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#jagger reading room
pottersolos · 3 months
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pinky promise ? • Joe Burrow.
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summary : joe knows his fiancé, charleigh had a rough day so he try’s to make it better.
warnings : idk.
pairing : fiance!joeburrow x fiance!jizaiah
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“babe !” i shouted through joe and i’s shared house, i had just finished my skincare and was about to brush my teeth but i didn’t know where joe had put our toothpaste.
“yes ?” i could hear his foot steps on the stairs as he walked up them, i met him in the doorway before speaking, “where’d you put the toothpaste ?”
“it’s in the draw” he said, he could tell by the look on my face that my day had been hell, he grabbed my hand dragging me into the bathroom with him, he opened the draw and grabbed the tube out.
he propped up his phone-knowing i like to get moments like this on record-and engulfed me in a tight hug, kissing my wet hair as my arms snaked around his shirtless torso, my head resting on his chest.
his hand begun stroking my head as i rested my eyes, i felt his hand stop on the back of my neck, gently moving my head to look up at him “you okay ?” he question, i nodded my head, sending him a flatlipped smile.
“i ordered chick-fil-a it should be here soon” said joe, i looked up at him and kissed his cheek.
“how ‘bout you get a movie ready in the living room and i go to the store, and i promise i’ll be right back” he smiled at me, i nodded and grabbed one of his hands and held it as we walked down the stairs.
he slid on his tazman uggs and grabbed the keys off the counter, he opened the door, he was standing in the frame and i stuck to the side of the door holding the knob.
“be fast please” i begged, “i will” joe said and placed a passionate kiss on my lips, i wrapped my hands around his neck and hung on to him, not wanting him to leave. “baby i’ll be right back” he pulled away from the kiss.
i let go of him and he walked to the car, i closed the front door and walked into our living room, clicking through peacock before settling on my personal favorite, harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban.
i paused it before it could even start, scrolling through my phone as i waited for joe to come back home. i got bored so i decide to get out the book i’ve been reading.-hunting adeline by H.D Carlton-i relaxed into the corner of the couch, flipping the pages as i read through them.
when the food arrived i grabbed it, thanked and tipped the man before going back into the living room, i set the food down and waited for joe to come back home.
this week has just not been my week, earlier this week joe and i had gotten into an argument, he did something i didn’t like with jagger, my son, when we were fighting i called jagger “my son” and let’s just say joe didn’t like that, but he understood after everything jag has been through he knows i’m overprotective of him.
tonight jagger was with my mom and stepfather, they wanted to see him, i don’t let him go off a lot without me for a few reasons, one he’s only four, two i’m overprotective, three i can’t trust anyone with him.
sooner or later joe came back, he walked in with a basket full of my favorite snacks, a sprite, and some roses, i slightly smiled and got up to go over to him.
before i could even get around the couch he was already at me, putting his long legs to use, “here, these are for you, mama” he kissed my head and sat down i sat beside him cuddling into him.
“i’m sorry” i told him, he sent me a confused look but this is something i need to talk to him about.
“for what baby ?”
“the other day, you know how i am with jag, and i don’t want you to just leave or hurt hi-hurt us” i sat up straight and looked at him trying to read his body language.
“i wouldn’t be here if i planned on hurting either one of y’all, there wouldn’t be a ring on your finger if i planned on leaving, it just hurt a little hearing you call him your son as if i don’t do anything for him” he said his face becoming unreadable.
“i’m sorry” my eyes met his once again before he pulled my head to his chest, he stood up, still holding me and sat in the corner of the couch, i cuddled into his side even more.
“i love you charleigh” his index finger arched under my chin and lifted my head to his view.
“promise ?” i asked him.
“i pinky promise” he stuck his pinky out and interlinked it with my own, i smiled and kissed his cheek, for the rest of the night we sat there, sitting right next to each other, my head rested on his shoulder, watching the movie, eating, and talking every now and then.
“one last thing then we can put this away, okay ?” i said to him, he nodded and put his full attention on me. “do you want to adopt jagger ?” i questioned him, my eyes brimming with tears at the thought.
joe was speechless, his eyes also starting to tear up, i didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing “if you don’t want to it’s fine” i fidgeted with my fingers looking down at my bare feet.
his hand grabbed onto my foot as he began to speak “no. i want to, i wouldn’t want nothing else” the tears in both of our eyes finally falling, i wiped his cheeks as he wiped mine, laughing a little before pulling his head in and placing my lips to his.
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captain039 · 6 months
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PART 8
The lords servant
Astarion x reader
Warnings: plus size reader, light swearing, vampire things, sexual, first times, smut, harassment, sexual harassment, angst, slowburnn, oral f receiving
Previous part <-
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Smut!
Morn came and you felt rather woozy, you didn’t want to get up and be awake. You certainly wouldn’t go out again that’s for sure, not after that Bastard. You had to get up though, lying here wouldn’t do any good. You dressed and age before cleaning your room despite it not needing to be cleaned, you needed to do something to keep your mind entertained. The day went by slowly you stayed in your room mostly, by dinner you were ready for bed till you were summoned. Daenan had stopped you in the hall as you were heading back to your room saying the lord needed to see you, you agreed heading there with nerves in your stomach. You knocked listening to the ‘come in’ he said and opened the door. You headed inside keeping your head down and closing the door again.
“You wished to-“ before you could finish you felt lips on yours, desperate. You made a confused noise before your body gave in and you closed your eyes. Your lord pressed you against the door, hands going to your sides, gripping your hips.
“My lord-“ you said brokenly between the kiss, but he didn’t listen.
“Astarion” you said quietly and he stopped, it’d been the first time you said his name alone. He sagged against you head on your shoulder and you felt your heart break, you gently ran your fingers through his hair and rubbed his back, he smelt like wine, could vampires get drunk? You glanced to the table, three empty bottles, well that explains it.
“What’s the matter?” You asked softly feeling his body tremble slightly.
“Has something happened?” You added but got no answer, you hoped there was no real danger involved, he just needed a comforting touch. He smelt though, awfully strange for him, had he not bathed last night? He smelt like wine and dead rats? Gods what was that.
“My lord I think you should have a bath, it’ll sooth your body” you suggested, but he didn’t move from your shoulder.
“Astarion” you whispered gently lifting his head, his eyes looked dull and hallowed, his cheeks lost their light redness they had. You cupped his face and stroked his cheek with a soft sigh. You pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“Come on” you said softly as he followed you to his bathroom. You started the bath opening his cabinet finding many oils and soaps, you faltered over then, reading the different smells for going with something earthy. You poured some in the bath watching it cloud and bubble lightly. You had sat Astarion on the seat in his bathroom, he looked like a kicked puppy, it broke your heart.
“You’ll need to undress” you said as he just looked at the bath. You sighed softly going closer, hands hesitating at his buttons. You undid his shirt and slid off seeing the lean muscles he had, you suppose for two hundreds years you’d need to be fit, living in the shadows.
“Astarion” you said and he finally looked to you some cloud leaving them.
“Hm?” He said as you nodded to his pants.
“Oh” he muttered standing up and unbuttoning them. You turned around to give him privacy as you turned off the water. You waited a bit before you heard him enter the bath and turned around again. You smiled softly, nodding your head before going back to the cabinet. You grabbed a small container and a hair oil before kneeling by the bath, you froze slightly seeing scars jaggered into his back, something done on purpose.
“I can wash my hair” he defended and you flinched slightly at his tone.
“My lord- just, let me” you said as he scolded but nodded, what was going on with him. You filled the container with water before gently touching his head.
“Lean back” you said and he did. You wet his hair before ringing it out slightly making sure nothing went in his face before getting him to sit up again. You put some oil on your hands before rubbing them together then to his hair. You gently massaged it into his scalp seeing his eyes flutter close and a soft satisfied moan leaving his mouth. You smiled briefly making sure you lathered his hair before washing your hands off and picking up the container.
“Lean back again” you said and he did. You washed his hair out making sure no suds remained, the oil made his hair extra soft, how he liked it you assumed. You let him sit up and grabbed a sponge next dampening it in the water before going to wash his arms. He frowned at you and you hesitated slightly before washing his arms and around his shoulders, before going to his chest. He truely had a beautiful form, it matched his face perfectly, you shook those thoughts from your head though as you ran the sponge over his upper chest. You felt his eyes on you the whole time and you felt your body go hot. You sat back on your heels embarrassed before a wet hand cupped your cheek. Your eyes snapped to his giving him a small smile. He didn’t return it though, just looked over your face, going over every detail of it before he pulled you close and kissed you. It wasn’t as desperate as last time, it was slow and warm. You hummed clenching the sponge against the edge of the bath where your hands lay, water spilling over the edge. You didn’t care though feeling your pants get wet, you just leaned into him more.
“I want you” he muttered against your lips and your body tensed as you pulled back.
“You have me” you said quietly as you stood, put the sponge down and grabbed his towel. He stood as well, the water moving with him, you kept your eyes away as he took the towel and dried himself. You drained the bath going to put the oils away till a hand tugged you.
“Cleaning can wait” he said and you stuttered going to say it will only take a second, but let him pull you to him. He had discarded his towel on the floor as he tugged you close, your hands resting on his chest so you didn’t trip. You kept your eyes on his upper chest, feeling your body grow warm, you saw two puncture holes like the ones in your wrist, only more prominent. You looked to him again and he took the chance to kiss you. His hands held your waist as you closed your eyes again. You felt a very faint heart beat in his chest making you frown slightly.
“I still have a heart” he whispered and you froze.
“I didn’t mean-“ you stuttered and he smiled kissing you again.
“I’m not a full vampire” he explained and you frowned.
“Merely a vampire spawn” he added a small sneer on his face.
“I don’t know what that means” you muttered a little embarrassed as his smile returned.
“I have a vampire master, the one who made me, turned me into this” he made a disgusted face.
“You didn’t choose?” You asked and he scoffed.
“Who would choose this?” He said sternly and you winced.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know” you said ashamed and looked away.
“No, I’m sorry, again” he sighed his forehead pressing against yours.
“I was beaten up on the street, left for dead when I was offered a new life for eternity, my master took all my blood that I had left, killed me and turned me, when I woke up I had to claw my way through six feet of dirt” your heart shattered at his words as you felt tears in your eyes.
“I somehow escaped him and his claws, I found home here in Baldurs gate, made a name for myself, made lots of gold” he scoffed lightly lifting his head from yours. You were crying, you hadn’t meant to, it made him frown.
“Why’re you crying?” He asked as you sniffled and wiped your eyes.
“I’m sorry, I, it’s horrible what you went through, I’m sorry I press so much about it, I didn’t realise how much you went through” you said trying to stop your tears as he looked surprised.
“Sweet thing” he muttered as you scoffed lightly wiping your eyes again.
“I complain about my past” you huffed at yourself.
“Just because it’s different doesn’t mean it wasn’t worse” he said and you looked to him.
“As much as I enjoy talking, I meant what I said” he said eyes darkening.
“I want you” he murmured, heat going straight through your body.
“You have me” you said a little nervous.
“Not yet” he whispered pressing his lips to yours more desperately this time. You gave in, pressing yourself against him, hands on his chest again. His hands trailed to the hem of your shirt, tugging gently before he pulled back. You hesitated before lifting your arms up, he lifted your shirt up and over your head before dropping it in the floor. You instantly went to hide your stomach, at least your bra covered your top. He kissed you again, his hands holding your wrists gently and pulling them away from your body. He made you put your hands back on his chest while his untied your bra, you pulled back from the kiss again feeling nerves get a hold of you.
“You’re breathtaking in every way” he whispered pressing his lips to your neck making you sigh and tilt your head. He slipped off your bra while he kept kissing your neck. His hands rested on your sides before they slid up, you tensed a bit, but his hands just went back down to holding your hips, pulling them against his. You didn’t realise he’d gotten aroused in that time, you felt him hard between your body’s and your cheeks went hot. You were unsure as to what to do with your hands, never having touched a person before like this.
“You can touch, explore, I won’t bite unless asked” he teased nibbling your ear gently making you let out a surprised sound. He grinned against your neck continuing to kiss it. You moved your hands across his chest, around his shoulders and up his neck. He hummed against your own neck as you continued feeling him. He was smooth, only hair was on his head, still damp from the bath, he looked funny without it all curled and fluffed up, it made you giggle softly.
“What?” He asked pulling back with a smirk.
“Your hair” you smiled and he pouted.
“What about it?” He huffed and you laughed softly.
“Nothing” you shook your head grinning while he huffed.
“Cheeky pup” he muttered and kissed you again making you moan suddenly. His hands went to your pants, unbuttoning the front slowly. You expected him to shimmy them down, but you felt his hand go under your under wear and downward. Your body tensed before you whined against his lips as he dragged a finger through your folds. He growled then, feeling you, you grew embarrassed instantly.
“I can’t wait to taste you” he whispered breathlessly and you frowned slightly not understanding, before it clicked, he wanted-? On you-? Gods. His finger continued slow strokes making you jolt slightly when he ran his finger over your clit after every pass. You huffed gently against his lips feeling like your clothes were suffocating you.
“Impatient?” He grinned pulling back and you flushed looking away as his hand left your pants and gripped their hem.
“Cute” he said as he tugged down your pants and underwear before you shimmed and stepped out of them. He looked at you, eyes trailing down your body, you wanted to cover yourself quickly, but he was quick to tug you against him and kiss you quickly. You gasped softly finally feeling his cool frame against your whole body. He lead you over to the bed pulling back from the kiss and smirking. You gazed at him as he gently gave your shoulders a gentle push. You landed on the bed with a soft Oof, before you shuffled back slightly and he crawled over you. His lips met yours and his hips ground down into your body, you moaned softly against his lips, hands holding his biceps. The kiss was short as he kissed down your neck and upper chest before shuffling down the bed. He kissed your thigh next eyes on you intently before he pushed your knees open. You looked away embarrassed and put an arm over your eyes as you held your breath. The gasp that left you was quick and loud as a tongue went through your folds. You moaned biting the inside of your cheek as he began to eat you out. Your legs jolted every time he hit a sensitive spot which was everywhere. He hooked your legs over his shoulders and held you still making you whine. You began to pant as he continued, low groans leaving his mouth every once in a while. You gripped the sheets under you, back arching before he stopped. The whine that left you made you feel pathetic, your arm moving away from your eyes so you could see him as he panted and smirked. He licked his lips before wiping his mouth and crawled back up your body.
