#* Feathers in a Bunch * ::thread::
Note
A concept I have dubbed the Friendship Bracelet Chronicles:
One day Solomon gives Ik a bunch of his old human-world things that he has no need for anymore. Mixed up in that collection is a box of some very pretty colorful thread. It'd be a shame to let that all go to waste, so Ik has an idea. She's gonna make friendship bracelets!
The bracelets are made and distributed to resounding success. Mammon cries. Belphie will kill you if you spill something on his. Diavolo won't take it off even for Very Important Announcements. Simeon wears his on top of his gloves even though it's a horrible fashion statement because he loves it with all his heart.
Ik thinks that's the end of it. Boy is she wrong.
One day Satan gives her a friendship bracelet of his own. He's made it with the same color Ik used for his bracelet along with little cat-shaped beads. Cute! Ik wears it proudly.
Then Levi notices and by the next day, he's made one with a goldfish charm. Then there's one from Mammon. Then Asmo. Then Beel. Then Belphie. And for a while that's it. Until one day at the breakfast, Lucifer walks in, and presents Ik with the most fancily woven bracelet so far. It's got little music notes embroidered into it. How the FUCK
It only escalates from there. The other exchanges won't ket their best friend status be encroached on and oh you know Diavolo has to get in on this! By the end of it Ik is wielding twelve bracelets, seven on one wrist and five on the other, and the others keep bickering about whose bracelet is higher in the pecking order
Imagine the added chaos if the newspaper club and season 4 trio got in on this....
this whole thing is so cute oml
om mephistopheles meets ik and when she shakes his hand he looks down and sees diavolo's friendship bracelet practically GLOWING up at him and he's just floored by the sight of it. meanwhile raphael thinks that the many bracelets are like, combat cuffs, and is extremely on-guard until simeon explains things to him
thirteen would be the first of the new trio to make ik a bracelet after becoming friends! it's pink-purple with little skulls and butterflies and bells that make it jingle. then raphael comes along with a pretty laurel pattern (painstakingly embroidered, because he's so good at that kind of thing). eventually, not to be outdone, mephistopheles produces a very elaborate silver thread one that looks like a dragon wrapping around your wrist
ik has to continuously rotate the order she wears her bracelets in because otherwise the others start play-bickering (and then real-bickering) about which one's the favourite
#answering asks#anon asks#okay bear with me in these tags i wanna think about the bracelets everyone else would make (that you haven't already talked about)#some of these border the line between traditional friendship bracelets and just custom jewellery but yknow what? that's okay#newspaper club first because i love them!#mephisto's looks like an elaborately tied pink ribbon with a little bell charm#wiz's looks like a circle of black vines with a few little purple roses#alecto's is like a daisy chain#astaroth's is a fairly simple braided string with some star-shaped beads#mammon's is black with a gold diamond pattern and a tiny version of that feather charm he wears on his belt#asmo's is covered with tiny gemstones and little flower ornaments#beel's is a slap bracelet that he's painstakingly wrapped some coloured wool around to make a nice pattern#belphie's is a bunch of seaglass-like beads that he's flecked silver onto to look like constellations#diavolo's is fairly normal until you account for the sheer boldness of the thread colours#barbatos's just looks like a black band with teal waves until you turn off the lights and it glows in the dark#simeon's looks like a string of feathers and is just as soft#luke's is dark blue and white and looks the most like a regular friendship bracelet you'd see on the playground#with a little gold charm that looks like that one he wears over his frills#and solomon's looks like a bangle that's enchanted to change colours like a mood ring
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Your tags now have me thinking about Reader walking in on Husk masturbating, VERY obviously to them, maybe he's moaning their name or maybe he's huffing a piece of their clothing... gross old man~
Can he stop himself, or is he too close to climax to give up now, despite knowing his crush is staring right at him...?
I've finally finished this piece born of my obsessing over this piece by @irkimatsu, so please show it some love too. I definitely didn't do it justice, but hey, here's some husk love anyway :)
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Your phone buzzes in your hand as you reach the door to Husk’s room, and you open a text from Angel. He’s responding to a question you swore you’d sent him less than thirty seconds ago – you swear, that man has had his phone surgically grafted to his hand.
tf would I have ur pillow for?
You roll your eyes at the little laughing emoji he’s punctuated the message with. You’d left one of your pillows in the newly built hotel’s media room during Charlie’s last movie night. The event had been painfully heavy on insipid musical numbers and pastel unicorns, but thanks to the drinks you’d shared with Husk and the spider you’d managed to last through the entire event. Your number one suspect for the missing pillow had been Niffty on a cleaning spree, but when that had come up as a negative, you’d decided to widen the search.
You were still looking at your phone when you opened the door in front of you and stepped into the room. “Hey, Husk, have you seen my—”
You come to a standstill as your eyes lift from your phone, heat flooding through your entire body.
Husk is on all fours on his bed, fur mussed more than you’ve ever seen and his wings quivering so much that a few feathers fall free even as you stand there. One of his suspenders are falling from his shoulder to hang pointlessly against his arm and his eyes… his eyes are half-lidded and glazed over even as they register his surprise at your sudden appearance.
But what males you freeze in place is the way his hips are rocking forward needily into the pillow squeezed between his thighs.
Your pillow.
“Husk…”
“I’m sorry,” he chokes the words out, his voice rough and hoarse and broken. His face is flushing a deep red under his fur, his ears tucked back against his skull even as you watch his hips still snap forwards against the soft cotton. You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue and he groans, his head falling forward.
Husk’s pants are unfastened, the one suspender still in place the only thing stopping them from slipping down off of his hips to bunch around his thighs. Even still, you can see the firm, thick base of his cock each time his hips pull back before he buries it in the pillow again, and even as he apologizes again you can see his claws tighten in the sheets so hard that the threads pop. His breath leaves him a shuddering exhale, his eyes rising to watch you from under his brows, his vision glazed and almost… hungry.
The heat inside you flares in your face and in your gut, and you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him any more than he can look away from you. Husk’s eyes are glued to your face, his lips parted as every other breath leaves him what could be moan, a desperate murmur of your name.
“Fuck,” he groans the word, the rhythm of his hips quickening helplessly. His breathing is labored, his mouth hanging open in an almost punch-drunk grimace as he whines, “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
You swallow, trying to ignore the way you’re pressing your thighs together, the way your hands squeeze at your sides against the urges you can’t even acknowledge right now because Husk is desperate and you realize suddenly what he needs.
“It’s okay, Husk.” you tell him, your voice shaking ever so slightly on his name. “You can cum for me.”
He curses again, his whole body rutting forward before he shudders, his body quaking as his orgasm finally peaks. He moans what you think is a ‘thank you’ as he does, his forehead pressing into the mattress as his shoulders shake with the sensations rolling through him.
He’s beautiful.
#irkimatsu#husk posting#husk#husk x reader#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel husk#hazbin hotel fanfic#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel husk x reader#my fic
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𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 — 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐌𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧
note — this is for @sparklingsin spookinktober!! it was queued to be posted on halloween but tumblr deleted it!! so I had to rewrite it :((( so I'm sorry that this is so late and so terrible!! I tried my best to rewrite it like it was fr. i do genuinely hate this now, i’m sorry.
summary — eddie comes back after a week and sees you in your angel costume. he has to fuck you right then and there.
warnings/tags — fem!afab!reader, she/her pronouns, smut, mdni, piv, fingering, needy!reader
wc — 1.8k
“Steve, have you seen Eddie yet?” You stand on your tiptoes to get closer to his face, leaning over the breakfast bar that separates the two of you.
Steve probably yells too eagerly. The music is loud, but you’re not exactly far away, “Y/N like I said fifteen minutes ago, he’ll be here at 9 o’clock.”
“What’s the time?” You laugh. Winding Steve up is always fun.
Steve sighs like he’s annoyed. You know he’s really not, “8:45.”
“Awesome. I’m gonna go sit on the couch until he gets here.” You tell him before spinning on your heels. The feathers of your angel wings tickle his face as you turn and Steve wrinkles his nose.
“I’m sure you will, Y/N!” he calls before you turn the corner.
And you do exactly that. You’ve waited for Eddie to get back all week, what’s fifteen more minutes? By the time Eddie arrives, the wiry angel wings on your back have grown a little itchy. You’d take them off if you weren’t excited to show Eddie your costume.
Picking at a loose thread on your frilly, white skirt, you don’t even notice the pair of knees in ripped, black denim, hovering over your own. Eddie leans forward to nudge your leg with his and you startle.
“Hey, sweetheart.” Eddie does that signature smile of his, it almost fries your brain and you forget to react.
“Oh my god, Eds!” It’s a blur of feathers when you leap from the small couch. Pushing your arms over his shoulders and leaning your whole weight into him. He almost topples when he wraps his own arms around your back. “Eddie,”
Eddie’s mouth finds its home in the juncture of your neck like it always does, breathing in your lost scene and pressing his lips to your skin. “Y/N.”
He pulls away, but not before you give him one last squeeze, holding you out at arm's length. “God, baby. You look so fucking hot,” he groans.
You turn your hips until your skirt swishes, “You think?”
Eddie reaches around to fiddle with one of the feathers, smoothing it out between his thumb and pointer. “Shit, yeah.”
“Where’s your costume?” you ask, poking him in the chest until he rocks on the balls of his feet. Heavy boots thump along with the bass of the music.
“I’m in it,” he laughs.
“Yeah?”
Eddie swishes like you did but the only thing that moves is his leather jacket that stiffly flaps around his waist, “Yeah. Your boyfriend.”
You roll your eyes like you’re actually not amused by his answer, “You wear that every day.”
“Well, you haven’t seen me in it for an entire week.” He leans in to peck your cheek. Twice for good measure. You grasp his jacket in firm hands and hold him close.
You hum, “Yeah. Missed you.”
Eddie leans in again to snake his arms around to give your ass a squeeze, bunching your skirt in his hands. You’ve forgotten where you are for a moment when he says, “Wanna show me how much you missed me?”
Pretending to act like you don’t want Eddie more than anything at this moment would be harder than telling him exactly what you want — so you don’t. You run a hand down his chest, over the cotton of his shirt, feeling the bumps and divots tentatively until your reach his waist. Hooking a finger around a belt loop to tug him closer.
“I think I do.” you smile.
Eddie groans, “Shit,”
You can’t even pretend to be surprised at how quickly it takes Eddie to drag you to the nearest bathroom. His insatiable need has you giggling the entire way there. Pushing through strangers and ignoring the pointed look Robin shoots you from the bottom of the stairs.
Once you’re inside, Eddie fumbles with the lock on the door while you tug at his free arm, “C’mon, Eds,” you whine.
Eddie cheers when he gets the door to lock, turning to lift you up and onto the basin. The ceramics are cold where it touches the bare skin on your legs and you gasp. Eddie is quick to catch any noise with his mouth when he leans in to kiss you.
“Fuck,” kiss, “angel,” kiss, “you look so hot.”
Your laughter peels from within you and you’re huffing into his mouth, “I thought I was the one who was supposed to be showing you how much I missed you.”
He pulls away to lift your skirt up so it pools around your waist, tugging your panties down until they stretch over your knees, “Just sit there looking all pretty, that’s enough for me, baby.”
Eddie lets you do as you please, placing a firm grip to stable yourself on his shoulders when he traces the tip of his finger up your slit. Grazing down to your entrance to gather the slick that’s already begun to pool on the counter.
“So messy,” he coos, exploring with his finger to push through your pudgy folds, “Missed this pussy, angel.”
You lean forward to press the top of your head into his shoulder, wrapping a hand around his bicep. When he finally slips a finger inside you, you let out the tiniest gasp and your hand tightens in its grip until the leather of his jacket squeaks.
You angle your head up to leave a line of lazy kisses along his neck. Your hot breath and tiny gasps are a whisper against Eddie’s skin. He pushes a second finger in, now middle and marriage, and you hiccup against his skin. Eddie pushes in further, determined to get you to make more pretty noises that get him all worked up.
“Eds,” you pant uselessly. More tiny gasps.
“Y/N,” he almost mocks, exploring deeper inside your weeping hole. Slick traces down his palm and threatens to dirty his sleeve. If Eddie has ever cared about that, he’s never shown it.
You rock your hips against the bench to try and get closer to his hand, his palm pushing into your clit. The stickiness of his thumb and pinky thudding against your skin echo in the tiny bathroom.
Eddie can sense your neediness, “Slow down, baby.”
You grip the hair around the base of his neck which only causes him to groan out. “Need,” you pant.
“What d‘you need, hmm?” Eddie asks, pulling back to check you over. Using his free hand to brush the hair from your eyes. You blink at him slowly.
“Fuck me, Eddie. Please.” Your eyes are terribly pleading and Eddie stills, deep-seated inside you. “Missed you- need you, Eds.”
Eddie can see you working yourself up and kisses you on the highest part of your cheek. Pulling his hand from you he says, “Yeah? Need my cock?”
“Please.”
“You’re so, very polite,” he coos.
There’s a metal zzz of his zipper unravelling and the shushing of his jeans being pushed down just below his ass, before he’s tugging at his cock with familiarity. A familiarity that has your stomach aching.
Eddie wraps his wet hand around the fat of your thigh to tug you closer to the edge of the basin and you yelp, bracing yourself on his chest.
Once you’re close enough, the ruddy tip of his cock presses into your clit and you jolt, head lulling into the juncture of his neck. Eddie wraps his arms around your back and holds you close, dotting kisses over your clavicle. His teeth scrape and nip playfully until goosebumps raise your skin.
“Ready?” he asks as he runs his cock down your slit to line up with your entrance.
“Uh-“ you stutter, wrapping your legs around his waist, hooking your ankles together, “Uh-huh.”
Eddie sinks in and you have to squeeze your eyes shut. “That’s it,” he groans, breath trembling, “Fuck.”
You squeeze him closer like it’s possible and gasp when the air is forced from your lungs at the proximity. Your hands tremble around stiff leather and your hips ache when he rocks in to the hilt. Filling you completely.
“Ah — Eddie,” you gasp, harder when he’s rocking in stronger.
Eddie starts to move, slow and tentatively, rolling his hips into your wet heat. Spreading your legs further apart and your underwear slips down onto the floor.
“Please,” you plead, “harder.” You dig your knees into his side.
Eddie grips your thigh to hold it up and closer to him and when he feels as if he’s not hitting the right angle, he hooks his arms under both of your legs to lift you from the counter.
Gasping, you sink down onto him, keeping your arms and ankles hooked around his body.
Eddie moves to grasp at your ass, squeezing fat between his fingers to keep you upright. Lifting you up and you help him settle back down until you find a perfect rhythm.
“So,” Eddie grunts, hard to be heard over the sounds of skin slapping and your pitched-up moans. You’re also lucky the music outside is loud enough to muffle anything. “so wet, sweetheart.”
You hum what sounds like an uh-huh, trying your best to meet his movements. Eddie’s grip is tight and it stings. Pain turns to pleasure when he starts to hit the spongy spot deep inside you.
Eddie’s doing his best to fuck you onto him. Especially when your pelvis burns and your arms ache, going limp against his frame.
His grunts mix in with your Ah ah ah’s, Eddie has no free hands to smother your noises so he plants his lips to yours, catching any sounds.
“Eddie,” you say against his lips, hot and wet, “M’gonna…”
“Cum f’me, baby,” he says, speeding up.
When he’s repeatedly hitting your sweet spot at the perfect rhythm, the coil in your core snaps, bleeding through your abdomen until you’re clamping around Eddie—tensing up in his hold.
Weak and panty, Eddie throws you back down to the basin, hips stuttering inside you.
“Fuck, where can I?”
“Inside,” you say. No, beg.
“You sure?” he groans.
You nod your head, clamping your twitching walls around him and that’s all it takes. Dragging, now slowly through your gummy heat, his own cum sobbing from your hole when he’s finished.
He’s pulling out, slowly when he watches your face crumple, keeping your legs hooked around his sides. Placing a wet kiss against your damp hairline, he says, “That was amazing- You’re amazing.”
“I know,” you grin, resting your legs down until your knees click.
“Mmm,” he kisses you again, “M’never leaving for that long, ever again.”
“Never,” you agree.
There’s a beat, that’s not very silent, filled with the party that’s still thrumming. Loud chants and chatter fill the bathroom from the crack under the door.
“We should really go home,” he says.
“I think so,” you hum, “I think I heard about ten people knocking on the door.”
“Shit,” Eddie snorts.
“Shit.”
#eddie munson#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson headcannon#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x reader smut#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson smut#stranger things x reader#stranger things#stranger things smut#stranger things imagine#stranger things fanfiction
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Another continuation of my poll fic; the previous part is here.
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“Hello?” called Danny. “Is anyone there? Hello?”
There was no answer except a further flicker of light, more distant.
Danny touched his tongue to his lips briefly, then marked his place in the intake book using one of the blank cards. He slid out of the chair and off his stack of books to stand. The cold wood and iron of the floor made him rethink that and he floated up. It was better that way, anyway, in terms of vantage point.
He approached the gap between shelves. “Hello?”
Looking out into the passageway beyond, the light seemed to wrap around and layer over itself with different levels of brightness. Danny looked back at his own trail of brilliance, saw where it faded, saw where it was fresh and new. This other trail, it looked like someone had walked this way multiple times. Going in circles, maybe?
He floated upward, trying for a better vantage point and jostled a set of what looked like windchimes, long triangular metal rods covered in tiny symbols gathered together under domes. They jingled and jangled musically in the muffling silence of the library. He stilled them with one hand.
There was movement out of the corner of his eye and turned. There, just before the passageway bent around a particularly precarious collection of papers, floated a ghost.
It was a very strange ghost. It glowed like a small sun, and if Danny’s eyes hadn’t been changed by his own alteration, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to look at it. It had long, long ears, shaped mostly like a bat’s but furred like a cat’s. Their eyes, too, were catlike, slitted. It had wings, and at their ends they were thin and flat, like a moth’s or butterfly’s, but they were fluffy with fur and feathers near their bases, and there was something birdlike about their structure there as well. Its body was relatively small, and looked soft, although it wasn’t nearly as small as Danny currently was. Danny couldn’t tell if the ghost was male or female or something else entirely.
But perhaps the strangest thing of all was the pervasive sense of silence it carried with it.
In any case, Danny saw no golden thread, and some of the other features - like the light - seemed to match with the aids offered to guests. Only, like. A lot of them. All at once. Meaning they must’ve gotten lost a whole bunch of times, even if Danny couldn’t see any visitor badges on them.
“Um, hi,” said Danny. “I noticed, um. Are you lost? The attendant should be coming before too long.”
The faintest of breezes tickled the back of his neck and he looked behind him, to the other end of the passage. There was another almost identical ghost hovering there.
“Um.” Danny was, perhaps, getting just a little nervous about the silent staring.
More light. Yet another similar ghost floated at the opposite entry to the card catalog space. And–
Danny moved backwards, into more open space as the area brightened further and more luminous, winged ghosts floated into view or poked heads up over shelves and other barriers.
“Danny,” said Mom.
“Not now,” said Danny. He blinked.
Next thing he knew, fingers were brushing his throat. He flinched backwards and away. Fast. Either naturally so, or via alteration. Or, if they weren’t visitors, maybe because of a home-field advantage or disadvantage on Danny’s part. Some places did that, and he hadn’t been here long enough to determine if this was one of them.
“I don’t want to fight,” he said. Or tried to say. He went through the motions, but his voice made no sound. He made no sound, period, not even the sound of his tongue tapping against the roof of his mouth.
He’d been silenced. Not good. That meant that not only could he not negotiate, he couldn’t call for help.
He was left with limited options, and limited time to choose between them. Luckily, those same battle-born reflexes and reactions that were inconvenient elsewhere served him well now and gave him the chance to choose.
He could fight. The librarians would be unhappy. It was against the rules that the receptionist had given to him, and likely to damage the books and card catalog, so he’d probably be kicked out. But, if he fought, he was sure he’d win, even with these numbers, and that would be safer than his other options. He couldn’t imagine that this many people ganging up on someone who looked like they were five meant well.
He could flee. He would almost certainly get lost, but that was a lesser crime than damaging the card catalog. Whether or not he’d get caught… well, he had about the same amount of experience running as fighting, but he usually wasn’t running from a group this large in unfamiliar territory and facing unfamiliar powers. These silent ghosts could have further unpleasant abilities.
He could freeze. Literally. He could build a shell of ice and ghost shields up around himself and hunker down until he either thought of a better plan or the attendant came back. That might put the attendant in danger, but Danny didn’t know if it would be more danger than if he just ran away. Anything other than fighting and winning decisively meant that these people would still be around. But if they were meant to be here… if the attendant could negotiate with them or authorize a fight…
Too much speculation. He had the space of a breath in which to act. Less.
#danny phantom#dannymay#dannymay 2024#dannymay 2024 day 19: iron#pollfic#poll fic#choose your own adventure#kingdom of fish
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Infinight Interns Reference Sheet + Headcanons
Bartholomew Finn
-Vest of Slow Descent-i made it green based off his canon design and then gave it "feathered" hems to allude to its ability
-pre-Draconic Transformation Bart-gave him silver jewelry and the only draconic traits are gold freckles, fangs, and shorter horns
-post-Draconic Transformation Bart-gold jewelry to match with his dad (Simsun), and of course claws and scales and larger horns
-boatswain's call whistle-a reference to the Jebediah + Capt. Marge
-gave him the thigh dagger sheath-cause why not. I think Bart's that character in movies that has a shit ton of knives hidden in the most improbable places
-he's got a 17 string lute, but lets be honest i aint drawing 17 strings. painted a wave design on the body and the soundhole/rosette has a dagger design
-Breath Diagem/lute pick ftw
-scars on his hands (from doing hot boi sailor shit)
-not shown but i think he's got a bunch of tattoos (like "I <3 Mom" for Marge, flowers for Gum Gum, crossed anchors, etc.)
-pupils are slitted like dragons and a very dark shade of blue
Kyborg the Mighty/Kydelius of Everwinter
-Fun Fact: i used to do archery! so some of his gear is based off of stuff I had. But you know cooler
-Canonically his hair pretty loose, and its pretty but my god its gonna get caught up in his bowstring man. braided/tied it back for practicality
-thigh highs. no notes
-gave him an armored version w/ fur because his current design didn't feel like Everwinter-y enough
-its not terribly visible but he has the Belt of Sick Trick so i put a bird on it (vaguely Tony Hawk reference)
-the Longer Bow Krystallina-gave it a snow fall design + red accents
-scars from archery, since this guy shoots barebow
-the left (flesh arm) side is the most armored and unscarred, and the right (metal arm) side is scarred + unprotected (bc u know its metal)
-pupils are really dark shade of red as a reference to the Source Diagem
-metal arm-i took an anatomy class not a robotics one, so the structure is based off human musculature (kinda) and i put the Source Diagem in his shoulder instead of his hand
Gum Gum Galindor
-star boi 🌟
-constellations on the inside of the brim of his hat that Bart sewed for him-(Bart's a sailor, he knows his constellations)
-the flowers (orange @ blue) on his hat represent him & Bart. The orange ones bigger bc u know thats his big bro right there
-the hoodie+pauldron+cross body strap combo is a direct copy of Bart's design bc thats what younger siblings do u know
-made the patches to repair his coat stars bc why not
-Random Axe of Kindness-the cute lil heart does not detract from the fact that its an axe
-timeskip design i went for a gardener vibe bc he works in the Orchidnage now-i think despite having the worst dad of the group, Gum Gum would be a pretty good father figure
-Staff of Flowers-i wanted to reference Dia w/ this one so I tried to have this be the most colorful part
-Bart pierced his ears at one point
-i gave him constellation freckles that showed up post Dia reveal
-he has his manacles yeah but i wanted to design friendship bracelets for the rest of the team
-Mudd's-green thread with pink & white flower beads-the charm is Gumbo
-Bart's-leather cord with blue & gold beads and an anchor charm
-Kyborg's-brown leather cord, green beads, and a red arrow charm
-made his pupils a lighter shade of blue that glows when he uses Wild Magic
-edit: lots of scars, some from fighting, a lit from just tripping and shit. Also a dog bite from that one time
Mudd Bramblecrack
-i love him but it was so hard to come up with a design
-the pink streak keeps moving bc im inconsistent and also bc he has to redye/cut his hair constantly
-the "fur" cloak is the Cloak of the Secluded Garden, and its actually pine leaves & grass
-gave him a very simple tunic w/ a bramble design bc we would try to disguise his noble bg
-i put Mudd in a kilt bc i have free will and also he's Scottish. I dont think he would ever wear one unless for formal occasions tho bc i think they take a while to put on
-Gumbo :) + badger armor -this ones very specifically inspired by Lonna Bowstripe from the Redwall series
-originally had the purple gems on his tunic, made em earrings instead bc thats cooler
-Bramblecrack signet (?) ring-also the Virtues Diagem. Both this and his earring are purple bc its an ace reference (for me). The ring is definitely an ace reference bc i made it a black metal and put it on his right middle finger (ifykyk)
-pink paw pads + talons-less of a firbolg thing, more of a Moon Druid thing
-eyes are a rlly dark shade of green but glow a brighter shade when Wildshaping
-pupils are a rlly dark shade of purple (Diagem ref) and also horizontal like cows
Okay I think that's everything. If not ill just come back and edit it 🤷. working on the OG Infinights next so stay tuned or whatever
#my art#tales from the stinky dragon#tftsd#bartholomew finn#stinkydragonpod#mudd bramblecrack#kyborg the mighty#gum gum galindor#headcanons
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ooc || eithne & malconaire & i guess some family history?!
not even sure if this is meant to be an ooc thread with anyone or just some rambling of my thoughts that all stem out of me thinking "i need something for eithne beyond being sad and nice and pretty"? anyway, since its relating TO the malconaire estate & i'm realizing as i'm typing sort of the family history, here it is for everyone?!
i realize that i've been operating under the assumption that the Malconaire Estate is comparable to like an english country estate with tenants and farms and even a village of some sort with the family obviously still living in the manor/main house which may not be what the intention was?
but, continuing on the idea of a country estate style life for malconaire, clearly its gone a bit downhill since the war-- i don't know if the battle where lord m died took place ON (or near?) his landholdings but if that's the case then it could be some of the farmlands/tenant rentals/or even the village maybe? were damaged during the battle(s) an obviously valentina has had NO interest in spending her $$$ on estate improvements when she could buy herself nice things!!! but then obviously the estate is not bringing in much (any?!) money currently hence here we are.
anyway re: eithne & her role/relationship with the estate. since we've established she was meant to be her father's heir, she started learning how the estate operated with her father as soon as she was old enough-- probably starting doing things just like checking in on tenants, etc and then moving on to learning about managing the financial side of things and some knowledge about farming (i guess i've just decided they'd farm the lands?!) and really just instilling the idea that they are the caretakers of the land and the people who live there (which since i think we've established the malconaires are an old astairian family definitely harkens back to that idea of the ruling class caring for the citizens who care for the guardians!)
basically it was straight up engrained in eithne that she must carry on the responsibility of caring for malconaire and she was up for the challenge but now with this sus "will" naming cassimir the heir popping up and watching the whole thing get run into the ground of the past two years.. yeah its not great. i think she has some guilt regarding this but she knows that there isn't much she can DO to get control of the estate back (#thanksroderick) so she's been doing the best she can to try and keep some of it together. and while her sisters well being is very important to her and their safety in comfort is a big factor in her decision making for the future, feeling as if she needs to stay and take care of malconaire is a factor as well
if/when @forgottencassimir proposes, its definitely mostly for the good of the estate and all the people who still live there and depend on them for survival! even if the kindest richest most handsome man ever (who somehow has three extra castles for her sisters to live in!) showed up and proposed marriage to her, it would be very hard for her to abandon her family history and obligations to the estate for cassimir & valentina to take.
i do think eithne will maybe have some conditions she will make with cassimir before the wedding which probably will ruffle valentina's feathers more than anything? (honestly step one: valentina moves into whatever version of the dowager house exists. step two: valentina gets a modest allowance, haha!) among she wants to re-employ any of the servants valentina has fired (honestly imagining that eithne does what she can to provide for them if they haven't found new jobs or left entirely!) and promote @forgottencillian to the state's steward (which in my mind was her father's plan that never got to happen because again #thanksroderick)
anyway, this is a bunch of rambling and i'm open to adapting anything of course especially regarding to WHAT malconaire estate actually is because this was all just in my head assumption nonsense, haha :)
#ooc#eithne malconaire#brigit malconaire#roisin malconaire#aoife malconaire#cassimir malconaire#sonya malconaire#valentina malconaire#cillian frost
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Here's my rendition of the rubkawat, from @maniculum's Bestiaryposting. I had a realization this week, which brought joy back into the activity for me: I don't have to actually draw a bird, just something that might possibly be described as a bird. I mean I eventually ended up with something that's either a bird or bird-adjacent, but early in the process I was going for, like, a feathered mustelid. I looked up zero dinosaurs for this; but I read Dinotopia a couple million times as a kid so I had some of that available in my head to use as reference.
