#he leads the half-foot union

[liaroflesbos]

i think my favourite part of dunmeshi is that Chilchuck is a union leader

#he leads the half-foot union #the half-foots call him boss #just a surly but responsible middle-aged man with three daughters #dungeon meshi #chilchuck #my fanstuff

[dabblingreturns]

Sometimes my inner Kabru goes out and i go "the dynamics of the Touden party is fastinating"

And in this case I mean the dynamics between Chilchuck and Laios.

Why does union boss chilchuck who is well respected in his comunity work with the Touden siblings and why does he go back for Falin?

Reasons why it's odd.

Chilchuck finds laios to be very anoying.

Chilchuck is closer to retirement and this is very dangerous. Rescuing falin and working with the Touden's party is dangerous.

Chilchuck is really good at what he does and respected in his comunity. We can infer this because you can't start a union without the respect of both your peers. But the toudens have a mixed reputation and lead a good but not great party full of weirdos (Namari is shunned by alot of dwarfs, Shiro is a foreigner, marcille an elf mage working in a dungeon.)

Chilchuck does jobs for the money. But there is no clear source of payment in rescuing falin.

All of these are reasons why chilchuck should have been contracting with a group like the Tansu party who have prestige and high pay with little danger.

But instead chilchuck tims works with the Touden's and I think I figured out part of the reason..... and it's right here:

Even though laios's chilchuck was the first be be eliminated due to the wrong neckwear, look at laios's chilchuck's expression. That chilchuck looks more adult and more pissed off. Because laios sees chilchuck as a pissed off adult half foot rather than a grumpy human child. And we know that chilchuck hates to be treated like a child.

Contrast this with that tansu party. The Tansu party is a family business where members are either family/children or cannon folder. It would be well compensated hell for Chilchuck.

So Chilchuck stays with the Touden, not for money or safety, but for respect, even though the respect comes from a madman.

#delicious in dungeon #chilchuck tims #chilchuck #laios touden #laios dungeon meshi #laios #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi meta #mr tansu

[coleslawr02]

How Chilchuck Expresses Care through Self-Destructive Privacy, and the Desire for Responsibility and Control after Experiencing Prejudice: An Analysis

Long Post + Manga Spoilers + Discussions of Fantasy Racism

I want to discuss how while Chilchuck’s private nature is implied inherent, it is still clearly a result of his work and experiences with racism;

Those experiences shaped his sense of responsibility and desire for control. And I think those affect how he views privacy as an act of care, in addition to defense mechanism.

————

His inherent privacy:

We know he has always been caring yet callous, there-for-others yet afar. Every known interaction with his daughters has been that of a worry or reprimand. This is further established by Marcille’s speculation he has always been “bashful”, even to his wife.

Chilchuck was exploring dungeons for 11 years before his wife left him. She left 1 year after Chilchuck formed the Half-foot Guild. A time when Chilchuck is becoming more invested in his work, and in turn garnering both the hate and respect of many.

This is pure speculation, but I think that timing is interesting; because from Marcille’s fantasy, Chilchuck’s wife worried about all she didn’t know. And gaining the responsibility of union leader would amp that… maybe to the point it seems work is becoming as important as family.

So, not only is Chil’s wife thinking he prefers his work because it’s lively and she’s boring (Marcille’s fantasy), but she’s seeing how important he is to it, and it to him. Which is why he finally opened up after a decade.

And, of course, Chilchuck thought that if he doesn’t talk to her about work, she’ll worry less. But that only made her worry more.

His mindset that openness brings harm was then firmly cemented by her leaving. Because introducing her to his colleagues was being open. (Marcille says this in Bicorn but I can’t add the image.)

————

So why does Chilchuck not want people to worry about him? And how does race play into that?

To Chilchuck, emotional vulnerability is the same as his physical vulnerability. His attitude is beyond the result of “hard work toughens you over time”. He has to be stand-offish because it’s literally his only defense.

The way Kui wrote Chilchuck was to be the most subverted of stereotypes, yet still victim to prejudice. No matter how hard he tried.

He is a father. He is the most mature of the party. He likes alcohol and hates sweets. He talks about women. Given race relativity, he is oldest and tallest of the party. He could not behave older if he wanted. And yet, he is viewed at surface level, a child.

Also, when the other half-foots do recognize his age and autonomy, he gets labeled as the other half-foot stereotype: greedy.

Chilchuck knows, unlike Mickbell, that half-foots shouldn’t use how they’re perceived as a child to their advantage. It only adds to the greedy stereotype, it will never bring change. He wants change because he’s experienced the most.

So he takes the responsibility of setting an example of dominance, regardless of those opinions of him, because he knows he has the agency many half-foots don’t, according to Adventurer’s Bible.

And he’s viewed as greedy despite the guild’s selfless intent. Reminder, it was founded to protect Half-foots from being disposable. (+ the naivety of his youth shows how much his experiences have compounded his nature, no matter how “bashful” he started.)

Chilchuck aims to protect his people. And knows he’s the person suited for that. Which is why he wants to help Half-foots before his retirement.

He is highly aware of his place, because he’s so often “put into place” due to his race. He’s particular in how everyone has a specific duty to uphold, frequently reiterating it fact in Kakiage. (I’ll elaborate on his pride in this later.)

————

This leads to how he prioritizes others before himself.

Group over the individual, a mindset built from being a union leader and a father. A mindset from responsibility. (Again, responsibility fostered by prejudice.)

Obviously, Chil doesn’t think he should be a “lure” or “bait”, but his job is essentially testing death so others don’t.* His party role is a selfless one.

The others need to worry about him less, and trust he knows what he’s doing, to live as a whole.

And the ways he make them care less, is to be private. And a way to be private is to be self-destructive. If people are not given reason to love him, or are given reason to hate him, then he can be risky. (Among the other mentioned reasons he’s so secretive.)

For example, he prioritizes others through a general privacy by not calling for help so they wouldn’t be at risk.

However, he more often prioritizes others by being self-critical. For example, agreeing with Leed that he’s a selfish coward. When he, unknowingly, just wanted to save his friends’ lives. This is one way to create distance, it’s still privacy.

Or for example, how he demonizes himself into a cheater. He still protects the image of the wife who left him over himself. (Mind you, he didn’t figure out why she left, except that it must be his fault. Chilchuck is very self-critical, he constantly thinks he’s responsible for everyone else. So ofc he wouldn’t do that.)

And a more general examples of him not prioritizing himself was when he thought Izutsumi ran away due to him, so he tries to search despite illness. Or, just recklessly running into the mimic room to “save” the treasure bug.

————

Correlating the past 2 points of priority + privacy and race + responsibility into a desire for control:

*Autonomy is the difference between Chil risking sacrificing himself in a trap versus being forced into one. And he takes pride in that willing sacrifice cause he knows it’s useful to everyone, but expertise exclusive to half-foots. Use of this skill is a way to gain more respect and control for the half-foot reputation.

Chilchuck is constantly trying to prove he is “more”. He is not “half” of anything. (Dunmeshi exemplifies that physiology and lifespan in every race are limitations, it just depends on your goals. Vice versa, they can be strengths.)

Also, the sheer fact he’s a father amplifies his natural tendency to control.

————

TLDR

Chilchuck cares about others more than himself, especially in terms of individual versus group survivability, individual versus societal change.

And this comes from constantly being looked down upon. He subverts stereotypes yet gets viewed as them. He knows he’s the only one with the experience and agency to fight it regardless.

His choice of work combats prejudice through setting an example and he establishes the union. In order to effectively work, his “care” expresses itself as “privacy”. Self-destruction contributes to this privacy.

Finally, what’s so fascinating is how this mindset is so layered within itself. But, eventually, he learns it’s okay to be open :)

#dungeon meshi spoilers #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #chilchuck #chilchuck tims #marcille donato #laios touden #senshi of izganda #mickbell tomas #I worry that this isn’t that deep of an analysis and I’m just regurgitating well known fact but please hear me out #he’s so layered yet cohesive #bless ryoko kui for creating him #forgive me for posting this here. I only use tumblr as my art archive. but. atp I should make a side blog for all my essays #not art

[theclockworkkidart]

(JJBA Dungeon Meshi Crossover) Full body Risotto and Formaggio now!

Risotto: A supposed tallman, he’s taller than most others of that race and has mysterious coloured eyes that nobody has figured out (well except for his team). Skilled in magic involving metal and invisibility, he leads the team of different personalities.

Formaggio: A half foot skilled in magic where he can shrink himself. Has helped him around traps and the like. And stealing. He’s part of the half foot union so he knows his rights to refuse unsafe work that takes advantage of his race. Yes that includes tasks he was hired to do when he just doesn’t feel like it. He also likes riding in others’ pockets.

#jojos bizarre adventure #jjba #vento aureo #la squadra #risotto nero #jojo formaggio #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon

[604to647]

Safest with You (Ch. 18 - The Threat)

4.8k / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: Peace between the Clans after the wedding is short lived.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established relationship, petnames (pretty bird, baby, etc.), one (1) daddy, two (2) spanks, unprotected PiV, oral (m receiving, reference to f receiving), a teeny bit of ass play and a wee smidge of choking. Angst - it's back, baby!

A/N: This takes place after The Wedding (but it's not necessary to read). I need to write the next few chapters together, so it might take me a beat to post Ch. 19 but I will try my best 🥰 as always, thank you for reading!

Series Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Din had never experienced the old saying “the calm before the storm” before.  He had heard of it, of course, but in his experience, there was ever only the build up to the storm or the storm itself.

In retrospect, “the calm” was exactly what the last few weeks had been.

The weeks leading up to Cassandra and Rikard Pyke’s wedding had been tense.  Security concerns increased in light of the unrest that had been rising in intensity and frequency for the months prior, complicating already intricate and complex security logistics necessitated by the union itself.  It gnaws at Din to no end that he and Paz haven’t been able to identify the culprit orchestrating all the previously thought unrelated disturbances; he’s at least glad the theory that the incidents were random has been abandoned and that even Boba agreed there had to be a common thread between all the events. 

Happily, the wedding had gone off without any major incident; the happy couple had married and celebrated joyously with both Families.  No blood had been spilt, and one could even declare that the relationship between the Fetts and Pykes has never been better.  There had been that minor scuffle at the end of the evening; Din hated worrying you unnecessarily even more than he hated lying to you, so he had told you a half truth when he said it was just a few kids who drank too much.  It was a half truth in that only half of the drunk kids in question were wedding guests - the other two had been Hutt wedding crashers.  For whatever reason, two lower level Hutt foot soldiers had decided to check out the wedding venue after most of the guests had wound down their celebrations and a few of the younger Pyke cousins had taken offense.

It had been easy enough to break up and smooth over, sending the kids to their proverbial corners - that part he hadn’t downplayed.  And since then, it’s been… quiet.

No more skirmishes.  No vandalism.  No theft.  Nothing. 

It’s as if whoever was responsible went on vacation or decided that whatever they were trying to accomplish in the first place wasn’t worth it.

At first, it had been much too suspicious to be trusted.  The Mandos remaining on high alert even when nothing out of the ordinary was being reported.  Then slowly, things started going back to normal.  Late night patrols taper off and security surveillance whittle down to a minimum.  Jimmy returns to training with Karga full-time.  Din’s schedule regulates and to make up for lost time, he takes you out to dinner nearly every night, chipping away at the long accumulated list of restaurants you want to try.  Mayfeld goes back to doing whatever Mayfeld does.

It was the calm.

Din’s humming to himself as he folds towels - checking the clock, he’s glad to see he’s about half an hour or so away from Greef coming in for the late shift, at which time he can go back upstairs to spend the rest of his Saturday night with you.  The two of you had spent a lovely morning at the same farmers’ market he had taken you to on your second date, and much of the day had been spent recreating a similar afternoon – him working while periodically popping upstairs to visit you and Al, helping you with the lasagna.  The only notable difference was that instead of letting you nap, he had made you come on his tongue twice before heading back downstairs to oversee the lazy Saturday gym crowd.

Otherwise, history was repeating itself delightfully even now with Paz coming by after his workout to check in with Din.

“Hey brother,” Paz clasps his hand on Din’s shoulder before the two men embrace, “good day?”

“Yep,” nods Din, good naturedly, “you?”

Paz’s face slips into an unserious grimace, “Was going pretty good, but just got the call to check in with the boss, so like Rhianna says: work, work, work, work, work.  You wanna come with?”

Din shakes his head, “Nah, I’m retired again, remember?  Besides, I’ve got lasagna.”

“Ooo!  Lil’ Lady made lasagna?  Save me a slice, brother!  Wait… unless ‘lasagna’ is code for some weird sex thing?  Then please don’t think of me, thanks.”

Din whips a towel at Paz’s head as the latter heads out the gym, the back of his shoulders shaking with laughter.

---

Satisfied.  That’s the word Din thinks best describes how he feels in this very moment.  His stomach is full of wine and lasagna, and he currently has his delectable dessert straddling his lap with her tongue down his throat.  When you lift yourself up to press down on Din’s mouth with your plush lips, your core grinds a little on the top of his now soft again belly and you both let out a heady groan at the sensation.  Din suspects that after the bout with Rotta Hutt, you had made it your personal mission to reinstate his softer stomach, and he happily acquiesced - eating second helpings of all your delicious cooking that seemed to constantly fill your and his apartments with mouthwatering aromas.

Brushing your tongue over Din’s, your hands go to card his soft curls through your fingers when you feel his meaty hands slide down your sides until they come to a rest on your ass, cupping your cheeks and palming them lightly while you whimper into his mouth. 

“Feel good, pretty bird?”

“Mmmhhmmmm, feels so good, Din,” you murmur as you kiss across Din’s jaw and trail your lips down his neck, tongue darting out to lick his bobbing Adam’s apple.  You feel Din’s hands tighten and squeeze hard at the feeling, and it makes you giggle - you give your butt a little wiggle and dance around in his lap as a response.

Smack.

You yelp and then immediately moan from the spank Din administers to your behind.  Din chuckles throatily and lands another hard smack to the other cheek, watching your ass ripple as he growls in your ear, “Gonna be a good girl, baby?”

You pull back so Din can see the pouty, doe-eyed expression you’re giving him, “What do you mean, daddy?”

Din’s eyes darken, “Are you gonna be a good girl, or are you gonna be a br-”

Bzzzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzzz.

Din’s phone buzzes with an incoming text.  Then another.  And another.  It continues to vibrate, even as you reach over to the coffee table to grab it for him.

Brow furrowed, Din looks at the notifications on his locked screen and sees texts from Paz, Mayfeld, Woves, Bo, Iggy with more coming in every few seconds from other Mandos.  Each text containing just one line:

This is the Way.

Din’s face hardens and his body tenses, he sits up straight and you have to lace your fingers around his neck so you don’t slide off his lap.  The words themselves are innocuous, chosen to sound authoritative and purposefully vague and mysterious; but the text protocol being executed is deliberate and meaningful, one that Din himself implemented years ago.  It was a code red and a check-in system rolled into one.  It meant he had to go.

He gives you with an apologetic look but he finds you already watching him with an expression full of softness and understanding, “You have to go?”

Nodding, Din closes his eyes and pulls you tight against his chest, tucking your head into your favourite nook under his chin before murmuring, “I have to go.”  You hug him back just as tightly and tell your man you love him.  Tipping your head back, you eagerly accept one last tender kiss before Din gently pulls you off his lap.

As Din sends off his own text (This is the Way.), you grab a jacket for him and see him to the door, eyes worried, “Be careful, Din.”

“Always, pretty bird.  I love you.”  And then he’s off - hurrying down the stairs, taking two at a time.

---

Entering inconspicuously through the back entrance of an office building that acted as a Fett safe house, Din greets the Mandos that beat him here in the open lounge area.  Some are nursing drinks, others seemingly just waiting around.  Everyone looks to be on high alert.  Still not knowing what the alert was for, Din doesn’t ask – he would rather get the debrief straight from Paz, but he doesn’t see the Fett head of security in the room.  Koska gives him a little nod when she spots him and tilts her head towards the boardroom, mouthing, “They��re waiting for you.” Who exactly they are, still unknown to Din even as he pushes open the thick oak door. 

Paz is inside, as are Bo and Brian.  There are no other Mandos.  Everyone is sitting around the long conference table except for Paz and Fennec, both of whom stand flanking Boba’s seat at the head of the long table.  Many of the chairs are already filled by Fett Family seniors and principals and in front of every seat, even the empty ones, is a brown manila envelope.  Din sees that those already sitting have opened theirs, but the contents are unknown to him – either stuffed back into their envelopes or placed face down on the table.  As he walks towards Paz, Din notices that all the envelopes have names written on them; the handwriting is unfamiliar, but he recognizes the names of some other clan members that haven’t arrived yet.  It’s not until he’s nearly at the end of the room that he looks at the envelope in front of the empty seat to Boba’s right and reads his own name.

Cocking an eyebrow at Paz, he’s mildly alarmed to see Paz’s expression.  Normally so impassive and stoic while conducting official security business, Paz looks… nervous.  Din looks quizzically at his envelope, then at Paz, Boba and Fennec; Boba gives a slight nod of his head and Din doesn’t even bother sitting down, just reaches over the chair to grab his envelope, ripping it open.

Din reaches in and pulls out a thick stack of photos.  He goes through them, faster and faster, the top photo being filed to the back so he can see what the next picture is, his actions becoming more frantic and hurried with each photo.

“What the fuck is this?!” he roars.

You.  Every picture is of you.  You stepping off the subway.  You eating a sandwich outside your office.  You having brunch with your friends.  You walking the dog.  You’re wearing so many different outfits in the photos, they must have been taken over several days.  Weeks even.  Din thinks he’s going to be sick - someone has been watching you for weeks.

Since no one has answered, Din thunders again, “What the fuck is this?!” Several of the people sitting, bristle.  Paz looks defeated.  The epiphany that what Paz had been nervous for was Din’s reaction hits suddenly, “Paz, did you know what was in this envelope?!”

Boba, ever calm, but radiating an undercurrent of fury, suggests, “Paz, why don’t you catch Din up in private?  Please rejoin us when you’re ready.”

Paz gestures to a side door and Din follows, still clutching his envelope and the pictures of you.  He waits for the door to the smaller, empty room to close behind him before he goes in on Paz, “Brother, what the hell is going on??”

Paz sighs, “First, I owe you an apology.  You’re right - I knew what was in the envelope.  Actually, I didn’t know, but I had a really good idea.  It didn’t give me any pleasure to see you ambushed like that, brother.”

Din nods, waiting for more.

“A box of envelopes was left outside Peli’s doorstep this morning with a note on top that just said ‘For Boba Fett’.  We checked her cameras and asked around, but there was nothing usable – whoever left the box knew where all the cameras were, where the blind spots are, and they dropped it off at 5 a.m. when there was no one around.”  Paz sighs heavily before continuing.

“Peli called it in and after the box and its contents were cleared, Boba went through it in the late afternoon – he himself got an enveloped filled with pictures of Poe, Lisa and their kids.  Everyone who received an envelope got called in – there are at least 25.  All the envelopes so far contain pictures of loved ones: spouses, partners, family, kids.  All the photos recent.  Bo and Brian’s envelopes contained pictures of their girlfriends.  That’s how I was fairly sure yours had the Lil’ Lady in it.”

Din wordlessly hands over the pictures of you and Paz takes the stack, going through it with a pained expression on his face, “Recent?”

Din nods, “Who the hell did this?  What do they want?  Was there anything else in the box?  What is the fucking point of these photos?!”  Din thinks his brain is going to explode.

Paz shakes his head, “We don’t know.  That’s what we have to find out.”

“But it’s a threat.”

“Yeah.  It feels like a threat.”

Din presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.  His heart and head are pounding, a million thoughts racing through his mind.  Are you safe right now?  He shouldn’t have left you.  No, you’re at Mando’s – there’s nowhere safer.  Had you noticed anyone following you these last couple of weeks?  No, you would have told him.  That means whoever did this was a professional.  And they must have a team, if they were able to take pictures of so many targets over the past few weeks.  Targets.  Fuck.  You were a target.  A voice that Din hasn’t heard in months practically screams in his head: Because of you!! 

His rage and fear suddenly trampled by a new emotion: guilt. 

Beaten, Din looks up at Paz, his voice breaking, “This is why.  This is why… she shouldn’t be with me.  This is what I was always afraid of.  That being with me would put her in danger.  That I would put her in danger.  She’s being threatened because of me.”

Din hangs his head, that old insecurity over bringing you into his life, or rather his life into yours, resurfacing after all these months - ready to tear down the life that he and you had started building together.  How could he have done this to you?  You don’t deserve it.

Paz lays a firm and what he hopes is a reassuring hand on his best friend’s shoulder, “We’ll get who ever did this.  And we’ll keep her safe.  We’ll keep them all safe.”

Din nods, swallowing hard, but unable to peel his thoughts away from images of you.  You in the pictures.  You when he left you tonight.  You smiling at him.  Trusting him.  And then before he could stop it from creeping into his mind, a terrifying vision of you, limp in his arms, hurt.  He closes his eyes and wills himself to breathe, “She has to be safe.”

He follows Paz back into the main boardroom - ready to formulate a plan, to figure out the next steps, to do whatever it takes to bring down whoever was responsible for this transgression against the Family.  Din forces his face to wear the steely visage familiar to those in the room who know him as Boba Fett’s most fearsome enforcer, doing his best to ignore that nagging voice in his head that periodically interjects, “You know what you have to do.”

---

Something has happened tonight.  You can tell.  When you hear Din’s footsteps trudging up the stairs, it’s almost 11 p.m.  He had texted you earlier letting you know he was going to be late, but implored you to save taking Al back until he came home.  You didn’t know about the way his chest tightened when you wrote back to tell him you and Al had gone out and come back already.  As Din gets closer to the top floor, you think you can hear a weariness in those steps, as if he’s shouldering an additional weight.  Meeting him at the door, your heart cracks when you see the furrow of Din’s brow and the exhaustion in his eyes.  Something has happened tonight.

Wordlessly taking Din’s things from him and guiding him to the couch, you straddle Din’s lap and lightly trace his face with your fingers, as if trying to wipe away his worry.  His eyes are closed, his breathing even, but barely controlled.  On more than one occasion, Din has marveled at your talent for being able to soothe and calm him, often with a single touch.  But not tonight.  Tonight, no matter how much you may try, his muscles will not relax, his fists will not unclench, and the tension he carries in his shoulders will not dissipate.

You curl yourself against his hard chest, resting your head on his tightened shoulder and whisper, “Din?  Do you need to use me?  Work out some of this stress?”  Taking his clenched fist, you gently pry open his hand and lay it flat against your own chest, holding it close to your heart.

Din breathes out shakily and opens his eyes to see you looking up at him, wide-eyed with love and concern.   Fuck.  He loves you so much.  And he needs you.  You always know what he needs. 

But he can’t. 

He can’t get the image of the you in those pictures out of his mind – so innocent and unassuming; the idea that someone was looking that same you but with the intention of scaring or hurting you has Din wound up so tight, he’s afraid he might snap at any minute.  Regretfully, he chokes out, “Can’t, pretty bird.  Not this time.  This time… the way I’m feeling right now... I- I might hurt you.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

You can see how hard Din’s struggling and you want to cry for him.  Cupping his rough, tired face in your dainty hands, you kiss him softly and nod, not wanting to add to his burden.

“I think I need to go work it out in the gym, baby.  Take it out on some bags.  Then maybe catch-up on some work.  I’m still behind on paperwork for the gym because of the other stuff that was going on before,” Din sighs.

“If you want, I can take on some of the admin, like tax forms and stuff.  You know I’m good at that,” you offer, wanting to be at least some help.

Against all odds, Din smiles.  How do you do that? “That would be wonderful, sweetheart.  Thank you.”

You relax into his chest, but when Din’s hold on your waist remains tight and his breathing stays sharp, you climb off his lap and prod him gently, “Don’t be too long, baby,” letting your hand linger on his cheek for a moment longer before going to get ready for bed.

---

When you wake in the middle of the night, it’s just past 1:30 a.m. and you’re alone in bed.  Sitting up, you listen for Din but the apartment is silent except for Al’s soft snores.  Where’s Din?  You throw on a long cardigan over your lace trimmed sleep set and grab your keys, padding downstairs.  Opening the door to Mando’s second-floor landing, you hear the thump thump thump of gloves hitting a bag.  Quietly, you walk across the walkway and down the opposing side stairs, coming upon where Din’s working a hanging punching bag.  His shoulders are up, his back muscles tense and glistening with sweat; his gloved fists flying at the bag in consistent intervals, over and over and over, with a force that sends the bag nearly swinging each time.

You don’t know how long Din’s been at this, but judging from his laboured breathing and the beads of perspiration that have rolled down his back, dampening the waistband of his sweatpants, you’re guessing it’s a while.  You can feel his exhaustion rolling off his body in waves from where you stand.  Din’s so hyper focused, you don’t think he’ll even hear you if you call his name, and for a moment, you’re not sure how you’ll get his attention without needlessly startling him; but Din solves the problem for you when you see him pause in his attack, holding the bag still with his gloves and resting this forehead against the leather, breathing tired and shallow.

“Din?” you call out delicately, you’re close enough to him now that you can see the fatigue that lines his face.  It takes you a moment to put a name to the look he gives you, but when you do, your heart nearly shatters.  It’s defeat.  Din’s looking at you, but his eyes are far away, downcast and weary.  His frame, held so tight and tense, droops and deflates as he takes in your figure walking gingerly towards him, as if all the agitation and aggression that he’s been trying to work out over the past few hours simply floats out of his body, along with all his power and determination.  Your big strong man is broken and you don’t know why.

Bringing your hand to his cheek, you exhale with relief when you feel Din lean into your soft touch, eyes closing and face somewhat relaxing; he’s still here, your Din.  Silently, you take his gloved hand with your free one and lead him to the boxing ring.  Using the little stairs tucked into front right corner, you walk up to the raised platform and duck under the ropes to stand in the ring, holding your hand out to Din, beckoning him to join you.  As if in a trance, Din heeds your unspoken request; removing his gloves before meeting you in the middle of the ring, still looking at you with an expression that further breaks your heart – one of failure, resignation.  Holding his face in your hands, you bring it down to yours and press your lips to Din’s – tenderly, warily, so not to spook him.  When Din’s eyes close and you feel him melt against your mouth, you trail your lips to the other parts of him that need your attention. 

Din keeps his eyes closed and uses his remaining energy to mentally track the path of kisses that you lay across his jaw and down his throat.  You dot kisses along his collar bones and over the expanse of his wide chest; flitting out your tongue to taste the saltiness of the sweat that still clings to his hard pecs and his solid midsection.  You squeeze each arm and massage gentle circles over his muscles with your skilled fingers, working down from his flexed biceps to the raised veins of his forearms and ending at his still wrapped hands that you raise to your lips, delicately nipping at his exposed fingertips.  Din revels in your soft fairy-like touch and the heaven of your soft lips against his rough skin.

He opens his eyes only when he feels you slide his sweatpants down past his hips, eyes coming into focus to you see you on your knees before him, cardigan shrugged off to reveal barely there sleepwear that matches the sultry gaze that peers up at him.  Wordlessly, you take him in your mouth.

Hearing Din hiss above you, you work his length gently in your soft mouth, feeling him harden under the efforts of your lips and tongue.  When you feel both his hands come to a gentle resting grip in your hair, you flash a doe-eyed look at him, trying to gauge from his expression what he needs.  What you find is Din, eyes closed and mouth slack – tension and pressure finally evaporated from his body, his face burden free; you hum in pride and vow to suck, lick and tease every last remaining drop of agitation from him.  Rhythmically bobbing your head over Din’s cock, you let him hit the back of your throat repeatedly as you gently fondle his balls with your small hands until you feel them tighten and you hear Din’s heaving breaths above you.  Pulling off of his perfect dick, you see a flash of surprise in Din’s eyes as they snap open; you make sure he’s watching as you dip your hand down your sleep shorts and start to rub your clit through your already drenched panties.

When you see a dark hunger replace the look of surprise on Din’s face, you use your free hand to pull on his wrist so he’ll join you down on the mat.  Mouth latching to yours open mouthed, needy, violent, Din allows you to maneuver his strong frame easily so that he lays beneath you; you shimmy out of your shorts and panties before straddling him, hovering over his already weeping cock.  Normally both so vocal during sex, no words are exchanged between you and Din tonight.  Every question and want expressed only through looks and touch - communicating heart to heart, mind to mind.  When Din removes your top, you realize it’s the first time he’s really touching your body since you came downstairs - his touch is desperate, gripping, tortured.  You let him grab and grope your breasts, waist, stomach, arms, hips and thighs with a fervent need, as if he needs to prove, convince himself that you’re all there. 

Notching him at your entrance, you feel Din’s hand snake up the valley of your breasts and come to a rest around your neck.  Lolling your head back to give him more access, you follow the direction of his firm grip and sink down on Din’s dick; your movements guided by the pressure that Din puts on your neck, letting him pull you down until you’re fully sheathed on his throbbing cock.  Keeping pace with the flex of Din’s fingers on your throat, you bounce – ignoring the sting of pain from having taken him with no prep; no matter – your overstretch walls soon flooded with arousal as your movements quicken and your breaths sharpen, dizzy from your airway being constricted.

Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you ride Din with abandon – there's no dirty talk, praise or degradation tonight, the only sounds echoing off the walls of the empty gym are the urgent slapping of skin on skin and Din’s loud animalistic moans and grunts.  For Din, this is primal, physical, making sure you’re real and that he can touch you, hold you – you’re here, within his grasp.  Safe.

Keeping one hand on your neck, as if tethering you to him via your airway, your lifeline, Din is hypnotized by the sight of you on top of him – pretty tits bouncing, pert and perky.  You’re beautiful.  Perfect.  That you give yourself over to him so readily when you already give him so much fills him to the brim with emotion: you trust him with your heart, your body, your life.  He inches a finger towards the tight ring of your ass, pressing in past the initial resistance and feels your pussy flutter around his cock once he slips in.  Always so willing to take.  Because you trust him.  Love him.

Fuck, he loves you more.

Crying out as you come, you clench down hard on Din’s cock but don’t stop moving, determined to fuck yourself through it; Din follows shortly after, spilling himself to the look of euphoria on your face.

No words are exchanged as you gather your things and lead Din upstairs after turning off the lights in the gym.  And still none when you guide him into the hot shower, washing his tired body under the spray of the water steaming up the bathroom.  Din is barely awake – eyes shut as he lets you wash his hair, only partially registering the soft touch of your fingers against his scalp.  Melting into your sweet kisses to his lips, chest and back, he slips further towards dreamland.

Silent even as you dry him and dress him in a pair of clean pajamas, Din, exhausted from the physical exertion of trying to punch out his frustrations and the mental load of what he learned today, completely dissociates from everything except the warmth of your presence.

Only once he’s laid down on his side of his bed, head already sinking into his pillow and lips tingling from your goodnight kiss does Din speak, “I love you so much, pretty bird.  How will I ever live without you?”

All you can do is smile when you see your hulk of a man finally relaxed enough to drift off towards sleeps.  You’re so relieved to have managed to put him to bed that you don’t notice he isn’t utilizing the hypothetical.

Not ‘How would I ever live without you?’ but will.

#din djarin #modern!din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #modern au #no y/n

[somanyants]

Dungeon Meshi Characters at the Golden Kingdom Pride Parade:

Laius - Rides a car as pride marshal in his official capacity as king. Runs to the back at the end so he can also march with the furries.

Falin - Organized the whole parade, marching in the front carrying a big flag for her wife

Marceille - On the sidelines as an “ally” in straight-passing clothing despite being very publicly married to Falin

Chilchuck - Riding on the half-foot union’s parade float with Mayjack wearing a “I <3 my lesbian daughter” shirt

Senshi - Wearing nothing but a leather harness with a large charcoal grill hanging off the front cooking up the meanest dogs you’ve tasted in you life. In retrospect you wonder how any sane person with that much body hair would put an open flame that close to his fully unguarded hog.

Mithrun - Canaries are physically carrying him at the front of the ace pride section

Kabru- Leading the Citibank contingent and their thoroughly sanitized corporate float

Izutsumi - Izutsumi

#dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi #pride #headcannons #dungeon meshi spoilers

[zombiesama]

Thinking about the Xing crew in an Dungeon Meshi AU...

Ling is a tallman who is searching for the reason behind elven longevity. His search has lead him to the mystery of the dungeon's resurrections.

Lan Fan and Fu are half-foots who were raised in the eastern archipelago. They're being paid to escort Ling in the dungeon. They're incredibly good at their job. They are NOT part of Chilchuck's union since they're from the east.

Mei is also a tallman (possibly half-dwarf?). She's investigating the dungeon's resurrections as well. She ends up teaming up with an orc (or possibly just a tallman?) Scar and tallman Yoki. Scar is an orc based purely on the overlap between orc and Ishvalan histories.

TIME FOR OCs because I can't help myself. (under the cut)

Mao is an ogre, as is Zhilan. Zhilan fucking hates being an ogre and wishes she was a pretty elf.

I think in this AU Mao meets Ling BEFORE Ling sets off and is part of the party, purely because I want him to be part of the AU rather than just an after-story guy like he is in FMA:B.

Zhilan's parents are trying to set up a political marriage between her and Ling. It's not going well.

Jia is a gnome archer. They're really good at long distance shots and hates close quarters combat (they do keep a sword with them though, just in case). They're part of my friend Pierce's FMA:B OC party.

Kiri is a tallman. Same as Mao, she meets and joins Ling's party early on rather than post-canon.

#fma #fmab #dungeon meshi #fullmetal alchemist #delicious in dungeon #rice ocs #rice rambles

[nikethestatue]

The Kings’ Wife

Chapter 10

The Queen of the House

25K words

Warnings: Explicit, language, mentions of child abuse

so I wait for you like a lonely house

till you will see me again and live in me.

Fenrys stood still, observing the scene in front of him. Elain and his two brothers were in bed together, naked and asleep. Well, Elain was asleep–unperturbed by the two massive males who were groping her naked body. Azriel’s arm was thrown over her breasts, his palm squeezing one hard, possessively. Ruhn’s hand rested on her soft bottom, fingers buried between her thighs, digging pretty deep. 

Fenrys sighed and then grabbed Elain’s ankle and pulled her to him, dislodging her from the two males. Her eyes fluttered open and he caught her in his arms and murmured “come here, baby,” and as he scooped the soft, warm body of his wife, he pushed a pillow in her place, for the two men to hug.

Neither one of them moved or reacted, except for grabbing the pillow and then immediately extending their middle fingers to him. He snorted. He knew that they were both acutely aware of him as soon as he entered the house. Even if they looked like they were sleeping, those two woke up if a feather fell outside. They were true predators–never relaxed enough to be unaware of their surroundings. 

He wrapped Elain’s thigh over his hip and she draped her arms around his neck, nuzzling into his neck sleepily. He kissed her head, her cheek and walked out of the bedroom, slowly making his way to his own room.

“How are you, babygirl?” he murmured, stroking her bare behind, his fingertips skimming over the damp folds and making her wince.

“Good,” she growled, still half asleep. Fenrys smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth, watching her big eyes flutter open. She yawned and murmured, “I am tired…”

“Why are you tired, sweetheart?”

It’s not like he didn’t know, but he wanted to hear it from her.

She sighed dramatically, and then announced, “Because Az put his cock in me!”

Fenrys grinned at her declaration, and stroked her soft, wet pussy again, while she pouted.

“And how was it?” he inquired.

“Goo-ood,” she drawled. 

“Well, that’s good!”

“But it hurt, Fen!” she threw her hands up, frowning. 

He kissed her lips and smiled widely.

“I am sorry, my darling, but did you enjoy it?”

She nodded, threading her fingers through his thick, blond curls, “Yes, I did. Even if it hurt, I got a bunch of orgasms. And I read that you don’t even get orgasms the first time, and I got like five!”

“Five?” he gasped theatrically, while she was nodding. “That’s very nice, my girl. So, now you are a woman?”

She waved her hand and shook her head no.

“Naw…that was just defoliation!” she explained. “I am not a woman yet.”

“No?”

“No. I did it with Az and with Ruhn, but I don’t think I am a woman yet.”

“You took two cocks your first time?” he marvelled, though he was very well aware that that was the plan. Ruhn would not have it otherwise, and everyone was a little surprised that he even waited for Azriel to close the deal. “You are my hero!”

She puffed her chest proudly. 

“Yeah, it was the conservation of marriage.”

“Consummation,” he whispered, kissing her soft lips. He didn’t even bother with the ‘defoliation’. 

She wrapped her legs around him and asked, while rubbing against him, 

“I have to do it with you now?”

Fenrys pushed the door open with his foot and entered his rooms.

Like everything else in his life, his bedroom was kitschy, but elegant. It was a microcosm of his Britishness, everything in here an homage to his homeland, which he was forced to leave behind through such unfathomably violent circumstances. 

There was a faded Union Jack in a glass frame above the bed, vintage band posters on the walls leading to the bathroom, more band memorabilia on the shelves–Freddie Mercury’s leather gloves, Mick Jagger’s torn t-shirt, a guitar signed by Jimmy Page, John Bonham’s drumsticks, and many other awesome shit that Elain liked to go through and touch. There were also sentimental items, like a photo of Fen’s parents with the Queen, little Fenrys and his brother Connall in his arms, and even a proper tea set, with flowery porcelain cups and saucers, and a beautiful teapot, on a round antique table. In Elain, Fenrys finally found a tea-drinking companion, and they often had their little tea time at 4:30 pm, with mini sandwiches, scones and clotted cream, and pastries. The other two brothers weren’t invited, because they had ‘no appreciation’ for the finer things in life, according to Fenrys. Furthermore, downstairs, in the pantry, he had boxes of crisps and biscuits that were shipped from England. ‘Prawn cocktail’ flavour, as well as ‘Chardonnay and Salt’ were ‘vile’ according to Ruhn, while Elain helped herself to ‘Cheese and Onion’ pretty well and often. 

Fenrys deposited Elain on the bed and sat down next to her, cupping her cheek. 

“No, darlin’,” he kissed her softly. “You don’t have to do it with me. Or anyone. Not with Az, or Ruhn, or me. Not unless you want to…” 

Elain smiled at him and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, holding his hand to her face. 

“You are my love, Fen,” she murmured.

He smiled tenderly at her, and said, “And you are mine, Elain Moonbeam King. Always. I am glad that you’ve enjoyed your first few times–I would expect no less from Az–and if he didn’t make it fantastic for you, I would’ve beat his face in,”

She laughed.

“But remember that you don’t owe us anything. You are our wife, and we love you. But you own us, baby. We are putty in your little hand,”

“You wanna go potty?” she frowned and Fenrys burst out laughing, throwing his head back, the sound joyful and gay. “I love you, Elain Moonbeam,” he moaned, wiping his tears.

“I feel like you are making fun of me,” she noted with a pout.

“Never. I am just happy with you. Now,” he stood up and looked down at her beautiful naked body. His brothers definitely went to town on her last night–her thighs were bruised, there were marks and bites and little scratches and fingerprints all over her immaculate flesh. The rosy tips of her full breasts were swollen, as were her lips. When he flicked a lock of her messy hair off her shoulder, he noticed a brutal imprint of teeth marks on the back of her neck. 

“He marked you,” he grunted through clenched teeth.

She touched the mark with her fingers and nodded, “Ruhnnie did it,”

“Fucking Ruhnnie.”

Rubbing his thumb over his lower lip, Fenrys asked,

“Did those two circus animals even offer you any aftercare?”

She puffed her cheeks and then said, “What’s aftercare? We showered–they washed me, because there was blood…and their…stuff,”

“Cum, baby,” he said roughly. “Call it what it is. Cum.”

“Okay, cum.”

“So, no aftercare?”

She shrugged and muttered, “I dunno.”

“Figures,” he grunted and ordered her to stay still and went to the bathroom.

Elain sunk into his comfortable bed, gingerly touching her naked body, her eyes closed, her lips smiling. She felt so exhausted. But also so, so good. And she’d never been more in love with the three of them than she was now. 

Fenrys returned to the bedroom and just stood there, watching her.

She threw her arm over her eyes and squinted at him.

“What?” she laughed. 

“Just admiring my beautiful wife,” he shrugged and Elain blushed from the sweet compliment. He stooped over her and kissed her puffy nipple, wrapping his tongue over it and making her gasp with pleasure. “My beautiful, wanton wife,” he reiterated, kissing the other nipple.

“Like soup?” she questioned, stroking the back of his neck and keeping his face close to her breast.

He licked her nipple again, and his warm breath fanned over her breast, because he was laughing.

“I love wonton soup,” Elain opined, mostly to herself, while he sat down and gently pulled her legs apart. “Also matzo ball…do you like it, Fenny? Oh, that feels good! What is it?” she glanced down between her thighs, where he was carefully smearing something between her pink folds and when his fingers slipped into her, she gasped with enjoyment and surprise. 

“That’s a little bit of aftercare, sweet pea,” he explained.

“It feels so good, Fen!” she vowed, her fingers tracing the tattoos on his forearm. 

“That’s what I am aiming for here, baby. What other soups do you like, Ellie? Minestrone?”

She made a face and shook her head, “Oh, no! Yuck. I don’t like it at all!”

He smiled. His girl never shied away from an opinion.

Fenrys loved Elain’s ramblings. She met him head on with her own madness and it made him feel not so alone in the world. He loved not knowing where their conversation would go, and what odd twists and turns it would take, simply because Elain misunderstood a word, or let her mind wander somewhere neither one of them expected. 

Elain’s hips moved and she thrust herself onto his fingers, her eyes flashing with lust, as she peered into his unbelievably handsome face, and wrapped her leg around his legs, pulling him closer. She reached for him, brushing her fingers over his lips, his eyelids, before reaching up and kissing him softly.

“I like aftercare,” she murmured into his mouth. “I also want you…”

He smiled at her and rubbed his nose against hers, carefully pulling his fingers out of her. She winced a bit.

“Not right now, baby,” he refused gently and pulled away.

She frowned and pushed herself up on her elbows,

“Why not? Don’t you want me?”

He chuckled and said,

“Come, we’ll take a bath–another important step in aftercare.”

Elain baulked and didn’t move, watching him, biting her lip.

He made a move to lift her from the bed, but she pressed her hand to his chest, stopping him.

“Why not?” she asked bluntly, and Fenrys immediately sensed a change in her demeanour. He lowered himself on his hunches in front of her and took her foot in his hands, lightly stroking her calf, while admiring her perfect toes. They were lovely, beautifully straight, manicured with a light shade of pearl. He pressed them to his lips and then said simply,

“My dick is huge.”

“So what?” she snapped.

“So I am gonna hurt you, Ellie. And I don’t care to do that,”

“You don’t care that the other two got there first?” she demanded. “You don’t want to have sex with me? Because I am bad at it?”

He cocked his brow, amused by her vehemence and shrugged nonchalantly,

“Do I care about having the dubious honour of breaching your precious seal? Not particularly.”

He kissed her foot again and then pulled her closer, dragging his palm over her breast, her stomach, before cupping her boldly and squeezing her pussy in his hand. She shivered, panting slightly in front of him, while he smiled hungrily and murmured,

“I want you. I want to undress you. Touch you. I want you to be mine. I want to ruin you, Elain. In the best possible, dirtiest, most inelegant, deranged way. I want to own your body. I want to fuck you. I want to teach you things. Pull you on my cock, until you shake and tremble and scream your pleasure into my lungs.”

Her eyes darkened with desire and he felt her gush hot and wet in his palm, while he continued,

“When I fuck you, which will be soon…sooner than you think…my aim is to fuck the memory of everyone else out of you. So that it’s only my cock that you remember when we are finished. Only my cock that you feel inside of you, for hours…days afterwards. Leave the defloration to Azriel–it’s his kink. He wanted to be your first one. Mate with you. Sentimental and all, and perhaps admirable, but that’s not me, babygirl.”

He finally managed to get her off the bed and carried her to the bathroom.

“I have enough self-control, Ellie, not to batter your freshly breached pussy. I can wait.”

She was still pouting a bit, but he’d diffused the temper bomb successfully.

Fenrys had a cosy, smallish bathroom, with a copper tub, and many features that were left untouched and that retained the charm of the firehouse that their house once was. There were wooden beams and brick and a bit of old marble, and every time Elain stepped in here, she felt like she was in some old English cottage. 

The tub was already filled with steaming water and Fenrys slowly lowered her inside, though she screeched and yelled, “It’s burning my butt!”

Fen laughed, though she settled down in about 10 seconds, and he pulled his sweatpants down and then stepped into the tub as well.

Upon glancing at his mega dick, Elain blanched and swallowed, while he smirked and nodded slowly, like he knew what she was thinking. 

“That’s right, babygirl. Not so eager now, are we?” he laughed and lowered himself into the tub, across from her.

“Where are the bubbles?” she asked immediately.

“No bubbles,” Fenrys shook his head. “I want to see you naked in front of me.”

She side-eyed him, but didn’t argue. Instead, she sunk deeper into the scalding hot water, letting out a breathy moan of satisfaction. 

He gathered her feet in his hands and put them on his chest. 

After a pause while their bodies acclimated to the hot water, he asked,

“Okay, let it out. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she shrugged.

“Bullshit, baby. Talk to me, or I will start pinching body parts until you do!”

“You can’t threaten me!” she exclaimed.

“Pff, sure can,” he argued lazily. And then pinched her ass under the water, making her yelp. “What’s happening with you? Did you not like the sex?”

She didn’t look directly at him and then murmured, “No, I liked it.”

“Then why are you so glum? Are you in pain?” he worried, his voice softening and concern pouring out of his whole body. He reached for her, and stroked her shoulder and her cheek. She kissed the inside of his palm and admitted, “It’s all good, Fen. Really.”

“Why don’t I believe you, baby? Did you not consent?” he then prodded sternly.

“Yeah, right…” Elain drawled. “Like Az would do it without consent!”

“Okay,” Fenrys couldn’t argue. Azriel was always the ‘king of consent’. He had to be. He was often a ruthless lover, and consent was a must to him. “Did you not want Ruhn to be there?”

Elain never voiced any concerns or displeasure about any group interactions–they all had her with them together, sometimes in pairs, sometimes one on one, but she was always comfortable with any and all of them. She knew that they adored her, loved her, wanted her, and there was no false modesty or shyness from her. However, losing one’s virginity was a personal, intimate thing, and perhaps, Elain didn’t want anyone else to witness it. 

“No it was all good,” she sighed. “Very good. Really, Fen. Don’t worry about it.”

“But I do, Ellie. I worry about you. We all do. We want you to be happy,”

“And I want you to be happy too! With me!” she almost shouted, sitting up suddenly and sloshing water over the lip of the tub.

“We are happy with you,”

“No,” she cut him off, “you don’t understand…”

He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers with hers, urging her to speak up. She blushed deeply and then mumbled,

“I am scared, Fen,”

“Of what, my darling?” he sounded serious and his look was thoughtful.

“That you…Az and Ruhn won’t find me,” she gulped in air, before exhaling, “satisfactory…I don’t know how to do anything. In sex. And I feel like eventually, all of you will be disappointed in me and I won’t live up to anyone’s expectations. I am already strange and mouthy, and,”

He raised his hand to her, effectively shutting her up. 

She stopped talking, watching him, biting her lower lip. 

“May I tell you something?” Fenrys asked, though he wasn’t exactly asking for permission. 

“What? Don’t try to tell me that everything will be fine and everyone will,”

Fenrys interrupted her verbal assault and with unusual calm, said,

“The Ruhn that you know now isn’t the same Ruhn that we all know. Up until 2-3 months ago, Ruhn was…a ghost.”

Elain’s brow furrowed but she listened quietly.

Fenrys rubbed his face, smearing the steam from the water over his hair and his cheeks and continued,

“He was–is–known as the Shadow King. Why? It’s not just because he was brutal and violent and operated within the shadows, never seen, but always felt. It was mostly because he was merely a shadow of a man. 

“All Ruhn did was he drank, he smoked, he fucked, he killed, and sometimes, he tattooed. I think he went for days without eating…Sleeping…Ruhn existed,” Fenrys sighed sadly. “Even Az, his brother and the one person who is closest to him, feared him,”

“What would he do to Az?” Elain murmured worriedly.

“He didn’t fear what he’d do to him, but to himself. Ruhn was self-destructive. Unhappy. Miserable.”

Fenrys rubbed his face again, clearly uncomfortable about the conversation, but he pressed on, 

“It might not be my place to speak of any of this, or to speak about him, but you should know…you are his wife, and you should know,”

“Know what?”

“Their father is not a good man.”

“Well, he is a mafia don,”

“No. He is a savage monster who brutalised his sons constantly and endlessly. Did you know that he has sixteen children?”

Her eyes popped open in shock and she cried, “Sixteen??

“That we know of. There are more, but he won’t acknowledge them. He only acknowledged those that he deemed ‘worthy’. And Ruhn and Az were worthy apparently, mostly because Az is brilliant and tenacious and a financial wizard, while Ruhn was selected early on to be the enforcer. 

“But it all came at a terrible cost to them, to their mental and physical state…”

“What did he do to them?” she whispered, her fingers squeezing his almost painfully.

Fenrys bit the inside of his cheek and leaned back, closing his eyes.

She waited, and then snapped, “Fen. Fenrys. Tell me.”

He exhaled, and then explained, his voice low, almost breaking,

“Every tattoo on Ruhn–and he has sleeves and,”

“What?” she cried, “what is it?”

“Scars.”

“What?!”

“His tattoos cover his scars.”

She recoiled, shuddering, eyes wild. Her hand flew to her mouth, and Fenrys could almost see her tallying all the tattoos on Ruhn’s body.

“The little pink rose that he has tattooed on his heart–that’s the only thing that’s not a scar. That’s for you. You never brought him pain, Elain, and he put you over his heart.”

“Did he get the scars from all the fights he’s been in?”

He was shaking his head.

“Not fights. Burns mostly. His father burned him.”

Elain stared at him with incomprehension.

“Why?”

“Punishments, mostly. Sometimes, ‘lessons’ as he called them.”

“Azriel?” she murmured, horrified. “Azriel’s hands?”

Fenrys nodded slowly.

“Not the father–two older sons. On behest of the father…Az was only eight. They doused his hands with,”

She clamped her hands over her ears and shook her head wildly.

“I don’t want to know…I don’t want to know,” she muttered feverishly, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Fenrys, for once, didn’t attempt to console her. He looked at her, his face sad and sombre.

“I won’t tell you anymore,” he promised. “The rest, you can ask them yourself, if you want to,”

“They hurt my husbands,” she chanted to herself, rocking and trembling. “He hurt my Ruhn…they hurt my husbands…they burned them,”

��El…Elain,”

“They burned my husbands!” she bellowed, tears pouring down her face. “They took my Az’s little hands and they set him on fire…”

“A lot happened to those men,” Fenrys said gravely. “Horrible things…Az was kidnapped once–to get the Old King to do someone’s bidding…the usual bullshit. But,”

“Oh god,” she rasped.

“They tried to rape him,” Fenrys said ruthlessly. “He was twelve. The Old King was dragging his feet, refusing to do whatever they were fighting about, and they wanted to film it and send it to him–what his son was going through and what they’d continue doing to him, if he didn’t submit to the demands,”

“Did they…”

“In order to escape, he had to break his own wrist, to get his handcuffs off,” Fenrys sounded detached. “And then he ran…it was fucking January and he was only in his underwear. And he ran. For hours. With a broken wrist,”

Even though the water was hot, Elain couldn’t stop shivering, her teeth chattering, as she wrapped her arms around her knees.

“Come here,” he tried to pull her in his arms, but she resisted and muttered, “I don’t want to.”

He didn’t insist, but reached for the bench, grabbed a bottle and then poured some bubbles into the water. For all his craziness, Fenrys was acutely aware of people’s emotional and psychological tells, and when he was feeling kind, he took care of them. Right now, he sensed that Elain probably wanted to be covered. Hidden. And he offered it to her. 

“I don’t know how to feel, Fen,” Elain whispered miserably. “I knew…I mean, I could tell that they were wounded men, but this,”

He gently stroked her hand and said,

“I know it hurts, baby. I know. See, despite how my family was murdered and how fucking traumatic it was, I had a normal, happy childhood. My parents loved each other. My father was deeply, passionately in love with my mother and she loved him just as much. When they had me, they were young–my Da was only 22–but they were good parents! Fantastic even. Da was in the Firm of course, but he always had time for me, and for Ma. He’d take me to Arsenal games since I was 4 or 5. My Da loved London and we’d always do something interesting in the city. His knowledge of it was remarkable and yeah, I know that people make fun of me for my Englishness and how much I love my country, but there is a reason for it. I was happy in England. My family was there, my mates, my life. It was good. My Italian Ma would make a Sunday roast every Sunday, like a proper Englishwoman and that’s what I remember. Christmas and riding our bikes and being with my Da and then when we had Connall, I just fell in love with him. And then when I came here, I realised that I had what neither Az nor Ruhn ever had–family, and love. Even their mothers abandoned them, because of their father.”

“Why was he like that to them? Why would he burn his boys? Hit them?” Elain whispered miserably.

“I think he has a sadistic streak and unfortunately, his children bore the brunt of it.”

He scrubbed his face and then dipped entirely in the water, holding his breath for a while, before finally emerging and looking at his sad wife with a frown.

“I don’t want you to be sad, Ellie,” he whispered.

Elain sighed and wondered, “How can I not be sad? My boys were abused…My father-in-law, whom I barely even know, is a monster. And,”

“And Ruhn loves you,” Fenrys said quickly, his expression serious. “That’s the thing, baby,” he continued, “you don’t need to worry about any of this–being somehow unsatisfactory to Ruhn, to Az…to me. Ruhn fucking adores you. He is literally, not even kidding, obsessed with you. From the moment he saw you. I thought that he might fight Az for you,”

Elain smiled a weak, but amused smile.

Fenrys reached and drew his knuckles over her cheek, his touch soft and loving.

“You gave all of us what we all didn’t have, Elain King,”

“And what’s that?”

“A home.”

She glanced at him, biting her cheek, her eyes moist with tears.

“Have I?”

He nodded.

“You really have. See, I have my Uncle Benny–my Da’s brother–who is my closest family. But he is in London,”

“Do you like him?”

Fen’s face broke into a wide smile.

“Oh yeah! Uncle Benny is a fucking amazing man. He is only about twelve years older than me, so he is more of a friend than an uncle. When my parents were murdered, he was only twenty, and he couldn’t take me on, but since then, we’ve grown close. I’ll introduce him to you. You’ll love him too. He and his wife–they live in the same arrangement as us,” Fenrys winked at her.

“Really?”

“Yeah. We ain’t the only ones like that. Benny and his two mates all live together with Benny’s wife.”

“Oh,”

“Uh-uh. They got a bunch of children too. And when I was looking at him, at his family, which is fantastic, I always dreamt that I’d have something similar. That I’d have a wife who’d love me like Anna loves Ben. That I’d be in this business with my brothers and we’d be…a family. I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d be so lucky, but here you are, Elain, and we are all so happy. 

“You are it. For all of us. There ain’t ever going to be any other women. Az is mad for you, and Ruhn would rip the world to shreds if someone dared to separate you from him. And me–well, you and I are soulmates, babygirl,” he said confidently.

Elain threaded her fingers with his and nodded,

“We are!”

“That’s right. Whatever awaits us, we’ll be together. No one is gonna tire of you, or think you ain’t good at sex or some shit,” he chuckled. “That virgin pussy of yours is everything they’ve ever dreamed of!”

Elain chuckled.

“Not a virgin anymore,” she reminded him and Fen nodded with a laugh. 

“Yeah, those two bastards took care of that,” he sighed. “But fear not, baby, they might have taken your virginity, but I’ll make you a woman!”

He reached for her and pulled her by the hand, until she landed on top of him, the soft, wet tits splaying over his chest. 

“If anyone can and should do it, it would be you,” she agreed, kissing his lips softly. His hands squeezed her sleek, bare ass and he stroked it with a generous swipe of his hand. “Speaking of making someone a woman,”

Fenrys’s eyes flew wide open and he exclaimed dramatically,

“There are more of you!?! I thought you were the last American virgin?! Also, I am not de-virginising anyone. I am married.”

Elain was kissing him softly throughout his rant, laughing against his lips.

“Sorry, baby, but your other virgin friends would have to find another well-hung–though not-as-well-as-me–man to do the honours.”

She brushed her nose against him and flicked him on the forehead.

“No! Don’t even think about it. You are mine and this cock is mine too!” she cupped him brazenly and Fenrys choked a bit in surprise.

“No argument here, sweetheart.”

He squeezed her hand on his shaft and she stroked him, while he wrapped his hand over her fingers and pressed firmly. 

“Like this?” she murmured breathily.

“Yes, perfect,” Fen groaned. Elain rose from the water, her breasts half-covered in foamy bubbles, as she straddled his upper thighs and rubbed his dick with steady, practised strokes, moving her hand up and down, even though she was unable to wrap it around him fully. Her pull was stong, just like he liked it, and she grasped him hard, flicking her thumb over the thick head of his cock. She looked down at him and sucked her breath in lightly. She’s seen him and she’s been with him plenty of times, but boy, oh boy was he big. 

“Harder, baby,” he requested. “I’ve been hard for like two days straight!”

Elain chuckled at his dramatics and squeezed him harder, making his back arch, as his hips thrust towards her and her capable hand.

“You were losing virginities, sleeping with two men, giving out blowies like they are going out of style…and I was huddled in some penthouse,”

“Ohhh, poor you! Huddled in a penthouse. However did you survive it?” she teased, and then squeezed him harder and snarled, “I wasn’t too crazy about you shacking up with your ex girlfriends, Fen,”

“She wasn’t even there!” he protested, his breathing heavy, as he gripped the sides of the tub, his hips gyrating beneath the water. 

