet to keep herself steady on the incline, hands carefully gripping the corners of the tray, its deep heat soothing. Duncan looked back at her again, and she met his gaze, drifting out to him. Can’t wait to hold you soon. I’m gonna hold you under the stars and never let go. The slope ended and they were treading into the grasses now; into the center of the field. There were more fireflies here, but there was a surprising lack of other bugs--one of the fireflies drifted onto Kenzie’s hand and she looked down at it affectionately--hello, little one--its pulsing light crawling up her arm for a moment, then drifting away again out into the air.

Duncan stopped where the grasses seemed to dissipate, there was a flat circle of short grass here that almost seemed man-made, though Kenzie knew, somehow, that it wasn’t--the grass here just grows this way, she thought, certain. It’s always been this way. Duncan laid the picnic blanket down and then gathered the quilts atop it, then turned to her and grasped the tray. Kenzie smiled at him, sitting, gathering one of the quilts around her shoulders, and Duncan set the tray between them, settling down beside her.

“Kenzie. Look up.” Duncan’s hands reached out to her, gripping her fingers, steadying her. I’m here with you, Kenzie, my love. Then he drifted his head up, his adam’s apple dipping, his mouth opening a little, his eyes shining with impossible brightness (my love, she thought, your beauty is infinite, like these stars, I love you so much and when I die I’ll be reborn to find you again, I know it, I know, Duncan, I’m not afraid), and Kenzie did the same--lifted her eyes to heaven.

The stars were so distinct, so gloriously bright, so effulgent they seemed to burn her eyes. To try to contemplate all of them was like trying to sift out unique grains of sand from a desert; there are simply too many, too much--there’s too much, like the way I feel inside your love, there’s just too much, I can’t describe it, I can only feel it, Kenzie thought, her breath sighing out in a shivering gasp. She felt Duncan’s hands clutch her fingers more tightly, felt him lean closer to her to comfort her, the warmth and the scent of him drawing near.

“That’s the Summer Triangle,” she was whispering, her voice aching in the vast, illuminated shadows. His affection for her in this secret place felt like he was touching her on every part of her skin, and she felt tears on her cheeks again--it doesn’t matter, with him I can always cry. “Lyra, Cignus, and Aquila.” Kenzie pointed up, dipping her finger eastward to an area where the clusters of stars seemed their brightest; one star in particular pulsed in almost the exact center of the sky, its brilliance like a beacon shining down on them.

“What’s the bright one, there,” Duncan asked, his achingly beautiful hand drifting up to the centermost star. She glanced down at him again; Duncan’s eyes seemed illuminated with white once more, like balls of strange, lapis-tinted fire. His gaze was heavenward, the wind blowing his curls across his temple, into the blue nebula of his eyes; he reminded her again of a pious saint, the beautiful visage of some fresco of an angel in a holy temple; my beloved, you’re what the poets speak of, what the painters of the ages have sought to capture with their brushes and their paints and their hands. I chose you. I choose you--tonight, and for every day to come. And I, too, am infinitely blessed.

“It’s Vega.” Kenzie brought her lips against the stubble on his chin--she felt Duncan turn his face down to her, his nose, then his lips brushing against her forehead with urgency, his hand coming up to hold her steady against him. Stay here, Kenzie, let me feel you in the sweet star-kissed darkness. “It’s one of the brightest stars in the sky, especially this time of year. It’s not that far away, at least, compared to most stars--only 25 light-years--then again, one light-year is over 5 trillion miles.” She grinned at him in the starry shadows; knew he could see her smile when his very white, straight teeth flashed back at her.

“God, we didn’t even need to bring that stargazing book, I guess it doesn’t matter that we forgot to bring it out here with us. I should have guessed you knew so much about the cosmos--everything you own has stars and moons on it.” His hands drifted down her arms, and Kenzie shivered, the bliss of this moment encompassing her.

“I don’t know that much--I mean, look at all of them,” and she blushed as his gaze stayed, steady, on her instead. “Look baby, look.” She pressed his chin up--Duncan’s eyes skirted to heaven, then back to her as if drawn by an invisible current. “There are so many. It would take my whole life to learn about all of them.”

“You look like that painting--Star of Heaven. The one I took the picture of you leaning on. Your hair is glowing, Kenz. Like it’s full of stars.”

“Let’s eat, baby,” Kenzie said, lost to any other reply, trembling under the weight of the emotion she felt here, in this place, with him, the fireflies drifting in languid arcs of bursting light, the sky awash with incalculable wonders. He was nodding, but his hand was drifting through the waves of her hair, as if tethered there, unable to break away.

“Eat your dinner, Duncan. Do as I say.”

“Yes, Princess Kenzie.” His hand drifted away, but Kenzie could see the reluctance on his cheeks in the bluish shadow--the moon was still corn-husk bright, but it was surrounded by wisps of cloud that seemed to swirl around it, and it alone--the rest of the sky was almost shockingly sharp and bright under the wide, open space of the field here, to a degree Kenzie simply couldn’t make sense of. Like all the other magick around us lately, I’m going to just accept it, and bask in its wonders.