“Delicious” he muttered kissing you roughly. You moaned tasting yourself on his tongue, the feeling strange. His hips moved against yours gently before his hand went between your body’s again. Your mouth opened with a gasp as his finger pressed against your entrance and slowly slid it, his tongue going to tangle with yours as he did. The feeling was odd, but not unpleasant, different when someone else did it. He slowly moved his finger in and out your hips slowly moving to meet his movements. He smiled against your lips as he added a second finger. You felt the stretch this time, brow furrowing slightly at the intrusion.
“Relax” he whispered against your lips as he kissed down your jaw and to your neck again. You did the best you could to relax as he slowly moved his fingers and spread them. You moaned quietly as his thumb pressed against your clit and moved slowly. He set a pace, enough for you to feel the coil in your stomach. You were moaning quietly with every breath, unable to get words out as he sucked along your neck. You gripped his arm feeling him grin against you before he lifted his head and removed his fingers.
“Are you ready?” He asked your eyes fluttering open and your head nodding.
“I need you to relax” he said pressing soft kisses on your face. You nodded letting your legs relax and your body. You glanced down seeing him giving himself a few slow pumps making you flush before he lined himself up. You held his arm nervously, fingers clenching. He moved his arm though and you frowned as he moved to hold your hand is his. You looked to him, giving him a small nod as he pressed against you. You clenched his hand tightly as he slid in. You whimpered at the stretch while he moaned above you. You felt tears sting your eyes as they rolled down your face, your lord quickly kissing them away.
“Breathe” he said and you realised you were holding your breath. You panted softly as the sting died down a little as you finally relaxed.
“Good pup” he whispered making you flush. He allowed you to adjust before you nodded with a small hum. His hips slowly moved back then forward, you closed your eyes trying to relax your body so it didn’t sting as much.
“It gets better I promise” he whispered, kissing your cheek and you trusted him with a nod. You kept a hold of his hand as he set a slow pace, the sting leaving and small pleasure replacing it. Your face wasn’t scrunched up anymore as he sped up and your breathing quickened.
“So good” he said breathlessly as you moaned softly. Your hips met his without you realising, the feeling making your stomach coil again, you needed something more though. You didn’t know what though, to afraid to ask.
“What’s wrong little pup?” He asked slowing down slightly.
“More” you whispered opening your eyes and he grinned.
“Of course” he said hips moving rather harshly into yours. You moaned eyes rolling into your head again as he quickened his pace. You felt his hand between your body’s again and moaned loudly as his fingers went to your clit. this is what you needed. Your back arched and you clenched his hand and the sheet as he began to rub quicker. You moaned out his name brokenly, hearing him groan softly in response as your stomach tightened. You felt your breath hitch and your back arch as you came. Your body shook with a broken moan as he rode out your high. His hips began to stutter as he mouthed around your neck.
“You can bite me” you whispered and his hips snapped into yours. He growled against your neck hips stuttering more as he bit down and came. You cried softly feeling the shards of ice going through your neck before it numbly throbbed. His hips still moved slowly as he began to feed. He held you tightly, greedily drinking you before you gave a weak moan. He pulled back panting harshly as he slipped free. He licked the wound muttering small praises as your head spun slightly. You were in a daze as he panted above you stood. You frowned making a small whine of complain and he chuckled dampening a cloth and coming back. He cleaned you up, from the blood on your neck to the come dripping from your entrance. You shuddered when he cleaned you, your body over sensitive before he cleaned himself and threw the cloth away.
“Stay?” You said thinking he wouldn’t as he stopped by his desk briefly as you admired his body.
“I’m not going anywhere sweet thing” he said turning and walking back to you.
Next part ->
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narcissisticmf · 1 year
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unsaid | dean winchester x fem!reader
request: "Heyyy, idk of ur requests are open but if they are can u please write a dean Winchester x ex girlfriend smut who is a hunter and who dean is still not over. Sam and Dean rescue her from a vampire nest and dean is angry and worried after her and she's all like "stop acting like you care" and he says something like I'll show u how much I care" + angst + kinda enemies x lovers + dark dean? + marking ; ( set in early seasons llke;1,2,3)" from anonymous
description: after nearly losing y/n to a nest of vampires, her and dean quarrel which leads to something more.
trigger warnings: angst, gun usage, sexual content, seductive behavior, arguing, foul language, marking, oral sex, unprotected sex, etc. please do not proceed in reading if you are under the age of 18.
word count: 2.5k
With your wrists tied tightly in thick rope, you could smell the blood that seeped out from your bruised skin as you were beginning to regain consciousness. You found yourself in a dark room, the only light that shone was from the subtle crack of the door. You were held against a wooden pillar, the rope wasn't giving in as you tried to free yourself.
Your machete was lying against a coffee table in the middle of the room. You lifted your head to see a small group of people coming in through the slightly opened door.
Squinting your eyes, you saw them coming closer dressed in Mick Jagger styled clothing. You parted your lips and stared at them as them headed towards you, strutting as though they were at the top of the hierarchy of monsters.
"You're the morons that jumped me?! You look like a bunch of high school rejects," You laughed as they surrounded you, most of them were men and a few of them were women.
"I'd be careful what you say next, honey," The tallest of them lowered his head to whisper in your ear. You quickly went from laughing to rage, flaring your nostrils as you glared at them.
"Or what? You'll kill me? How original," You snapped.
"We could, but that wouldn't be as fun as watching you bleed out.. dry," He stood up straight and smiled, fangs beginning to push through his gums.
The whole time you had been attempting to pull out your pocketknife from your back pocket, so the more you spoke the more distracted they were to these actions.
"Not very smart," You replied. You used your left hand to reach into your right back pocket, where the knife sat.
"Why's that?" He questioned with a chuckle.
"Well the longer you let me sit here, the longer it'll take me to find a way out," You stated. His face dropped, but his fangs were still out. You were able to grab the pocketknife, flip it open and cut through the rope the whole time, without their acknowledgment.
The sound of the door being kicked open made you all turn your heads to see who was there and to your lucky surprise, it was the Winchesters. You smirked subtly as the vampires rushed towards them which gave you time to cut yourself free.
Once you freed yourself, you hurried across the room and lunged for your machete that was sitting on the coffee table. You snatched it by the handle and hurried towards the vampires. You swung it at one of their necks, decapitating one of them to see Sam standing before you.
"Thanks for backing me up," You spoke quickly.
"No problem," Sam replied.
You turned to see Dean taking on three vampires, so you went to his assistance and swung your blade across one's neck, beheading them effortlessly. It didn't take long before you all had wiped out the entire nest.
.
Walking along the grass, you were beside Sam as Dean followed. You were still tired from being knocked out and the bruises were still upon your wrists, along with the blood that seemed to have dried by now.
"You could've been killed, Y/N/N," Dean finally spoke as you stopped in your tracks and turned to look at him.
"Don't act like you give a rat's ass about me, Dean," You grumbled. Sam awkwardly climbed into the Impala as you and his brother began to argue.
"I do care!" Dean defended. "Despite what happened between you and me a long time ago, I don't ever wanna see you hurt or worse."
You clenched your jaw and stared at him with exhausted eyes. "I can take care of myself," You replied.
"I never said you couldn't," Dean said.
"But you implied it."
"No, I didn't, actually."
"Yes, you did."
The two of you were stubborn as mules. You stood there, staring at him blankly for a while as stillness filled the atmosphere. The only sound came from crickets singing and frogs croaking. A subtle thunder rumbled in the distant skies.
"Just.. take me back to the motel I'm staying at, it's the Riverside Peak," You whispered, no desire to argue any longer.
Dean said nothing and walked towards the Impala, you headed towards the car and got into the backseat. You released a gentle breath and remembered the few times you had road with the Winchesters in their most luxurious vehicle.
Your dirty fingertips grazed over the leather seat, replaying a few memories you and Dean shared in the back of his car.
The rumble of the engine pulled you from your thoughts.
.
Once Dean pulled up to the motel room you were staying in, you climbed out of the car and looked through the passenger window at the two of them.
"Thanks again for helping me out, I owe you one," Your lips formed a thin smile as the two of them waved you off.
"We'll be in touch," Sam replied. You nodded and walked towards the door to your room, unlocking it with the key and walking inside. You latched the door shut and listened to the Impala's engine driving off.
You dragged your feet towards the bathroom to have a shower, the feeling of blood and dirt against your skin wasn't one you liked to sleep with. You took a longer shower than normal that night, letting the hot water run down your skin. Goosebumps arose along the surface of your arms and legs as you stood there, beneath the steaming hot water.
The water eased the pain of your wounds the longer you stood in there. With your back facing the showerhead, you leaned your head back to let more of the water run through your hair.
It wasn't long before you got out after having washed your body and hair. You cut the water off and stepped out, grabbing a towel to cling to your body. Drying off, you put on a fresh pair of underwear and a long, baggy t shirt that went down to your mid-thigh.
You let your wet hair rest against your shoulders as you walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen to eat something for dinner. You decided an easy meal was needed after such a frustrating day, so you pulled out one of those microwaveable mac 'n' cheese bowls. It satisfied your hunger enough for the night.
Before you got a chance to eat, there was a knock at your door. In your bare feet, you slowly walked towards the bedside table to grab your handheld gun, holding it at your side in case you needed to use it. You walked towards the door and peaked through the small hole to see who it was.
You furrowed your brow and placed the gun back down onto the bedside table, unlocking the door to open it. Dean was standing there in a red flannel, the same outfit he was in after the vamp nest.
"What do you want?" You asked.
"Can I come in?" He questioned, his tone was soft.
You released a breath and opened the door wider for him to enter the room. You latched it shut behind you, making sure to lock it again.
"Is there a reason you're here, Dean?" You stood behind him as he was walking deeper in the room.
He sniffed a few times, "Are you having mac 'n' cheese?"
"Dean," You spoke sternly and he looked at you with those puppy eyes, "What're you doing here?"
"Right, yeah.." Dean mumbled and stood before you, "I just needed to talk to you."
"At three in the morning?" You asked.
"Yeah," He shrugged his shoulders.
"Dean, this can wait until tomorrow," You turned around and started for the door to let him leave, but he followed after you and held your shoulder.
"No, Y/N, it can't," He breathed out, like he was holding it that wholw time.
"Get off me," You shrugged his hand off you shoulder and turned around to look at him. Your back was pressed against the door.
"Look.." He dragged his fingers down his mouth. "What you said earlier about me not caring about you being hurt.. it's not true."
"But it is true, Dean! You don't care," You snapped. "You didn't care when you walked out on me two years ago and you don't care now!"
"Oh come on, Y/N/N! This is completely different," He argued.
"No, it's fucking not," You clenched your jaw, "You hurt me, Dean.. bad. This.." You gestured to the bruises on your wrists, "is nothing compared to the shit you put me through when you left!"
It was quiet for a while. Tears began to brew in your eyes as did Dean's.
"I do care," He replied.
"Show me," You stated flatly.
"What?" Dean questioned with a furrow in his brow.
"Show me you care," You swallowed a lump that built in the center of your throat.
He looked at you with dilated pupils and walked towards you. You could've sworn the moment happened in slow motion. Dean was looking at you with parted lips as his eyes gazed at every inch of your face.
"I don't know what I would've done if we hadn't made it there in time," He whispered.
"Show me.." You breathed out, feeling the knots in your stomach untangle as he lowered his head to press a kiss to your collarbone that was exposed. You leaned your head back against the door and felt him begin to suck on the soft flesh of your skin.
Your breathing became irregular as Dean worked his way up your neck, leaving darkening circles where his lips touched as a way to mark his territory.
"Dean," You shakily breathed. His hands gripped your wrists and gently pinned them to the door, so you had no way of touching him, yourself or anything around you.
"You scared me today, sweetheart," He mumbled against your skin and pulled his head back to look at you intently.
"You don't care," You whispered, leaning in.
"I do care," He replied softly.
"No," You shook your head.
"Yes," Dean brushed his nose against yours. You closed your eyes as he swiftly kissed your lips. You felt him release your wrists so you could grip your fingers to his flannel at his sides. You felt him slip his tongue in, battling with your own.
You gently pushed your back off the door and without breaking the seal of your kiss, you lead him to the bed in the middle of the room. Dean slowly pulled his head back and looked down at you.
"Is this okay?" He questioned.
"Yes," You nodded.
He smiled as you laid against the bed. Following your actions, Dean climbed onto the bed, hovering over you. You sucked in a gentle breath and pressed your lips to his once more. Without pulling his lips back, he shrugged off his flannel and tossed it onto the floor which became a growing pile of clothes.
Eventually, the two of you were completely undraped. You laid against the pillows as Dean left a trail from his lips down your neck and between your breasts. You closed your eyes at the feeling and released a whimper here and there.
"You feeling okay, sweetheart?" Dean mumbled against your skin.
You couldn't speak and simply nodded, shakily breathing as Dean brought his face up to you. He dragged his fingertips down between your legs as your breath shook. He softly traced them over your inner thigh, causing you to spread them slowly.
Dean's index finger slipped over your center, making you whine quietly. The pad of his finger was coated with your arousal.
"Dean," You whimpered as he smirked down at you, gently pushing two fingers in. At first, you clenched around him, but loosened to his touch once you adjusted to the feeling. You looked up into his eyes, holding eye contact for a while as you gently reached down to hold his wrist as he moved his fingers within you. It was as if he was playing the most beautiful instrument.
He removed his fingers and brought them up to your lips. "Taste yourself, sweetheart," Dean mumbled as you parted your lips to let him slip his fingers inside. "Atta girl.."
