#i think this will be the first one I make prints of

[spiders-lab]

I mean, ignoring the fact that one can hardly just expect physicists to be working on cancer research, if you're gonna judge any sort of scientific work, you probably should go read the actual article it's from first. Here it is.

Because unlike commenter seems to be assuming, the researchers weren't just making miniature starships for fun. The paper is a proof of concept on using a particular 3D printing technique to create man-made microswimmers - tiny particles that can move themselves around - in a variety of different shapes. This is important, because the way these microswimmers move isn't completely understood yet (at least, according to this paper - it's not an area I have any prior knowledge in myself!). By making a bunch of different shapes, the researchers can better understand how the shape of a particle influences its motion.

Moreover, you only need to scroll down to the conclusions to see this neat little sentence on why understanding microswimmer motion is useful:

Ultimately, it will allow a greater control and design of the behavior of synthetic microswimmers, useful for applications in therapeutic diagnostics and drug delivery.

You know. Diagnostics from and drug delivery to a targeted area. A potentially promising future approach to cancer diagnosis and therapy, among other things.

So... Yeah. I think that's pretty good going on the cancer front from a team with a completely unrelated specialty.

...Also, they didn't just make the USS Voyager. Among several more sensible shapes, they also made this adorable tiny boat!

oh dang, it's gonna take them even longer to get home in that

[Image description a news screenshot reading "Physicists make tiny model of Star Trek's USS Voyager that's smaller than a human hair"]

[askagamedev]

There’s a lot of noise online about live service games being detrimental to the quality of games, such as initial launches being bug ridden and with incomplete features. Is there any truth to this last statement? And are the spending patterns reflecting the idea that people are dissatisfied with this model of monetization?

I think that it is true that initial launches are indeed more bug ridden today than they were before day 1 patches were possible, but the reason for this is much less nefarious than most are imagining. I was already working in games before that big change happened and I saw what happened from the inside.

Before we could patch, producers would cut content and features much more mercilessly because we lacked the time to finish that content properly and still pass certification. We couldn't ever modify or add stuff to the disc or cartridge, so we had to make sure that what went out was the most stable thing we could. Stability was more important than scope, so we'd see stuff get cut near the end all the time. There were a lot of features and content that players never saw because we couldn't get them polished and stable before the game had to ship. If we were lucky we managed to save some of it for expansion packs but most of it never saw the light of day. The last few weeks of the project were mostly wasted sitting around and waiting because we couldn't ever risk making any changes that weren't addressing cert-blocking bugs and we would mostly wait around to find out if cert had gone through.

Back then, the burned and duplicated disk sent to retailers was the final pencils-down-step-away moment. The gold master is what got used to duplicate all of the discs and we couldn't make a new one. Further, all of those duplicated disks out in the wild would forever hold the "final" version of the game, bugs and all. The only way a new version was possible was another print run, and that only occurred in very rare cases where the entire first print run sold out and there was enough demand to print a second run... and the publisher felt it was worth going through certification a second time.

With the advent of internet-connected game consoles and networks, we got the ability to push out post-launch patches including day 1 content updates. With the ability to patch came the potential to finish some of that nearly-complete content that we used to have to cut for stability purposes. Instead of focusing on stability, we could actually push fixes later and fit more content into our releases. This meant that we could also shift people to work on post-launch content, rather than simply sitting around and doing nothing while waiting for cert results. We could fix bugs and work on new content and features during that time and we could leverage all the expertise and experience we had earned in the years of development up to that point.

To summarize - in the olden days, we had to cut a lot more content and features that were close to being finished because we needed to go pencils-down for certification. Today, we can continue working on content that would have been cut because we can patch fixes into the game. This results in overall buggier content and features on average at launch but it also results in significantly more content and features on average at launch than before.

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[niceonejames7]

the sirius watermelon fic was SO CUTE I NEED A PART TWO OF THEM GETTING TOGETHER

watermelon pyjamas pt.2

sirius finally tells you how he feels. (the classic angry confession trope) part 1

words: 1.7k

genre: literally idiots™ to lovers, roommate!sirius, hurt/comfort(?), confession, lil angst, ends with fluff.

a/n: guys this is like my first ask. eeeek! thanks for requesting and reading<3

.....

“I’m an idiot”

“You're gonna have to elaborate."

“James, please."

Sirius wasn't sure if he would classify this as a bad day. Realising he's in love with you wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him, but hearing James gloat about how right he had been was.

He had managed to avoid you that evening, even the next day, internally panicking over what to do. But he was home in the evening, ignoring that stupid warm feeling in his chest when he saw your shoes in front of the door.

He entered the room, and sighed.

I'm fucked.

“Did you buy fruit themed pyjamas?" Sirius asked, his eyes moving over the cherry printed clothing. He was annoyed, not at you, mostly at himself. He couldn't find a single explanation why this affected him so much, but it did.

“I have watermelon, cherry, kiwi and peach.” You counted on your fingers.

“Wear the peach one tomorrow." Sirius grimaced at his too quick of a response, thankfully his face wasn't visible. He wasn't very proud of himself right now.

"I meant like- as a suggestion, that sounds cute, you know." He tries to explain himself, cringing on his own words.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, amused by his eagerness, “Do you want these? You seem to like them a lot." You asked cheekily.

Yeah, sure. That's exactly why I want you to wear these, Sirius though internally. His thoughts had involved you in his bed with the pants on, maybe off, but he kept that shamefully to himself.

The next couple of days felt torturous. Sirius felt like he had to physically restrain himself from reaching for you. Anytime you touch his shoulder, lean against him, huddle together on the couch, he overthought everything.

Every touch left him breathless, every look made it hard to breath. I need help.

.

You were distraught. For some reason, for the last few days, Sirius was acting weird. He had started pulling away from you, as if watching you from a distance. No ruffling your hair, no forehead kisses, no comfortable touches. It's not as if he owed you any affection, but he had stopped.

He knew.

He knew you had feelings for him. Even if he doesn't, which you desperately hope is the truth, he has a problem. You didn't know what to do. Everytime you thought to ask him something, he'd make up an excuse and leave. He definitely didn't want to talk to you.

Lily had suggested exactly as you predicted, the usual, you should talk to him, maybe he was just busy. And other times, she had been right, but not this time. All of this had led you to the inevitable decision, something you should have done long ago. Maybe if you had, this wouldn't have happened.

……

"I'm gonna move out, Lils.” You say into the phone,"What? Why?” Lily exclaimed, rather dramatically.

You sigh,"I can't live like this. He doesn't owe me anything. I shouldn't be expecting… things from him.”

There's a slight pause before you continue,"And I can't move on if I live with him. It's too painful, and too hard."

“Here's the real reason."

Lily felt like bashing her head against a wall. How can two people be so stupid at the same time? You two were perfect for each other, both too oblivious to see the obvious.

“Listen, I really think you should just tell him, even if you move out. He wouldn't stop being your friend, honey."

You hum as she says, but part of you knows you can't say it. You don't have the guts. You hear the familiar click of the door, Sirius is home.

“Lils, I've gotta go. I'll talk to you later." You hang up the phone, not listening to whatever she said at the end, too nervous to care.

Your hands are sweaty, and your hands are fidgeting constantly. Sirius comes in and can immediately sense your anxious energy,

“What happened, lovely?" He asks, his voice cooing as he moves over to you.

He's used to you busying yourself around the house, sometimes bobbing your head to music as you wash the dishes, or some other silly thing, he could go on.

“Sirius, we need to talk." You say quickly, your words too rushed, dreading this conversation.

Sirius' heart feels like it's going to lurch out.

Oh no.

He thinks that you know, somehow. That he had… he'd stopped saying it at a point. The impossibility of it all was a painful reminder. Now you're going to confront him. He's fucked.

“Okay…” He says, his voice too quiet now.

You rub your hands to pep yourself up, encouraging yourself to not lose track,

“I'm gonna move out."

The silence that takes over is one more overwhelming than any noise. Sirius is sure now, you definitely know. A dangerous dread spreads over his body, like a disease covering itself around him.

“It's not because of you, it's because of me." Sirius has the urge to scoff at the cliched statement, but his body feels too stiff, his eyes stuck on you.

But Sirius needed closure. So, whatever your feelings were, Sirius needed to hear why you're leaving.

“Why?" His voice is void of emotion. It breaks your heart.

A pitiful chuckle escaped you, “Sirius, you've made it clear you don't want me here."

Don't confront him. This wasn't the plan.

It wasn't. It wasn't even the reason you were moving out. But he was still your friend, he had still hurt your feelings. You were still mad at him, even though you had no right to be.

“What the hell do you mean?" Sirius asks, incredulous. How could he ever not want you here?

“We haven't talked properly in days. You answer me in singular words-"

Sirius cuts you off, feeling oddly defensive, even if what you were saying wasn't untrue,

“I've been busy-"

“Oh you've been busy before, Sirius. You never did this," You wave him off, but meeting his eyes, you say, “It's alright, I got the message, if you don't want me here-" Your voice rises despite your efforts as the conversation gets more heated,

"So what then? You're just gonna move out? Am I that terrible?” Sirius asks, sarcastically. Typical, you think. You pinch the bridge of your nose in frustration,

"Sirius, I told you, this isn't about you,”

Right now, he isn't keen on listening to your reasoning. In his mind, it's all his fault. It's his fault that you have to leave. He's scrambling for explanations,

"Look, I'm sorry that I'm in love with you, alright? I couldn't help myself. Hell,” He laughs, pity and amusement lacing his words, “I didn't even know until a few weeks ago.”

Sirius felt like his world was falling apart. His heart has dared to love someone, and it backfired. He doesn't regret that he loves you, he couldn't. He had no control over that, ever. He was always going to be in love with you.

He only regrets that you found out, somehow. But he supposed that was also inevitable, you weren't daft.

“The point is,” His pleading eyes look at you, “It’s my problem to deal with, not yours.” His eyes are watching your face, you don't know what he might find, “Please, don't leave.”

A few moments pass, and it's as if the world is coming back to you. And one sentence rings in your head, distinct from any other sentence he's said.

I'm sorry that I'm in love with you.

“You what??” You ask, your voice full of incredulity. It feels like someone had hit you with a hammer, or pushed you off a cliff.

“I didn't want to be the guy who's your friend and then tells you he's in love with you, you know? I'm sorry that I love you, but you don't have to leave. If it matters, I will. You should stay here.” Sirius stammers out, his voice laced with pain and nervousness.

Your hands are wrapped under his, his hands clutching yours like they could stop you. They probably did stop you.

"You're in love with me?” You ask, your heart in your mouth, as if one word would be enough to tip you over.

“Please don't make me say it again." Sirius pleads, his eyes slightly watery.

Your eyes flick back and forth to both of his, searching for any kind of hesitance on his face, but it's plain. He's said those words like they were casual, as if they didn't just break your brain. There's nothing to say, or there are no words coming to your brain which are enough to convey your emotions.

A smile spreads across your lips and you bite your lips to conceal it undoing your hands from his to cradle his face,

“You’re in love with me.”

Sirius' pleading frown transforms to a confused one, and he nods, even if you hadn't asked it as a question this time.

You laugh, a watery laugh before you meet your lips to his, smiling too hard to kiss him properly.

Sirius feels like his body is on autopilot, his hands immediately cradling the back of your neck, his other one holding your wrist, his lips immediately responding to yours, as if it was all too natural.

In all his ‘foreseen’ outcomes, this hadn't been a possibility.

He smiles too, confusion still evident at the back of his mind, but he could only focus on the feeling of your lips on his, your hands holding his face.

His head tilts as he tries to get a better angle, desperate to know your tells and signs, his hand wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

You smile again, breaking the kiss but his lips chase you which makes you laugh more, and he hides his face in your shoulder, laughing along with you.

“You're in love with me," You say it quietly, as if you're confirming it to yourself, but he's too close by not to listen.