“I don’t care,” she said severely. “You are my husband. I don't want you being with any exes.”

“I am sorry, baby. It was pretty serious there for a second,”

Elain leaned over him and kissed his lips, brushing her tongue over his, whispering, “I know…I love you,”

“I love you too, Elain,” he groaned.

“Never leave me,” she warned. 

“Never.”

He came with a loud pleasure-filled groan, spilling all over her breasts, watching his seed mix with the bath foam, and Elain shuddered next to him, watching him cup her breast tightly and rub his cum into her skin. She kissed him again, and he pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her, while she snuggled atop of him.

“So, who are we deflowering?” he inquired at last, once his breathing came back to normal.

She pressed her chin into his broad chest and said,

“I want you to help me.”

“With?”

“I want to set up Cassian and Nesta.”

Fenrys choked and gasped.

“Why do you hate Cass so much?!”

“Ahhh!” she snapped in outrage and slapped his shoulder. “Shut up! She is my sister!”

“I know,” Fenrys managed. “And he is my cousin. And I love him,”

“Well, he really likes her,” Elain said, while Fenrys sat up and then hauled her out of the tub. He held her to him, wrapping her in a thick towel around her body. So far, Elain has been carried around the whole morning.

Fenrys was correct.

For whatever weird reason, Cassian liked Nesta. They’d met a few times over the years, and Nesta, true to form, treated him with her usual disdain, acting disinterested and aloof. Fenrys knew her well enough, and Nesta never changed. Her attitude was pretty much the same towards everyone–cool restraint, bordering on rudeness, and at times, a snappy retort, or a sharp comment. The only person who could deal with her on any meaningful level was Azriel, whose own natural aloofness and calmness seemingly sobered Nesta up. He always regarded her with a detached eye, never speaking ill of her, even before Elain had entered their lives, and always offering her the appropriate respect as a fellow head of a Family. He did not disparage her like the others did, and did not comment on her gender, for she was the only official female heir to a Family. Immacolata Vanserra and a few others were only wives, without any official powers and voices. Nesta was the only one who actually made decisions among the eight major Families. 

“Did you know,” Fenrys said, as he wrapped a towel around his trim waist, “that she called me Az’s ‘English butler’?” 

Elain started and paused drying her hair, looking at him in shock.

“What?”

Fenrys was laughing, as he nodded.

“We were in a meeting,” he recalled. “And I said something, and she turned to Az and said, ‘Please tell your Downton Abbey English butler that it’s not his place to speak unless we ask for his opinion’.”

Elain slapped her hand over her mouth and he kept laughing and nodding.

“She is a charmer, that Nesta,” he concluded. 

Elain was chewing the inside of her cheek guiltily, though Fenrys was mostly amused, as he picked her up and carried her back to his room. 

*

There was breakfast waiting for them and Elain exclaimed, “oh yum!” while Fen sat her down in the chair.

There was tea and toast, jelly and cheese and croissants and a whole array of other carbs. Before Elain could tuck into it, Fenrys lifted her face and kissed her ravenously, his hand holding the back of her head, as he consumed her lips with his, his hand sliding under the towel to grasp her breast tightly. 

“I fucking love you, Elain,” he confessed. 

“I love you too, Fenrys,” she smiled at him.

He sat down and buttered his toast, which he then placed on her plate.

He always served her, if they were at the table. One of the men always did, even if she cooked the meal. It was a thing between them, which Elain never really noticed or understood, but it made her feel…cared for. 

“So, why do you want my cousin to end up with your sharp-tongued sister?”

“I think that she could benefit from someone like Cassian,” Elain admitted, and poured Fenrys a cup of strong black tea. 

“You do know that she’s rejected every man she’s ever been out with, right?” Fenrys put liberal amounts of sugar in his cup and took a sip. “Every one. Az–no. Lorcan–no. Me, well, I am the English butler, which is an automatic no. Ruhn–she refused outright. That Scottish fella, who works for the Firm,”

“Tamlin?”

“Yes, him. Also a no. The Irish–all no. Now, who is left? The fucking Vanserras? Hope that romance doesn’t take root, because god help us all,” he groaned.

“That’s why I think Cassian would be good for her!” Elain insisted. “She rejected everyone because she is,”

“Crazy,”

“Picky,”

“New word for crazy,” he insisted and she pushed him with her foot under the table. 

“Fen!”

“Baby,”

“Don’t. She is afraid of relinquishing her status…her station. She is the only female heir to a Family,”

“So that makes her the asshole that she chooses to be?”

“That puts her in a difficult position. She can only, realistically, marry someone who isn’t a head or an heir of another family. Otherwise, the Archeron family gets absorbed into another clan,”

“Okay, there is such a thing as love, you know,” he reminded her, “you rejected others, before agreeing to Az. Well, and me, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Elain bit into her almond croissant, and explained, 

“There was a guy, named Tomas, whom she dated on and off for about a year. He wasn’t nice to her,” 

Fenrys glanced at her over his cup and frowned.

“What did he do?” 

Elain shrugged, but answered quietly,

“I think he tried to assault her,”

“What?”

“One evening, she came home late–rushed past me, and her dress was torn…the shoulder strap was torn–and she was very upset. But she wouldn’t talk to me about what happened,”

Icily, Fenrys demanded,

“What is his name?”

“What, what are you gonna do?” she huffed. “Go on some warpath over Nesta,”

Fenrys reached out and grabbed Elain’s chin, saying,

“Nesta is family. I might not get tickled pink when I am in her company, but she is still family. Families are complicated and fucked up, but regardless, she is my sister-in-law and that’s the deal. I’ll find Tomas, and pay him a visit,”

Elain cleared her throat,

“You don’t know his last name,”

“I am a resourceful man. Also, I fucking hate rapists, or wannabe rapists, so he deserves a visit.”

Elain would have argued, but she didn’t.

Let the chips fall where they may, she decided. 

“I think Cassian would be a good option for Nesta. He genuinely likes her,” Elain said, smiling, “even if he is attempting–and failing–to be secretive about it. And Nesta,”

“Now you are going to tell me that she likes him too?”

“Well, she doesn’t want to order a hit on him. So that’s something. And he is not and never will be the head of any family, so there is that,”

Fenrys gave his wife an assessing look, but didn’t say anything further.

People underestimated her. Elain was acutely aware of everything that was going on around her, and knew everyone’s weak points, quickly understanding what insecurities and failings all of them suffered from. Including Nesta. Elain was no loyal dog, who’d follow her sister’s orders no matter what they were. Fenrys guessed that even though Nesta didn’t understand it, Elain was the one who cared the most for Nesta’s own well-being and security. 

“And how do you propose we do this?” he asked at last.

Elain didn't get the chance to answer. 

The door flew open violently, and in stepped Ruhn.

He threw both of them a dark look, Elain’s croissant stopping half-way to her mouth and Fen cocking his brow at his furious brother. The Stones’ ‘Emotional Rescue’ was playing in the background. 

Wordlessly, Ruhn marched to the table and without any preamble, lifted Elain out of the chair and flipped her over his shoulder. She started, dropping the pastry on the floor and crying mournfully, “my croissant!”

“Fuck you, Fenrys Moonbeam!” Ruhn roared at the smirking Fen, pointing his finger at him. “If you ever, and I mean, ever, take my wife and have her eat breakfast with you, in your fucking British dungeon,” he made a wide gesture with his arms, “or whatever the hell you call this place,”

Fenrys was laughing soundlessly at the rage that was pouring out of his brother. Elain was flailing helplessly, while Ruhn smacked her bare ass, and then bit it for good measure as well.

“Aww!” she yelled.

Ruhn ignored her and glared at Fenrys and threatened, “I will rip your sternum out of your nose and then jam it up your ass!”

“I don’t think that it’s possible,” Fen protested, laughing maniacally. “Physically.”

“Do you want to test me, Brit boy?” Ruhn snarled.

“My Britishness has nothing to do with the current situation,” Fenrys argued. “Just because my wife wants to spend time with me more,”

“Fuck you! She doesn’t. She is my wife and she will be eating breakfast with all of us. Azriel. Ruhn. And even you.”

“She wanted to eat with me,” Fenrys argued, feigning innocence.

“You stole her from our bed!” Ruhn bellowed, “dragged her here, dressed her in your t-shirt and locked her so she could eat with you!”

Shrugging, Fenrys declared,

“I can’t help that she likes me more than you. She and I are friends. You are just a possessive, obsessive alpha male who is literally flipping her over the shoulder like a damn Neanderthal,” Fenrys was chuckling. “Ladies like to be adored and cared for. You didn’t even bathe her last night–after fucking her virginity out of her,”

“We got her tacos for dinner!” Ruhn threw, sounding kind of defensive.

“Smooth…” 

Without saying another word, Ruhn turned around, with Elain hanging over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and smoothed his hand over her round buttock, as he headed out into the hallway.

She dangled docily, watching the backs of his inked calves, while he kissed that smooth, soft butt of hers, and then pinched it in retaliation for her leaving.

“I dropped my croissant,” she complained and then slapped his ass.

“I’ll get you another one,” he retorted crisply. “And,”

“Yeah? Two croissants?” she asked eagerly.

“No, not two croissants,” he argued harshly, “but if you ever hop off to your favourite boy there, and leave us, I will bend you over the counter and fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk for a week!”

Her long hair swept over his legs, while she drummed on his behind like it was a pair of bongos, slapping his ass with every step he took. He chuckled.

“I don’t love Fen more than you,” she said at last. 

“Hmmmm,”

“I love you and Fen and Az. Also,”

“What?”

“That second part–it doesn’t sound like punishment,” she popped her lips and Ruhn barked a laugh.

“No?”

“I can get on board with that,” she said innocently.

He kissed her hip and rubbed his face in the soft flesh. 

“Do you love me?” she asked suddenly.

“Yeah, I love you,” he admitted gruffly.

“Hmmm…how much?” 

“Too much,” Ruhn grunted.

But of course Elain wouldn’t just leave it at that.

“How much is too much?” she inquired seriously.

He sighed and offered,

“Okay, how about I love you infinity times infinity plus one?”

“Why not plus two?”

“Fine, plus two. Plus infinity. And you can’t go any higher!” he added quickly.

“Okay,” Elain seemed to be placated by the exact maths calculation. “That’s a lot of love.”

He smiled against her hip and kissed it gently.

“You deserve it, beautiful.”

The tips of his fingers brushed against her folds and she exclaimed,

“I am not wearing any underwear! Put me down.”

“No,” he said simply. “You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen. You do remember that I was inside of you? Last night.”

“Ugh, I don’t like it when you say it like that,” she slapped his ass hard.

“How am I supposed to say it? I fucked it?”

“Noooo!” she protested dramatically. “That’s rude!”

“Guide me here, beautiful,” he offered, laughing at her.

“We made love!”

“Fine, I madelovedit…Better?”

“Better. But still put me down, before Az sees it!”

“I think Az would love to see your pretty pussy first thing. He also madelovedit, so I think you can trust him.”

They finally reached the vast expanse of their first floor, and Elain heard some shuffling coming from the kitchen and Ruhn announced loudly, “Look what I found!”

Azriel whistled and Ruhn grabbed her butt cheek and squeezed it harshly, slapping it playfully.

“Where was my flower?” Azriel’s voice was amused. “Riding Fen’s gargantuan dick?”

“No, I wasn’t riding anything!” she protested, wiggling over Ruhn’s shoulder. “Put me down, Ruhnnie!”

“No, sweetheart, I don’t think that Az wants me to put you down,” Ruhn smirked. 

“Why?”

“Az looks hungry,”

“So I’ll feed him!” she exclaimed.

“Oh he is hungry, but for this pink pussy,” Azriel was suddenly next to her, biting her ear gently, and then he was gone before she could respond and the next thing she was doing was squealing with surprise and pleasure.

“Damn, you are hot,” Azriel groaned into her ass, his rough, scarred palms gliding down her thighs, as he parted them further, making her accessible while she hung over Ruhn’s shoulder. 

“Brother, I am seriously concerned for you and that you may come before you are even in the vicinity of that pussy,” Ruhn mocked.

“Fuck off,”

“If you need any help, I am here,” Ruhn stroked Elain’s behind, laughing into it.

She cried out, when Azriel’s thumbs parted the pretty folds of her pussy and his hot breath fanned over her wetness. Gods, this was embarrassing, even for them! She was still leaking cum from last night, and she was so obviously wet all because of Fen…well, and Ruhn…okay, and Azriel’s fucking midnight voice and his nearness. But, whatever she was fretting about, clearly didn’t matter to the brothers, because Ruhn hooked his hand over her upper thigh and opened her up even further for Azriel’s exploration.

“Put your fingers in her,” Ruhn ordered hoarsely, “she is still fucking dripping from both of us,”

Elain was feeling light headed from his filthy words and from dangling upside down for so long, but when Azriel’s thick, long fingers slid into her, she moaned loudly and pathetically. Ruhn kissed her butt cheek soothingly, while Azriel began to pump her slowly and deliberately, his fingers unhurried, but steady and firm, pushing deep.

“How does it feel, flower?” he asked, managing to lick her as well, his talented tongue pressing on her clit and lapping on it. 

 Elain shuddered against Ruhn’s body, clutching at his back, his shoulders, as if trying to escape the delicious invasion of Az’s fingers, while rolling her hips along his thrusts, moaning softly under her breath. Azriel kept the rhythm slow and steady, knowing that she was still bruised and sensitive from last night, but his fingers penetrated her deeply and his tongue and lips, wrapped around her clit and sucking softly, were delivering the pleasure that she was craving. 

Elain couldn’t even answer the question, panting and shaking between the two of them, those fingers…the glorious fingers…

“Does she taste like a woman?” Ruhn murmured tensely, holding her across the back, stroking her bare skin wherever he could reach.

“You tell me,” Azriel offered and thrust his fingers into Ruhn’s mouth. Ruhn licked the slick off appreciatively, smacking his lips, while his own fingers replaced Azriel’s, so that Elain never missed a moment of penetration and the pleasure wouldn’t be interrupted for her. 

“Mmm, I am not sure,” Ruhn pondered out loud, licking his lips. “She tastes divine,”

“But like a woman?” Azriel teased.

“Tastes like she is ready for more D,” Ruhn chuckled.

“Boys,” Elain grunted, overwhelmed and feeling the men fighting the restraint of not fucking her rough and deep with their dicks. But she knew that they wouldn’t. Not until she permitted it. Not until she felt ready.

So, she unabashedly enjoyed the fingering and the licking, until she saw Fenrys’s feet appear in her vision and he lifted her head and winked, before pressing his lips to her.

“What are they doing to you, babygirl?” he laughed and casually pinched her nipple through the t-shirt. 

“I don’t know,” she groaned, then pleaded, “but it feels amazing…”

Fen clicked his tongue and then skirted around the trio, observing for a minute, before Ruhn commanded once again, “Put your fingers in her.”

Elain didn’t even know how she could possibly hold more fingers inside of her, but, the next moment, she tensed and gasped in surprise, because Ruhn pulled her buttock in an invitation and then…yes, there were more fingers in her drenched pussy, which she assumed were Fen’s and the next moment, an inexorable push of his digits into her tight little hole made her grunt unbecomingly. A purely animalistic snarl escaped her lips, the tightness in her body building and building, and before she knew it, she was coming undone.

She cried out so loudly, she felt her throat spasm and hurt, and the power of her orgasm washed over her, making her stupid and not even minding that Fenrys, or someone, spit in her ass and forced their fingers even further in. She was losing her mind, unable to even keep track of who was inside of her, assuming that both Ruhn and Azriel were in her hungry, vibrating passage, and their fingers almost touched Fen’s, who was pushing and pushing into her ass. 

“Steady there, sweetheart,” Fenrys murmured, kissing her face, cupping her breast with his free hand and squeezing gently. “Come for us…”

Elain bit his lower lip, kissing him violently, viciously, uncaring whether she was drawing blood. Fenrys cared even less. He kissed her back, his tongue stroking hers, his hand working inside of her so hard, she felt like she was losing her mind from overstimulation. It was too much. Like it was too much last night. She still definitely felt the ache from last night in both of her holes, and truth be told, her jaw also felt kind of raw…like it’s been a bit dislocated. It hasn’t been, but she’d certainly been through the wringer, and her body bore all the markings inside and out. But the pleasure…oh, she really couldn’t get enough. Whatever the three of them did, and however they did it, she was ravenous for it. She probably shouldn’t have appreciated all of their extensive experience with the ladies, and the hundreds of bodies that they had ploughed through in their past, but boy, oh boy, did that teach them things. 

“Boys…boys,” she moaned, buckling over Ruhn’s shoulder, clawing at his back, clutching at Fen’s solid abs, trying to reach whatever she could, as her body tensed yet again, with Azriel’s soft, patient tongue licking on her clit. She felt ripe and bursting, like an exotic fruit that leaked juices when squeezed and pressed. 

“Does anyone else think that it’s the hottest thing ever when our girl says ‘boys, boys’?” Ruhn wondered with a smile, half-breathless himself. His dick was aching, and he has been holding a fully grown, somewhat plump female, over his shoulder for the past fifteen minutes, while she’s been shuddering with orgasms against him. He had the right to be breathless. 

“Music to my ears,” Fenrys admitted. 

Completely unexpectedly, there was a sound of the doorbell ringing. 

Elain stiffened in Ruhn’s arms and Azriel finally tore his face from between her legs and roared, “What the fuck?!”

They never had visitors.

It was just the four of them, and sometimes servants, who were discrete and unseen. They had their own entrance and a strict schedule when their fobs worked and allowed them to enter the house. The only time anyone was allowed inside was for the weekend games and cocktails. Once a month, there was a card night too. But no one, but their very trusted inner circle knew about the house. Ruhn and Azriel were security obsessed and everything about their whereabouts was always shrouded in secrecy. 

“Give me her,” Azriel whispered and gently took Elain off Ruhn’s shoulder, perching her on his hip, like she was a toddler. She was still panting heavily, and he kissed her lips, taking care to cradle her head, so that she didn’t get dizzy once the blood rushed back down. 

“How are you, my flower?” he worried, kissing her again. 

The bell rang again and he rolled his eyes.

“I am good,” she smiled at him, stroking his cheek.

“Fen, can you go and see who it is?” Ruhn requested, and Fenrys grabbed a cup of tea and made his way to the front door.

Meanwhile, Ruhn squeezed Elain’s full, soft tit and chuckled,

“You are like that weird baby from Twilight…”

Her brow furrowed and she asked,

“Weird baby?”

“Yeah, the CGI baby.”

“Renesmee?” 

He nodded, “yep”.

Azriel looked at both of them in utter confusion and then wondered,

“How do you know about Twilight?”

Elain exclaimed excitedly, “Ruhnnie, you read Twilight?!”

Azriel was smirking, nuzzling into Elain’s cheek, watching his squirming brother with amusement. It was too late to back out of this though, so Ruhn shrugged and said, somewhat defensively, 

“So what? So what if I did?”

Azriel smirked and announced, “No judgement, brother!”

“I feel like there is plenty of judgement coming off of you right now,”

“I just wasn't aware that that’s what you dabbled in,”

“Team Jacob or Team Edward?” Elain demanded, interrupting them.

“Team Edward all the way!” Ruhn vowed and she threw her head back, yelling ‘yaaasssss!”

“Is this a thing?” Azriel asked.

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t watched Twilight,” she ordered sternly.

“I haven’t!”

“Bullshit,” Ruhn waved him off.

“Okay, if I did, it was a long time ago,” Azriel said dismissively. 

“What about Renesmee?” Elain reminded him, while Ruhn teased her nipple with his thumb through the t-shirt. 

She slumped on Azriel’s hip, as he held her up by her bare butt, and wrapped her legs around his thighs. 

“Well, she was a vamp baby right?”

Elain nodded.

Azriel was both fascinated and horrified that Ruhn knew so much about Twilight. But he listened in silence.

“So,” Ruhn continued, “she is always in someone’s arms, because she doesn’t sleep. So someone is cradling her at all times,”

“That sounds like a nightmare,” Az muttered under his breath, and Elain elbowed him.

“That's cute and sweet!” she exclaimed.

“Yeah, for five minutes! After that, you want that baby to sleep!” he insisted ruthlessly.

Ruhn pondered for a moment and then said, “He does have a point. You don't really want to have a perpetually awake baby!”

Elain pouted and protested, “I still think it’s adorable,”

“What’s adorable,” Ruhn said, “is you,” he pinched her nipple and she gasped, “always being in someone’s arms! Have you stepped on the floor today?”

Elain wrinkled her nose, thinking back and then murmured, “I don’t think so,”

“You are Reneesme!” Azriel laughed and Ruhn nodded. 

“Someone is always hauling you about,”

“Elain!” Nesta's voice was both hissing and shrill at once, which was an amazing accomplishment.

“Nesta!” Elain choked out, eyes wild. 

Nesta

It’s been a month.

A month of not seeing Elain. The moment she married, it seemed like Azriel King kidnapped her, since she only responded to texts.

Not one invite to hang out–Elain always being the one to go out for drinks and meals, as if she really needed another meal. But she was always the instigator. 

Not an invite to her house. She didn’t even say where she lived. Nesta heard ‘a hotel’--what did that mean? They lived in a hotel? Every weekend Nesta went to the bars that Elain had frequented, and where she watched soccer (or as Elain insisted on calling it ‘football’), but did not find Elain though, so she got to talk to way too many weird men who screamed at the TVs, wore jerseys and asked where Elain was because they ‘missed her’. Nesta could only sneer at them. A couple of them even dared to proposition her!! Disgusting. She should’ve monitored Elain closely when she’d gone to those bars. They were filled with horny Italians or rowdy Englishmen. She couldn’t even imagine how Elain handled it. Elain was innocent and not very bright and too trusting.

Was Nesta surprised that Azriel chose Elain as his wife? Yes. If she were honest, yes. Also, not that she’d ever admit this to anyone, including herself, but it kind of…hurt her feelings that Azriel had politely, but firmly rejected her once they’d gone on a date. She liked Azriel. He was intelligent, powerful, wealthy, capable, steadfast. But he was the heir of his family, and ultimately, maybe it was for the best that they didn’t end up together. At least she liked telling herself that. 

Yet, Elain, he liked right away. He offered for Elain the same night he’d met her–as if it was love at first sight for him. Elain, who’d rejected everyone prior to Azriel, also agreed, the same night, to marry him. Nesta was shocked–positively shocked–as to what her father was able to negotiate with Azriel King as the bride price. And Azriel did not even argue. Did not so much as flinch when they ended the bargaining at 20 million. Paid it, even though his brother Ruhn looked like he was about to have a heart attack. Azriel insisted that the wedding be celebrated in a month, rushing into it as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. And so it was that Elain Archeron married for love and beauty, while Nesta stood back, knowing that she’d marry for power.

Today, when she woke up, she’s had enough. She’s had enough this whole week, but she would not be ignored any longer. So she dressed, drank a quick cup of coffee and had her driver deliver her to the headquarters of King Enterprises. She’s been here before, but only now she realised that there was indeed a hotel attached to the other side of the office building, and there was yet another building, which apparently housed Ruhn’s Tattoo Studio. 

Thinking of Ruhn, Nesta shuddered. That man freaked her the fuck out. It was as if he leaked madness and brutality from his very pores. She’s heard stories and put the reports aside when they were delivered to her. She’d rather not know. But Elain, stupid Elain, danced with him at the wedding and they acted as if they were the best of friends. They even had their own dance, together, similar to a bride and groom. To others, it would’ve looked like they were marrying each other. He chose a tender song for her. The same man, who, if rumour was to be believed, had mallets and knives and bats to kill with. Weapons that he named. It was said that once you were in his clutches, there was no escape–there would never be an escape from Ruhn Danaan King, who killed and enjoyed it, if the occasion called for it. 

Nesta went to the main building and requested to see Cassian from a receptionist who looked like a supermodel. In most office buildings, the reception was minded by security guards. Here, everything was expensive, chic and elegant as soon as one stepped into the light-filled building. Cassian was someone she knew, and someone who was close to Azriel, and the 6 foot tall, 100 lb woman with cheekbones that could cut glass and a tight chignon did not ask any questions.

“Mr. Rossi,” she called, “Miss Nesta Archeron wishes an audience.”

Wishes an audience? What the fuck. 

Nesta barely contained herself from snapping at the receptionist, but she held back. She was an Archeron, and she was going to be admired for her power and her behaviour. 

Cassian Rossi was the most beautiful man that Nesta’s ever seen. Not that he’d ever know that. She wouldn’t allow herself to ever utter such nonsense to him, or anyone. It’s not that it mattered that this huge mountain of muscles somehow managed to dazzle her from the first time they’d met. He was part of Azriel’s entourage for some meeting that she was attending. He was obnoxious and had an awful sense of humour, he was loud, and he walked with a sexual swagger that grated on Nesta’s nerves. He irritated Nesta with his keen watchful look, as if all the secrets of her heart were laid bare in front of him. He was annoying because he was so blunt and spoke his mind, and never backed off from a fight. At the same time he was discreet, unfailingly loyal to the Kings, obviously intelligent…

“Nesta, what brings you here?”

Cassian’s rough, deep voice jolted her out of her reverie and she turned her head to him. Her stupid eyes couldn’t stop in time and she checked him out from head to toe–something he certainly noticed, judging by the obnoxious smirk that played on his full lips. He wore a nicely tailored gray suit, which didn’t manage to take away from his innate wildness.  It was obvious that all these modern trappings were just a camouflage, to hide the ruthless, brave warrior underneath. That’s what he was. A warrior. A knight, who fought on battlefields and seduced willing maidens. 

“I wish to see Elain,” she said firmly.

“Mr. Rossi, would you like me to book a room for you?” the receptionist asked.

“Won’t be necessary, Cerridwen,” he said. “Where is the regular girl?”

“Alis is out sick. I am covering for her here.”

“You are better utilised upstairs,” he argued. “Next time, let us know, and we’ll find someone else to cover. I’d rather have you up in security.”

Shit, it was Cerridwen!

Nesta was so used to ignoring receptionists, secretaries and general help, that she didn’t even realise that it was Cerridwen! Well, now it was awkward. Cerridwen and Nuala–Elain’s best friends. She hasn't realised that Cerridwen worked here. Now, glancing at the beautiful woman, Nesta knew that Cerridwen recognized her and it was even more awkward and damn Cassian did nothing to ease the situation. He just stood and watched them, that dumb smirk still tugging on his mouth.

“Hello Nesta,” Cerridwen offered a cool smile. “Nice to see you here. Say hi to Elain. She brought us wonderful cookies the other day, they were delicious and the guys polished them in seconds.”

Naturally…Elain would bring cookies. Elain was friends with everyone. With Cerridwen. With the ‘guys’--Nesta assumed Azriel’s guards or something–with Nuala, with the whole world. She was always popular. Always liked. Elain was the rose, while Nesta was the thorn. 

“I’ll be sure to tell her,” Nesta bit out. “You look good, Cer. Did you do something to your hair?”

“No. Same as I’ve worn it for the past five years,” Cerridwen said tartly, touching her glossy hair. 

“Must be the makeup then.”

Turning back to Cassian, who watched the exchange with amusement, which he didn't try to hide, Nesta repeated herself,

“Elain?”

Cassian sighed, regarded her for a moment and then said,

“Fine. Follow me.”

Surprisingly, Cassian did not take Nesta outside, but she followed him deeper into the building, away from the glittering reception with its sculptures and soft lighting and sparkling floors, and into the basement, while Cassian kept swiping some fancy badge next to each door. Nesta figured that the White House was more penetrable than this place. 

“I thought that they lived in the hotel,” she said, attempting to keep up with his wide stride.

Cassian stopped at an elevator, and then reached into his pocket and produced some kind of a black cloth.

“Put this on,” he handed it to her, and Nesta bristled, as she unwrapped a freakin’ blindfold! A blindfold!!

“What is this?” she exclaimed. “No.”

Cassian shrugged and said, “Then we are not going. I will let Elain know to call you.”

Nesta gritted her teeth and stared at him. He beheld her gaze with unflinching frankiness. His bronze, rough-hewn face, framed by long, jet black curls remained blank and the gorgeous amber eyes stared her down just as ably.

She put the blindfold on, and then he tightened it in the back, the asshole. 

“I can’t see anything!” she groaned roughly.

“Good.”

And then a very large, very calloused, very firm, warm palm wrapped around her cold hand and he pulled her after him. Gosh his fingers were big. Long too. Why was she thinking about this?

“You look good, Nes,” he said suddenly, and she felt sweat break over her body, her face, and to her horror she knew that she was blushing. And not one to ever make it easy for her, he added, “You blush prettily. Like Elain. She blushes at everything, though she is not exactly shy.”

“Don’t call me Nes,” she snapped, feeling even hotter and turning even redder. 

“Why not?”

“I don’t do nicknames.”

“You don’t do nicknames?” he repeated in amusement, leading her god knows where. It seems like they’ve taken at least 3 elevator rides, walked up and down some hallways, went outside, went inside. It was ridiculous.