Taking his hands back after a while, he pressed kisses along your chest and down your stomach. You arched your back softly against the pillows as his lips came into contact with your folds, sucking on the wetness that coated the outside of them.
You reached down to hold a grip onto his hair, gently pushing him deeper against your center. He dragged his tongue up your folds, tracing the first initial of his name against you.
"Oh.. God," You whispered as goosebumps spread across your skin.
Dean pulled his head up to hover over you once again. The tip of his erect brushed against your folds, making you whine softly. He hushed your noise with his lips against yours. Subtle moans were escaping your mouth as you draped your arms around his neck.
"Ready?" Dean mumbled into your mouth.
"Yes," You nodded as you felt he wasted no time before slipping inside you. The sensation was effortless as you moaned into his mouth. He smiled in the kiss and waited a minute before you were comfortable. You were loose against him as he motioned his hips back and forth at a generous pace.
"Good girl," Dean pulled his head back and gripped the headboard of the bed as he slowly picked up the pace.
You closed your eyes and allowed your body to feel the wonderful sensation. It didn't take long before he found the spot within you. Your eyes opened to look at him as he was so gentle yet rough at the same time. You cupped his face and pressed a longing kiss to his plump lips.
"Can I let go now?" You asked breathlessly into his mouth.
"Yeah," Dean nodded and you could tell he was close as well. You whined and buried your face into his neck as you felt your orgasm unfold within your stomach. He felt you come undone as he took the opportunity to slip out and release his load onto your lower stomach.
You were tired and made a miserable attempt at catching up with your breathing. Dean pressed a kiss against your temple and slowly laid beside you. You reached over to the bedside table to grab a small towel from the drawer to wipe your stomach clean.
Once you did, you tossed it onto the pile of both you and Dean's clothing. You turned your head to look at him and smiled with your lips closed together.
"I do care about you, sweetheart," Dean's voice was low.
"I know," You whispered, "I could see it in your eyes."
.
a/n: i absolutely love this concept and this was so fun to write!! i'm so happy for the person that requested this because i genuinely had the best time writing it! tysm!! requests are always open, my loves! thank you for reading and supporting me! <33 — angelina.
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pleasantlyinsincere · 7 months
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Chris Hutchins - John's This Photo Kills postcard and Stuart
It was a warm June day in 1965 when the postcard landed on the desk of my office at the NME, deep in the heart of Covent Garden. The card was addressed to me but John, whose unmistakable handwriting marked him out as my correspondent, began 'Dear Mick', clearly alluding to Mick Jagger [...]. The message went on in typical Lennon vein: 'Woke up this mornin' - cornflakes - brown sugar - dig? Shoes - mac - raining down - still digging? ... Folk fingers - brass coffee - couldn't sleep - broke my line. Won't be back in time. DIG??? He signed it 'THE BIFOLKALS'.
I read it over and over again but never could work out half of what he was trying to say. Except, that is, for the 'brown sugar' bit. It was the term in those days - and this was Sixties, remember - for heroin [...].
But it was the picture on the other side that was most interesting - a photograph of himself, Paul, George and Ringo. Over each face he had inked-in dark glasses and on his one hand showing, a black glove. There was more: in the center of the group he had drawn a fifth person, a fifth Beatle and it was none other than the late Stuart Sutcliffe. Stuart had always worn dark glasses.
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The card had been sent from Genoa mid-way through the Beatles' Italian tour. [...] But the conversation had become maudlin when I reminded him that he was going to talk to me for an article about Stuart. [...] In that sad telephone conversation before they set off for Milan, I asked him if he was happy: 'I'd be a lot happier if Stuart was still part of us,' he said, 'The Beatles would be complete.' And before he rang off he said 'Ill send you something.'
[John showing Hutchins around recently purchased Kenwood.]
There were John Lewis style paintings everywhere, but hung in one of the guest bedrooms were just two drawings and our host became clearly emotional when he explained they were there for 'sentimental reasons'. They were in fact works by his late dear friend, the man who helped him found the Beatles, Stuart Sutcliffe.
In that moment all John's feelings for the one man he had most liked and admired became apparent, he turned away but not before I saw his eyes welled up with tears. John never liked looking back when it exposed his feelings [...]. But even he could do nothing to hide the sadness brought on by such reminders of the past as hung before us.
We left the 'Sutcliffe room' and I noticed that he locked the door behind him. The room had become a shrine.
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dadr0ckmusic · 2 years
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stranger things headcanons because i said so (fruity four + billy)
basically them in my dr
steve harrington
does restaurant challenges unironically. like he has to eat a big wet daddy burger in an hour just for a plaque on the wall and a pic with the owner smh
calls his car babygirl
modern au where he texts the girl he likes at 1:11, 2:22, etc just to get her hopes up
loves madonna. you can't tell me otherwise
he does yoga. and if you catch him he'll threaten your life
calls his house 'the love shack'
if you were just becoming friends with him he would listen to your music or do your hobbies with you just to make you happy
would totally rock out to stacy's mom
he gives off lactose intolerant vibes. i do not make the rules.
would definitely have playlists called "alt songs that make you drink monster" or "sad vibes" or "coronavirus got me like"
would've fucking KILLED on grindr
would love twilight. he's on team jacob
laughs at minion memes
robin buckley
the literal queen of your mom jokes
she would totally say "who up wonking they willy rn"
would work at spencer's
she had a ton of hamsters that died the most traumatic deaths when she was a kid and they're all buried in her backyard
loooves poop and fart jokes
she still sleeps with the same stuffed bear she had when she was little (and we are NOT judging)
says "oh my goodness gracious" at the funniest possible times
would literally FUCK at rainbow loom
her childhood room was purple and steve picks on her for it
cannot use chopsticks to save her life
one time steve made her mad so she literally WENT OFF THE GRID and he didn't see her for a whole week and he was freaking the fuck out
was a bug girl. worms? fuck yeah. roly polys? best buds. what the fuck is that thing? it has a terrarium now.
literally is the most caring person on the planet. she's always worrying about you and what you're feeling and what you're doing
only eats the marshmallows out of lucky charms
is scared of bees
billy hargrove
he bakes. he bakes cookies, cupcakes, you name it. if you ever catch him he's FORCING you to taste whatever he's making
an AVID reader. he's got books all over his room, stolen library books in the glove box of his car, and he's reading the hawkins post every morning no matter what
his mom taught him how to sew. lets say after a mishap with the whole 'different dimension' thing, you're bummed cause you got a hole in your favorite shirt. billy would be like "i can fix it for you" and you're like "what??" but he just gets mad and goes "just give me the fucking shirt" and then the next day he's bringing it to you good as new
hates cooked carrots
can fall asleep anywhere. couch, car, at a party, you name it. he will find a spot to fall asleep
he was actually very interested in supernatural stuff when he was younger. and then when max started telling him about everything billy was like "wait. i read this about... blah blah blah" and max is just so surprised
he can totally make a mean cocktail. you want a pina colada? whipped up in seconds. craving a margarita? he's got the salt ready. feeling like an old fashioned? liquor's already in front of him.
he never wears sunscreen. not a single spf anywhere on his body.
calls girls broads and you can NOT tell me otherwise
totally thinks metallica was at its best in their thrash era. sorry bud i'd hate to break it to you
hates the fourth of july cause of y'know.
i feel like he would totally get into dog rescue after he leaves hawkins.
would totally kick ass at mario kart. like he's THE BEST and he always chooses bowser
would totally bash you for your music taste if it was different than his. "what the hell is a beatle?" "mick jagger is not hot." "queen? aren't they gay?" "zeppelin? who taught you that?"
a literal GOD at making mac n' cheese
nancy wheeler
so so so stubborn it's actually annoying.
call her 'einstein' and you're six feet under the floorboards
the tom cruise poster in her room has stared her in the face ever since robin commented on it
nancy's actually amazing at rollerskating. like even mike was surprised because when did she get good at that?
she has nightmares about what happened to barb multiple times a week :(
please know that if you're really close to her she would kill someone for you. no hesitation.
she's super literal? like when someone asks a hypothetical question she's like "when would this happen? why w-" and then immediately get cut off
has a tonnn of notebooks/journals just filled with random stuff like doodles, school notes, reminders, and little ramblings
has plants named after each of her friends and when something's wrong with one of the plants, there's always something wrong with the friend.
is a feminist (slay)
she saves every birthday card given to her and keeps them in a box in her closet
she's a morning person. up and at 'em before 9 every morning and it pisses the gang off when they all sleep in the wheeler's basement. "nancyyyyy..... close the curtains i beg of you..." "it's such a beautiful day, don't you think?"
she's actually amazing at shoplifting.
eddie munson
is allergic to peanuts
when i tell you this man is spontaneous... think 100x more. he'll pull up to your house at 11pm and declare that he planned a road trip while sitting in detention earlier that day and that you're going with him. "eddie what are you doing here? it's so late." "we're going to ohio. we're gonna stop in columbus for like five minutes and drive back." "what the hell."
has cried to sweet child o' mine and will keep that fact to his grave
owns multiple pairs of boxers with superhero logos on them.
definitely has 10 in 1 shampoo that he uses for everything.
ate dirt as a child
if you ever smoke pot with him, just expect him to say the weirdest shit while he's doing whatever. "do you think steve is thinking about me right now?" "yoooooo...... uh.... yo..... um...... i forgot....." "i want to get a cat." "shut up eddie."
he's just,,,, so oblivious,,,,, to sarcasm, flirting, jokes, etc
has ADHD, no doubt about it.
just like billy, he'll bash you on your music taste no matter what. even if you like the same music as him. "that's your favorite tool song? god, you could do way better than that." "c'mon, you know that dio sang better than ozzy." "munson, you're lying straight through your teeth and you know it."
will make you friendship bracelets and you KNOW you're wearing them till you die.
modern au where you're facetiming him and he takes SO MANY facetime pics of you and sometimes makes them his lockscreen. he thinks he's THE SHIT for that.
he giggles. a total giggler.
he flicks dustin in the head all the time.
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shawolsos · 1 year
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I've been thinking about Henry and Alex's wedding again
I think that it would be absolutely balls-to-the-walls fucking mental. It'd be a royal wedding that even my parents and I (very much anti-monarchist) would watch and enjoy. I want a royal wedding that would give Piers Morgan cardiac arrest six ways from Sunday.
Like, speakers on every street corner blasting Bowie, Jagger, Queen, Blondie, Gloria Gaynor, Taylor Swift and One Direction.
If they HAVE to sing God Save the Queen, I want it sang by Adam Lambert while Brian May absolutely shreds a guitar solo on the top of Buckingham Palace.
An autumn wedding because Henry told Alex that if a wedding happens during term-time, kids get the day off school and who is he to deny them that.
Mexican food and burgers and hot dogs, curries and fish and chips. None of this pretentious canopies and whatever else it is rich people have at weddings
Cornettos and wedding cake made of red velvet and funfetti.
Elton John singing "Your Song" as a first dance.
Queen Catherine leading Britain's nobility in the Macarena and the Cha Cha Slide and Martha having to drag Philip onto the dancefloor.
Foreign Monarchs and Dignitaries and the fucking Prime Minister's Cabinet becoming wild party animals for one night and one night only.
Jaffa Cake donuts, because they're a thing and they are the best thing ever.
The presenting team has Holly and Phil but also Baga Chipz, Lawrence Chaney, Suzi Ruffell, Tom Alan, Rylan, Nick Grimshaw, Graham Norton, Sue Perkins, Courtney Act, Trixie Mattel, Katya Zamo and the original cast of Horrible Histories (cuz Henry loved that show as a kid and you can't convince me otherwise)
The guest list includes Britain and America's gay icons except for Ellen. The entire Harry Potter cast and NOT JKR every James Bond actor they can get and kids from Henry's shelters.
Traditional CofE readings but also passages from the great FEMALE writers of Britain and classical mythology and Sappho.
Mexican love songs in the middle of the service, that make everyone tear up, regardless of whether they understand Spanish.
Their personally written vows would be exchanged in a private ceremony the day before.
Ellen and Oscar walking Alex down the aisle.
Shaan and Zahra being event coordinators.
St. George's Chapel being decked out in beautiful floral arrangements.
Pez and Nora being the best best man and woman.
Pez, June and Nora getting blackout drunk and ending up in the same hotel room.
Bea and Catherine staying back to help with the clean up and taking loads of left overs back up to the apartment to share with the staff.
Ellen, Oscar, Luna and Leo managing to slip away from their security and going to a nightclub in Soho and sending some very confusing but hysterical voice notes to Alex.
Henry stopping the car to get a donner kebab because he's English and drunk.
Apartment 6F becoming royalists for the first and only time in their lives and setting aside a whole week to watch everything related to it.
Street Parties in London and Washington going from the night before until the night after.
Sweet elderly people who have been in the crowd at every royal wedding for the last sixty years and have become very supportive of the queer community ever since their grandchildren came out to them.
A proper English Bloke™ who looks like he'd be homophobic but isn't and a bi girl with pink hair and a nose ring getting absolutely plastered together.
A sea of Union Jacks and Star-Spangled Banners being waved alongside every variety of Pride Flag.
It'd be a royal wedding that literally no other couple would be capable of planning.
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harry-on-broadway · 1 year
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The Last Line: Part One
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Part One 
Word Count: 9.4K || Series Masterlist || Rating: M
A/N: I didn’t think I’d be writing another series so soon after TYTM but...this little idea of an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers story that I’ve been thinking about for a long time just wouldn’t go away. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I’m enjoying writing it. Would love to hear what everyone thinks! 
***
May 12, 2017
Review: Harry Styles Heads In A New Direction
By Penny Sanders
If you know someone, most likely a young woman, between the ages of 13 and 30, chances are you’ve heard of Harry Styles.
Or at least his former band, One Direction.