“And here I was, moving out because I wanted to get over you."

His head whips up, his face dumbstruck,

“What?"

“Mhmm." You bite your lips, and Sirius has half a mind to kiss you again.

“You're also in…." He trails off, his expression confused but you know exactly what he's asking,

“Sirius, I just kissed you."

“Yeah, but what if you just took pity-" You shut him up again, and he melts, exactly as you intended, moulding his body to yours, trying to get as close as he can. If this was your way to shut him up, he could get used to it.

"Wait, so you're not moving out right? Because-" And his words are cut off again, the same way from before.

He smiles against your lips, again, ecstatic. Giddy, even. Sirius could get used to this. Sirius could get used to kissing you as he arrives home.

All this because of fucking watermelon pyjamas.

[anjautembear]

Helloo. So this is my first post and I had this idea in my head after I listend to a song. English isn't my first language so sorry if there are spelling errors or sentences that don't make a lot of sence😅. I hope to the readers that read this like this as much as I do and sorry again if it doesn't make sence >_<. OKAY on to the story!!

Warning: Angst baby

Inspired by the song: All i want by kodaline

All i want is nothing more

To hear you knocking at my door

He watches the door, hoping that she would walk threw it, greating him with that loving smile she always had, that still haunts him. He still hopes after weeks, but deep down he knows.

'Cause if I could see your face once more

I could die as a happy man I'm sure

He misses her, her face is starting to blur in his memory of her, but he wishes to go back. He wishes that he took her face in detail, if he only knew, that she would no longer be here, he would have printed her loving gaze in his mind.

When you said your last goodbye

The day of her death, is the day he wishes that never happend, the day that cancer took her from him, a sickness he so hates, a day that will haunt him forever.

The sound of a heartmonitor beeping in the background, the doctors and nurces shoes squeking on the floor outside, people talking, the sound of the wind blowing outside, the autum air blowing threw the curtains. Her favourite season.

But all those noises are blurred, for his soulfocus, was her, his beloved, his wife. He remembers holding her hand so tight for he feared she would pass to soon, slip from his fingers. His hold is tight but not too tight, for he didn't want to brake her. She was already thin and fragile. He still hates that feeling of her thin hand holding his and not the once healthy hand. Cancer was a true nightmare.

Her last words, the words that haunt him still, her fairwell greating, was a request. She requested that he should move on, marry another, find a new person that would treat him well. That she still and would love him. She hates that she is dying but does not want her beloved to suffer when she's gone. Her last and final words,

"You were a wonderful experience, I loved every minute with you. You were the reason for my every smile...I think...I'm ready to go home..with a smile and the memorys of us. Please look after youself...please."

I died a little bit inside

As his tears fall after she said those words, her final breath was taken, and she was gone. Like the autum leaves she so loved, her soul being carried away, back home. Her final smile with one tear falling, will always haunt him. His tears mimicking hers, but a waterfall. His heart stoped beating that day, like hers, for his heart shatter after she ripped the bandage clean.

I lay in tears in bed all night

As he lays in his ice cold bed, that no longer has her sent and warmf. He stares at the picture of their wedding day next to his bed. He still hasn't taken it off. His lifeless eyes staring at her bright smile, her wedding dress blowing in the spring wind. Memorys of her laughter, a sickening reminder, of his regrets of not marrying her sooner.

Alone without you by my side

He can no longer sleep, he can't, he tried multible times. But he can't sleep without her warm body next to his. So he holds her pillow, that no longer has her sent, the perfume bottle she once used ,empty after he used it to remind him of her.

But if you loved me

Why'd you leave me?

He doesn't know who to blame, himself, for not meating her sooner, cancer, a sickness that took her, or her, who left him a broken mess. A broken man who can't fix himself without her.

Take my body

Take my body..

All I want is

All I need is..

He felt like he should have been the one who left, he should be the one burried 6 feet under ground, he should be the one cold in the coffen, instead of his beloved, who didn't deserve it.

She was a bright light in a room full of dull lamps, he only saw her in a room full of people. But now she's a light no longer there, he is lost in the dark room. She is now no longer in the room full of people, he is surching, but she's already in the train of no return.

He needs her...but he no longer has her to save him

To find somebody

I'll find somebody

He tells himself he'll find another light, another person in the crowd, but deep down he knows that will never happen. She was the only 'somebody' he loved. But he'll try for her, he promised.

Ooh oh

Ooh oh

Ooh oh

Ooh oh

Memorys flash his mind. The day they met, bumping into eachother, on a cold autum day. He remembers how pretty she looked, how her hair framed her face, her flushed cheeks in the cold air. Her smile. Her smile he so loved.

Memorys flash in his mind. The day he preposed, the ring that gleamed in the setting sun. Her tears of joy rolling down her soft warm cheeks he so loved to kiss in the morning. Her eyes gleaming, resembling the ring, the ring he will no longer use.

Memorys flash in his mind. The day of their wedding. Tears of joy and laughter in the air of close friends, but the only laugh he heard, was hers, his wife, his other soul.

Memorys flash now...regret coming back. The day of her funeral. The rain pooring down, her coffen laying there, her favourite flower ontop. Haunting him. Mocking him, mocking him that he will no longer be able to give those same flowers to her on valentimes-day.

Cause you brought out the best of me

A part of me i'd never seen

He never thought that he could be loved, he always saw himself as the worst version of himself. But that all changed when she showed up in his life unexpectedly. She showed him parts of himself he has never seen before. She changed him into a better person. He never new he had these sides to him but she showed him like a hidden chapter between sticky pages glued together that he hid.

You took my soul and wiped it clean.

He was never a relegious person but she came to his life like a saint and changed his soul for the better. She saved him when he was stuck in a dark void of emptyness and anger. He worshiped her love like a person in church.

Our love was made for movie screens

If their love life was a movie. He was sure that everyone would have loved her as much as he did. They would have seen how deep their love was, how inlove he was. But he geasses that not every movie has a happy ending. There love story had a plot twist not even he could see coming.

Ooh, if you loved me

Why'd you leave me

Take my body

Take my body

All I want is..

All I need is..

To find somebody

I'll find somebody

Like you, ooh

He promised himself, he promised you, that he would move on. Find somebody that would love him like you did, but he can't. He would have to brake that promise. He can't move on, you were his somebody...

Thank you for reading this, I hope this wasn't a bad story😅. Bye bye!!

[ryin-silverfish]

Sorry for the very late reply: I stayed off Tumblr for like, a month or so. But this is a long reblog with a lot of interesting points I wanna respond to.

Honestly, the most common form of JCT doesn't stem from A Chinese Odyssey. It's inspired by the webnovel that's kinda a fanfiction to said movie, Biography of Wukong.

The predecessor to BMW, Asura Online, takes a lot more inspiration from the webnovel than its spiritual successor, and even tho BMW isn't trying to be a direct continuation of AO, I would argue that some of its themes and worldbuilding still slipped into BMW.

You mentioned not seeing JCT in the game according to my definition, and I feel like it's a matter of exposure. For someone who has Chinese as their first language, they are gonna to be 1) exposed to a shit ton of JTTW media, and 2) see a lot of interpretation about the novel proliferate that an English audience is completely unaware of.

BMW is not the most extreme or common form of JCT, but the general ideas are still recognizable. Like, just because it doesn't make all the gods evil, or all the yaoguais innocent victims, doesn't change the fact that the main narrative is still one of Oppressive, Conspiring Pantheon vs. Oppressed Yaoguais.

(Example: the lore entries' implication about Lingji and the Yellow Wind storyline is that Lingji is creating the weird stone Buddha heads and the Fuban yaoguai to 1) collect Lingyun, the "soul" equivalent, and 2) artificially create a threat so that he can rescue the Flowing Sands kingdom from it and convert them to Buddhism.)

(Instead, the Yellow Wind Demon became the rescuer and the kingdom started worshipping rats, which was why its people were all turned into rats.)

(Or, the most obvious one: the Western Heaven's genocide of the Yakshas in the Bull King family backstory.)

(As for Erlang: why do you think you find him inside a painting, which, according to the lore entries, is implied to be the result of him asking Maitreya for refuge from the Celestial Realm?)

And it's made even more jarring by the fact that the game wants to create a facsimile of the original novel through quoting its poetry and imitating the vernacular novel dialogue style, and make allusions to SWK's role as the Mind Monkey, without realizing how it conflicts with the Biography of Wukong-style interpretation.

You mention the lore entries, and that's actually my favorite part! Both the Ming-print style illustrations, and their simulation of the Zhiguai short story style.

But, again, there is a dissonance. The funny and strange Zhiguai-style entries are noticeably different in tone compared to the "main storyline" entries about major characters and backgrounds, which is written like modern short stories instead of a classical Chinese text translated into Mandarin.

And my problem is not that the adaptation is different, that it may want to change the allegory or reinterpret the themes for a modern audience.

It's the feeling that they want to have it both ways��—be faithful to the novel (or at least create a facsimile of faithfulness), yet also stick to the Bio of Wukong style popular reading that proliferates in modern JTTW media for mass appeal.

And to me, the dissonance in the two narratives weakened the thematic coherence. Frankly, if it sticks to one or the other, I wouldn't have been writing these critiques: if it's a proper exploration of the original novel's allegorical themes, I'd be praising and loving it, and if it's JCT thorough and thorough, I'm just going to be like "Yeah, not for me" and leave it at that.

But it's this mixture of things I love and things that frustrate me that drives me to write and get down to the bottom of those conflicting feelings, which has little to do with JTTWR's original posts and his attitude towards adaptations.

Lastly: I'm very much coming from the perspective of a native speaker complaining about Chinese JTTW media and popular interpretations. My own opinions are not mainstream in the Chinese JTTW fandom either——JCT is so popular precisely bc it has mass appeal.

Just a thing to keep in mind.

I'm a Theravada Buddhist. I saw many people interpreting the story and meaning behind Black Myth Wukong, differently. But I hope the devs team didn't intend to insult Buddha Dhamma by recreating this new story and distort the meaning of Buddhahood or Enlightenment itself..

I don't know if they intended to insult Buddhism, but I can say that their presentation of Buddhism in the game is disrespectful.

@ryin-silverfish recently posted a wonderful essay on what's known as the "JTTW Conspiracy Theory," which is a method of interpreting the story by twisting details, making the heavenly hierarchy look evil. The game follows this method. I recommend that you read the essay:

I unknowingly ran into the JTTW Conspiracy Theory a couple of years ago. A Chinese article claimed that the Buddha lies in the novel. This is my rebuttal.

[scorpioriesling]

Invisible String - Part 6

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warning(s): Please be advised; this part might not be suitable for all audiences. Proceed with caution.

Summary: You'd taken the nanny position for the royal family over a year ago, not expecting what would come of it or how close you'd grow to the child you cared for. Things became tough for Eris when his wife left him and his daughter, and he found it increasingly harder to raise Riley himself. He soon realizes, you've provided a lot more than the typical job description duties for his daughter... and maybe for him, too.

SR’s Note: My apologies, this took forever for me to finish writing for you all (I've had so much on my plate lately). I hope you’re ready — all we have left is the finale! I added in the advisory so that younger / uncomfortable readers won't read the series without knowing or expecting potential risks in content to come. For those who enjoy or look forward to content as such -- I hope you are excited! Nonetheless, I hope readers will enjoy this series that came to me in a dream one night. (; Much love to all.

Tags: @mellowmusings @talesofadragon @rcarbo1 @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kitsunetori @dannul @velarisdusk @lamarmotta @paintedbyshadows @i-know-i-can @adventure-awaits13 @acourtofbatboydreams (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

"My bow tied?"

You sigh as you adjust the golden ribbon tied in the little girl's hair, her wide eyes looking to you for assurance. Though it's about the fifth time she's asked you to confirm, you answer her once more.

"Yes, dear," you say, smoothing down the front of her corduroy dress with reassurance. "I promise I tied it into your ponytail really good."