First, the art choices that come from stuff in the description. I decided to work from the concept that no injury actually took place, so any reference to "blood" was in reality blood-coloured markings. Thus the red patch on the face of the adult, where they're supposedly struck, and juvenile plumage that looks like the chick is covered in blood. The red marking on the side of the adult, that's an instance of sexual dimorphism, and only the female has it; there's presumably also other colouration differences between sexes, but nothing that would seem "symbolic". The curved beak is because the only Egyptian bird I know about offhand is the ibis, and I wanted to at least gesture towards that.
Now, the art choices that are just from visual merit or personal preference. For colours, I started with the overall concept of "American goldfinch" (and also looked up zero reference for that), which is where I got the idea for black and white striped wings. The pale underside is something I just default to, apparently; hey it's not my fault that it looks nice, and also serves a practical purpose so it's found on all sorts of different creatures. The dark stripe on the side, right above the pale area, I think I got that from antelopes or gazelles (although I believe it's likewise found on a bunch of different animals). No real reasoning for the adult's pose beyond "this is the first one that actually worked out for me", but for the juvenile, I thought it'd be cute if it was trying to mimic its parent as much as possible. Speaking of the juvenile, the bald face wasn't originally intended; I was working on the final bits of the sketch for the finished piece when I thought "you know what, that might look cool".
You can find my progress thread here; it doesn't have any extra design info there, but it starts with my first messy design sketches, where I was just putting anything on the canvas to see what might work.
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Hi,hello! Not sure if you remember me, but I'd submitted some asks and brought up discussion topics in this blog way back then! I'm back from the dead after an exasperatingly long school year and some other daunting crap!Hope you're doing fantastic!🧡❤️💜💖
I saw that thread of beyonce's beautiful pink gown and thought about how I would've designed a dress for persephone's wedding . I did some digging and found a drawing I'd painted earlier this year inspired by lore olympus and RS's long- discontinued gothic-neovictorian comic "the doctor foxglove show".
The flowers are asphodels to represent persephone and I feel like the gothic traditional regal vibe would fit her nicely.
I also have other ideas that unfortunately I'm not gonna translate into drawings anytime soon 'cause of a bunch of other stuff I'm busy with
So I'm afraid you're gonna have to use your imagination.The wedding dress doesn't have to be white( how they made demeter "force" perse's dress to be white to further antagonize her and STILL ended up drawing persephone in a white dress anyway is still beyond me tbh )her symbols could beautifully be incorporated into her dress .
Exhibit 1:a "portrait of madame x" black outfit with a bat wing-like two part cape(her sacred animal:bat) that is bejeweled with black pearls and diamonds and smokey quartz ,the tiara in that portrait is a reference to diana the roman goddess of the hunt AKA artemis,so it could be a nice tribute to her friendship with artemis in the comic .
exhibit 2: a fully bejeweled gown made out of her symbolic gem stones:Lepidolite, Rhodochrosite and Smoky Quartz, signifying her marriage to the god of wealth(I know she's meant to be anti -capitalist but the comic doesn't follow through with it so ...)the sleeves or other parts (like dress layers)could take the shape of the flower petals of asphodel or Narcissus. Maybe a jewel faux- lily crown too. Along with rubies and spinels to form the shape of pomegranates all over the whole fit.
Exhibit 3:an elegant coat-like dress made out of deer (her own sacred animal)and black ram (hades')and fur . It would be a good nod to the fur coat hades gifted her in S1 and the underworld is cold too so why not(holy ginger snaps I just realized how impractical her official queen outfit is! Like we've been told in that episoide that underworld is cold and yet persephone's dress is sleeveless!girlie's freezing!) Also pearl/alabaster-made faux deer horns could be sprouting from her back like wings
Exhibit 4:a feathery dress as a tribute to her sacred animal:parrots most of the dress could be a nice shade of green with some red and yellow feathers which would be common colors for a parrot and also the color of the bridal dresses for ancient greek and roman noblewomen .
Exhibit 5:Like I said red and yellow /gold were bridal dress colours for greeks and romans,what other things are red and yellow?!wheats and tulips! Demeter's symbols!this could've very well been a sweet tribute from daughter to mother ! Imagine a multi -layered flower gown with deep scarlet and black petal-shaped fabrics to look like tulips and a multi-layered veil to match!!! And then imagine golden embroidered threads in the shape of wheat branches and golden wheat shaped necklace and earrings too! And an emerald ,olivine and topaz choker in the shape of a gecko(demeter's sacred animal)
Of course one could also go ham and just combine all these ideas together and make a maximalistic, artsy,chaoticly gorgeous outfit.I personally like it because it could be a symbol of how playful and fun spring is but also how unpredictable and strange death is!I feel like if rachel took her time and didn't rush things she could give us something extraordinary!!!!!!
As always I hope this ask finds you in good health! Bye bye🌹☘️💖💜🎀💚🌺🌸❤️💕🧡👋🏻👋🏻👋🏻👋🏻👋🏻👋🏻
I remember you! I’m so glad to have you back! Your design is so beautiful by the way and honestly it’s very easy on the eyes too! I could see Persephone wearing something like that and also I’m honestly gushing about all of your exhibits because they’re so sweet and I absolutely love the detail you put in them. The tributes would’ve made the dress not only memorable but also very impactful to her character since Persephone was always supposed to be a more family oriented person (at least in season one when was characterized to be most comfortable with physical touch and around people) and it really would’ve showed us how strong her relationships have become over the past seasons, her friends are really just accessories at this point and they’re only brought up when it’s convenient. Hell even some signifying detail about Hades’ details would’ve been romantic like if they both wore parts of each other’s sacred animals or something like you incorporated, Hades never wears anything to represent Persephone and yet Persephone is supposed to be the one wearing dark colors now it’s just so one sided honestly.
But enough rambling, this was honestly such a sweet ask and I absolutely loved going through all of your ideas! They were genuinely so sweet and I hope everything is going great for you! <3
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The Kings’ Wife
Chapter 10
The Queen of the House
25K words
Warnings: Explicit, language, mentions of child abuse
so I wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me.
Fenrys stood still, observing the scene in front of him. Elain and his two brothers were in bed together, naked and asleep. Well, Elain was asleep–unperturbed by the two massive males who were groping her naked body. Azriel’s arm was thrown over her breasts, his palm squeezing one hard, possessively. Ruhn’s hand rested on her soft bottom, fingers buried between her thighs, digging pretty deep.
Fenrys sighed and then grabbed Elain’s ankle and pulled her to him, dislodging her from the two males. Her eyes fluttered open and he caught her in his arms and murmured “come here, baby,” and as he scooped the soft, warm body of his wife, he pushed a pillow in her place, for the two men to hug.
Neither one of them moved or reacted, except for grabbing the pillow and then immediately extending their middle fingers to him. He snorted. He knew that they were both acutely aware of him as soon as he entered the house. Even if they looked like they were sleeping, those two woke up if a feather fell outside. They were true predators–never relaxed enough to be unaware of their surroundings.
He wrapped Elain’s thigh over his hip and she draped her arms around his neck, nuzzling into his neck sleepily. He kissed her head, her cheek and walked out of the bedroom, slowly making his way to his own room.
“How are you, babygirl?” he murmured, stroking her bare behind, his fingertips skimming over the damp folds and making her wince.
“Good,” she growled, still half asleep. Fenrys smiled and kissed the corner of her mouth, watching her big eyes flutter open. She yawned and murmured, “I am tired…”
“Why are you tired, sweetheart?”
It’s not like he didn’t know, but he wanted to hear it from her.
She sighed dramatically, and then announced, “Because Az put his cock in me!”
Fenrys grinned at her declaration, and stroked her soft, wet pussy again, while she pouted.
“And how was it?” he inquired.
“Goo-ood,” she drawled.
“Well, that’s good!”
“But it hurt, Fen!” she threw her hands up, frowning.
He kissed her lips and smiled widely.
“I am sorry, my darling, but did you enjoy it?”
She nodded, threading her fingers through his thick, blond curls, “Yes, I did. Even if it hurt, I got a bunch of orgasms. And I read that you don’t even get orgasms the first time, and I got like five!”
“Five?” he gasped theatrically, while she was nodding. “That’s very nice, my girl. So, now you are a woman?”
She waved her hand and shook her head no.
“Naw…that was just defoliation!” she explained. “I am not a woman yet.”
“No?”
“No. I did it with Az and with Ruhn, but I don’t think I am a woman yet.”
“You took two cocks your first time?” he marvelled, though he was very well aware that that was the plan. Ruhn would not have it otherwise, and everyone was a little surprised that he even waited for Azriel to close the deal. “You are my hero!”
She puffed her chest proudly.
“Yeah, it was the conservation of marriage.”
“Consummation,” he whispered, kissing her soft lips. He didn’t even bother with the ‘defoliation’.
She wrapped her legs around him and asked, while rubbing against him,
“I have to do it with you now?”
Fenrys pushed the door open with his foot and entered his rooms.
Like everything else in his life, his bedroom was kitschy, but elegant. It was a microcosm of his Britishness, everything in here an homage to his homeland, which he was forced to leave behind through such unfathomably violent circumstances.
There was a faded Union Jack in a glass frame above the bed, vintage band posters on the walls leading to the bathroom, more band memorabilia on the shelves–Freddie Mercury’s leather gloves, Mick Jagger’s torn t-shirt, a guitar signed by Jimmy Page, John Bonham’s drumsticks, and many other awesome shit that Elain liked to go through and touch. There were also sentimental items, like a photo of Fen’s parents with the Queen, little Fenrys and his brother Connall in his arms, and even a proper tea set, with flowery porcelain cups and saucers, and a beautiful teapot, on a round antique table. In Elain, Fenrys finally found a tea-drinking companion, and they often had their little tea time at 4:30 pm, with mini sandwiches, scones and clotted cream, and pastries. The other two brothers weren’t invited, because they had ‘no appreciation’ for the finer things in life, according to Fenrys. Furthermore, downstairs, in the pantry, he had boxes of crisps and biscuits that were shipped from England. ‘Prawn cocktail’ flavour, as well as ‘Chardonnay and Salt’ were ‘vile’ according to Ruhn, while Elain helped herself to ‘Cheese and Onion’ pretty well and often.
Fenrys deposited Elain on the bed and sat down next to her, cupping her cheek.
“No, darlin’,” he kissed her softly. “You don’t have to do it with me. Or anyone. Not with Az, or Ruhn, or me. Not unless you want to…”
Elain smiled at him and wrapped her fingers around his wrist, holding his hand to her face.
“You are my love, Fen,” she murmured.
He smiled tenderly at her, and said, “And you are mine, Elain Moonbeam King. Always. I am glad that you’ve enjoyed your first few times–I would expect no less from Az–and if he didn’t make it fantastic for you, I would’ve beat his face in,”
She laughed.
“But remember that you don’t owe us anything. You are our wife, and we love you. But you own us, baby. We are putty in your little hand,”
“You wanna go potty?” she frowned and Fenrys burst out laughing, throwing his head back, the sound joyful and gay. “I love you, Elain Moonbeam,” he moaned, wiping his tears.
“I feel like you are making fun of me,” she noted with a pout.
“Never. I am just happy with you. Now,” he stood up and looked down at her beautiful naked body. His brothers definitely went to town on her last night–her thighs were bruised, there were marks and bites and little scratches and fingerprints all over her immaculate flesh. The rosy tips of her full breasts were swollen, as were her lips. When he flicked a lock of her messy hair off her shoulder, he noticed a brutal imprint of teeth marks on the back of her neck.
“He marked you,” he grunted through clenched teeth.
She touched the mark with her fingers and nodded, “Ruhnnie did it,”
“Fucking Ruhnnie.”
Rubbing his thumb over his lower lip, Fenrys asked,
“Did those two circus animals even offer you any aftercare?”
She puffed her cheeks and then said, “What’s aftercare? We showered–they washed me, because there was blood…and their…stuff,”
“Cum, baby,” he said roughly. “Call it what it is. Cum.”
“Okay, cum.”
“So, no aftercare?”
She shrugged and muttered, “I dunno.”
“Figures,” he grunted and ordered her to stay still and went to the bathroom.
Elain sunk into his comfortable bed, gingerly touching her naked body, her eyes closed, her lips smiling. She felt so exhausted. But also so, so good. And she’d never been more in love with the three of them than she was now.
Fenrys returned to the bedroom and just stood there, watching her.
She threw her arm over her eyes and squinted at him.
“What?” she laughed.
“Just admiring my beautiful wife,” he shrugged and Elain blushed from the sweet compliment. He stooped over her and kissed her puffy nipple, wrapping his tongue over it and making her gasp with pleasure. “My beautiful, wanton wife,” he reiterated, kissing the other nipple.
“Like soup?” she questioned, stroking the back of his neck and keeping his face close to her breast.
He licked her nipple again, and his warm breath fanned over her breast, because he was laughing.
“I love wonton soup,” Elain opined, mostly to herself, while he sat down and gently pulled her legs apart. “Also matzo ball…do you like it, Fenny? Oh, that feels good! What is it?” she glanced down between her thighs, where he was carefully smearing something between her pink folds and when his fingers slipped into her, she gasped with enjoyment and surprise.
“That’s a little bit of aftercare, sweet pea,” he explained.
“It feels so good, Fen!” she vowed, her fingers tracing the tattoos on his forearm.
“That’s what I am aiming for here, baby. What other soups do you like, Ellie? Minestrone?”
She made a face and shook her head, “Oh, no! Yuck. I don’t like it at all!”
He smiled. His girl never shied away from an opinion.
Fenrys loved Elain’s ramblings. She met him head on with her own madness and it made him feel not so alone in the world. He loved not knowing where their conversation would go, and what odd twists and turns it would take, simply because Elain misunderstood a word, or let her mind wander somewhere neither one of them expected.
Elain’s hips moved and she thrust herself onto his fingers, her eyes flashing with lust, as she peered into his unbelievably handsome face, and wrapped her leg around his legs, pulling him closer. She reached for him, brushing her fingers over his lips, his eyelids, before reaching up and kissing him softly.
“I like aftercare,” she murmured into his mouth. “I also want you…”
He smiled at her and rubbed his nose against hers, carefully pulling his fingers out of her. She winced a bit.
“Not right now, baby,” he refused gently and pulled away.
She frowned and pushed herself up on her elbows,
“Why not? Don’t you want me?”
He chuckled and said,
“Come, we’ll take a bath–another important step in aftercare.”
Elain baulked and didn’t move, watching him, biting her lip.
He made a move to lift her from the bed, but she pressed her hand to his chest, stopping him.
“Why not?” she asked bluntly, and Fenrys immediately sensed a change in her demeanour. He lowered himself on his hunches in front of her and took her foot in his hands, lightly stroking her calf, while admiring her perfect toes. They were lovely, beautifully straight, manicured with a light shade of pearl. He pressed them to his lips and then said simply,
“My dick is huge.”
“So what?” she snapped.
“So I am gonna hurt you, Ellie. And I don’t care to do that,”
“You don’t care that the other two got there first?” she demanded. “You don’t want to have sex with me? Because I am bad at it?”
He cocked his brow, amused by her vehemence and shrugged nonchalantly,
“Do I care about having the dubious honour of breaching your precious seal? Not particularly.”
He kissed her foot again and then pulled her closer, dragging his palm over her breast, her stomach, before cupping her boldly and squeezing her pussy in his hand. She shivered, panting slightly in front of him, while he smiled hungrily and murmured,
“I want you. I want to undress you. Touch you. I want you to be mine. I want to ruin you, Elain. In the best possible, dirtiest, most inelegant, deranged way. I want to own your body. I want to fuck you. I want to teach you things. Pull you on my cock, until you shake and tremble and scream your pleasure into my lungs.”
Her eyes darkened with desire and he felt her gush hot and wet in his palm, while he continued,
“When I fuck you, which will be soon…sooner than you think…my aim is to fuck the memory of everyone else out of you. So that it’s only my cock that you remember when we are finished. Only my cock that you feel inside of you, for hours…days afterwards. Leave the defloration to Azriel–it’s his kink. He wanted to be your first one. Mate with you. Sentimental and all, and perhaps admirable, but that’s not me, babygirl.”
He finally managed to get her off the bed and carried her to the bathroom.
“I have enough self-control, Ellie, not to batter your freshly breached pussy. I can wait.”
She was still pouting a bit, but he’d diffused the temper bomb successfully.
Fenrys had a cosy, smallish bathroom, with a copper tub, and many features that were left untouched and that retained the charm of the firehouse that their house once was. There were wooden beams and brick and a bit of old marble, and every time Elain stepped in here, she felt like she was in some old English cottage.
The tub was already filled with steaming water and Fenrys slowly lowered her inside, though she screeched and yelled, “It’s burning my butt!”
Fen laughed, though she settled down in about 10 seconds, and he pulled his sweatpants down and then stepped into the tub as well.
Upon glancing at his mega dick, Elain blanched and swallowed, while he smirked and nodded slowly, like he knew what she was thinking.
“That’s right, babygirl. Not so eager now, are we?” he laughed and lowered himself into the tub, across from her.
“Where are the bubbles?” she asked immediately.
“No bubbles,” Fenrys shook his head. “I want to see you naked in front of me.”
She side-eyed him, but didn’t argue. Instead, she sunk deeper into the scalding hot water, letting out a breathy moan of satisfaction.
He gathered her feet in his hands and put them on his chest.
After a pause while their bodies acclimated to the hot water, he asked,
“Okay, let it out. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she shrugged.
“Bullshit, baby. Talk to me, or I will start pinching body parts until you do!”
“You can’t threaten me!” she exclaimed.
“Pff, sure can,” he argued lazily. And then pinched her ass under the water, making her yelp. “What’s happening with you? Did you not like the sex?”
She didn’t look directly at him and then murmured, “No, I liked it.”
“Then why are you so glum? Are you in pain?” he worried, his voice softening and concern pouring out of his whole body. He reached for her, and stroked her shoulder and her cheek. She kissed the inside of his palm and admitted, “It’s all good, Fen. Really.”
“Why don’t I believe you, baby? Did you not consent?” he then prodded sternly.
“Yeah, right…” Elain drawled. “Like Az would do it without consent!”
“Okay,” Fenrys couldn’t argue. Azriel was always the ‘king of consent’. He had to be. He was often a ruthless lover, and consent was a must to him. “Did you not want Ruhn to be there?”
Elain never voiced any concerns or displeasure about any group interactions–they all had her with them together, sometimes in pairs, sometimes one on one, but she was always comfortable with any and all of them. She knew that they adored her, loved her, wanted her, and there was no false modesty or shyness from her. However, losing one’s virginity was a personal, intimate thing, and perhaps, Elain didn’t want anyone else to witness it.
“No it was all good,” she sighed. “Very good. Really, Fen. Don’t worry about it.”
“But I do, Ellie. I worry about you. We all do. We want you to be happy,”
“And I want you to be happy too! With me!” she almost shouted, sitting up suddenly and sloshing water over the lip of the tub.
“We are happy with you,”
“No,” she cut him off, “you don’t understand…”
He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers with hers, urging her to speak up. She blushed deeply and then mumbled,
“I am scared, Fen,”
“Of what, my darling?” he sounded serious and his look was thoughtful.
“That you…Az and Ruhn won’t find me,” she gulped in air, before exhaling, “satisfactory…I don’t know how to do anything. In sex. And I feel like eventually, all of you will be disappointed in me and I won’t live up to anyone’s expectations. I am already strange and mouthy, and,”
He raised his hand to her, effectively shutting her up.
She stopped talking, watching him, biting her lower lip.
“May I tell you something?” Fenrys asked, though he wasn’t exactly asking for permission.
“What? Don’t try to tell me that everything will be fine and everyone will,”
Fenrys interrupted her verbal assault and with unusual calm, said,
“The Ruhn that you know now isn’t the same Ruhn that we all know. Up until 2-3 months ago, Ruhn was…a ghost.”
Elain’s brow furrowed but she listened quietly.
Fenrys rubbed his face, smearing the steam from the water over his hair and his cheeks and continued,
“He was–is–known as the Shadow King. Why? It’s not just because he was brutal and violent and operated within the shadows, never seen, but always felt. It was mostly because he was merely a shadow of a man.
“All Ruhn did was he drank, he smoked, he fucked, he killed, and sometimes, he tattooed. I think he went for days without eating…Sleeping…Ruhn existed,” Fenrys sighed sadly. “Even Az, his brother and the one person who is closest to him, feared him,”
“What would he do to Az?” Elain murmured worriedly.
“He didn’t fear what he’d do to him, but to himself. Ruhn was self-destructive. Unhappy. Miserable.”
Fenrys rubbed his face again, clearly uncomfortable about the conversation, but he pressed on,
“It might not be my place to speak of any of this, or to speak about him, but you should know…you are his wife, and you should know,”
“Know what?”
“Their father is not a good man.”
“Well, he is a mafia don,”
“No. He is a savage monster who brutalised his sons constantly and endlessly. Did you know that he has sixteen children?”
Her eyes popped open in shock and she cried, “Sixteen??
“That we know of. There are more, but he won’t acknowledge them. He only acknowledged those that he deemed ‘worthy’. And Ruhn and Az were worthy apparently, mostly because Az is brilliant and tenacious and a financial wizard, while Ruhn was selected early on to be the enforcer.
“But it all came at a terrible cost to them, to their mental and physical state…”
“What did he do to them?” she whispered, her fingers squeezing his almost painfully.
Fenrys bit the inside of his cheek and leaned back, closing his eyes.
She waited, and then snapped, “Fen. Fenrys. Tell me.”
He exhaled, and then explained, his voice low, almost breaking,
“Every tattoo on Ruhn–and he has sleeves and,”
“What?” she cried, “what is it?”
“Scars.”
“What?!”
“His tattoos cover his scars.”
She recoiled, shuddering, eyes wild. Her hand flew to her mouth, and Fenrys could almost see her tallying all the tattoos on Ruhn’s body.
“The little pink rose that he has tattooed on his heart–that’s the only thing that’s not a scar. That’s for you. You never brought him pain, Elain, and he put you over his heart.”
“Did he get the scars from all the fights he’s been in?”
He was shaking his head.
“Not fights. Burns mostly. His father burned him.”
Elain stared at him with incomprehension.
“Why?”
“Punishments, mostly. Sometimes, ‘lessons’ as he called them.”
“Azriel?” she murmured, horrified. “Azriel’s hands?”
Fenrys nodded slowly.
“Not the father–two older sons. On behest of the father…Az was only eight. They doused his hands with,”
She clamped her hands over her ears and shook her head wildly.
“I don’t want to know…I don’t want to know,” she muttered feverishly, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Fenrys, for once, didn’t attempt to console her. He looked at her, his face sad and sombre.
“I won’t tell you anymore,” he promised. “The rest, you can ask them yourself, if you want to,”
“They hurt my husbands,” she chanted to herself, rocking and trembling. “He hurt my Ruhn…they hurt my husbands…they burned them,”
“El…Elain,”
“They burned my husbands!” she bellowed, tears pouring down her face. “They took my Az’s little hands and they set him on fire…”
“A lot happened to those men,” Fenrys said gravely. “Horrible things…Az was kidnapped once–to get the Old King to do someone’s bidding…the usual bullshit. But,”
“Oh god,” she rasped.
“They tried to rape him,” Fenrys said ruthlessly. “He was twelve. The Old King was dragging his feet, refusing to do whatever they were fighting about, and they wanted to film it and send it to him–what his son was going through and what they’d continue doing to him, if he didn’t submit to the demands,”
“Did they…”
“In order to escape, he had to break his own wrist, to get his handcuffs off,” Fenrys sounded detached. “And then he ran…it was fucking January and he was only in his underwear. And he ran. For hours. With a broken wrist,”
Even though the water was hot, Elain couldn’t stop shivering, her teeth chattering, as she wrapped her arms around her knees.
“Come here,” he tried to pull her in his arms, but she resisted and muttered, “I don’t want to.”
He didn’t insist, but reached for the bench, grabbed a bottle and then poured some bubbles into the water. For all his craziness, Fenrys was acutely aware of people’s emotional and psychological tells, and when he was feeling kind, he took care of them. Right now, he sensed that Elain probably wanted to be covered. Hidden. And he offered it to her.
“I don’t know how to feel, Fen,” Elain whispered miserably. “I knew…I mean, I could tell that they were wounded men, but this,”
He gently stroked her hand and said,
“I know it hurts, baby. I know. See, despite how my family was murdered and how fucking traumatic it was, I had a normal, happy childhood. My parents loved each other. My father was deeply, passionately in love with my mother and she loved him just as much. When they had me, they were young–my Da was only 22–but they were good parents! Fantastic even. Da was in the Firm of course, but he always had time for me, and for Ma. He’d take me to Arsenal games since I was 4 or 5. My Da loved London and we’d always do something interesting in the city. His knowledge of it was remarkable and yeah, I know that people make fun of me for my Englishness and how much I love my country, but there is a reason for it. I was happy in England. My family was there, my mates, my life. It was good. My Italian Ma would make a Sunday roast every Sunday, like a proper Englishwoman and that’s what I remember. Christmas and riding our bikes and being with my Da and then when we had Connall, I just fell in love with him. And then when I came here, I realised that I had what neither Az nor Ruhn ever had–family, and love. Even their mothers abandoned them, because of their father.”
“Why was he like that to them? Why would he burn his boys? Hit them?” Elain whispered miserably.
“I think he has a sadistic streak and unfortunately, his children bore the brunt of it.”
He scrubbed his face and then dipped entirely in the water, holding his breath for a while, before finally emerging and looking at his sad wife with a frown.
“I don’t want you to be sad, Ellie,” he whispered.