They both unwrapped the foil at the same time--a plume of smoke drifted up from each, and Kenzie couldn’t help but wriggle with excitement again at the wonderful scent that rose from them. She stabbed into the tender chicken with her fork, bringing it up to her lips, blowing eagerly, then popping it, hot and juicy, into her mouth.

“Ugh. It’s perfect, Duncan. Everything is perfect.” Their hands came together again, feeling desperately for each other.

“Kenzie. Today, in the woods--in that circle of oaks. Did you feel like--I dunno. Did you feel like we were in another place? It felt like we weren’t even on earth anymore. It felt like we went to another world. Did you feel that way? And I was calling you those strange names, but I don’t know where I heard them, or if I was imagining them, making them up, but...I don’t think so. I don’t think I was. I just--I don’t understand--the fire and--”

“Shhh, Dunny. I don’t know either. But I’m not afraid. I think--I think something is nearly here. It’s so close, can’t you feel it?” Kenzie set her fork down; drifted the very tips of her fingers down his palm, opened to her on his knee. Duncan looked up, as if the sky was less overwhelming than her eyes in this moment, less overwhelming than the strange wonders they’d experienced today.

“Yes, baby. I feel it.”

“We just have to--we just need to be patient for a little bit longer, I think. I think soon we’re going to understand things a lot better. Really soon. I just have this feeling, as if we’re standing in front of the next door on the path, and our hand is on the knob, and we’re about to turn it--”

“--And there’s just this little bit of time between the us and the door opening,” Duncan finished. “Yeah. Yes, baby. Yes. Okay.” He leaned down to his dinner, then, and she could feel the blue of his mind soothing, calming, settling down to indigo tranquility. They were both quiet then--they ate in a sweet silence that Kenzie cherished.

A little time passed--Duncan pushed his dinner away, his foil empty, and laid down on his back on the picnic blanket, one of the quilts under his head. Kenzie felt full and deliriously happy; Duncan pulled eagerly at her hand and she leaned down to him, pulling the other quilt over their legs, tucking her head down into the crook of his arm, breathing deeply at the smell of him--sweet jasmine, sharp cedar, the rain on a spring day in a green forest. Kenzie could feel something nagging at the blue patina of his thoughts again; something he was fighting to find words for, something that seemed vast and deep. Something from the woods. Something about those oaks all growing together, and the flowers in their swirling pattern. And my gold--the healing press of me against him now. The way I can soothe him so utterly, the way he knows it’s not just how much he loves me, or how much I love him, but an ability that I have. The magic that is mine and mine alone.

For awhile they laid there in the quiet, staring at heaven. Its dome of brilliant stars seemed almost unreal--simply too great, too imperceptible--and their thoughts were unclear to each other; his hand drifted through her hair, and Kenzie pressed her lips on the softness of his shirt under his breast. The moon drifted out from a cloud, then dipped behind another. Vega shimmered from the center of the sky--it seemed to look down directly on them, watchful, protective.

“Kenzie,” she heard his whisper, so soft she almost thought she’d imagined it.

“Yes? What is it, Duncan?” Somehow Kenzie knew that the thing he was going to say was going to shake her. Suddenly she was afraid--there was an immensity to this moment, a swooping, dropping sensation in her body. She tried to move her arms more tightly around him. Brace yourself, Kenzie Lou. This is the beginning of the revelations.

“In that circle in the woods....in the middle of everything. I had a realization. It was like...in that place, I could see everything about life more clearly. Everything about us, and the world, and the way it’s--it’s tied so loosely. I could see that we were in a--what did you call it--a thin place. Like we were close to other things. And I saw you...differently.”

“What do you mean, differently?” Kenzie brought her head up to look at him, her chin still resting on his chest. A firefly drifted past his russety curls, glowing faintly, then fading out.

“I mean--I saw what you really are.”

Kenzie smirked at him, despite the nervousness she felt fluttering in the center of her body.

“What am I? The Creature from the Black Lagoon?”

He grinned at her, twisting a lock of her hair around his hand, his gold bracelet glinting for a moment. You haven’t been wearing a watch lately, Kenzie thought. It’s like time doesn’t really matter anymore when we’re together, isn’t it, baby. It’s like that.

“Kenzie.” His expression softened; Kenzie could barely stand the emotion inside his gaze now. The blue center of a soft, drifting star. How I love your eyes, Duncan.

“Kenzie,” he said again. “You’re…”

She heard the thought before he spoke it. An angel. “An angel.”

“Baby, you always say that. You always call me that.”

“Kenz, no--I don’t mean like that. I mean you’re--I saw you. The real you. The you you were before this life, before this world, or...something. It was that place. Inside it, I could see things that are usually hidden. And I feel like you did too. Did you? Did you see anything? Anything...differently? Did you see me differently?”