She nods, her little body buzzing with anticipation and excitement. You take her hand, leading her toward the front door of the Forest House where her father waits.

"Ready for your first day?" He asks, smiling prodly at his daughter though you can practically feel the way his heart hurts inside.

"I am, daddy!" She bounds over to him, clutching the strap of her pink backpack with a fluffy bunny printed on the front. When Eris arrived home with it last week, she could've practically exploded from sheer excitement.

He helps her slip it over her little shoulders, bending down and kissing the top of her head as he gazes at her. Your heart swells -- you knew, this wasn't just a big day for Riley, but for him too.

"We should walk outside -- the carriage service will be here soon, you won't want to miss it." He winks, and Riley giggles as she jumps up and down.

"Daddy -- Y/N coming too?" She asks as he takes her hand in his. He glances to you, and your eyes widen.

"Oh, no, honey, I think your father should bring you to your first day of school," you explain hastily. She huffs, trotting over to you and wrapping her small fingers around your palm.

"Pleeeeeeease, you come too?" She asks. Eris only shrugs, and you glance down into those big, pleading eyes once more.

"Alright, then," you hesitate, and she continues her celebration as though this was her birthday. Eris glances out the window, turning to face the two of you again before speaking.

"The carriage is just down the way; ready to go, Riles?" She nods, looking back to make sure you're following.

"I'll be just behind you," you say, jogging to the kitchen as they make their way through the front door. Spotting the mason jar in the middle of the table, you reach for it, and then hurry to catch up with the two out front.

:* ✧･ﾟ:

The rest of the day goes on per usual, though the house is errily quiet with Riley's absence.

Eris left for the Palace soon after Riley got on the carriage, which left you in the Forrest House... alone. All day.

You were cleaning for what felt like the 25th hour of the day when the clock struck 3 pm, and you quickly hurried outside. She would be home any minute, and you were dying to know how her first day of public school went.

Sure enough, the gleaming ivory of the carriage made it's debut over the hill; stopping just at the end of the drive. The doors were barely open before Riley burst out, running as fast as she could to you up the drive.

"Chris-anthem!"

You kneeled, stretching your arms wide as she lept into them full-force. She held onto you tightly, the only adieu to the carriage coach a small wave before he set off once more. When she finally let go, you asked her.

"How was your first-"

"A Chris-anthem!" She squealed again, this time thrusting her clenched fist toward you to look. In her palm, she held the stem of a rather wilty, dying orange bloom.

"Ohhh, your flower," you realized. "You asked what it was, hm?" She nodded happily.

"Yes! And Miss Peachum says its a Chris-anthem!" You chuckle, realizing the plant is indeed a Chrysanthemum.

"Ahh, I see," You say, half-distracted by the approaching male on horseback trotting toward the stables. His hair is radiant in the light of the setting sun, his shoulders set as he comes more into view.

"We should go inside -- I think your daddy is almost home, and I'm sure he'd love to hear about your first day at school."

:* ✧･ﾟ:

The routine becomes a little more established over the next couple of weeks as all of you adapt to the new schedule. On days Eris goes in later, he gets up with his daughter and gets her onto the carriage; on his early days, you do it. It's a nice routine, one that is almost perfect.

Almost.

You still longed for the feeling of his sheets, his warm embrace as he'd hold you through the night. How good it felt, even for just a short time, to feel so comfortable, as though your longing had been satiated -- now, it felt like those days were as good as gone.

"Oh, Y/N?" His voice was quiet in the silent hall of the house, Riley put into bed after another long day. You were jsut about to retire to your chambers when he spoke, his steps quick to catch you before you went to bed.

"Hm?" You turned, facing him in the dim evening light. He stepped close enough so you oculd make out his features, every freckle on his nose and the exact curve of his jaw -- but not too close to touch.

"I, uh, I just had something I wanted to ask you about," he fumbles, and you lean against the doorway as his eyes finally find yours.

"Anything," you say reassuringly, hating how uncharacteristically nervous he's being. He swallows, his lips parting in thought before he speaks again.

"The uh, the annual court ball is happening in three days," he says, his brows knitting. "And, uhm." He coughs to clear his throat, and you raise an eyebrow.

"Yessss?"

"Well, it's in the evening, um. I have to go, I mean. I have to attend." He says, biting the inside of his cheek. You nod in realization, your heart sinking just a bit.

"Right, right, I figured as much. I, uh. I don't have any plans, I mean, I'll be here, for Riley that night-"

He frowns, taking a step closer and looking straight down into your eyes.

"No," he says sharply, his features relaxing when your eyes widen. "I, um. She has, someone else to watch her that evening." He nods once, and you look up at him quizzically.

"Okay...?"

"Would you join me?" The words come out so fast you almost don't register them. "I mean, to the ball. Would you..." his fingers lightly take yours, his thumb tracing a small circle on the back of your hand.

"You. Want me. To go with you?"

He chuckles, his hand holding yours with ease. If only he knew the tidal wave rushing through your veins at this very moment-

"I do," he assures, bringing the back of your hand to his mouth to press a small kiss to it. "I'd be honored, if you would join me."

:* ✧･ﾟ:

Three days was not near long enough to get yourself in check.

By that, you were feeling so nervous -- no matter how many times you'd redone your makeup, or re-tied the laces on your gown -- you still stared at yourself in the mirror, barely believing the events that were to unfold tonight.

A soft knock on your door pulls you from your daze, the wood creaking as it slowly opens.

"Oh... wow," Eris sucks in a breath, coming to stand behind you as he gazes at you through the mirror. You continue to pick and fiddle with your gown, only halting when his hands rest on your waist.

"Y/N, you're beautiful," he muses, and you can't help but blush. Gazing at him through the reflection, you agree -- you were beautiful, the maroon fabric hugged you nicely and complimented the accents of his jacket to a tee.

"Thank you," you whisper, and he turns you to face him. A small smile creeps onto his lips as he takes you in before him. You can't help but grin back, as the man oogling you is quite handsome himself.

"Are you ready?" He asks, and you take a deep breath, glancing at yourself once more over your shoulder.

"I am," you hesitate. "I just... I hope your parents won't think less of you for bringing me tonight."

Eris huffs a laugh, his eyes meeting yours in the glass.

"Darling, I don't give a damn what my parents think. Especially my father."

You chew on your lip, his words not resonating with you like he hoped they would.

"I just... I'm not like you, I'm not... a High Fae," you sigh. "I'm nothing like Selene-"

"Good." His fingers prod at your chin, turning your head to face him directly once more.

"I'm glad you're nothing like her, Y/N." Your heart melts, his words finally hitting home.

"You're everything and more, love," you swear his lips are inching toward yours with every word he speaks.

"She could only wish to be half the woman you are."

:* ✧･ﾟ:

Living in the Autumn Court your entire life, you could've never imagined the royal balls were anything like this. Not even close.

Your gaze shifted from person to person, taking in everything from their elaborate attire to their pointed ears. Weaving through the crowd of people and lingering stares, the insecurity from earlier resurfaced as you glanced down at your rather plain dress.

"Eris," you hissed. He turned, leaning in close to speak with you. "Why didn't you tell me to get something more..." You struggled to find the word. "Ball-appropriate?"

His grin sent a shiver down your spine before his warm breath against your ear could.

"I think you look absolutely divine, Y/N."

Your cheeks heat again as he reaches for your hand, giving it a small squeeze before opening his mouth again.

"I need to make an appearance at the dais," he explains. "Will you be alright-"

"Yes. I'll wait here." You nod, not exactly as confident as you'd hoped in meeting his parents so soon. He kisses your cheek quickly, the brush of his lips a momentary relief against your flushed face before he makes way for the dais. His father tracks his movements, every step watched by those beady eyes.

You'd known the High Lord was, well... cruel, to put it plainly. He was unfair, and demanding, and took advantage of the power he held -- which is exactly why your stomach begins to turn as his focus lands right. On. You.

"Thank you all, for coming tonight." He bellows, standing to speak to the crowd in the throne room. Every head turns to face him, every eye focused on him as he scans the room. Eris stands confidently next to his father, with the Lady of Autumn politely standing on his other side.

He continues his short announcement, the music resuming as he finishes and demands it be so. As people begin moving and partnering off, your worry returns. Where was Eris? No longer beside his father, you look around you, not spotting that firey red head of hair anywhere among the crowd.

That is, until two large hands snake around your waist from behind, his familiar chuckle causing your breath to hitch.

"Share a dance with me?"

:* ✧･ﾟ:

Your hands tremble as Eris slowly guides you to the middle of the room, all the faelights dimming on the walls. People sidestep around you, moving out of your way as though Eris is parting the sea itself.

The soft melody from the string quartet begins, a song you'd surely heard before. None of it calmed your nerves, especially as you peered toward the dais. Sure enough; both of his parents were watching the two of you.

"Hey, don't get nervous on me now." Eris offers a small smile, and you gulp down your nerves. He places your left hand on his shoulder, taking the other one in his own. His free hand snakes around your waist, splaying flat on your back as he draws you closer to him.

"Just, follow me." He steps to the side, beginning to move in time with the song. You follow, trying to calm the shakiness of your hand in his while he presses you against him.

A few counts in, you relax a little. Sure, you weren't High Fae, or maybe someone his father would choose for him -- but Eris chose you. You're the one here with him tonight, dancing in front of his family and his court as though you came as a package deal.

When you look up at him, you blush realizing he had already been focused on you. He chuckles, his fingers tracing up and down on the small of your back as he twirls the two of you around the dancing floor.

"I'm really glad you came tonight," he says lowly, his amber-flecked gaze intense as you can't help but stare back.

"Me too," you say. "I've never attended anything like this before."

He raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face.

"Well, you're quite the talented dancer for never being brought to a ball before," he releases your waist, spinning you in a slow circle and then pulling you back to him once more. You grin, a small laugh escaping your lips as the two of you are held close once more.

"I shouldn't be surprised, as you've grown up going to these things," you say, your gaze landing on his lips. "But, you're quite impressive as well."

Those lips tilt upward as the song comes to an end, the two of you simply gazing at the other. You don't notice the clearing made for the two of you, how every other fae had allowed the two of you into the spotlight of the room. You'd simply been too caught up in the moment with the handsome man before you-

Eris sighs, and you watch as his gaze zeroes in on the dais once more. Turning, you peek as well -- the High Lord is beckoning his son at once.

"I can wait for you-"

"He wants us both." Eris shakes his head, the muscles in his arms tightening as he slowly lets go of you.

"Oh," is all you can think to say. He takes your hand, once again making way to his father's throne. This time, he leads you with him.

"Father." Is all he says when the two of you approach, and you watch as the High Lord so much as flicks his gaze to you before offerring his son an unamused look. Eris bends at the waist, and you follow suit, curtsying low as you offer your respect.

"Eris," his father echoes, his hands folding across his chest. "How uncourtly of you to not introduce your mother and I to your... guest, this evening." You look to the Lady of Autumn, offering a small bow of your head. She smiles at you softly -- the most reaction you'd seen from her all night.

"My apologies." Eris says, and you can practically hear the sarcastic remarks he was making in his mind. He turns to you, a smile sppearing on his face when you meet his gaze.

"This is Y/N, you've heard me mention her before," he explains. "She is the woman who helps so much with... with Riley," he hesitates. You'd known his parents were not involved much in his personal life, mainly because of his father and how he has treated his own son. You couldn't say you blamed him.

"Y/N," Beron repeats, his beady gaze focusing on you. He reaches to take your hand in his, kissing the back of it in polite greeting. You force a smile, but can feel Eris' jaw tightening from where he stood beside you. "How nice to finally meet you."

His words are dripping with venom, but you respond with class nonetheless. "Likewise, High Lord."

He releases your hand, resting his own on the armrests of his throne. He looks to Eris again, his gaze wavering between the two of you.