Elain sighed and wondered, “How can I not be sad? My boys were abused…My father-in-law, whom I barely even know, is a monster. And,”
“And Ruhn loves you,” Fenrys said quickly, his expression serious. “That’s the thing, baby,” he continued, “you don’t need to worry about any of this–being somehow unsatisfactory to Ruhn, to Az…to me. Ruhn fucking adores you. He is literally, not even kidding, obsessed with you. From the moment he saw you. I thought that he might fight Az for you,”
Elain smiled a weak, but amused smile.
Fenrys reached and drew his knuckles over her cheek, his touch soft and loving.
“You gave all of us what we all didn’t have, Elain King,”
“And what’s that?”
“A home.”
She glanced at him, biting her cheek, her eyes moist with tears.
“Have I?”
He nodded.
“You really have. See, I have my Uncle Benny–my Da’s brother–who is my closest family. But he is in London,”
“Do you like him?”
Fen’s face broke into a wide smile.
“Oh yeah! Uncle Benny is a fucking amazing man. He is only about twelve years older than me, so he is more of a friend than an uncle. When my parents were murdered, he was only twenty, and he couldn’t take me on, but since then, we’ve grown close. I’ll introduce him to you. You’ll love him too. He and his wife–they live in the same arrangement as us,” Fenrys winked at her.
“Really?”
“Yeah. We ain’t the only ones like that. Benny and his two mates all live together with Benny’s wife.”
“Oh,”
“Uh-uh. They got a bunch of children too. And when I was looking at him, at his family, which is fantastic, I always dreamt that I’d have something similar. That I’d have a wife who’d love me like Anna loves Ben. That I’d be in this business with my brothers and we’d be…a family. I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d be so lucky, but here you are, Elain, and we are all so happy.
“You are it. For all of us. There ain’t ever going to be any other women. Az is mad for you, and Ruhn would rip the world to shreds if someone dared to separate you from him. And me–well, you and I are soulmates, babygirl,” he said confidently.
Elain threaded her fingers with his and nodded,
“We are!”
“That’s right. Whatever awaits us, we’ll be together. No one is gonna tire of you, or think you ain’t good at sex or some shit,” he chuckled. “That virgin pussy of yours is everything they’ve ever dreamed of!”
Elain chuckled.
“Not a virgin anymore,” she reminded him and Fen nodded with a laugh.
“Yeah, those two bastards took care of that,” he sighed. “But fear not, baby, they might have taken your virginity, but I’ll make you a woman!”
He reached for her and pulled her by the hand, until she landed on top of him, the soft, wet tits splaying over his chest.
“If anyone can and should do it, it would be you,” she agreed, kissing his lips softly. His hands squeezed her sleek, bare ass and he stroked it with a generous swipe of his hand. “Speaking of making someone a woman,”
Fenrys’s eyes flew wide open and he exclaimed dramatically,
“There are more of you!?! I thought you were the last American virgin?! Also, I am not de-virginising anyone. I am married.”
Elain was kissing him softly throughout his rant, laughing against his lips.
“Sorry, baby, but your other virgin friends would have to find another well-hung–though not-as-well-as-me–man to do the honours.”
She brushed her nose against him and flicked him on the forehead.
“No! Don’t even think about it. You are mine and this cock is mine too!” she cupped him brazenly and Fenrys choked a bit in surprise.
“No argument here, sweetheart.”
He squeezed her hand on his shaft and she stroked him, while he wrapped his hand over her fingers and pressed firmly.
“Like this?” she murmured breathily.
“Yes, perfect,” Fen groaned. Elain rose from the water, her breasts half-covered in foamy bubbles, as she straddled his upper thighs and rubbed his dick with steady, practised strokes, moving her hand up and down, even though she was unable to wrap it around him fully. Her pull was stong, just like he liked it, and she grasped him hard, flicking her thumb over the thick head of his cock. She looked down at him and sucked her breath in lightly. She’s seen him and she’s been with him plenty of times, but boy, oh boy was he big.
“Harder, baby,” he requested. “I’ve been hard for like two days straight!”
Elain chuckled at his dramatics and squeezed him harder, making his back arch, as his hips thrust towards her and her capable hand.
“You were losing virginities, sleeping with two men, giving out blowies like they are going out of style…and I was huddled in some penthouse,”
“Ohhh, poor you! Huddled in a penthouse. However did you survive it?” she teased, and then squeezed him harder and snarled, “I wasn’t too crazy about you shacking up with your ex girlfriends, Fen,”
“She wasn’t even there!” he protested, his breathing heavy, as he gripped the sides of the tub, his hips gyrating beneath the water.
“I don’t care,” she said severely. “You are my husband. I don't want you being with any exes.”
“I am sorry, baby. It was pretty serious there for a second,”
Elain leaned over him and kissed his lips, brushing her tongue over his, whispering, “I know…I love you,”
“I love you too, Elain,” he groaned.
“Never leave me,” she warned.
“Never.”
He came with a loud pleasure-filled groan, spilling all over her breasts, watching his seed mix with the bath foam, and Elain shuddered next to him, watching him cup her breast tightly and rub his cum into her skin. She kissed him again, and he pulled her to him, wrapping his arm around her, while she snuggled atop of him.
“So, who are we deflowering?” he inquired at last, once his breathing came back to normal.
She pressed her chin into his broad chest and said,
“I want you to help me.”
“With?”
“I want to set up Cassian and Nesta.”
Fenrys choked and gasped.
“Why do you hate Cass so much?!”
“Ahhh!” she snapped in outrage and slapped his shoulder. “Shut up! She is my sister!”
“I know,” Fenrys managed. “And he is my cousin. And I love him,”
“Well, he really likes her,” Elain said, while Fenrys sat up and then hauled her out of the tub. He held her to him, wrapping her in a thick towel around her body. So far, Elain has been carried around the whole morning.
Fenrys was correct.
For whatever weird reason, Cassian liked Nesta. They’d met a few times over the years, and Nesta, true to form, treated him with her usual disdain, acting disinterested and aloof. Fenrys knew her well enough, and Nesta never changed. Her attitude was pretty much the same towards everyone–cool restraint, bordering on rudeness, and at times, a snappy retort, or a sharp comment. The only person who could deal with her on any meaningful level was Azriel, whose own natural aloofness and calmness seemingly sobered Nesta up. He always regarded her with a detached eye, never speaking ill of her, even before Elain had entered their lives, and always offering her the appropriate respect as a fellow head of a Family. He did not disparage her like the others did, and did not comment on her gender, for she was the only official female heir to a Family. Immacolata Vanserra and a few others were only wives, without any official powers and voices. Nesta was the only one who actually made decisions among the eight major Families.
“Did you know,” Fenrys said, as he wrapped a towel around his trim waist, “that she called me Az’s ‘English butler’?”
Elain started and paused drying her hair, looking at him in shock.
“What?”
Fenrys was laughing, as he nodded.
“We were in a meeting,” he recalled. “And I said something, and she turned to Az and said, ‘Please tell your Downton Abbey English butler that it’s not his place to speak unless we ask for his opinion’.”
Elain slapped her hand over her mouth and he kept laughing and nodding.
“She is a charmer, that Nesta,” he concluded.
Elain was chewing the inside of her cheek guiltily, though Fenrys was mostly amused, as he picked her up and carried her back to his room.
*
There was breakfast waiting for them and Elain exclaimed, “oh yum!” while Fen sat her down in the chair.
There was tea and toast, jelly and cheese and croissants and a whole array of other carbs. Before Elain could tuck into it, Fenrys lifted her face and kissed her ravenously, his hand holding the back of her head, as he consumed her lips with his, his hand sliding under the towel to grasp her breast tightly.
“I fucking love you, Elain,” he confessed.
“I love you too, Fenrys,” she smiled at him.
He sat down and buttered his toast, which he then placed on her plate.
He always served her, if they were at the table. One of the men always did, even if she cooked the meal. It was a thing between them, which Elain never really noticed or understood, but it made her feel…cared for.
“So, why do you want my cousin to end up with your sharp-tongued sister?”
“I think that she could benefit from someone like Cassian,” Elain admitted, and poured Fenrys a cup of strong black tea.
“You do know that she’s rejected every man she’s ever been out with, right?” Fenrys put liberal amounts of sugar in his cup and took a sip. “Every one. Az–no. Lorcan–no. Me, well, I am the English butler, which is an automatic no. Ruhn–she refused outright. That Scottish fella, who works for the Firm,”
“Tamlin?”
“Yes, him. Also a no. The Irish–all no. Now, who is left? The fucking Vanserras? Hope that romance doesn’t take root, because god help us all,” he groaned.
“That’s why I think Cassian would be good for her!” Elain insisted. “She rejected everyone because she is,”
“Crazy,”
“Picky,”
“New word for crazy,” he insisted and she pushed him with her foot under the table.
“Fen!”
“Baby,”
“Don’t. She is afraid of relinquishing her status…her station. She is the only female heir to a Family,”
“So that makes her the asshole that she chooses to be?”
“That puts her in a difficult position. She can only, realistically, marry someone who isn’t a head or an heir of another family. Otherwise, the Archeron family gets absorbed into another clan,”
“Okay, there is such a thing as love, you know,” he reminded her, “you rejected others, before agreeing to Az. Well, and me, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
Elain bit into her almond croissant, and explained,
“There was a guy, named Tomas, whom she dated on and off for about a year. He wasn’t nice to her,”
Fenrys glanced at her over his cup and frowned.
“What did he do?”
Elain shrugged, but answered quietly,
“I think he tried to assault her,”
“What?”
“One evening, she came home late–rushed past me, and her dress was torn…the shoulder strap was torn–and she was very upset. But she wouldn’t talk to me about what happened,”
Icily, Fenrys demanded,
“What is his name?”
“What, what are you gonna do?” she huffed. “Go on some warpath over Nesta,”
Fenrys reached out and grabbed Elain’s chin, saying,
“Nesta is family. I might not get tickled pink when I am in her company, but she is still family. Families are complicated and fucked up, but regardless, she is my sister-in-law and that’s the deal. I’ll find Tomas, and pay him a visit,”
Elain cleared her throat,
“You don’t know his last name,”
“I am a resourceful man. Also, I fucking hate rapists, or wannabe rapists, so he deserves a visit.”
Elain would have argued, but she didn’t.
Let the chips fall where they may, she decided.
“I think Cassian would be a good option for Nesta. He genuinely likes her,” Elain said, smiling, “even if he is attempting–and failing–to be secretive about it. And Nesta,”
“Now you are going to tell me that she likes him too?”
“Well, she doesn’t want to order a hit on him. So that’s something. And he is not and never will be the head of any family, so there is that,”
Fenrys gave his wife an assessing look, but didn’t say anything further.
People underestimated her. Elain was acutely aware of everything that was going on around her, and knew everyone’s weak points, quickly understanding what insecurities and failings all of them suffered from. Including Nesta. Elain was no loyal dog, who’d follow her sister’s orders no matter what they were. Fenrys guessed that even though Nesta didn’t understand it, Elain was the one who cared the most for Nesta’s own well-being and security.
“And how do you propose we do this?” he asked at last.
Elain didn't get the chance to answer.
The door flew open violently, and in stepped Ruhn.
He threw both of them a dark look, Elain’s croissant stopping half-way to her mouth and Fen cocking his brow at his furious brother. The Stones’ ‘Emotional Rescue’ was playing in the background.
Wordlessly, Ruhn marched to the table and without any preamble, lifted Elain out of the chair and flipped her over his shoulder. She started, dropping the pastry on the floor and crying mournfully, “my croissant!”
“Fuck you, Fenrys Moonbeam!” Ruhn roared at the smirking Fen, pointing his finger at him. “If you ever, and I mean, ever, take my wife and have her eat breakfast with you, in your fucking British dungeon,” he made a wide gesture with his arms, “or whatever the hell you call this place,”
Fenrys was laughing soundlessly at the rage that was pouring out of his brother. Elain was flailing helplessly, while Ruhn smacked her bare ass, and then bit it for good measure as well.
“Aww!” she yelled.
Ruhn ignored her and glared at Fenrys and threatened, “I will rip your sternum out of your nose and then jam it up your ass!”
“I don’t think that it’s possible,” Fen protested, laughing maniacally. “Physically.”
“Do you want to test me, Brit boy?” Ruhn snarled.
“My Britishness has nothing to do with the current situation,” Fenrys argued. “Just because my wife wants to spend time with me more,”
“Fuck you! She doesn’t. She is my wife and she will be eating breakfast with all of us. Azriel. Ruhn. And even you.”
“She wanted to eat with me,” Fenrys argued, feigning innocence.
“You stole her from our bed!” Ruhn bellowed, “dragged her here, dressed her in your t-shirt and locked her so she could eat with you!”
Shrugging, Fenrys declared,
“I can’t help that she likes me more than you. She and I are friends. You are just a possessive, obsessive alpha male who is literally flipping her over the shoulder like a damn Neanderthal,” Fenrys was chuckling. “Ladies like to be adored and cared for. You didn’t even bathe her last night–after fucking her virginity out of her,”
“We got her tacos for dinner!” Ruhn threw, sounding kind of defensive.
“Smooth…”
Without saying another word, Ruhn turned around, with Elain hanging over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and smoothed his hand over her round buttock, as he headed out into the hallway.
She dangled docily, watching the backs of his inked calves, while he kissed that smooth, soft butt of hers, and then pinched it in retaliation for her leaving.
“I dropped my croissant,” she complained and then slapped his ass.
“I’ll get you another one,” he retorted crisply. “And,”
“Yeah? Two croissants?” she asked eagerly.
“No, not two croissants,” he argued harshly, “but if you ever hop off to your favourite boy there, and leave us, I will bend you over the counter and fuck you so hard, you won’t be able to walk for a week!”
Her long hair swept over his legs, while she drummed on his behind like it was a pair of bongos, slapping his ass with every step he took. He chuckled.
“I don’t love Fen more than you,” she said at last.
“Hmmmm,”
“I love you and Fen and Az. Also,”
“What?”
“That second part–it doesn’t sound like punishment,” she popped her lips and Ruhn barked a laugh.
“No?”
“I can get on board with that,” she said innocently.
He kissed her hip and rubbed his face in the soft flesh.
“Do you love me?” she asked suddenly.
“Yeah, I love you,” he admitted gruffly.
“Hmmm…how much?”
“Too much,” Ruhn grunted.
But of course Elain wouldn’t just leave it at that.
“How much is too much?” she inquired seriously.
He sighed and offered,
“Okay, how about I love you infinity times infinity plus one?”
“Why not plus two?”
“Fine, plus two. Plus infinity. And you can’t go any higher!” he added quickly.
“Okay,” Elain seemed to be placated by the exact maths calculation. “That’s a lot of love.”
He smiled against her hip and kissed it gently.
“You deserve it, beautiful.”
The tips of his fingers brushed against her folds and she exclaimed,
“I am not wearing any underwear! Put me down.”
“No,” he said simply. “You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen. You do remember that I was inside of you? Last night.”
“Ugh, I don’t like it when you say it like that,” she slapped his ass hard.
“How am I supposed to say it? I fucked it?”
“Noooo!” she protested dramatically. “That’s rude!”
“Guide me here, beautiful,” he offered, laughing at her.
“We made love!”
“Fine, I madelovedit…Better?”
“Better. But still put me down, before Az sees it!”
“I think Az would love to see your pretty pussy first thing. He also madelovedit, so I think you can trust him.”
They finally reached the vast expanse of their first floor, and Elain heard some shuffling coming from the kitchen and Ruhn announced loudly, “Look what I found!”
Azriel whistled and Ruhn grabbed her butt cheek and squeezed it harshly, slapping it playfully.
“Where was my flower?” Azriel’s voice was amused. “Riding Fen’s gargantuan dick?”
“No, I wasn’t riding anything!” she protested, wiggling over Ruhn’s shoulder. “Put me down, Ruhnnie!”
“No, sweetheart, I don’t think that Az wants me to put you down,” Ruhn smirked.
“Why?”
“Az looks hungry,”
“So I’ll feed him!” she exclaimed.
“Oh he is hungry, but for this pink pussy,” Azriel was suddenly next to her, biting her ear gently, and then he was gone before she could respond and the next thing she was doing was squealing with surprise and pleasure.
“Damn, you are hot,” Azriel groaned into her ass, his rough, scarred palms gliding down her thighs, as he parted them further, making her accessible while she hung over Ruhn’s shoulder.
“Brother, I am seriously concerned for you and that you may come before you are even in the vicinity of that pussy,” Ruhn mocked.
“Fuck off,”
“If you need any help, I am here,” Ruhn stroked Elain’s behind, laughing into it.
She cried out, when Azriel’s thumbs parted the pretty folds of her pussy and his hot breath fanned over her wetness. Gods, this was embarrassing, even for them! She was still leaking cum from last night, and she was so obviously wet all because of Fen…well, and Ruhn…okay, and Azriel’s fucking midnight voice and his nearness. But, whatever she was fretting about, clearly didn’t matter to the brothers, because Ruhn hooked his hand over her upper thigh and opened her up even further for Azriel’s exploration.
“Put your fingers in her,” Ruhn ordered hoarsely, “she is still fucking dripping from both of us,”
Elain was feeling light headed from his filthy words and from dangling upside down for so long, but when Azriel’s thick, long fingers slid into her, she moaned loudly and pathetically. Ruhn kissed her butt cheek soothingly, while Azriel began to pump her slowly and deliberately, his fingers unhurried, but steady and firm, pushing deep.
“How does it feel, flower?” he asked, managing to lick her as well, his talented tongue pressing on her clit and lapping on it.
Elain shuddered against Ruhn’s body, clutching at his back, his shoulders, as if trying to escape the delicious invasion of Az’s fingers, while rolling her hips along his thrusts, moaning softly under her breath. Azriel kept the rhythm slow and steady, knowing that she was still bruised and sensitive from last night, but his fingers penetrated her deeply and his tongue and lips, wrapped around her clit and sucking softly, were delivering the pleasure that she was craving.
Elain couldn’t even answer the question, panting and shaking between the two of them, those fingers…the glorious fingers…
“Does she taste like a woman?” Ruhn murmured tensely, holding her across the back, stroking her bare skin wherever he could reach.
“You tell me,” Azriel offered and thrust his fingers into Ruhn’s mouth. Ruhn licked the slick off appreciatively, smacking his lips, while his own fingers replaced Azriel’s, so that Elain never missed a moment of penetration and the pleasure wouldn’t be interrupted for her.
“Mmm, I am not sure,” Ruhn pondered out loud, licking his lips. “She tastes divine,”
“But like a woman?” Azriel teased.
“Tastes like she is ready for more D,” Ruhn chuckled.
“Boys,” Elain grunted, overwhelmed and feeling the men fighting the restraint of not fucking her rough and deep with their dicks. But she knew that they wouldn’t. Not until she permitted it. Not until she felt ready.
So, she unabashedly enjoyed the fingering and the licking, until she saw Fenrys’s feet appear in her vision and he lifted her head and winked, before pressing his lips to her.
“What are they doing to you, babygirl?” he laughed and casually pinched her nipple through the t-shirt.
“I don’t know,” she groaned, then pleaded, “but it feels amazing…”
Fen clicked his tongue and then skirted around the trio, observing for a minute, before Ruhn commanded once again, “Put your fingers in her.”
Elain didn’t even know how she could possibly hold more fingers inside of her, but, the next moment, she tensed and gasped in surprise, because Ruhn pulled her buttock in an invitation and then…yes, there were more fingers in her drenched pussy, which she assumed were Fen’s and the next moment, an inexorable push of his digits into her tight little hole made her grunt unbecomingly. A purely animalistic snarl escaped her lips, the tightness in her body building and building, and before she knew it, she was coming undone.
She cried out so loudly, she felt her throat spasm and hurt, and the power of her orgasm washed over her, making her stupid and not even minding that Fenrys, or someone, spit in her ass and forced their fingers even further in. She was losing her mind, unable to even keep track of who was inside of her, assuming that both Ruhn and Azriel were in her hungry, vibrating passage, and their fingers almost touched Fen’s, who was pushing and pushing into her ass.
“Steady there, sweetheart,” Fenrys murmured, kissing her face, cupping her breast with his free hand and squeezing gently. “Come for us…”
Elain bit his lower lip, kissing him violently, viciously, uncaring whether she was drawing blood. Fenrys cared even less. He kissed her back, his tongue stroking hers, his hand working inside of her so hard, she felt like she was losing her mind from overstimulation. It was too much. Like it was too much last night. She still definitely felt the ache from last night in both of her holes, and truth be told, her jaw also felt kind of raw…like it’s been a bit dislocated. It hasn’t been, but she’d certainly been through the wringer, and her body bore all the markings inside and out. But the pleasure…oh, she really couldn’t get enough. Whatever the three of them did, and however they did it, she was ravenous for it. She probably shouldn’t have appreciated all of their extensive experience with the ladies, and the hundreds of bodies that they had ploughed through in their past, but boy, oh boy, did that teach them things.
“Boys…boys,” she moaned, buckling over Ruhn’s shoulder, clawing at his back, clutching at Fen’s solid abs, trying to reach whatever she could, as her body tensed yet again, with Azriel’s soft, patient tongue licking on her clit. She felt ripe and bursting, like an exotic fruit that leaked juices when squeezed and pressed.
“Does anyone else think that it’s the hottest thing ever when our girl says ‘boys, boys’?” Ruhn wondered with a smile, half-breathless himself. His dick was aching, and he has been holding a fully grown, somewhat plump female, over his shoulder for the past fifteen minutes, while she’s been shuddering with orgasms against him. He had the right to be breathless.
“Music to my ears,” Fenrys admitted.
Completely unexpectedly, there was a sound of the doorbell ringing.
Elain stiffened in Ruhn’s arms and Azriel finally tore his face from between her legs and roared, “What the fuck?!”
They never had visitors.
It was just the four of them, and sometimes servants, who were discrete and unseen. They had their own entrance and a strict schedule when their fobs worked and allowed them to enter the house. The only time anyone was allowed inside was for the weekend games and cocktails. Once a month, there was a card night too. But no one, but their very trusted inner circle knew about the house. Ruhn and Azriel were security obsessed and everything about their whereabouts was always shrouded in secrecy.
“Give me her,” Azriel whispered and gently took Elain off Ruhn’s shoulder, perching her on his hip, like she was a toddler. She was still panting heavily, and he kissed her lips, taking care to cradle her head, so that she didn’t get dizzy once the blood rushed back down.
“How are you, my flower?” he worried, kissing her again.
The bell rang again and he rolled his eyes.
“I am good,” she smiled at him, stroking his cheek.
“Fen, can you go and see who it is?” Ruhn requested, and Fenrys grabbed a cup of tea and made his way to the front door.
Meanwhile, Ruhn squeezed Elain’s full, soft tit and chuckled,
“You are like that weird baby from Twilight…”
Her brow furrowed and she asked,
“Weird baby?”
“Yeah, the CGI baby.”
“Renesmee?”
He nodded, “yep”.
Azriel looked at both of them in utter confusion and then wondered,
“How do you know about Twilight?”
Elain exclaimed excitedly, “Ruhnnie, you read Twilight?!”
Azriel was smirking, nuzzling into Elain’s cheek, watching his squirming brother with amusement. It was too late to back out of this though, so Ruhn shrugged and said, somewhat defensively,
“So what? So what if I did?”
Azriel smirked and announced, “No judgement, brother!”
“I feel like there is plenty of judgement coming off of you right now,”
“I just wasn't aware that that’s what you dabbled in,”
“Team Jacob or Team Edward?” Elain demanded, interrupting them.
“Team Edward all the way!” Ruhn vowed and she threw her head back, yelling ‘yaaasssss!”
“Is this a thing?” Azriel asked.
“Don’t pretend like you haven’t watched Twilight,” she ordered sternly.
“I haven’t!”
“Bullshit,” Ruhn waved him off.
“Okay, if I did, it was a long time ago,” Azriel said dismissively.
“What about Renesmee?” Elain reminded him, while Ruhn teased her nipple with his thumb through the t-shirt.
She slumped on Azriel’s hip, as he held her up by her bare butt, and wrapped her legs around his thighs.
“Well, she was a vamp baby right?”
Elain nodded.
Azriel was both fascinated and horrified that Ruhn knew so much about Twilight. But he listened in silence.
“So,” Ruhn continued, “she is always in someone’s arms, because she doesn’t sleep. So someone is cradling her at all times,”
“That sounds like a nightmare,” Az muttered under his breath, and Elain elbowed him.
“That's cute and sweet!” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, for five minutes! After that, you want that baby to sleep!” he insisted ruthlessly.
Ruhn pondered for a moment and then said, “He does have a point. You don't really want to have a perpetually awake baby!”
Elain pouted and protested, “I still think it’s adorable,”
“What’s adorable,” Ruhn said, “is you,” he pinched her nipple and she gasped, “always being in someone’s arms! Have you stepped on the floor today?”
Elain wrinkled her nose, thinking back and then murmured, “I don’t think so,”
“You are Reneesme!” Azriel laughed and Ruhn nodded.
“Someone is always hauling you about,”
“Elain!” Nesta's voice was both hissing and shrill at once, which was an amazing accomplishment.
“Nesta!” Elain choked out, eyes wild.
Nesta
It’s been a month.
A month of not seeing Elain. The moment she married, it seemed like Azriel King kidnapped her, since she only responded to texts.
Not one invite to hang out–Elain always being the one to go out for drinks and meals, as if she really needed another meal. But she was always the instigator.
Not an invite to her house. She didn’t even say where she lived. Nesta heard ‘a hotel’--what did that mean? They lived in a hotel? Every weekend Nesta went to the bars that Elain had frequented, and where she watched soccer (or as Elain insisted on calling it ‘football’), but did not find Elain though, so she got to talk to way too many weird men who screamed at the TVs, wore jerseys and asked where Elain was because they ‘missed her’. Nesta could only sneer at them. A couple of them even dared to proposition her!! Disgusting. She should’ve monitored Elain closely when she’d gone to those bars. They were filled with horny Italians or rowdy Englishmen. She couldn’t even imagine how Elain handled it. Elain was innocent and not very bright and too trusting.
Was Nesta surprised that Azriel chose Elain as his wife? Yes. If she were honest, yes. Also, not that she’d ever admit this to anyone, including herself, but it kind of…hurt her feelings that Azriel had politely, but firmly rejected her once they’d gone on a date. She liked Azriel. He was intelligent, powerful, wealthy, capable, steadfast. But he was the heir of his family, and ultimately, maybe it was for the best that they didn’t end up together. At least she liked telling herself that.
Yet, Elain, he liked right away. He offered for Elain the same night he’d met her–as if it was love at first sight for him. Elain, who’d rejected everyone prior to Azriel, also agreed, the same night, to marry him. Nesta was shocked–positively shocked–as to what her father was able to negotiate with Azriel King as the bride price. And Azriel did not even argue. Did not so much as flinch when they ended the bargaining at 20 million. Paid it, even though his brother Ruhn looked like he was about to have a heart attack. Azriel insisted that the wedding be celebrated in a month, rushing into it as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. And so it was that Elain Archeron married for love and beauty, while Nesta stood back, knowing that she’d marry for power.
Today, when she woke up, she’s had enough. She’s had enough this whole week, but she would not be ignored any longer. So she dressed, drank a quick cup of coffee and had her driver deliver her to the headquarters of King Enterprises. She’s been here before, but only now she realised that there was indeed a hotel attached to the other side of the office building, and there was yet another building, which apparently housed Ruhn’s Tattoo Studio.