Styles is one of the five young men that were thrown together by the infamous Simon Cowell to create the best selling boy band of all-time. Over their brief career, One Direction’s discography cast a wide net, attracting fans of all ages. Young tweens and their millennial counterparts were drawn in by the clean-cut look of the lads clad in blazers and bowties and lyrics that felt like they were pulled from a self-insert fanfiction. However, as the years progressed the band added a bit of an edge – tattoos, rumors of an attempted threesome, and lyrics about a loaded gun (read: erect penis). But with 1D in the midst of an indefinite hiatus, all eyes are on Harry, Niall, Liam, and Louis (and Zayn too) to see what comes next.
Styles has answered that question with a 10-song debut that is worlds away from the five albums he put out with his former band. Gone are the bubblegum beats, replaced by alternatively somber and bombastic instrumentals. And forget cheeky “wink-wink nod-nod” lyrics to – gasp! sex! Styles readily admits getting himself off in a hotel room in the album’s closer, “From the Dining Table.”
It’s not a poor offering, but frankly, it’s not great either. While he pushes himself to redefine the sound that has been associated with him for more than five years, the result is a generic LP that will likely be forgotten as soon as one of the industry’s legitimate superstars releases a new single. And, to head off the question I’ve already received from many of Styles’ supporters on Twitter, I can guarantee that you won’t be seeing this album or any of its tracks, mentioned at this year’s Grammy Awards.
One of the bright spots on the album, the lead single “Sign Of The Times,” feels like a grand moment, but it also feels misplaced, almost as if it was a song that should have come a decade into his solo career. Despite poignant lyrics (the song is purportedly about a mother dying in childbirth), Styles’ falsetto needs strengthening and at times he sounds like a young boy trying to imitate his elders. He has talent and shows promise, but isn’t able to pull off a ballad of that caliber yet. Other songs, like “Sweet Creature” and “Two Ghosts” are instantly forgettable, though “Kiwi,” while memorable, is just plain painful to listen to.
Styles is obviously popular, and that alone will be enough to propel him to years of sold-out shows and chart-topping albums. But he needs something else – a secret ingredient if you will –  to launch him to further stardom and cement his name alongside his idols Nicks, Bowie, and Jagger. Otherwise, he’ll be nothing but a midnight memory.
***
September 21, 2017
Review: Harry Styles Rocks The Greek Theatre
By Penny Sanders
Months after the release of his self-titled debut album, Harry Styles found himself at the Greek Theatre, ready to play to a sold out crowd that had likely been waiting for this moment since One Direction’s final performance.
And let me just say, attending a Harry Styles concert is an experience like no other.
The intimate venue was a nice change of pace for Styles who was selling out stadiums in the latter half of One Direction’s tour. He was always seen as the charming one, and the small stage makes that even more apparent, giving him more than enough time to banter with the audience, introduce songs, and connect with his audience. I’m sure many of those in the front of the crowd will tell stories for years to come of the night they made eye contact with the heartthrob.
With just 10 songs of his own, he relied on some One Direction hits and other covers to fill out the setlist. With the exception of “The Chain,” most of the covers sounded nothing like the original version, leading anyone unfamiliar with Styles’ career so far to assume the guitar heavy, rocking versions of the songs – notably “What Makes You Beautiful” and “Story of My Life” – are the standard.
Styles has a charisma like no other, and even though it’s clear it takes him a while to warm up to the crowd, perhaps a symptom of never being alone onstage in his career so far, he’s a born performer who belongs on the stage. But for me, he wasn’t the standout. It was his fans.
The crowd was ready for fun, dressed to the nines, with nearly everyone carrying overflowing bags of merch. They sang along to the songs word perfect and clung to Styles every word, cheering louder than I’ve ever heard when he entered the stage. It was a joyous occasion and had an energy I haven’t seen in any of the concerts I’ve recently attended.
I spoke to a number of women in attendance last night, asking them what drew them to the show. Some cited their One Direction fandom, while others spoke of the sounds of his music, and how it reminded them of other classic songs they love. But for many, Styles himself was the primary reason for being there.
“He makes things really personal,” said Ally, a college student who came from Minneapolis to see the show – her third time seeing Styles this year. “A lot of the other concerts I go to, the artists don’t say anything other than a generic thank you. But Harry makes every show feel special.”
“He feels like a friend,” said Katrina, a local high-schooler. “School’s not always easy and I sometimes struggle with things, but when I listen to his music or go to one of his shows, it feels comforting. Like I’m in a safe place.”
These statements perfectly summarize why Styles’ concerts are so unique.
If he stays true to what his fans want and lets his personality shine on stage, that, in addition to strengthening his songwriting, could be enough to land him alongside his musical icons, and 50 years from now, we’ll see him headlining stadiums on his own, playing a career’s worth of hits as the crowd – full more than just women – sings along.
Longtime readers will remember that I was less than effusive in my review of Styles’s debut, but after seeing him live, I must eat my words and say he’s going places.
***
Transcript from the “Track After Track” podcast, Episode 147: July 21, 2018
Ethan: Speaking of concerts, Penny, you just saw Harry Styles at the Forum, right?
Penny: Yeah, I was there a week ago. Eight days? No a week ago. Sorry it all blends together.
Ethan: I mean, you are at a concert every night, pretty much, so I’ll give you a pass.
Penny: [laughs] You’re so kind. But yes, I was at his show.
Tyler: How was that? I never know what to make of these boy band guys. For every Timberlake, there’s 10 Chris Kirkpatricks.
Penny: It wasn’t terrible. He puts on a good show.
Ethan: Was this your first time seeing him?
Penny: No. I saw him twice when he was in One Direction. And when he was at the Greek.
Tyler: And?
Penny: Like I said, he’s not terrible. It’s clear that his music and personality has resonated with a lot of people, so his shows are filled with fans and have a great energy. Listening to the album on its own is kind of meh…there weren’t a lot of tracks that stuck out as memorable…but live it can be kind of fun. You can tell he loves performing and really feeds off the crowd.
Ethan: Confession: I actually haven’t listened to the album yet.
Penny: That doesn’t surprise me based on the number of EDM CDs in your car.
Ethan: [laughs] Yeah, the genre definitely isn’t my cup of tea, but I think Harry is someone the industry really needs to watch. He’s going to do big things. Well, even bigger since he’s already pretty massive. Tyler, have you listened?
Tyler: Yeah, but I just can’t bring myself to get into it. Like, you just mention his name and you can hear the teen girls screaming off in the distance. I just think it’s a red flag when your fanbase is that narrow. Like if teen girls are your driver, how are you going to succeed? What happens when they’re not 13 and hormonal anymore. You’re not seeing a lot of geriatric boy band fans.
Penny: Wow! Ageism and sexism all in one statement! That has to be a first for you! It’s fine to say you don’t like his music, but to discount it purely on the basis that younger women like it…that’s just plain ignorant.
Tyler: Let’s evaluate this in five years and see where he is.
Penny: Fine, in five years have me back on this podcast and we’ll discuss his Grammy win.
Tyler: You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think Harry Styles will win a Grammy. You need to start thinking with your head and not your – (inaudible)
Penny: Seriously?
Ethan: OK, let’s talk charts…
***
Talking Biz News  
November 8, 2018
Penny Sanders to join media start-up The Moment as Music Reporter
***
Present Day, 2019
“She needs to go back to copyediting and stop fucking up my stories,” Chloe barked, stabbing lettuce onto her fork to match her anger. “She knows nothing about film but is constantly trying to make corrections and I’m just like ‘No?!? That’s not how the fucking industry works.’” She looked across the table at Penny. “Am I crazy?”
“No, you’re not crazy,” Penny said, trying to soothe her friend. “I have the same issue with Darren. He came in thinking he was hot shit because he had been at Rolling Stone and started trying to explain how the charts work as if I haven’t been covering this for years. I can’t tell you how much time I spend undoing his edits before the piece goes to Skylar.”
“Why can’t this newsroom hire a competent editor?” Chloe asked. “It’s not that hard.”
“Probably because no editor wants to work here?”
“Good point!”
Penny and Chloe were eating a late lunch in the courtyard of the complex that housed The Moment, the entertainment publication they both worked for. They’d met three years ago during a summer internship at Variety and forged an alliance after realizing they were the only two women in the program. Penny had wanted to cover music and Chloe was determined to become a film reporter, and they’d been thrilled to finally end up at The Moment together after several years of freelancing and fighting for staff writer roles. Now, they were unstoppable, filing stories daily and dodging pointless notes from their first editors.
“Wait, Penny…didn’t you file your piece on ‘Old Town Road’ today?”
“Yes, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why? It’s such an interesting story,” Chloe whined. “And I haven’t seen anyone covering it yet.”
“That always makes me nervous.” Penny swirled her spoon through her bowl of soup.
“It shouldn’t. It means you’re ahead of the curve.”
“Or I’ve completely misjudged the story. Maybe it’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. Give it a month and everyone will be talking about it.” Chloe paused. “Is Darren taking firsts?”
“Yes.”
“Oh fuck.”
“Yeah, it’s not looking good for me, Chlo.”
The Moment’s typical reporting and editing process involved a reporter filing a story to one editor, who would do an intensive first edit, fixing the structure of the story, making notes on sections that needed to be added or get cut, and getting the piece 99% ready for publication. The second round of edits was largely focused on fixing grammar and spelling, as well as fact-checking, ahead of publication. Penny typically preferred Skylar, the publication’s editor-in-chief, to take on first edits. While she could be tough, she was smart and kind, and Penny’s stories were always much better after Skylar got her hands on them. When other editors, like Darren, took first edits, Penny knew to prepare herself for days of tears, stress, and questioning her life choices.
“What about you?” Penny asked, wanting to shift the conversation away from her anxiety over her story. “Have things calmed down post-Oscars?”
“Yes. Thankfully.”
Penny knew Chloe loved her job but from late August to early March, she was running from festival to festival, covering awards season. In addition to writing her articles, she, like Penny, found herself taking on media hits as an added responsibility, appearing on morning shows, podcasts, and radio programs to break down entertainment topics for everyday consumers. It was fun and super fulfilling, but it was also exhausting.
“When is Cannes again?”
“May!” Chloe said brightly. “Easily my favorite festival.”
“I have no idea why,” Penny said with a sly grin. “Two weeks on a French beach surrounded by celebrities, eating the most delicious food. It sounds horrid.”
“Oh my God, Penny? What are you doing here?”
Penny and Chloe turned in synchronicity to look at the man who had shouted at them from a table across the path.
“Do we know him?” Chloe asked, mumbling the question through the tentative grin she had plastered on her face.
“I can’t actually see his face,” Penny admitted, squinting trying to gain a better view.
“This is why you need to wear your glasses,” Chloe hissed.
“Of all the food courts in Los Angeles,” the man continued as he walked over to them.
“Wait…Tom? Is that you?”
“It is! How have you been?” He opened his arms and pulled Penny into him. She wrapped her own arms around him.
“So good. I didn’t realize you were out here.”
“I’ve actually been here for a few years now.”
“Shit. Really. I feel so bad that I didn’t reach out,” Penny said apologetically. “And I’m also surprised that my mom didn’t mention you.”
“Eh, it’s not a problem,” he shrugged.
“Care to introduce me?” Chloe asked.
“Ah, yes,” Penny said, composing herself. “Chloe, this is Tom Skoglund. He’s a longtime family friend, although I’m sure that title is being called into question since I didn’t even know he was living here. Tom, this is Chloe. She’s a friend of mine who also works at The Moment.” Penny stepped back to allow Chloe and Tom to shake hands and exchange pleasantries. “Do you want to sit with us?” she asked when they were finished, noting Tom’s sandwich and chips.
“If you don’t mind,” he said. “I’d love to catch up.”
Penny and Chloe sat back down as Tom pulled up a third chair and set his food down. “So you’re still doing the reporter thing?” he asked with a grin. He turned to Chloe. “Penny used to write a newsletter for everyone in the neighborhood. It had news items and opinion pieces all written by her. I seem to remember a glowing review for the second High School Musical soundtrack.”
“It’s full of bangers and you know it,” Penny said with a grin.
Tom turned to Chloe. “Do you also cover music?”
Chloe shook her head. “I’m a film girl.”
“Thoughts on the Oscars?” he asked as he took a bite.
“Anyone who actually pays attention to previous stats knew that Green Book would pull out a win so I wasn’t surprised. I will be curious to see what Netflix does next though. I personally thought The Favourite should have won, but that’s why I’m not a voter.”
“I literally only saw Black Panther and A Star Is Born so I feel like I don’t have room to say anything,” Tom said with a grimace.
“You sound like Penny,” Chloe said with a laugh. “She can tell you the exact week a song hit number one on the Billboard charts, but is frighteningly unaware of the latest movies.”
“I only have so much room for useless facts,” Penny said, earning a kick under the table from Chloe. She turned her attention back to Tom. “What are you doing here? Last I heard my mom said you were working in finance? Is that still the case?”
“God no,” he said lightly. “I had enough of that soul crushing job and decided to head out here to hack it in music. Got an assistant gig and worked my way up to manager.”
“Tom, that’s incredible,” Penny said with genuine excitement. “Who are you with?”
“Full Stop. With Jeff Azoff”
“Wow,” Penny said as Chloe let out a slow whistle. She turned to look at her friend.
“Yes, I know who the Azoffs are,” Chloe said. “And that’s impressive. Congrats, Tom.” Her phone chirped and she looked down at the screen. “Fuck. One of my sources wants to chat. I’ve got to take this.” She looked up at Penny and Tom. “It was so nice to meet you, Tom. Penny, I’ll see you at drinks later?”
Penny nodded and waved as Chloe disappeared across the grass, depositing her empty salad container in the trash. “So Full Stop,” she said, turning back to Tom. “You all have quite the roster.”
“Before you ask, no comment,” Tom said with a grin.
“Tom, I’m disappointed that you’d think I would stoop that low. I have a firm stance on not using friends for work stuff.”
“Well good, because you’d get nothing out of me.” He took a sip of his drink. “Remind me, are you still doing breaking news?” He grimaced. “I know I see your byline frequently, but I don’t always remember which article it comes in front of.”