Kenzie’s breath caught in her chest; her eyes drifted away from him, overwhelmed, into the stars, overwhelmed again inside them; she sighed, the breath trembling through her.

“I--I think--”

Fuck. I think I did. I think it was like a flash of lightning in a dark sky--there for a moment, then gone, but the outline of it still burned into my retinas. Like the dreams, I remember the outline, but not the details. I don’t know if it’s possible to remember the details. I think it might be too much to really see. Too great.

“I think so,” she whispered. “But I can’t describe--I can’t find the words...I remember the flowers around your head turned to gold. A gold so soft and beautiful it was like they were still alive--golden flowers, baby. And in my mind I thought...some kind of name. Like those names you called me. Sword of the Evening Star. That’s what it was. That was what I called you, in my mind. Like someone had whispered it into my ear. Sword of the Evening Star. How lovely is that.”

“I called you Angel of the Hidden Sphere,” Duncan’s hands soothed along her arm, down the crook of her waist. “And I don’t know what that means--I don’t know what the Hidden Sphere is--but Kenzie--listen to me. You were something else once. Something more than human. I guess I don’t know what else to call it. Mackenzie. You were an angel.”

Kenzie felt tears gathering along the edges of her eyes.

“An angel? Baby, what are you saying? I don’t…”

His lips drifted down against her forehead. His scent enveloped her; the soothing blue aura that always surrounded him was trenchant, completely whole, utterly certain.

“I know it’s unbelievable,” he was whispering against her, his voice steady, unshaking. “But just think about all the unbelievable things that have happened to us lately. We both made fire just by thinking about it. I moved across the entire house in the blink of an eye. You’ve been moving things across the room just by looking at them. You can heal people’s hearts just by touching them, just by willing it. I knew where you were last night because I felt you. When I realized Annette isn’t my real mother, you felt my sadness over miles, baby. All of that should be impossible in the world we used to know. But now that we’re together, there are extraordinary things in this world--real things, Kenz--that exist despite all doubt, and we’re starting to see them. And that’s what I saw. I saw that you were--that you are, that you always will be--a divine being.”

Oh, goddess. Oh, Duncan.

Kenzie felt the tears begin to course down her cheeks, dampening Duncan’s shirt--soaking into him. She began to sob quietly against him; I don’t understand--but I do. What you’re saying, oh, Duncan--I feel that it’s true. I can’t believe it, I can’t comprehend it, but I know it’s true. I don’t know what it means, I don’t know what the past was, or what the future is--but I know you’re right I know I was what you say. I know she’s inside me, still hidden, still waiting. Little parts of her peek out sometimes, when someone needs help, when I feel a love so deep for you it wants to tear me apart. But the wholeness of her is beyond this world.

“Oh, baby, oh, Dunny, oh my god, oh--” Kenzie found that she couldn’t stop now; her sobs rose, crashed against him, tears drifting in a steady stream against him now, soaking him. She brought her hand against her eyes, could feel her mouth crumpled into an involuntary frown, her heart overwhelmed with an immensity of knowledge that threatened to rip her in two. Duncan turned into her, his arms tightly around her, cradling her face inside his grasp, his cheek in her hair, his mouth speaking soothing sounds to her ear.

“Shhhh, baby, shhhh, angel, my angel, shhhhh, everything’s okay, everything’s fine, I’m here, I love you, shhhhhh...”

Kenzie could hear the slow, steady march of his heartbeat--could feel the tiny rhythmic burst of it against her cheek pressed to his body. Even inside this, even knowing this, trembling in its greatness, unable to comprehend my own Fate, I know the part of it that belongs with you. I know that, absolutely. At least that I know completely. Help me, baby. Help me bear it. Help me feel it and not be overcome by it.

“Exalted. Beloved of heaven. My Kenzie. I beheld your greatness. I am moved by it, body and soul.”

His words shivered against her with the softness of tiny wings. He was lifting her face up to him, his mouth the dearest, most passionate adoration. Kenzie could feel the stars above them now; feel their endless, wheeling weight, the massive geometry of their dance, feel the measurement and ponderousness of time for a long, infinite moment, extended through the divinity of his lips. No matter what eons pass, he thought, I will love you. For all time. I always have. In every place. In every time. In every moment. And forever.

Kenzie cried against him for a long time; the stars wheeled, glittering beyond all secret knowledge, and Duncan held her, his arms trembling with emotion, and after awhile, she felt his tears in her hair, and she felt soothed by them. As you are moved by me, I am moved by you, my love. As I am exalted, I’ve exalted you. Body and soul.

--------

Kenzie sat at a long table in a white room.

Zadie. It’s Zadie. Zadie was wearing a long black cardigan and a white blouse, holding a white rose. She was speaking, glancing at Kenzie from where she stood on the other side of the table; Kenzie could sense there were other women on either side of where she sat in the center, could sense their warm, curious energy in soft colors. Zadie was speaking, but Kenzie couldn’t hear her at first--she strained to hear, tried to still her mind away from whatever was blocking her hearing, tried to quiet herself. The sound slowly bled into her mind as though from a far distance--

“Nothing is immutable when the will of a strong woman is applied. Now, show me how strong you are.”