"So nice to see my son bring a woman to one of these kinds of events again -- he'd been alone in attendance, of course, since he let that Day Court whore slip through his fingers." Your eyes widen at his careless use of the derogatory language, but he simply chuckles. Eris' fingers find yours, sliding through them and squeezing gently. His father doesn't miss the action, and is quite unpleased by it.

"Even if it means bringing the help with him." He sneers a horrible smile, and you feel your face flush at the comment. Your throat tightens, making swallowing painful as you try and surpress the forming emotions threatening to spill out.

"Father, please-"

"Now now, son. It's been a few years since Selene fled, whether it be your --" he pauses in throught. "...annoying, nature, or maybe she simply didn't enjoy your company." Eris sucks in a breath, releasing it slowly as though he's practiced this a million times.

Nonetheless, Beron continues. "Reguardless, I think it's time you remarry -- don't you?" Your eyes widen, your gaze dropping to the floor. Remarry? Surely Eris wouldn't agree to that.

"Father, I'm perfectly happy with-"

"With, what? Being alone? Leaving that poor child without a mother?" His father tutts, his hands flexing against the golden armrests.

"Could we talk about this, later?" Eris grits out. Your heart sinks as you feel both of his parent's eyes on you. Looking to the Lady of Autumn, she only offers you a sorrow-filled expression.

"We shall do just that." Beron promises. "Now, go. Enjoy the rest of the ball." He grins wickedly as though he didn't just insult everyone standing before him.

Eris turns, guiding you down the stairs of the dais when you hear Beron's voice from behind you.

"Lovely to meet you, Y/N!"

You only manage a small nod as your foot steps onto the floor. Then, you take off in a beeline for the exit.

:* ✧･ﾟ:

Your chest is heaving as you shove through the heavy entry doors to the palace, the cool night air chilly against your heated skin. You brace against one of the marbled columns in the entryway, a few hot tears finally breaking free and falling down your cheeks. In seconds, the doors open again, a familiar voice ringing out behind you.

"Y/N, please don't take what he said to heart-"

"Don't," you growl, your shoulders shaking as your emotions continue to rattle through you. The soft footsteps of his boots sound behind you, his quiet approach made known as his hand rests against your back.

"Love, I promise he's always like this-"

"Like what? Horrible?" Your eyes narrow as you turn to face him, his saddened expression evident when he sees the wet streams down your face. He reaches out, brushing a stray tear away.

"Pretty much," he mumbles, his other hand rubbing soothingly against your back. You continue to sob, soft sounds coming from you as Eris pulls you close to his chest.

In minutes, you feel his hands pushing you lightly against a cushiony surface. You follow his lead, sitting as you rub the water from your eyes. The familiar feeling of silk touches your fingers, and Eris moves for just a moment before the room is filled with heat.

His bedroom. He'd winnowed the two of you out of there, and right into his room.

"Eris-" You stutter, avoiding his gaze shamefully as he moves to sit beside you on the bed. "Y-you have to get back, your parents-"

"My parents can fuck off for now." He says, his hands reaching for you and pulling you close to him. He guides you to lie next to him, your head resting against his chest while his fingers stroke through your hair.

It's silent for a while, the only sounds from the fire crackling in the hearth and a few occasional sniffles as you work to regain your composure. When anyone finally speaks, it's him.

"I'm not going to remarry." He says, another few silent beats following his admission. Your heart breaks further, any hope of what you'd had before with the male shattering. He hugs you closer to him, his hands bracing around your smaller frame.

"I mean, I'm not remarrying just because of my father." He clarifies. You wipe your eyes with the back o your hand, pushing up on a elbow to look directly into his eyes.

"Eris... it doesn't seem like much of a choice-"

"It is," he cuts in. "It is my choice. I'm so sick of my father choosing what I do, and when, and who with. I won't allow it any longer." He frowns, pulling you down to lay with him again. Your fingers begin to play with one of the seams on his jacket, as your mind clears.

"Is that... what I was? Tonight?" You ask weakly. "Just, a way of defiance, to your father?" Eris sighs, tilting your chin to look up into his eyes. Though your face is red and puffy, he offers you a small smile.

"Never, my dear -- I had the choice in bringing someone with me this evening. And, I chose you. I wanted you there with me." You feel a spark of hope in your chest, amidst everything else you'd been feeling. He's quiet, waiting as you collect your thoughts.

Another single tear slips free, trailing down your cheek as you inch closer to him. He pulls you in, his mouth mere inches from yours as your voice comes out in a whisper.

"I choose you, too, Eris."

:* ✧･ﾟ:

[kiiyomei]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝑶𝒇 𝑩𝒂𝒅 & 𝑩𝒐𝒖𝒋𝒆𝒆 𝑲𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒏

(TW: not proofread, mention of drugs, and bad grammar )

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘉𝘢𝘥 & 𝘉𝘰𝘶𝘫𝘦𝘦 𝘒𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦, 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥—𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘺? 𝘛𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝖱𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖢𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗎𝗉. 𝖨𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖪𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖰𝗎𝖾𝖾𝗇, 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗅.

Bad and Boujee Kook stepped away from her newly made friends or possible acquaintances depending on how it goes to determine if they’re genuine or not. She sashayed through the crowd of people, reaching the corner turn to the kitchen and collided into a wall?

No instead, it was none other than Rafe Cameron, and just so lucky for her it included the red plastic solo-cup filled with whiskey that spilled on her.

“What the fuck?!” She exclaims, stepping back to look down to her red velvet tube top and leopard print mini skirt, now stained with whiskey.

“You should watch where you’re going.” Rafe grumbled, carelessly tossing the cup to the trash and unapologetic for spilling on her.

She stared at him with a dumbfounded expression, before changing into an angered one after.

“Me? You’re the douchebag that spilled your drink on me and still haven’t apologized.” She scoffed, pointing her finger hard into his chest to make her point.

“Why would I apologize? You’re the one who in fact bumped into me first.” Rafe declared, crossing his arms across his chest and smirked amusingly.

“Matter of fact, I think you owe me a drink.”

It was the final straw, which led to Bad and Boujee Kook to only smile mockingly then grabbed the closest drink nearby; unfortunately it happened to be Topper that came by to see the commotion.

“What are you—“ Rafe tried to ask, but cut off by the sudden liquid tossed into his face and cup thrown at his head right after by her.

“Drink up, bitch boy.” She made the final comment, before walking off from the two in the kitchen and deciding to leave the party early than anticipated.

Topper eyes were wide, shocked by the sudden commotion that escalated quickly and unsure to what to say without risking his best friend from kicking his ass for it or shouting at him. Odds were not good.

“Did she really?” Topper continued looking between his best friend and the silhouette of her before disappearing into the crowd of people.

“She did.” Rafe exhaled a long sigh, wiping the beer from the keg stand from his face and his eyes.

But something deep down inside of him ignited; intrigue? curiosity? interest? It was all unsure except one thing on his mind. He needed someone like her.

“That was kinda hot.” He admitted, unfazed by the stickiness and scent of beer lingering on him.

Topper shakes his head, concerned about his friend. “Man you’ve got some issues..”

𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘶𝘱 𝘵𝘰 𝘉𝘢𝘥 & 𝘉𝘰𝘶𝘫𝘦𝘦 𝘒𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘣𝘺 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘳𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘺

𝘚𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘈𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘵; 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦.

𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘯𝘢𝘱 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 (𝘚𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦.

“Rafe, I’m not going to keep putting up with the hot and cold shoulder. We’re adults for fuck sake, this isn’t elementary to play hot and cold game.” She snapped finally, ready to put him in his place.

“If you feel that way, then go ahead and pack your shit then leave.” Rafe threatened carelessly, not entirely serious and thinking he’d have the win over her.

His once big ego shrinks, after witnessing her give one firm nod and mumbled of ‘okay’ then proceeded to walk into the shared walk-in closet to pack a bag. It was like his heart dropped to his stomach, not sure if she was serious or play reverse psychology on him.

“What are you doing?” He asked, approaching her in the walk-in closet and seeing her grab leather brown Louis Vuitton duffle bag to pack her clothes and shoes.

She scoffed, not replying this time instead continuing to stride around the room to grab some of her belongings that were deemed important enough.

“Are you serious going to leave?” He continued to speak, his anxiety rising and stepped into the room to try stepping in her way to prevent her.

She looked up to him with disbelief, chuckling softly.

“I’m not gonna stay where I’m not wanted, so can you move? Please and thank you.” She stepped around him to grab some of her shoes.

It was one big reality check, that Bad & Boujee Kook wasn’t like his ex’s that used to drop to his feet begging to fix things or to stay, instead she seems okay’d enough to give it up and leave him.

For the first time ever in his life, Rafe practically leaped to grab ahold her and putting aside dignity and pride to keep her from actually leaving him.

“Baby, I…I didn’t mean it.” He mumbled, feeling unlike himself to do this kind of thing but he actually cared about her and their relationship. “Don’t..”

“Don’t what?” She asked, expectantly awaiting for him to spit out the words she’d been awaiting for him to say and making 10x difficult for him. “Use your words.”

He grumbled, in taking a sharp breath and avoiding her gaze after it made it much harder doing so while she loved every second of it to relish it.

“Don’t leave me.” He says, after clearing his throat and speaking clearly while trying to not get pouty although it sounded like it in his voice. “…please.”

She exhaled a small sigh but cracked into the little smile upon her soft, plump lips and set down the bag to step closer towards him. Her hand cupped his jaw, tilting his head to gaze into her eyes.

“Don’t pull this shit again, cause we both know I’m the last one to put up with it.” She stated simply, then sealed it with a soft kiss to his cheek. “Got it?”

He felt glad no one was around, to see the way she got him wrapped her little finger and easily whipped.

“I’ve got it.” He stated firmly.

“Good boy.” She giggled.

(Alexa play Walk Em Like A Dog By Saucy Santana)

𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘎𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘉𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘉𝘰𝘶𝘫𝘦𝘦 𝘒𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦, 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘢𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘚𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘩 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘦’𝘥 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘷𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦.

𝘌𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘫𝘦𝘦 𝘬𝘰𝘰𝘬’𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘶𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘬𝘦.

Bad and Boujee Kook home was the second safe place for Rafe, including her parents that welcomed him with open arms to their family. Including extending a key for him to use cause of how much they trusted him.

Which why it wasn’t a surprise that he came over, with the emergency key in hand to unlock the front door at 3 in the morning and nowhere to go in the rain. He had been driving around the island aimlessly, going through one big manic episode after the fight with his dad; Ward, and his drug dealer Barry not responding.

She had zero experience with anyone that gone through withdrawals from drugs or anything as such, but she was willing to try to help him.

Even if it meant sitting on the shower floor with the water turned lukewarm and holding him tightly in her arms after he goes through the symptoms. She continued playing with his hair, as her other free hand rubbing his back soothingly slow.

“I-I want to quit…I want to be clean, but.” Rafe mumbled, stuttering over his words and trying to open up but still finding it difficult to explain.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” She whispered, placing soft kisses to his head while his head rested upon her bare chest and her nude body sat in his lap. Yet still the big spoon.

“It won’t always be easy, but when you’re ready I’ll be there through it all.” She kissed his temple, continuing to hold him through the entire shower.

The moodboard of the dynamic couple

likes & reblogs are appreciated🙂‍↔️🩷

[blackratbighat]

I must instil in you basic expectations before you start to put the rules on a pedestal.

The DM has three main game duties. First, to keep track of what's actually happening / is true. Second, to communicate the relevant bits (the situation that the PCs are in) to the players. Third, to adjudicate and resolve what the PCs do (or attempt to do).

Reasonable expectations of logic overrule printed rules every time: the value of rules is in consistency of how to resolve things (which players depend on) and saving you time/effort thinking. That actually means that if nobody happens to know the rule for a particular situation, strongly consider making it up rather than looking it up.

Trust your gut. Improvise. Experiment. Examine what works and what doesn't.