“No. I moved on from that.” Penny didn’t miss the days of covering the desk at night, ready to pounce on any stories that came across the wire. “I mostly do reviews for concerts and albums now. I’m working my way up to business features, profiles, those types of things.”
“What should I go back and get caught up on?”
“I reviewed Maggie Rogers’ album a couple of weeks ago and wrote a review of Elton John’s show last week.”
“God, doesn’t he put on a great show.”
“One of the best. And I’m working on a feature about TikTok and ‘Old Town Road’ right now.”
“That sounds so interesting. Is it up yet?”
“No. I just filed it to my editor so there is a very good chance that it will never see the light of day. But if it does, I will send it your way.”
“Please. Let me give you my number.”
Penny pulled out her phone and handed it to her old friend. It was a strange feeling knowing that in the heyday of their friendship, they hadn’t needed each other's number, knowing they could always find the other in the cul-de-sac or the school hallways.
“Done.” Tom said, saving his contact information and passing the phone back to Penny, who quickly dashed off a text so he would have her information as well.
“I should probably head back into the office now,” Penny said. “But it was great to see you.”
“You too,” Tom said, standing to hug her. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d want to come to a little party slash happy hour thing I’m having on Friday. It’s super casual, basically just drinks and fancy snacks with a bunch of people from the office. I think they’d all love to meet you and talk music. Off the record,” he added quickly.
“That sounds like a lot of fun,” Penny replied. “I should be free Friday.”
“Great. I’ll text you my address and we can take it from there.”
“Thanks, Tom,” Penny said, collecting her trash. “I’m really looking forward to seeing more of you.”
“Same. I’ll see you on Friday.”
Penny waved as she threw her trash away and headed back to her building. She smiled to herself. It would be nice to have another friendly face around. They were too rare in her line of work.
***
Penny promptly shut her laptop at 5pm, stowing it in her tote bag and pushing her chair underneath her desk.
“Have a nice weekend!” she called out to the few staffers that were remaining in the newsroom, before heading to her car. She plugged Tom’s address into her GPS app, hit play on her Spotify playlist, and pulled out of the parking lot. She was about 45 minutes away, thanks to the heavy traffic that was a near constant presence in the city, but made it to Tom’s house before her 80s synth mix was finished playing, which she counted as a win.
She grabbed her bag and fished around in the backseat for the bottle of wine she’d purchased earlier that day. She wasn’t sure if this was that type of gathering, but she felt weird showing up empty handed. Hopefully Tom wouldn’t say no to some Trader Joe’s wine. She locked her car and walked up the path and heard some shouts coming from the backyard. She rang the bell and just a few moments later, Tom appeared with a smile on his face.
“Penny! Come on in!” he said, opening the door for her. “How was the drive over?”
“Not as bad as it could have been,” she replied, shrugging off her cardigan and tote bag.
“I can take those,” Tom offered, reaching for her belongings, and placing them in a nearby closet.
“Thanks,” Penny said. “And this is for you,” she added, offering him the bottle of wine.
“You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“It’s from Trader Joe’s, Tom. It is quite literally the least I could do.”
He laughed. “Well, thank you. I’ll put it out now. It’s an open bar, so help yourself. Once you get a drink, I’ll take you around and introduce you to everyone.”
Penny poured herself a rum and Coke, and followed Tom out to the patio, drink in hand.
“Penny, I’d like you to meet Tommy Bruce,” he said. “Tommy, this is my friend, Penny. We reconnected the other day.”
“Pleasure, Penny,” Tommy said, shaking her hand. “Do you also work in the industry?”
“Sort of. I’m a critic and reporter at The Moment. I cover music.”
“That’s sick. Do you go to a lot of shows?”
“Yes. I was at Elton John’s show the other day and I’m planning to see Post Animal in a couple of weeks.”
“I was at Elton too! I wonder if we ran into each other?”
“We probably did,” Penny said with a laugh.
“Are you planning to go to Leon Bridges?”
“I’m not sure yet. I have to get everything approved by my editor so it’s up to her.”
“I hope you can. He’s so good. Hey, Jeff!”
Tom and Tommy turned their attention to another man that had approached their small group.
“Penny, this is the man, the myth, the legend, Jeffrey Azoff,” Tom said.
“They exaggerate,” Jeff said. “Nice to meet you Penny.”
“Nice to meet you too,” Penny said, moving her drink to her other hand so she could shake Jeff’s. “I’m an old friend of Tom’s from growing up. I work as a music journalist now.”
“Yeah, you’re at The Moment, right?” Jeff said.
“Yes…” Penny said slowly.
“OK,” Tommy said, affably rolling his eyes. “He’s such a show off.”
“I try to keep up with those who cover our clients, that’s all,” Jeff said. “And if it makes me look like a show-off, so be it,” he added, as Tommy playfully punched his shoulder.
As the men continued to banter, Penny surveyed the room, making the silent calculation she faced nearly everyday. Including herself, there were four women total at the gathering, which felt like a huge accomplishment. Working in her industry, she was used to being one of the only women in the room, a blessing and a curse.
The blessing was that whenever she found another woman at an event or meeting, they instantly gravitated toward each other, which meant she’d made a lot of friends in just a few years. The curse was obvious: men.
The men that surrounded her weren’t the worst offenders – they kept their hands and other body parts to themselves and were generally very kind – but being the lone woman was noticeable. Men would casually throw out that someone was a “bitch” or offer Penny an explanation that they didn’t give to a male reporter two years her junior. Penny usually just took it with a grain of salt, sighing internally, complaining to Chloe, and then proving her worth by being the smartest one in the room. Keeping an eye on two women chatting in the corner, she started to move towards them to introduce herself when she caught sight of another person across the way.
Harry Styles.
Or was it? Was that actually him? Chloe was right, she needed to wear her glasses more often. But Harry Styles being here didn’t make any sense. What would he be doing at a random house party?
She felt a hand on her shoulder and stepped over to the side to allow the person to pass and collect her thoughts. The more she thought about it, Harry Styles being at this party made sense. She knew from stories she’d worked on that he was repped by Full Stop, so it wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility that he would hang out with Tom and the other agents outside of work, but it was still jarring to see him out in the wild.
Whenever she told people she was a music journalist, their first instinct was to assume that she was close to many of the artists she reported on daily, but that wasn’t the case. When she was attending an event, it was a professional engagement. She was there to gather the facts, tell a story, and move on. Socializing with those in the industry outside of that professional setting made her uncomfortable. Especially when she was working on a review or piece of criticism. It was one thing to write those things and send them off into the vacuum of the internet, but when she thought about the subjects of the reviews reading her writing, she started to feel…guilty. She never intended to be mean – she knew how she felt when she received harsh notes from an editor – but the point of her reviews was to offer commentary and opinions. And if she thought too much about the people behind the work, her objectivity disappeared. So, she’d made a concerted effort to keep a firm boundary to ensure her writing was as good as it could be.
The few times she did meet musicians outside of work events, she could feel her brain going a mile a minute to remember if she’d ever written something slightly negative about them for fear they’d call her out on it, as despite what every musician claimed, they always read the reviews. And her brain started working overtime to perform these mental calculations as she saw Harry stop in front of her.
“Haven’t seen you here before. I’m Harry,” he drawled slowly, reaching out his hand.
Penny momentarily froze, but quickly recovered. “I’m Penny,” she said, shaking his hand.
“Do you work at Full Stop?” he asked, eyes glancing over her as if he was trying to figure out where she should be placed.
“No.”
“At one of the labels?”
“No.”
“OK, well I’m stumped as to where you fit it,” he said with a light laugh. “Care to enlighten me?”
“I’m a writer,” Penny replied, hoping the vague nature of her answer was enough to satisfy him.
“Have you written anything I’ve read?”
“Maybe.”
“Care to give me any other clues?” he asked, sipping from the plastic cup in his hand and leaning in closer to hear her response. Penny couldn’t tell what it was, but from the smell wafting over to her, it was something strong.
“I’m a journalist.”
“What do you cover?” Another sip, his eyes intensely focused on her.
“Entertainment,” Penny said simply, praying this game of 20 questions would be over soon.
“That’s kind of vague,” Harry replied quickly.
“That’s kind of the point.”
“Oh! A woman with an air of mystery. That’s…” he paused. “Enticing.”
“Enticing?” Penny quirked a brow and shot him a bemused grin.
“Yeah, it’s like a challenge. You’re making me work for it.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know, maybe a drink?” Harry asked hopefully.
“Wow. Subtle.”
“I try.” The corners of his lips ticked up. “Maybe I should try a little harder though.”  
Penny was thinking up a witty comeback, somewhat amused by the situation she’d found herself in and very pleased that she’d have a new story to share with Chloe at lunch on Monday, when Tom interrupted their conversation.
“There you two are! I was hoping to introduce you all tonight.” He looked at Harry, gesturing to Penny. “This is Penny. She’s a friend from back home who’s a big time writer for The Moment. She writes reviews for concerts and albums.”
Penny snuck a look at Harry and thought she saw a flicker of…something…in his eyes. It was so subtle and so brief that she didn’t have time to think about what it could mean before she felt Tom’s arm on her back.
“And Penny, you of course know Harry.”
“I do. I think one of my friends had a toothbrush with your face on it.”
“Hmmm,” Harry murmured. “Those were a hot item for sure.”
Tom’s eyes darted between the two, evidently waiting for them to continue the conversation he had interrupted. Seeing that that wasn’t going to happen, he excused himself and moved onto another group of people.
“So, music is the kind of entertainment you cover.” The banter was back but it had a harder edge this time.
“It is.”
“Have you ever written about me?”
Penny mulled her potential responses, trying to find one that could cause the path of least resistance. “No,” she said simply.
“Really?” Harry said. The challenge in his voice was evident. “You weren’t the one who said I sound like ‘a young boy trying to imitate his elders?’”
Fuck. Penny felt her face grow hot. “That might have been me.”
“I thought so.”
“How long did you know?”
“Once Tom said the name of where you work. There aren’t that many critics named Penny that wrote a scathing review of my album.”
“It wasn’t scathing,” Penny said, suddenly feeling defensive of her work. “It was critical, sure, but that’s what my job is. I’m a critic. And besides, don't musicians get off on bragging about how they don’t pay attention to the reviews?”
“Hate to break it to you but that’s a load of bullshit. We are all very sensitive creatures.”
“Well, that’s clear based on how you’re acting now.”
“How I'm acting? You’re the one that’s yelling in the middle of a party.”
“I’m not yelling!” Penny said, lowering her voice by a couple of decibels. “You’re the one that came over here trying to score and then decided to pick a fight because you can’t forget about one review from like two years ago.”
“I’m sorry–” Harry laughed in disbelief. “You thought I was trying to get lucky? What made you think that?”
“‘Ah! A mysterious woman! So enticing! I like a challenge. You’re making me bloody work for it. Let’s get a drink!’” Penny shot back in a poor imitation of his slow, deep voice.
“I did not say that.”
“Yes you did!” Penny yelped. “You totally did.”
“Whatever,” Harry mumbled, taking another sip of his drink while Penny just looked at him.
“That’s all you have to say?”
Harry looked at her blankly. “Yes?”
“Oh, I thought you might offer up a sorry.”
“What for?”
“For attacking my work.”
“I hate to break it to you, Penny, but I think you attacked my work first.”
“Because it’s my fucking job!”
“Everything alright over here?”  Jeff asked, stepping into the conversation. The look of caution on his face told Penny that her conversation with Harry had been overheard by the others at the party.
“We’re fine,” Penny said evenly.
“Yeah, peachy keen,” Harry added, earning a glare from Penny.
“I should actually be going,” Penny said.
“Oh, can’t you stay a little longer?” Jeff asked as Harry muttered “Bye, then.” Jeff cut his eyes over to Harry, who avoided his glance. “Alright then,” he said slowly. “It was nice to meet you, Penny. Hope to see you around.”
“You, too,” Penny said before swiftly leaving the group.
“What was that about?” Jeff asked, attention turned back to Harry.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“You were a bit, shall we say…dickish…back there?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“If you say so,” Jeff said. He paused. “Have you read any of her work?”
“I’ve read enough of it.”
“You should honestly read some more. The Moment in general is a really up-and-coming publication. They’ve poached some stellar writers and editors from Billboard and Rolling Stone. And Penny…she’s smart. I think you all would have a lot to talk about.”
Harry glared at Jeff. “What makes you say that?”
“She’s got an interesting perspective. Her reviews always leave me thinking about things in a different way and I can’t say that about many critics.”
“Oh really,” Harry shot back, suddenly combative. “Did you start to reconsider my album after reading her review?”
“Calm down, H,” Jeff said gently. “Your album is a fantastic accomplishment and you know it. And she doesn’t just write criticism, she does cultural pieces as well. Check them out. She was on a podcast last year that you might find interesting.” Jeff pulled out his phone, typing quickly. “Here’s a link. Give it a listen and let me know what you think.”
Harry shot Jeff another glare and drained his cup. “Thanks,” he said dryly. “I’ll move it to the top of the list. See you later,” he called, pushing past his manager.
He tossed his cup into a nearby trash can and combed the room for Tom, offering a wave as he walked out the door. Harry walked slowly down the driveway, feeling the cool night air blow through his hair, relishing the peace. He’d felt a little off all day, but couldn’t put a finger on why, and his encounter with Penny had thrown him even more off balance. He’d been feeling like this a lot recently. Like he didn’t quite fit in alongside the other pieces of his life. He reached his car and unlocked it, sliding inside.
He plugged in his phone and stared out the windshield. Penny. He hadn’t known who she was when he approached her that night. Only that she looked pretty and that the smile she’d worn when he saw her talking to Jeff and Tommy made him want to know more about her. But as the pieces fell into place, it was impossible to look past what she’d done to him two years ago.
He didn’t know why her review had struck such a nerve with him. It wasn’t like his debut had been released to unanimous raves, and after two years of looking back on it, while he was proud of what he’d accomplished, he could see the weak spots in his work and was hoping to improve upon them with his second album. The hurt that lingered was just one of those implacable feelings.