Thinking of Ruhn, Nesta shuddered. That man freaked her the fuck out. It was as if he leaked madness and brutality from his very pores. She’s heard stories and put the reports aside when they were delivered to her. She’d rather not know. But Elain, stupid Elain, danced with him at the wedding and they acted as if they were the best of friends. They even had their own dance, together, similar to a bride and groom. To others, it would’ve looked like they were marrying each other. He chose a tender song for her. The same man, who, if rumour was to be believed, had mallets and knives and bats to kill with. Weapons that he named. It was said that once you were in his clutches, there was no escape–there would never be an escape from Ruhn Danaan King, who killed and enjoyed it, if the occasion called for it.
Nesta went to the main building and requested to see Cassian from a receptionist who looked like a supermodel. In most office buildings, the reception was minded by security guards. Here, everything was expensive, chic and elegant as soon as one stepped into the light-filled building. Cassian was someone she knew, and someone who was close to Azriel, and the 6 foot tall, 100 lb woman with cheekbones that could cut glass and a tight chignon did not ask any questions.
“Mr. Rossi,” she called, “Miss Nesta Archeron wishes an audience.”
Wishes an audience? What the fuck.
Nesta barely contained herself from snapping at the receptionist, but she held back. She was an Archeron, and she was going to be admired for her power and her behaviour.
Cassian Rossi was the most beautiful man that Nesta’s ever seen. Not that he’d ever know that. She wouldn’t allow herself to ever utter such nonsense to him, or anyone. It’s not that it mattered that this huge mountain of muscles somehow managed to dazzle her from the first time they’d met. He was part of Azriel’s entourage for some meeting that she was attending. He was obnoxious and had an awful sense of humour, he was loud, and he walked with a sexual swagger that grated on Nesta’s nerves. He irritated Nesta with his keen watchful look, as if all the secrets of her heart were laid bare in front of him. He was annoying because he was so blunt and spoke his mind, and never backed off from a fight. At the same time he was discreet, unfailingly loyal to the Kings, obviously intelligent…
“Nesta, what brings you here?”
Cassian’s rough, deep voice jolted her out of her reverie and she turned her head to him. Her stupid eyes couldn’t stop in time and she checked him out from head to toe–something he certainly noticed, judging by the obnoxious smirk that played on his full lips. He wore a nicely tailored gray suit, which didn’t manage to take away from his innate wildness. It was obvious that all these modern trappings were just a camouflage, to hide the ruthless, brave warrior underneath. That’s what he was. A warrior. A knight, who fought on battlefields and seduced willing maidens.
“I wish to see Elain,” she said firmly.
“Mr. Rossi, would you like me to book a room for you?” the receptionist asked.
“Won’t be necessary, Cerridwen,” he said. “Where is the regular girl?”
“Alis is out sick. I am covering for her here.”
“You are better utilised upstairs,” he argued. “Next time, let us know, and we’ll find someone else to cover. I’d rather have you up in security.”
Shit, it was Cerridwen!
Nesta was so used to ignoring receptionists, secretaries and general help, that she didn’t even realise that it was Cerridwen! Well, now it was awkward. Cerridwen and Nuala–Elain’s best friends. She hasn't realised that Cerridwen worked here. Now, glancing at the beautiful woman, Nesta knew that Cerridwen recognized her and it was even more awkward and damn Cassian did nothing to ease the situation. He just stood and watched them, that dumb smirk still tugging on his mouth.
“Hello Nesta,” Cerridwen offered a cool smile. “Nice to see you here. Say hi to Elain. She brought us wonderful cookies the other day, they were delicious and the guys polished them in seconds.”
Naturally…Elain would bring cookies. Elain was friends with everyone. With Cerridwen. With the ‘guys’--Nesta assumed Azriel’s guards or something–with Nuala, with the whole world. She was always popular. Always liked. Elain was the rose, while Nesta was the thorn.
“I’ll be sure to tell her,” Nesta bit out. “You look good, Cer. Did you do something to your hair?”
“No. Same as I’ve worn it for the past five years,” Cerridwen said tartly, touching her glossy hair.
“Must be the makeup then.”
Turning back to Cassian, who watched the exchange with amusement, which he didn't try to hide, Nesta repeated herself,
“Elain?”
Cassian sighed, regarded her for a moment and then said,
“Fine. Follow me.”
Surprisingly, Cassian did not take Nesta outside, but she followed him deeper into the building, away from the glittering reception with its sculptures and soft lighting and sparkling floors, and into the basement, while Cassian kept swiping some fancy badge next to each door. Nesta figured that the White House was more penetrable than this place.
“I thought that they lived in the hotel,” she said, attempting to keep up with his wide stride.
Cassian stopped at an elevator, and then reached into his pocket and produced some kind of a black cloth.
“Put this on,” he handed it to her, and Nesta bristled, as she unwrapped a freakin’ blindfold! A blindfold!!
“What is this?” she exclaimed. “No.”
Cassian shrugged and said, “Then we are not going. I will let Elain know to call you.”
Nesta gritted her teeth and stared at him. He beheld her gaze with unflinching frankiness. His bronze, rough-hewn face, framed by long, jet black curls remained blank and the gorgeous amber eyes stared her down just as ably.
She put the blindfold on, and then he tightened it in the back, the asshole.
“I can’t see anything!” she groaned roughly.
“Good.”
And then a very large, very calloused, very firm, warm palm wrapped around her cold hand and he pulled her after him. Gosh his fingers were big. Long too. Why was she thinking about this?
“You look good, Nes,” he said suddenly, and she felt sweat break over her body, her face, and to her horror she knew that she was blushing. And not one to ever make it easy for her, he added, “You blush prettily. Like Elain. She blushes at everything, though she is not exactly shy.”
“Don’t call me Nes,” she snapped, feeling even hotter and turning even redder.
“Why not?”
“I don’t do nicknames.”
“You don’t do nicknames?” he repeated in amusement, leading her god knows where. It seems like they’ve taken at least 3 elevator rides, walked up and down some hallways, went outside, went inside. It was ridiculous.
“Are you leading me in circles?” she demanded.
He chuckled and said,
“Yeah, it’s my secret plan to spend time with you. Because I love nothing more than listening to you sniping and snarling at me, Nessie.”
Nessie?
NESSIE?
Before Nesta had the chance to kick him in the dick, he tugged on her hand, stopping her and said, “We are here.”
She moved to tear the blindfold off, but his strong hand shut out and stopped her.
“Not yet,” he grunted.
He rang the door, but she was impatient, and began to bang on it.
“Real mature,” Cassian muttered and she whipped her head at him, forgetting for a minute that she couldn’t see him.
“Calm down, firecracker,” he sighed dramatically.
“I am going to punch you in the face,” she warned.
“Well, many tried, few succeeded, sweetheart.”
“I’ll succeed.”
“We’ll see about that.”
She heard the door open and then a man with an English accent–Fenrys–greeted them,
“Well, well, this is unexpected. Hello Nesta. Cass.”
“Nesta wishes to see Elain,” Cassian reported dully. Like he didn’t want to be responsible for bringing her here.
“Come on in then,” Fenrys sang.
Cassian helped Nesta over the threshold, though she jerked her hand out of his, and hissed, “Don’t touch me!”
“Okay. Fall on your face then.”
Nesta finally took the blindfold off. Fenrys stood there, wearing only jeans, which were hanging precariously on his narrow hips, the top button open. He was otherwise naked, barefoot, and holding a cup of what looked like strong tea near his smirking lips. He was unfairly, deliriously dazzling. Wild, just like Cassian, he was full of life and vitality, and while Cassian was rough, Fenrys was elegant, un-American, classic, Old School. Whatever it was, he was a chiselled-faced Englishman, whose golden skin was the stuff of dreams, and contrasted beautifully with his golden mane.
Nesta flushed. His sheer presence was oozing sexuality, and he was well aware of it. He knew how he was, the body that he had, the shoulders that could break down a door, and the height that made girls swoon.
“Can you take me to my sister?” Nesta said.
“Hello to you too, dear sister-in-law,” he chuckled arrogantly. “Follow the English butler, madame.”
“Aren’t you the butler?” she sniped.
“Sure am!” he gave her a fake smile.
The house surprised Nesta.
It was obvious they were not in any hotel, but at a private home. And it was not at all what she expected. It wasn’t a soulless, ultra modern place where nothing was amiss and it felt like the American Psycho inhabited it. Even though all of them were, in fact, American Psychos, the place was, in fact, pleasantly lived-in. There was a surprising number of art pieces on the walls and Nesta couldn’t think for the life of her, who was an art enthusiast. It wasn’t a house of a Russian oligarch or a Chinese billionaire, where everything was about gilded excess and lack of knowledge of art or culture, and simply a showcase of absurd wealth. It wasn’t a frat house, where there were piles of beer bottles, red Solo cups and video games everywhere. Nope. There were large bookshelves filled with books of every kind. The furniture was stylish and expensive, but comfortable. No massive TVs in sight.
Whoever decorated this place–though it didn’t seem to Nesta like it was done purposefully–had good taste. The building was old, but completely refurbished. The floors were dark wood, there were exposed brick walls here and there, honey brown leather, industrial elements that mixed freely and successfully with old marble and antique mirrors. The windows were enormous and allowed the house to be flooded with light. Outside, Nesta spotted a garden, which, she was sure, Elain was already working on.
She was trying to keep her eyes on the decor and the spacious room, which flowed into each other, not quite the ultra modern ‘open concept’, but open enough to allow for a wide field of vision, without feeling like a giant football stadium. Eyes on the decor, and not Fenrys’s spectacular ass and incredible back. That back was…stunning. And Nesta was sweating, because with the barely dressed Fenrys in front of her and the silent hulking glory that was Cassian behind her, it was more than she could handle with dignity. She wanted to fan herself.
“Elain!”
Nesta stopped dead in her tracks.
For a variety of reasons.
The three males who occupied this house shared three things: their ungodly height, their blindingly good looks and now, various states of undress.
There was Fenrys, in his jeans, and the next thing that Nesta saw was Ruhn, who only wore a pair of black basketball shorts. His body was brutally carved and lavishly decorated with ink, which covered a good portion of his entire torso, his arms, and even his legs. Nesta heard that he was a tattoo artist, when he wasn’t killing and torturing, so she supposed that he advertised his own work on his skin. God he was weird. Pierced and half-shaved and inked everywhere–it’s like he was trying to make himself ugly. Nesta did not care for tattoos, though she was fairly used to them, since everyone in her vicinity was covered in them.
Lastly, there was Azriel, whom Nesta never even saw without a full suit on.
Now, here he was, in only black boxers. That’s all.
He was her brother-in-law and she didn’t know where to look. When he glanced at Cassian, who had his eyes on her, she noticed a smirk on his face. He could totally read her discomfort and she prayed that he couldn’t read beyond that. Because yes, Nesta did not have experience with men. Especially almost naked men .
Unlike her sister, apparently.
Azriel was holding Elain in his arms, his grotesquely scarred hands grasping her bare butt, which peeked from under the t-shirt that she wore. That’s the only thing she wore, because Nesta noticed that there was no underwear or a bra to be found.
Cassian, to his credit, averted his eyes immediately, and did not look at Elain even for a second.
“Nesta!” Elain’s hair was a mess of curls and Nesta found herself blushing again, as she noticed her sister’s swollen lips and a prominent bruise on her delicate neck. A hickie. Azriel silently inclined his head in greeting, and Ruhn stepped out of the way, though Nesta also caught the movement of his hand. She could’ve sworn that he was touching Elain’s breast right before she and Cassian entered the kitchen space. Elain jumped out of Azriel’s embrace and rushed to Nesta with outstretched arms.
“You came!” she cried out happily, pulling Nesta into a hug.
Nesta didn’t respond to the embrace and noted coolly,
“Yes. I had to resort to asking Cassian for help to get to you.”
Elain pulled away and looked at her guiltily.
“I am sorry, Nesta. I’ve just been busy. It’s been,”
Nesta interrupted Elain’s babbling with a curt, “Why are you naked?”
Elain looked down and then pulled the hem of her t-shirt down, squirming under Nesta’s scrutiny.
Good.
“Go get dressed,” Nesta ordered.
Elain swallowed and ducked her head, murmuring, “oh, okay’.
Ruhn’s bright blue eyes sized Nesta up and down, his gaze both brazen and icy, and as he folded his arms on his chest, he said,
“What do you want for brekkie, beautiful?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Elain mumbled. “I’ll make something. Nesta, will you stay for breakfast?” she asked hopefully. “Cass, you too,”
“He doesn’t have to stay,” Nesta cut in.
Azriel cleared his throat and despite his near-nakedness, his voice and stature carried their usual authority,
“Welcome to our home, Nesta. Make yourself comfortable. Obviously per my wife’s request, Cassian will stay for breakfast.”
The order was clear. The authority that he immediately bestowed upon Elain was unquestionable. Nesta pursed her lips and then said,
“I’ll come with you, Elain,”
Elain beamed and nodded.
Nesta could see that her sister was genuinely excited to see her, and she felt almost bad for being as short as she was with her. Elain was soft and silly and forgiving. The three men though…Nesta felt the dark gaze of Azriel King on her at all times. As usual, he said little, but he watched her with his wife, and there was a silent threat in his posture that should she step out of line, there would be repercussions. Ruhn had a similar look about him, even less friendly. His head was cocked to the side, the long silky black hair streaming down his form, making it look like he was swathed in shadows.
“Do you like our house?” Elain threaded her arm with Nesta’s and spoke excitedly. “I love it! We have a pool too and a garden. I planted tomatoes when I moved in, and zucchini and cucumbers,”
“I’ll get us some tomatoes for breakfast, sweetheart,” Ruhn said casually, and Elain smiled and nodded, looking at him with love and pride. He in turn, looked at her like she was the only thing in the world–the one thing that mattered to him. And as shocked as Nesta was by the raw hunger and adoration that she saw on Ruhn’s face, when she glanced at both Azriel and Fenrys, she saw something similar. Protectiveness and caution, and ravenous desire. It was sexual. But not only. It was the look of love.
Fenrys mosied over, and draped his arm over Elain’s shoulders, pulling her to him.
So, the three little kings weren’t going to leave their pretty princess alone with the viper. Nesta understood the silent threat.
Fenrys pressed his lips to Elain’s head and she looked up at him, looking completely besotted.
What the hell was going on?
Just as they reached the stairs which led to the landing and the vast semi-open second floor, Elain was suddenly whirled and pulled out from between Nesta and Fenrys. Azriel, looking like some dark ancient god, stood there, his naked body rippling with strange, impatient energy. Without sparing anyone a glance, his eyes firmly on Elain, he cupped her face between his mangled hands and smashed their lips together. Elain whimpered and fell into the kiss, clutching at his massive arms, her body melding into his. Nesta knew that she was currently making the ‘surprised Pikachu face’ at the uncontrolled desire that the normally placid Azriel was displaying towards her sister. He was famously impossible to read and at meetings, no one knew what he was thinking. But here he was, lapping at Elain’s tongue like a starving man, mashing their mouths together, holding her so close to him, it must have been suffocating her. Elain didn’t care. She clutched and ran her fingers over his skin, and when he pushed her ever closer, her t-shirt rose up and Nesta could see everything…her bare ass, oh god…even the wetness between her thighs and a tattoo! A tattoo! On Elain. In a very intimate spot, right under her butt cheek. Who tattooed her there??
Fenrys was smirking at the kissing couple, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip, admiring Elain’s nakedness, her long legs, her bare butt, and absolutely everything else that was on display. Azriel kissed like his life depended on it, and Nesta was left standing in scandalised horror at everything she was seeing.
“She ain’t going off to war, brother,” Fenrys laughed. “Just upstairs to put on a pair of knickers.”
Azriel ignored him, continuing to kiss his wife with lips and teeth and tongue, licking and sucking and laving on her.
“Imagine living here full time,” Fenrys complained dramatically and loudly to Nesta, in futile hope of forcing a smile out of her. She just crossed her arms on her chest and stood still and ramrod straight, waiting.
“If you want to have a cup of coffee with Cass,” Fenrys began, but she cut him off and snapped,
“I’d rather not.”
At last, Azriel and Elain tore away from each other, though he still held her in his arms, his other hand squeezing her jaw.
“That’s my girl,” he breathed. “What are you?”
“Yours,” she panted.
“Mine.”
He stroked her face and kissed her again.
“Wear something of mine, flower,” he requested.
“Yes. And Ruhn’s,” she nodded.
Then, he whispered something in her ear, which Nesta couldn’t hear.
But Elain blushed and squirmed, while he smiled and pecked her lips again.
You waddle today.
Upstairs, Nesta found a large open library and there was a grand piano in there as well.
“Who plays?” she asked, even if she didn’t mean to.
“Az plays very well,” Fenrys said, his tone serious. “Ruhn plays as well.”
Nesta couldn’t hide her surprise, “They play the piano?”
“We don’t just blow shit up,” Fenrys said. “Az plays,”
Elain opened the door to one of the bedrooms and before she could say anything, Nesta barged inside. Surprisingly, Fenrys stayed behind and didn’t follow.
It was a large, but not too large room with soothing grays and blues and beiges, and a very big unmade bed. In the middle, between rumpled sheets, Nesta spotted Mwah-Mwah. She couldn’t believe that Elain dragged her weirdo toy with her and made her husband sleep with it in their marital bed. But what gave her pause was the three distinct impressions on the bed. Three. Side by side. Not two.
“I am so happy you came,” Elain skipped about, pleased and happy with life, smiling. “What do you think,”
“What is going on, Elain?” Nesta demanded.
Elain stopped rummaging in a dresser and pulled out a pair of man’s undershorts.
“What’s going on?” she shrugged, as she put them on.
“You tell me?” Nesta ordered. “You parade in front of all those men naked!”
“I wasn’t naked!” Elain argued, blushing.
“Yes you are. I could see your naked ass. So could Ruhn and Fenrys. And Ruhn was touching you–inappropriately!” Nesta was almost shouting, her normally pale skin turning red. “You have a freakin’ tattoo on your butt! You are…” she swallowed her horror and then hissed, “leaking!”
Elain gasped and took an involuntary step backwards, while Nesta gathered more steam and moved at her. Elain stood there, clutching a bra in her hands, and Nesta continued,
“You are acting like a whore! Do you think a husband would like that? You showing off in front of other men, displaying your body? What is wrong with you?”
“Shut up,” Elain hissed, and Nesta noticed tears brimming in her eyes. Whenever Elain became frustrated and embarrassed, she always cried angry tears. She couldn’t help it. Nesta knew it, and pushed again.
“Your job is to be a quiet wife to Azriel, and give him sons. Not strut around like a hooker,”
“I am in my house!” Elained cried out.
“No, you are in his house,” Nesta laughed coldly. “He bought you and you are in his house,”
“He didn’t buy me!”
“Certainly did,” Nesta shrugged and glanced around, while Elain swallowed silent tears.
“He loves me,”
“You are so stupid,” shaking her head, Nesta noticed a genuine Renoir on the wall. The chunky woman on the canvas looked like Elain. “Men like Azriel don’t love stupid girls. Dumb, naive girls who think that he is a prince Charming who came to rescue them.”
Nesta was laughing, rolling her eyes dramatically.
“He does love me,” Elain insisted, her voice so soft, Nesta barely heard her.
“No, Elain. Men like Azriel don’t love anyone. He’ll use you for sex–as he should–he’ll make you a baby and you’ll be a good wife to him. Don’t make him angry with your silly behaviour,” Nesta snapped her fingers. “Put some nice clothes on and don’t let him see you like this,” she wrinkled her nose. “You look unkempt! Why are you wearing this huge t-shirt and his underwear?”
“I am in my home, Nesta!” Elain’s voice got harder as she repeated herself and she whirled around. “And screw you!”
It was Nesta’s turn to step back. Elain never said anything of the sort to her.
Grabbing a brush, Elain angrily ran it through her tangled hair and then continued,
“I am in my house and I will dress the way I want to. Besides, I just took a bath and haven’t even gotten a chance to brush my hair. You think that I am stupid and naive–well, I am not!”
Nesta smirked coldly and raised her brow,
“You are,”
“No, I am not!” Elain threw back, her brown eyes gleaming with anger. “Unlike you, Nesta, I managed to not only get married to the most powerful don in New York, but I have my own business, which is successful enough for me to start considering expansion,”
“Don’t you dare!”
“You are not the one to tell me what to do anymore,” Elain pointed the brush at her, “you are not the one to tell me what I can and can’t do!
“And yeah, I know you are jealous, because I not only married before you, but he fucking loves me. Blah, blah–Azriel doesn’t love. Bullshit! He does. And he loves me. He, in fact, adores me, because I am his wife and what he always wanted.
“Sorry you haven’t been able to find anyone who feels the same about you,”
“Fuck you, Elain,”
“No, you just turn everyone away. You turned him away too,”
Nesta chewed the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.
“I didn’t want Azriel!” she tossed indifferently.
“You are lying,” Elain braided her hair, “because I know that when you went on a date with him, you were enchanted. Hopeful. But your disgusting attitude is your biggest enemy. There are good men out there–Lorcan, Cassian–,”
“Fuck Cassian!”
“No, Cassian is a good man. But you are too proud to admit it, because you think you are better than everyone. You are miserable because you don’t allow yourself to love anyone, and no one is accepted by you. Even those who try to love you are rejected and discarded,”
“What do you know?!” Nesta cried out, her hand itching for a slap.
“I know everything about you. And I know where you hurt. And how you ache. I know you want to be loved, just like everyone else. And it kills you to see that Az fell in love with me,”
“He did not,”
“He did,” Elain nodded thoughtfully. “From the first glance too. He saw me and I saw him and we both knew. Yeah, and the reason I am leaking, as you put it so delicately, is because I had sex!”
Nesta pursed her lips and said, “I don't need details.”
“Seems like you do. Guess what, I have sex with my handsome, powerful, wealthy husband. Who loves me. With whom I share my house, my body and my life. Oh, and I don’t have to ask him for permission to expand my business. I’ll do it and he’ll believe in me and will support me. Can you say the same about anyone in your life?”
Elain marched back to the door and threw over her shoulder,
“And this is our house. Where he and I and our boys live,”
“Your boys?”
“Yes, indeed. And we’ll fill this house with children and happiness,”
“I told you you were dumb and naive,” Nesta snorted.
“No. I just make my life what I want it to be.”
Fenrys was standing propped against the wall in the hallway, arms crossed on his chest. At least he put on a t-shirt. Otherwise, Nesta wasn’t sure if she could handle any more of this nudity.
“Hi babygirl,” he winked at her, but his dark eyes skimmed Elain over, clearly searching for signs of distress. “All good?”
“Oh look, the princess needs her bodyguard,” Nesta rolled her eyes. “Checking on me? Making sure that I didn’t upset the precious princess?”
“Elain is a queen,” Fenrys corrected coldly. And then handed over a piece of cloth, which was dangling off his finger.
“Oh, that’s Ruhnnie’s,” Elain muttered excitedly and pulled on a sleeveless shirt with deep armholes over her current t-shirt. She took a deep whiff and murmured, “smells so good.”
Fenrys smiled, but didn’t comment, and then gave her a leather belt, helping her style her ridiculous outfit. Nesta watched them silently. Elain wore Azriel’s shorts, Fen’s t-shirt and Ruhn’s shirt, and with a belt, it actually didn’t look bad–kind of an 80’s vibe, a la Flashdance. Not that Nesta would tell her that.
Fenrys wrapped his arm around Elain possessively, and it dawned on Nesta that so far, Elain hasn’t been left alone for any period of time, other than when they were in the bedroom. One of the men was always on top of her, touching her, watching her, stroking her, hugging her, kissing her. How Azriel permitted this bullshit and how he could stand it, Nesta had no idea.
“What the hell are you wearing?” she finally couldn’t keep quiet any longer.
Elain looked down at herself and then said,
“The boys’ stuff,”
“You look insane!” Nesta threw her hands up. “Why?”
Fenrys moved to stand between the two sisters, just a discrete step, but he half-shielded Elain with his body.
“Because I like the smell,” Elain said blankly.
“You like the smell?”
“Yes,” Elain nodded. “I like the way my husbands’ smell,”
Nesta’s breath caught in her throat and she sputtered,
“Husbands? What husbands? What is happening!”
Elain blushed and quickly corrected,
“I said ‘husband’...the way my husband smells,”
“You said ‘husbands’!” Nesta yelled.
“No I didn’t!”
“Yes, you did!”
“Leave me alone. I said husband. I like the way my men smell. Sue me.”
“They are not your men!”
Fen huffed and laughed, but pulled Elain after him, refusing to interfere.
They made it downstairs in sullen silence, and back in the kitchen, which was very beautiful, with gorgeous classic cabinets and lots of glass and stunning lighting, where the three men were busy cooking.
Nesta stopped mid-step, when she beheld Cassian, who was wearing an apron and had his white shirt sleeves rolled up over his muscular, tattooed forearms. It didn’t hurt that he had the shirt open on his bronze chest, and there was a lock of his lustrous, jet-black hair that stubbornly fell over his forehead. If she could, she would help him with that. She would tuck it behind his ear, or retie it with his worn leather strap–yes, she noticed the leather strap a long time ago–but she couldn’t do any of those things.
“Girls, you ready to eat?” Cassian grinned at them, while he sliced fresh bread that was delivered to them every morning. Elain liked to bake her own bread, but she didn’t always have the time and the Italian bakery that the brothers owned provided them with incredible bread.
“Cass, you know how to cook?” Elain asked, sliding onto the stool, while Nesta sat next to her, silent and straight, her hands on her lap.
“I do!” he nodded, “learned when I was in the Navy,” and then offered, “coffee?”
“Yes, please,” Elain nodded, while he chuckled and looked at Nesta,
“Nes?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Hmm,” he poured both of them coffee and set the cup in front of Nesta, murmuring seductively, “a little cream with your cup of darkness?”
“No thank you,” she growled at him, and then said with a saccharine smile, “I prefer green tea.”
“Hmmm,” he drawled again, while Azriel and Ruhn were watching and listening, trying to cover up their amusement. Ruhn was feeding Elain juicy tomato slices, which she gobbled up, while his fingers dripped with olive oil and he had her lick them.
Nesta gave them a side glance and groaned, “Gross. Stop.”
Cassian meanwhile reached over and grabbed a muffin from a basket in front of Nesta, deliberately reaching over her, while asking,
“Are you a top or a bottom, Nesta?”
She glared at him, while Elain smiled, knowing that Cassian was taunting her sister on purpose. He, for some reason, liked the sharp words and the snapping that Nesta doled out to him feely and eagerly.
He twisted the muffin and inhaled the whole top in one bite.
“I am a top,” he announced.
“Doesn’t seem like it,” Nesta said flatly. Then she added, “I don’t eat muffins.”
“Green tea, no coffee and no muffins,” Cassian whistled, as he slid a plump frittata onto a platter and the rest of the men piled around the counter, taking their seats. “Aren’t you a bundle of laughs!”
“Are all those bulging muscles compensating for something?” Nesta asked tartly.
He raised his brow and said,
“Everything is bulging on me, sweetheart.”
“You should get that checked out,” she recommended.
Fenrys snorted a laugh and Cassian chuckled, as he sat down and made himself comfortable.
Meanwhile, Azriel took a plate and loaded it with a generous piece of the frittata, tomato slices, as well as two fat, glistening mozzarella balls, which he drizzled with olive oil and then tore some basil over the whole plate. He set the plate in front of Elain, and smiled at her, and only then did the rest of them begin to pile their plates with the food.