Strive to prepare ONLY what will help you actually run the game. Handouts, prepared speeches, the capabilities and plans of various factions and characters, puzzles, that's all good. Stuff that is fast to reference and easy to use. The particulars of what exactly to prep will depend on what kind of game you have and what you are good or bad at improvising.

Use pencil and paper first until you figure out what you really need, and THEN see if some app or site will actually help you with that. We're drowning in tools and they are never better than just having everything you need in sight.

Include one player with a lot of DMing experience in your first group if practical.

Start thinking today about what you'd need to actually run a quick adventure (1-3 sessions, STRICTLY ending after it's done) and then get to it!

I need to learn how to play dnd so I can dm for my friends and force other people to deal with my silly world building scenarios

[innerempire]

The Avengers trying to raise funds for god-knows-what and Natasha comes with brilliant naughty idea of a pin-up calendar of their youngest Avenger. There's nothing like showing some skin, and it's obvious (be it in Twitter, Instagram, Tiktok, or Reddit) that the public unanimously think that the newest addition to the team - Peter Parker - is pretty fucking hot.

Sure, they've not seen his face before, but that lithe body in that spandex? Peter's the only one comfortable with actually baring his ass for the calendar (Steve acknowledges that Captain America's ass is still one of the finest, but he's not fucking baring his ass cheeks for a goddamn calendar).

Thing is, Natasha has to run through the idea with Tony first because she thinks that Stark acts like a unhinged guard dog out for blood when his favorite protege is involved. She's not stupid to try and go behind Tony's back on this.

''I'm sorry, what-'' Tony swipes at his keyboard, interrupting Natasha from her tangent.

''Don't mind him.'' Peter pipes up from where he's tinkering with his latest project. ''He goes 'huh' a lot these days.''

Tony points a wrench in Peter's direction, ''Zip it.''

''Look, we want something that's going to sell. People love Peter in spandex, and what's hotter than hip keeping his mask on and, you know, executing a couple of suggestive positions with his ass showing. Pepper thinks putting him in a thong would make people go insane-''

''Are you-'' Tony rubs at his mouth. ''Did you even sleep after your coming back from your mission with Barton? Or am I the one hallucinating this conversation?'' He tries to mentally compute the last time he had slept.

''Peter said yes.''

Peter's neck is flushed, ''...I figured, since it's for charity...? I do have a pretty nice ass, especially when it's in spandex. So, you know, me in a thong would be-''

''Okay.'' Tony claps his hands together, startling both Natasha and Peter. ''I'm going to get a drink. Preferably something really strong, because I'm going to pretend that you didn't just waltz in here to tell me that you want the kid's bare ass on a pin-up calendar.''

''Prude.'' Natasha clicks her tongue disapprovingly at Tony.

After Natasha leaves, an amused Peter wheels his chair over towards Tony, ''So, which one bothered you more? The fact that people are going to own a calendar with like 12 months of Spiderman's bare ass, or the idea of me in a thong? Or panties, you know, the ones with the bows and frills that you have stashed deep in your wardrobe. I'm assuming they're for me, after you tell me that you've been fantasizing about this. But hey, if they're for you, that's pretty fucking hot too, Mr.Stark.''

A couple of months later, the idea does push through (under Tony's strict supervision). Because Peter's such a little shit, he signs the first printed copy and leaves it on Tony's desk with a note: Do me a favor and film yourself jerking off to the calendar, Mr. Stark. P.S: You'll love the month of May.

Of fucking course the month of May is Peter in the panties that Tony had so generously gifted to him - a gorgeous satiny piece that's gold and red.

The calendar is obviously a hit and during the next Avengers gathering, everyone's teasing Peter to sign their copies.

''So.'' Natasha sidles up to Peter. ''How bad did Tony give it to you for having your bare ass out in that calendar?''

''...they had to use two whole tubes of concealer and a shitload of powder and foundation even after a week after what Tony did to me.''

[galaxy-fleur]

what is Leons reaction when he finds out he's gonna be a girl dad?

To be honest, I don't think his response changes much whether it's one or the other! In either case, this man will simultaneously become euphoric, anxious, and choked up. Basically, a bit of an emotional mess. It's what happens after the reveal that makes a difference. If he's having a girl, catch him reading up on articles upon articles on how to be a great dad to his soon-to-be daughter. He takes it a step too far, honestly. You'll have to reassure him that he does not, in fact, need to read a study on how to best approach a tween daughter about her first period. It's great that he wants to be ready, but that's a bit excessive! She hasn't even been born yet for God's sake!

Unfortunately stocks up on stereotypically girly baby clothes. Fairy prints, glitter, and vivid pinks are all included. Even worse is that he actually forms a personal likeness to those because they are so stupid looking, and he somehow finds that endearing. You'll have to put up with him being a huge goofball with those. Or perhaps you're the kind of person who enjoys his dumb jokes about the ridiculous prints. Regardless, you'll have to be the one to actually buy some neutral stuff instead. In response to the question of 'what if she won't like pink?', he'll just go and buy the same set of clothes in every color they had it in. That's one way of spending his money, you suppose.

[slutforwwewomen]

Marked

Summary - speculations of you and Rheas relationship finally come to an end as now everyone knows it's true, due to you walking out to your match with black lipstick prints on your body.

RheaRipley X Fem!Reader

Warnings - Pure Smut, Fingering, Oral (Reader receiving.) Strong Language and all that stuffs yk. 😉

Hope you enjoy! <3

“I think you’re gonna love thisss!” My makeup artist, Amanda, says to me. I told her to try something new, anything she wanted that would match my new gear I was debuting tonight.

As Amanda finishes up, I hear footsteps creeping behind me and then two hands on my shoulders, meaning it could only be…

“Guess who.” I hear from behind me.

“Hmm…I don’t know..Samantha? Liv? Rhea? I mean, I have so many girlfriends it’s hard to guess!” I say in a joking manner, suddenly feeling a hard thump on the back of my neck and the sound of a slight giggle.

“Alright! Finished!” Amanda says.

She spins my chair around, facing me towards the mirror. “Oh my god! Mandy, I love it! Thank you!” I say, standing up out of my chair and hugging her tightly. “Okay, Loosen the grip up, Azmina!” Amanda says, slightly breathless due to my grip.

I let out a small laugh and mumble a sorry.

As I turn around, I’m met face to face with my girlfriend, Rhea.

“Damn.” Is all she says.

“What? You don’t like it?” I ask.

“I more than like it. Makes me wanna fuck it off you.” She says..loudly. My response ends with me slapping her arm and my face turning completely red.

“You look good too I guess…” I say to her with a smirk on my face.

Amanda comes up behind us. “Personally, I’d rather see this than LivDom.”

That sending Rhea and I into a laughing spiral.

Amanda is one of the select few who know about Rhea and I being together.

Everyone knows me and her are super close, but they don’t know the full extent.

Rhea and I have tagged together numerous times, which is where the rumors started at to begin with.

Oh, but that’s not just all!

Rhea is very…touchy. She physically can’t keep her hands off me when we’re near one another, so during our matches, when rhea was helping me up, she’d slide her hand across me someway, or she’d hold onto me, pick me up or carry me out, whilst keeping a certain grip on my…lower half.

Always making sure to touch me.

I’ve always had this attraction to her, I mean…just look at her. How could you not?

“Hey. Come on.” Rhea whispers to me, reaching a hand out for me to grab.

“I need to put my gear on anyways.” I take her hand as she leads me to the locker room. Shutting the door behind her after she lets me go in first.

She turns around, walking slowly towards me.

Slowly inching me closer and closer against the far wall.

As she slowly made her way over to me, her eyes not leaving me, she gently pushed me against the wall.

She placed her hands right beside my head, trapping me against the wall, as she leaned in even closer.

Her breath, hitting my neck. Sending chills down my whole body.

I shut my eyes for a moment before opening them back up, my eyes meeting hers as she hovers over me looking down at me.

“Please” I murmur out, barely even understandable.

“See how I make you feel? See how I’m not even touching you, and you’re just begging me to fuck you?” Rhea says in a low tone.

She gently runs her index finger along my jaw as she whispers in my ear.

"See how you shiver when I touch you lightly?"

She then gently touches a sensitive spot on my neck.

“See how your body is telling me just how much you need me? You just can’t help yourself can you? I mean, all I’m doing is standing over you and you just can’t contain yourself. What’s to be done about that, huh?”

My mouth begins to open, but nothing comes out. I look down at the ground in slight embarrassment. I can only think of one thing right now, and that’s how badly I need to feel her.

“Oh come on…use your words baby. Tell me what you want.” She says as she moves her finger and traces under my chin.

“M-my match. I need t..to put my gear on.” I finally get out, slightly jerking to try to get out from under her.

Rhea's smile widens as she notices my attempts to get away from her.

“Oh, is that what you're worried about at the moment? Your little match? Trust me, that's the last thing you need to worry about right now.”

She grabs my chin, forcing me to look up at her. Her eyes, now intense and full of desire.

“You're not going anywhere until I'm finished with you.”

She moves her hand from my chin to my throat, applying just enough pressure to make sure I stay right where I am.

“And I'm still just getting started.”

My eyes, tearing up from the pressure she’s putting on my neck.

She finally crashes her like into mine. Kissing me with the most passion I’ve ever felt. Her lipstick, still slightly wet, as I can feel it imprinted on my skin. She removes her hand from my neck and snakes it down into my shorts.

I feel her smirk against my lips as she feels how wet I am, her fingers slowly teasing my folds.

She lets out a soft chuckle and breaks the kiss. Starting to leave a trail of hickeys down my neck and shoulder, all while her fingers still work at a painfully slow pace.

I let out a soft whimper, signaling I need her to move faster.

“Be patient darling.” She whispers before biting down gently on my shoulder, her fingers now moving only slightly faster than before.

She pulls back to look at me, watching my reactions while her fingers still rub against my clit at a painfully slow pace.

“Look at you, covered in my marks.”

She leans in, and whispers into my ear again, her voice low and sultry.

“Everyone will know who you belong to.”

She moves her other hand to grip my hip, helping hold me against the wall as she continues to move her fingers, now going at a steady fast pace.

“Shit! Rhea- Fuck! Oh my god- I’m..I’m gonna cu..” I’m cut off by her smashing her lips back into mine. Biting my lip hard and pulling on it with her teeth.

Moans begin to slip out, one after another like a broken record player.

She swallows the moans that slips from my lips, biting down on my lip again as she keeps pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

But then she stops.

She pulls away from my lips and looks at me, a smirk on her face.

“Ah ah ah, not yet…”

Rhea looks down at my legs, wobbly and shaking, barely being able to hold myself up.

She gets down on her knees then looks back up at me, a smirk still on her face as she pulls my shorts and underwear all the way down and hooks my leg over her shoulder.

She presses a kiss to the inside of my lower thigh, slowly making her way closer and closer to my core.

She finally reaches my core and runs her tongue up my folds, teasing me slowly as she keeps my leg over her shoulder.

She repeats this action a couple more times, licking and teasing me with her tongue, purposely avoiding my clit.

She finally gives my clit some attention, flicking her tongue over it quickly before sucking it into her mouth.

I feel her insert her 2 fingers deep inside me. Curling them at a slow but harsh pace.

I let out a loud moan, which almost could be mistaken as a scream.

My body begins to tremble. Knees beginning to give out again.

“You’re such a good girl for me. taking my tongue so well.” She says between licks, her voice muffled against me.

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you baby? I want you to scream my name. She gives my clit one last hard suck before pulling away slightly, her fingers still moving inside me, but she fastens the pace.

“Come on, Az, be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?”

And that’s what sent me over the edge.

My eyes stay shut but I can feel her smirk as I cum, she watches as my body trembles in pleasure. I open my eyes and watch her beneath me as she slowly licks up all of my cum, savoring the taste.

She finally completely pulls away from me, picking me and my shorts up and carrying me to a locker, sitting me down on the seat of it.