Zadie looked up at her expectantly; and at the other girls. Kenzie looked down--in her hand was a white rose almost identical to the one Zadie was holding. Kenzie knew, immediately; we’re supposed to change the color of the rose. It’s some kind of test--it’s like we’re in a class.

And Kenzie knew immediately, too, that she could do it. Like pouring wine into water, watching the color change. I can pour myself into the rose, and change it, utterly.

Kenzie felt herself breathe out, soothingly, felt the gold of her drift into the rose; slowly it altered, like the tide falling out onto the stretch of the shore. Blue, and her mind flared with the depth of her affection as she watched it change to a rich cobalt, like a lapis stone. Blue, the color of Duncan’s eyes, the color of his soul. Blue, in honor of the one I love most. Kenzie watched the rose deepen, felt the smile on her cheeks--then she watched, as if removed from herself, as the rose’s petals, now deeply, radiantly blue, drifted down from the stem, falling to the table’s surface. She thought of Duncan; like wings inside me, my deepest joy, the flowering center of my being, his hands so beautiful and graceful and delicate on my body, his devotion so pure, so entire. Roses in the bathtub, a diamond moon at my throat, our gold bracelets, tethered to our skin, the aching sound of his voice in the darkness, the beautiful edges of his jaw, his throat, his lips. The way he holds me, the passion of his touch. The blue is for him; as I am his.

Kenzie continued to watch the rose petals; as she did, she felt her mind reach out for them again, as if removed from her own demand, trapped inward, looking outward at another self. The petals began to alter, to change into something else--soon, each one was a cobalt-colored butterfly, their tiny minds melding against hers; each one was a part of her, she could feel it, each one was an aspect of her own soul. And each one is a devotion to him, she knew. Each one is a part of my love for him.

She felt herself drift a hand down, then dip it upwards, her fingers curling softly--the butterflies floated towards the ceiling, their wings drifting in graceful ease. She sent them to where she knew Zadie was standing; with mild surprise she noticed Candice now stood beside the tall girl, wearing a high-collared floral dress, her expression astonished at Kenzie--astonished at what she had done to the rose. The butterflies drifted above Candice’s head; Kenzie pushed the gold in her down, and the butterflies broke apart, becoming petals once more that fell around Candice and Zadie. Candice held out a hand, her face still marked with wonder; one of the petals floated down into her palm, and as Kenzie watched, it turned white again, the blue disappearing entirely.

And then she was drifting back up--up, up, towards a different, darker light, as through a pool of water lit by light, back into the night, back into the field of stars…

Kenzie opened her eyes. They saw nothing at first; only deep darkness, only void. Then, they began to adjust--she could feel the softness of the moonlight, once again peeked from behind a scant slip of cloud, and knew the warmth and weight under her cheek was Duncan’s body, knew the slow, steady drift of his breath meant he was asleep--as she had been a moment ago.

I was dreaming.

Kenzie looked up, moving only her eyes, keeping her head steady against him; through the corners of her vision she could see the universe still spread out above them, sense that they were still in the depth of the night, dawn far off. It was wonderfully warm against him under the quilt; the night was balmy and mild, the wind having drifted off, leaving the air very still. Kenzie could hear peepers calling off in the surrounding trees; she strained for a moment and heard an owl, the pattering of some creature in the undergrowth.

Blue butterflies, she thought. Blue roses for Duncan. How lovely. And Zadie and Candice were there. That was such a beautiful dream. I almost wish it had been longer.

She fought to come out of the dream; noted with vague surprise that they’d fallen asleep out here in the sweetness of the field, under these miraculous stars. I think I could sleep anywhere as long as you’re with me, she thought, and sat up, turning her head to gaze at Duncan in his sleep. Strands of his russet-colored hair drifted against his forehead, and his face was turned down to where the crown of her head had been a moment before, his hand near where her cheek had rested. He looks like an angel, she thought, vaguely; and then the dawning realization swooped back down on her, the memory of his words before, the ones that had made her cry so hard, the ones that had eventually pushed her (and him too) into such sudden, complete slumber.

That I’m divine, she thought. I’m an angel. Or, I was. Or, I will be. That’s not clear. None of this is. I just know he’s right. If so much hadn’t happened already--if so much magick wasn’t drifting around us--I’d think I’d gone insane. But I can’t deny it. I know he’s right, just as I know the sun will rise in a few hours, covering this field in golden dew. Just as I know he loves me so much he would die for me if he had to; die a thousand times, ten thousand times. As I know these things, I also know the truth of what he said; the certainty. I was something like that. It’s the reason I can heal his heart when he’s sad--send gold into him and soothe him. That was something I could do long ago, can do now again because our souls are close once more, and they remember each other, even if we didn’t at first.