Rolling his neck and feeling it crack, he pulled on his seatbelt and scrolled through his music library looking for something to listen to on the ride home. But after cycling through the entire library twice to no avail, he opened the text Jeffrey had sent him earlier, pressing play on the podcast episode that had been shared with him before turning the key in the ignition. His drive home was long but while he usually grew antsy watching the clock change as he sat bumper to bumper with other drivers, tonight his mind was occupied listening to the discussion echoing through his speakers.
It was an episode from one of Variety’s podcasts last year, shortly after his Forum concerts. Penny was a guest, chatting with the two guys who served as hosts. One of them sounded cool, and the other sounded like someone that he’d like to punch in the face if they ever crossed paths in real life. The episode was about his tour, specifically his shows in Los Angeles. It was weird listening to people talk about him like he was a commodity for consumption, and not like a human, a blatant reminder of why he typically abstained from engaging with anything like this.
Much to his surprise, Penny played the role of his supporter throughout the podcast, jumping to his defense when the Asshole, or whatever his name was, levied harsh words at Harry and his fans. He wouldn’t have expected that based on what she’d previously written. On the track, they shifted topics and Harry’s mind drifted off as the episode played on, ending moments before he arrived at his home. He turned off the car but made no effort to head inside. Instead, he picked up his phone and opened Instagram where he typed in Penny’s name.
Her account popped up right away. He scrolled over her page, unsurprised by what he found. Lots of pictures of concerts, sunsets on the beach, and admittedly delicious looking food. There weren’t many pictures of her but he found one that was relatively recent, posted last Christmas. She was smiling alongside some other women, probably friends based on the caption, and once again he felt something tugging inside of him when he looked at her. Next, he redownloaded the Twitter app, something he swore he would never do, and typed in Penny’s name, skimming through her Tweets. Jeff was right. She was frustratingly and irritatingly smart.
Closing out of Twitter, he navigated back to Instagram, finger hovering over the follow button. He hesitated, but after a minute his finger came down on the icon and it changed from blue to gray.
As he put his phone in his pocket and locked his car, across town Penny’s phone lit up with a notification. She missed the initial alert as she washed her face and pulled on the old college t-shirt she wore to bed most nights, but she finally noticed it when she went to set her alarm: Harry Styles followed you.
What the fuck was he trying to do? After laying into her the way he did at Tom’s house, completely unprovoked, the last thing she wanted to do was interact with him in the virtual world. She deleted the notification, plugged in her phone, and went to sleep.
When Harry woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was check his Instagram notifications. He scrolled past most of them – comments and following alerts from random fans and bots – but among all of the familiar amalgamations of usernames, Penny’s was nowhere to be found.
He laid his phone on his chest and stared at the ceiling. What game was she trying to play with him? And why did he feel so upset? The silence that surrounded him as he laid motionless was so loud.
When he finally found the motivation to get out of bed, he pulled on some jogging shorts and a tank and laced up his sneakers, grabbing headphones on his way out the door. He was hoping that a run might clear his head, but thoughts of Penny from the night before echoed alongside the sound of his feet on the pavement. Clarity hadn’t been found when he reached the five mile point, so he begrudgingly turned around to head home and shower. His mind was still swirling as he got cleaned up, and by the time he was dressed for the day and brewing coffee, he had a plan.
He pulled up his contacts and scrolled until he found the name he was looking for, pacing nervously while the phone rang.
“Hey,” the voice on the other line said. “Is everything OK?”
“Yeah, Tom. Sorry for the early morning call,” Harry said, twisting his fringe around his finger as he continued to do laps around the island. “Are you heading into the office today?”
“Seeing as it’s Saturday, I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Oh, shit,” Harry said, cringing when he took note of the early weekend hour. “I guess I lost track of time.”
“Not a problem,” Tom replied, stifling what seemed to be a yawn. “I’ll be there bright and early on Monday.
“Oh, nice. Would you maybe want to catch up and grab lunch?”
“That would be great, seeing as it’ll have been close to 48 hours since we last caught up,” Tom said a bit facetiously.
Harry said nothing trying to extract his fingers from the knot he’d twisted his fringe into. “Oh, yeah,” he mumbled after a moment.
“H, I’m kidding,” Tom said with a light laugh. “You can always swing by. Would you want to go to the bistro?”
“No, why don’t we pick somewhere more convenient to you. How about Loqui?” Harry suggested naming one of the restaurants that was in the campus that housed both the Full Stop and The Moment offices.
“Uh, yeah that’s fine. I’ll see you then. Have a good weekend, H.”
“You too, Tom.”
Harry hung up the phone and tried to figure out how he’d distract himself until Monday.
***
As Penny sat in her editor’s office Monday morning, she was trying to calculate when her next dental appointment was scheduled for and whether or not she’d be able to add on some x-rays to survey the damage done to her jaw after clenching it as hard as she had that morning.
Darren had finished reviewing her piece over the weekend, and had suggested they review his edits first thing, which wasn't the way she wanted to start the week.
“I think the biggest problem you have here is that this isn’t a story,” he said, scrolling through the copy on his laptop. “You only have one example of this phenomenon if we want to call it that and I honestly don’t think that TikTok is that important to the success of the song. In my professional career, we’ve seen plenty of songs do this. It’s nothing unusual.”
“But you’re missing the point,” Penny said, pushing back. “The whole idea is yes, this hasn’t happened before, but it’s the way forward. This is going to be the new version of Justin Bieber getting discovered on YouTube or Shawn Mendes on Vine.” She could feel herself getting angry and took a breath to calm herself. “You’re always telling us to be ahead of the story and that’s what I’m doing.”
“But this isn’t a story.”
Penny bit the inside of her cheek as she struggled to keep her cool. “OK, then, what do you suggest I do?”
Darren sighed. “Write it up like a regular chart recap and include a couple of lines about how it’s getting close to a record.”
“Because of TikTok?”
“No mention of TikTok. We don’t want to look like we don’t know what we’re talking about.”
“We have a chance to scoop Rolling Stone and Billboard and you’re just ignoring it.”
“Because it’s not a story. End of discussion. I’ve got a meeting to go to.”
Darren stood up and exited the office, leaving Penny stunned and furious. When she’d collected herself, she moved back to her desk in the newsroom. She spun around in her chair, any motivation to work gone.
Editors, specifically Skylar, were constantly telling them to push boundaries and find the stories no one was writing on yet. Unfortunately, they weren’t always on the same page, which led to a great deal of frustration when it came time to file a story. Penny could submit a story thinking it was Pullitzer-worthy, but be left questioning her entire life path after a single round of edits. Almost as if she could sense the tension brewing, Chloe poked her head over top of the divider that separated their desks.
“I think you need coffee. Or a pastry. Or lunch. Basically you just need to not be in this office right now, so we’re going for a walk.”
Penny begrudgingly grabbed her purse and ID and headed towards the exit, close behind Chloe, who was listing off restaurant options.
“Loqui,” Penny eventually said, stopping the list. “I’m in the mood for some spice.”
After walking a few blocks they found themselves at the restaurant, scanning the menu above the cash register. They ordered – a beef plate for Chloe and chicken plate for Penny – and had stood off to the side waiting for their respective numbers to be called, when they were interrupted.
“So we go years without seeing each other and then all of a sudden it’s three times in one week?” Tom called from behind a partition.
“Oh my God,” Penny said, laughing with actual mirth for the first time all day. “What are the odds?”
“Nice to see you again,” Chloe added.
“Are you all dining in?” Tom asked, eyes shifting between the two women.
“Yeah,” Chloe chimed in. “Needed to get out of the office for a little while.”
“I feel that,” Tom replied. “You’re welcome to join us.”
Penny looked at Chloe, who nodded her agreement. Neither woman asked who “us” was.
Their numbers were called and when they’d collected their food they slid into the booth, leaving space around the plate of veggie tacos that had been placed in front of an empty chair.
“How’s your week shaping up?” Chloe asked Tom.
He shrugged. “Mondays are always rough, but it’s all downhill from here.”
“What is management like? Do you have a routine?” Chloe continued. “Like with reporting, there’s a certain cadence with different deadlines and interviews. Is there a similar thing for you all?”
“Sort of. If we’re on tour a lot of people have a routine they like to stick to. When we’re in the office, it’s a little less structured. Depends on what each client is working on.”
Penny kept her eyes on her plate, her thoughts still focused on her earlier conversation with Darren. Eyes on the floor, she saw the white loafers and yellow socks before the face of the man they belonged to.
“You’re out to lunch with Tom?” Penny asked in disbelief when her eyes met Harry’s.
“Yeah. I didn’t think there’d be a problem with that,” he mumbled as he sat in front of the plate.
“I’m Chloe. I don’t think we’ve met,” Chloe interjected helpfully.
“Harry,” Harry returned, extending his hand.
Penny stared daggers at him, but Harry refused to look at her. Penny knew he was observing her though, feeling his eyes burning into her whenever she looked away. Neither of them spoke, leaving Tom and Chloe to fill the silence with banal conversation.
As they chattered on, Penny continued to feel the heat of Harry’s glare on her.
“Can I help you?” she finally snapped.
“What?” he shot back.
“If you have something to say, just fucking say it.”
“I’ve got nothing to say,” he said, spooning some mushrooms and peppers into his mouth.
“Really? Because it looks like you’ve got something on your mind.”
“OK, then,” Harry shot back, putting his spoon down next to his plate. “Why’d you give my album such a shit review?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I do!”
“That’s a great argument,” Penny said, rolling her eyes.
“Well how about this,” Harry said, turning to face her. “I’m trying to figure out how someone who supposedly loves music and everything it stands for can be such a hater.”
“A hater?” Penny could feel the prickly sensation behind her eyes that meant tears were just moments away. “I’m sorry. The 90s called and they want their slang back.”
“Yeah, all of your reviews are just so…mean. It’s like you forget there’s someone behind that album.”
“Almost like forgetting there’s a person behind the review?”
“Don’t twist my words like that.”
“I’m not. I’m just saying it’s a two way street.”
“All you are is a second-rate journalist who isn’t good enough to work for a legitimate publication, so instead of saying things that actually matter, you just share your shitty takes to try to get Twitter clout.”
Penny could feel her lips tremble, but she was determined to not give Harry the satisfaction of seeing her cry. “You know, it’s generally frowned upon to harass a journalist in a public setting just because you don’t care for what they have to say.” She sniffed and much to her chagrin, she could feel her eyes getting wet. “But now you’ve got me crying in a restaurant so I hope you’re satisfied.” She grabbed her purse, leaving her food nearly untouched on the table. “I’ll see you back at the office, Chloe.”
Chloe and Tom’s eyes followed her as she walked out of the restaurant. Harry kept his eyes locked on his plate.
“I should probably check on her,” Chloe said after a moment.
“That might be for the best,” Tom said. “Let me grab a box. You can take her her food.”
Chloe picked up her own bag and leftovers, balancing them alongside Penny’s. “Wish this could have been longer but…” she trailed off as Tom nodded. She looked at Harry. “I’m not entirely sure what this is about but I’ve never met anyone who loves music more than Penny, so whatever assumptions you have about her, she’s not a ‘hater.’ She’s also not second-rate. She’s fucking brilliant, but maybe you’re just too dumb to see that.” She turned on her heel and walked out of the restaurant.
Harry picked up his spoon and started pushing the remaining vegetables and bits of tortilla around on his plate. The air was heavy with the unspoken questions on Tom’s tongue. “Go ahead and say it,” Harry said after a moment.
“Is there something going on with you?” Tom asked, point blank. “You’ve been kind of moody lately and I’m here if you want to talk.”
Harry looked up at him. “That wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.”
“Oh don’t get me wrong, I’m pissed that you yelled at my friend like that, but whatever issues you all have it’s not my business and I don’t want to get in the middle of it.”
“Sorry,” Harry said, a little more firmly. “I just – I haven’t been feeling great and I’m sure this is just a byproduct of whatever that is.”
“Studio stress?”
“Yeah, that,” Harry said, taking the out he was handed.
“Well, you can always talk to me, man. Just gotta let me know that something’s going on.”
Harry nodded and focused on finishing his lunch.
***
Back in the newsroom, Penny picked at the remnants of her lunch that Chloe had deposited on her desk, refreshing the feeds in her RSS reader while she waited on Darren’s edits. When he Slacked her that he was through, she opened the Google Doc to find that he had completely rewritten it. Ordinarily, she would have fought back, challenging him on everything down to the placement of commas, but she felt too drained after her earlier bout with him and the subsequent battle with Harry.
She signed off on the two rounds of edits as quickly as she could and returned to refreshing her browser.
“Are you ready to talk?” Chloe asked, poking her head over the frosted glass between them.
Penny shrugged. “Not much to discuss. I suck at doing my job. Darren agrees! Harry agrees! So does Walt from who the hell knows! I should just quit while I’m ahead.”
“I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “Who is Walt and how does he factor into this equation?”
“Just some jerk on Twitter who also thinks I can’t write for shit.”
“Fifteen minutes,” Chloe said. “That’s how much time you have left to wallow. After that, you have to get up, look in the mirror, and realize that you are a bad bitch who deserves this job more than anyone.”
“I deserve twenty minutes,” Penny shot back. “But thank you for the words of encouragement. I know I just need to move on, but it’s hard to do that when it feels like this happens every fucking day just because Darren thinks I’m an idiot.”
“I know, Pen, but you just have to hang in there.” Chloe looked around before leaning in closer. “I heard a rumor that Darren’s days are numbered so things may be looking up for you.”
“Seriously?” The long running joke of the newsroom was that Darren had witnessed the CEO of the company hit someone with his car and that’s how he managed to land the job and stay gainfully employed for as long as he had.
“You didn’t hear it from me,” Chloe said, sinking back into her desk chair.
On slow days like this one, Penny typically filled her afternoon with source calls and research for future stories but with her motivation subzero, she made her way to the parking garage at 5pm on the dot, ready for a night of wine, takeout, and Friends reruns.
When she reached her car, she was surprised to find Tom there.
“Hey…” she said slowly.