My body still hot, panting and out of breath.

And I still hadn’t gotten my gear on.

“Rhea…please. I need my gear.” I managed to pull out.

She stepz away from me, reaching into the locker and pulling out my gear.

“You better get dressed fast, baby. You have a match to win.”

I grab my underwear from right next to me, as I struggle to put them on, rhea snatches them from me and decides to take matter into her own hands.

She moves her hands down to your waist, slowly pulling my underwear up my legs, her fingers brushing against my still sensitive skin.

I decide to just push through, I stand up, obviously tired, and put my gear on. Which takes me a whopping almost 10 minutes.

I pull my phone out of my bag to check the time.

“Shit!” I yelled.

As i continue putting it on, I notice the marks all over my body.

Her marks.

Black lipstick imprinted all on my thighs, neck, and arms.

She looks at me and sort of giggles.

“Oops?”

I take of my shirt and bra, putting on my top to my gear aswell.

When I finish with that, I grab the mirror from my bag, looking at my messed up lipstick.

“Really, Rhea?”

“You’re just so hot I couldn’t help myself.” She says, shrugging her shoulders and rolling her eyes.

I hurry up and finish up putting my boots on and then I turn to Rhea again and kiss her.

“I love you. I’ll see you after my match!” I say quickly as I run out of the room as I then go to find Amanda.

I find Amanda and ask her to give me a touch up on my makeup.

She sits me down and begins to touch it up. Wiping the marks on my arms and neck off, but clearly unable to remove the permanent ones that Rhea left.

“I don’t even wanna know.” Amanda says.

I just give her an awkward smile and laugh.

After we finish up, I have about 10 minutes before I go out.

I stand in the back behind the entrance curtain, talking with some other superstars just to pass time by.

Then, it’s time for me to go out.

My entrance music hits and I go out like I normally do.

Rhea and I are currently in a feud with Damage Control, so my opponent for tonight is Iyo Sky.

As I’m doing my entrance, I catch a glance at my legs.

Shit.

I forgot the marks on my legs, and if it didn’t help, I forgot my fishnets that go underneath my gear.

I just continue on with my entrance, making my way to the ring, pretending like nothing is different.

After I finish it, RAW goes on commercial.

Leaving me to stand in the ring for a couple of minutes to prepare.

Of course people in the crowd are going to take pictures, but little did I know that I was in for a rude awakening when I got to the back.

Backstage, Rheas phone was blowing up. Messages from many different people, noticing the black marks left on her “tag partners” legs.

I stand in the ring, awaiting the ad break to go off, but I do notice all the phones in the crowd pointed at me, taking videos and pictures.

See, I wouldn’t think nothing of it unless I didn’t have these marks on my legs.

It’s truly not a bad thing for people to find out we are dating. We have to come out with it soon enough, but i didn’t really take this being the way the fans found out.

The lights come back on and it cuts to Iyo Sky coming out.

After Iyo finishes her entrance, we both stand in our corners and then the bell rings.

Iyo looks at me for a second, not moving, but looking me up and down and then slightly laughing whilst rolling her eyes.

I think I know what she was laughing at.

We put on a hell of a match for the crowd, but, during the match, Iyo puts me in a compromising position…really showing the marks on me as she bends and twists my leg in this hold she has me in.

I’m sure the camera had a direct view of the marks now, but I’m almost 99% positive there hasn’t been a point where there wasn’t already a direct view of the marks.

At the last couple seconds of the match, I hit Iyo with a missile dropkick, the impact knocking her across the ring and me falling ti the floor in exhaustion.

We both get up at the same time, having an intense stare down with one another. She runs the ropes but I end up catching her with a punch of my own.

I decide to do something interesting.

I pick her up, preforming the Riptide on her.

Pinning her, with Rheas famous pin.

1.

2.

3.

The bell rings, and I stand up.

Referee, holding one of my arms up as I lick some of the blood from my lip off with my tongue.

The match goes off air and I make my way to the back, stopping to take pictures with people and signing posters, etc.

And when I reach the back, I’m met with a grinning Rhea Ripley.

“How bad is it…” I ask her.

“Let’s just say we’re trending now, and everyone knows about us.”

She runs her hand down my body until she reaches my thigh, her fingers tracing the red marks from the match and the black lipstick marks she left. She brings her mouth up to my ear, whispering to me and making sure her breath tickles my ear.

“Don’t forget the fishnets next time.”

A/N - HIIII! This is probably my favorite fic I’ve written so far. I hope you guys enjoy it! I had so much fun writing it! All feedback is appreciated lovely’s! 🫶🏻🩷

[fishnets-fingers]

Can I Have This Dance?

“I can recall the dressmakers sewing buttons on your shirt,” she points out, pushing off the door as she saunters towards the dresser. Her eyes unashamedly rake over the exposed skin of his chest.

“Did they?” He makes a show of feeling around for the buttons.

She rolls her eyes, taking off the pins on her head, and her hair cascades down her shoulder.

“I think you left something on the dance floor, Princess.” He produces her anklet from inside his jacket pocket. Y/N lifts up her saree and looks down to see that her left leg bereft of the gold rope.

"I hadn’t noticed,” she whispers, reaching out to take it from him.

“Allow me,” he says, quickly bending down. He looks up at her asking for permission and she nods. He carefully places her feet on his knee and fastens the gold chain, moving it around so the lotus motif faces him. His fingers linger and before he knows it he’s leaning down to press a kiss on her foot.

PAIRING - spy!harry x princess!y/n

warning - smut oral (f receiving), handjob

Word Count - 10.8k (not proofread) 

MASTERPOST | MASTERLIST

….

விருந்து. Feast. Harry’s had many dinners in his life that he’d consider a feast, whether that be hunched close to a boiling pot of stew - absorbing the warmth of the cracking fire - on  the ship with his father’s crew, stuffing his face by a candle post near a hole in the wall inn at a foreign country, tearing pieces of cured meat as he rationed his supplies on his missions, and gobbling up anything comestible with the Crown Prince at battle tents. But he’ll never forget the fanciest dinner, the Princes extended an invite for him to come dine with them one night after his riding lesson. So, he put on his best clothing, slicked back his hair using aloe vera, walked into the palace for the feast, and was seated beside the younger Prince. Despite the sumptuous spread in front of him, his eyes kept drifting over to the Princess, who was hunched over the province’s ledgers - absentmindedly chewing -  at the other end of the table, shooting glaring looks when they got too rowdy.

Compared to that palatial dinner he’s experienced, the informal dinner at Handuman was pompously grandiose. A feast of sorts. The King, Queen and their children of Handuman sat amongst hundreds of flickering candles. The table was filled with bronze statues and sampaguita garlands weaving between the plates of food. The Queen had just finished telling the Chola Princesses and her children the story of Rosita and Delphin -  a favourite bedtime story of hers. She was gracious and kind, often stopping by the servants and guards' quarters to make sure that they were acclimated from their travels. The Queen’s fondness for the two young Chola Princesses only grew since their first interaction, especially since they asked her questions about her homeland - the Philippines. Harry heard from the Guard Captain that the King was very impressed by Y/N’s ingenuity, when it came to changing some of the finer print of the trade agreement. 

He'd been in and out of the castle, following up on some leads for the Crown Prince, but he’d made sure to run the security detail with the guards several times before handing over the reins to the Captain - who’d been the Princess’ shadow since the moment they set foot here. The elephant parade and accompanying fanfare led by the Handuman Prince at the port made it clear that it was more than just a warm welcome; he was trying to tout himself for Princess Y/N. 

This particular night, he found himself standing a few feet behind Y/N’s seat beside the captain. The two best friends were talking amongst themselves in hushed voices, when Y/N tittered pointing at Princess Shobhita’s lap. He couldn’t see their expressions, but whatever the Princess Royal said, made Shobhita pick up the tassels hanging from the end of her braid and smack Y/N’s arm playfully, making the two giggle. The door bursts open, just as Shobita opens her mouth to say something, and the Handuman Prince saunters into the room.

“Princess Y/N,” he calls. “I have something for you.” He claps, grabbing a velvet box from the guard behind him. 

Harry peers to see a necklace with three rows of large jagged white uncut diamonds with irregular long pearls dangling at the bottom. It was an impressive gift but Y/N’s jewellery collection was intricate and magnificent, telling the story of her kingdom and the artists who made them. How gaudy, he thinks. 

“Thank you, Prince Vinay. Certainly very gracious of your family,” Y/N nods a thank you towards the King and Queen. 

“Only the best for our visitors. I did not forget about you Princess Shobita.” He passes a small brooch to her. She responds with a shy thank you but Y/N notices the corner of her best friend's mouth pulling downwards. 

“One could well appreciate the thought you’d put into both of our gifts,” she said sweetly, but it wasn’t lost on Harry that Y/N was pointing out his tactlessness. The Handuman Prince’s generosity towards Y/N’s best friend was merely an afterthought. It was evident that Prince Vinay disregards people unless they’re beneficial to him.

Prince Vinay plops down on the vacant chair at the other end of the table, reaching for the stuffed quail. “Father, did you know that the serfs get paid in Chozhamandalam,” he rolls his eyes, making the King chuckle. “It’s foolish,” he pointedly stares at Y/N.

“It’s hardly ludicrous. I do not think it is just for generations of people to be bound to serve a Crown if they do not wish to.”

“Princess Y/N, people should know their place,” he bluntly states. 

“What place would that be?”

“Beneath us, of course.” Prince Vinay laughs. “You plant the seed of social mobility amongst them and they will think they are capable of ruling the world.”

“My Prince, do you not think remuneration is vital for the well-being of palace staff?” Shobita asks.

“A large dose of fear amongst the serfs is all one needs. You would know more about loyalty and fear of the crown better than most, would you not? You are a vassal princess after all,” he sneers.

Harry’s body prickles with rage at the blatant disrespect demonstrated towards Shobita. And the  way Y/N’s fingers tighten around the plush armrest, his body springs to a renewed state of alertness ready to intervene. The Guard Captain leans forward in anticipation of the Princess Royal, despite the Princess Royal’s history of maintaining her composure. 

“I am done for the night,” Princess Y/N declares. “It was a wonderful spread, my Queen,” she nods graciously, standing up and Princess Shobita follows along. 

“Darlings, stay. You have hardly consumed anything,” the Queen implores.

“Princess Y/N, Princess Shobita,” the King clears his throat. “Do not take dinner table conversations to heart.”

“I am not, your highness. It has been a tiresome day of negotiations for a mutually beneficial treaty and I wish to retire.”

“Goodnight, your highnesses,” Shobita says and they both curtsy before leaving.

When they were out of earshot, Shobita pipes up, “I can’t believe you walked out.”

“Would you rather I tell him off for disrespecting you? Twice.” Y/N raises her eyebrows.

“You cannot be quick tempered. We are here for Crown’s business,” Shobita reminds her. 

“I am well aware,” she mutters, turning a corner.

“Princess Y/N,” the Captain catches her attention. “The bedchambers are to your right.”

“I am taking a stroll through the garden. They have lilies that bloom at night, I am told. Do you want to join me, Shobs?”

Her friend nods, “Some fresh air ought to do us both some good.”

“Would that be a problem for you two?” Y/N turns around to face the two men. 

“No, ma’am. Although I can’t say the same for Harry here, he has had a certain vigour for the nightly excursions since we arrived” the Captain says. 

Harry throws him a dirty look. The Captain has gotten in his face about the importance of a fitful night’s sleep to be more alert and he has politely asked him to keep his nose out of his business. He knows the Captain’s pride does not take to the fact that the Crown Prince had put him in charge of the guards.

Princess Y/N raises her eyebrows at him curiously, and before she could comment, Harry reassures the two women, “It would not, your highnesses.”