“Are you leading me in circles?” she demanded.

He chuckled and said,

“Yeah, it’s my secret plan to spend time with you. Because I love nothing more than listening to you sniping and snarling at me, Nessie.”

Nessie?

NESSIE?

Before Nesta had the chance to kick him in the dick, he tugged on her hand, stopping her and said, “We are here.”

She moved to tear the blindfold off, but his strong hand shut out and stopped her. 

“Not yet,” he grunted.

He rang the door, but she was impatient, and began to bang on it.

“Real mature,” Cassian muttered and she whipped her head at him, forgetting for a minute that she couldn’t see him. 

“Calm down, firecracker,” he sighed dramatically.

“I am going to punch you in the face,” she warned.

“Well, many tried, few succeeded, sweetheart.”

“I’ll succeed.”

“We’ll see about that.”

She heard the door open and then a man with an English accent–Fenrys–greeted them,

“Well, well, this is unexpected. Hello Nesta. Cass.”

“Nesta wishes to see Elain,” Cassian reported dully. Like he didn’t want to be responsible for bringing her here.

“Come on in then,” Fenrys sang. 

Cassian helped Nesta over the threshold, though she jerked her hand out of his, and hissed, “Don’t touch me!”

“Okay. Fall on your face then.”

Nesta finally took the blindfold off. Fenrys stood there, wearing only jeans, which were hanging precariously on his narrow hips, the top button open. He was otherwise naked, barefoot, and holding a cup of what looked like strong tea near his smirking lips. He was unfairly, deliriously dazzling. Wild, just like Cassian, he was full of life and vitality, and while Cassian was rough, Fenrys was elegant, un-American, classic, Old School. Whatever it was, he was a chiselled-faced Englishman, whose golden skin was the stuff of dreams, and contrasted beautifully with his golden mane.

Nesta flushed. His sheer presence was oozing sexuality, and he was well aware of it. He knew how he was, the body that he had, the shoulders that could break down a door, and the height that made girls swoon. 

“Can you take me to my sister?” Nesta said.

“Hello to you too, dear sister-in-law,” he chuckled arrogantly. “Follow the English butler, madame.”

“Aren’t you the butler?” she sniped.

“Sure am!” he gave her a fake smile.

The house surprised Nesta.

It was obvious they were not in any hotel, but at a private home. And it was not at all what she expected. It wasn’t a soulless, ultra modern place where nothing was amiss and it felt like the American Psycho inhabited it. Even though all of them were, in fact, American Psychos, the place was, in fact, pleasantly lived-in. There was a surprising number of art pieces on the walls and Nesta couldn’t think for the life of her, who was an art enthusiast. It wasn’t a house of a Russian oligarch or a Chinese billionaire, where everything was about gilded excess and lack of knowledge of art or culture, and simply a showcase of absurd wealth. It wasn’t a frat house, where there were piles of beer bottles, red Solo cups and video games everywhere. Nope. There were large bookshelves filled with books of every kind. The furniture was stylish and expensive, but comfortable. No massive TVs in sight. 

Whoever decorated this place–though it didn’t seem to Nesta like it was done purposefully–had good taste. The building was old, but completely refurbished. The floors were dark wood, there were exposed brick walls here and there, honey brown leather, industrial elements that mixed freely and successfully with old marble and antique mirrors. The windows were enormous and allowed the house to be flooded with light. Outside, Nesta spotted a garden, which, she was sure, Elain was already working on. 

She was trying to keep her eyes on the decor and the spacious room, which flowed into each other, not quite the ultra modern ‘open concept’, but open enough to allow for a wide field of vision, without feeling like a giant football stadium. Eyes on the decor, and not Fenrys’s spectacular ass and incredible back. That back was…stunning. And Nesta was sweating, because with the barely dressed Fenrys in front of her and the silent hulking glory that was Cassian behind her, it was more than she could handle with dignity. She wanted to fan herself.

“Elain!”

Nesta stopped dead in her tracks. 

For a variety of reasons.

The three males who occupied this house shared three things: their ungodly height, their blindingly good looks and now, various states of undress.

There was Fenrys, in his jeans, and the next thing that Nesta saw was Ruhn, who only wore a pair of black basketball shorts. His body was brutally carved and lavishly decorated with ink, which covered a good portion of his entire torso, his arms, and even his legs. Nesta heard that he was a tattoo artist, when he wasn’t killing and torturing, so she supposed that he advertised his own work on his skin. God he was weird. Pierced and half-shaved and inked everywhere–it’s like he was trying to make himself ugly. Nesta did not care for tattoos, though she was fairly used to them, since everyone in her vicinity was covered in them. 

Lastly, there was Azriel, whom Nesta never even saw without a full suit on. 

Now, here he was, in only black boxers. That’s all. 

He was her brother-in-law and she didn’t know where to look. When he glanced at Cassian, who had his eyes on her, she noticed a smirk on his face. He could totally read her discomfort and she prayed that he couldn’t read beyond that. Because yes, Nesta did not have experience with men. Especially almost naked men . 

Unlike her sister, apparently.

Azriel was holding Elain in his arms, his grotesquely scarred hands grasping her bare butt, which peeked from under the t-shirt that she wore. That’s the only thing she wore, because Nesta noticed that there was no underwear or a bra to be found.

Cassian, to his credit, averted his eyes immediately, and did not look at Elain even for a second. 

“Nesta!” Elain’s hair was a mess of curls and Nesta found herself blushing again, as she noticed her sister’s swollen lips and a prominent bruise on her delicate neck. A hickie. Azriel silently inclined his head in greeting, and Ruhn stepped out of the way, though Nesta also caught the movement of his hand. She could’ve sworn that he was touching Elain’s breast right before she and Cassian entered the kitchen space. Elain jumped out of Azriel’s embrace and rushed to Nesta with outstretched arms.

“You came!” she cried out happily, pulling Nesta into a hug.

Nesta didn’t respond to the embrace and noted coolly,

“Yes. I had to resort to asking Cassian for help to get to you.”

Elain pulled away and looked at her guiltily.

“I am sorry, Nesta. I’ve just been busy. It’s been,”

Nesta interrupted Elain’s babbling with a curt, “Why are you naked?”

Elain looked down and then pulled the hem of her t-shirt down, squirming under Nesta’s scrutiny. 

Good.

“Go get dressed,” Nesta ordered. 

Elain swallowed and ducked her head, murmuring, “oh, okay’.

Ruhn’s bright blue eyes sized Nesta up and down, his gaze both brazen and icy, and as he folded his arms on his chest, he said,

“What do you want for brekkie, beautiful?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Elain mumbled. “I’ll make something. Nesta, will you stay for breakfast?” she asked hopefully. “Cass, you too,”

“He doesn’t have to stay,” Nesta cut in.

Azriel cleared his throat and despite his near-nakedness, his voice and stature carried their usual authority,

“Welcome to our home, Nesta. Make yourself comfortable. Obviously per my wife’s request, Cassian will stay for breakfast.”

The order was clear. The authority that he immediately bestowed upon Elain was unquestionable. Nesta pursed her lips and then said, 

“I’ll come with you, Elain,”

Elain beamed and nodded. 

Nesta could see that her sister was genuinely excited to see her, and she felt almost bad for being as short as she was with her. Elain was soft and silly and forgiving. The three men though…Nesta felt the dark gaze of Azriel King on her at all times. As usual, he said little, but he watched her with his wife, and there was a silent threat in his posture that should she step out of line, there would be repercussions. Ruhn had a similar look about him, even less friendly. His head was cocked to the side, the long silky black hair streaming down his form, making it look like he was swathed in shadows. 

“Do you like our house?” Elain threaded her arm with Nesta’s and spoke excitedly. “I love it! We have a pool too and a garden. I planted tomatoes when I moved in, and zucchini and cucumbers,”

“I’ll get us some tomatoes for breakfast, sweetheart,” Ruhn said casually, and Elain smiled and nodded, looking at him with love and pride. He in turn, looked at her like she was the only thing in the world–the one thing that mattered to him. And as shocked as Nesta was by the raw hunger and adoration that she saw on Ruhn’s face, when she glanced at both Azriel and Fenrys, she saw something similar. Protectiveness and caution, and ravenous desire. It was sexual. But not only. It was the look of love. 

Fenrys mosied over, and draped his arm over Elain’s shoulders, pulling her to him. 

So, the three little kings weren’t going to leave their pretty princess alone with the viper. Nesta understood the silent threat. 

Fenrys pressed his lips to Elain’s head and she looked up at him, looking completely besotted. 

What the hell was going on? 

Just as they reached the stairs which led to the landing and the vast semi-open second floor, Elain was suddenly whirled and pulled out from between Nesta and Fenrys. Azriel, looking like some dark ancient god, stood there, his naked body rippling with strange, impatient energy. Without sparing anyone a glance, his eyes firmly on Elain, he cupped her face between his mangled hands and smashed their lips together. Elain whimpered and fell into the kiss, clutching at his massive arms, her body melding into his. Nesta knew that she was currently making the ‘surprised Pikachu face’ at the uncontrolled desire that the normally placid Azriel was displaying towards her sister. He was famously impossible to read and at meetings, no one knew what he was thinking. But here he was, lapping at Elain’s tongue like a starving man, mashing their mouths together, holding her so close to him, it must have been suffocating her. Elain didn’t care. She clutched and ran her fingers over his skin, and when he pushed her ever closer, her t-shirt rose up and Nesta could see everything…her bare ass, oh god…even the wetness between her thighs and a tattoo! A tattoo! On Elain. In a very intimate spot, right under her butt cheek. Who tattooed her there??

Fenrys was smirking at the kissing couple, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip, admiring Elain’s nakedness, her long legs, her bare butt, and absolutely everything else that was on display. Azriel kissed like his life depended on it, and Nesta was left standing in scandalised horror at everything she was seeing. 

“She ain’t going off to war, brother,” Fenrys laughed. “Just upstairs to put on a pair of knickers.”

Azriel ignored him, continuing to kiss his wife with lips and teeth and tongue, licking and sucking and laving on her. 

“Imagine living here full time,” Fenrys complained dramatically and loudly to Nesta, in futile hope of forcing a smile out of her. She just crossed her arms on her chest and stood still and ramrod straight, waiting.

“If you want to have a cup of coffee with Cass,” Fenrys began, but she cut him off and snapped,

“I’d rather not.”

At last, Azriel and Elain tore away from each other, though he still held her in his arms, his other hand squeezing her jaw. 

“That’s my girl,” he breathed. “What are you?”

“Yours,” she panted.

“Mine.”

He stroked her face and kissed her again.

“Wear something of mine, flower,” he requested.

“Yes. And Ruhn’s,” she nodded. 

Then, he whispered something in her ear, which Nesta couldn’t hear.

But Elain blushed and squirmed, while he smiled and pecked her lips again. 

You waddle today.

Upstairs, Nesta found a large open library and there was a grand piano in there as well.

“Who plays?” she asked, even if she didn’t mean to.

“Az plays very well,” Fenrys said, his tone serious. “Ruhn plays as well.”

Nesta couldn’t hide her surprise, “They play the piano?” 

“We don’t just blow shit up,” Fenrys said. “Az plays,”

Elain opened the door to one of the bedrooms and before she could say anything, Nesta barged inside. Surprisingly, Fenrys stayed behind and didn’t follow.

It was a large, but not too large room with soothing grays and blues and beiges, and a very big unmade bed. In the middle, between rumpled sheets, Nesta spotted Mwah-Mwah. She couldn’t believe that Elain dragged her weirdo toy with her and made her husband sleep with it in their marital bed. But what gave her pause was the three distinct impressions on the bed. Three. Side by side. Not two.

“I am so happy you came,” Elain skipped about, pleased and happy with life, smiling. “What do you think,”

“What is going on, Elain?” Nesta demanded.

Elain stopped rummaging in a dresser and pulled out a pair of man’s undershorts.

“What’s going on?” she shrugged, as she put them on.

“You tell me?” Nesta ordered. “You parade in front of all those men naked!”

“I wasn’t naked!” Elain argued, blushing.

“Yes you are. I could see your naked ass. So could Ruhn and Fenrys. And Ruhn was touching you–inappropriately!” Nesta was almost shouting, her normally pale skin turning red. “You have a freakin’ tattoo on your butt! You are…” she swallowed her horror and then hissed, “leaking!”

Elain gasped and took an involuntary step backwards, while Nesta gathered more steam and moved at her. Elain stood there, clutching a bra in her hands, and Nesta continued,

“You are acting like a whore! Do you think a husband would like that? You showing off in front of other men, displaying your body? What is wrong with you?”

“Shut up,” Elain hissed, and Nesta noticed tears brimming in her eyes. Whenever Elain became frustrated and embarrassed, she always cried angry tears. She couldn’t help it. Nesta knew it, and pushed again.

“Your job is to be a quiet wife to Azriel, and give him sons. Not strut around like a hooker,”

“I am in my house!” Elained cried out. 

“No, you are in his house,” Nesta laughed coldly. “He bought you and you are in his house,”

“He didn’t buy me!”

“Certainly did,” Nesta shrugged and glanced around, while Elain swallowed silent tears.

“He loves me,”

“You are so stupid,” shaking her head, Nesta noticed a genuine Renoir on the wall. The chunky woman on the canvas looked like Elain. “Men like Azriel don’t love stupid girls. Dumb, naive girls who think that he is a prince Charming who came to rescue them.”

Nesta was laughing, rolling her eyes dramatically.

“He does love me,” Elain insisted, her voice so soft, Nesta barely heard her.

“No, Elain. Men like Azriel don’t love anyone. He’ll use you for sex–as he should–he’ll make you a baby and you’ll be a good wife to him. Don’t make him angry with your silly behaviour,” Nesta snapped her fingers. “Put some nice clothes on and don’t let him see you like this,” she wrinkled her nose. “You look unkempt! Why are you wearing this huge t-shirt and his underwear?”

“I am in my home, Nesta!” Elain’s voice got harder as she repeated herself and she whirled around. “And screw you!”

It was Nesta’s turn to step back. Elain never said anything of the sort to her. 

Grabbing a brush, Elain angrily ran it through her tangled hair and then continued,

“I am in my house and I will dress the way I want to. Besides, I just took a bath and haven’t even gotten a chance to brush my hair. You think that I am stupid and naive–well, I am not!”

Nesta smirked coldly and raised her brow,

“You are,”

“No, I am not!” Elain threw back, her brown eyes gleaming with anger. “Unlike you, Nesta, I managed to not only get married to the most powerful don in New York, but I have my own business, which is successful enough for me to start considering expansion,”

“Don’t you dare!”

“You are not the one to tell me what to do anymore,” Elain pointed the brush at her, “you are not the one to tell me what I can and can’t do!

“And yeah, I know you are jealous, because I not only married before you, but he fucking loves me. Blah, blah–Azriel doesn’t love. Bullshit! He does. And he loves me. He, in fact, adores me, because I am his wife and what he always wanted.

“Sorry you haven’t been able to find anyone who feels the same about you,”

“Fuck you, Elain,”

“No, you just turn everyone away. You turned him away too,”

Nesta chewed the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

“I didn’t want Azriel!” she tossed indifferently. 

“You are lying,” Elain braided her hair, “because I know that when you went on a date with him, you were enchanted. Hopeful. But your disgusting attitude is your biggest enemy. There are good men out there–Lorcan, Cassian–,”

“Fuck Cassian!”

“No, Cassian is a good man. But you are too proud to admit it, because you think you are better than everyone. You are miserable because you don’t allow yourself to love anyone, and no one is accepted by you. Even those who try to love you are rejected and discarded,”

“What do you know?!” Nesta cried out, her hand itching for a slap. 

“I know everything about you. And I know where you hurt. And how you ache. I know you want to be loved, just like everyone else. And it kills you to see that Az fell in love with me,”

“He did not,”

“He did,” Elain nodded thoughtfully. “From the first glance too. He saw me and I saw him and we both knew. Yeah, and the reason I am leaking, as you put it so delicately, is because I had sex!”

Nesta pursed her lips and said, “I don't need details.”

“Seems like you do. Guess what, I have sex with my handsome, powerful, wealthy husband. Who loves me. With whom I share my house, my body and my life. Oh, and I don’t have to ask him for permission to expand my business. I’ll do it and he’ll believe in me and will support me. Can you say the same about anyone in your life?”

Elain marched back to the door and threw over her shoulder,

“And this is our house. Where he and I and our boys live,”

“Your boys?”

“Yes, indeed. And we’ll fill this house with children and happiness,”

“I told you you were dumb and naive,” Nesta snorted.

“No. I just make my life what I want it to be.”

Fenrys was standing propped against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed on his chest. At least he put on a t-shirt. Otherwise, Nesta wasn’t sure if she could handle any more of this nudity.

“Hi babygirl,” he winked at her, but his dark eyes skimmed Elain over, clearly searching for signs of distress. “All good?”

“Oh look, the princess needs her bodyguard,” Nesta rolled her eyes. “Checking on me? Making sure that I didn’t upset the precious princess?”

“Elain is a queen,” Fenrys corrected coldly. And then handed over a piece of cloth, which was dangling off his finger.

“Oh, that’s Ruhnnie’s,” Elain muttered excitedly and pulled on a sleeveless shirt with deep armholes over her current t-shirt. She took a deep whiff and murmured, “smells so good.”

Fenrys smiled, but didn’t comment, and then gave her a leather belt, helping her style her ridiculous outfit. Nesta watched them silently. Elain wore Azriel’s shorts, Fen’s t-shirt and Ruhn’s shirt, and with a belt, it actually didn’t look bad–kind of an 80’s vibe, a la Flashdance. Not that Nesta would tell her that. 

Fenrys wrapped his arm around Elain possessively, and it dawned on Nesta that so far, Elain hasn’t been left alone for any period of time, other than when they were in the bedroom. One of the men was always on top of her, touching her, watching her, stroking her, hugging her, kissing her. How Azriel permitted this bullshit and how he could stand it, Nesta had no idea. 

“What the hell are you wearing?” she finally couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

Elain looked down at herself and then said,

“The boys’ stuff,”

“You look insane!” Nesta threw her hands up.  “Why?”

Fenrys moved to stand between the two sisters, just a discrete step, but he half-shielded Elain with his body.

“Because I like the smell,” Elain said blankly. 

“You like the smell?”

“Yes,” Elain nodded. “I like the way my husbands’ smell,”

Nesta’s breath caught in her throat and she sputtered, 

“Husbands? What husbands? What is happening!”

Elain blushed and quickly corrected,

“I said ‘husband’...the way my husband smells,”

“You said ‘husbands’!” Nesta yelled.

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did!”

“Leave me alone. I said husband. I like the way my men smell. Sue me.”

“They are not your men!”

Fen huffed and laughed, but pulled Elain after him, refusing to interfere. 

They made it downstairs in sullen silence, and back in the kitchen, which was very beautiful, with gorgeous classic cabinets and lots of glass and stunning lighting, where the three men were busy cooking. 

Nesta stopped mid-step, when she beheld Cassian, who was wearing an apron and had his white shirt sleeves rolled up over his muscular, tattooed forearms. It didn’t hurt that he had the shirt open on his bronze chest, and there was a lock of his lustrous, jet-black hair that stubbornly fell over his forehead. If she could, she would help him with that. She would tuck it behind his ear, or retie it with his worn leather strap–yes, she noticed the leather strap a long time ago–but she couldn’t do any of those things.

“Girls, you ready to eat?” Cassian grinned at them, while he sliced fresh bread that was delivered to them every morning. Elain liked to bake her own bread, but she didn’t always have the time and the Italian bakery that the brothers owned provided them with incredible bread. 

“Cass, you know how to cook?” Elain asked, sliding onto the stool, while Nesta sat next to her, silent and straight, her hands on her lap.

“I do!” he nodded, “learned when I was in the Navy,” and then offered, “coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Elain nodded, while he chuckled and looked at Nesta,

“Nes?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Hmm,” he poured both of them coffee and set the cup in front of Nesta, murmuring seductively, “a little cream with your cup of darkness?”

“No thank you,” she growled at him, and then said with a saccharine smile, “I prefer green tea.”

“Hmmm,” he drawled again, while Azriel and Ruhn were watching and listening, trying to cover up their amusement. Ruhn was feeding Elain juicy tomato slices, which she gobbled up, while his fingers dripped with olive oil and he had her lick them.

Nesta gave them a side glance and groaned, “Gross. Stop.”

Cassian meanwhile reached over and grabbed a muffin from a basket in front of Nesta, deliberately reaching over her, while asking,

“Are you a top or a bottom, Nesta?”

She glared at him, while Elain smiled, knowing that Cassian was taunting her sister on purpose. He, for some reason, liked the sharp words and the snapping that Nesta doled out to him feely and eagerly.

He twisted the muffin and inhaled the whole top in one bite.

“I am a top,” he announced.

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Nesta said flatly. Then she added, “I don’t eat muffins.”

“Green tea, no coffee and no muffins,” Cassian whistled, as he slid a plump frittata onto a platter and the rest of the men piled around the counter, taking their seats. “Aren’t you a bundle of laughs!”

“Are all those bulging muscles compensating for something?” Nesta asked tartly.

He raised his brow and said,

“Everything is bulging on me, sweetheart.”

“You should get that checked out,” she recommended.

Fenrys snorted a laugh and Cassian chuckled, as he sat down and made himself comfortable.

Meanwhile, Azriel took a plate and loaded it with a generous piece of the frittata, tomato slices, as well as two fat, glistening mozzarella balls, which he drizzled with olive oil and then tore some basil over the whole plate. He set the plate in front of Elain, and smiled at her, and only then did the rest of them begin to pile their plates with the food. 

Nesta noted that the men definitely took care of Elain. They were attentive to her, and whenever she wanted something, she didn’t even need to say the words, and someone was already moving a sugar dish in front of her, or passing her the creamer, or the bread basket.

Nesta hardly ate, but she watched them–the friendly jabs and bickering between the four of them, and Cassian was also definitely part of the group. He called Elain by her name, and sometimes ‘petal’ and he teased her, and she took it well. He wasn’t the same with Elain as he was with her. There was a deference in him towards her sister, which Nesta found somehow bizarre. This huge muscular man, who was a former Navy Seal, or, as he once corrected her and told her that he was a ‘vet’ and not an ‘ex-Marine’, spoke to her silly sister kindly, but respectfully. When he joked, the jokes weren’t grating. Elain laughed openly. 

The whole thing was kind of strange. A choreographed dance of sorts. Cassian talked, but never touched. He was not refilling Elain’s plate, and if he offered her something, it went through one of the other men. They however touched Elain constantly, and catered to her like servants. Oblivious, as usual, Elain didn't notice anything. Nesta did. Nesta watched and saw everything. She saw Ruhn’s fingers skim over Elain’s neck, her shoulder, her own fingers. Nesta noticed how Azriel kept his hand on Elain’s thigh, and when she wasn’t actively eating, he took her hand and gently stroked the inside of her palm with his thumb. Fenrys tucked her hair, kissed her cheek, cuddled her like a dog, like a friendly wolf.

“What the fuck is happening here?”

Nesta’s voice was even, but loud and her pale blue eyes moved from one person to another around the counter.

Elain dropped her fork and looked at her.

“I repeat, what are you doing to my sister?” Nesta demanded. “Are you all fucking her?”

Cassian choked on his drink and kept his mouth shut.

“And you know!” she hissed at him, her eyes boring into his. 

Azriel sipped his espresso slowly, unlike his usual way of just chugging it. Then, he brought Elain’s hand to his lips and kissed it.

“Nesta, please remember that you are in my wife’s house,” he said casually, but sternly. There wasn’t a threat in his tone, but a hint of warning. “And she will be respected in her own home. Regardless of your personal feelings on the matter.”

“The agreement was–she marries you, provides you with an heir, and your family unites with ours,” Nesta reminded him.

“And I do believe that at least two of those things have happened–we married and united our families. We’ll have a child when we are ready.”

“You should be ready now.”

He sighed and stroked Elain’s hand, while she squirmed in her seat.

“Nesta, you speak boldly for someone who isn’t even dating,” Azriel reminded her in turn.

Nesta flushed,

“That’s none of your business.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But neither is your sister’s marriage your business,”

“She is my sister,”

“And she is my wife,”

“This was a political arrangement,”

“Which turned into a happy union,” Azriel stated flatly. “I love Elain. So do my brothers. That’s all you need to know.”

“You love her? After a month?” Nesta laughed dryly. 

“Why can’t he love me?” Elain murmured, but Nesta waved her off dismissively.

It was then that she caught Cassian’s dark gaze. He wasn’t eating, but watching her.

“What are you looking at?” she snarled.

He cocked his brow, as if surprised that she dared to challenge him, and then said calmly, but fiercely,

“I am looking at someone who is in her sister’s house and still doesn’t know her place. Someone who thinks that she can command the situation, when she has no power here. Someone who treats her sister like dirt. Your sister is a smart woman, Nesta. Something you fail to recognise in your attempt to belittle her and continue to oppress her with your presence and your influence. Elain is smart and thoughtful. She is kind, she loves my cousins more than anything, and cares for them and for all of us. Elain is our family. I’ll be damned if I allow you to speak to her like she doesn’t have a voice of her own.

“It’s none of your business if and when she is going to have a kid. You certainly ain’t going to tell Azriel King when he ought to have one and whether his marriage and the alliance between the families are legit. 

“It also, frankly, isn’t your business what happens in this family. Elain can make those decisions herself,”

Nesta did not avert her eyes from the man across from her and then moved her head slowly and looked at Azriel. Dismissal. Pure dismissal.

“I appreciate that you give this much leeway to your security guards and to your butlers,” she said calmly, “and they speak freely on your behalf,”

At that, it was Elain who snarled at last,

“Nesta. Fenrys is my brother-in-law. You will treat him as such. He isn’t a fucking butler! And you know it. Cassian is the head of security operations for the King Enterprises–he is a Navy Seal, a veteran, and you will show him respect, as he’s shown you. He is also my family, as I am married to his cousin. He is also your family, albeit indirectly. You may dislike Rhys, but you do not speak to him in this manner. You will not speak like this to Cassian either. If you are unable to control yourself and your emotions, there is nothing else to talk about.”

Ruhn and Fenrys exchanged wild glances between each other, and Cassian’s mouth quivered in a smile. The flower girl could be fierce when she wanted to be. 

“Perhaps it’s time for me to go,” Nesta rose from her stool.

Elain followed her and in the same cold, unyielding tone said, “Perhaps. If you wish to visit again, let me know in advance.”

Cassian got up and said,

“I’ll walk you back.”

“Don’t bother,” Nesta threw.

Yet again, Elain stopped her and said firmly,

“Nesta, we have security protocols in place. You cannot leave unescorted.”

“I am your sister! What do you think,”

“It’s irrelevant,” Elain shrugged. “Cassian will take you back. Also, you wouldn’t be able to leave without him. He has to open the doors for you.”

The three Kings got up and Azriel politely inclined his head and said,

“It was nice seeing you, Nesta.”

“Yeah, thanks for coming!” Ruhn’s smirk was chilly. He barely said anything at all this morning.

Cassian approached, and then removed the blindfold from him pocket,

“You know the drill, Nes. Hope you like it kinky.”

“Idiot,” Nesta ripped the blindfold from his hand–noticing how warm and large his palm was against her fingers–and then put it on.

Elain, who would’ve usually gone in for a hug, did not this time and just said,

“Thank you for visiting. If you need to talk, let me know.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Cassian threaded Nesta’s arm through his and said,

“Thank you for breakfast, Elain. It was…unforgettable.”

Nesta wanted to tell him that he was a dick, but she remained silent. 

They’d gone back the same long and convoluted way as before, though Cassian remained quiet. When, at last, they were inside an air conditioned space, he said, “you can take the blindfold off”. She tore it off her face and thrust it back in his hand, while pulling away from him aggressively.

Ready to stomp away, she was stopped, when that heavy warm hand lay on her shoulder and he pressed on her to stay in place.

“What?” she cried. “What do you want?”

His beautiful face was sombre and he said seriously,

“Your feelings for me are your own, Nesta. It’s fine. I can’t make you like me. But I wanted you to know–yes, I am Az’s cousin and work for him–but I work for Elain too. And if I ever thought for a moment that she was mistreated in some manner, that she was being taken advantage of, or unhappy, I need you to know that I would pull her out. No matter what, I am loyal to her too. Rowan and I would never allow her to be in harm’s way–even from them. I hope that offers you peace of mind.”

Nesta bit her lip and looked up at him. He towered over her–big and gorgeous and powerful–his face sincere and open. Him, Nesta trusted. Maybe not the wiley Azriel, or the psychotic Ruhn, or the wild Fenrys. But Cassian…Cassian she trusted.

“Thank you,” was all she said.

*

Elain liked t-shirts.

Her men’s t-shirt to be exact. She didn't wear them outside and didn’t like them all that much prior to marrying Azriel, but now…oh, there was something so special and desirable about them. The guys wore nice, high quality stuff, which wasn’t surprising–cotton that was as soft as a cloud, nicely cut, and putting them on was akin to biting into a freshly made doughnut–all pillowy softness and pleasure.