That’s all I know. But I can feel that this is just a tip of it. Just the first part of knowing. Be patient, Kenzie Lou. All things come in time. All you can do now is wait. And she knew it was true.

Kenzie slowly slid her fingers down onto Duncan’s serene, stubbled cheek; she hovered just over his mouth now, and whispered softly.

“Dunny, baby, wake up…”

Duncan stirred, his head cocking up, to the side--he made a tiny, sweet sound, like a sigh, and then his eyes (white-blue sapphires) opened to her; she saw the immediate recognition in them, the confusion there washed away almost instantly, the calmness in him to behold her.

“Kenzie, I was making snow,” he murmured, his hands drifting up to grasp her at her hips, and she smiled at him, puzzled.

“Making snow, huh?”

“Mhmm.” He pulled her down to him, back into the warm cocoon of his arms; Kenzie’s cheek pressed into the soft skin that peeked from his collar and she let herself be drawn into the comfort of his embrace again. “I was in front of a fire, facing four men at a table. Anchaly was there, and so was Ben Wilder,” and Duncan laughed a little, his voice still tinged with sleep. “That’s dream logic I guess. I didn’t recognize the other two men...one had glasses, one had a short beard, dark eyes. I’ve never seen them before.”

“And you were making snow in front of a fire?”

“Yeah. The man with the dark eyes said change the weather inside this room, and turn the water into snow. So I did. I stood in front of the fire and lifted my hands into the air--I told the air to change. And it did. It started to snow. I was so happy--it was so lovely, Kenz. They laughed and said beautiful, beautiful--and then I heard your voice. I heard you calling to me, and I woke up.”

“I had a dream too,” she whispered against him, and Duncan’s arms drifted down the smoothness of the little dress she wore. She felt her skin prickle and hum under his fingers; remembered the graceful movements of her own hands, lifting the butterflies she’d made from rose petals into the air. “Zadie and Candice were in my dream, that’s so funny that you had people you recognize in yours too--and it’s odd--I was sitting with these other girls, and Zadie wanted us to change these roses we were holding. Change their color, I mean. And I did, I changed mine from white to blue; blue because it reminded me of you.”

She felt Duncan’s hands drifting down further still. Suddenly she felt hot, flushed--his fingers pressed under the hem of the dress, against the bottom dip of her ass, sore from his attentions earlier. She wondered what the bruises there were like now. His face was turning to her as she spoke, his eyes focusing in hers--she could see that strangely white, ethereal glow again, as though the moon were trapped inside the depth of blue. The white is the hidden aspect of you, she thought, like the moon turning behind a shadow. It’s the magic inside of you.

“Reminded you of me, huh?” His lips hovered over hers, his hands pressing up further against her ass, making her arch at the sensitivity there, and higher, along the fragile lift of her hip bone.

“Uh huh,” she whispered. “And then I turned them into butterflies. Isn’t that lovely? I thought about your love--how much you love me. And I made the petals into butterflies.”

“That’s beautiful, baby. That’s such a lovely dream. Can I kiss you, Princess?” She turned her jaw up, teasingly, away from his mouth--his lips dipped to hover in the space below her ear, not quite touching down, waiting for her reply. She leaned up into him, letting her breasts press up into his collarbones, eliciting a low moan from him; “...please, Princess Kenzie.” The night air was drifting against them again, the wind having stirred once more. His hair fell onto his forehead--his eyes burned for her, for me alone, she knew.

“Yes. Kiss me.”

He fell against her; his mouth was a supple devotion, salty-sweet and wet for her, wet with need. The depth of his desire was immediate, intense; his hands came to the slender straps at her shoulders, forcing them down with demanding strength as his tongue slipped between the smoothness of her teeth, coiling around hers, lifting back with anticipation, driving forward into her once again. Kenzie let out a low moan--she couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stave off the golden spiral that was stirring in her belly, licking in tendrils to her sore, hot sex. He was pushing the fabric of the dress away, pushing the cups of the bikini top down--Duncan slid down from her mouth and his burning, full lips closed over her nipple, hard and straining in the meandering air. Duncan sucked, flicking his tongue out to coil around her, so hot and wet Kenzie jerked up into him, crying out, then she heard her want falling out of her, like an obscene, Bacchanalian song.

“I wanna suck on you,” she whispered, loving the exigent heat of him on her breast, lost in it, opening her eyes to the stars, their glory urging her on inside her want. “I want you to fuck my mouth, baby. Please. I’m hungry for you.”

“Fuck, Kenzie, baby--”

“I mean it. Come here so I can get you hard for me. Do as I say.”

“Kenzie, angel, fuck, you know I’m already hard for you--”

“Then I’m gonna make you harder. Fuck my mouth.”