////

“I do not think it wise to make our way to the markets, Y/N,” Shobita advises, perching on the closest chair next to the window overlooking the sunrise . “The ball is in two days and I reckon everyone in town wants a glimpse of you.”

“You worry too much, Shobs.” 

The younger Princess sighs, there was no changing her friend’s mind once she desires something. “How are you planning to convince the Captain for a market visit?”

“Harry is in charge of security,” Y/N reminds her. “I can get him to agree to it.”

“You seem fairly confident with that.”

Y/N shrugs. “I know how to get my way.”

Shobita narrows her eyes. Y/N rarely referred to the spy by his given name and lost was the tone of vexation that came when talking about him. Shobita was no ingenue; she presented herself in a way that was taught to her. The way that delighted people around her. The Princess Royal was brave, generous and curious, so she sought to guide herself in a timid and magnanimous manner. In her reluctance to conduct herself in a boisterous way, she hoped to inspire people to treasure their quiet strength in the face of perseverance. After all, she was raised to become one of the Queens of Chozamandalam the moment she drew her first breath, she only thought it apt to show her people that there was more than one kind of fortitude. But it does not mean that she was oblivious.

She first picked up on the lack of unease in Y/N a few days into their voyage. The way she seemed to look forward to nightfall on the ship, the way she was hunched over the star maps with a look of determination that was only present when Y/N wanted to prove her brothers wrong, the way she would quickly break into a coy smile upon her return to their cabin at dawn. She had deduced that something else was occupying Y/N’s mind, pulling her away, inhibiting her from pondering over her self professed bleakness of the seas. 

“What?” Y/N asks, breaking her away from her thoughts.

“You never wish to speak to, Mister Styles,” she points out.

“I do not wish to, yes. But I still have to.”

“Because he is a spy?”

“Precisely. And until we are in Handuman, the head of guards.”

Shobita nods. “Are you not irked that you have to convince him to get to visit the markets?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “What are you fishing for, Shobs?” Her interactions with Harry on the ship only happened in the cover of nightfall away from prying eyes. And since they docked at Handuman, she had made certain that there was not a single glance shared in his direction. She had been busy with her minister and the Handuman court the past days, and he was off doing whatever her older brother had requested him to do.

“Nothing.”

“Look,” Y/N takes a deep breath. “I absolutely hate that the mighty Crown Prince has commanded his way to let the spy,” she laces all the contempt she could muster in that last word, “be incharge of my whereabouts. I want nothing to do with any of it. Truly. But I want to go to markets with my best friend and he annoyingly is the only one who could approve of the visit. So I am merely playing nice to get my way.”

“Alright. Lead the way.” Shobita points to the door and they make their way to the guard quarters.

Need to be more cautious, Y/N thinks. If she is acting in a way that allowed Shobita to pick up on something, then it’s only a matter of time before she lets her guard down in front of her handmaidens. Once they catch wind of anything, gossip spreads like wildfire and it is the last thing she wants. Y/N does not wish to lie to her best friend but this is not the first time she has kept troubling information to herself to not cause Shobita any distress. Did whatever that has happened between her and Harry warrant a conversation? A few shared kisses, hesitant touches, and whispered sweet nothings aren’t novelty for him.

“Your highnesses,” an echoed chant comes after the two princesses' arrivals are announced to the room.

“Let Mister Styles know that we are to depart to the markets in ten minutes,” Y/N commands.

“He is not here, ma’am,” the youngest guard pipes up from across the room.

“Where is he then?”

“We do not know.”

“You do not know?” Shobita repeats, shaking her head.

“I see him leaving the quarters every night, your highness,” another soldier says.

“We believe he makes his way to the, um-” the youngest guard stops abruptly and scratches his hair, and the men in the room share a look.

“Well spit it out,” Y/N says impatiently.

“We believe he is making his way around town to get with the courtesans,” he says quietly.

The handmaidens giggle behind the Princesses. One even whispers, “Of course he is off sampling Handuman’s offerings.” They are silenced by Y/N’s stare.

“Decorum,” Shobita reminds them.

“Soldier!” The Captain’s voice booms as he makes his way to the room. “You are not to use uncouth language in front of your royal highnesses!” He makes his way to the two women and bows. 

“Humble apologies, my liege,” the young soldier nods, before scurrying away.

The doors burst open and Harry saunters in and stops in his tracks at the scene in front of him. “Majesties,” he curtsies. 

“Ah, man of the hour,” Y/N scoffs. 

“I apologise for my absence, Princess. I was out running, um, errands.”

“We depart to the markets in five minutes, Mister Styles.”

“Princess, the Crown Prince has explicitly stated that I am not to permit excursions to places where security threats cannot be fully contained.”

“Did the Crown Prince also explicitly state that you are permitted to scurry around in the town brothels, Mister Styles?” She spits that question out with vehemence. 

“Your majesty-”

“I do not care. Make haste,” she turns without sparing a glance behind.

Harry catches the way the Captain throws him an arrogant smirk and he cannot help roll his eyes.  

“Best clean the stench of the whores from your flesh Styles,” he comments.

“You know why this is a bad idea, Captain,” he implores. The Handuman Prince was on a boar hunt  - a royal tradition to be carried out before a ball. The game is then roasted meticulously by the cooks and proudly presented as the standout meal. Harry personally thinks of it as an excuse for Prince Vinay to show off that he possesses the capable skills for a hunt, even if he has not participated in a single battle before. 

The Princesses were not extended an invitation to participate in the boar chase aligned with Handuman customs, it is the men who hunt for game, and even then the invite would be futile. Princess Y/N thinks of the act of hunting animals as an efficacious show of brute strength. 

Harry shivers remembering the time he had seen the aftermath of Prince Vinay’s inebriated blood lust at the Chera hunt two years ago. The Captain had been there with him as well. Prince Vinay had repeatedly missed his shot with the deer and the alcohol he consumed did not help with bettering his aim. The evening ended with two women killed: one strangled as Prince Vinay took her and the other with a sliced jaw to better accommodate his girth. He had remembered the look on the Captain’s face when he had returned from overseeing the cleanup of the mess that had befallen at the whorehouse that evening.

“The path to the castle is through those markets and the hunt might be done in a few hours,” he continues. “Prince Vikram would not take kindly if the Princesses crossed Prince Vinay’s path.”

“I will accompany you as well. No harm will befall the two,” the Captain assures him. “We will take every soldier we have.”

////

Harry could feel the buzz of fervour and anticipation as they made their way through the market. The air was laden with scents of fresh delicacies and ripe fruits. Stalls adorned with colourful tapestries were accompanied by merchants in simple tunics clamouring for Princesses’ attention. “Ripest pick from the garden, your highness!” Cried out a merchant brandishing a reddish brown fruit in the palm of his hand. Y/N stops in her tracks mesmerised, she had not seen a fruit like that back home. 

“What are they called?” She picks one up from the tall stack, marvelling at the fuzzy texture of the skin.

“Velvet apples, Princess,” he replies, quickly offering her a freshly cut piece. She bites into it hesitantly, taken aback by the hints of caramel that manages to escape through the tart and sweet taste. “Shobita, you must try this!”

“You must take one crate home,” the vendor insists.

“Captain, can you see to it that these crates get to our ship on our eve of return? I would also like a few saplings from his garden to take home.”

“I will see to it, ma’am.”

She produces two gold coins and presents them to the seller. 

“Thank you.” The vendor examines the gold, bowing for the graciousness bestowed upon him. 

Laughter of children carried over as they darted between people’s legs holding the colourful trinkets that were gifted by the royal visitors. Harry could finally begin to understand why Princess Y/N insisted on visiting town markets. The chatter of the throng idly walking by, the music floating from a group of sullen teenagers, the weathered face of an old woman holding all the secrets of herbs and potions in her cart, women floating from one stall to another in search of the freshest produce and game with a basket looped around their arm humming a melody, men busy haggling as coins clink busy sniffing out the best deal as they barter, all accompanied the warm gleam of the sun was picture perfect. The markets were the pulse point of the town to experience its river of humanity.

The sea of crowd parts for Y/N as she moves, while the onlookers let out several gasps in awe. He is unsure what garnered a gasp -  the dazzling display of ornate wealth or her countenance battling the radiance of a thousand suns. I bet it is the latter, he thinks. “Finest silks from the Orient!” A merchant calls out, the one from which Shobita purchased two spools of bright red weaves. Harry quickly glances towards Y/N, who was busy enjoying the puppet show with the rest of the townsfolk. He hangs back with two other guards, on the lookout for the arrival of the hunting crew, while the others surround the Princesses.

 “Would you like some sweets, Sir?” A small boy asks, pushing a rickety cart in front of him. “My mummy makes the sweetest treats in all of Handuman.” There were only a few on display.

“These sell out quickly?” He asks.

“Aye, they are gone by the time I get to the market,” he replies, casting a glance towards the direction of the Princess, the corners of his mouth pulling downwards.

“This upsets you lad?”

“I was hoping that Princess Y/N would get to taste one. That would make mummy merry but seven measly sweets is not enough of the Princess’s attention.” He sighs, turning the cart around to head back home.

He examines the colourful cylindrical wax wrappers and before he knows it, the words slip out of his mouth, “Can I tell you a secret?”

The boy nods. “I would not tell a soul.”

“The Princess enjoys a sweet treat. Loves them lots that she does not bear to share them,” he whispers.

“I do not wish to share my sweets too!” He exclaims. “But mummy says I must because it makes my sisters cry.”

Harry laughs, ruffling the boy’s hair. “How about I buy these sweets from you and make sure to hand deliver them to Princess Y/N and tell her about you and your mother?”

“You would?”

“Uh huh. I got into some trouble with the Princess this morning, I think your mummy’s sweets might get me out of hot water.”

He laughs as he makes quick work of wrapping the last of the sweets in a banana leaf as he hands it over. Harry pockets them and hands the boy ten silver coins. “The Pastillas only cost seven coppers.”

“These are for you and your mummy from Princess Y/N.”

“Thanks Mister!” The little boy gleams and treads back home.

////

Y/N’s eyes are closed, face tilted up, her lips pursed in a thin line, breathing in the flowery scent at the edge of the garden. During her daily evening walks on the grounds of Queen’s quarters, she stumbled upon a patch of wildflowers of bright pinks, oranges, reds, yellows and purples dotting the tall blades of green grass. It was behind the tall hedged maze - the only spot in the garden that had not been manicured to perfection - dwarfed by the expansiveness of the former. Even without tender affection from the gardeners, the soil rewarded the onlooker with stunning beauty. A quiet tranquil after the liveliness of the market and the tension that radiated from both the Captain and Harry. Y/N noticed their collective sigh as their shoulders slumped in relief the moment they stepped foot inside the castle.

The market had been a wonderful distraction from what she had learned this morning: Harry’ dalliances. She cannot believe that she had let her guard down around someone like Harry, someone widely known to be indecent. Had you not learnt from the stories handmaidens told about the men and women he had lain with? She chastised herself. She had despised him, the freedom he had to mindlessly pursue corporal pleasure, the swagger he carried himself with, the self assured confidence he had in his ability to charm anyone into bed, the way his lips curled up in an arrogant smile when he would catch her looking, and most of all, his utter disregard over others - always in pursuit of putting himself first. And you still fell into his trap, her jaw tightens, trying to keep the anger at bay. She parts her lips, breathing in through the nose, letting the buzz of insects take over the noise in her head.

“Can I have a word, Princess?” Harry's quiet voice breaks through the silence. He had just relieved the soldier on guard, taking his place a few feet behind her. 

Her eyes remain closed and Harry sighs, “Y/N.”

She stands still.

“This morning, I -”

“Mister Styles,” she responds with venom, “I do not want to be disturbed.”

“I know and I will leave you be after I-”

“Stop it,” she warns with a withering look. 

“Guards!” She yells, and three come hurrying towards them. “See to it that Mister Styles retires for the day. I am sure he would appreciate his sleep after a night of..,” she trails off as she looks back at him with contempt. “A night of exertion.”