She collected them (or, as Fen said ‘stole’), and had a neat pile in her closet, pillorying them once one of the men wore it and saturated the material with his scent. 

Once Nesta left, Elain found herself in a bad mood, and the men realised it quickly. Therefore, no one attempted to stop her when she locked herself in her bedroom for a while, sorting through her t-shirts and being silent. Her stomach hurt and she felt her insides, as if they had been rearranged. Which of course they were, by Azriel’s massive dick. It ached and hurt, and her mood soured even further.

Yeah, she was never going to have sex again, she decided. 

She also craved pizza and when she looked at her phone, it wasn’t even 10AM yet. The thought of cheesy, saucy, sizzling goodness, that bubbled and dripped off perfectly thin, soft crust made her teary eyed, and soon, she found herself weeping in her closet, as she sorted through stuff aimlessly, knowing that Nesta would never change and never find happiness, and also, what if she was right, and Azriel was just playing and didn’t even love her. 

The door to her bedroom opened and she heard footsteps. She wiped her face angrily and next thing she knew, Azriel, fully dressed in his usual Italian suit was sliding on the floor next to her. He wrapped his arm around her carefully and then gently kissed the top of her head.

“Flower, why are you crying?” he asked gently.

Elain offered a small sad sob in response.

“Did Nesta say something mean to you?”

She nodded.

“What?”

“She said that you didn’t love me,” she whispered miserably. “That I was stupid to believe it. That men like you didn’t love anyone.”

He sighed, and lightly stroked the side of her neck with his thumb.

“Nesta is right, you know,”

Elain whipped her face to him and glared at him in shock.

She gasped, “What!?”

“She is correct,” he nodded. “Men like me don’t love anyone. But, you broke the mould. You made me fall in love with you. Ardently and irreversibly.”

He cupped her cheek and looked at her.

“I love you. I am in love with you. In every manner you want me to, I would love you.”

Elain was weeping openly, her big brown doe eyes wet and glistening with tears, which fell off her long black lashes. 

“It’s true?” she breathed.

“As true as I could be about anything,” he admitted with a smile. “Now, be my good girl and wipe your tears. Tell me, is it PMS time?”

Elain stared at him dumbly, and then it dawned on her. 

It’s been a month. She had her wedding right after her last period, making sure to plan it so that if she needed to sleep with Azriel on her wedding night, she wouldn’t be bleeding. Azriel, as it turned out, was even more unbelievable, kind, thoughtful and attentive than she could’ve ever imagined. Azriel wasn’t the one to rush her. He wasn’t the one to force her or pressure her. Azriel was freakin’ amazing and she thought that she never gave him the credit that he deserved. 

She threw her arms around his neck and began to cry loudly and dramatically into his cheek, drooling and slobbering all over his pressed shirt. She didn’t care. She couldn’t stop.

He held her to him, smiling into her hair, rocking her against him.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he said again. “But why are you crying like that? Calm down, my love,”

“I don’t want to calm down!” she exclaimed ferociously.

Azriel knew that telling an Italian woman to calm down was guaranteed to be as successful as baptising a cat. Therefore, he didn’t insist. 

He held her, kissing her softly, lamenting the fact that he wasn’t going to have any sex for at least another week, which sucked, because last night…

He didn’t want to come off as a horny prick who only cared about sex, but he was a horny prick who cared about sex. Very much. He very, very, very much wanted to have sex with Elain. Lots of sex. All the time. That’s all he was thinking about–sex with Elain. Because, as he found out, sex with Elain was just about as close to a religious experience as he’d ever had. While Fenrys scoffed at ‘virgin sex’ and called it a ‘big blah’ and compared it to performing delicate surgery, Azriel found virgin sex to be fucking amazing! Maybe because it was sex with Elain, but it destroyed him. Emotionally and physically, it rendered him barely coherent. Her tight, slick pussy was indescribable, and yes, technically, a hole was a hole, and he’d been in numerous, but he would insist until his dying breath that Elain’s was different. Everything about Elain was different. Because it was his. Elain was his. 

“Are you going to go to work today, darling?” he asked at last, slowly wiping her tears with his thumbs. “Or do you want to stay home?”

She hiccuped and whispered, 

“I am going to work.”

He kissed her lips and tipped her chin.

“Do you want Fen to take you? He is running a job, and it’s on the way.”

“I want to run a job with him!” she demanded immediately.

Azriel smiled and said,

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“No, why?”

Azriel got up and pulled her with him. 

“Because he is not even running a job,” he corrected, and she raised her arms, so he could take her t-shirts off. “He is just scouting locations.”

Azriel’s eyes dipped down at Elain’s nearly nude body. She’d put on a bra, but when he pulled his shorts down her thighs, he found her naked underneath. There was an imprint of someone’s teeth on her thigh, and her soft, bare folds were still slightly swollen and very pink. The sight of her luscious body ignited both lust and regret in him, since he knew that she was battered last night, and yet took it all like a trooper. 

He kissed her again, and fighting everything inside himself not to touch her and kiss her and spread her out right there, on the carpet in the closet and fuck her brutally, he rummaged in the drawers and took out a pair of undies for her. 

“Put these on, flower. Before I wreck this pussy and you wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while,” he ordered savagely, his eyes smouldering. Elain swallowed hard, and he watched her nippled harden beneath the lace of her bra. Her arousal drifted up to him and he inhaled deeply, scenting her absurdly delectable smell. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who was affected by pheromones? 

She did as he told her, wordlessly dressing, while he folded the t-shirts, knowing that they would be going into her private pile. 

“Why the t-shirts, Laney?” he asked curiously, but without judgement.

Elain slipped on a pink flowery dress and said,

“I like the way they smell. I need your scents near me at all times,”

“Curious,” he muttered. He was the one who wanted Elain’s scent on him, the scent of her perfume, her hair, her delicious pussy. 

She shrugged, and then took his hand and led him out of the closet.

“It’s because we are mates!” she declared with conviction.

“Is that it?

“Yeah. I think with Fen, we are soulmates. With Ruhn we are heartmates. And with you we are bound mates. We can never be separated.”

She was saying all of this with great sincerity and understanding, as if these were truths obvious to everyone. 

“And who bound us as mates?” Azriel queried, sort of fascinated by the strange conversation and Elain’s thought process.

“I dunno,” she shrugged. “God? The Goddess? The Forces that Be?”

“The Forces that Be?”

“Yeah…like the Universe. I think that when the stars are born, they explode and bits of that celestial fire floats in the Universe, looking to find another ember from the same star. And if they are very lucky, after a long, long time, they find each other…in creatures such as us. Because what are we, if not stardust and fire and spirit? And they burn together, with love and familiarity, because they came from the same source and never ceased to look for one another.”

She sighed and added,

“At least that’s what I believe.”

“That’s very beautiful, Elain,” Azriel said seriously.

“So you are my ember, Azriel. My star.”

 As soon as they descended the stairs, ‘Good Days’ by Nappy Roots blasted from the speakers and suddenly, there was Ruhn and Fenrys, both dressed for the day, dancing a choreographed dance, huge grins on their faces.

Elain stopped abruptly, glaring at them wide-eyed.

“Oh lord,” Azriel moaned behind her, laughing and shaking his head, while his brothers stepped in perfect unison. He whipped out his phone and began filming.

“I will never let them live this one down,” he muttered.

“It’s for you, babygirl,” Fenrys announced loudly. “We wanted to cheer you up!”

“Are you guys on TikTok?” she gasped in awe.

Ruhn, who performed his dance routine with a lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, smirked and said,

“Not on TikTok, but for you, we’ll make fools of ourselves.”

Well, that caused another flood of tears, as Elain leapt into their arms and they squished her between their bodies, while promising to teach her their dance, which she already decided was going to be their ‘family dance’ and Azriel was required to learn it too.

“What are we gonna do? Dance this at weddings and bar-mitzvahs?” he pondered in confusion.

“Yes! This will be known as the Kings’ Dance!”

*

Somehow, Fenrys was able to fit his 6”5 frame into a Mini Cooper, his preferred vehicle in the city,  and he looked quite comfortable, switching gears quickly and driving fast. The upholstery was some kind of version of the Union Jack–as expected–and there were Arsenal-related stickers and stuff clipped to the dashboard. He’d named the car ‘Winston’. 

“When we have a son, we’ll name him Winston,” he informed Elain.

“No.”

“Why not? It’s a good name!” to somehow prove his point, he showed Elain his forearm, where he had a tattoo, which she was well familiar with.

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal, it is the courage to continue that counts.”

“We are not naming our son Winston,” she repeated.

“But we are having a son?” he pushed happily.

“I am guessing we are. But we can have Winston as the second name,” she allowed.

Fenrys grinned happily and nodded. 

“I can work with that, baby. And speaking of babymaking–are we still setting up Nes and Cass?”

Elain shuddered and grimaced.

“Oh…”

He teased, “what, not so eager now? Come on, they are like two peas in a pond…a very poisonous, dangerous pod,”

Elain rubbed her hand over her face. 

“Today was a disaster…”

“Oh, I don’t know. Seemed pretty normal for when Nesta is involved. Good thing Cass is a teflon don–nothing penetrates that thick hide of his. He can take it. And he loves it.”

“I worry about her,”

“Yeah, but she needs to find herself and her path in life on her own. You won’t be able to help her. Neither will Cassian. She ain’t gonna be ready till she is ready.”

“And when is that going to be?”

“I don’t know. All I know is: keep reaching out to her. That’s all we can do.”

Elain sighed deeply and sorrowfully. 

For a few minutes they drove in silence, and whole Fenrys thought that she might start discussing Nesta further, instead, Elain perked up.

“Are we going on the job?” she asked impatiently, and he barked a loud laugh.

“Why are you like that, babygirl?” he questioned, “always tempting me into doing naughty things? You don't feel bad that Az would beat the shit out of me if I took you on a job without permission?”

She huffed with indignation and reminded him,

“I am a free woman and I can go on jobs if I want to. He can’t stop me.”

Fenrys was laughing and she pushed him angrily.

“What’s the job anyway?” 

“That’s the thing,” he sighed, as he took a swift turn and Elain almost face planted on the window. “It’s not a job yet. It’s me playing a game of where-the-fuck-is-Eris? Do you know who he is?”

“Yeah, Eris Vanserra–Beron’s and Immacolata’s son. Their heir.”

“Yep,” Fenrys was dodging cars like nobody’s business, stealing Elain’s breath every time he made a wild turn, “and from what we gathered, Eris pissed off Lorcan Salvaterre. Seems like Lorcan put a price on Eris’s head and Eris went into hiding. What we are trying to do is find where he is hiding,”

“Why do you care?”

Fenrys parked next to Elain’s shop and pulled the car break.

He turned and explained,

“Have you read Sherlock Holmes?”

Elain scratched her head and then nodded.

“Yes.”

“Do you remember Sherlock’s main adversary?”

“Professor Moriarty?” she stated immediately and earned a proud smile from Fenrys.

“Indeed! You know how he was described?”

Before he could say anything further, Elain said quickly,

“Like a spider, sitting in the middle of the web, observing and pulling multiple strings,” she continued, watching Fen’s face light up in amazement. 

“You’ll never cease to surprise me, Elain Moonbeam King,” he murmured proudly and then pulled her into a hot, adoring kiss.

Once he let her go, he said,

“Basically, you are married to Professor Moriarty. Congratulations!”

“Am I?”

“Azriel is the spider that sits in the heart of the web that he’s weaved–observing silently, making no moves until he is sure and ready, pulling all the strings.

“Now, he wants to see who he can use–Eris or Lorcan–and how it would be advantageous to us. But first, I have to find Eris and see what’s what.”

“The Vanserras are not to be trusted,” Elain warned. “My father’s dealt with them before, and it wasn’t pretty. Lorcan though…I think he is okay.”

“Is it because you went on dates with him?” Fenrys drawled, his tone acidic. 

“Oh god, you are not going to be jealous of Lorcan now?!” Elain took her bag, as she rolled her eyes, and opened the door. 

He grabbed her hand and asked,

“Did he kiss you?

“Fenrys!”

“It’s not a hard fucking question, baby,”

“Yes! Yes he kissed me. Happy now?”

“No. Not at all. Not even fucking a little bit. I can’t believe you let that broody monster kiss you!”

“Ugh, excuse me?! Don’t even start with me, Fen. You’ve probably fucked hundreds of women. And as a reminder, I married another broody monster. Suppose I have a type?”

“I can’t believe that Lorcan is your type.”

He was huffing and snorting, as he was muttering,

“Now I am going to drive all angry, thinking of that huge fella’s tongue in your mouth.”

“Eww, you are gross. And you owe me a job!”

“Didn’t you lose the dance off?” he goaded her annoyingly, and then laughed out loudly when she was about to unleash a wave or rage at him, and curse Enalius in terrible ways, since she blamed him for voting against her in the dance off.  “Oops, can’t stay, babe! Gotta go. Gotta find Eris the Red. Boom. Boom. See ya later, sweet cheeks.”

Elain stomped into the shop, which was thankfully empty right this minute and exclaimed,

“I hate them all!”

Behind the counter, Nuala was laughing at her. 

“I heard Nesta visited. Seems like you had a fine morning.”

*

It was Saturday and there was no football. A tragedy, for the season was over. 

On the plus side, Elain could sleep a little longer. On the minus side, there was no football. 

When he woke up, she was alone in the bed. All night she was pressed between Azriel and Fenrys, and waking up without being surrounded by their powerful, firm bodies was…weird. Unsettling. 

She reached for the phone and gasped, because it was almost eleven in the morning. She must have been very tired, because she never slept that late. There were three texts waiting for her, all with the same message ‘at the gym’. Elain smiled, amused by how they all felt the need to ‘report’ to her, and make sure that she didn't worry about them. So she played on her phone a little bit and then went to take shower. 

By the time she was done, she heard noises from downstairs, and assumed that the guys were back. In her closet, she dressed in her underwear, settling on a practical set and not the lacy scandalous La Perla sets that Azriel kept gifting her. 

Opening the drawers, Elain stopped, looking inside. Heart beating a million miles a second, horror washing over her. Azriel’s t-shirts! The t-shirts that she wore…the ones with his scent on them…and Ruhn’s! And Fen’s! What the fuck?!?! Where were the t-shirts that smelled like her men? 

They were in the drawer. Neatly folded. Laundered. Smelling like fucking baby powder, or lavender, or a pink bear, or whatever the hell they were smelling like, but Elain let out a sorrowful wail and burst into tears. She gathered the t-shirts to her chest, sobbing at the loss of the familiar scents, barely noticing the stampede that shook the house, as Fenrys burst into the bedroom like a charging rhino. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he shouted, making his way into the closet.

She couldn’t speak, sobbing and only showing him the ruined t-shirts, displaying them like some pagan sacrifice.

“What’s wrong, honey? What is it?” he grabbed her face between his hands and peered down, trying to ascertain what got her so upset.

Ruhn was next–running into the closet and almost swiping the two of them off their feet.

“Beautiful! What is going on? Why the fuck are you crying…” he demanded, throwing a furious glance at Fenrys. “What did he do?!?”

“I didn’t do shit!” Fenrys snapped at him. 

“I…I…” she hiccupped, “I wan–nn–t my t-shirts…”

Both men’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“What t-shirts, sweetness?” Ruhn asked gently, stroking her head. 

“My…my…the t-shirts…yours…” she babbled incoherently.

They crowded her, stroking her, and purring softly, like they usually did when she was upset.

None noticed Azriel, who walked in silently and watched the scene in front of him for a few seconds, before pulling his black t-shirt over his head and handing it to Elain.

“Here, flower, is this good?” he asked, while the two men exchanged confused glances.

Elain grabbed the shirt from his hands and immediately pulled it on.

“Yes,” she nodded, her lower lip trembling.

“Give her your shirts,” he ordered immediately. Neither Ruhn nor Fenrys questioned the odd directive and just about tore off their shirts, handing them to Elain.

“I want more,” she demanded, grabbing them and pulling them one on top of the other.

“Okay, love, we’ll get you more,” Az promised calmly.

“Okay, I am tired,” she sighed, her tears disappearing at once, as if the shirts had a magic calming effect on her and she bypassed the three men and left them behind like nothing’s happened.

“What the heck?” Fen blew out a heavy breath.

“She is comforted by our scents,” Azriel shrugged, like this was totally normal. 

“Well, it’s weird, she is not a wolf or a tigress,”

“Well, she might be a tigress,” Ruhn argued under his breath.

Azriel chuckled.

“I think it’s PMS. Welcome to the world of married life, gents. I think this is just the beginning. Give her whatever the fuck she wants, and don’t argue. If it’s shirts that she needs, she is getting some shirts!”

“You don’t think that this is strange?” Ruhn cocked his brow, while he took one of Az’s t-shirts.

“It is what it is. If you guys haven’t figured it out yet, our El is a little different…We are a little different too. Our wife is made for us, and if she needs our scents, then so be it. It’s not like this is a normal situation, brothers.”

They went downstairs, where Elain was folded around a pillow on the sofa, still wearing the t-shirts, and nothing else but her underwear. 

“I want muffins,” she muttered, playing with the remote. “And soup,”

“What kind of soup?” Ruhn asked.

��Matzo ball,” she informed him immediately. “And cheese fries. And a cutlet,”

“A cutlet?”

“Yes, a CUTLET!!” she hissed viciously. 

Ruhn fell silent, before mouthing to Azriel, “what the fuck is a cutlet?”

“It’s like a meat thing,” Azriel offered unhelpfully.

“It’s a cutlet!” Elain yelled from the sofa angrily.

“Yes, yes, I know cutlet,” Ruhn assured her quickly.

“And I want a meat pie…” she glanced at Fenrys and added, “the English kind.”

“Okay baby, I’ll run to the chippy and get you a meat pie,” Fenrys told her easily.

“I love you,” she breathed, looking adoringly at him.

Ruhn threw him an envious, but angry look. Fucking Fenrys. 

Ruhn immediately asked, 

“Anything else you want, beautiful?”

She was still seething over the cutlet question, but finally, she relented and said, “maybe I want a creme brulee doughnut…no, I want meatloaf,”

“A doughnut and meatloaf then?” Ruhn was writing stuff down.

“No! I don’t want a doughnut! I am already chunky. You want me to be more chunky?”

Without missing a beat, or even looking up from the list, Ruhn said, “You are perfect, beautiful. You can never be too chunky or not too chunky,”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” she pouted. 

“Makes perfect sense to me. Anything else?”

“I want gelato and a cannoli and maybe pizza…I wanna watch a movie,” she concluded.

Azriel then rubbed his hands together and said,

“You get the British stuff,” he looked at Fen. “You get the Jewish/Italian stuff,”

“What about meatloaf?” Ruhn muttered, sounding almost scared. “And cutlet?”

“I am sure you can figure something out,” Azriel said lightly. “What movie do you want to watch, love?”

“The romantic one…” she sighed with a smile. “You know the one…where the classy doctor and the FBI lady meet and fall in love…” she cooed softly.

Azriel sat on the sofa next to her and put her feet on his lap, gently massaging them.

“Ohhh, that feels good,” she approved. “What about the movie, Az? You wanna watch it?”

“Of course, flower. Let’s watch ‘Silence of the Lambs’.”

“Yes!” she clapped excitedly. “I love it so! Isn’t it romantic?” 

He nodded, agreeing. “It really is romantic. They have a unique relationship,”

“Yes, yes,” she nodded, “it is unique!”

Then she thought for a second and added, her voice stern, “also, no one can touch my t-shirts. EVER.”

“Never, sweetheart,” Ruhn promised. “We’ll let the maids know.”

…When Ruhn returned home, laden with food packages–he managed to get a veal cutlet, creme brulee doughnuts, chocolate, beer and wine, and a dozen of cannoli, as well as a scalding hot tub of chicken matzo ball soup–he found the other three in various sprawling poses, in front of the TV, watching Twilight. Fenrys was using Elain’s ass as a comfy pillow, his cheek smooshed against it, as he was yelling at the screen, arguing about something with Azriel. 

“This is intense! New Moon Bella is too depressing,” Azriel complained.

“She is not coping well and using bad mechanisms to deal with the breakup,” Fenrys declared sagely. 

“Did she already go to Volterra?” Ruhn called out as he brought the packages into the kitchen.

“Ruhnnie! You brought food!” Elain squealed happily.

“Anything for you, my love.”

*

It was Monday morning and the rain had been pouring all night long. It was muggy and warm, and the French doors in the kitchen were open to the garden. Rain rolled over the lush greenery, Elain’s roses, petunias, the beds of forget-me-nots and splattered over tomato vines, ripening zucchini, while saturating the herb garden where rosemary bushes resembled Christmas trees in size and the basil perfumed the air and wafted all the way into the house. 

Elain and Azriel were at the breakfast table, Elain enjoying her big cappuccino and Azriel drinking an espresso, as he peered into the newspaper. They both heard the door open and Fenrys ran in, sweaty and sporting a tiny pair of shorts. 

Azriel glanced at him and snorted.

“Make sure the tip is contained, Fen.”

Elain laughed, while Fenrys made a beeline towards her and she didn’t mind feasting her eyes on his beautiful flesh, which was glistening with sweat and bulging with tense sinew in all the right places. 

“Oh, don’t drip all over the fucking table!” Azriel–a known neat freak–yelled, while Fenrys ignored him and came to stoop over Elain, grabbed the back of her head and kissed her stupid.

“Morning fam!” Ruhn entered the kitchen space as well, and then cocked his head, watching Elain and Fenrys.

“I thought you had your period, beautiful,” he noted, grabbing a handful of bacon and a cup of coffee. 

“It doesn’t stop me from kissing!” she protested breathlessly, once she finally pulled away from Fenrys. 

“No, it clearly doesn’t,” Ruhn agreed, while he grabbed the sports pages of Azriel’s paper.

“You look cute in glasses,” Elain smiled softly at him.

“Gorgeous, you know that this is a fucking secret from the world,” he warned, “and it doesn’t leave this house.”

She reached for him and rubbed her nose against his, kissing him and whispering,

“Never. Your weird little secret is safe with me. But you do look adorable in glasses!”

Ruhn fed her a strip of bacon and kissed her.

His fingers moved her long hair from her neck and he peeked at the back of her neck. There, he found his mark. His mark on Elain’s flesh, imprinted on her beautiful golden skin forever. Yesterday, they went to his studio and he tattooed the imprint of his teeth that he’d left on her during the defloration (which she insisted on calling ‘defoliation’). He chose a very pale, almost skin-tone colour to fill the tiny indents. Around the mark, he tattooed a sword–his sword–around which a rose vine wrapped tightly. His Elain, forever wrapped and intertwined with him and his fate. 

He kissed the tattoo tenderly, knowing that it was still sore. 

Fenrys gave him a look. Only his mark was missing.

Not yet, English boy. 

At once, their phones pinged with texts. Not Elain’s, but the three men’s. 

They looked at the messages and the atmosphere in the kitchen dropped by 20 degrees.

“Fuck.”

“Fuck.”

“Motherfucker.”

She straightened and looked between the three of her, her insides doing somersaults of worry and apprehension. These men rarely reacted like this to anything. But the tension in Ruhn’s shoulder, the frown on Fen’s face, and the twitching jowl in Azriel’s jaw were indicative enough of something being terribly amiss.

“I thought he wouldn't be back so soon,” Ruhn scrubbed his hand over his face.

“Who?” Elain demanded, “What is happening? Who is back?”

Fenrys sat down, forgetting to wipe himself, and sighed a deep, unhappy sigh.

“Az?” Elain repeated impatiently.

It was Fenrys who answered,

“The Old King,”

“What?”

“Our…father,” Azriel explained at last. “He is back. From Miami.”

Elain didn’t mean to, but her eyes fell in Ruhn’s tattooed arms at once. Now that she knew, she couldn’t unsee the scars beneath the colorful ink. 

“So what?”

“He wants to see us,” Azriel said, his voice lifeless.

It didn’t take a therapist to know that the trauma that these men had suffered from the hands of their father was profound and probably, everlasting.

“Do you have to see him?”

“It’s better that we do,” Fenrys said, and even though he almost never smoked, he reached for one of Ruhn’s cigarettes.

“Otherwise, he’ll come here,” Ruhn said. “And that’s not something we want. Not with you here.”

Elain had only met the Old King twice before–at the engagement and at the wedding.

He was a handsome, imposing man, tall like his sons, trim, with a dark, tanned face and black eyes. He certainly didn’t look like a monster who relished in abusing his children. But monsters rarely looked monstrous. 

“I’ll go,” Ruhn decided.

“You don’t have to,” Azriel interjected immediately.

“It’s alright,” Ruhn’s voice was steely, but also gentle, when he looked at Azriel. “I’ll be fine.”

“Ruhn, let’s go together.”

“I don’t think we should. That fucked up cunt is unpredictable. Seeing the two of us together might give him ideas…”

Elain’s heart clenched in fear. 

She didn’t want to keep pestering them with questions, seeing that this wasn’t a topic they wanted to discuss. She remained quiet, her appetite lost, as worry strangled her. Fear for Ruhn and what might be done to him was a thing that she didn’t think she’d feel so acutely, especially not about their father. But Ruhn’s scar-covered arms and Azriel’s mangled hands told another story entirely.

“Beautiful, you look like a little frightened doe,” Ruhn attempted to lighten the mood and kiss her, but she moved her head, and he landed on her cheek.

“You are being too cavalier, Ruhn King,” she snapped at him. “This isn’t a joke.”

“It’s not,” he agreed. “But we live until we live no more. And this is what we have to live with now.”

*

Mondays at the shop were quiet and tedious.

It was Nuala’s day off, since she usually worked one of the weekend days. Deliveries weren’t scheduled until Tuesday, and no one bought flowers on Mondays. It would’ve been logical to just close on Monday, but Elain usually found the day kind of calming, because she worked on recipes and on her plans for expansion into her pastry shop. 

For her wedding, Nesta actually bought Elain an adjacent storefront, which was zoned for food production. It used to be a deli, which has been closed for a while, and currently, it didn’t have much of anything, other than an antique marble counter with brass decorations and an old (antique was a stretch) display shelf. The counter Elain was definitely going to keep–it was gorgeous. The rest of it needed a lot of work, including the installation of a commercial-grade kitchen in the back. The plans excited her, and the fact that no one’s told her ‘no’ was just as exciting. Azriel didn’t really interfere in her business, or her plans, and for that, she was grateful. She knew that he was supportive of her doing something that was hers, and wasn’t keen on her stopping. He confessed once that he wasn’t looking for a housewife, or for a MWAG–a Mob Wife and/or Girlfriend. He actually did not mind having a wife who did something independently of him and made her own money. 

In the past month, a wide glass door was installed between the shop and the future bakery. It was an elegant door, which Elain had found in France and which was painstakingly taken apart, shipped here and reassembled, and now looked stunning. Yeah, there was nothing on the other side but an empty classic deli, but Elain was kind of in love with the door. However, today, nothing gave her joy–not the door, not the flowers, and not the plans. She’s had all of three customers, and when she was done with them, she just kept checking her phone. She readjusted the volume five or six times, worrying that maybe it was on mute, but it wasn’t, and there simply were no texts or calls. Not from Ruhn. 

The current customer, a nervous, lanky young man, who was buying a bouquet for a first date kept inquiring what was ‘too much’ or ‘too little’--as if Elain knew! Her only good, meaningful, enjoyable dates were with Lorcan Salvaterre–but she doubted that this twitchy fella was going to invite his date to a penthouse and make her pasta from scratch. So she suggested that he not worry, be ‘himself’, buy a good bottle of wine and put everyone at ease.

The doorbell chimed, alerting her to a new customer, just as she was wrapping the flowers in paper. She glanced over her shoulder and her heart leapt in her chest. Standing there, amidst the flowers and pastels, was Ruhn. 

Her customer took one look at the tattooed, muscled man, with all the piercings and the long shaved undercut of black hair, and blanched. He even made some kind of protective stance before Elain, shielding her from this new visitor, as if he stood a chance against someone like Ruhn. Elain was positive that Ruhn could just rip the man’s head from his shoulders–literally. So she took pity on her customer and said lightly,

“Ahhh, it’s my husband!”

“Hu-has–hasband?”

Clearly, the man couldn’t put two and two together, and kept looking between the two polar opposites who now occupied the shop.

Elain deftly wrapped the flowers and rang up the purchase, while watching Ruhn, who was leaning against the glass tiredly. She immediately noticed his scuffed hands, the bleeding knuckles, a fresh bruise on his neck. He was definitely hurt–she wasn’t sure if someone had hurt him, or if he was forced to hurt somebody. 

The man finally grabbed his bouquet and rushed out of the shop, with barely a ‘thank you’ on his lips. 

Elain hurried to Ruhn, but before she could start looking at his wounds, his cuts and bruises, he opened his arms and she stumbled right into his embrace. Every inch of him was taut and filled with nervous, or maybe murderous, energy. As her arms wrapped around his lean torso he became tense and clearly affected by their closeness.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly, kissing his shoulder.