He was shivering now, shaken by her demanding tone, she knew; hopelessly aroused with it, straining to resist. She reached up, gripping his jaw, pulling him down to her, roughly devouring his mouth for an aching, unbearable moment, letting the wetness of the saliva gathering on her tongue graze into him, my mouth is wet for you, baby, wet for your needy cock, and then she pushed him up, away from her lips, staring into his eyes, tightening her fingers, a choke of supplication escaping his throat.

“Who do you belong to, baby?” she whispered.

“Ung, Kenzie, you, angel baby, divine angel, you, you know I do--”

“Fuck. My. Mouth.”

She let go of him at that, propping herself up on her elbows now, facing him, expectant. Duncan nodded, his eyes drifting closed in an overwhelmed stupor, the sleep having vanished from his face; he leaned up, the quilt falling away from him, his eyes fixated on the bareness of her breasts where he’d pushed the dress and her bikini down around her waist as he pushed the soft waistband of his shorts down, his thick, hardening cock falling free. Kenzie nodded, grinning at him.

“That’s it, baby. Come here.” She glanced down at her little breasts, suggestively, batting her eyelashes at him; put your cock between my breasts, baby, hold them together, fuck me there, wet me with your tongue--and she saw his eyes flash, long white-silver inside the brilliant blue, and he was leaning down to her, pressing his mouth with unbearably intense sweetness to her heart, laving his tongue out, slickly wet and hot, leaving streaks of moisture in the incline of her chest, glistening in the starlight, the hazy moonlight. Then he was leaning back, bucking his hips up toward her, pressing his cock to the wetness he’d left on her, and Kenzie dipped her head to him with hasty need, sucking his length into her lips, making him gasp--she slid down so he fell further into her throat, then lifted away, and Duncan was leaning his hips between her breasts, his achingly lovely fingers coming under, into their whiteness, covered in goosebumps at his touch. His cock slid down between them and he pushed both of her breasts against his length--Kenzie lowered her lips to the head of his cock again, smiling against it for a moment, then taking it into her mouth, gathering more wetness from the back of her throat; then Duncan was jerking his hips up into her, his mouth falling open in a beautiful abandon that made her feel faint.

I love your big fucking hands, baby, she thought, letting her eyes flutter closed, knowing he was watching her. I love your big fucking beautiful hands on me, spanking me, choking me, gripping me so tightly, leaving the bruises of your affections on me, fuck, I love it so, I love you, there’s nothing like the heat, the sweetness of your hands on me, leave bruises on my breasts, leave the marks of your fingertips on my soft skin--she let herself gag a little on his length, let her eyes roll back, knowing it would drive him to the edge, and felt a satisfied thrill as he groaned, loudly, into the night air, his hips shuddering against her nipples.

“Unnh, baby, Kenzie--” and she dipped lower, taking more of him, insistent, feeling the tips of his fingers digging into the supple, round softness of her. That’s it, baby. You belong to me, your body, your soul. If you know of my divinity--if I must accept it too, if I must find a way to live inside this knowledge while also being human, know that you belong to me--know that as you’re mine, entirely, supplicant to me, I am also yours entirely--and together we are infinitely lovely, intensely divine, my divinity made greater by you--as I give myself to you, give yourself to me: as only you can.

She pulled up from him, her tongue lingering on his smooth head, flicking into the hole there, and another long, pained groan leaked out from his lips.

“Can I please fuck you, Princess?” he moaned, and she giggled against him; oh I fucking love that too, Dunny, baby. I love it when you beg me, my lofty Prince of Shadows. My fair Hades on his high throne, begging me. Bowing to me.

“Only if you call me those beautiful names again,” she whispered, fluttering her eyelashes to him again, lifting her gaze up, staring into him, her tongue flicking out against him again. “Those beautiful divine names.”

“Goddess of the Golden Bower,” he breathed, and pulled away from her mouth; Kenzie let out a little whimper of longing. Come back to me.

“Princess Kenzie, please, let me fuck you now.” I long for the sweetness of our bodies together that way. I long for it always, but under this moon and these stars, I’m aching for you. If your blue butterflies are for me, the snow I made, shrouded in golden firelight, was all for you. “High Princess of the Garden of All Delights. Fuck, baby, I wonder what that place is. The Garden of All Delights. Doesn’t that sound beautiful? And you’re the High Princess of it. That’s only right--” and he was dipping his mouth down against hers again, his hands clutching her up into him, pressing under her shoulder blades, against the soft skin under her arms. “--you are the High Princess, aren’t you? The Princess of all Angels, I’m sure of it, I’m sure you are--”

“Ugh-hh, fu-uck, Duncan, baby--” Kenzie’s cheeks felt unbearably sensitive and soft where he kissed them, the memory of her sobbing tears still fresh there (tears of disbelief--I still can’t believe any of this, it still has to be a dream, how can I be divine, how can that be, blue flowers, blooming in your eyes, beloved, you must be the one who’s divine), but Duncan continued to press into her with insistence, his mouth a devout rose bud blooming onto her, her breath catching sharply inside his concentrations. She reached for his shirt, unbuttoning it (the second time today, baby, the third time in the throes of your need, and fuck, I don’t care, I want you again, I always do) as he worked her dress and the bikini further down, slipping his fingers into the waistband of the bottom at her hips--she slid out under his hands, amazed by the strength in them as she ever was, and his fingers were easily pushing her clothes away, which stood no chance against his urgency.