“Hey, I didn’t want to miss you.”
“Should I be worried?” she asked jokingly. “I run into you after years of silence and a week later you’re waiting for me at my car?”
“I promise I’m not following you,” Tom said with a laugh. “I just had to tell you…I know this means nothing coming from me, but Harry isn’t usually like that.”
Penny sighed. “I don’t care, Tom. It’s been a day and I’d rather just move on to prepare for tomorrow’s battles.”
“I know, but it’s important to me that you know the truth.”
“Trying to make sure I don’t start a nasty rumor about your client?”
“No, just trying to make sure you don’t have the wrong idea about a great guy.”
“Great guy?” Penny’s mouth hung open in disbelief. “Are you trying to set me up with him now? Because I’m not interested.”
“No,” Tom huffed, rolling his eyes. “Although there could be something there…”
“Nope, not happening,” Penny said.
“Seriously,” Tom said, the earnestness returning to his eyes. “Harry’s a good guy and I think under the right circumstances you all would actually get along.”
“Tom, even if we were the last people on Earth tasked with repopulating the planet, I’d rather let the human race go extinct than willingly spend time with Harry Styles.”
“Wow, that’s uh, harsh and vivid,” Tom said, scratching the back of his neck. “You just need to understand that he’s under a lot of pressure with the new album.”
“New album?” That caught Penny’s attention.
“Shit!” Tom exclaimed, realizing the magnitude of what he’d shared. “That’s entirely off the record. I’m serious, Pen!”
“Woodward and Bernstein had Deep Throat telling them government secrets in a garage, and I have Tom Skoglund blabbing album releases next to my decrepit Toyota…does this mean my Pulitzer is on the way.”
“I mean it, Penny. I could get in a lot of trouble.”
“It’s fine, Tom. I’m not going to tell anyone. I’ll see you later.”
Tom nodded and headed back to the Full Stop office as Penny climbed into her car and pulled out of the garage.
Later that night after two glasses of wine and about 10 episodes of Friends, Penny decided to sign into her work email. She told herself that she wouldn’t check work emails off the clock, but she always gave into the temptation. She scrolled past the usual news alerts and reader feedback until one subject line stopped her cold.
“An Apology.”
She opened it before she realized what she was doing.
Hi Penny, the email began
It’s Harry. I’d like to apologize for the way I acted at Tom’s party the other night, as well as what I said in the restaurant earlier today. You’re right – it was entirely inappropriate for me to behave that way, and I’m sincerely sorry for any hurt or hard feelings that may have come about on your end as a result.
I just wanted to get this off my chest and conscience.
Hope your evening is treating you well.
All the best,
Harry
Penny was speechless, staring at her phone as Ross Geller’s cries of “We were on a break!” and the subsequent laugh track echoed in her empty apartment.
Harry had apologized.
When she recovered, her first instinct was to text Tom, attaching a screenshot of the email.
Did you put him up to this? she asked.
No, came Tom’s swift reply. See what I mean though? Not a bad guy.
Penny reread the email once, twice, three times, taking in the way he’d introduced himself, but left off his last name. The way his writing was devoid of exclamation points. The effort finding her address and sending the email entailed.
She doubted he’d got it from Tom, seeing as Tom had no clue about the message, which meant he’d either pulled it from The Moment’s website or her Twitter bio. Either option meant he’d taken the time to look her up, typing her name into the search bar to find her profile. Knowing that Harry had searched for her specifically made her feel some type of way. She wasn’t sure what.
She didn’t like Harry Styles, but maybe he wasn’t as horrible as she thought.
***
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taglist: @harrysfolklore​ @platinumbarbie143​ @majasophieanna​ @lukesaprince​ @styles217​ @andwhenshesays​ @be-with-me-so-happily​ 
265 notes · View notes
urne-buriall · 9 months
Note
Fourth of July is one of my favorite sections of Spirit, it just makes me crazy. I saw that you've written a few drabbles since the weekly posting started and no pressure but if you wanted to wrote something from Jodie or Ellen's point of view I think it would be a masterpiece that I would read so so fast
it was a part that I SO looked forward to reaching when I set out on this fic. everything Dean's feeling is hitting this excruciating point and no one else (except perhaps Cas) can see how close he is to breaking
and while I am a little wearied and don't know suspect 'masterpiece' is where I'm at right now, there is now a little Jody piece. it goes back more to the night Dean broke his arm, but here we have it
---
The thing is that Jody knows something is up.
Dean’s not one of those kids that shows up much on her radar. He isn’t joyriding, vandalising, or breaking into properties. There are teens she sees often enough to have a script with, there are teens who will only cross her path through pure accident, and then there’s Dean.
When the nurse called from the hospital, that night Dean turned up with a broken arm, she said she suspected abuse. Some of the bruises matched a fall, others an altercation. Eighteen-year-old boys got into enough senseless fights, to be sure, and lied about it through their teeth to stay out of trouble, but this one didn’t have the split or darkened knuckles of somebody who’d fought back.
Jody once heard the story of a Spartan boy who stole a fox kit and hid it under his cloak. The laws of Ancient Sparta encouraged stealing, but to be caught was a disgrace. When interrogated, the boy lied and lied no matter how long they questioned, but all the while the fox kit chewed on his stomach and burrowed into his innards until the boy fell over dead. A model Spartan.
Listening to Dean sitting up on that doctor’s bench, cradling his broken arm and squinting out of the less-swollen eye and insisting he fell off a horse, a young horse, Jagger, he’s got a dark bay coat and a star-stripe marking, a real power and spirit to him, too much I guess--
She didn’t think he knew how much he was trembling as he talked. She tried to ask more questions, hoping he’d slip up somewhere. Give her some room to offer the right help, but he stuck to his story. She left with a feeling of misgiving. She could leave a door open to him, she could try to keep an eye on things, sure, but she didn’t want to wait on another ‘accident.’ Who knew if his next visit might be to the morgue?
She thinks of the Spartan boy when she sees Dean show up at Missouri’s. She thinks of a wound no one knows is hidden until it’s too late.
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nikethestatue · 1 year
Text
The Kings’ Wife
Chapter 10
The Queen of the House
25K words
Warnings: Explicit, language, mentions of child abuse
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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. 
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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. 
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“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.”
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sbrown82 · 1 year
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Did u read P.P. Arnold's book? What else did she say about her relationship with Mick Jagger?
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P.P. first met Mick during the opening night of The Rolling Stones’ 1966 tour when the Ike & Tina Revue were the opening act for the band.
She said she couldn’t understand a damn word he was saying at first! 🤣
Mick would watch Tina and the Ikettes dance from backstage and would come into their dressing room where they would teach him the latest dances like the “Mashed Potato” and the “Pony”.
He eventually asked Tina, "Which one should I go for?" and Tina suggested that he ask P.P. out, who was only 19 at the time.
Mick was the first white person she ever really knew and became friends with.
Their first date they saw a movie, Roman Polanski’s 1965 film “Repulsion” and before you knew it, they started tongue kissing which led to him taking her back to his hotel room where they slept together.
She said Mick was the first man to ever make her feel safe and didn’t force her to do things she didn’t want to do (i.e. hard drugs, sex, etc.)
They had sex A LOT...and never really used protection outside of the pill, which she eventually ran out of.
Mick would kiss her, ride around in limos with her, and hold her hand in public, which was unheard of in America.
He started dating some white girl named Marianne Faithfull (Lol) at the same time as P.P. and seemed to get more serious with her for some reason. She didn’t really mind tho because technically they weren’t official.
She and Marianne became like friends and/or “sister wives” and would shop together and go out to lunch around London.
In the book, she claimed that Mick liked threesomes & group sex, and especially liked to watch other girls go down on her. She wasn’t really into girls tho. 
She eventually grew tired of Ike’s bullshit and wanted to leave, so Mick convinced her to stay in England and sign with the Immediate Label which was led by The Rolling Stones' manager Andrew Loog Oldham.
She was dubbed the first lady of soul in England and Mick produced a few of her songs, and even played guitar on a number of them, including “Though it Hurts Me Badly” which is about their relationship.
In 1967, they were still messing around while he was dating Marianne. She had skipped taking her birth control and he got her pregnant. She called him up while he was on vacation in Morocco and asked him what he wanted to do. They both decided to get an abortion, but he didn’t cut his vacation short. He did instead sent her flowers and called her everyday.
She was kinda hurt and decided to leave soon after. She eventually married her second husband Jim Morris, who was an assistant for the manager of The Bee Gees.
Even tho she had moved on, she and Mick were still cool. The motherfucker even invited her to his wedding in 1971 to “Bitchanca” in St. Tropez. The dumb broad had no idea they used to date. 
Strangely enough she also became close with Marsha Hunt (Mick’s first baby mama) and Claudia Lennear (another Ikette who Mick dated).
***She also said in the book that she made out with Brian Jones, guitarist for The Rolling Stones, in his bed when she visited his home in 1966 and would’ve let him hit if he wasn’t so damn moody and depressed all the time! 🤣
That’s the TEA!!!! ☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️☕️
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ljblueteak · 2 years
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Paul McCartney, Mick Jagger and Allen Ginsberg
“After [Allen Ginsberg’s] reading...we took the tube to St. John’s Wood to visit Paul at Cavendish Avenue. On the train, Allen was absorbed in his own thoughts then he suddenly asked in a loud voice, ‘Does Mick Jagger make it with men?’ The carriage went deathly silent, everyone straining to hear my reply. I took the easy way out and said I really didn’t know. Sue backed me up. Allen obviously sensed that some peculiar British convention was being broken and didn’t pursue the matter any further.
We found Paul swatting up on Tantra from Ajit Mockerjee’s Tantra Art when we arrived. He had invited Mick Jagger and Marianne over, they lived close by at Harley House on the Marylebone Road. Mick had his biggest, most arrogant, rude and loveable smile on and was leaning back in a rocking chair in front of the French windows, a long white silk scarf trailing from his neck down the back of the chair to the carpet. He had one of Eliphas Levi’s books on magic with him and some of the discussion was about comparative religion and Western mysticism as a more usable and culturally understandable alternative to Eastern mysticism. Allen told us about the Western Gnostic traditions but maintained that there was no Western mysticism being practised and that only in the East could one find actual gurus and teachers. Mick revealed that he had optioned the rights to Frank Herbert’s Dune: ‘I quite fancy meself as a mad old monk with me cloak flappin’ abaht in the desert,’ he said. 
We all sat around on the carpet just inside the door to the living room. Incense was burning from innumerable sticks in a holder. The huge Takis sculpture--’My lights on sticks’ as Paul called it--blinked on and off in the corner by the bookshelves. I was a little surprised at Mick’s and Paul’s attitude to Allen, which was quite deferential. Paul was in a very receptive mood and though I knew he had many reservations about the things Allen said, he did not express them. Both he and Mick treated Allen as a visiting sage, much as I imagine they later treated the Maharishi. They put Allen at ease and wanted to hear what he had to say. Tea was served.
Paul sat close to Allen, cross-legged. Sometimes he would select a few of the packages on a table next to the door--presents from his fans....He found a red satin shirt and began to doodle a psychedelic pattern all over it...
They discussed William Burroughs, whose face Paul had put on the sleeve of Sgt Pepper, but mostly Paul preferred to tell stories about the old days in Liverpool and about his family. He tried to explain to Allen the nature of British eccentricity and said that most of the exploits of the Beat Generation would have been regarded as perfectly normal in Liverpool. There was some talking at cross-purposes, but it was a friendly visit.
As we left, Paul, sensing that this was an occasion, folded up the red shirt, which was now decorated with intricate psychedelic patterns, and placed it in Allen’s hands. ‘A souvenir of Swinging London,’ he said. Allen seemed moved, and carefully stuffed it into his Tibetan hippie shoulder bag before packing up his Indian harmonium. 
Paul’s chief memory of the visit was that Allen had advised him against using concrete to lay the foundations of the geodesic dome he was planning to have built in his garden. ‘What if you ever want to move it?’ asked Allen. 
‘He was right,’ Paul conceded, years later.”
From Barry Miles’s In the Sixties account of July ‘67 meeting between Allen Ginsberg, Paul McCartney, Mick Jagger and Marianne Faithful 
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waugh-bao · 9 months
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@rodeoromeo Neither Mick:
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Nor Keith:
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Really has any concept of self-control or personal space around Charlie.
They kind of never have:
“She [Shirley] didn’t mind at all that both Mick and Keith gave Charlie a goodnight kiss on the lips.”-‘Mick Jagger’ by Philip Norman (2012)
As far as recognizing their dynamic goes, there’s actually one guy, a drumming journalist called Rick Mattingly, who wrote a profile of Charlie in the ‘90s that was crashed by Keith. @charlesandkeef and I are borderline unhealthily obsessed with it, because the whole thing is entirely unhinged. Keith clearly kidnapped this poor young writer before the interview with Charlie even started (mostly to brag about how Charlie had been ‘punishing’ him for playing with Steve Jordan), both of them are saying absolutely insane stuff, and Keith stands there, watches, and makes commentary while Charlie gets undressed.
But, unlike almost every other journalist that’s come into contact with them, he gets the dynamic!
“As Keith leaves the room, Charlie grins, shaking his head.
‘We’re like big kids, aren’t we?’
Perhaps. But what really struck me as I watched Keith and Charlie together was the true affection they have for each other, which was very obvious…”
(I’ll leave a link to a pdf of the article here in case you want to read it, because it’s hard to find)
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moonlightmile12 · 1 year
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Hiiii! So sorry to disturb you but I just want to express my sincerely thanks to you, for posting much content about my favorite guitarist Mick.T. It's difficult to find much interview or stories about him cause u know he isn't the show-off one. I just wonder, where did you find his interviews or those comments about him, from other people?
Last days I watched a documentary about him, and he says actually he isn't that shy and quiet when in Stones. This is much different from the impression that most people have. I wonder if there are any anecdotes which can prove that. Did you see anything like this when you read those things about him?