Nesta noted that the men definitely took care of Elain. They were attentive to her, and whenever she wanted something, she didn’t even need to say the words, and someone was already moving a sugar dish in front of her, or passing her the creamer, or the bread basket.
Nesta hardly ate, but she watched them–the friendly jabs and bickering between the four of them, and Cassian was also definitely part of the group. He called Elain by her name, and sometimes ‘petal’ and he teased her, and she took it well. He wasn’t the same with Elain as he was with her. There was a deference in him towards her sister, which Nesta found somehow bizarre. This huge muscular man, who was a former Navy Seal, or, as he once corrected her and told her that he was a ‘vet’ and not an ‘ex-Marine’, spoke to her silly sister kindly, but respectfully. When he joked, the jokes weren’t grating. Elain laughed openly.
The whole thing was kind of strange. A choreographed dance of sorts. Cassian talked, but never touched. He was not refilling Elain’s plate, and if he offered her something, it went through one of the other men. They however touched Elain constantly, and catered to her like servants. Oblivious, as usual, Elain didn't notice anything. Nesta did. Nesta watched and saw everything. She saw Ruhn’s fingers skim over Elain’s neck, her shoulder, her own fingers. Nesta noticed how Azriel kept his hand on Elain’s thigh, and when she wasn’t actively eating, he took her hand and gently stroked the inside of her palm with his thumb. Fenrys tucked her hair, kissed her cheek, cuddled her like a dog, like a friendly wolf.
“What the fuck is happening here?”
Nesta’s voice was even, but loud and her pale blue eyes moved from one person to another around the counter.
Elain dropped her fork and looked at her.
“I repeat, what are you doing to my sister?” Nesta demanded. “Are you all fucking her?”
Cassian choked on his drink and kept his mouth shut.
“And you know!” she hissed at him, her eyes boring into his.
Azriel sipped his espresso slowly, unlike his usual way of just chugging it. Then, he brought Elain’s hand to his lips and kissed it.
“Nesta, please remember that you are in my wife’s house,” he said casually, but sternly. There wasn’t a threat in his tone, but a hint of warning. “And she will be respected in her own home. Regardless of your personal feelings on the matter.”
“The agreement was–she marries you, provides you with an heir, and your family unites with ours,” Nesta reminded him.
“And I do believe that at least two of those things have happened–we married and united our families. We’ll have a child when we are ready.”
“You should be ready now.”
He sighed and stroked Elain’s hand, while she squirmed in her seat.
“Nesta, you speak boldly for someone who isn’t even dating,” Azriel reminded her in turn.
Nesta flushed,
“That’s none of your business.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “But neither is your sister’s marriage your business,”
“She is my sister,”
“And she is my wife,”
“This was a political arrangement,”
“Which turned into a happy union,” Azriel stated flatly. “I love Elain. So do my brothers. That’s all you need to know.”
“You love her? After a month?” Nesta laughed dryly.
“Why can’t he love me?” Elain murmured, but Nesta waved her off dismissively.
It was then that she caught Cassian’s dark gaze. He wasn’t eating, but watching her.
“What are you looking at?” she snarled.
He cocked his brow, as if surprised that she dared to challenge him, and then said calmly, but fiercely,
“I am looking at someone who is in her sister’s house and still doesn’t know her place. Someone who thinks that she can command the situation, when she has no power here. Someone who treats her sister like dirt. Your sister is a smart woman, Nesta. Something you fail to recognise in your attempt to belittle her and continue to oppress her with your presence and your influence. Elain is smart and thoughtful. She is kind, she loves my cousins more than anything, and cares for them and for all of us. Elain is our family. I’ll be damned if I allow you to speak to her like she doesn’t have a voice of her own.
“It’s none of your business if and when she is going to have a kid. You certainly ain’t going to tell Azriel King when he ought to have one and whether his marriage and the alliance between the families are legit.
“It also, frankly, isn’t your business what happens in this family. Elain can make those decisions herself,”
Nesta did not avert her eyes from the man across from her and then moved her head slowly and looked at Azriel. Dismissal. Pure dismissal.
“I appreciate that you give this much leeway to your security guards and to your butlers,” she said calmly, “and they speak freely on your behalf,”
At that, it was Elain who snarled at last,
“Nesta. Fenrys is my brother-in-law. You will treat him as such. He isn’t a fucking butler! And you know it. Cassian is the head of security operations for the King Enterprises–he is a Navy Seal, a veteran, and you will show him respect, as he’s shown you. He is also my family, as I am married to his cousin. He is also your family, albeit indirectly. You may dislike Rhys, but you do not speak to him in this manner. You will not speak like this to Cassian either. If you are unable to control yourself and your emotions, there is nothing else to talk about.”
Ruhn and Fenrys exchanged wild glances between each other, and Cassian’s mouth quivered in a smile. The flower girl could be fierce when she wanted to be.
“Perhaps it’s time for me to go,” Nesta rose from her stool.
Elain followed her and in the same cold, unyielding tone said, “Perhaps. If you wish to visit again, let me know in advance.”
Cassian got up and said,
“I’ll walk you back.”
“Don’t bother,” Nesta threw.
Yet again, Elain stopped her and said firmly,
“Nesta, we have security protocols in place. You cannot leave unescorted.”
“I am your sister! What do you think,”
“It’s irrelevant,” Elain shrugged. “Cassian will take you back. Also, you wouldn’t be able to leave without him. He has to open the doors for you.”
The three Kings got up and Azriel politely inclined his head and said,
“It was nice seeing you, Nesta.”
“Yeah, thanks for coming!” Ruhn’s smirk was chilly. He barely said anything at all this morning.
Cassian approached, and then removed the blindfold from him pocket,
“You know the drill, Nes. Hope you like it kinky.”
“Idiot,” Nesta ripped the blindfold from his hand–noticing how warm and large his palm was against her fingers–and then put it on.
Elain, who would’ve usually gone in for a hug, did not this time and just said,
“Thank you for visiting. If you need to talk, let me know.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Cassian threaded Nesta’s arm through his and said,
“Thank you for breakfast, Elain. It was…unforgettable.”
Nesta wanted to tell him that he was a dick, but she remained silent.
They’d gone back the same long and convoluted way as before, though Cassian remained quiet. When, at last, they were inside an air conditioned space, he said, “you can take the blindfold off”. She tore it off her face and thrust it back in his hand, while pulling away from him aggressively.
Ready to stomp away, she was stopped, when that heavy warm hand lay on her shoulder and he pressed on her to stay in place.
“What?” she cried. “What do you want?”
His beautiful face was sombre and he said seriously,
“Your feelings for me are your own, Nesta. It’s fine. I can’t make you like me. But I wanted you to know–yes, I am Az’s cousin and work for him–but I work for Elain too. And if I ever thought for a moment that she was mistreated in some manner, that she was being taken advantage of, or unhappy, I need you to know that I would pull her out. No matter what, I am loyal to her too. Rowan and I would never allow her to be in harm’s way–even from them. I hope that offers you peace of mind.”
Nesta bit her lip and looked up at him. He towered over her–big and gorgeous and powerful–his face sincere and open. Him, Nesta trusted. Maybe not the wiley Azriel, or the psychotic Ruhn, or the wild Fenrys. But Cassian…Cassian she trusted.
“Thank you,” was all she said.
*
Elain liked t-shirts.
Her men’s t-shirt to be exact. She didn't wear them outside and didn’t like them all that much prior to marrying Azriel, but now…oh, there was something so special and desirable about them. The guys wore nice, high quality stuff, which wasn’t surprising–cotton that was as soft as a cloud, nicely cut, and putting them on was akin to biting into a freshly made doughnut–all pillowy softness and pleasure.
She collected them (or, as Fen said ‘stole’), and had a neat pile in her closet, pillorying them once one of the men wore it and saturated the material with his scent.
Once Nesta left, Elain found herself in a bad mood, and the men realised it quickly. Therefore, no one attempted to stop her when she locked herself in her bedroom for a while, sorting through her t-shirts and being silent. Her stomach hurt and she felt her insides, as if they had been rearranged. Which of course they were, by Azriel’s massive dick. It ached and hurt, and her mood soured even further.
Yeah, she was never going to have sex again, she decided.
She also craved pizza and when she looked at her phone, it wasn’t even 10AM yet. The thought of cheesy, saucy, sizzling goodness, that bubbled and dripped off perfectly thin, soft crust made her teary eyed, and soon, she found herself weeping in her closet, as she sorted through stuff aimlessly, knowing that Nesta would never change and never find happiness, and also, what if she was right, and Azriel was just playing and didn’t even love her.
The door to her bedroom opened and she heard footsteps. She wiped her face angrily and next thing she knew, Azriel, fully dressed in his usual Italian suit was sliding on the floor next to her. He wrapped his arm around her carefully and then gently kissed the top of her head.
“Flower, why are you crying?” he asked gently.
Elain offered a small sad sob in response.
“Did Nesta say something mean to you?”
She nodded.
“What?”
“She said that you didn’t love me,” she whispered miserably. “That I was stupid to believe it. That men like you didn’t love anyone.”
He sighed, and lightly stroked the side of her neck with his thumb.
“Nesta is right, you know,”
Elain whipped her face to him and glared at him in shock.
She gasped, “What!?”
“She is correct,” he nodded. “Men like me don’t love anyone. But, you broke the mould. You made me fall in love with you. Ardently and irreversibly.”
He cupped her cheek and looked at her.
“I love you. I am in love with you. In every manner you want me to, I would love you.”
Elain was weeping openly, her big brown doe eyes wet and glistening with tears, which fell off her long black lashes.
“It’s true?” she breathed.
“As true as I could be about anything,” he admitted with a smile. “Now, be my good girl and wipe your tears. Tell me, is it PMS time?”
Elain stared at him dumbly, and then it dawned on her.
It’s been a month. She had her wedding right after her last period, making sure to plan it so that if she needed to sleep with Azriel on her wedding night, she wouldn’t be bleeding. Azriel, as it turned out, was even more unbelievable, kind, thoughtful and attentive than she could’ve ever imagined. Azriel wasn’t the one to rush her. He wasn’t the one to force her or pressure her. Azriel was freakin’ amazing and she thought that she never gave him the credit that he deserved.
She threw her arms around his neck and began to cry loudly and dramatically into his cheek, drooling and slobbering all over his pressed shirt. She didn’t care. She couldn’t stop.
He held her to him, smiling into her hair, rocking her against him.
“I love you, sweetheart,” he said again. “But why are you crying like that? Calm down, my love,”
“I don’t want to calm down!” she exclaimed ferociously.
Azriel knew that telling an Italian woman to calm down was guaranteed to be as successful as baptising a cat. Therefore, he didn’t insist.
He held her, kissing her softly, lamenting the fact that he wasn’t going to have any sex for at least another week, which sucked, because last night…
He didn’t want to come off as a horny prick who only cared about sex, but he was a horny prick who cared about sex. Very much. He very, very, very much wanted to have sex with Elain. Lots of sex. All the time. That’s all he was thinking about–sex with Elain. Because, as he found out, sex with Elain was just about as close to a religious experience as he’d ever had. While Fenrys scoffed at ‘virgin sex’ and called it a ‘big blah’ and compared it to performing delicate surgery, Azriel found virgin sex to be fucking amazing! Maybe because it was sex with Elain, but it destroyed him. Emotionally and physically, it rendered him barely coherent. Her tight, slick pussy was indescribable, and yes, technically, a hole was a hole, and he’d been in numerous, but he would insist until his dying breath that Elain’s was different. Everything about Elain was different. Because it was his. Elain was his.
“Are you going to go to work today, darling?” he asked at last, slowly wiping her tears with his thumbs. “Or do you want to stay home?”
She hiccuped and whispered,
“I am going to work.”
He kissed her lips and tipped her chin.
“Do you want Fen to take you? He is running a job, and it’s on the way.”
“I want to run a job with him!” she demanded immediately.
Azriel smiled and said,
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“No, why?”
Azriel got up and pulled her with him.
“Because he is not even running a job,” he corrected, and she raised her arms, so he could take her t-shirts off. “He is just scouting locations.”
Azriel’s eyes dipped down at Elain’s nearly nude body. She’d put on a bra, but when he pulled his shorts down her thighs, he found her naked underneath. There was an imprint of someone’s teeth on her thigh, and her soft, bare folds were still slightly swollen and very pink. The sight of her luscious body ignited both lust and regret in him, since he knew that she was battered last night, and yet took it all like a trooper.
He kissed her again, and fighting everything inside himself not to touch her and kiss her and spread her out right there, on the carpet in the closet and fuck her brutally, he rummaged in the drawers and took out a pair of undies for her.
“Put these on, flower. Before I wreck this pussy and you wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while,” he ordered savagely, his eyes smouldering. Elain swallowed hard, and he watched her nippled harden beneath the lace of her bra. Her arousal drifted up to him and he inhaled deeply, scenting her absurdly delectable smell. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who was affected by pheromones?
She did as he told her, wordlessly dressing, while he folded the t-shirts, knowing that they would be going into her private pile.
“Why the t-shirts, Laney?” he asked curiously, but without judgement.
Elain slipped on a pink flowery dress and said,
“I like the way they smell. I need your scents near me at all times,”
“Curious,” he muttered. He was the one who wanted Elain’s scent on him, the scent of her perfume, her hair, her delicious pussy.
She shrugged, and then took his hand and led him out of the closet.
“It’s because we are mates!” she declared with conviction.
“Is that it?
“Yeah. I think with Fen, we are soulmates. With Ruhn we are heartmates. And with you we are bound mates. We can never be separated.”
She was saying all of this with great sincerity and understanding, as if these were truths obvious to everyone.
“And who bound us as mates?” Azriel queried, sort of fascinated by the strange conversation and Elain’s thought process.
“I dunno,” she shrugged. “God? The Goddess? The Forces that Be?”
“The Forces that Be?”
“Yeah…like the Universe. I think that when the stars are born, they explode and bits of that celestial fire floats in the Universe, looking to find another ember from the same star. And if they are very lucky, after a long, long time, they find each other…in creatures such as us. Because what are we, if not stardust and fire and spirit? And they burn together, with love and familiarity, because they came from the same source and never ceased to look for one another.”
She sighed and added,
“At least that’s what I believe.”
“That’s very beautiful, Elain,” Azriel said seriously.
“So you are my ember, Azriel. My star.”
As soon as they descended the stairs, ‘Good Days’ by Nappy Roots blasted from the speakers and suddenly, there was Ruhn and Fenrys, both dressed for the day, dancing a choreographed dance, huge grins on their faces.
Elain stopped abruptly, glaring at them wide-eyed.
“Oh lord,” Azriel moaned behind her, laughing and shaking his head, while his brothers stepped in perfect unison. He whipped out his phone and began filming.
“I will never let them live this one down,” he muttered.
“It’s for you, babygirl,” Fenrys announced loudly. “We wanted to cheer you up!”
“Are you guys on TikTok?” she gasped in awe.
Ruhn, who performed his dance routine with a lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, smirked and said,
“Not on TikTok, but for you, we’ll make fools of ourselves.”
Well, that caused another flood of tears, as Elain leapt into their arms and they squished her between their bodies, while promising to teach her their dance, which she already decided was going to be their ‘family dance’ and Azriel was required to learn it too.
“What are we gonna do? Dance this at weddings and bar-mitzvahs?” he pondered in confusion.
“Yes! This will be known as the Kings’ Dance!”
*
Somehow, Fenrys was able to fit his 6”5 frame into a Mini Cooper, his preferred vehicle in the city, and he looked quite comfortable, switching gears quickly and driving fast. The upholstery was some kind of version of the Union Jack–as expected–and there were Arsenal-related stickers and stuff clipped to the dashboard. He’d named the car ‘Winston’.
“When we have a son, we’ll name him Winston,” he informed Elain.
“No.”
“Why not? It’s a good name!” to somehow prove his point, he showed Elain his forearm, where he had a tattoo, which she was well familiar with.
“Success is not final, failure is not fatal, it is the courage to continue that counts.”
“We are not naming our son Winston,” she repeated.
“But we are having a son?” he pushed happily.
“I am guessing we are. But we can have Winston as the second name,” she allowed.
Fenrys grinned happily and nodded.
“I can work with that, baby. And speaking of babymaking–are we still setting up Nes and Cass?”
Elain shuddered and grimaced.
“Oh…”
He teased, “what, not so eager now? Come on, they are like two peas in a pond…a very poisonous, dangerous pod,”
Elain rubbed her hand over her face.
“Today was a disaster…”
“Oh, I don’t know. Seemed pretty normal for when Nesta is involved. Good thing Cass is a teflon don–nothing penetrates that thick hide of his. He can take it. And he loves it.”
“I worry about her,”
“Yeah, but she needs to find herself and her path in life on her own. You won’t be able to help her. Neither will Cassian. She ain’t gonna be ready till she is ready.”
“And when is that going to be?”
“I don’t know. All I know is: keep reaching out to her. That’s all we can do.”
Elain sighed deeply and sorrowfully.
For a few minutes they drove in silence, and whole Fenrys thought that she might start discussing Nesta further, instead, Elain perked up.
“Are we going on the job?” she asked impatiently, and he barked a loud laugh.
“Why are you like that, babygirl?” he questioned, “always tempting me into doing naughty things? You don't feel bad that Az would beat the shit out of me if I took you on a job without permission?”
She huffed with indignation and reminded him,
“I am a free woman and I can go on jobs if I want to. He can’t stop me.”
Fenrys was laughing and she pushed him angrily.
“What’s the job anyway?”
“That’s the thing,” he sighed, as he took a swift turn and Elain almost face planted on the window. “It’s not a job yet. It’s me playing a game of where-the-fuck-is-Eris? Do you know who he is?”
“Yeah, Eris Vanserra–Beron’s and Immacolata’s son. Their heir.”
“Yep,” Fenrys was dodging cars like nobody’s business, stealing Elain’s breath every time he made a wild turn, “and from what we gathered, Eris pissed off Lorcan Salvaterre. Seems like Lorcan put a price on Eris’s head and Eris went into hiding. What we are trying to do is find where he is hiding,”
“Why do you care?”
Fenrys parked next to Elain’s shop and pulled the car break.
He turned and explained,
“Have you read Sherlock Holmes?”
Elain scratched her head and then nodded.
“Yes.”
“Do you remember Sherlock’s main adversary?”
“Professor Moriarty?” she stated immediately and earned a proud smile from Fenrys.
“Indeed! You know how he was described?”
Before he could say anything further, Elain said quickly,
“Like a spider, sitting in the middle of the web, observing and pulling multiple strings,” she continued, watching Fen’s face light up in amazement.
“You’ll never cease to surprise me, Elain Moonbeam King,” he murmured proudly and then pulled her into a hot, adoring kiss.
Once he let her go, he said,
“Basically, you are married to Professor Moriarty. Congratulations!”
“Am I?”
“Azriel is the spider that sits in the heart of the web that he’s weaved–observing silently, making no moves until he is sure and ready, pulling all the strings.
“Now, he wants to see who he can use–Eris or Lorcan–and how it would be advantageous to us. But first, I have to find Eris and see what’s what.”
“The Vanserras are not to be trusted,” Elain warned. “My father’s dealt with them before, and it wasn’t pretty. Lorcan though…I think he is okay.”
“Is it because you went on dates with him?” Fenrys drawled, his tone acidic.
“Oh god, you are not going to be jealous of Lorcan now?!” Elain took her bag, as she rolled her eyes, and opened the door.
He grabbed her hand and asked,
“Did he kiss you?
“Fenrys!”
“It’s not a hard fucking question, baby,”
“Yes! Yes he kissed me. Happy now?”
“No. Not at all. Not even fucking a little bit. I can’t believe you let that broody monster kiss you!”
“Ugh, excuse me?! Don’t even start with me, Fen. You’ve probably fucked hundreds of women. And as a reminder, I married another broody monster. Suppose I have a type?”
“I can’t believe that Lorcan is your type.”
He was huffing and snorting, as he was muttering,
“Now I am going to drive all angry, thinking of that huge fella’s tongue in your mouth.”
“Eww, you are gross. And you owe me a job!”
“Didn’t you lose the dance off?” he goaded her annoyingly, and then laughed out loudly when she was about to unleash a wave or rage at him, and curse Enalius in terrible ways, since she blamed him for voting against her in the dance off. “Oops, can’t stay, babe! Gotta go. Gotta find Eris the Red. Boom. Boom. See ya later, sweet cheeks.”
Elain stomped into the shop, which was thankfully empty right this minute and exclaimed,
“I hate them all!”
Behind the counter, Nuala was laughing at her.
“I heard Nesta visited. Seems like you had a fine morning.”
*
It was Saturday and there was no football. A tragedy, for the season was over.
On the plus side, Elain could sleep a little longer. On the minus side, there was no football.
When he woke up, she was alone in the bed. All night she was pressed between Azriel and Fenrys, and waking up without being surrounded by their powerful, firm bodies was…weird. Unsettling.
She reached for the phone and gasped, because it was almost eleven in the morning. She must have been very tired, because she never slept that late. There were three texts waiting for her, all with the same message ‘at the gym’. Elain smiled, amused by how they all felt the need to ‘report’ to her, and make sure that she didn't worry about them. So she played on her phone a little bit and then went to take shower.
By the time she was done, she heard noises from downstairs, and assumed that the guys were back. In her closet, she dressed in her underwear, settling on a practical set and not the lacy scandalous La Perla sets that Azriel kept gifting her.
Opening the drawers, Elain stopped, looking inside. Heart beating a million miles a second, horror washing over her. Azriel’s t-shirts! The t-shirts that she wore…the ones with his scent on them…and Ruhn’s! And Fen’s! What the fuck?!?! Where were the t-shirts that smelled like her men?
They were in the drawer. Neatly folded. Laundered. Smelling like fucking baby powder, or lavender, or a pink bear, or whatever the hell they were smelling like, but Elain let out a sorrowful wail and burst into tears. She gathered the t-shirts to her chest, sobbing at the loss of the familiar scents, barely noticing the stampede that shook the house, as Fenrys burst into the bedroom like a charging rhino.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” he shouted, making his way into the closet.
She couldn’t speak, sobbing and only showing him the ruined t-shirts, displaying them like some pagan sacrifice.
“What’s wrong, honey? What is it?” he grabbed her face between his hands and peered down, trying to ascertain what got her so upset.
Ruhn was next–running into the closet and almost swiping the two of them off their feet.
“Beautiful! What is going on? Why the fuck are you crying…” he demanded, throwing a furious glance at Fenrys. “What did he do?!?”
“I didn’t do shit!” Fenrys snapped at him.
“I…I…” she hiccupped, “I wan–nn–t my t-shirts…”
Both men’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“What t-shirts, sweetness?” Ruhn asked gently, stroking her head.
“My…my…the t-shirts…yours…” she babbled incoherently.
They crowded her, stroking her, and purring softly, like they usually did when she was upset.
None noticed Azriel, who walked in silently and watched the scene in front of him for a few seconds, before pulling his black t-shirt over his head and handing it to Elain.
“Here, flower, is this good?” he asked, while the two men exchanged confused glances.
Elain grabbed the shirt from his hands and immediately pulled it on.
“Yes,” she nodded, her lower lip trembling.
“Give her your shirts,” he ordered immediately. Neither Ruhn nor Fenrys questioned the odd directive and just about tore off their shirts, handing them to Elain.
“I want more,” she demanded, grabbing them and pulling them one on top of the other.
“Okay, love, we’ll get you more,” Az promised calmly.
“Okay, I am tired,” she sighed, her tears disappearing at once, as if the shirts had a magic calming effect on her and she bypassed the three men and left them behind like nothing’s happened.
“What the heck?” Fen blew out a heavy breath.
“She is comforted by our scents,” Azriel shrugged, like this was totally normal.
“Well, it’s weird, she is not a wolf or a tigress,”
“Well, she might be a tigress,” Ruhn argued under his breath.
Azriel chuckled.
“I think it’s PMS. Welcome to the world of married life, gents. I think this is just the beginning. Give her whatever the fuck she wants, and don’t argue. If it’s shirts that she needs, she is getting some shirts!”
“You don’t think that this is strange?” Ruhn cocked his brow, while he took one of Az’s t-shirts.
“It is what it is. If you guys haven’t figured it out yet, our El is a little different…We are a little different too. Our wife is made for us, and if she needs our scents, then so be it. It’s not like this is a normal situation, brothers.”
They went downstairs, where Elain was folded around a pillow on the sofa, still wearing the t-shirts, and nothing else but her underwear.
“I want muffins,” she muttered, playing with the remote. “And soup,”
“What kind of soup?” Ruhn asked.
“Matzo ball,” she informed him immediately. “And cheese fries. And a cutlet,”
“A cutlet?”
“Yes, a CUTLET!!” she hissed viciously.
Ruhn fell silent, before mouthing to Azriel, “what the fuck is a cutlet?”
“It’s like a meat thing,” Azriel offered unhelpfully.
“It’s a cutlet!” Elain yelled from the sofa angrily.
“Yes, yes, I know cutlet,” Ruhn assured her quickly.
“And I want a meat pie…” she glanced at Fenrys and added, “the English kind.”
“Okay baby, I’ll run to the chippy and get you a meat pie,” Fenrys told her easily.
“I love you,” she breathed, looking adoringly at him.
Ruhn threw him an envious, but angry look. Fucking Fenrys.
Ruhn immediately asked,
“Anything else you want, beautiful?”
She was still seething over the cutlet question, but finally, she relented and said, “maybe I want a creme brulee doughnut…no, I want meatloaf,”
“A doughnut and meatloaf then?” Ruhn was writing stuff down.
“No! I don’t want a doughnut! I am already chunky. You want me to be more chunky?”
Without missing a beat, or even looking up from the list, Ruhn said, “You are perfect, beautiful. You can never be too chunky or not too chunky,”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” she pouted.
“Makes perfect sense to me. Anything else?”
“I want gelato and a cannoli and maybe pizza…I wanna watch a movie,” she concluded.
Azriel then rubbed his hands together and said,
“You get the British stuff,” he looked at Fen. “You get the Jewish/Italian stuff,”
“What about meatloaf?” Ruhn muttered, sounding almost scared. “And cutlet?”
“I am sure you can figure something out,” Azriel said lightly. “What movie do you want to watch, love?”
“The romantic one…” she sighed with a smile. “You know the one…where the classy doctor and the FBI lady meet and fall in love…” she cooed softly.
Azriel sat on the sofa next to her and put her feet on his lap, gently massaging them.
“Ohhh, that feels good,” she approved. “What about the movie, Az? You wanna watch it?”
“Of course, flower. Let’s watch ‘Silence of the Lambs’.”
“Yes!” she clapped excitedly. “I love it so! Isn’t it romantic?”
He nodded, agreeing. “It really is romantic. They have a unique relationship,”
“Yes, yes,” she nodded, “it is unique!”
Then she thought for a second and added, her voice stern, “also, no one can touch my t-shirts. EVER.”
“Never, sweetheart,” Ruhn promised. “We’ll let the maids know.”
…When Ruhn returned home, laden with food packages–he managed to get a veal cutlet, creme brulee doughnuts, chocolate, beer and wine, and a dozen of cannoli, as well as a scalding hot tub of chicken matzo ball soup–he found the other three in various sprawling poses, in front of the TV, watching Twilight. Fenrys was using Elain’s ass as a comfy pillow, his cheek smooshed against it, as he was yelling at the screen, arguing about something with Azriel.