He pressed her head to his chest and held her there.

“I want my wife,” he confessed, his voice hoarse and needy, his arms tightening around her and tucking her closer. They stood there, the noise of New York traffic just beyond the threshold of the shop the only interruption.

“Did he hurt you?” Elain cupped his face between her hands and looked intently at his uniquely handsome face, the luminous blue eyes not quite as bright as always, but muddy and shadowed in internal pain. She traced his powerful, but delicate jaw with her finger and he dipped his head to kiss it. 

“It’s alright, beautiful,”

“It’s not,” she argued stubbornly. “It’s not okay for you to be in this pain,”

“My dad is a violent, ruthless cunt,” Ruhn said bluntly. “It is what it is,”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she insisted. Ruhn didn’t say anything further, and only pressed his forehead to hers. Elain inhaled the familiar scent of cigarettes and leather, and Ruhn’s eyes closed, as he pulled her deep into his lungs as well, and she felt his cock stirring inside his expensive jeans, pressing into her belly.

“Ruhn,” she breathed, as her breasts filled in and became heavy and tight from their proximity. 

“I know you are bleeding,”

“I am,” she nodded.

“And we are in the middle of the city,”

“We are,”

“Inside a shop that’s open for business,”

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself of something?” she pondered.

He struggled to breathe, panting against her face, and as he pulled her even closer, she keened into the solid strength of his body, craving the heat of him that was emanating through his shirt.

Those amethyst-blue eyes lit up, the shadows finally lifting and he whispered again, as he took a step inside the shop, pulling her against him, “I want my wife. Just for myself. For a little bit…”

“You have me,” she offered openly, her full lips parting with anticipation and an invitation. Ruhn’s thumb traced her indent of Cupid’s bow, and the sensual arch of her lower lip, as he watched her mouth with palatable hunger. “I am your wife,” she continued, “and when you need me, when you want me–I am yours.”

He finally pushed both of them to one of the side counters, where there were buckets full of flowers, and rolls of ribbons. The plush pastel ridiculousness of the place finally dawned on Ruhn and he laughed softly, looking around.

“I recall deciding that I’d never step foot into this Princess Palace of Flowers and Cake and Bullshit,”

“Looks like you changed your mind.”

She stood against the counter, and he parted her legs with his knee, pressing into her, his hips strong and eager, and the great bulk of his dick pushed against the softness of her nether lips, as he grew to full, heavy thickness. Elain wrapped her arms around his neck and he dug his fingers into her thigh, positioning her so that he was flush against her and she felt every growing inch of him. She tucked his long hair behind his ear and opened her lips for him, allowing his tongue to slide into her mouth in a hot, needy kiss. Ruhn was not a gentle man, and his kisses were thrilling and dirty, almost gruesome in their lascivious sensuality.

He kissed and kissed her, like a man possessed, like he needed her mouth, her breath, the caress of her tongue, the violent mash of their lips together. He needed his wife. Elain’s hands slipped under his shirt, as she lifted the soft cotton over the strong, cobbled lines of his stomach, her fingertips running over the ink on his skin, dipping into old scars and dents of his muscles. 

“You are my world, Elain,” he groaned, when breathing finally became a necessity and he pulled away from her for a moment. She caressed the prominent cut of his Adonis Belt with an open palm, gently threading her fingers through a dusting of hair below his navel, falling back into his kiss, her mouth taking him on and sucking on his tongue, until he shivered against her. He lifted the hem of her dark navy silk skirt, rolling his hips wantonly and slowly between her silken thighs, allowing the ridge of his cock to rub against the material of her panties, pushing deeper and firmer into her clit.

Elain shuddered from the pressure, moaning into his mouth, her teeth closing over his lip ring.

He lifted her with one arm, holding her around the waist, settling her firmly over his erection and murmured, 

“No one in the other room?”

She chuckled and said, “I hope not!” and then licked on his lip ring playfully. “Where might you be taking me?”

“To your future bakery thingy,” he said, walking slowly, while she nibbled on his lips, his chin and his tongue, and he exhaled with a heavy, masculine moan, which led to her pussy contracting against his shaft. “Where I plan to fuck you deep and hard,” he promised ferociously. His free hands squeezed her thigh and then travelled upwards, until he reached the maddeningly silky, full breast and squeezed it mercilessly. 

“While the rational part of me says that we shouldn’t be doing this,” he continued, while his large palm cupped and teased her tit, as he also managed to unbutton the pearl buttons of her sleeveless shirt and part it on her chest. “That we will be seen…that we shouldn’t be fucking in the open, in the middle of the day, inside your shop,”

“What does the irrational part of you say?” she demanded with a breathless pant.

“It says that being inside of you is worth it!”

He slanted his hips against her, his cock just about bursting through his fitted jeans. 

At last, they ended up in the dimly lit deli, the windows barely covered with old blinds, half of the slats missing. Ruhn didn’t care. 

His hands were busy massaging her breasts, pulling the cups of her bra down, exposing her pale flesh to his ravenous gaze. Then he gripped her ass and hauled her up and onto the cold marble counter, sucking one of her nipples into his mouth, biting painfully. He parted her long, slender legs and pushed the knees far apart, dragging the silk skirt over her belly, until she was splayed in front of him in a wanton spread. He squeezed her breasts in his hands again, leaning over her, his erection sliding against her panties, and kissed her headily.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you, beautiful,” he growled loudly, kneading her breasts, pinching her nipples tightly, rolling them between his fingers. Then he tore his shirt off his body and crumpled it so she’d have something to rest her head on. The cold hard marble couldn't have been comfortable, but Elain didn’t seem to care. She fastened her lips on his neck, near the collarbone and sucked, kissing and licking the sensitive spot, feeling his large, hot hand slide between her thighs, and his thumb pushed between her folds, through the material of her underwear. He rubbed the thumb along the seam of her pussy, finding the swollen bulb of her clit and she jerked up, squealing with pleasure. Grabbing his muscled arm, she whispered, “I’ve missed you too, my darling…”

Both of them looked down between her legs and Ruhn moved her panties aside, baring her plump, pink pussy and his finger pushed at the tampon, and Elain blushed.

“Is this okay?” she wondered. “To do this?”

He cocked his brow at her and asked,

“Are you uncomfortable?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I never considered doing this…I don’t know if you’ll like it. Don’t men find it disgusting?”

His finger stroked between her warm, wet lips, from the tampon and up to the clit, cupping her possessively. 

“I don’t find anything about you disgusting, pretty girl,” he chuckled. “Especially not your period! I’ll be living with your periods for the next 30 years,” he laughed. “They are hardly a bother.”

“But it’s messy,”

“Laney, I don't think it will be a surprise to you, but I am not exactly averse to blood. Kind of comes with the fucking territory!”

“I guess,” she said, still a little unsure. 

“I love everything,” he repeated again, his thumb circling the bud, his breath thick and his circling steady, but firm. The pad of his thumb pressing and pinching expertly, and Elain’s nails dug into his hand, while her back arched over the slab of marble. “I love the sounds that you make,” he whispered, “ the way you clutch at me. How your gorgeous pussy clings to my dick. How you cry out when you come…I love it all…”

His forefinger caught the string of the tampon and he pulled on it a little, loosening it inside of her. 

“Besides, you know that I like it when you bleed all over my dick!”

“You are such a savage,” she moaned.

“That I am,” he nodded, “but you, beautiful, like the D.”

“Oh god,” Elain cried out, while that wicked thumb kept working over her clit, massaging it roughly and just as Elain began to tremble and pant loudly, he pulled the tampon out and tossed it on a piece of cardboard that littered the floor. Without pausing, he thrust two fingers inside of her, the sound of blood and her slick wetness making an obscene squelching sound, but Elain couldn't bother caring, for he reached the sensitive, secret spot inside of her and she swell and burst for him, shaking with a violent orgasm that slammed into her.

“Oh god, Ruhn, more, more,” she begged, the tight walls of her pussy squeezing his hand, while he didn’t stop and sucked her heavy tit, sinking his teeth deep into the satiny flesh, rolling his tongue over her nipple. 

Ruhn pumped harder and harder, eliciting desperate moans from the depths of Elain’s convulsing body.

“I fucking love watching you come,” he whispered into her ear, while she tugged on his long hair which flowed like a black river over her shoulders and her chest. “Love hearing you beg for it…You are a fucking bombshell, babe...So hot,” he rubbed and pushed and pumped, and even though his hand looked freakin’ gruesome, it didn’t matter to either of them.

It wasn’t enough though. 

The fingers were skilled, and thick and long, but even if they made her cry in pleasure and had thighs shaking, it wasn’t enough. 

Ruhn smirked because he knew it too. 

Unzipping his jeans impatiently, he finally freed his massive dick and leaned to kiss her, squeezing her neck with his other hand–the one that wasn’t covered in blood. It was a lavish kiss, dripping with desire and impatience and Elain watched the pierced head of his shaft press back into her clit, as he rubbed it firmly, not caring about how sensitive her orgasm had made her feel and that she was still vibrating from the aftershocks. He squeezed her neck lightly, just like he liked to and looked into her eyes, pressing soft kisses on her lips. 

“Please, Ruhn,” she moaned pathetically, but she didn’t care. 

The thought of that thick, hot cock filling her, stretching her to the brim made saliva pool in her mouth and she almost choked with need. Spreading her legs wider, and resting them on his hips, she allowed him better access to her pussy, while he wetted the tip of his dick with her blood. He circled the entrance over and over again, coaxing her pussy into getting even wetter for him, because even though he was always rough, Ruhn also remembered that this would be her second time having sex. 

“Come here, beautiful,” he gripped her hips in his hands, leaving bloody marks on her pale skin and then sunk his cock in her in one smooth, sure motion.

Elain screamed softly, shocked into utter submission by the sensation of having him inside of her.

It was still surprisingly uncomfortable, but the stretch felt beyond sublime.

Ruhn ground deeper into her, feeling the swollen walls of her passage cling to his shaft, fluttering with nervous, tight squeezes over him and he released a moan of complete masculine pleasure. Elain was perfect beneath him–warm and smooth and so fucking sensual he fought the need to come inside of her immediately. His dick pulsed wildly inside of her, the blood making everything warmer and even wetter and sticker, and he couldn't say that he hated the feeling. He certainly didn’t hate the look of bliss on Elain’s face as she sunk deeper and deeper upon his rigid cock.

“How are you still so fucking tight,” he demanded, kissing her little scrunched nose. His hips had a mind of their own and twisted impatiently against Elain’s parted thighs, pushing into her over and over again. Elain’s gaze grew heavy-lidded and she was tense beneath him, the blood producing a new kind of slippery, smooth friction inside of her. 

Ruhn cradled her head in the crook of his arm, his other hand holding her neck, as he kissed her with blissfully dirty passion, and muttered, “If I could bottle these sounds up…”

“Ride me,” Elain ordered impatiently, digging the blunt heel of her shoe into his ass, pressing him closer. Every perfect, delicious inch of him was now hidden within her and a warm, sexual heat pooled inside her core, as her pussy finally stretched wholly over the shaft.

She was vaguely aware that they were fucking out in the open, and that anyone who bothered glancing through the dirty windows and the broken blinds could clearly see the two of them. Could see Ruhn lifting her leg onto his shoulder and stroking her thigh, as he began to fuck her like he promised–deep and hard. His powerful body with dripping with raw, masculine energy, the muscles contracting, every ribbon of sinew perfectly on display all the while he pumped his dick in and out of her, growling,

“That’s my girl…you are fucking perfect. Made for my cock…Fuck…that’s it, beautiful. Take it all.”

“Ruhn, Ruhn,” Elain babbled, that magnificent cock buried so deep inside of her, that every thrust hit her G spot and the dusting of coarse pubic hair rubbed blissfully over her clit. Her tits bounced against his chest, the nipples rubbing over the firmness of his pecs and she noticed a bead of sweat sliding down his strong neck, which she caught with the tip of her tongue. 

The sounds that she was making were barely human–grunting and moaning filthily, cursing under her breath, while Ruhn upped his dirty talk as usual, muttering “this sweet pussy is fucking unbelievable. Tight like a drum–it’s milking me like nothing else,”

Elain was pretty sure she’d just die if he withdrew from her right now. 

“Good girl,” he encouraged, “moan for me, beautiful. Show me how much you love it,”

“I love it, I love it,” she chanted, her head lifting off the counter, her body feeling impossibly sweaty, the heaviness of his dick inside of her becoming almost intolerable. 

“My good baby, such a good girl, taking my cock so well,” he praised, his voice deep and rumbling. His thumb found her clit and he rubbed it firmly, igniting a fire of pleasure inside her core, in her belly. Everything ached pleasantly and yearned for more. 

“Come on my cock, baby, fuck, fuck, gorgeous, look how you are bleeding all over me,”

Frankly, Elain was afraid to look down, knowing that it would look like a murder scene. But the blood didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would’ve. It was hot and sticky, and leaked out of her with every brutal roll of his hips.

Momentarily, she noticed another pair of eyes, peering through the window at them. So they were caught after all…

Elain didn’t give a shit and didn’t alert Ruhn either. She just prayed that no one entered the shop at this moment, because there was no way that either of them would be stopping. Ruhn would probably just murder the intruder and continue having sex with her on their corpse.

But he didn’t kill anyone–only came inside of her with a deep, guttural moan of pleasure, just as her pussy just about exploded all over his cock, pulsing and twitching and tugging on him desperately.

It was an overwhelming orgasm–a new kind of pleasure, which wasn’t tinged with pain or uncertainty. The squeeze of Ruhn’s fingers on her throat made everything seem stronger, more powerful, more acutely wondrous. The slight restriction of airflow caused Elain to gulp in more air and had her orgasm roll over her in endless waves. She grabbed Ruhn’s throat in her hand and squeezed too. He grinned at her, still pumping steadily, and the harder she squeezed the more he thrust, his eyes rolling back in his head with pleasure. 

Certainly the Elain of three months ago didn’t think that she’d be having period sex in public, as she and Ruhn King were choking each other for orgasms, but what did she know?

When he finally pulled out, his cock was covered in blood and the scene was pure gore. Erotic gore, of his cum and her blood mixing together, but gore nevertheless.

“Oh god,” Elain moaned loudly, feeling the emptiness inside of her and missing him instantly.

“Thank you, Elain,” he said seriously. “Thank you for the gift that you are. You are amazing, my love. My wife. The best wife. I needed you today.”

“I know,” she said gently, and stroked his cheek. “You never have to fight alone, Ruhnnie. I am your partner for life. I’ll fight with you.”

Ruhn surveyed the scene with a smirk, but a sort of detachment which told of numerous previous times where he was faced with a bloody mess before him. He pulled out his phone from his back pocket and began texting.

*

“Oh my god!! I thought you killed Elain!”

Fenrys strolled into the shop, with two large paper bags in his arms, which he set on the floor and then wisely locked the lock.

“I haven’t killed Elain, but I am not so sure about you,” Ruhn grunted.

Looking over the premises, Fenrys was shaking his head, muttering under his breath, in a full-on mother hen mode.

“You, lass,” he pointed a stern finger at Elain, who was literally wrapped in a large sheet of flower paper, “need to have some self-control. We all know he doesn’t,” and he jabbed his thumb in Ruhn’s direction, “but you!”

Elain’s hair was a mess, she was clutching her makeshift ‘dress’ to her chest, her legs bare and cum and blood still smeared on her inner thighs.

“I can’t believe you called him!” she groused.

“Who is he gonna call? Nesta?!” Fen snapped at her. 

In the two paper bags, there were three huge tubs of wet-wipes, a package of tampons, a package of pads, three large bottles of water,

“We have water, this is a flower shop,” she mumbled.

“Are you giving me lip?” Fenrys demanded.

“No.”

“Good.”

For some reason, sanitiser, paper towels, an ‘I Love New York’ t-shirt and a pair of shorts from the Dollar Store.

While Ruhn and Elain went to clean up in the back room, Fenrys found the discarded tampon on the floor and threw it away, lamenting that he ‘doesn't get paid enough for this shit!’, as he began to clean and sanitise the counter. 

*

Azriel had just come home from work, when Elain, Ruhn and Fenrys all piled into the house together. How they all met up, and why, he wasn’t sure. 

“That wasn’t what you were wearing before,” he noted, seeing Elain’s cheap outfit, though the tiny booty shorts weren’t exactly hurting his eyes.

He added blandly, “stop having sex in public, you weirdos.”

Then, he produced a fancy looking envelope, with a handwritten invitation inside.

“Dust off your tuxes, gents. We are going to a ball.”

#the kings wife #my writing #elriel fanfic #elriel fanfiction #elain and azriel #elain archeron #elain archeron fanfction #mafia romance #dark mafia romance #reverse harem #ruhn danaan #fenrys moonbeam #elain and fenrys #elain and ruhn #the queen of the house #chapter 10 #acotar fanfiction #my fanfiction #elriel

[tortoisesshells]

As I'm someone who hasn't seen Mercy Street yet, can I ask if you would recommend it and if so why?

Depending on what you're looking for in a period drama, but generally: yes! With some caveats?

Pros:

It's a show that tends to signpost Big Historical Moments (the Battle of Antietam, President Lincoln's visit) in the middle of the US Civil War for ease of keeping track of the context, even as it dabbles in speculative history (a fairly ridiculous assassination plot)- there really was a Union Army Hospital in the former Mansion House Hotel in Alexandria, Virginia; many of the named characters (Mary Phinney von Olnhausen, Henry Hopkins, the Green family, Frank Stringfellow) are based on real people mostly.

There are so genuinely great (and genuinely, bafflingly bad) costumes, so you'll have something to look at - and even laugh at.

The cast is largely very good even when some of the writing decisions are. hmm. a lot. Seriously - half of the cast are established actors who just get to go ham. There's a fair amount of scenery chewing on the way to Performances.

Mary Phinney von Olnhausen is a great outsider character who is thrown/throws herself headfirst into the butcher's shop of a Union Army Hospital in the US Civil War, and purely in the sense of having a narrative thru-line, she's a great POV character on the chaos (medical and moral) she finds there. Also, she's played by Mary Elizabeth Winstead (who is entertainingly described as 'sufficiently plain'. which. okay. I wish I were as plain as MEW.) She has a belligerent into romantic dynamic with surgeon Jed Foster (Josh Radnor, proving he can act) who is an absolute tire-fire of a human being, but who tends to follow her pretending very ardently that he would not lie down in a puddle if Mary asked him to, because he can afford to have his fancy waistcoats laundered while she's living out of a carpet bag. He's an ass and cannot help but stick his foot in his mouth constantly, but he gets Character Development and enjoys very little of it.

I personally really enjoy the soundtrack, especially this cover of "Johnny Has Gone For A Soldier". If you're doing something about the US Civil War there's got to be at least one haunting camp song, dammit.

Cons:

If you're more squeamish than not, you'll be at least a little uncomfortable - any way that someone could die in a mid-19th century war, they will. The sound design for amputation and trepanning is weirdly good, for whatever that's worth. I'm not sure that last is a con, but it seems worth mentioning.

The writing is breakneck. Nothing gets to breathe. Jed gets over a morphine addiction in the space of two episodes. Chaplain Hopkins has a crisis of faith that's resolved in two episodes. Emma Green, the oldest daughter of the Confederate owners of the hotel, pulls a near total about-face on her politics in - you guessed it - the space of about two episodes. And this is what gets screentime! Offscreen, we have allusions to major fights over Charlotte Jenkins' school run in the freedman's camp adjacent to the hospital, Mary Phinney von Olnhausen's tragic widowing, Jed Foster's Divorce Plot, Samuel Diggs' application to attend medical school ... there's always something world-ending going on, but there is not time to dwell when the fate of a nation and certainly the fate of whatever poor soul who caught a minie ball/typhoid/gonorrhea hang in balance for the episode.

At best, the show dabbles in the political/cultural dimensions of the US Civil War: it's primarily concerned with the Case(s) of the Week and the relationships between the main and minor characters - in a world where US popular cultural depictions of the US Civil War have been largely dominated by Confederate apologia from the late 19th century through to the late 20th, it left me wishing that Mercy Street (while being the first period drama I'm aware of where the romantic lead almost certainly voted for the Constitutional Union party in 1860) had been more interested in discussing race and slavery and the US Civil War. It suffers by comparison to other series which were explicitly about race and slavery and the coming war (Underground, for example).

Pursuant to these last two points: I think, sometimes, the show doesn't know what it wants to be - or isn't allowed to be what it wants to be. Is it a straight hospital drama complicated by no one knowing what antibiotics are? Is it a romantic drama? Is it a political thriller? An espionage thriller? Is it a War Is Hell war story? Is it a coming of age story? Is it a treatise on 19th century masculinity (and, conversely, womanhood) as determined by race, class, and region? It's got a runtime of less than 12 hours total and it tries very hard to be all of these things. Stuff falls to the wayside.

Mercy Street put Patina Miller, Norbert Leo Butz, Donna Murphy, & Bryce Pinkham in one lousy hospital and there was no musical episode.

I'm not really much of a Mercy Street authority, though - I hope no one minds if I tag in @jomiddlemarch, @sagiow, @fericita-s, & @mercurygray? who are all longer-standing fans of the show than me.

i just run around in the background with absolutely batshit crossovers.

#polkaknox talks

[plethoraworldatlas]

This March, Argentina’s school year began with empty classrooms. The price of learning materials rose by 502 percent over the past year, leaving many children unprepared for the year to come. And the teachers? On strike after President Javier Milei announced deep cuts to their salaries.

There’s something much larger happening here: Workers rights are under attack in an already vastly unequal society. Labor income inequality has been on the decline in many Latin American countries like Chile, Colombia, and Mexico. In Argentina, it’s been on the rise.

Since the 1960s, Argentina has been in an unprecedented period of macroeconomic instability. Stagnating in the lead-up to, and during, the dictatorship years (1976-1983), the country’s economy has reeled from crisis upon crisis — punctuated with the occasional period of recovery and growth. As the decades wore on, public distrust and discontent produced a deep social divide. Argentines call this phenomenon la grieta (“the rift”).

During his successful presidential bid last year, Milei seized upon these conditions. TV personality and self-proclaimed anarcho-capitalist, the eccentric economist promised to correct Argentina’s path and make what he called the “political caste” pay for their mismanagement of the country. Wielding a chainsaw while he campaigned, Milei vowed to eliminate state ministries, abolish the central bank, roll back abortion rights, and dollarize the economy.

Now that he’s had a chance to implement his platform, working families — not an elite “political caste” — are footing the bill for his far-right economic project.

In the two months before Milei took office in December, inflation was running between 143 and 161 percent. In February, inflation soared to more than 254 percent and the poverty rate reached 57 percent — the highest in decades.

Argentina’s labor movement has quickly mobilized widespread and effective opposition to his policies. While strikes and protests continue, we can already begin to draw lessons on resisting the far-right’s rise worldwide.

Milei takes a chainsaw to workers rights

After taking office on December 10, 2023, Milei acted swiftly. Declaring “There is no alternative to shock,” the president immediately devalued the peso by 50 percent, lifted price controls, and dissolved half of the country’s ministries.

Milei’s government then launched an offensive on workers rights. On December 14, the newly appointed Minister of Security announced a new protest protocol. Consolidating control of Argentina’s security forces and creating a registry for organizations suspected of “instigating” the protocol allowed federal forces to use increased surveillance and violence.

Days later, Milei signed the “Decree of Necessity and Urgency 70/2023.” Dubbed the megadecreto (“mega-decree”) for its sweeping scope — cutting severance pay, weakening collective bargaining rights, deregulating the rental market, and otherwise undermining existing protections — the 366-article document is an unconstitutional abuse of executive powers.

Making matters worse, Milei cut public subsidies on utilities and transportation. Hypocrisy shone through his already vague definition of the “political caste.” As one Argentine told a journalist, “The caste doesn’t take the train nor any form of public transit. We workers and students do.”

Milei’s aggressive measures roused a prompt response from Argentine labor. In late December, the country’s largest unions announced plans for a January 24 general strike — the quickest to be organized under any president since Argentina’s return to democracy in 1983.

Millions join the general strike

Forty-five days after Milei took office, 1.5 million Argentines took to the streets. Workers from all sectors joined the strike: transit, aviation, government, banking, and sanitation, just to name a few.

“Not one step back,” one associated union declared on the day of the strike, “for the unity of the workers movement is essential in protecting the rights we’ve achieved.”

The protesters’ outrage centered on Milei’s Omnibus Bill. The proposed legislation contained sweeping changes to Argentina’s economic and political structure, including the privatization of state-owned companies and an unprecedented expansion of executive powers. 

The bill would also codify Milei’s unpopular “mega-decree.”

“[Milei’s ‘mega-decree’] destroys individual rights of workers, collective rights and seeks to eliminate the possibility of union action at a time in which we have great inequality in society” said Héctor Daer, the Secretary General of the General Confederation of Labor. One of the world’s largest unions, the CGT represents roughly two-thirds of Argentina’s unionized workforce.

Shortly after the strike ended, the National Congress of Argentina rejected Milei’s Omnibus Bill. Initially approved by the Chamber of Deputies in a 144 to 109 vote, majority support faltered when it came time for an article-by-article review.

The first Omnibus Bill consisted of 664 articles. Now, two months later, they are struggling to push an amended 269-article version — with hefty concessions for the left.

Milei’s uncompromising approach played no small role in killing his first Omnibus Bill. But the general strike served a critical blow to his already weak coalition. 

Aftermath in Argentina, implications abroad

Beyond their victories in the streets, Argentine labor has also made notable gains in the courts. Successfully challenging the legality of Milei’s “mega-decree,” the General Confederation of Labor blocked the roll-out of several critical anti-worker measures.

Following January’s general strike, February and March witnessed a patchwork of smaller strikes, placing continued pressure on the government. The most recent have come in the aviation, healthcare, and education sectors. The Argentine Workers’ Central Union (a federation with 1.2 million members) held a “national day of struggle” on March 12 — and united with other groups to block 500 roads throughout the country on March 18. More strikes are planned for March 28.

On March 14, the Senate voted down the Decree of Necessity and Urgency. Though the “mega-decree” remains in force unless the lower house also opts to reject, the upper house vote represents another massive blow to Milei’s government.

Instrumental in defeating Milei’s first Omnibus Bill — and otherwise slowing the pace of his anti-worker disaster project — Argentine labor’s recent victories offer an important reminder: Working-class people are a potent political force.

These victories also offer lessons in resisting the far-right’s rise worldwide: Organized labor can serve as an infrastructure for mobilization and a counterbalance to democratic backsliding. At their best, unions provide checks on abuses of executive power and ensure that working people always have political representation — no matter who occupies the presidential palace.

With nearly 30 percent of the workforce unionized, the labor movement is strong in Argentina. The United States hasn’t seen that degree of union density since the 1950s, though now the tide might be turning.

With 64 countries holding national elections in 2024, this year will be a watershed moment in world history. And with the far right on the rise, there’s never been a more critical time to mobilize in defense of dignity and democracy.

Here in the United States, there are over 85 million poor or low-income eligible voters. As Inequality.org’s co-editor Sarah Anderson writes, “If this bloc voted at the same rate as higher-income voters, they could sway elections in every state.”

#argentina #javier milei #Fascism #authoritarianism #capitalism #far right #workers rights #general strike

[justforbooks]

“I always felt like the kid that sat at the foot of the gods,” said Treat Williams, who has died aged 71 following a road accident. And it is true that the first decade of his movie career was dominated by one high-calibre director after another.

John Sturges put the doughy-faced, darkly handsome actor toe-to-toe with Michael Caine in The Eagle Has Landed (1976), adapted from Jack Higgins’s novel about a plot to kidnap Winston Churchill. Miloš Forman gave Williams his first lead, as the hippie Berger in the screen version (1979) of the 1967 musical Hair. He was an ill-tempered army corporal in Steven Spielberg’s wartime comedy 1941 (also 1979). Sidney Lumet drew on his cocksure swagger and his air of moral ambiguity in Prince of the City (1981), a thriller about police corruption. And Sergio Leone cast him as a union boss in the gangster epic Once Upon a Time in America (1984).

It was Lumet’s film that announced Williams as a formidable talent, with a special aptitude for ensemble playing. He starred as Danny Ciello, a corrupt drugs squad detective who becomes increasingly isolated as he informs on his colleagues in the elite Special Investigations Unit. The character was based on the detective Robert Leuci. Williams lived with Leuci while preparing for the part. He also attended drug busts and hung out with police officers. “By the time we started rehearsals, I was thinking like a cop,” he said.

Janet Maslin in the New York Times commended the “playful, arrogant, effectively brazen quality” of his portrayal. Equally integral is the seam of self-disgust that runs through Ciello, first when he is exploiting his power over drug addicts and dealers, then when he turns on his own kind.