Hi,
Aw thanks :) It's just from reading a lot of books about The Stones and old interviews that I've been able to find. Everyone says that he was shy. It seems that he had fights with Rose and Mick Jagger, here are some quotes -
"[Keith] was shy, that’s why he got into heroin — which was probably true for me..." - Mick Taylor
"I heard Taylor's girlfriend, Rose Millar, having a screaming row with him one day about the closeness of his friendship with the head Stone." - Tony Sanchez
"Leaving London was especially disastrous for Mick Taylor. Cooped up in a hotel room, he and Rose fought all the time." - Janie Villiers
"His relationship with Mick, particularly, was strange and strained. At times the two Micks seemed to be the closest of friends. They would lock themselves up in Jagger’s house in Cheyne Walk, talking together for hours. But then there would be rows and the two men would not speak to one another for days. It was a curious friendship." - Tony Sanchez
"I’ll tell you what really, really made me angry, it was that Mick told me I would get credit. So when you say “you worked really hard, I’m gonna give you credit for this” and then you don’t, that does hurt, that makes you angry, it’s best not to say anything at all. That’s really the end of that, I don’t wanna say anything negative you know." - Mick Taylor
"I had a reputation on stage of being quiet, but off it I wasn’t. We used to fight and argue all the time. And one of the things I got angry about was that Mick had promised to give me some credit for some of the songs – and he didn’t. I believed I’d contributed enough. Let’s put it this way – without my contribution those songs would not have existed. There’s not many but enough, things like Sway and Moonlight Mile on Sticky Fingers and a couple of others. I took offence and that was a contributory factor in my departure." - Mick Taylor
"I was only a bit miffed because there were a couple of items for which not only did I feel I should have got a credit, but I was actually assured that I would. Mick and I did Hide Your Love on Goat’s Head Soup on our own. Keith had become difficult to get on with for everybody by then. He slowed down the recording process, and it became hard for Mick – with whom I was much more friendly." - Mick Taylor
Interviewer: "There's a note on the Stones' album about 'It's Only Rock'N'Roll': "inspiration by Ron Wood". But no royalty?" Ronnie: "No. That happened on a few songs including 'Hey Negrita' which I totally wrote. I couldn't blast into the Jagger-Richards songwriting team." Interviewer: "You decided, "I'm going to swallow this for now"?" Ronnie: "A lot of that goes on. If you don't you're gonna get... hurt. Lots of people get a bit belligerent – that's when it all collapses. Mick Taylor did that, Bill Wyman did that.With the Stones you have to have a lot of... give. Then it'll work. Cos they're gonna take (laughs). They established it. Go with it. For the sake of the music. But it's hard work at times."
Oh then there's this from Anita Pallenberg, lol: "But then I thought that, out of all of them, Mick Taylor was like the most open-minded one, you know? I remember one morning going into his room and he was lying there in bed with Rosie and he said "Oh, Anita, why don't you jump into bed with us?" Which was something that none of the others would have ever...[laughter] I mean, nothing happened, but...it kind of impressed me at the time!"
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⌝ "I'm calling Dad the moment we leave," Celine told her son as she walked past him outside the principles office next to another young boy of similar colouring. She should have expected after the holidays that Jagger's behaviour would continue to be reckless and out of sorts. He was so upset with her, that the family had yet to become whole again. Things were just so all over the place, Celine was trying to help them feel stable but...it wasn't that simple.
⌝ "Thank you for joining us, Ms Flores," the principle offered as the other Mother seemed to have already been seated, Celine taking her own next to her. The woman was pretty used to the other mothers in the school judging her for the litany of tattoos on her body, the way she dressed without much of a desire to be conservative, but in cases like this it was certainly harder for them to sit on their high horses, though... Looking to the other woman in the room she didn't look quite like the other mother's she tended to encounter, what with their paisley sweaters and penny loafers.
⌝ "I waited until you arrived, Ms Flores to explain the situation to both yourself and Attorney de Leon," the suited man began. "Your sons were caught defacing the boys locker room with profanities and vulgar imagery. I wouldn't want to speak them aloud but we did take some images," he stated, pushing some photos towards the pair. The image on top showing a locker that now read 'Coach Miller is a donkey dick.'
@nova-aurelia-deleon
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ubcs · 11 months
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“ you look like shit. ”  (affectionately) (for carlos)
The latest buzz around the ship was that two men were emitted for intensive care. Gossip got it wrong more times than not; irrefutably, the names on the examination room door read "OLIVEIRA & JOHNSON".
A faulty pipe was the cause of tragedy. Deep in the gut of the ship, the vessel's appetite for power was fed with fire. Mercenaries expect a knife or gun in every shadow, not to be betrayed by their dwellings.
The fireroom's engineer had the simple task to investigate and repair a concerning rattle coming from the depths. It shouldn't have ended with an extended stay in the emergency medical station. Yet, here one of them was, wrapped so utterly in dressings that little features were exposed. A dry-erase sign at the foot of the bed indicates that this is the unlucky Johnson, the technician.
Turning the small corner to the second, smaller half-room, Carlos was in much better shape. He was sitting up, in fact, wearing the shapeless white pants provided by the medical staff ( emblazoned with Umbrella's icon ). When greeted he looked up from his coiled fists.
"Oh, thank you for the vote of confidence, Jagger," unoffended, and met with smile. A hurt one, yes, but from physical pain. The source plain in the red splotches angry and tender that travel up his arms, concentrated around his fingertips and to the inner elbow. "You hear already? Nah? I'll give you the dramatic reenactment." He's watched enough of America's reality shows in passing to know folks love that shit. It would have been complete with more animated gestures, yet the burns prevent it. "I was movin' around some of the heavy equipment for that lady from Bravo when I heard Johnson over there screaming. I guess he says somethin' burst while he was working, don't really know, but there was a bunch of steam. Scalding water was coming out of everywhere. I busted in, dragged him out," saying it like it was nothing, like he wasn't cold with fear for the engineer's life as well as his own when it happened; cold even while his bare skin pinkened and blistered. Like he still isn't sick over the fried screams.
"No one's goin' down while Carlos is around. Doc says he'll need "prolonged treatment". I think that means he'll be okay." But the softening of his voice sounds unconvinced, despite all the bravado.
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akillysheel · 2 years
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❝ It was work. ❞ ( 5/75 )
Summary:  Kip has never kept a secret from her brother before. Characters:  Kip, Basil, Jagger (mentioned). Prompt:  ❝ It was work. ❞ Warnings: Brief references to drugs, brief mentions of violence.
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“Kip, I’ve told you a billion times! Stop leaving your boots in front of the door!”
“Sorryyy…”  
The clock reads six thirty-two as Basil puts down his keys and shuffles into their tiny kitchen space.  Kip is cooking…  if one can call putting ramen on the hob cooking.  It bubbles and spits as if it’s a meal worth its salt though, giving her all the trouble that actual food would if she could afford to buy it.  The full culinary experience  -  just without the end result.
“How was work?”  she asks sheepishly, already knowing what he’s going to say.
“It was… work.”
Yep.
“You’ve really gotta quit that place, Bas.  It’s sapping you dry.”
He arches his eyebrows slightly, and she knows what he wants to say but won’t.  Someone has to pay the bills, Kip.  He’s said it once before, and it escalated into a fight that could’ve been avoided had she just allowed herself to admit that he was right.  She doesn’t have much pride to begin with, but what little bravado she has seeps right into her dream.  Chasing music may not have brought much success to them yet, but she can feel in her soul that it will one day.
Still, it doesn’t make them any less poor in the present.
“One day,”  he says with a feeble smile, and that marks the end of that.  “What’s cooking?”
Kip bites back the urge to reply that it’s the same thing as usual, instead settling on a sunny:  “I’ve seasoned it with vegetables this time!  Why don’t you go sit down?”
Everything’s as it usually is, and yet she feels burdened in a way she hasn’t before.  As she plates up their noodles, her mind drifts to the mess she’s found herself in.  She’s never kept a secret from Basil before;  she’s told him about everything, even embarrassing things like crushes and dreams.  This feels like a completely different beast, though.  Is there a good way to break the news that she’s serving a criminal?  And not just any criminal–  a kingpin, a leader of Leylan’s drug cartel, a dangerous man that had no qualms about threatening her in a dirty back alley in broad daylight.  Just thinking about the way her arm had bent has a cold spike of fear lodging itself neatly between the discs in her spine.  It stays there, borderline loyal, as she carries their bowls into the living room.
I have to tell him.  It’s killing me to keep something from him.
Basil is more laying than he is sitting, aching feet propped atop a ratty old pillow that they’ve had for the better half of forty years, but it doesn’t stop him from accepting the offered bowl.  He dips his fork in, swirling it rhythmically in counts of four, before spooning what he’s collected into his mouth.  Like most things he does, there’s a distinct sense of order to it.  It contrasts wholly to his sister, who shovels whatever she can get on those weathered prongs into her impatient little mouth. 
But today she’s not shovelling.
She’s swirling.
Nudging.
Basil frowns, circles halting.  “Hey.  What’s up?”
This is her window.  This is the part where she drops all pretences and confesses to her brother that she’s found herself in deep shit.  He’ll be disappointed for sure.  He’ll berate her for her kleptomania.  He might even abandon what’s left of his meal in favour of sulking in his room.  But at least he’ll know the truth.
“Well, I…”
… but she knows Basil.  She knows how protective he is of her;  how much pressure he puts on himself to look after her;  how hard he strives to be the ‘big brother’ (even though he's only older than her by four lousy minutes).  Knowing this will only make him unravel.  It’ll kick his anxiety into overdrive.  It might even make him pick fights he can’t win.  Images of him bent and broken flash in her mind like memories, each more contorted and messy than the last.  It chases what’s left of her appetite right out of the door, fingers trembling as she holds her fork tight.
“Um…”  
He looks concerned now, sitting up properly and giving her that nervous look that she knows all too well–  the one where he tries to look stern, but instead looks like a disgruntled deer in the headlights.  It makes her heart clench whenever she sees it;  she wishes he didn’t fret so much in general, but especially not about her.  She wishes his medication was stronger.
Tell him.
Tell him now.
“... I didn’t get it.”
Basil blinks owlishly, his confusion palpable.  “Uh…?”
“The gig I tried to secure last week,”  she elaborates weakly, feeling both relieved and crushed all at once.  It hurts like hell to lie to him, but she doesn’t want to expose him to someone like Jagger.  It feels too dangerous.  The less people she can pull into her unfortunate little side hustle, the better.  “They turned me down.”
For a moment, the room is painfully quiet, and Kip feels as if her fork is about to snap.  Then, Basil gives her a sympathetic smile that all but saws her in two.
“Idiot!  Don’t worry me like that!”  He blows out a breath as if it’s been burning his lungs, staggered and slow.  “Well, there’ll be other gigs, right?  I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but it’s only a matter of time before someone else takes you on.”
Feebly, Kip nods, staring into her soggy noodles with a grievous crease in her brow.  “Y-Yeah, I guess.”  She forces herself to smile, because she knows that if she doesn’t then Basil will grow suspicious.  They know each other like the back of their hands.  Though Kip has become a solid liar, Basil knows her quirks.  Before he can regard her too closely, she directs the attention from the conversation and to his bowl.  “Does it taste okay?”
Successfully distracted, Basil’s green gaze flits to his ramen, then back to his sister’s face, his smile tight, grim.  “It’s… ramen,”  he says through his teeth, and they both share a sad chuckle.  If they don’t laugh about their empty pockets, they’ll surely cry instead.  “Like, you tried, and I appreciate it, but…”
“Yeah yeah, I get it.  I suck,”  she retorts with a dramatised sigh, rising from her seat and heading to the kitchen.  She feels bad for not even touching her meal, but she knows that if she forces herself to eat it it’ll be coming back up soon.  Her stomach feels all sorts of topsy-turvy, palms clammy and shaky.  “Y’know, I…  I’ll eat later.”
“You didn’t even touch it,”  Basil replies, staring at her from over the top of the couch with a furrowed brow.
“I know, I guess…  I’m just really bummed about the gig.”  Her mouth tastes like ash now, her lies sitting like stones on her tongue.  After pouring her noodles back into the pan and closing the lid, Kip shuffles meekly out of the kitchen and towards her bedroom door.  It’s at times like these where she resents the fact that their house is small and single-story;  a set of stairs would make for an easy getaway right now.  “I’m gonna sleep it off, okay?  Don’t wait up for me.”
“Hey, Kip?”
She pauses at her door, looking at him over his shoulder.  The apprehension on his face only twists the knife.  “Yeah?”
“... you’re okay, right?  You know you can talk to me about anything.”  He’s seen his sister recover much faster from far worse.  One year, she got a grand total of two gigs  -  and one of them was absolutely out of pity.  She’s like an elastic band in that she always snaps back, even if she’s stretched thin.  To see her so depressed about one refusal…  it stirs doubt in him.  Something’s not quite right.
“I know!”  she assures him, waving her hands frantically.  “Really, I’m fine…!  I just–  feel a little useless right now.”
He holds her gaze a moment longer before letting it drop.  Even if there is something more at play here, she’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to talk about it yet–  or that she can’t.  Basil may be riddled with anxiety, but he knows enough about patience’s benefits to extend it to her.  To try and force her to come clean about all she’s feeling now will only result in her pulling further away from him.
“... okay,”  he says, giving her a half-smile.  “I’ll see you in the morning?”
“Yeah.  Goodnight, Bas,”  she answers, before opening her door and walking into her room.  Its soft click as it shuts again makes him feel more alone than it ought to.  He slowly sinks back into his seat, his bowl now feeling frightfully lukewarm as he nudges what’s left of his meal around it half-heartedly.
The gears in his head are already turning.  No matter how much he tries to slow them down, the worry seeps inside and stains his efforts grey.  Poison.  That’s what’s in me.
With a heavy sigh, Basil places his bowl down on the coffee table before laying face-first on the couch.  At the very least, he should try to get some rest before his next shift tomorrow  -  not that he thinks he’ll be able to stop thinking about his sister and her bizarre behaviour for hours to come.
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