“This is intense! New Moon Bella is too depressing,” Azriel complained.
“She is not coping well and using bad mechanisms to deal with the breakup,” Fenrys declared sagely.
“Did she already go to Volterra?” Ruhn called out as he brought the packages into the kitchen.
“Ruhnnie! You brought food!” Elain squealed happily.
“Anything for you, my love.”
*
It was Monday morning and the rain had been pouring all night long. It was muggy and warm, and the French doors in the kitchen were open to the garden. Rain rolled over the lush greenery, Elain’s roses, petunias, the beds of forget-me-nots and splattered over tomato vines, ripening zucchini, while saturating the herb garden where rosemary bushes resembled Christmas trees in size and the basil perfumed the air and wafted all the way into the house.
Elain and Azriel were at the breakfast table, Elain enjoying her big cappuccino and Azriel drinking an espresso, as he peered into the newspaper. They both heard the door open and Fenrys ran in, sweaty and sporting a tiny pair of shorts.
Azriel glanced at him and snorted.
“Make sure the tip is contained, Fen.”
Elain laughed, while Fenrys made a beeline towards her and she didn’t mind feasting her eyes on his beautiful flesh, which was glistening with sweat and bulging with tense sinew in all the right places.
“Oh, don’t drip all over the fucking table!” Azriel–a known neat freak–yelled, while Fenrys ignored him and came to stoop over Elain, grabbed the back of her head and kissed her stupid.
“Morning fam!” Ruhn entered the kitchen space as well, and then cocked his head, watching Elain and Fenrys.
“I thought you had your period, beautiful,” he noted, grabbing a handful of bacon and a cup of coffee.
“It doesn’t stop me from kissing!” she protested breathlessly, once she finally pulled away from Fenrys.
“No, it clearly doesn’t,” Ruhn agreed, while he grabbed the sports pages of Azriel’s paper.
“You look cute in glasses,” Elain smiled softly at him.
“Gorgeous, you know that this is a fucking secret from the world,” he warned, “and it doesn’t leave this house.”
She reached for him and rubbed her nose against his, kissing him and whispering,
“Never. Your weird little secret is safe with me. But you do look adorable in glasses!”
Ruhn fed her a strip of bacon and kissed her.
His fingers moved her long hair from her neck and he peeked at the back of her neck. There, he found his mark. His mark on Elain’s flesh, imprinted on her beautiful golden skin forever. Yesterday, they went to his studio and he tattooed the imprint of his teeth that he’d left on her during the defloration (which she insisted on calling ‘defoliation’). He chose a very pale, almost skin-tone colour to fill the tiny indents. Around the mark, he tattooed a sword–his sword–around which a rose vine wrapped tightly. His Elain, forever wrapped and intertwined with him and his fate.
He kissed the tattoo tenderly, knowing that it was still sore.
Fenrys gave him a look. Only his mark was missing.
Not yet, English boy.
At once, their phones pinged with texts. Not Elain’s, but the three men’s.
They looked at the messages and the atmosphere in the kitchen dropped by 20 degrees.
“Fuck.”
“Fuck.”
“Motherfucker.”
She straightened and looked between the three of her, her insides doing somersaults of worry and apprehension. These men rarely reacted like this to anything. But the tension in Ruhn’s shoulder, the frown on Fen’s face, and the twitching jowl in Azriel’s jaw were indicative enough of something being terribly amiss.
“I thought he wouldn't be back so soon,” Ruhn scrubbed his hand over his face.
“Who?” Elain demanded, “What is happening? Who is back?”
Fenrys sat down, forgetting to wipe himself, and sighed a deep, unhappy sigh.
“Az?” Elain repeated impatiently.
It was Fenrys who answered,
“The Old King,”
“What?”
“Our…father,” Azriel explained at last. “He is back. From Miami.”
Elain didn’t mean to, but her eyes fell in Ruhn’s tattooed arms at once. Now that she knew, she couldn’t unsee the scars beneath the colorful ink.
“So what?”
“He wants to see us,” Azriel said, his voice lifeless.
It didn’t take a therapist to know that the trauma that these men had suffered from the hands of their father was profound and probably, everlasting.
“Do you have to see him?”
“It’s better that we do,” Fenrys said, and even though he almost never smoked, he reached for one of Ruhn’s cigarettes.
“Otherwise, he’ll come here,” Ruhn said. “And that’s not something we want. Not with you here.”
Elain had only met the Old King twice before–at the engagement and at the wedding.
He was a handsome, imposing man, tall like his sons, trim, with a dark, tanned face and black eyes. He certainly didn’t look like a monster who relished in abusing his children. But monsters rarely looked monstrous.
“I’ll go,” Ruhn decided.
“You don’t have to,” Azriel interjected immediately.
“It’s alright,” Ruhn’s voice was steely, but also gentle, when he looked at Azriel. “I’ll be fine.”
“Ruhn, let’s go together.”
“I don’t think we should. That fucked up cunt is unpredictable. Seeing the two of us together might give him ideas…”
Elain’s heart clenched in fear.
She didn’t want to keep pestering them with questions, seeing that this wasn’t a topic they wanted to discuss. She remained quiet, her appetite lost, as worry strangled her. Fear for Ruhn and what might be done to him was a thing that she didn’t think she’d feel so acutely, especially not about their father. But Ruhn’s scar-covered arms and Azriel’s mangled hands told another story entirely.
“Beautiful, you look like a little frightened doe,” Ruhn attempted to lighten the mood and kiss her, but she moved her head, and he landed on her cheek.
“You are being too cavalier, Ruhn King,” she snapped at him. “This isn’t a joke.”
“It’s not,” he agreed. “But we live until we live no more. And this is what we have to live with now.”
*
Mondays at the shop were quiet and tedious.
It was Nuala’s day off, since she usually worked one of the weekend days. Deliveries weren’t scheduled until Tuesday, and no one bought flowers on Mondays. It would’ve been logical to just close on Monday, but Elain usually found the day kind of calming, because she worked on recipes and on her plans for expansion into her pastry shop.
For her wedding, Nesta actually bought Elain an adjacent storefront, which was zoned for food production. It used to be a deli, which has been closed for a while, and currently, it didn’t have much of anything, other than an antique marble counter with brass decorations and an old (antique was a stretch) display shelf. The counter Elain was definitely going to keep–it was gorgeous. The rest of it needed a lot of work, including the installation of a commercial-grade kitchen in the back. The plans excited her, and the fact that no one’s told her ‘no’ was just as exciting. Azriel didn’t really interfere in her business, or her plans, and for that, she was grateful. She knew that he was supportive of her doing something that was hers, and wasn’t keen on her stopping. He confessed once that he wasn’t looking for a housewife, or for a MWAG–a Mob Wife and/or Girlfriend. He actually did not mind having a wife who did something independently of him and made her own money.
In the past month, a wide glass door was installed between the shop and the future bakery. It was an elegant door, which Elain had found in France and which was painstakingly taken apart, shipped here and reassembled, and now looked stunning. Yeah, there was nothing on the other side but an empty classic deli, but Elain was kind of in love with the door. However, today, nothing gave her joy–not the door, not the flowers, and not the plans. She’s had all of three customers, and when she was done with them, she just kept checking her phone. She readjusted the volume five or six times, worrying that maybe it was on mute, but it wasn’t, and there simply were no texts or calls. Not from Ruhn.
The current customer, a nervous, lanky young man, who was buying a bouquet for a first date kept inquiring what was ‘too much’ or ‘too little’--as if Elain knew! Her only good, meaningful, enjoyable dates were with Lorcan Salvaterre–but she doubted that this twitchy fella was going to invite his date to a penthouse and make her pasta from scratch. So she suggested that he not worry, be ‘himself’, buy a good bottle of wine and put everyone at ease.
The doorbell chimed, alerting her to a new customer, just as she was wrapping the flowers in paper. She glanced over her shoulder and her heart leapt in her chest. Standing there, amidst the flowers and pastels, was Ruhn.
Her customer took one look at the tattooed, muscled man, with all the piercings and the long shaved undercut of black hair, and blanched. He even made some kind of protective stance before Elain, shielding her from this new visitor, as if he stood a chance against someone like Ruhn. Elain was positive that Ruhn could just rip the man’s head from his shoulders–literally. So she took pity on her customer and said lightly,
“Ahhh, it’s my husband!”
“Hu-has–hasband?”
Clearly, the man couldn’t put two and two together, and kept looking between the two polar opposites who now occupied the shop.
Elain deftly wrapped the flowers and rang up the purchase, while watching Ruhn, who was leaning against the glass tiredly. She immediately noticed his scuffed hands, the bleeding knuckles, a fresh bruise on his neck. He was definitely hurt–she wasn’t sure if someone had hurt him, or if he was forced to hurt somebody.
The man finally grabbed his bouquet and rushed out of the shop, with barely a ‘thank you’ on his lips.
Elain hurried to Ruhn, but before she could start looking at his wounds, his cuts and bruises, he opened his arms and she stumbled right into his embrace. Every inch of him was taut and filled with nervous, or maybe murderous, energy. As her arms wrapped around his lean torso he became tense and clearly affected by their closeness.
“Are you alright?” she asked softly, kissing his shoulder.
He pressed her head to his chest and held her there.
“I want my wife,” he confessed, his voice hoarse and needy, his arms tightening around her and tucking her closer. They stood there, the noise of New York traffic just beyond the threshold of the shop the only interruption.
“Did he hurt you?” Elain cupped his face between her hands and looked intently at his uniquely handsome face, the luminous blue eyes not quite as bright as always, but muddy and shadowed in internal pain. She traced his powerful, but delicate jaw with her finger and he dipped his head to kiss it.
“It’s alright, beautiful,”
“It’s not,” she argued stubbornly. “It’s not okay for you to be in this pain,”
“My dad is a violent, ruthless cunt,” Ruhn said bluntly. “It is what it is,”
“It doesn’t have to be,” she insisted. Ruhn didn’t say anything further, and only pressed his forehead to hers. Elain inhaled the familiar scent of cigarettes and leather, and Ruhn’s eyes closed, as he pulled her deep into his lungs as well, and she felt his cock stirring inside his expensive jeans, pressing into her belly.
“Ruhn,” she breathed, as her breasts filled in and became heavy and tight from their proximity.
“I know you are bleeding,”
“I am,” she nodded.
“And we are in the middle of the city,”
“We are,”
“Inside a shop that’s open for business,”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself of something?” she pondered.
He struggled to breathe, panting against her face, and as he pulled her even closer, she keened into the solid strength of his body, craving the heat of him that was emanating through his shirt.
Those amethyst-blue eyes lit up, the shadows finally lifting and he whispered again, as he took a step inside the shop, pulling her against him, “I want my wife. Just for myself. For a little bit…”
“You have me,” she offered openly, her full lips parting with anticipation and an invitation. Ruhn’s thumb traced her indent of Cupid’s bow, and the sensual arch of her lower lip, as he watched her mouth with palatable hunger. “I am your wife,” she continued, “and when you need me, when you want me–I am yours.”
He finally pushed both of them to one of the side counters, where there were buckets full of flowers, and rolls of ribbons. The plush pastel ridiculousness of the place finally dawned on Ruhn and he laughed softly, looking around.
“I recall deciding that I’d never step foot into this Princess Palace of Flowers and Cake and Bullshit,”
“Looks like you changed your mind.”
She stood against the counter, and he parted her legs with his knee, pressing into her, his hips strong and eager, and the great bulk of his dick pushed against the softness of her nether lips, as he grew to full, heavy thickness. Elain wrapped her arms around his neck and he dug his fingers into her thigh, positioning her so that he was flush against her and she felt every growing inch of him. She tucked his long hair behind his ear and opened her lips for him, allowing his tongue to slide into her mouth in a hot, needy kiss. Ruhn was not a gentle man, and his kisses were thrilling and dirty, almost gruesome in their lascivious sensuality.
He kissed and kissed her, like a man possessed, like he needed her mouth, her breath, the caress of her tongue, the violent mash of their lips together. He needed his wife. Elain’s hands slipped under his shirt, as she lifted the soft cotton over the strong, cobbled lines of his stomach, her fingertips running over the ink on his skin, dipping into old scars and dents of his muscles.
“You are my world, Elain,” he groaned, when breathing finally became a necessity and he pulled away from her for a moment. She caressed the prominent cut of his Adonis Belt with an open palm, gently threading her fingers through a dusting of hair below his navel, falling back into his kiss, her mouth taking him on and sucking on his tongue, until he shivered against her. He lifted the hem of her dark navy silk skirt, rolling his hips wantonly and slowly between her silken thighs, allowing the ridge of his cock to rub against the material of her panties, pushing deeper and firmer into her clit.
Elain shuddered from the pressure, moaning into his mouth, her teeth closing over his lip ring.
He lifted her with one arm, holding her around the waist, settling her firmly over his erection and murmured,
“No one in the other room?”
She chuckled and said, “I hope not!” and then licked on his lip ring playfully. “Where might you be taking me?”
“To your future bakery thingy,” he said, walking slowly, while she nibbled on his lips, his chin and his tongue, and he exhaled with a heavy, masculine moan, which led to her pussy contracting against his shaft. “Where I plan to fuck you deep and hard,” he promised ferociously. His free hands squeezed her thigh and then travelled upwards, until he reached the maddeningly silky, full breast and squeezed it mercilessly.
“While the rational part of me says that we shouldn’t be doing this,” he continued, while his large palm cupped and teased her tit, as he also managed to unbutton the pearl buttons of her sleeveless shirt and part it on her chest. “That we will be seen…that we shouldn’t be fucking in the open, in the middle of the day, inside your shop,”
“What does the irrational part of you say?” she demanded with a breathless pant.
“It says that being inside of you is worth it!”
He slanted his hips against her, his cock just about bursting through his fitted jeans.
At last, they ended up in the dimly lit deli, the windows barely covered with old blinds, half of the slats missing. Ruhn didn’t care.
His hands were busy massaging her breasts, pulling the cups of her bra down, exposing her pale flesh to his ravenous gaze. Then he gripped her ass and hauled her up and onto the cold marble counter, sucking one of her nipples into his mouth, biting painfully. He parted her long, slender legs and pushed the knees far apart, dragging the silk skirt over her belly, until she was splayed in front of him in a wanton spread. He squeezed her breasts in his hands again, leaning over her, his erection sliding against her panties, and kissed her headily.
“Fuck, I’ve missed you, beautiful,” he growled loudly, kneading her breasts, pinching her nipples tightly, rolling them between his fingers. Then he tore his shirt off his body and crumpled it so she’d have something to rest her head on. The cold hard marble couldn't have been comfortable, but Elain didn’t seem to care. She fastened her lips on his neck, near the collarbone and sucked, kissing and licking the sensitive spot, feeling his large, hot hand slide between her thighs, and his thumb pushed between her folds, through the material of her underwear. He rubbed the thumb along the seam of her pussy, finding the swollen bulb of her clit and she jerked up, squealing with pleasure. Grabbing his muscled arm, she whispered, “I’ve missed you too, my darling…”
Both of them looked down between her legs and Ruhn moved her panties aside, baring her plump, pink pussy and his finger pushed at the tampon, and Elain blushed.
“Is this okay?” she wondered. “To do this?”
He cocked his brow at her and asked,
“Are you uncomfortable?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I never considered doing this…I don’t know if you’ll like it. Don’t men find it disgusting?”
His finger stroked between her warm, wet lips, from the tampon and up to the clit, cupping her possessively.
“I don’t find anything about you disgusting, pretty girl,” he chuckled. “Especially not your period! I’ll be living with your periods for the next 30 years,” he laughed. “They are hardly a bother.”
“But it’s messy,”
“Laney, I don't think it will be a surprise to you, but I am not exactly averse to blood. Kind of comes with the fucking territory!”
“I guess,” she said, still a little unsure.
“I love everything,” he repeated again, his thumb circling the bud, his breath thick and his circling steady, but firm. The pad of his thumb pressing and pinching expertly, and Elain’s nails dug into his hand, while her back arched over the slab of marble. “I love the sounds that you make,” he whispered, “ the way you clutch at me. How your gorgeous pussy clings to my dick. How you cry out when you come…I love it all…”
His forefinger caught the string of the tampon and he pulled on it a little, loosening it inside of her.
“Besides, you know that I like it when you bleed all over my dick!”
“You are such a savage,” she moaned.
“That I am,” he nodded, “but you, beautiful, like the D.”
“Oh god,” Elain cried out, while that wicked thumb kept working over her clit, massaging it roughly and just as Elain began to tremble and pant loudly, he pulled the tampon out and tossed it on a piece of cardboard that littered the floor. Without pausing, he thrust two fingers inside of her, the sound of blood and her slick wetness making an obscene squelching sound, but Elain couldn't bother caring, for he reached the sensitive, secret spot inside of her and she swell and burst for him, shaking with a violent orgasm that slammed into her.
“Oh god, Ruhn, more, more,” she begged, the tight walls of her pussy squeezing his hand, while he didn’t stop and sucked her heavy tit, sinking his teeth deep into the satiny flesh, rolling his tongue over her nipple.
Ruhn pumped harder and harder, eliciting desperate moans from the depths of Elain’s convulsing body.
“I fucking love watching you come,” he whispered into her ear, while she tugged on his long hair which flowed like a black river over her shoulders and her chest. “Love hearing you beg for it…You are a fucking bombshell, babe...So hot,” he rubbed and pushed and pumped, and even though his hand looked freakin’ gruesome, it didn’t matter to either of them.
It wasn’t enough though.
The fingers were skilled, and thick and long, but even if they made her cry in pleasure and had thighs shaking, it wasn’t enough.
Ruhn smirked because he knew it too.
Unzipping his jeans impatiently, he finally freed his massive dick and leaned to kiss her, squeezing her neck with his other hand–the one that wasn’t covered in blood. It was a lavish kiss, dripping with desire and impatience and Elain watched the pierced head of his shaft press back into her clit, as he rubbed it firmly, not caring about how sensitive her orgasm had made her feel and that she was still vibrating from the aftershocks. He squeezed her neck lightly, just like he liked to and looked into her eyes, pressing soft kisses on her lips.
“Please, Ruhn,” she moaned pathetically, but she didn’t care.
The thought of that thick, hot cock filling her, stretching her to the brim made saliva pool in her mouth and she almost choked with need. Spreading her legs wider, and resting them on his hips, she allowed him better access to her pussy, while he wetted the tip of his dick with her blood. He circled the entrance over and over again, coaxing her pussy into getting even wetter for him, because even though he was always rough, Ruhn also remembered that this would be her second time having sex.
“Come here, beautiful,” he gripped her hips in his hands, leaving bloody marks on her pale skin and then sunk his cock in her in one smooth, sure motion.
Elain screamed softly, shocked into utter submission by the sensation of having him inside of her.
It was still surprisingly uncomfortable, but the stretch felt beyond sublime.
Ruhn ground deeper into her, feeling the swollen walls of her passage cling to his shaft, fluttering with nervous, tight squeezes over him and he released a moan of complete masculine pleasure. Elain was perfect beneath him–warm and smooth and so fucking sensual he fought the need to come inside of her immediately. His dick pulsed wildly inside of her, the blood making everything warmer and even wetter and sticker, and he couldn't say that he hated the feeling. He certainly didn’t hate the look of bliss on Elain’s face as she sunk deeper and deeper upon his rigid cock.
“How are you still so fucking tight,” he demanded, kissing her little scrunched nose. His hips had a mind of their own and twisted impatiently against Elain’s parted thighs, pushing into her over and over again. Elain’s gaze grew heavy-lidded and she was tense beneath him, the blood producing a new kind of slippery, smooth friction inside of her.
Ruhn cradled her head in the crook of his arm, his other hand holding her neck, as he kissed her with blissfully dirty passion, and muttered, “If I could bottle these sounds up…”
“Ride me,” Elain ordered impatiently, digging the blunt heel of her shoe into his ass, pressing him closer. Every perfect, delicious inch of him was now hidden within her and a warm, sexual heat pooled inside her core, as her pussy finally stretched wholly over the shaft.
She was vaguely aware that they were fucking out in the open, and that anyone who bothered glancing through the dirty windows and the broken blinds could clearly see the two of them. Could see Ruhn lifting her leg onto his shoulder and stroking her thigh, as he began to fuck her like he promised–deep and hard. His powerful body with dripping with raw, masculine energy, the muscles contracting, every ribbon of sinew perfectly on display all the while he pumped his dick in and out of her, growling,
“That’s my girl…you are fucking perfect. Made for my cock…Fuck…that’s it, beautiful. Take it all.”
“Ruhn, Ruhn,” Elain babbled, that magnificent cock buried so deep inside of her, that every thrust hit her G spot and the dusting of coarse pubic hair rubbed blissfully over her clit. Her tits bounced against his chest, the nipples rubbing over the firmness of his pecs and she noticed a bead of sweat sliding down his strong neck, which she caught with the tip of her tongue.
The sounds that she was making were barely human–grunting and moaning filthily, cursing under her breath, while Ruhn upped his dirty talk as usual, muttering “this sweet pussy is fucking unbelievable. Tight like a drum–it’s milking me like nothing else,”
Elain was pretty sure she’d just die if he withdrew from her right now.
“Good girl,” he encouraged, “moan for me, beautiful. Show me how much you love it,”
“I love it, I love it,” she chanted, her head lifting off the counter, her body feeling impossibly sweaty, the heaviness of his dick inside of her becoming almost intolerable.
“My good baby, such a good girl, taking my cock so well,” he praised, his voice deep and rumbling. His thumb found her clit and he rubbed it firmly, igniting a fire of pleasure inside her core, in her belly. Everything ached pleasantly and yearned for more.
“Come on my cock, baby, fuck, fuck, gorgeous, look how you are bleeding all over me,”
Frankly, Elain was afraid to look down, knowing that it would look like a murder scene. But the blood didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would’ve. It was hot and sticky, and leaked out of her with every brutal roll of his hips.
Momentarily, she noticed another pair of eyes, peering through the window at them. So they were caught after all…
Elain didn’t give a shit and didn’t alert Ruhn either. She just prayed that no one entered the shop at this moment, because there was no way that either of them would be stopping. Ruhn would probably just murder the intruder and continue having sex with her on their corpse.
But he didn’t kill anyone–only came inside of her with a deep, guttural moan of pleasure, just as her pussy just about exploded all over his cock, pulsing and twitching and tugging on him desperately.
It was an overwhelming orgasm–a new kind of pleasure, which wasn’t tinged with pain or uncertainty. The squeeze of Ruhn’s fingers on her throat made everything seem stronger, more powerful, more acutely wondrous. The slight restriction of airflow caused Elain to gulp in more air and had her orgasm roll over her in endless waves. She grabbed Ruhn’s throat in her hand and squeezed too. He grinned at her, still pumping steadily, and the harder she squeezed the more he thrust, his eyes rolling back in his head with pleasure.
Certainly the Elain of three months ago didn’t think that she’d be having period sex in public, as she and Ruhn King were choking each other for orgasms, but what did she know?
When he finally pulled out, his cock was covered in blood and the scene was pure gore. Erotic gore, of his cum and her blood mixing together, but gore nevertheless.
“Oh god,” Elain moaned loudly, feeling the emptiness inside of her and missing him instantly.
“Thank you, Elain,” he said seriously. “Thank you for the gift that you are. You are amazing, my love. My wife. The best wife. I needed you today.”
“I know,” she said gently, and stroked his cheek. “You never have to fight alone, Ruhnnie. I am your partner for life. I’ll fight with you.”
Ruhn surveyed the scene with a smirk, but a sort of detachment which told of numerous previous times where he was faced with a bloody mess before him. He pulled out his phone from his back pocket and began texting.
*
“Oh my god!! I thought you killed Elain!”
Fenrys strolled into the shop, with two large paper bags in his arms, which he set on the floor and then wisely locked the lock.
“I haven’t killed Elain, but I am not so sure about you,” Ruhn grunted.
Looking over the premises, Fenrys was shaking his head, muttering under his breath, in a full-on mother hen mode.
“You, lass,” he pointed a stern finger at Elain, who was literally wrapped in a large sheet of flower paper, “need to have some self-control. We all know he doesn’t,” and he jabbed his thumb in Ruhn’s direction, “but you!”
Elain’s hair was a mess, she was clutching her makeshift ‘dress’ to her chest, her legs bare and cum and blood still smeared on her inner thighs.
“I can’t believe you called him!” she groused.
“Who is he gonna call? Nesta?!” Fen snapped at her.
In the two paper bags, there were three huge tubs of wet-wipes, a package of tampons, a package of pads, three large bottles of water,
“We have water, this is a flower shop,” she mumbled.
“Are you giving me lip?” Fenrys demanded.
“No.”
“Good.”
For some reason, sanitiser, paper towels, an ‘I Love New York’ t-shirt and a pair of shorts from the Dollar Store.
While Ruhn and Elain went to clean up in the back room, Fenrys found the discarded tampon on the floor and threw it away, lamenting that he ‘doesn't get paid enough for this shit!’, as he began to clean and sanitise the counter.
*
Azriel had just come home from work, when Elain, Ruhn and Fenrys all piled into the house together. How they all met up, and why, he wasn’t sure.
“That wasn’t what you were wearing before,” he noted, seeing Elain’s cheap outfit, though the tiny booty shorts weren’t exactly hurting his eyes.
He added blandly, “stop having sex in public, you weirdos.”
Then, he produced a fancy looking envelope, with a handwritten invitation inside.
“Dust off your tuxes, gents. We are going to a ball.”
#the kings wife#my writing#elriel fanfic#elriel fanfiction#elain and azriel#elain archeron#elain archeron fanfction#mafia romance#dark mafia romance#reverse harem#ruhn danaan#fenrys moonbeam#elain and fenrys#elain and ruhn#the queen of the house#chapter 10#acotar fanfiction#my fanfiction#elriel
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You know how much I love your writing, so I immediately got extremely excited and my brain generated a bunch of MashpotaoeQueen-esque titles. Feel free to ignore any/all of these :)
Kismet
Rainy Days
Sea Salt and Shells
Firefly Nights
In the Atrium
Birds of a Feather
Under a Deep Blue Sky
Purple Prose and Pink Roses
Constellation Making
Dragon Scales and Fairy Wings
As I said, I got super excited, so my apologies for being crazy. I can't title my own stuff for the life of me, but your writing is so inspiring <3
I hope you're doing well!!
Hello My Friend!
Kismet
Okay so. You know me. I love writing fics about Sticky and then labeling them with obscure or peculiar words because it just tickles me pink. So Kismet would most definitely be a Sticky fic.
Maybe it goes like this: Sticky is able to see the strings of fate that tie people together. Like when you meet someone and you're talking and you realise, with all the strength of a sledgehammer to the face, that you're gonna be best friends. Like the ties that keep siblings who are at each other's throats every single day still completely and utterly do or die for each other. The little connection that keeps you calling your best friend even if you haven't seen each other in months. The ties that bind lovers and family and companions and all of it. All of them.
Sticky can see all of them, except for his own.
He gets used to watching them. These little strings of fate wrapped around people's fingers; some of them vibrant and hard as steel and some of them frayed around all their edges. Different colors, different sizes, different woven patterns. The string binding his parents together is a soft orange, almost amber. The threads are fuzzy with age but no less strong for it.