Now they were both naked (wonderfully, blessedly naked, naked but for my diamond moon and our ever-present golden tethers, the sweetness of this balmy night on our skin, and I’m stunned by your touch over and over, my wild wine god)--Duncan’s head dipped down, his curls trailing along the shivering mound of Kenzie’s stomach as his mouth kissed, adamant, at her abdomen--then pressed, immediate, tasting, at her clit, his tongue flat on her, drifting back and forth--then Duncan arched up and pushed her legs apart as far as he could, with a harsh movement that made her breath catch, suddenly frozen, in her throat; that’s it, fucking fuck me and she was murmuring as his mouth fell on hers again, his knees between her legs now.

“Yes, baby, yes, uhhh, Duncan, yes--” and Kenzie wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder as he pushed into her, as far as he could, his hardness making her gasp again, gasp with immediate tears, and goddess, this beautiful night feels so fucking good, like it’s kissing every inch of me--helping you kiss me because your mouth can’t be everywhere at once, though I wish it could, I wish, baby, I wish--and Kenzie felt as though they were some wild god and goddess in some wild, mounted, hidden place, where only gods could reach, only divinity could escape to; you and me, my exalted love, and she felt his bluish affections inside her, felt his agreement, his approval of her imaginings--yes, Kenzie, only me and you, only us in a secret bower, the Garden of All Delights where only we can go, this place is our own garden right now, our own hidden Eden--

“God, baby, fucking you like this, under the stars--” he was whispering into her ear, his panting breath making her feel terribly close to the edge, weak with the threat of her orgasm, dizzy with the wave of his desire for her, “the most beautiful night, and no one here but us, and those beautiful dreams, and you, the most beautiful of all, my Kenzie--” and she was arching up against him, trying to hold back, but Duncan pressed his mouth to her neck and bit down into it, harshly, insistent to leave a mark--I know you want to, I feel it, Dunny, you want to leave a mark, more marks on my soft skin because I’m yours--and his fingers were dipping into the tininess of the space between their quivering stomachs as he pressed his thick, burning cock up into her, sending her senses reeling into dark, verdant shadows, rubbing at the sodden space between her legs, insistently coaxing her towards what she wanted so much but was desperate to prolong for just a little longer--she could feel him, the cool swirl of his emotion, already sad for the inevitable moment their bodies would part again, and Kenzie clutched at his cheeks, her thumb dipping to his mouth, lost in the beauty of his expression, the heavy half-lidded ecstasy of his eyes, the way his mouth hung open to her, his breath coming against her in lovely labors, each one a prayer to her.

She could feel the sweat that had begun to tether her hair to the back of her neck, against her temples and the dip of her jaw--could see the moisture glinting in the darkness on his forehead, in the dip of his clavicle, along his wide shoulders. “That’s it, baby,” he moaned into her, his eyes incandescently sincere, so lovely in this shade she wanted to laugh or scream or cry against him, “I’ll work you out again and again, Princess, I always will, I can’t stand to be away from you, not ever--there’s nothing that feels as perfect as this to me, nothing as perfect as your sweet little body against mine, fu-fuck, I never want it to end, you and me under these fuu-cking stars, divine Kenzie, under this moon, in this heat--I love you, fucking marry me, will you please marry me, Mackenzie, goddess, sweetest of all beings, I love you--will you marry me?”

She was laughing immediately--the moon had fallen outside of its wisping clouds again, and it seemed to be kissing them. Blessing us, she thought. The moon is giving us its blessing. Your timing is perfect, my sweet love. And I will. I fucking will.

“Fuck, yes, fu-uu-ck, goddess, yes, I fucking will, Duncan, yes,” she gasped into him, and now they were both laughing, the gold in her clashing into his sweet, starry blue, her mouth kissing down onto his face, kissing his eyelids, eternal protectors of his impossibly blue eyes, and the bridge of his beautiful straight nose, his trembling lips, his damp cheeks, damp with his sweat and tears--we can just die now, she thought, die in each other’s arms and then this moment will extend into eternity, and it’s enough, it’s more than enough, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted, to be seen by you so utterly, to feel the safety of my heart enshrined in you, you, you, my beautiful Prince, my evening star, you picked the perfect moment--truly, the most perfect moment--and as they came together, lips hopelessly entwined, smiling through tears of holy, astonished bliss, she thought, eyes to heaven, stars, sing, fucking sing for us--if I’m an angel, I have my wings again, made of a thousand blue butterflies. They’re you. You’re my wings, Duncan Shepherd.