Williams went on to display a menacing eroticism in Smooth Talk (1985), directed by Joyce Chopra and based on Joyce Carol Oates’s 1966 short story Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been? When he turns up in the second half of the film as Arnold Friend, a vision of adult masculine prowess that the teenage protagonist (Laura Dern) seems to have been yearning for, he is simultaneously ridiculous, alluring and intimidating.

Williams was born in Stamford, Connecticut, and raised in nearby Rowayton, the son of Richard, a pharmaceuticals executive, and Marian (nee Andrews), an antiques dealer who also ran a sailing school. He was educated at Kent school, Connecticut, where he first began acting, and at Franklin & Marshall College, Pennsylvania. He studied in New York at the Actors Studio, where his classmates included Mickey Rourke, and was hired as understudy to four parts (including Doody, played on stage by John Travolta) in the Broadway production of Grease. Eventually he took over the lead role of Danny Zuko, which he played for three years.

Having already appeared on stage in the London production of The Ritz, Terrence McNally’s comedy about a hounded businessman hiding out in a gay bath-house, he was then cast in Richard Lester’s 1976 movie version.

Auditioning for the film of Hair was a lengthy and arduous process. During his 12th audition, he recalled: “I started removing all of my clothing. At the end of the monologue, I was standing stark naked in front of them … They applauded, and I told them: ‘This is all that I’ve got, I don’t know what else I can give you.’” It was enough.

Discouraged when Hair, 1941 and the comedy Why Would I Lie? (1980) continued a run of box-office flops, he began an alternative career flying planes in Los Angeles. A call from Lumet, who was looking for an un-starry and largely unknown cast for Prince of the City, put him back on track.

He continued to alternate between film and theatre, following Lumet’s picture by appearing in Ohio in Carlo Goldoni’s farce The Servant of Two Masters and on Broadway taking over from Kevin Kline as the Pirate King in The Pirates of Penzance. On television, he played the boxer Jack Dempsey in the TV movie Dempsey (1983), Stanley Kowalski – opposite Ann-Margret as Stella – in A Streetcar Named Desire (1984), the title role in J. Edgar Hoover (1987) and the super-agent Michael Ovitz, co-founder of CAA, in The Late Shift (1996), for which he was Emmy-nominated.

In Things to Do in Denver When You’re Dead (1995), he played a thug working as an undertaker and using corpses as punch-bags. He was also in the noir-ish Mulholland Falls, the superhero adventure The Phantom (both 1996) and the thriller The Devil’s Own (1997), starring Harrison Ford and Brad Pitt.

Better than these were two projects that displayed his versatility: the monster movie Deep Rising (1998), in which he does battle with sharp-fanged sea-serpents, and The Deep End of the Ocean (1999), starring Williams and Michelle Pfeiffer as a couple reunited with their son many years after he was kidnapped.

He starred in Woody Allen’s Hollywood Ending (2002), played James Franco’s father in Danny Boyle’s 127 Hours, and the writer Mark Schorer in Howl (both 2010), which also starred Franco as Allen Ginsberg. He had a recurring role on the series Everwood (2002-06), as a widowed neurosurgeon settling in Colorado with his children, and on the cop drama Blue Bloods (2016-23). He also appeared in many Hallmark channel productions, including the series Chesapeake Shores (2016-22), as well as the Netflix musical Dolly Parton’s Christmas on the Square (2020).

He is survived by his wife, Pam Van Sant, whom he married in 1988, and their children, Gill and Ellie.

🔔 Richard Treat Williams, actor, born 1 December 1951; died 12 June 2023

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS #Treat Williams #in memoriam

[gellalaer]

Idril Celebrindal

For @finweanladiesweek coming up on Sept 19th.

"But fairer than all the wonders of Gondolin was Idril, Turgon's daughter, she that was called Celebrindal, the Silver-foot, whose hair was as the gold of Laurelin before the coming of Melkor."― Quenta Silmarillion, "Of the Noldor in Beleriand"

Idril Celebrindal was the daughter of King Turgon of Gondolin, the wife of Tuor and the mother of Eärendil the Mariner.

Idril Celebrindal was the only child of Turgon. She participated in the Flight of the Noldor, and had to cross the Helcaraxë with the host of Fingolfin. She and her mother Elenwë fell into the bitter waters, and Turgon risked his life to save them. But he could only save Idril.

Idril lived in Vinyamar during the beginning of the First Age, and she moved with her father and their people to the Hidden City of Gondolin between the years 64 and 116.

In the hidden city the Smith Enerdhil crafted the gem Elessar and gave it to Idril, who wore it upon her breast.

Maeglin, the son of Aredhel, Turgon's sister, became interested in Idril even before coming to the city, and when he saw her for the first time "she seemed to him as the sun from which all the King's hall drew its light." She was the only one who could pierce into his mind, and knowing his thought of her she loved him the less, as they were too closely related.

When Tuor son of Huor was received in Gondolin, the heart of Idril was turned to Tuor, and his to her. Because Turgon had grown to love Tuor as a son (as he had his father before), and remembering the last words of Huor, he allowed Idril and Tuor to wed, thus bringing about the second union of Elves and Men, after Beren and Lúthien. From them Eärendil Half-elven was born, and she gave him the mother-name Ardamírë, that foretold his destiny.

Years later, Morgoth had increased his effords to find the city, "but Idril Celebrindal was wise and farseeing, and her heart misgave her, and foreboding crept upon her spirit as a cloud." Therefore, Idril let prepare a secret way, and she contrived that this work was not known to Maeglin. Thus, when the Fall of Gondolin began, she and Tuor were able to lead many survivors out of the city and save their lives.

After the fall of Gondolin, Idril and Tuor became leaders of the exiles at the Havens of Sirion, where they also received Elwing, daughter of Dior, son of Beren and Lúthien.

When Tuor grew old, he departed in his ship Eärrámë for the West, and Idril went with him. Before leaving, she gave the Elessar to her son, saying: "The Elessar I leave with thee, for there are grievous hurts to Middle-earth which thou maybe shalt heal." It is believed by the Elves and Dúnedain that Idril and Tuor arrived in Valinor, and it is said that Tuor became reckoned in the kindred of the Elves, so that they both lived in Valinor.

The Sindarin name Idril is not glossed, but the form of her Quenya name Itarillë (or Itarildë) means "Sparkling Brilliance".

She was called Celebrindal ("Silver-foot"), because she always went barefoot,from celeb ("silver") + tâl ("foot").

Idril's portrait created using Artbreeder.

#idril celebrindal #turgon #gondolin #elessar #maeglin #tuor #silmarillion #tolkien

[thesistersarcheron]

Pairings: poly!Cassian/Nesta/Azriel, Feyre/Rhysand Ratings: E Words: ~8k Catch up on tumblr (prologue, chapter i, chapter ii, chapter iii, chapter iv) or read here on AO3!

Summary It is well known across Prythian that High Fae mating bonds are a sacred union between two souls. Lesser fae mating bonds, more common yet less studied than their High Fae counterparts, are bound by an entirely different set of rules.

After the ball in the Hewn City, Nesta and Cassian swore to each other that there would be no one else. Ever. They didn’t account for Azriel.

"Footwork, Dierdre! Watch your footwork!"

From his position at the edge of the Blood Rite Qualifier course, Cassian saw Azriel's shadows skitter with amusement.

"They're novices, not Hewn City boxers," Az said as he stalked past that shadowy spot against the wall. "You shouldn't be helping them."

Cassian held up a single finger without looking back. “They're our novices, asshole, and I'll do what I want when—"

As if she heard his foul language, Dierdre gasped, her foot slipping in a rope ladder. Her ankle caught and she flipped; her silky blue robes spilled over her head as Ananke grabbed for her.

Cassian turned, averting his eyes quickly enough to see Az do the same. Behind him, Roslin groaned her frustration from the top of the ladder, and Gwyn cackled somewhere within the second section of the course.

"Check yourself, Berdara!" Cassian shouted, keeping his eyes locked on Az.

Nesta was the next to laugh, probably at some face Gwyn made at his back in retaliation.

So he crossed his arms and rustled his wings, shooting off a perfunctory, "You too, Archeron!"

His mate's annoyed "She's decent!" rang out over the transformed training ring in return.

Emerie smothered her own embarrassed laugh with a cough to mutter a quiet, "But Nesta's not," and Cassian watched the fine, sharp angle of Azriel's jaw tighten. Cassian bit his lip.

Because Az apparently liked the sight of his mate bent over a table in her nightgown.

Cassian hadn’t betrayed any of Azriel’s tells or much more of their shared past to Nesta—half the pleasure would come from learning those on her own time—but he did watch where Azriel’s eyes lingered, reporting back to his mate and refining their strategy with each piece of additional information. They both collected little observations about Azriel now, hoarding them like firedrakes and swapping one for each of Nesta’s orgasms, and Cassian needed something to tell her after training when he dragged her away to bury his head between her thighs before lunch.

Afterward, they started talking about other things. Books and nightmares and past lovers, their educations and their hopes and their mothers. Never had he made an accidental bargain with such a high risk-reward payoff; he typically got stuck paying the tab at Rita’s to uphold his end of whatever bet he made against Mor.

Azriel’s eyes shifted back to the course, and Cassian followed suit. When he turned, this time to the sound of a more demure giggle from Gwyn as Emerie no doubt relayed the events from the night in the private library, Dierdre's robes were righted, and Roslin and Ananke were struggling to haul her up the ladder.

But before he could correct them, a shadow stalked past.

Azriel surveyed them from the edge of the course, his stony expression wiped clean. When they froze under the weight of his gaze, he merely said, "Lift on your exhales."

The priestesses scrambled to correct their form, and Az didn't so much as blink as he scanned the rest of the course. Cassian watched that gaze as it slid, sharp and smooth as any dagger in its owner's hand, to the three Valkyries leading the pack. Azriel observed them all before settling his attention on Nesta.

He did that often, Cassian realized now that he was watching for it.

His mate was radiant against the blue sky, her cheeks flushed and determination glinting hard in her eyes. The edges of her braid were saturated with sweat, and her leathers strained against her chest as she worked to catch her breath. For a half-second, he burned with irrational envy; as beautiful as she was, he wanted to be the reason she looked so beautifully disheveled, not a damned run through a Blood Rite Qualifier.

He turned his attention to the next group before he got carried away.

And a flash caught his eye.

The cobalt Siphon atop Azriel's right hand glittered—almost imperceptibly. Whether it was reflected sunlight or Azriel's power, he couldn't tell. The band of the Siphon shifted too quickly over the back of Az's flexed palm for Cassian to make that call. Scarred fingers clenched and released; Nesta puzzled over a logic obstacle for a beat too long, nearly allowing another to knock all three Valkyries off their feet.

Worry.

And then...

There. The same ravenous desire he felt in the set of Az's jaw, the shadows obscuring his eyes and his pulse points.

Az stretched and readjusted his wings, and suddenly all Cassian could see was the shifting muscle in Az’s back and the flare of his wings as he pinned Nesta, moving inside her while she grasped at him, tilting his head to beckon Cassian closer…

Cassian huffed.

The sudden, strictly-monogamous manifestation of Azriel's reverence for the mating bond he and Nes shared bordered on ridiculous for any Illyrian, even one strange as Az. Cassian appreciated it during the rocky months he and Nesta spent slinging barbs at one another, but when the frenzy abated and Az still made himself scarce...

They weren't Rhys and Feyre, for Cauldron's sake, and that was becoming more and more apparent as he and Nesta settled into their bond. Cassian had no High Fae blood or magic to temper the roaring flow of the bond's impulses in his Illyrian blood, and Nesta, Made as she was, didn't have any High Fae magic either, only what she ripped from the Cauldron.

Hell, it was his and Azriel's oldest joke about their casual non-monogamy from the shock they got when Rhys decided he grew out of sharing females with them in their thirties: At least Rhys has a High Fae father to blame. When Rhys brought Feyre to Velaris and refused to let them into the townhouse proper before she left the room, Az had even been the one to whisper a wry, “Fae father,” at Cassian.

Cassian laughed at the memory, just as he laughed with the relief he felt when Az practically tripped over himself to get out of Nesta's path two days ago.

“Az,” he called, leaning back against the wall. Az turned, Cassian jerked his chin at the spot next to him. "What happened to not helping them?"

Azriel raised a brow, but he took his place beside Cassian, crossing his arms and veiling them both in shadow.

"They're priestesses, not Illyrians."

"Yeah? I can still think of one or two who will be pissed if we coach them through the whole thing without giving them the chance to beat it themselves.”

As if on cue, Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie fell for one of Azriel’s oldest tricks, a concealed, raised pit, with hair-raising shrieks. He grimaced; he was fairly sure they didn’t know how to boost one another over the ledge yet, and with no ladders or hand-holds, they would be trapped for the next quarter-hour until training ended.

“Couldn't coach them out of that,” Azriel murmured. His dark voice was tinged with mirth. "Bet we won't hear the end of it, either."

Cassian shrugged. “From Nesta? No. I wouldn’t be surprised if the House gave us pits instead of beds tonight.”

Az snickered. The shadows must have let the sound escape and carry across the stones, because several exhausted priestesses turned to glare and a rude “Motherfuckers!” echoed out of the pit.

At that, Azriel's quiet snicker turned to a single, sharp bite of full-blown laughter.

What would Az do if he could feel the hot wave of lust that traveled down the bond toward Cassian at that rare sound?

"Tsk," Azriel said once he calmed himself. "Does she realize she's picking up your filthy habits?"

It was Cassian's turn to laugh. A golden opportunity finer than anything any master in the Night Court could craft, sharpened and delivered by Az himself.

Don't show your hand all at once, Cass, Az told him when he and Nesta had just begun to circle one another.

Cassian appreciated that advice for a moment. Then he shook it off.

"Her mouth was filthy long before I got to it, Az." He winked. "She likes it that way."

"Cassian..." His name was long-suffering sigh.

Cassian knocked him with a wing, stepping out of the shadows to go watch another group on the rope ladder.

"Just trying to keep you in the loop, chaperone."

-----

Nesta sighed.

She stretched her legs out and propped her feet on the edge of the low table in front of her. The House-warmed air caressed her skin as the edges of her robe fell away, baring her legs.

Cozy. That's what this room was. If only...

She rolled her head back. An involuntary moan passed her parted lips when a few stiff joints popped, loosening deliciously. She relaxed back against the plush cushion of the chair she occupied, content as a cat in sunshine, and let her book fall to the side while she rested her eyes.

She was exhausted. Two days passed since Cassian brought up the idea of coaxing Azriel into bed with them. Two magnificent days of fucking and planning, and between Cassian, the obstacle course, and Merrill running her roughshod around the library all afternoon, the thought of sleeping with Az was far more literal than titillating tonight.

"Nesta?"

Though her heart thudded hard, she was still tired and comfortable, and she blinked her eyes open slowly. Azriel stood beside her chair, a small bowl in his hand, and his brow was furrowed.

"Hmm?" she asked, tilting her hips to pop another stiff joint low in her back.

If it had the added effect of arching her back and presenting her breasts well in the low-cut silk set she wore, well, that was hardly her fault. She wasn't the type to buy this immodest sort of thing anyway.

But she would wear it. It was silky and breezy, it didn't tangle around her legs like her old nightgowns did, and it drove Cassian wild.

Cassian was even the one who figured out that the House was tailoring her clothing as her figure changed—months ago, too, when she first sized up in her leathers. He demonstrated his theory for her a few weeks before Solstice; on his request, one of her lesser-used slips was promptly cut up and resewn as a slinky little negligee.

She just hoped they had the same effect on Az.

Throw him off the cliff and see if he flies, Cassian told her earlier in the evening, before he kissed her temple and threw himself into the wind over the House.

"Az? Is something wrong?" Nesta asked when no answer seemed forthcoming.

A dark lock of hair fell down over Az's eyes as Nesta caught them flickering between her skin and an empty chair by the door, two of three armchairs built for wings in the shared sitting room. The third armchair didn't bear the same signs of use as the other three, still full of stuffing and upholstered in bright, new brocade; the fourth, missing wing cutouts and topped with a tacky golden pillow, was clearly Morrigan's, so Nesta hadn't bothered.

Judging by Az's reaction, she chose correctly with the one by the window stuffed with almost as many knives in need of sharpening as downy goose feathers.

"Reading in the dark again?" He sounded faintly amused.

"I came in before the sun set," Nesta said, nodding her head back at the window beside her. Content and catlike as she might have felt, though, even the Night Court's brilliant wash of starlight wasn't enough to read by. "Didn't think I'd be up this late."

Because she had miscalculated and forgotten that this overgrown bat was nocturnal. It made Nesta wonder if she actually had lucked out with Cassian and his strict sleep hygiene.

Az nodded toward the unlit hearth as he stepped away. "No fire? It's cold out today."

"Not tonight," Nesta said. He seemed to accept that as answer enough, because he didn't so much as shoot her a quizzical look.

He set the bowl on a table beside the chair by Cassian's door and straightened again, taking a few steps toward it. "Where's the faelight?"

"What?"

Azriel eyed the book in her hand. "Are you going to keep reading?"

"Well, I wanted to... I haven't gotten the chance to finish it since you let Cassian cart me off the other evening."

A quick, quiet breath escaped him, the slightest of laughs that seemed to slip against Nesta's skin as sweetly as the balmy air. "Then where's the faelight, Nes?"

Nes.

It rocked her almost as strongly as Cassian's love from the hallway. Their entire circle of friends seemed to default to first-syllable nicknames—Rhys, Mor, Cass, Az, even the too on-the-nose Fey from time to time—but Azriel always defaulted to formal, full names in front of anyone deemed outsider.

Nesta's heart twanged with warm fondness, and, lower, a different kind of warmth started spreading...

Azriel's nostrils flared.

"It's... on the nightstand," Nesta said, watching him hold that single breath. He turned, walking quickly, and she spoke at his back, "Upstairs, I mean. In my room."

"Alright. I'll be right back."

She pressed her thighs together, desperate for friction, trying to take mental stock of how she had left her room this morning. Nothing too embarrassing, unless Az counted an unmade bed a sin... Unless the House hadn't replaced the sheets she and Cassian thoroughly wrecked last night.

Nesta breathed through her arousal, both to calm herself before Azriel returned and to soothe the edge of anxiety that followed in its wake.

When Az returned, again through Cassian's room, his footsteps were louder, warning her of his imminent presence. He slipped inside, flipping the little light through his fingers, and tossed it to her as he sat in Cassian's chair.

She caught it easily.

"You know, I got that for you so you wouldn't ruin your eyes in the dark," he said.

Clipping the light onto the spine of her book, as he once demonstrated, Nesta leveled the full force of her sickliest smile at him. "Thank you, Az."

Az picked up the bowl and took a cherry from within, popping it into his mouth. As he chewed, he seemed to be fighting with himself, shadows swirling. Nesta watched as his tongue peeked out from his lips, and he lifted the cherry's pit from it, licking a bit of juice before he shrugged.

"You're welcome, Nes."

-----

When Cassian returned home, he found Nesta fast asleep in Azriel's chair. Azriel was watching her breathe with a stack of blank reports in front of him.

His face was soft.

"Whatever you're planning with her, Cass..." he rasped when Cassian stepped into the room.

Cassian didn't bother entertaining Az's dramatics with a response; he simply rustled a hand through that short mop of dark hair as he passed on his way to pick Nesta up. "You know, Az, she's your friend too. That means she trusts you."

"She's your mate," Az said, scowling at his scarred hands.

Nesta woke when Cassian lifted her, pushing against his shoulder until he put her down.

"I can walk, you brute," she mumbled. Her eyes were still closed when she began shuffling in the direction of his door, and he kept a careful hand at her waist, despite her attempts to swat it away.

"You're thinking too hard," Cassian told him, tapping his foot against Az's on his way back across the room. Nesta's breathing was already evening out again, even as she walked. "Try not to do that."

A ribbon of shadow followed them to bed.

-----

Azriel's wings sagged upon landing on his balcony the next evening. He let them hang over the ledge for a moment, weightless and too heavy all at once.

The shadows were as unsettled as he, a riled nest of starved vipers hissing frantic nonsense in his ear. As they worked themselves into a fit, they grew, snaring and consuming the long, natural shadows cast by the golden light inside the House. A thought and they were all banished, no doubt slithering away to find Nesta or Cassian. For once, Azriel couldn't find it in himself to care.

His first visit to the river house since had been...

Not peaceful. Not nice.

But he and Rhys hadn't come to blows, though the thick tension in the air made it clear that time hadn't lessened the ire on either side of the fight.

As it was, Rhys took his report, passed him a thick stack of dusty old tomes, and dismissed him with a disgusted wrinkle of his nose. Azriel lowered his mental shields long enough to imagine breaking that nose (again, he made sure to think loudly), and a wave of dark power had suffocated his shadows on his way out.

Elain was sitting in the parlor when he passed, staring blankly at the fire, no doubt caught in the grip of a vision with a flush high on her cheeks. He didn't linger long enough to get caught by her or by Rhys, but the passing glimpse of her golden-brown hair in the dim light still scraped something inside him raw. He wasted a year agonizing over her, and he thought he might go mad if he spent a second more calculating how to salvage his mess.

But he would endure, he decided. He had known endurance long before his shadows first greeted him when he endured the darkness for eleven years. He endured seven more as the sole lesser fae in the Hewn City, separated from his brothers, during the war. He endured fight after fight, wound after wound. Now, if he had to pass five more centuries with meaningless, emotionless fucking on his own, he would. He doubted the Mother deigned to bless stained, ruined monsters like him with a mate, but he would endure the wait for that slim possibility without cracking open lovely Elain's heart any further along the way, too.

She was his friend, his dear friend, and that was all she would ever be.

Not for Rhys’s benefit, the meddling bastard, or even for the Vanserra boy. Azriel would do it for Elain, so she didn’t feel any reason to fucking flinch in his presence again.

It helped that he could hardly look at Elain without hearing her sister begging for him.

Az, please.

He nearly came undone that night in the library, watching her beg for him and stroke Cassian’s wings. Mastering himself long enough to escort Emerie back to Windhaven for the evening without embarrassing her further took the skill and patience of all five of his centuries.

Az, please.

He shoved the memory down; he would endure this, too. Regardless of whatever scheme Cassian and Nesta were cooking up, this was nothing but a conditioned response to watching Cassian take a lover, and he couldn’t go another night fisting his own cock to the thought of either sister.

Instead, he summoned the stack of books he’d rather burn than read from his shadows, intent on distracting himself with more dull reading, and shoved past his bed—not a pit, he noted, though he knew what he might like to do with one in its place—and into the shared sitting room.

And stopped.

“Az, please... Please, please, Azriel,” Nesta was begging, perched fully clothed in Cassian’s lap and circling her hips against his in a slow, filthy grind. Her head was thrown back, her eyes clenched shut. The sitting room was thick with the scent of sex, Nesta’s sweet female arousal cut by Cassian’s deeper, sharper male scent, all mixed up with the cool, smoky notes of their mating bond.

Cassian’s mouth was on her throat, biting until she released a low, tortured moan. His eyes were locked on the door.

On Azriel.

“Az,” Cassian said, unlatching, in casual greeting.

Nesta released a shuddering breath, her movements freezing, but Cassian’s hands gripped her hips and dragged her back and forth over him.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart," he ordered when Nesta nearly turned to look at Azriel as well, and Azriel watched, enthralled, as Nesta—prickly, contrary Nesta—obeyed with a sweet kiss.

Azriel laid the books on a slim table by his door.

“What is this?”

But he knew.

Dammit, he already knew what this was, what his shadows tried telling him when he landed. What they were shifting across the room to inspect and report back; Cassian and Nesta's shadow, thrown against the far wall, writhed in shared pleasure, two phantom hands reaching back to reel Azriel's shadow in for a messy kiss. His cock, already hard, throbbed against the fastening of his trousers at the sight.

Centuries ago, centuries, he gave Cassian permission to engineer these little scenes with consenting females. Cassian got off on the thrill of getting caught, while Azriel got off on…

“It’s an invitation, Az,” Cassian said, lifting one hand to stroke it down the modest cotton dress covering Nesta’s spine with unbearable tenderness. “Or a challenge. Whichever works.”

Azriel set his jaw.

His mate. That was their plan. Cassian was offering his fucking mate up on a silver platter, knowing full well that Azriel couldn’t resist a challenge, completely aware of what Azriel would do to her, inviting him to ruin her…

He was tempted to call bullshit.

Instead, he shut the door behind himself and followed his shadow to them, until each gust of air kicked up by every minute movement caught in the folds of his wings.

Fuck, he wanted it.

“And did Nesta agree to this when you started training her to say my name while you fuck her?” he asked.

A gasp worked its way from her throat, and she nodded. He watched her creamy thighs, completely exposed at this angle, tightening around her mate’s hips.

Azriel licked his lips impatiently. A verbal response, he needed a verbal response…

"I think she's beyond words, Az," Cassian told him, his eyes were laughing when he glanced up from Nesta to Azriel. "She gets like this when she's close."

Azriel took another deep breath. Fucking addicting, that’s what that scent was. His skin was overheated beneath his leathers as he imagined what they might taste like, his muscles tense and twitching, desperate for movement…

And his patience was wearing thin again.

“Come, Nesta."

Nesta’s head whipped around, her jaw dropping open, and wide blue-grey eyes met his for a split second before they clenched shut and she gasped out an, “Ah, Az!” that went straight to his cock. Color bloomed high on her cheeks, trailing down the back of her neck and under her dress, and Cassian groaned as she trembled around him.

The things Azriel wanted to do to her for looking away from Cassian...

The shadows sighed and melted with her, and Azriel leashed them before they could dare to reach out and touch her.

How low does her blush carry? he wondered idly. To the breasts he dreamed of biting? The freckle he wanted to kiss?

He waited until her breathing calmed and knelt beside her.

“Well?” he asked. “Did you agree to this, or am I going to turn around and forget I walked in on this, just like I always do?”

"No... Yes,” Nesta breathed. She blinked hard, some of the blissed-out haze clearing from her eyes, and Azriel held back a sigh of relief. “I did. Don't go.”

Azriel nodded and stood. He felt more than saw pale blue eyes track him as he turned and strode across the room to his usual chair, still scenting of Nesta's arousal from last night.

Nesta's tattooed fingers flexed against Cassian's shoulder, and she turned her head. Two large hands anchored her to him at the small of her back and the top of her spine, crimson Siphons glinting. 

"He's in a mood tonight," she murmured into Cassian's ear.

He dipped his head to her ear and whispered, just loud enough for Azriel to hear, "Why don't you take a minute and then go apologize for interrupting his night, hm?"

So Nesta did. Azriel watched as she lay boneless against Cassian for a long moment, sharing breath with him whenever he bent his head to steal a kiss from her cheek, her nose, her lips. When she finally seemed to recover her energy, Cassian tapped her, pushing back until she looked him in the eyes. They didn't speak, but Cassian curled the hand around her neck tighter and pulled her in for one last, fierce kiss before bodily lifting Nesta from his lap and depositing her on her feet.

She licked her lips, and when she spoke, Nesta’s tone was sweeter than Azriel had ever heard it. “We owe you an apology, Az.”

"Do you?"

“We’ve been so rude,” she said when she reached his seat. Her knees were still weak, trembling with the effort to keep her upright. “I know how you hate that. You try so hard to make Cassian behave, but I’ve been encouraging him all these months.”

This time, Nesta knelt before him. Azriel’s cock twitched again, and the old ache of longing in his chest twinged even as he rebuked himself, trying to draw on the ironclad will everyone seemed to think he possessed. Nesta laid her head on his knee, slender, gentle fingers trailing over his calves.

He could smell the sweet scent of Nesta's fresh arousal where it slicked her thighs beneath her dress. Cassian stretched out in his chair, his wings unfurled and catching the weak evening sunlight streaming through the window. His cock was still hard, proud, coated in Nesta’s wetness and jutting from his trousers. He looked like any smug, contented Illyrian male watching his female at play.

Azriel’s grip tightened on the arms of his chair. Cassian shouldn’t be turned on by this. He shouldn’t be touching himself to the sight of his mate’s hand inching its way towards another male’s cock. He should be sawing Azriel’s hands off at the wrist for daring to look at Nesta as she offered herself to him. For not shadow-walking out of Velaris and locking himself into the dankest, darkest cell under the Hewn City the moment he walked in on them.

“You’re thinking too hard again, Az,” Cass said, shifting further back in his seat. He spread his long legs even further, planting his feet.

Azriel glared, but it had no heat. No, that was all focused on Nesta between his legs. With their permission, then, he would savor this for however long it lasted.

Until Nesta or Cassian or, hell, godsdamned Rhysand snapped him out of this delirium. Violently, most likely.

Nesta looked up at him through her lashes as her fingers crept up his thigh, hooking into the edge of Truth-Teller’s holster. That minuscule, teasing touch sent his blood rushing back to his cock.

Gods.

What would it be like to feel those small hands on his bare skin? To see them bound in his shadows, flexing as he made her come?

“Azriel…”

His name sounded so good falling from her vicious tongue.

He gingerly traced the braid that wrapped around Nesta’s head, expecting something. The crimson glare of a Siphon or brutal silver flame or the flash of Ataraxia swinging coming down on his scarred fingers. Anything.