(He realises young that no one else can see them. He keeps his mouth shut. His own fingers are bare. )
Sticky wants to be wanted so damn badly, is the thing. Sticky is surrounded by the way people love other people, and sure in the knowledge that he's destined to have no one.
He's wrong, of course. It just takes new friends and saving the world to figure it out.
Constellation Making
This one immediately brings to mind an AU where Nicholas Benedict (and friends!) are literally in the business of the making of stars. They've got a workshop just south of the Pillars of Creation and a deadline for a new constellation every millennia or so.
Mr. Benedict is a being of magic. One of the Old Ones. He's got stardust in his hair and nebulas swirling in his eyes. He keeps getting chunks of meteors and comets stuck under his fingernails after gently guiding them on course. He sings lullabies to baby stars that are little more than superheated gas and has tea with old white dwarfs every Wednesday.
And then constellations start to go missing. One by one by one.
And that's where our adventure begins.
Bird of a Feather
This is DEFINITELY that wing fic I've talked about before. These winged humans, finding each other and finding a flock with one another, a family the can depend on.
Maybe this would be a one shot set in that universe, where all the Mysterious Benedict Society kids have odd conflated feelings about preening each other's wings. Maybe one of the Executives told them their wings looked messy and that's one of those rules that Are Not A Rule at the Institute- your wings can be however ruffled as you like, as long as the feathers are neatly groomed and in place. There's nothing for it. It's hard to groom your own wings, especially towards the back. They will have to help each other, even though preening someone else's wings is usually really intimate and reserved for close family and friends.
Reynie's never done it- and has never had it done to him. He's so so worried that he's going to do it badly, that he's going to mess it up. Sticky keeps remembering his parents grooming his own wings and feeling a mess of nostalgia and hurt and bone deep sadness. Kate's touchy about her wings, about trusting people with them- she can do everything by herself, she doesn't need anyone- and Constance doesn't even know how to start doing it. Because she is two. And her wings are almost entirely soft baby down feathers anyway.
(They all have soft baby down. They're fledglings at best. They are BABIES and it's very important to me that you know this.)
So anyway. It's a Mysterious Benedict Society Meeting. They are all so nervous. None of them know how to start. It's awful and tense in a way that their gatherings almost never are. But finally Reynie settles himself nervously by Sticky and asks for some help, his cheeks BRIGHT red. Sticky's hands are sort of shaking. He reaches up and starts gently shifting through Reynie's feathers anyway.
And it's- it's nice. It's really nice.
(They are all, coincidentally, also sort of touch starved.)
So it becomes A Thing. At Mysterious Benedict Society meetings, they sit and they talk, and they preen each other's wings. They don't mention it to the grownups, or make a huge deal out of it, but every last one of them definitely rank it as some of the best parts of their day.)
Sea Salt and Shells
I feel like a lot of the kids have never been to the beach. Like- yes. They've been to Stonetown harbour. But a harbour next to a rocky patch of grey city water is not a beach experience.
So I'd like to imagine that, after the events of the third book, the kids and their families go on a proper beach day. They load of the vans with towels and swimsuits and packed lunches stacked neatly into three separate coolers. They have to drive a solid three hours and Constance sings I Found a Peanut at the top of her lungs until Kate gets dangerously close to shoving a towel in her face for the sake of her sanity.
They arrive at the beach sometime around ten in the morning. The sky is clear and blue and the sun is shining and the seagulls are doing their best approximation of singing. It's a gorgeous sort of day that almost feels too picturesque- like it's something from a dream or memory.
But it's right here and right now.
The kids splash around in the water, wading deeper and deeper until their feet don't quite touch the ground and their past the point where the surf breaks. (Constance has a floaty, and a death grip on Reynie's arm. It took her approximately fifteen steps for her emerging doggy paddle to become a necessity.) They bob in the waves like little corks, laughing whenever one of their heads go under. Milligan floats a little ways a way with a set of sunglasses on, eyes closed. It's possible he's taking a nap.
They don't have any paddle boards, but they learn soon enough that you can catch a wave on your belly. Rhonda shows them how to dive under the bigger tumults of water so they don't get swept under, and Number Two hides under the largest sun hat known to man. Mr. Benedict's swim shorts are green plaid, and he's not much better at swimming than Constance - narcolepsy and big bodies of water don't tend to bode well- but he is having a grand time of it.
Reynie and Sticky make elaborate sand castles and Kate works on digging the deepest hole she physically can with a tiny plastic seahorse shovel. Constance, at one point, allows herself to be buried in it until only her head is visible. The others feed her chips one at a time and pour water into her mouth with a seriousness and dedication that defied the silliness of the situation.
(None of the grownups can look at her without laughing.)
They eat lunch on the picnic blankets. Sand gets everywhere, despite their best efforts. Sticky's father has to carry his mother into the surf, but she floats along quite happily once she's there. When Reynie next goes in, it's Miss Perumal who has a death grip on his hand while Constance clings to Kate's next as she cuts through the water like a knife. Sticky sits at the shore and starts identifying different types of seashells, happily mumbling to himself. He'll keep the best ones to be put on display in his room.
They go home wet and exhausted sometime around four, sand hiding in their swimsuits and salt drying on their skin. Most of them slip into sleep the minute the engine starts running, and wake up bleary eyed and starving some hours later. They eat leftovers for dinner in the front yard of Mr. Benedict's house, still in their swimsuits, and talk about going back sometime soon.
The evening sun dips low. The whole horizon is painted golden, and the family watching from below laughs and laughs and laughs.
#tmbs#the mysterious benedict society#my writing#kate wetherall#reynie muldoon#sticky washington#constance contraire#tmbs fanfic#mysterious benedict society#milligan wetherall#nicholas benedict#i'm having fun :)#ask answer#fic title ask game#hope you enjoy my dear sophie!#long post
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Tell me more about Fire is Tigerclawstar's son. How would Fire and Swift deal with Lynx's death? What about windclan? Would Fire help Feather and Storm escape? How would Swift react to Fire becoming Firestar? How would Bramble and Twany grow up with 2 older brothers?
You got it boss
Lynx's Death
I think it would act as a formative moment. Lynxkit wasn't born very strong, and she knew that she was only growing weaker as her brothers became bigger.
Firekit was a very attentive brother, he'd be the person to make Swift slow down when they're playing so Lynx can keep up. Swift came to terms with the idea that they wouldn't become apprentices with her early; but Fire was DEVASTATED when she died.
I think it's a moment where Tigerclaw tries to have a bonding moment with Firekit, and Fire takes away a very good lesson.
"...of course I miss her," He coos, wrapping his tail around his son, "Sometimes StarClan sends us a child who isn't meant for this world, and they need to go back. She's just gone home."
"Home is with US!" Firekit trembles and blubbers, his grief too big for his tiny body, "I did everything right, I was good, I made sure she ate, I..."
When he's too choked up to continue, Tigerclaw licks his tears away.
"We don't fight to win. We fight for honor... and you were a very honorable brother, Firekit."
"...does that m-matter?" For a brief, genuine moment, Tigerclaw really sees himself in his tiny kit. Not just what he wants from him. He can barely see Firekit's blazing fur under his tabby mane, and he's proud that he can be the father he wishes he could have had.
"It will matter to you," Nightkit and Mistkit slip away into his memory, "Some day."
WindClan
Bluestar would have WANTED to bring WindClan back, but there was no home for them to return to. They never come home.
But I think they'd pull through. SkyClan died out for some pretty extreme circumstances, I like to think WindClan would find a new place, beyond Chelford. Tallstar's last lives dedicated to finding stability away from the carnage that's about to go down in the Forest.
Would Fire help the Graykits escape?
I think he would. I can't see him letting it happen; but it is worth mentioning that Graystripe would be much older than Fire. He'd also be raised learning that Graystripe is a traitor who joined RiverClan, and I'm not sure if he'd unpack that yet.
I think Graystripe would die at this execution, possibly alongside Stonefur. But Tigerclaw does just want to get rid of Stonefur to get rid of Leopardstar's deputy; his grudge against Bluestar for exiling him never happened.
It would be possible for Fire to play politics enough to possibly change his mind.
The trial might change to Stonefur being told to kill Graystripe, and Stonefur refusing.
Swift reacting to Firestar
I don't think he'd be able to forgive him for killing their dad, but I don't think he'd be dumb enough to act on it right away. He'd plot for a very long time and possibly stage a coup of some sort.
Maybe a sort of Caesar scenario, where he gathers a bunch of Tigerstar supporters and surprises him many years later. It would make for an interesting way for Bramble or Tawny to end up on the throne.
(Throne because, post-TigerClan Victory, Tiger's gonna abolish leaders in the other Clans. We're looking at power consolidation and monarchy.)
Bramble and Tawny
To begin with, their childhoods are MEGA different because Tigerstar is a very respected figure. I can see them possibly being used as hostages at some point, by rebel forces.
Though I will say I don't see Tigerstar the same way I see Tigerheartstar, who would kill and die and kill again to save his kids. Tigerstar WANTS them back because he does care about them, but not enough to sacrifice his own ambition.
But anyway, possible plot threads aside, I think Bramble idolizes Fire, and Tawny idolizes Swift. Possibly even mentoring their little siblings.
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How can you justify supporting gay and trans people their grooming kids as young as 5 to be indoctrinated
Are you fucking serious right now? I shouldn't even address this comment, I should just delete it but I'm all pissed off now and maybe what I'm about to say will help someone understand how fucking stupid this is - how the Far Right is hiding behind Transphobia to push Fascism. Yeah, I said it. If this isn't what you want to hear, scroll on by
This comment is just one big lie and it must be written down somewhere as like a specific talking point because a bunch of them include that exact phrase, "As young as 5..."
But more to the point, this claim is patently absurd, baseless, and extremely bigoted. You can spend two seconds on google and have a pile of verified sources that show why this is just a hateful lie with the sole intention of trying to demonize and discriminate against transgender people.
But why does it keep popping up? And why did a bunch of people read what I just said and immediately discount it?
This is kind of where a weird empathy pops up and I don't mean the kind of empathy that means compassionate of sympathetic or in anyway positive. What I mean is understanding that all of those sources we can find are, to them, lies. What you and I generally trust as a valid source to them is an institution that runs on deception. Whatever statistic you or I could produce is thwarted by a statistic they can produce - and remember - to them - their sources are more valid than ours. They see us as either enemies or victims of grifters who have indoctrinated us and if you go back through what I've said this far those folks could (and will) take those exact words and say they apply to me.
They have basically taken the childhood argument of "I know you are but what am I" and perfected it.
So what is actually happening here?
Let me quote Henry Wallace in an essay he wrote called, "The Dangers of American Fascism."
"The American fascist is most easily recognized by their version of truth and fact. Their newspapers and propaganda carefully cultivate every fissure of disunity, ever crack in the common front against fascism."
This distortion of reality is calculated. It's meant to take our ability to reason and trust our instincts and intelligence and break it apart. It's partly why when you see some talking head or dick head posting on tumblr like me showing how these arguments are contradictory and hypocritical it doesn't sway anyone. This type of rhetoric thrives in cognitive dissonance.
If you look at how trans folks are being treated and the stones being cast you can clearly see the historical legacies of prejudice and bigotry. The "through lines" of sexual deviance and moral panic being employed is propaganda to oppress minority groups is threaded throughout American and world history.
BUT .. that knowledge does nothing because the figureheads of these Anti-Trans or Anti-Gay or Black or Jewish or [Insert historically disenfranchised group here] know that they fall apart under scrutiny so they deconstruct scrutiny and truth to the point where nothing is true.
And so when you see this deliberate distortion of reality just know that this is the fascist playbook. This is why this isn't some distraction from the real war against the rich oligarchs. THIS is how they surround us with fascist rhetoric without ruffling too many feathers. It's easy to just brush this off as a meaningless culture war if it doesn't directly affect you.
Fascist rhetoric is powerful and overwhelming, but know - if you're pushing back against this demagoguery : that you're not crazy and you're not alone. I don't know if we have the capacity or ability to end this current push, but we really can't afford to stop trying.
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My Dark Academia Magical Girl desings
Magic School uniform:
-So the school uniform would be comprised from:
-A light under chemise with reglementation panties (cotton, old fashioned and with the waist at the natural waist) or pair of combinations. Many might choose to wear a corded corset to have a better silhouette and when the weather gets cold. This one wouldn't be school themed per say, and some students might wear their personal underthings instead.
-According to dress code, stockings must be black, grey, brown, kaki, beige or white. Shoes must be black, but any style would do.
-Girls are free (and encouraged) to wear a washable petticoat or shorts if they want to.
-So, the uniform itself would be comprised for girls of: a white blouse, blouse, a bellow-the-knee skirt of tweed and a waist coat of the same material. The school uniform also has an apron, to protect the clothes from more dirty tasks, and younger students are encouraged to wear it most of the time (kids are messy and adventurous). Boys would have a similar uniform, exept the waist coat would be straighter and the skirt is replaced with mid-calve shorts. There waist coat would have the school symbol on them, same for the aprons.
Casual form:
-So, MC-chan, her name might be Cordelia. Inside her dorms, she'd wear sturdy cotton canvas pants that are dark greige in color, with a cream-colored supportive tank top, a very worn buttoned shirt for men that is dark grey (with the dye somewhat dilluted and discolored) with a faint cross pattern, with a cropped oversized light purple home-knitted sweater. It would be her beginner project, so, it'll be quite messy and crudely knitted, nothign special, but be very warm. On warmer days, the pants could be replaced with her old denim shorts (made out of a pair of jeans that would otherwise be way too ripped and the knees) that she typically wears underneath her school uniform. With her school uniform, she'd wear Mary-Jane shoes and opt for some denim shorts ending near her mid-thighs beneath her skirt. Her clothing style would always cover her chest, because of that birth-mark with the special special stone is. Whenever she doesn't have gym, she would accessorize with faux-feather earrings that are also purple, that are a somewhat dustier shade. I think her natural hair color would either be red or black, but she'd wrap some strands in embroidery thread, most often some shade of purple or blue with pinkish undertones.
-So, Drow girl, her name would be Rodoeé ("pink eyed" or "most beautiful", but goes to school as Liïa ("rain"), would wear on casual day a long shift of thristle and nettle cloth and pantalettes of the same material, and would wear them beneath her uniform. Would wear her school uniform even in casual setting, since she would not know of high elven styles of dress or even own any of them. Would however wear green-tinted glasses whenever she cannot deal with the metomorphosis drops for her eyes, and she'd wear them even indoors. Her clothes and uniform would be fittely, as she's a child, and one unused to wearing a lot of clothes (underdark has limited supply of clothing material). Her shoes would be made of fish leather, quite narrow, and not covering the top nor the sides of her feet. Her hair would usually be kept in a low pony-tail.
-Crazy masochist would be the most. Her name would be Rozenn. Colorful of the bunch. She'd wear inside her dorm a simple white blouse with a short, pink sleeveless sarafan, and a oversized, thick and fluffy gradiant multicolored pastel cardigan with cute buttons. Her favorite stocking would be white-thighies with some cabblewire patterns. Around her neck would be a lacy collar. Beneath her uniform, she'd prefer a pair of combinations, quite lacy ones at that. She'd usually wear her side-hair braided, while the rest is loose.
-So, the super sweet mermaid girl would be called Leucosia. Her mermaid nature would rapidly exclude bifrocated garments, and inside her dorm, she'd wear a light, unpadded linen crop-top or a loosely croched-one and a macrome skirt. She'd wear her unifrom blouse and vest open so that her gills are more comfortable, and her long hair on proud display, loosely braided so it doesn't get caught in her wheel-chair. Would gladely circulate in her dormatory nude, but the school wouldn't allow it. Because of how mermaid skin work, she would find the uniform unbearably hot, and would not wear any corset for sure, prefering beneath her crop top and a short petticoat. She eventually gets a special permission after nearly fainting of heatstroke to not wear much in class unless it's a school photo. Her hairstyle is a -Cleopatra bob with neerly waist-long side burns.
-I think the headmistress' granddaughter would be called Agnes. I think inside her dorm she'd wear a well-ironed pastel house dress, of course yellow, and with an apron. Her hair would most likely be styled in a bun with a custard yellow ribbon. She'd wear her uniform with a pair of combination, corset and petticoat, itself quite well-ironed. Her shoes would be Oxford shoes.
-All these girls share a dorm, and Leucosia sleeps in a cave connected to the sea and protected from predators by a grid and a safety handcuff.
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𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒
˗ˏˋ Gojo Satoru x Original Female Character: A Satorelia Story ˎˊ˗
౨ৎ . . . aurelia, being the dutiful teacher she prided herself to be, was content to spend her evening pouring over her student's assignments and providing them with helpful feedback. yet satoru, of course, always had other plans.
warnings: swearing, sexual content, mentions of vertigo, heights, pet-names, slight angst, mdni, 6.1k
♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ we don't have to take our clothes off — ella eyre ꒱ ˎˊ-
part of the HOPE IS THE THING WITH FEATHERS collection.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖 of her gas-lamp washed the student reports in a wave of gold as she sifted through them, diligent and hardworking as the miracle always was. She should be asleep, by a human's standards, and her motherly cat-Shikigami's as well. The latter of which was curled up in a comfortable ball in the dip of her sheets, unaware that Aurelia was still awake after he had bade her goodnight.
You are changing, Aurelia-sama, he had urged one night after catching her still awake past midnight, writing detailed notes on the margins of her student's submitted homework essays. She had glanced up at him with feigned innocence in her doe eyes, and he'd only blushed slightly before remembering himself; you are not how you once were. Getting adequate amounts of sleep, even though it's a foreign concept to you, is paramount. Especially because you are becoming more mortal with every passing—
He had caught himself when he had said that word; mortal. She was becoming mortal. It didn't make her baulk, as it undoubtedly should have. Any being of immortal power and age would react as if they had just been slapped in the face at the insult. It would be akin to likening a queen to a sewer rat. But not Aurelia, she did not think like other curses, other immortal beings. She looked at her outstretched palm in the glimmering golden light and contemplated on what that meant — that she was turning mortal. To be mortal.
Hundreds of years has passed since her creation day and still, Aurelia had no concrete answer to that question. One of life's great mysteries, she let her hand drift to thread through Hotaru's silken coat, perhaps it is not meant to be universally answered, but discovered for each and every human themselves.
Tap, tap.
The rapping cut through her contemplative thinking. Aurelia snapped her head to the bedroom window, alert and lethal, only to feel her muscles melt at the familiar face that grinned right back at her.
His smile was contagious, that Gojo Satoru, and Aurelia felt the corner of her lip trying to mirror his goofy show of teeth. She angled her head, a silent question. He gestured at her to come and unlatch the window.
Aurelia pointed to a sleeping Hotaru on her lap, frowning, I'm sorry, I have company I mustn't disturb. He is sound asleep.
Satoru's brows bunched, his bottom lip protruding in a pout. The way he put his hands on his hips said, even for me? Little old me?
She didn't move, no matter how imploring Satoru schooled his face to look. Shoko had told her he mastered the 'pitiful puppy-dog look' ever since they were young and still in school uniform. Aurelia entertained the thought of a puppy as she knew one, then Satoru, and then the two images merged and produced an output of him with two little white ears and a furiously wagging busy tail as she scratched his head. She hid her giggles behind a shielding hand.
"I'll have you know it's extremely cold out there," His voice whined from over her shoulder. "And what gives? You're laughing at my misery? Incorrigible. Despicable! The punishment is five cream and zunda flavoured kikufuku, warm, no cream."
Mirth danced in her eyes when she regarded him, mockingly inclining her head. "And good evening to you too, Gojo Satoru, strongest sorcerer and gifted shaman. Tell me, what are you doing in a lady's house at night? Teleporting inside, no doubt?"
Satoru raised a finger and leaned down, keeping it just above her lips. "And this respectable lady seems to have trouble sleeping, so I came to rescue her."
"How did you know I was not sleeping?" A genuine wonder.
As always, Satoru seemed to have an aversion to straight and clean-cut answers. He just stuck out his tongue and pointed to his dark blindfold, and Aurelia realised that it was all she was going to receive in response to her query. Although perhaps it was as good as he could possibly give her. The Six Eyes worked in strange, unfathomable ways even an immortal would fail to understand.
She sighed, closing her eyes, before turning back to the reams of pages. "Oftentimes, I have no trouble laying to rest, but on some nights it does not come to me." Tribute to how the very essence of her ripped itself down to make something new, she guessed. Her body still tittered between one of a graceful immortal and one of a woman, confused sometimes as to which one it should fall to. She returned her eyes to his. "One of those nights seems to be upon me now. Which is why I am using my time wisely." A hand gestured to her ocean of reports.
Satoru frowned, tilting his head. "But that's boring. You're on nocturnal mode tonight and you're planning to spend it reading a bunch of lousy reports?"
"They are not lousy, mind you. They are trial essays written by my students. The topic being Jujutsu Curses that reside in unfamiliar areas, like ponds and attics. It is actually rather interesting."
"See, when you have to end a sentence with it’s actually rather interesting, it ain't, Feathers-chan. As a matter of fact that ups its boring rating on the boring rating scale by about twenty percent."
"I have never heard of such a scale?"
"Well you've a lot to learn. Also, you've got somewhere to be tonight. With an extremely good looking man with extremely good taste and knowledge about what to do when you can't sleep."
Unimpressed, Aurelia levelled him with a look. Fully not expecting him to reach out and place a sneaky hand on her shoulder. "Tell me, what would you have me do, instead of being a responsible educator and overlooking my student's hard work?"
A wolfish grin stretched across his face.
Then they were teleporting.
Aurelias hiss of protest was cut off when the familiar feeling of being stretched, stretched, stretched over rode her senses and all she could think about was her being — was she still there? Had time and reality collided together and smashed her to pieces in the process? But then mint and sandalwood and sweetness wrapped around her and Satoru’s mouth was at her ear, grounding and mischievous, wicked and wild, when he murmured;
"How 'bout you take a walk on the stars with me, angel?"
There were not many things in this existence that could bring a being such as Aurelia to her knees. But the way Gojo Satoru so effortlessly ripped holes in the fabric of spacetime was a feat the miracle would never, ever become used to. The moment his mischievous arms had flew out to grab her, she knew exactly what he was about to do, and latched onto his body as tightly as she could.
The rumble of what was most definitely the Shaman's teasing laugh echoed around her, inside her, his voice mixing with the very cells she was made up of as the warp tore her apart, then shoved her right back together again.
Frigid, unexpected nightly air threaded its fingers through her hair. Her night dress was no match for it. Something rough and cold as her bare feet were set down on a concrete surface.
Lips at her ear, warm and wicked, sinful and so very Satoru, "Man, I love it when you cling to me like that."
Her quick temper sparked up above the lust he elicited deep within her. Aurelia shoved him, not overly hard, but just enough for the Shaman to realise she did not appreciate being forcefully warped when she had told him time and time again how much she disliked it. Satoru took one step back, his hands up in a defensive gesture.
"Easy there~"
"You know how much I don't favour your Teleportation Technique." Aurelia bared her teeth at him. "Especially when I do not anticipate it."
Satoru brought one of those strong fingers to his chin in a thinking gesture. "Hmm, now that you mention it, I do have a vague recollection of you sayin' somethin' like that."
"Evil mortal."
"Only for you, Angel."
After levelling a few impatient daggers his way, Aurelia rescinded with a huff. Her sorcerer kidnapper-come-company had left his signature blindfold back at her apartment, it must have been, because he studied her with those beautiful eyes. When he tilted his head, soft tendrils of white slid across his forehead. The miracle had to repress the ballooning urge to run her fingers through them — she was cross, after all, and they were—
Where were they?
Finally looking around to study her surroundings, Aurelia found her eyes narrowing at the unfamiliarity of it. A brush of cold, nightly air, making her reach up to rub the exposed areas of her forearms. "Where have you brought me, Sato?" She asked, turning back to him. He was already eating up the distance that existed between them until the invading press of his body heat sent shock-waves across Aurelia's skin. Always did he disable his Limitless Technique when it was just the two of them — so he could do things like reach his hands out and cup them around her forearms. He began to rub soothingly up and down, up and down, in a dizzying way that left Aurelia wondering if he was, in fact, trying to seduce her or innocently warm her up.
Knowing him, there was only one obvious answer.
His moonlight eyelashes were downcast, focusing on his touches. He smirked. "Maybe I stole ya away and brough you to this rooftop so we could have some super hot, super loud sex that wouldn't disturb your neighbours."
Such a crass promise sent heat pooling in between Aurelia's legs, sinful scenarios of naked bodies and the stars above them, his slick skin and deep, guttural panting in her ear as she arched up off of the concrete. Deities, but she was so malleable for this mortal. But as she had stated before, this miracle was cross with her Shaman tonight, and feeling especially in a challenging mood. Two could play at this wicked game of tease. It never took long for one of them to fail.
Rising on her tippy-toes, Aurelia hooked her finger into the collar of Satoru's shirt and tugged him close — almost until their lips were touching. A deep, sinful satisfaction purred within her when she felt his breath hitch. She tilted her head, as if to kiss him, and Satoru was more than happy to follow.
But before he could— "If it is your goal to seduce me, Sorcerer-mine, then you are doing a very poor job indeed."
"Oh?" Satoru challenged in a deep voice. One of his eyebrows arched, his arm flew behind to trap against the small of her back and pull her close. Aurelia gasped at the delicious friction the hard swell of him right in line with her core provided. Satoru leaned down to trail his teeth across the heating skin of her cheekbone. "You sure about that, baby?"
"I—" Damn him. The wicked man was right in familiar territory with her, having committed to memory all the curves of her body and points she loved to feel his mouth and hands on. Aurelia's eyes fluttered, growing heavy with desire, and she almost arched up into him with open invitation—
Until he pulled away.
Frazzled, aching, so much more cross, Aurelia's wide eyes stared at him imploringly. Satoru's face split into a teasing grin. He began taking a few steps backwards, beckoning her to follow him with a curl of his palm.
"As much as I'd love to fuck the shit outta you up here, Angel, that isn't the main reason I brought you out tonight." His boots hit the edge of the building, and without even glancing back — never taking his eyes off of her, Satoru stood up onto the little ledge. "I know — a tragedy. A crime amongst all men. And by all men, I mean just me." He spread his arms wide, as if he were stretching up, taking flight, and the mysterious twinkle that danced across his face turned into something a lot more sly. "Come on, come on~ I don't wanna be late."
Aurelia's lips dipped at the sides. "Late for—?"
He fell.
A choked inhale of air lodged into Aurelia's throat at the sight of Satoru falling. She raced forward, adrenaline mixing with the blood in her veins, throwing herself over the ledge so she could—
"Boo."
His face was what she saw first, then he was jolting up, colliding their faces in a messy kiss that lasted not long enough. When he pulled back, Aurelia cursed herself for being so worried in the first place — because there he was, floating away in mid air like he stood on some invisible pave of glass. He skipped backwards with his hands in his pockets, a big wide grin stretched against his face.
"This just in!" He exclaimed, deepening his voice and holding an imaginary microphone. "Crazy mountain cat lady spotted leaping over to save who she believed to be a helpless man in danger. How valiant of her, how truly soul touching! Ah, turns out she was completely tricked again by the Spectacular Gojo Satoru. April Fools!"
The miracles deadpan was so severe it resorted her eyes to a deep mauve.
"It is October."
"Your point?"
"Sato?"
"Yes, dear!"