------

The moon was dipping lower southwest by the time they gathered the blanket and quilt up, dressed between ardent, sleepy kisses, piled the remnants of their dinner on the tray, and made their way back up the sloping hill towards the house. The sky had clouded over more than before; it was clear for us, just for that amount of time, our stargazing, our enchanted sleep, our desperate passion, and the perfect moment--so wonderfully, desperately perfect--for him to ask me to belong to him as I knew he wanted to, for him to ask to belong to me, Kenzie thought, drifting against him with tired steps, her head brushing into his arm, his face leaning down to rest against the top of her head as their fingers tangled together, golden bracelets touching; she could feel his own tiredness, feel his longing to hold her entwined in his arms and sleep with her, long, lost, and gone from the world in the golden-soft bed.

As they came over the crest of the hill to the line of trees, Kenzie could see the fire pit still burning; the hickory logs were half gone now, the fire bluish-gold and black-tangerine. “You made a good fire, baby,” she whispered to him, staring up at his shoulder; Duncan smiled at her, sleepy, sincere, lovely beyond all words she could imagine inside this moment.

“I’m so happy, Kenzie,” he replied, his voice sweetly low--Kenzie longed for the moment they would collapse into the bed soon as she heard it, her mind already fixated on their sleep, the quiet halo of his arms and the scent of him in the dark bedroom. “That’s why the fire came out of me so bright--my body is full of it. The fire you’ve built inside me. Mackenzie Shepherd.”

Kenzie grinned at that, stepping ahead of him onto the deck, setting the tray down. “That’s gonna take some getting used to,” she replied. “It still sounds like Annette to me.”

“Well, Momby said herself, it’s not the name--it’s what you do with it.”

“Dunny,” Kenzie’s breath caught and she paused, turning to him. He was still holding the blankets in his arms, standing at the bottom of the steps, and his hair was tossed by their passions, by sweat and sleep. He’s so beautiful inside this moment; his goodness is shining out of him, glowing. I can see your halo now too, my sweet Hades--the one you kept hidden for so long. “You called her Momby. Oh. I love that so much. She’ll cry. She loves you so much, Duncan. Momby loves you so much. She’s going to fucking scream when we tell her.”

“And I love her. I figured--since she’ll really be my mother-in-law now--that she’ll give me her blessing to use her real name.”

“She definitely will. You don’t need to ask. Just wait till you see her face when she hears you call her Momby. Oh, baby--”

She stepped to him, desperate to feel him--clutched his face, the prickle at his jaw.

“I love you, Duncan Malcolm Shepherd.”

“As I love you, Mackenzie Louise Shepherd.”

I dunno, she thought, as Duncan’s lips lifted up to hers, where she hovered above him on the steps, on his kiss the sweet scent of woodsmoke, salt, and jasmine. I think I like it. I really do. Mackenzie Shepherd.

“Let’s try it together this time, baby.” Kenzie pulled one of the quilts from his arms, tucking it between her elbows against her stomach, and grasped his hands. “Let’s move to the bedroom right now. I wanna see if we can do it while we’re touching. Like this.”

A gleeful curiosity came into Duncan’s eyes, and he nodded. “Ready?”

“Ready for anything, baby.”

Kenzie closed her eyes; she focused on the comforting, constant pressure of Duncan’s large hands holding hers, the ever-gentle reassurance of his body close by. Let’s go to bed, she thought, and she felt his mind meld against hers--the thread of him, tied around her. Yes, sweet Kenzie. To bed.

The air shifted--the sweet smell of the hickory wood, the lifting night, the sweet grass dissipated--and then there was only the sound of the wind drifting, slight, against the gauzy curtains, and spring peepers out on the lake, very far off. Kenzie opened her eyes. Duncan was smiling at her; the smile of an angel. Where is your crown of flowers, my sweet Prince of Heaven, she thought. Here you are, unshrouded, radiant.

“We did it,” he whispered. He dropped the blanket from under his arm to a heap on the floor--gathered her up against him, pulling the quilt away from her--and carried her to the bed, his arms lifting her as though she were made of the soft blankets herself, easily, so sweetly, with a tenderness that brought a drifting, tingling contentment along her entire body, from the tip of her head to the bottom of her toes; hold me, beloved, forevermore. Duncan buried his face against her, and she knew they wouldn’t need to speak any more words out loud tonight. We did it--you and me. We moved through space and time. Together. Because it’s this love that brought all this magic into our lives. Everything else flows out from this love.

A little while later, their faces was washed, their teeth brushed, and they were naked, wiped clean of sweat and the residue of their come with damp cloths. Her back was pressed against his warm, bare torso in the golden-soft bed, his hand clasped in hers between her breasts, and Kenzie lay listening to the soft sound of Duncan’s measured, dreaming breath, feeling the tickle of it on her neck, and the gentle pulse of his heartbeat between her shoulders. She could sense that sunrise was not far off as she drifted away to sleep, inside the haven of his arms. Something’s coming tomorrow, she knew. But she wasn’t afraid; she welcomed it. Come destiny. Come. We’re ready.

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