But nothing happened.

So soft, so golden—his cobalt Siphon appeared brighter, clearer than it ever had in contrast. He sunk his fingers into that braid, pulling her head back.

Her cheeks flushed, a shadow snaking over her shoulder to tease and taste the pinkness, and then she relaxed into his touch, her teeth sinking into her full bottom lip when he pulled harder.

She holds her breath, Shadowsinger, it sang.

“Cassian told you how I treat my lovers?” He let his thumb stroke the bit of skin behind her ear.

Nesta shuddered.

Lover of Death, the shadows sang merrily. Azriel suppressed a shudder of his own at the thought: for all her experience over the past two years, she was still new to this world. New to sex.

So much to teach her. He beat back the thought. He would consider himself lucky if Nesta didn't turn her head and snap his hand off at the wrist with nothing but her teeth for daring to touch her.

But instead, she simply nodded, silver flashing in her eyes. “Yes.”

Azriel's fingers tightened on her braid, and he saw Cassian's do the same around his cock.

“Tell me.”

Nesta obeyed. She didn't falter or blush as she listed his sexual proclivities, going on and on, repeating all the things he and Cassian knew from experience that his lovers needed to understand before Azriel joined them.

When she did stop, seemingly wracking her brain for more, Azriel offered her a small, encouraging tilt of his lips as a reward. “Good, Nesta. Go on.”

Her lower lip went slack, and a silent whimper shivered up her throat.

With his self-control dangling by the thinnest of threads, Azriel tucked away that information for later.

“...I should break your rules or ask about the Hewn City," she paused and her eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if she suspected a joke being played on her, and Azriel felt a bead of moisture gather at the tip of his cock, "'at my own risk,' according to Cassian.”

Death in the Hewn City, a shadow sighed. From another, Disobedient Death!

Azriel nodded, but didn't elaborate. “If you need a moment to talk to me or collect yourself?”

“I should say Velaris.”

“If you want to stop entirely, what do you say?” Azriel tugged the lock of hair wrapped around his index finger, making sure her eyes were clear and focused.

“Windhaven,” Nesta’s pert nose wrinkled, and this time Azriel gave her a full-blown smile without fully meaning to.

At least she got it.

He nodded again. “And if your mouth is occupied and you can’t speak at all?”

Nesta paused. Cassian smirked, meeting Azriel’s gaze, and lifted a rakish brow at him.

Azriel sighed.

“If you can’t speak, I’ll place a shadow around your pretty throat,” he told her, trailing his fingers down the back of her neck. He let the tips of them brush her carotid artery, feeling for the sweet thrum of her pulse. “You should hum for it if you want to stop, and it will let me know. Instantly.”

Nesta's pulse jumped, her gaze half-lidded, but her brow furrowed.

“You have a question. What is it?”

“The shadows can do that?”

"Do what?" Azriel waited for her to gather her thoughts, to put her concern into words, but when no further details seemed to be forthcoming he shifted his attention. “Cassian.”

Cassian’s fingers flexed.

“I’m sure you know that Nes here is loud. Can the shadows tell the difference between her needy moaning and a hum?”

“Yes, they can. If your breathing falters or your pulse gets too irregular, they'll tell me then, too." He watched Nesta's blush deepen.

Across the room, Cassian grinned at him in anticipation. His eyes flickered to his kneeling mate, going soft, and he cleared his throat. "Ready, Nes?"

Nesta nodded as best she could. "Mhmm."

"Out loud," Azriel ordered.

"Yes," Nesta gasped.

Heady awe blossomed in his chest, and he let out a breath, trying to gain control himself, the heat scorching through his veins. She was willing to play with him; she looked excited to play with him. Nesta, cold Lady Death, gentling herself—all so she could submit. It had been centuries since any female managed to surprised him so thoroughly, if one ever had.

“You want to apologize?” Nesta tried to nod again, but he returned his hand to her hair and fisted it around her braid again. The mottled shine of his scars couldn't compare to the locks between his fingers. “Then say it.”

“Yes,” she gasped a second time.

But he pulled again, unsatisfied. Her eyes went dark, unfocused, and Cassian barked out a laugh as Az jostled the leg she was gripping with no small amount of amusement himself. Nesta tried to turn her neck, tried to glare at Cassian, but Azriel held firm until she relented, letting herself gaze soften again. Sweet, he thought, and his shadows agreed, So sweet.

She stroked his thigh contritely. “I’m sorry.”

"Thank you," he said. “But what are you apologizing for, Nesta?”

She was quick to answer. “For encouraging Cassian's behavior.”

Azriel lifted a brow. Cassian clicked his tongue.

“And my own," she tacked on quickly, though the way those full lips curled up as she bowed against his grip made it clear that she wouldn’t have minded if he’d tugged her hair again.

“And?” Azriel glanced at the female on her knees before him and then pointedly over her head.

“And… for fucking Cassian off in the sitting room…” Azriel let a cool shadow curl around her throat and listened to her pulse skip beneath it. “Without you.”

He didn’t gentle his hold as he unclenched his other hand from the arm of his chair and began to unbutton his leather trousers, desperate for some release of that torturous pressure as his cock ached and throbbed with want. Nesta’s eyes followed the movement hungrily.

He took his time.

Waiting, he supposed, for her to recoil with horror.

He paused at the last button, no shame or disgust to be found on her pretty face. Instead, he saw a glare beginning to form because she felt he’d denied her what she wanted—how could he be what she wanted?—but she wisely didn’t voice it.

Savor it, he reminded himself.

“Are you going to do it again?”

Nesta started, and her nose wrinkled adorably again, this time with confusion. “What?”

Azriel tsked. “An apology means nothing without action to back it up.”

“I…” He watched the wheels turn in her head. This time when she tried to turn to Cassian, Azriel let her, petting her ruined braid as she did.

Cassian grinned at Azriel over her head. His arm was moving as he stroked himself, and Az wished he weren't sitting across the room. He was certain she already knew, that they had planned this to some extent, but he wished Nesta could watch what Cassian thought of their back-and-forth while she was on her knees in front of his best friend.

He wanted her to see her mate touching himself while Azriel disciplined her. He wanted her to see Cassian touch himself while he made a mess of his mate.

“Are you ever going to suck my cock in the dining room again, sweetheart?” Cassian asked Nesta gently. “Will you keep letting me eat your pretty little cunt in the library?”

Azriel tamped down his own grin. Years had passed since he and Cass last played this old game, and he didn’t remember it ever feeling so damned good. Even his shadows complied, still twisting and curling around Nesta’s elegant neck.

“You like it when I take you against the wall of the training ring,” Cass added as Nesta’s jaw dropped. “Or bend you over the balcony railing. What about those?”

“No.”

“No? Sweetheart…” Cassian shook his head, chuckling. "I'm sorry to hear that."

“I mean, no, we are not going to stop doing those things,” she bit at him. Her head turned, and she pinned Azriel with that glare, as if the mere suggestion were unforgivable.

The look made Azriel’s heart clench, but he simply curled a loose lock of her hair around his finger. No, he wouldn't dare curtail their ridiculous sex life. Not when it granted him such gifts as this.

Still, he yanked, relishing the strangled moan he earned in response. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Cassian hummed thoughtfully, palming the head of his cock. “I guess we’ll have to keep apologizing then, Nes.”

-----

The thought reverberated around Nesta’s skull, even as Azriel’s hand in her hair—so rough, so gentle—and the cool kiss of his shadows against her neck drove her to distraction.

I guess we’ll have to keep apologizing then, Nes.

From some place outside of her body, she watched the hard, beautiful corner of Azriel's jaw clench.

How many ways could she apologize? How often could she and Cassian make such an apology necessary? She would be on her knees begging Azriel’s indulgence day in and day out. And when her knees got tired—

If that was her fate, so be it. She’d live the rest of her life in happy, mindless bliss pressed between her two Illyrians. She could already feel her arousal dripping down her thighs at the thought, her pulse pounding out a hard rhythm at their apex.

She let her breath rush out of her, and she rested her forehead on Azriel's thigh. Oh, so close to the thick outline she could see against his leathers, but his hand was still in her way. Her mouth watered.

“Alright.”

A rush of proud lust that wasn't her own washed over her, and she moaned. The cock just inches from her eyes and the thick band of muscle beneath her cheek both twitched.

"You heard the lady, Az," Cassian said behind her.

She also heard the slow wet rasp of skin on skin coming from his direction and shifted one of her legs until she sat on the heel of her foot, desperate to relieve some of the pressure between her legs. Azriel tugged again on her hair, sending yet another shock down her spine.

When she looked up, he shook his head, popping the last button on his trousers and unsheathing himself entirely. "I hope you aren't planning on touching yourself while you apologize."

But Nesta hardly heard what he was saying. The outline through his trousers didn't do him justice.

His cock, hard and gently curved up against his stomach, was the biggest she had ever seen.

A brief, hysterical thought about wingspans flashed through her mind. Amusement glimmered within her somewhere from Cassian's direction, probably in response to the absurd wave of sheer, panicked want that had Nesta rocking on her heel.

All she could see was dark, golden skin. So much of it.

Azriel was big. That was the only word she could think: a simple, astonished big.

Not much longer than Cassian, but the difference in girth was obvious. Nesta wondered for a moment if she might even get her lips around the head. Her hands would get a workout tonight, because there was no way she could take him in her throat without practice. Lots and lots of practice.

She curled her fingers around the strap anchoring Truth-Teller to Azriel's thigh and took a breath.

"Come here."

The hand abandoned her hair, and Azriel gathered both of her wrists in one broad hand, directing her upward until she had no choice but to stand. Her lips pursed as the distance between her mouth and his cock grew, deep disappointment welling, but Azriel merely gripped her around the waist, turning her until she faced Cassian, and then pulled her back onto his lap. His deposited each of her hands on the arms of his chair, trailing his upward to her neck. The moment she settled against him, those hands grasped her thighs and spread her apart, hooking her knees around his legs to keep her open for him.

"Surely you didn't think I would let you suck my cock tonight, Nes?"

Only the thin cotton of her dress remained between her ass and the heated, throbbing length she felt pressed against it. She shifted, testing the position, and the hands on her thighs came down like vices to keep her in place.

"None of that," Azriel warned, his voice low and dangerous. "Do you like it when he bites you?"

His thumb circled a spot on her neck where Nesta knew Cassian left a mark, and she felt the shadows there dissipate.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Az lower his head, bare teeth so white they seemed to shine with warning, and bite that same spot. He lathed his tongue over her, sucking hard, and she couldn't... She couldn't...

Azriel let her go.

Across the room, Cassian's eyes were dark as Az fisted bunches of her skirt and lifted until the front of it was around her waist, exposing Nesta to their audience. Cassian worked his own cock rapidly, hips shifting and crimson Siphon glinting with each pass, and he paused to flash a crooked, conspiratory smile. Nesta couldn't tell if it was for her or for Azriel.

Hands rougher and colder than Cassian's grasped her bare legs. They traced meandering paths from her knees to the apex of her thighs, resting in the creases between her sex and her legs.

"Relax, sweetheart," Az breathed in her ear, dry and mocking. Nesta let herself melt, dropped her head back onto his shoulder, tilted her neck until she could look at him. Az was watching her with lethal attention. "Good girl."

Almost at odds with his hard voice, his hands squeezed her gently, fondly. Reassuringly.

Gods, she couldn't breathe. She could feel the bodice of her dress straining against her ribcage, against her breasts in this position. She felt tangled in the best way, trapped in a web of her own making.

The cool shadow around her neck writhed as the first finger dipped into her, and she gasped. Across the room, Cassian groaned.

Az circled her clit with that finger slowly, patiently, building the heat inside her until the flames licked at her throat, her ankles. When she began to tremble, he shifted, cupping her with his whole hand until she the fire banked and she calmed. The whole time, Cassian stared, fiery desire and longing written across his beautiful face.

Again and again and again Azriel did this, until her wetness dripped down into her skirt and he hissed as it soaked through to his cock.

And Nesta had an idea.

She unclenched one hand from where it was gripping the arms, reaching behind her for that teasing, terrifying sensation. It was hot and silky and big in the palm of her hand, and the topmost layer of skin shifted with her as she stroked downward, testing, exploring...

Smack.

Azriel's full palm came down on her sex, and she jolted at the shockwave it sent ringing through her entire body. From neck to ankle she trembled.

"None of that," he growled, but he didn't remove her hand from him. He shifted his hips upward, thrusting into her fist—and thrusting her even harder into his next punishing slap. "If you needed something to occupy yourself, you should have asked."

It seemed her distraction reset his internal clock, whatever well of patience he drew from filled again as he started his game with her clit again. He stopped, she learned, whenever she moved her hand instead of merely gripping him, which became harder and harder not to do as she got closer and closer to coming each time.

When Nesta thought she might lose her mind, he abandoned that delicious bundle of nerve endings entirely, venturing lower. The tip of one finger dipped inside her, testing... And then two, and then three, until Nesta felt a different, deeper burn as he stretched her. She dared a glance downward; the band of his Siphon was soaked, the entirety of his hand wet and shining with her, and he was buried in her to the third knuckle, twisting his wrist, forgoing her clit entirely.

"Az," she murmured, blinking at the sight.

Azriel hooked his chin around her shoulder, watching with her as he found the sweet, spongy spot inside and curled his fingers upward—hard. Her body jerked.

"Have you ever come just from this?" he asked, curious and conversational, pressing into that spot again.

With some unknown reserve of self-control, Nesta tore her eyes from Az's hand and looked to Cassian, her cheeks hot. His teeth were sunken deep into his bottom lip, wings flexing with pleasure.

"Answer him, sweetheart."

"I've never, not... on it's... own," she gasped.

Azriel's hand froze.

"Cass..." He sounded disappointed.

Nesta surged against that hand, desperate to please him instead.

"What?" Cassian grunted, shifting his hips as Nesta shifted hers. "I like to play with her sweet cunt while I fuck her."

Azriel huffed in her ear, nosing the mark he'd darkened. "Don't worry, Nesta. You will."

And then it began. Az wasted no time pressing back into her. The steady campaign to keep her on edge was over; this was an all-out assault against that spot inside her. Nesta tried to tell him when it began to overwhelm her, tried to shy away as her muscles tightened and tightened and tightened, but the shadow around her neck simply shifted, cooling her overheated cheeks. Az grunted when her hand flexed around him as the tension within her snapped.

This climax was like nothing, nothing, she had ever felt, deeper within her than ever before, no outside sensation to distract from the way she clenched around Azriel's fingers, the way her entire core seemed to draw him in before coming completely undone. She heard more than felt the splash of liquid against the flagstone floor, both Cassian and Azriel cursing as they came in tandem, her own voice broken and whining wordlessly for...

Something.

Time passed as her head lolled against the shoulder behind it, a sharp metal buckle digging into her skull. Azriel's warm arm came around her, shifting until she was no longer spread open around his legs, but draped across his lap instead. Her skirt was tugged and rearranged until she no longer felt the wet spot on it, used to wipe her dripping sex and her hand, but she watched as he lifted a scarred, dripping hand to his mouth and licked it clean, eyelids fluttering.

Had he always had such beautifully thick eyelashes? Nesta was jealous.

Azriel held her and held her and held her, shushing her when she began to shiver, wrapping a blanket that came from... somewhere... around her shoulders. She breathed and felt him breathing beneath her, and the cord around her chest went deliciously slack and warm with affection.

-----

Cassian chased the dawning sun, flying into the horizon until the light blinded him. Then, he banked, turning to chase the final threads of night back to the mountains, to Velaris. He circled the city, higher and higher with each pass, and swept past the dark windows and carved balconies atop the tallest mountain.

Twin threads tugged at his chest. One, bright and new, thrumming with possibility and anticipation, and the other... nearly as old as he was, worn like the tattered edge of a favorite blanket, unnoticed until he was tangled in it.

He dove.

The river house was sleeping when he landed in the garden, but one window was still bright. Cassian let himself in through the kitchen, where a rising mass of dough ready to be kneaded and a bowl of washed fruit sat waiting for breakfast.

His brother looked up when he entered the study, violet eyes ringed by dark circles. For the first time in months, Cassian didn't have it in himself to pity him.

Fucking liar.

He would never hear a word against Rhys, never stand by when his High Lord's name was slandered, but for once... He didn't stop the vicious, hungry little boy that had always lived in the back of his mind from snarling at the sight of him.

Cassian threw himself down onto the loveseat in the study and crunched into the apple he grabbed on his way in, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

"A little birdie told me you're beating the shit out of Az, Rhysie."

#nessriel #cassian #nesta archeron #azriel shadowsinger #nessian #cassian x nesta x azriel #acotar #fanfic #viciousnessintelligencefic #giving azriel a happy ending one way or another with his two favorite clowns #this one is......... filth #enjoy!

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 11 July 1837

 7

12 35

very fine morning F60° at 8 10 (had been looking at maps) and went out – at the hay barn till breakfast at 9 ¼ in half an hour – A- had her tenant Ogden who promised to give a vote for Mr. James Wortley – out again at 9 ¾ - Mark Hepworth and Mawson wanted to begin housing hay – said the hay barn if ready would spoil much hay – I had thought of stacking – it was what they advised and wished – had told them to set out the stack while I was at breakfast – found it 10 yards x 4 yards – where the old road was leading to slip-in pit (as I had pointed out) set Thomas Pearson’s one horse cart to bring wood from the house for the ‘staddle’ foundation of the stack – carting it all the morning from 10 am till into the afternoon – took the remains of the old slip-in pit gin to make up with – very little left – the old drum had rotted and been stolen for fire-wood – merely 2 or 3 long pieces left, and the old axle tree – had all ready by afternoon and begun carting the hay and got the stack 5 or 6 ft. high – Frank day and my 2 bays brought down at 3 times the hay (11 + 11 + 7 hay cocks) from Walsh-land – very decent stuff to mix in with between – Pearson’s cart in the afternoon and Gray (Booths’ labour) helped to fill, brought scale from slip-in pit and filled up the hole in the hay barn that Joseph Mann sank to see if the foundation would be secure – on the hollow – the coal got, but deep enough to be secure – all the day at the hay barn – Mr. Gray came at 6 – with him there and in the fields below (looking about walk from the meer along the hollow parting the 2 townships) till came in at 7 – then in the cellar 1 port, 1 migma , 1 marsala – dinner at 7 ¼ - Mr. Jubb at 8 – A- went to him 10 minutes before I got up from table – Mr. Adam came about 8 20 and ¼ hour – had asked Mr. Parker to tell him to come about electioneering purposes – to help up to make more votes and tell us how things went on – he brought the subscription book towards Mr. Wortley’s election expense – only 2 names down Messrs. Waterhouse and Rawson (Christopher) for £40 each – I put down my name for £20. Mr. A- seemed to place the books towards A- but I thought she ought not to be asked – I gave £50 before - £20 is enough to give now – besides Mr. A- said Mr. Wortley would pay ½ the expense – A- and I returned to the dining room about 8 ¾ for about ¼ hour – asked if she would really go abroad for 3 months – she thought she could not leave home for more than a month – and could not for longer during Mrs. AW-‘s life – I said this seemed a great confinement which might last for some years – A- always thinks her aunt cannot or will not continue long – she owns the confinement is very great – and the obligation of going every day often irksome – but she thinks she ought to keep it up – I said I did not think the obligation quite so necessary as she did but really I did not know what to say about it – A- went away to write and I went out – found Mr. Gray in the garden with the gardener planning the footway entrance – sauntered about with Mr. G- till 10 – then coffee and came upstairs at 10 ¾ having just looked into the paper – Mr. Adam told me Mr. Carrs’ brother in law Mr. John Edwards had said he thought the Northgate hotel would suit Mr. Carr who would be leaving the white Swan next May – 2 actions brought by the owner of the union cross which would take away some window lights, and an entrance of great importance to the white swan – Mr. Carr had suffered the 2 actions to go by default –if he would not defend them – making memoranda for tomorrow and writing the above of today till 11 50 – Mr. A- thought Mr. Protheroe likely to turn out Mr. Wood – but impossible to tell till the last moment – promised to let us know how things went on – Stacking hay this afternoon – Dodgson’s cart 1 horse in the morning 2 in the afternoon began carting garden wall footings from Hipperholme quarry – John Bottomley began carting garden wall bricks at 5/. per thousand as agreed when I saw him yesterday – Thomas Pearson’s 1 horse cart carting wood for stack foundation from 10 am to into the afternoon and the rest of the day filled up hay barn hole (vid. above) – Zebedee carting water and bilberry sods for Mr. Gray at the new pool where Robert + 5 have worked all today and yesterday – sodding etc – the low fishpond looses again at the top – very fine day F53° at 10 50 pm 2 of Mawsons’ men forming today as yesterday the road thro’ the wood and the back Lodge road

[ask-the-shorty-squad]

This is certainly a story Toko would like... But continue please. I'm curious for what happens next.

Chapter 2

"The year is 1991. Terminator 2 is the highest-grossing film at the Box Office, the first Super Nintendo Entertainment System has just been released, and after 70 years of Communist rule, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics has collapsed."

"And on a chicken ranch just outside of Claxton, Georgia, twin sisters are waiting for their supper."

"The farm is old and operated by Alfred McCluck, an eccentric man with a fascination with Civil War weaponry. McCluck's chicken farms produces over 140,000 chickens a year and ships wings, thighs, and legs all over the continental United States"

"Despite the modest success of his business, McCluck leads a solitary life, never marrying and tending several of the chicken houses himself. A simple man with a not entirely bad heart, McCluck never knew how to best take care of the young girls who came into his life shortly after their birth."

"So he raised them the only way he knew how - in a 2-foot by 2-foot wire mesh cage on a diet of mash, crumbles, pellets and egg booster."

"One clear September day during the twin's sixth year at the farm, McCluck does not come at mealtime. Night falls and still, he doesn't appear. The girls and the chickens cry out from hunger."

"Days pass and the chickens in neighboring cages begin to die. The smell of rotting poultry permeates the air of the hot, humid barn."

"Finally, desperate to find food and concerned over the whereabouts of their guardian, the twins break free from their cage."

"McCluck's house is locked tight, but the girls find the garden hose, which quenches their thirst. Still half delirious with hunger, they make their way out to the road."

"Little time passes before a dusty black Cadillac Coupe de Ville drives by and pulls over. A tall, mustached young man with a kindly face steps out of the vehicle. He smiles at the girls and presents them with the first candy they had ever tasted. A Twix bar."

"Which they share in silent, odd delight."

"The girls do not feel at all uncomfortable when the man leads them gently into the dark, spacious trunk."

"In the following days, the girls are transferred into the trunks or several other cars. By many other kindly, Candy bar offering men Until they reach their final destination at the lakeside lodge in Manitoba."

"The Underwood lodge is a collection of cozy, waterfront cabins with an attached trailer park along the shores of Lake Winnipeg."

"It is also the world headquarters of Budding Flowers Entertainment."

"Specializing in the production and distribution of photographs and VHS tapes for clientele with unique tastes."

"The girls are welcomed by Mrs. Deborah Bouldger, the 52-year-old portraitist. A woman of enormous proportions who lives with her own 3 children in the main lodge of the Underwood."

"Upon finding that the girls have no names she christens them Eva and Lynn, names, which neither she nor the twins themselves are ever able to keep straight."

"The twin's days of the Underwood are relatively comfortable, they are well cared for, the food is delicious, and there are many other girls their age."

"Once a week, photo sessions take place, convivial affairs that involve make-up, a wide variety of dress up costumes, and inventive new games. Every few days Mrs. Bouldger introduces the girls to one of their many uncles. These uncles, seemingly endless in number, travel from all over the world to visit their nieces."

"The girls don't always like their new uncles, but Mrs. Bouldger is always quick to remind them that "family is family" and "blood is thicker than water"."

"The conjoined sisters are not popular amongst the other girls. However, one gentle resident, a few years their senior befriends them and takes them under her wing. Her name is Sandy."

"She has soft, blond hair that reaches down to her knees."

"Everyone says she looks like a mermaid!"

"Dressed daily by Mrs. Bouldger in trademark fishnet stockings and vintage attire, Sandy is by far the most popular girl of the Underwood. She has so many uncles that the twins lose count."

"Every night after dinner and chores, Sandy tucks the young sisters into bed and tells them fantastic stories until they fall peacefully to sleep."

"But these happy times do not last. Shortly after the twins' third Christmas under Mrs. Bouldger's care, Sandy disappears. Never to return"

"The twins remain in the Underwood for the greater part of two, long, miserable years. Without Sandy to protect them, they are ostracized and abused by the other girls. The photo sessions involve fewer fancy costumes and over time, their uncles become more peculiar."

"The twins begin to notice the disturbing tendency for girls, much like their dear friend Sandy - to quietly disappear from the Underwood around their 12th or 13th birthday. The sisters brace themselves for something terrible."

#fuyuhiko kuzuryu #teruteru hanamura #sdr2 goodbye despair #danganronpa 2 #danganronpa #Looks like I found the limit

[jewishrevolutionary]

Poverty is not actively recognized in our country nor in the discussions of politics, and I feel deeply hurt and demotivated because of it, especially as someone who has been forced to live in the lowest sectors of it. It ends up being a discussion only used as a trump card, not a regular talking point that needs to be actively recognized. Milenials and Gen Z is the most in poverty, despite all the opportunities people had in college or elsewhere.

Ever since I got kicked out of my parents home, I have moved to the slummiest parts of my state's capital and I live in this shitty, broken down apartment that has lead paint in certain areas, mold in (possibly) the floor, the walls, the ceilings, and other areas. Our bathroom sink and toilet barely work, the refrigerator is broken down, and for the first 6 months, the lock to our front door was completely broken.

In all of that, I and my boyfriend have gone through a plethora of jobs. My boyfriend started talking about unionizing in his first job, got fired almost immediately. His second and third job was too stressful to keep up with mentally. And only now did he get a job that only gave him part time hours.

My first job was too far away to keep working in and they didnt even respect me for all the shitty work they put me through when we only had a skeleton crew. My second job, i got fired for taking a very small tip from someone. And the job Im currently working for is full of shitheads who've gotten recently promoted and are barking and kneeling for the owner and his shitty decisions. (For example, we had a foot and a half of snow and everyone avoided the topic of closing early and shamed me and another coworker for not coming in when it was too unsafe for either of us to leave) I also broke down sobbing during a stressful rush and was blamed for not communicating with my manager about the rush.

Either way, regardless of my own treatement and how much I can tell you about the treatment of my boyfriend at his workplaces, we're still in deep poverty and our rent is going to definitely increase, with the fact that we dont have a car yet that can help get us to and from places. And this constant feeling of dread that I cant escape this has made me so much more less hopeful than I was before.

I have nearly lost my faith in leftist/communist/anarchist movements because there is zero groups in sight in my state and anywhere near where I live. I have tried getting financial help by setting up GoFundMe's, public kofi's or anything. And the constant struggling and difficulty with my recent schedules have made it impossible for me to engage in any of my own artistic interests becsuse of the sheer amount of demotivation I've been through.

I want to be happy, I want to live a fulfilled life, but I dont want to be stuck under this constantly pressuring system that will harm me for not having *credit* and being a young adult.

I need money for a car, but no one is willing to spare because I'm seen as too young and inexperienced. I need credit for getting an apartment, getting a car, getting ANYWHERE, and I fear debt like no one else in the world.

And it has only made me more and more hopeless, because this a problem that is seemingly everywhere, but Americans dont talk about. They wont support each other through it, and I and my boyfriend have talked to people, have tried getting support, but we only get scoffs, angry mullings about making sure we make our own lives better, and advice that gets us nowhere. My boyfriend was told by everyone except his immediate family that trying to unionize was dumb and would have only led to his firing. That he needed to just suck it up and get better.

I want to have hope in people, but this last year has been so dejecting for me and my hope. I dont know what to do anymore. It hurts me a lot that there isnt anything for me to do. I, my boyfriend, and their sibling might become homeless because of the rent increase in the next 3 months, and I feel too dejected to even ask for money anymore because I know no one has money anymore.

I'm just going to end off on the note that I'm not planning anything. I just am going to survive. And if anyone wants to help, I just need help with saving up for a car so send me a DM or something. I have about 1200 between me and my boyfriend.

And be sure to ask everyone you know about their situation, be sure to help as many people as you can. I've been doing it despite my poverty, and it's because I have money to spend for myself that I know would be used better. It only takes a little to make people hopeful, and doing nothing makes them lose their hope.

#landlords #capitalism #socialism #communism #anarchism #anarchy #support #labor movement #labor #labor rights #labor law #labor and employment #i hate it so much #i hate myself #i wish this was a joke #i only want a better life #people avoid the topic of poverty too much and its nothing i ever notice in any sort of political discussion #laborers are in poverty #everyone who makes your mcchicken or pizzas that you order out from are being cut off from basic decency #and depression has us racked too much to care #antifa #antifaschistische aktion #anti capitalism #trans rights #anti imperialism #anticommunism #antiunion #pro union #union