"While it may not occur to you that I am an immortal currently transitioning into something un-immortal," Aurelia said, reaching up to rub her shoulders pebbling in gooseflesh. "This camisole is offering me no protection against the night up here, and if we were somewhere warmer," She added, raising her eyebrows slowly, the sting of his kiss still a brand on her lips, "It would give me very little protection from you, too."
Satoru's eyes darkened at the implications behind her words. The minx was getting a little too good at teasing him these days, he was noticing, but there was no way in hell he was going to get her to stop.
All six of his eyes roved down the curves of her body, the swell of her breasts and pebbling of those rosy nipples. "Damn right, it won't. But first,"
Wordlessly, Satoru held his hand out to her.
Confused, Aurelia's lavender eyes flickered from Satoru, to his hand, to the space that that existed between the rooftop she was on and him. He was floating roughly three feet away from her — even if she utilised all of her agile prowess and stretched, she still would not be able to reach him.
Her unbound hair tumbled across her shoulders when she tilted her head. A silent question.
"C'mon." Was the only amount of encouragement Satoru was going to give her. But just because he was him, added, "Don't be a Scaredy Cat~"
Aurelia believed that to be a very untrue statement — any cat she had come across in her lifetime had rarely been scared, especially Hotaru, however she let it drift to the back of her mind for later pondering.
"Deliciae meae..." She whispered his pet-name, unknowing how the sound of it sent shivers breaking out across Satoru's skin. Aurelia tightened her arms around herself and peered over the edge, noting the severity of the drop. "I do not have the ability to manipulate my—"
"Do ya trust me?" He cut her off.
She glanced back up at him — of course, the reply was instant, automatic, like she had known it for her whole life, with my entire self.
So she swallowed.
She breathed.
She gazed into the boundless blue of his eyes, wondering that if she stared for long enough, would she find the solutions to all of the universes unanswered questions in them.
She trusted him.
Not breaking eye-contact, Aurelia reached down to gather up the swishing ends of her night-time camisole until it was bunched at her knees. She lifted one leg onto the ledge that seperated her and the thirty-foot drop below, then her other, until she was standing up on the edge like he had done moment before.
Her hair danced behind her as the wind played its fingers through it — like Satoru would, on those mornings they'd wake up together and didn't want to start the day, not yet. He wondered if he could be jealous of the wind as he kept himself levitating, watching as Aurelia sized up the distance between him and where she stood, sucking in her bottom lip to worry it between her teeth.
She was so fucking cute when nervous, he chuckled. Aurelia narrowed her eyes at him.
"Are you laughing at me, Sato?" Her honey-sweet voice asked, hiding the bite underneath he liked her for. "A mere peon who balks in the face of walking off a building ledge?"
"Yep." He popped. "Pft, I've been doin' this since I learned to walk. But not only that." Satoru manipulated his Limitless so he could drift forward, coming to position himself in front of her. When he peeked up at her, it was from underneath his white lashes. "You look freakin' adorable when you're all strung up like that, lookin' to me for help."
The miracle didn't look too happy at the tease he threw her way in the form of a suave compliment. Her cheeks, however, began to heat the longer he kept their eye-contact. Until they were the colour of crushed roses.
Satoru's wolfish grin told Aurelia that he could see it, too.
He took both of her hands and began to pull.
His hands, callous and warm, so much larger than hers, were Aurelia's only support as he pulled her out into the open. She felt an unfamiliar, leaping feeling in her stomach when her balance tilted. Her bare feet stepped out and had nothing to land on — simply the large, gaping maw of the drop into the alleyway beneath. On instinct, a very human one at that, her eyes screwed shut. She balled her fists into those warm sturdy hands and waited for the rush of air, the ripping of gravity through her hair, her clothes. Waited for the unforgiving pancake she would become when she hit the ground.
Only that, it did not come. None of it did.
The ball of her foot did not flounder and flap in search of some stability — it had it, in the form of an intangible smoothness, a feeling of nothing but as firm and solid as a boulder, a cliff. Her foot flattened out onto that strange surface, and then her other, until she was balancing on some type of invisible tight-rope she could not comprehend. The wind whispered around her while she kept her eyes closed. Afraid to open them, lest the strange balance she had found in the air would disappear if she dared.
That wind carried his low, deep chuckle that was intimate to just them.
"Open your eyes, Aurie," Satoru hummed from close by. "Look at me."
"I... I cannot." Aurelia confessed, not used to the sound of her voice so small and unsure. She was a being of a thousand, had fought in battles and uprisings, trained with the most seasoned of generals, and yet here she found herself. Shaking, gripping onto a human shaman as if he were her lifeline, unable to open her eyes.
It was a new emotion that wracked her body — this catastrophic overwhelming of her senses. She knew what it was, yet felt her cheeks heat just a little when admitting it. "I... I am scared, Sato."
Satoru, from the opposite end of their conjoined hands, watched the sorceress through every pair of eyes he possessed. There was no way she'd fall — he wouldn't let her, had made sure to stretch his Limitless so far that even if she were to go tumbling backwards screaming, she would be cushioned by the gravitational manipulation all the way to the roof. Her whisper of a voice, like music through a cracked flute, had a tremor of urgency so unlike her to it, that it set every single one of the Honoured One's senses alight. This instinct to rush forward and swoop her up in his arms, safe and warm and his, roared in his ears. It was so intense it almost burned, but he lassoed it into submission. Wrestled it down, unused to its presence, unwilling to pick it apart and analyse it now.
Besides, he flashed his soft, heart-breaking smirk that she could not see — this was his Aurie. She wasn't going to go down without a fight.
He decided to tease her, instead. "I'm sorry, could you repeat that? But louder. And, maybe, a little sweeter, so I can record it and—"
"Satoru." Aurelia hissed, her teeth flashing. "This is not the time to be playing one of your games. Whatever you have done, release it. Immediately. I—!"
"You what?" He challenged, then took a step forward and leaned down. The white of his loose bangs brushed across her forehead, causing the tense, scrunched-up lines to gently smoothen at the familiarity.
Satoru's eyelids dropped as he rubbed their foreheads together, breathing in the honey-suckle and lavender scent of hers. He'd never get enough of it, would wrap the scent of her around himself wherever he went, if he found a way. "Hm? You what, Aurelia?" He whispered, his own voice coming down to a gravel as he traced the edge of her brow, her temple, the shell of her heating ear with his lips and nose.
"I—" Aurelia huffed, resisting the urge to crane her head back to give him easy access. Her brows clashed together, trying to regain her temper when he made her melt. "I—!"
Her breath came out quicker, softer, less harsh and jagged. She gripped his hands tighter but for an entire different reason. Satoru's inner pride keened at the idea she was so affected by him, that he held some sort of reign over this divine being just as she did him. His lips parted, fanning the barest brush of breath across her flushed skin as he moved lower, lower, whispering across the strong column of her neck that flexed as she swallowed. He noticed, his grin spreading wide and wicked.
When he lifted his head so that they were once again eye-level, Satoru flickered his eyes across her face, noticing that the wrinkles had melted away, that some of that immortal life-blood of hers had returned and heated the colour of her already sun-kissed skin. She no longer scrunched her eyes shut, they were fluttered closed, long dark eyelashes creating spider shadows against her cheeks.
Satoru stayed there for a second, just observing her, his mind trying to form coherent thoughts amidst the chaos that usually resided in there he was so easy to hide. He was compelled, leaning in just a fraction, as if he would kiss her, but drew away just when Aurelia tilted her head up on instinct.
She leaned forward to follow his warmth, wondering where he had gone, and opened her eyes.
They were floating.
She—She was floating!
Immediately, Aurelia's hands flew out to stabilise herself as she wobbled, her body uncertain and clumsy. "Satoru!" She yelped, looking down to see that she were suspended in the air and standing on nothing but open space.
"There ya go!" He triumphed, opening his palms in a look at you, gesture. "You're a natural! For, maybe, a baby giraffe."
Aurelia threw a very cross look indeed his way. Her blood thumped harshly in her ears, adrenaline working thick and fast through her veins as she kept looking down. It was as if her bare feet stood on the smoothest, most clear bridge of glass ever created — not a speck could be seen through it. Or, as if the air had hardened into something malleable under her body. She looked over to Satoru, imploring, furious, in awe, all at once. He stood just a few inches away with his hands crossed, looking wholly amused.
"You," She hissed, yet could not ignore the tugging at her lips when she looked down again, realising that she may not go tumbling to her demise, after all. "You are a menace." And then, she was laughing. This deep, belly-filling laughter that came only when fear and ecstasy were mixed together. "An absolute wicked, trifling, menacing man!"
Satoru glided forward with ease. "Among other things." He flashed her a cheeky wink, then came to squat down on the air that bended to his will. "How'd ya feel?"
Terrified. Marvellous. An impending sense of doom. Euphoria. Aurelia would wonder sometime in the future if humans were faced with this predicament often — feeling so many conflicting emotions at once that she wished to mash them all together and christen it with a new title. Instead, she was wordless, marvelled once again by the Honoured One and the many talents he had — regardless of if he used them to further the society of Jujutsu, or not. Aurelia straightened, focusing on breathing, listening to the air fill her body, keeping her eyes riveted on the way her feet glided beneath her.
Unsure, but so enamoured, so curious, as it were she always was, one of her feet stepped out to test the precarious nature of this invisible walkway above the buildings. It was still smooth, still firm, holding both her and Satoru up in the night sky.
"I like to think it one of my many amazing attributes." Satoru said, strolling beside her with ease as Aurelia took a few more strides, her hands still spread out to balance herself. As if she were a baby, learning to take her very first steps. He made sure to wordlessly spread the influence of his Limitless before her every move, not missing a beat, not daring to.
"When I was a kid," He went on, looking up to watch the stars. "I was always cooped up in that stupid house, not allowed to go anywhere, to do anything without those geezers being up my ass about it. Seriously, I couldn't even take a damn piss without them escorting me there. Thing is angel, trap a bird for too long and all it wants to do is fly." After saying those words that touched an intimate part of her, Satoru tipped his head to the side and gave her a sly look. "But you knew that pretty well already, didn't ya?"
Her lavender eyes — a pretty pale pink in the moonlight — regarded Satoru for a moment as they continued their walk between the buildings and houses, above the tips of trees and over the heads of oblivious night-walkers.
Aurelia's tongue darted out to wet her lips, and she went to speak, to contest with his eyes that could see through to her very core, to know her so well, before he beat her to it.
"So," He reached to take her hand, holding it with a gentle tenderness between them as if he were escorting her onto the ballroom dancefloor, once more. "I learned how to fly."
And he did.
But he took her right with him.
Aurelia wasn't fully aware of the speed he was moving at nor how, as he gripped her hand and dragged her along. They were no longer walking anymore, nor were they really running. They were flying. Well and truly, soaring through the air as if Satoru had a monstrous pair of wings on his back and was encouraging her to do the same. The miracle fought for coherent thought — she had not enough time nor capacity to feel, to think, to comprehend. His grip was sure and tight on her hand as he dragged her through his course; ducking underneath the shadowed arch of a railway passageway; chasing a bird as it raced them up the curved face of a glass building. They were going at a speed so unimaginable that Aurelia could only catch the barest glimpse of them in the windows, her hair whipping up and around her face, Satoru's pushed back as the wind was his only enemy. Up and up and up he dragged them, until the air felt cooler, until the wet spray of a cloud coated their skin when they broke through the cloud-cover of the city.
And then, they stopped.
Aurelia gasped at the sudden trajectory shift, at the air being forced harshly from her lungs only to be replaced by an inhale of icy plume. She was spun, a quick, unexpected twirl by the hand that always held hers, that did not let hers go, until she came chest-to-chest with the shaman. To keep her balanced, Satoru slipped an arm to the small of her back, arching their bodies in line.
On her face; a look of shock, of a deer caught in the headlights, her body here but her mind a couple of seconds behind.
On his; a look of feral excitement, of pure, childlike mischief as his grin stretched wider and wider.
Aurelia and Satoru stared at each other, the seconds not passing as they usually would, for time did not exist in this pocket they had made with each other, high up in the concealing clouds of the night-sky.
She schooled her expression to appear underwhelmed, but there was mirth dancing in her eyes like little licks of flame. Satoru did not miss them.
"You," She whispered, the sides of her mouth kicking up. "Are the bane of my existence, Gojo Satoru."
"Heh?" He fired right back. "Will you still be callin' me that when we get back to your apartment?"
With him so close, pressed right into her soft curves, feeling the splay of those strong fingers on her back and remembering just what he could do with them — Aurelia felt the most delicious shiver cascade across her skin. Instead, she placed her quick palm smack in the middle of his smoulder and gave him a playful shove.
His resulting laugh was a deep, rich sound. A new type of thunder roiling through their covering of clouds.
Remembering his words before he had fell ever-so gracefully from the building ledge minutes ago, Aurelia tilted her head, regarding him. "So tell me, Shaman-mine; what were you so preoccupied with being on time for?"
"Ah! You're right!" Satoru chirped, glancing up towards the sky above. Aurelia followed his gaze. "We should be just on time~"
Aurelia's eyes fluttered across what was merely a watery grey backdrop, the clouds obscuring the actual velvety colour of the night sky. She wondered, was she missing something? Something his otherworldly talents could envision that he thought perhaps she could see, too? The expanse of impenetrable cotton provided no hint as to what Satoru was trying to get at.
Narrowing her eyes, she gave it but a few more moments, paying extra attention to any miniscule shift or show.
"You have brought me to observe how the clouds pass over the sky?" She hummed, arching an eyebrow.
The click of his tongue next to her ear. "So impatient. A hag like you should know that good things come to those who wait, hm?"
Aurelia was just about to subject him to a scornful look when he suddenly pointed forward. "Look." He ebbed. "It's starting."
So she did, a frown slanting her full lips down when she did not understand. Yet it didn't take long; a small crack in the gloomy autumn night parted those concealing clouds; drawing them away from each other like the seam of a gaping wound, revealing rich dark underneath. Only that — such rich darkness was shot through. A beacon of light, a shooting star, perhaps? Aurelia's eyes went wide with delight at the thought. But then, there was another, arching through the sky at a speed only falling comets could travel at. Before long, there were hundreds of them, all at once, each leaving its mark against the ink, a brilliant shimmering streak of stardust so different to the one that had come before it.
This miracle was arrested in place when she indeed realised the spectacle she was looking at, why this cunning shaman had decided to kidnap her from the warmth of her own bed tonight.
"A meteor shower..." Aurelia whispered, not daring to miss even a single one as they all raced across the sky.
Satoru, too, had his eyes fixed on the show. "Are you one of those sentimental people who like to think they're the parting souls leaving the world? I bet you are."
His tease was met with silence stretching between them. Curious, he glanced over at her.
There were moments in ones lifetime; mere seconds in the making, perhaps a mindless gaze, the barest brush of skin on skin, but no matter — because whatever those moments were, they imprinted on a person's mind. And, perhaps, that was for a reason they would not come to realise in said moment. Indeed, they could never come to realise it, not until the last breath of life left their lips, when the world was fading away and they were in their final hour — that moment, that image, that touch, that feeling, it would return to them. It would comfort them. Out of each and every one of the many experiences that person had lived, if they could choose to go back, to stay here for just a second longer — it would be to relive that moment, one more time.
Every muscle in Gojo Satoru's body tensed up. Because in that moment, when he looked over at her, for the very first time in his life, the Honoured One felt at a loss. His mouth went dry at her awe-stricken expression filled with such child-like wonder. Her lavender eyes reflected each meteor, lighting them up, lighting her up, like she belonged among the stars with them. He had never felt inferior to anyone. But in that moment, something shifted inside of him. The terrified, broken part of his soul she could see within him so clearly on the first day they had met turned towards her and opened its arms, beckoning, ready to give himself up to her if she had asked him.
It was in that moment, that Gojo Satoru realised two things.
That one; he was in love. He was so fucking in love with her.
And two;
'Fuck. I love her. I love her and I can't even tell her.'
"Oh, but it is just wonderful, Sato! Don't you—?"
When Aurelia turned her head to gush — experiencing such light, bubbling emotions in her chest she wished to explore — she was startled to find that Satoru was already looking at her. She stopped short, her words dying on the tip of her tongue when she tried to decipher what expression the shaman was making. His eyes distant, intense, brows drawn to harden his beautiful face into stone.
"Satoru?" Aurelia whispered in question. When he seemed too lost in his own thoughts did she reach up to cup the side of his face, coaxing him back from wherever he had gone. "Deliciae-meae?"
He refocused. Yet was not as quick to throw up the walls in his eyes.
"I—" He started, and Aurelia nodded, patient and encouraging.
Yet that is how the old saying goes; that old habits do indeed, die hard. Because in no time at all did Satoru's vulnerable, almost pained expression morph into something a lot more radiant. He grinned that quick-silver smile and reached for her. Two strong forearms came to cage around the curve of Aurelia's back and drew her into him, barely giving the miracle enough time to stabilise herself through two anchoring palms on his shoulders. Because he was spinning them. A slow pace at first, merely a playful twirl of two dancers who walked amongst the stars. Then, much quicker, whipping them around in such a speed that the clouds themselves were caught up in the trajectory, that Aurelia's loose hair slapped him in the face a couple of times, that their laughter was a combined thing so joyful and real that it birthed the plea deep within Aurelia's immortal mind;
"He is perfect. Utterly, well and truly, perfect. I beg that all the Gods and Goddesses allow me to be by his side, just for a little longer."
➺ Deliciae-meae ; of Latin origin, to mean "my darling, my loved one."
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fanfic#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x oc#gojo x oc#🪄— milky writes#dividers by firefly graphics!!#💓 — thump
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im trying to imagine if batman the animated series characters had social media- but specifically pertaining to the question: who would post thirst traps on insta or get caught being horny on main or smthn like that. i could sincerely see bruce wayne having a patrick bateman-like social media presence, but i feel like two face would too? for some reason? i feel like he would love the attention.
Oh Bruce and Harvey definitely have similar posts but Harv has those moments where he’s like - “kicking your grandma down the stairs, whatchu doin?” Posts where he then posts a picture of a box of raisins spilled on the floor. Random shit like that.
I feel like joker would post horny shit about Batman that everyone thinks is a gimmick until he says something majorly eyebrow raising and he has to pull out the, “you thought it was a joke???” He also posts those bad dad jokes and one really poor taste joke that no one actually thinks is funny.
Jervis would have a blog that everyone thinks is a misogynist page until they realize it’s just a kink side page and his main is an account of theatre posts and animals, reposts of like- baking channels and tea pages.
Harley, and Ivy have a couples page and their own page where they post about common signs of health, mental health issues, plant maintenance and where they’re going to see their favourite bands. But Ivy does chaotic story times with a straight face.
Clay face doesn’t have much of a social media prescience but when he does he says weird stuff or posts about the good old days of cinema, and pushes out like- three guys he thinks were stupid hot when they worked in silent films. Constantly has to post about allegations that he’s dating his manager and say they’re not true when they are
Scarface probably has a Facebook page where he posts very obvious mob activity, but people think it’s a joke until they find he’s been arrested.
I struggle with Mr. Freeze, but I imagine he makes really bittersweet posts about the time with Nora, followed by a bunch of reposts of motivational advice and baby care stuff. Then the occasional science video.
Crane makes very controversial science opinions and lives to troll several safety boards. He’s been blocked by half of them and has been warned against on several of their pages. Those that friend him are mailed a crow feather so he knows where they live so he has very few mutuals. Has a tumble account dedicated to pseudoscience and the frequent Elvira rant. Really sweet and offers actual advice to people who reach out in private to ask for help with their psychology work or diagnosis.
I know this is supposed to be a thirst trap thing but I feel like it’s devolved so I’ll just put in these next two
Penguin posts pictures of him and his wife on excellent dates, and is generally perveived well until someone (read: Edward) decides to insult one or call out his blatant abuse of power where he’s then met with several threads of how he’s so awful for abusing an old man… followed by an accidental admission to crime.
Edward mostly fact checks posts, and videos, offers help on game production and offers critique and beta testing. He runs at least two side blogs, one for how to protect your financial assets from big businesses (aided by Harvey) and one on the riddle of the day. When people get mad they harp on him and the then puts their approximate location in their inbox. He’s gone on one rant, ONCE in front of people about how Batman is stupid and got grilled but later was defended and brought back into popular public opinion. People frequently thirst over pictures of him when he was involved in projects or when he was in community theatre but he never indulges them, because he likes to keep them waiting. He’s made a couple of suggestive remarks his very small set of fangirls squeak over but only to stroke his own ego. Very short very blurred images of himself because he doesn’t know how to angle the camera and is almost always walking somewhere in his house to get a snack before walking around and talking with his hands.
His tumblr has multiple image boards of horror movies like reanimator or other science themes even though hes an engineering major. Which he reminds people of when they ask him about movie logic.
@virginstoner666
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OC Aesthetics - Naturecore
I was tagged by a bunch of people @purplehairsecretlair @statichvm @leviiackrman @risingsh0t @indorilnerevarine (and saw @adelaidedrubman do this!) thank you for the tags, beloveds!
tagging (no pressure); @natesofrellis @sstewyhosseini @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @confidentandgood @aceghosts @thomrainer @hoesephseed @lethal-justice @poeti-kat and anyone who wants to do this!
Rules: Bold what always/definitely applies to your OC, italicise what somewhat/sometimes applies, strikethrough what definitely doesn’t/never applies
did the ones I associate the most with nature in general!
Cottagecore
homemade bread, throwing seeds out for the chickens, a tabby cat, patchwork quilts, puffy skirts, ceramic dishes, fresh flowers in a glass jar, herbs hanging from the ceiling, freckles, grey eyes, Athena, old recipe books, a cookie tin filled with recipe cards from grandma, home-sewn pillows, a plate of cookies, the smell of rosemary cooking in a pot of water on the stove, a floral tea pot, salt and pepper shakers, pansies, bartering with neighbors, biking to town, stained glass windows
Zen Gardencore
rocks raked with precision, bonsai trees, holy temples, moss covering statues of gods and godesses, reading ancient texts, being blessed by your ancestors, trusting and family devotion, watercolors on paper, ink on skin, poetry and art, hot springs, cherry blossoms, little flames flickering behind paper curtains, the smell of incense burning, figurines carved from jade and gold from centuries ago, rain, a mist seeping around your ankles as you make your way to school, a chalkboard, scraps of cloth made into art, oragami, your father’s heirloom sword you long to one day pick up like your favorite Disney Princess, tranquility and peace, stubborn and proud
Junglecore
exotic animals, tree house, waterfalls, learning the calls of native birds, bright colors and natural materials, bracelets made from wooden beads and bones and feathers, collecting mushrooms, shirts with the sleeves cut off, leaving plastic bottle caps out full of water for frogs to soak in, cutting jeans to make them into shorts, wading in the river, cutting your own hair, bamboo wind chimes, upcycled art, fish in plastic jugs, air plants, climbing up trees using the vines, harvesting your own fruit
Forestcore
deep silences of the oldest trees, darkness, log cabins, deer antlers mounted on the wall, rearticulated skeletons, hand-dried pelts, pots of stew cooking over a fire, pancakes in a cast iron pan, brown boots worn from hiking, an old walking stick, bonfires at night, roasting marshmallows and making s’mores, strange markings carved into the bark of trees, ferns that curl up when touched, hearing animals dart here and there but never being able to catch more than a quick glimpse of them out of the corner of your eye, finding half-eaten acorns and mushrooms, large tracks from something you can’t identify, bow hunting
Beachcore
seashell collection, model boats, jars of sand, windswept hair, the feel of the wooden boardwalk on your bare feet, big sunglasses, light blue walls, rope hammock, pillows with anchors embroidered on them, flip flops, shining sun, fish tank, sea animal plushies, a steering wheel from a boat on your wall, plates and mugs with seahorses on them, bracelets with plastic shell and dolphin and turtle beads on them, postcards from the ocean, wind chimes made of sea glass
Mountain/Meadowcore
watching the rabbits down in the valley, reading a book in a window seat, checking the sky for storms, knitting heavy quilts for the winter, many layers of clothing, waking up to see the sunrise and sitting outside for the sunset, enjoying the company of ones-self, mountain goats, clovers, laying in the tall grass underneath the sun, field mice, crystal and gemstone collection, a tin filled with buttons and sewing needles and thread, fresh-brewed coffee in the morning, scones
Cottagecore
homemade bread, throwing seeds out for the chickens, a tabby cat, patchwork quilts, puffy skirts, ceramic dishes, fresh flowers in a glass jar, herbs hanging from the ceiling, freckles, grey eyes, Athena, old recipe books, a cookie tin filled with recipe cards from grandma, home-sewn pillows, a plate of cookies, the smell of rosemary cooking in a pot of water on the stove, a floral tea pot, salt and pepper shakers, pansies, bartering with neighbors, biking to town, stained glass windows
Zen Gardencore
rocks raked with precision, bonsai trees, holy temples, moss covering statues of gods and godesses, reading ancient texts, being blessed by your ancestors, trusting and family devotion, watercolors on paper, ink on skin, poetry and art, hot springs, cherry blossoms, little flames flickering behind paper curtains, the smell of incense burning, figurines carved from jade and gold from centuries ago, rain, a mist seeping around your ankles as you make your way to school, a chalkboard, scraps of cloth made into art, oragami, your father’s heirloom sword you long to one day pick up like your favorite Disney Princess, tranquility and peace, stubborn and proud
Junglecore
exotic animals, tree house, waterfalls, learning the calls of native birds, bright colors and natural materials, bracelets made from wooden beads and bones and feathers, collecting mushrooms, shirts with the sleeves cut off, leaving plastic bottle caps out full of water for frogs to soak in, cutting jeans to make them into shorts, wading in the river, cutting your own hair, bamboo wind chimes, upcycled art, fish in plastic jugs, air plants, climbing up trees using the vines, harvesting your own fruit
Forestcore
deep silences of the oldest trees, darkness, log cabins, deer antlers mounted on the wall, rearticulated skeletons, hand-dried pelts, pots of stew cooking over a fire, pancakes in a cast iron pan, brown boots worn from hiking, an old walking stick, bonfires at night, roasting marshmallows and making s’mores, strange markings carved into the bark of trees, ferns that curl up when touched, hearing animals dart here and there but never being able to catch more than a quick glimpse of them out of the corner of your eye, finding half-eaten acorns and mushrooms, large tracks from something you can’t identify, bow hunting
Beachcore
seashell collection, model boats, jars of sand, windswept hair, the feel of the wooden boardwalk on your bare feet, big sunglasses, light blue walls, rope hammock, pillows with anchors embroidered on them, flip flops, shining sun, fish tank, sea animal plushies, a steering wheel from a boat on your wall, plates and mugs with seahorses on them, bracelets with plastic shell and dolphin and turtle beads on them, postcards from the ocean, wind chimes made of sea glass
Mountain/Meadowcore
watching the rabbits down in the valley, reading a book in a window seat, checking the sky for storms, knitting heavy quilts for the winter, many layers of clothing, waking up to see the sunrise and sitting outside for the sunset, enjoying the company of ones-self, mountain goats, clovers, laying in the tall grass underneath the sun, field mice, crystal and gemstone collection, a tin filled with buttons and sewing needles and thread, fresh-brewed coffee in the morning, scones
#oc: paloma garcía#oc: laurie devin#I'm surprised palo got cottagecore I actually expected jungle but I like it for her!#what laurie got forest? what a surprise :o#might be the first tag game where I didn't include zoiya#I also tried to do aiden but not even he worked that well#seems like my clowns are too picky#tag game
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