“If you wish, your royal highness,” he mutters dejectedly, walking away.

Y/N sighs, watching his figure disappear into the castle. Idiot, her mind taunts, making her shake her head. She signs the guards to leave her alone as she bimbles around the grounds, kicking off her shoes wanting to feel the blades of dewy grass underneath her feet, the cleaners back home would not appreciate the grass stains on her silks and any other day she would have lifted the fabric up but she was not in a mood to be courteous. She isn’t sure how long she’s walked or if she was still in the compound of the gardens when she stumbles onto a pond and perches on a stone overlooking it, hand absentmindedly coming to play with her anklet. The water at the pond's edge is still, reflecting the powdery blue sky and the green of the trees. But the middle is dotted with broad, waxy leaves that float lazily, rising above the surface. The flowers stand tall - pinks, purples, and white - smooth and translucent in the sunlight. 

The light caresses the edges of the pearls, glinting golden. Some shy away from the warmth, curled tightly into a bud, needing a few more coaxes from the sun’s rays. It’s quiet, apart from the occasional splash and rustle from the fishes darting beneath the leaves, and the quiet hum of insects flitting about. She smiles at how the pond seems to be a quiet haven - ancient and ethereal - despite the busyness of housing its own micro ecosystem.

“Princess Y/N,” Princess Vinay calls out loudly. “I have been in search of you.”

“Prince Vinay,” she greets him from the bench. “I seem to have lost track of time marvelling at the beauty of these flowers.” She twists around to find the Handuman Prince making his way towards her still in his hunting attire. The buttons seem to be done up in the wrong manner, the leather vest pulled over haphazardly, and his shirt untucked bunched around his waistband.

“The beauty of this filthy marsh,” he laughs. “You jest, dear Princess.” He stumbles closer to her. “It is the night jasmine you must admire. They are only grown in palace grounds. Fit for us nobility.”

The scent of alcohol permeates off of him and she straightens as it hits her nostrils. “It is indeed a fragrant blossom but something about lotuses -”

“Princess. Princess,” he tuts. “These flowers even bloom in the town's sewage ditches,” he slurs. “Even the common folk do not covet for them. A Chola Princess Royal such as you must distance yourself from this abominable excuse of a flower.” He sways and regains his balance by leaning against the tree trunk.

“How was your hunt?” She asks - heart rate rising - hoping to be rid of the Prince by letting him brag about his alleged kill.

“Splendid. I managed to capture the biggest boar of the season. I had slain it with this very blade,” he unsheaths his swords and presents it to her - tripping over his feet as he did.

She quickly takes it from him, careful to not make any contact with his hand, and makes a show of examining the weapon. 

“This blade has been with me for many hunting trips. It is a sign of true bravery,” he steps closer to her. 

“Indeed.” Y/N agrees, standing up from her seat, taking a step backward.

“What do you think, Princess Y/N? Have you witnessed what true bravery looks like?” He whispers, gaze trailing down her body.

“One can certainly deduce your strength and bravery from how clean and sharp the blade is,” she slowly starts moving away from him. “The blades my brothers bring back from their hunts are dull and soiled.” 

“My strength impresses you, Princess?” He reaches for her hand.

“It impresses your subjects,” she dodges his question, bringing her hands behind her back. “That is what matters.”

“It is a shame,” he slurs. “That you would rather eat like a rabbit tomorrow than feast on the game.”

“I should be heading inside, my Prince.” She says firmly, eyes darting around for signs of any guards and disappointment quickly floods her when she finds no one. Her heart picks up speed.

“Do you know where I have been?” He pushes himself from the trunk and stalks towards her. 

She shakes her head.

“Of course, it is not proper to tell such things to a lady,” he chuckles. “But I know how you women speak. I visit the brothels after a hunt. I find it to be the most rewarding conclusion.”

She stays quiet, stepping back.

“I wonder how Chola women are. I have yet to sample one of you.” He laughs. “Do you think I would be disappointed, Princess?”

“This is highly inappropriate. I will take my leave,” she answers, turning away but he’s quick to grip her wrist.

 “You Cholas,” he chuckles. “You think of yourselves as high and mighty but you should know that one of your guards has been frequenting the whorehouse. Every night from what I hear.”

“What my guards do outside of their working hours is not my business.” She tries to wiggle her hand free but it only makes him clamp down harder.

“I fucked five sluts bloody an hour ago, Princess Y/N. Do you want me to show you what I am capable of?” 

“Let me go, Vinay. I order-” He grips her jaw, silencing her.

“Silence,” he slurs, squeezing her cheeks harshly, forcing her lips apart. “Fuck,” he leans in sniffing her neck. “Fuck,” he groans. “Maybe I still have it in me to put the Chola Princess in her rightful place.” His free hand goes to undo his trousers, looking down to locate the drawstring. 

Y/N uses that to her advantage and sinks her teeth into his hand clamping down forcefully, making him yelp. She drives her knee up his crotch with her might. He falls to his knees, eyes bulging in pain. “You bitch,” he curses. 

She slaps him. “Shut up, you coward.”

Prince Vinay looks up at her, eyes watering, and he opens his mouth to say something but is quietened when he hears the Captain call out for her. “Here!" She yells out, and he rushes towards them with Harry hot on his heels. 

“I will see to it that my father punishes you,” he spits out, rocking back and forth cupping his groin in pain.

“Are you going to tell the King that his son - the brave and strong Prince Vinay who has allegedly slain several wild boars - was brought to his knees by a woman? Let’s see how your senate and court respect you then, you puny scum.

“Go ahead!” She taunts him. 

“Your highness, we have been in search of you as soon as we heard that the Prince had entered the compound-” the Captain stops, taking in the scene in front of him, lips curling up imperceptibly in a proud smirk. 

“Princess, are you hurt?” Harry asks, eyes filled with concern.

“I am unharmed, Mister Styles.”

“Was he untowards with you, Princess Y/N?” The Captain questions.

She shakes her head. “He did not get a chance to.”

“Harry and I will handle the situation. We best get you back to your chambers.”

She nods, before turning towards Vinay, “I do not want to see or have you breathe in my or my company’s direction for the next few days. You will come forward to announce a twenty percent tax cut for our cargo ships using your docks at the ball or I will see to it that your people see you for the miserable pathetic excuse of a man you are.

“You know how us women speak,” she smiles at him, echoing his words from earlier, turning around leaving the Prince of Handuman writhing in pain on the ground.

////

Thousands of candles lit up the vast ballroom of the Handuman palace, flowers strung all around, Hanuman’s potent toddy - maireya - flowing generously into the guests' glasses, people whirling around to the quartet, but the most impressive of all was the giant boar placed at the King’s table that was roasted to perfection. 

Handuman customs were different from what Harry was used to from back home. They required the guards and staff to be dressed appropriately. Princess Shobitha had handed the guards their formal suits a few hours before, and had explained that Princess Y/N had the dressmakers specially make each of them to fit Handuman’s standards. The guards’ suits were simple - black with a leaping tiger embroidered in the lapels. The Captain’s suit was a light grey with the Chola crest on the lapels but it had small marigolds - his husband’s favourite flower - embroidered in a straight line, running down the length of his sleeves. Harry’s was a sage green suit with a silver green silk shirt with the house crest, with a sailors collar and braided white threads - similar to the knots he’d used to secure the masts - running up from his front pockets and around the cuffs of his sleeves. What caught his attention was a motif of a  black bunny painted on the white button of his trouser; it looked shabby, the lines were crooked - almost like one had done it hastily in a bobbing vessel. Did Y/N do this? His mind goes back to that night on the boat, his chest blooming remembering the way she’d sweetly smiled at him when he told her that he grew up thinking that the shadow on the moon came from the bunny who lived there. You need to set things straight with her.

Harry notices the way people gasp from amazement when Princess Y/N moves past them, hand in hand, with Princess Shobita. He is tailing the two of them with the Captain tonight. The Captain was busy watching Prince Vinay like a hawk, while the two women were busy conversing with the lord and lady of the southern Handuman province. They took care of the situation earlier today, calling over to his guards and fabricating a story about how he had tumbled to the ground. It didn’t take much to convince them, so they both deduced that him passing out drunk was not an unusual occurrence. 

Her laughter tears his gaze back to her. He’s been doing that a lot since the start of the night. Looking at her. A compulsion to take her in every few minutes in an attempt to convince himself that she wasn’t an image his mind conjured from his dreams. Y/N stepped out of her chamber clad in a cream silk saree and a matching corset - shoulders bare, skin luminous, hair pinned up to bring attention to the choker gifted to her by the Handuman family - with the fabric pooling and falling deliciously against her curves. 

He has been vying for her attention throughout the evening but she seems content ignoring him, flitting from one person to the next keeping herself occupied, she’d even asked to dance with the Captain - who’d indulged in her with laughter as they spun around for three songs - when she saw him approach her. He’s left with no option but to approach her this way, using Handuman’s traditions for his benefit.

“Princess Y/N,” he says, approaching from behind as she takes measured sips from the glass of toddy. He extends his hand towards her, palm inviting hers, “Can I have this dance?”

She quickly looks to Shobitha beside her and turns to face him. She knows that he knows that in Handuman a lady can’t refuse an offer to dance from a gent. She gives him a smile that’s reserved for the public - a polite one that does not let you in on her feelings. “You may, Mister Styles,” she quietly says, handing over her glass to her friend and placing her hand in his.

He squeezes it reassuringly, as he leads the two of them to the dancefloor. They bow as the music picks up. She places her left hand firmly on his shoulder blade and he holds the other outstretched. He begrudgingly leaves space between their bodies as he puts his hand on her shoulder blade. When they move, he’s surprised at how effortlessly she’s matching his footwork with his galumphing ones. He hasn’t danced the waltz in years - his father taught him because it was his mother’s favourite - and he never once thought it would ever come in handy. But she is forgiving when she glides with him, moving with him in a way that concealed his missteps.

“That must have been one hell of a kick to his balls,” he chuckles, trying to break the ice after a few minutes. “He’s hardly looked your way tonight.” Prince Vinay has kept away from them, moving the other way as the Princesses made their rounds, barely touching her hand when he’d handed over the quill when they signed the treaty, gaze trained away from them and now, busily ushering a young maiden out the ballroom. 

“Some people ought to be reminded what I’m capable of,” she replies icily, glaring at him. 

“I am well aware, Princess.”

“Why did you ask me to dance?”

“You were avoiding me, your highness,” he replies.

“And you still can’t seem to take the hint.”

“I want you to know what I was doing at the…,” he trails off.

“Brothels,” she finishes. “Mister Styles, I don’t care for your explanations.”

“Even if that meant knowing why the Crown Prince sent me here.” He spins her around.

She laughs dryly. “I am sure my brother did not send you here to screw your way through the whorehouse. Even though that’s what the two of you do back home, isn’t it?” 

His cheeks tinge pink, heat rushing to the tips of his ears, and he clears his throat. “I did do that, yes. But I haven’t in several months, Princess. I swear. Not after…”

She looks up at him, his tousled hair dark under the candle light, shirt unbuttoned all the way down to reveal the ridges of his chest, eyes glimmering green as he holds her gaze. She noticed the way the ladies at court made moon eyes at him throughout the evening and as much as she tried distracting herself with pleasantries, their swooning bothered her.

“I don’t care much for your sweet talk, Mister Styles. You got what you wanted. You charmed a Princess into kissing you. Now you can move on. Another notch on your bedpost, right?” She says quietly. 

“Y/N,” he says firmly. “Stop that. I do not regard what transpired between us with such frivolity. Listen to me, please.” 

She stops as the song ends but he does not let go. He looks down at her earnestly and murmurs, “Please.”

“One more song, Harry,” she sighs, signalling to the quartet to continue.

“One of the men your brother managed to capture at the camps,” he looks around out of habit to see a few eyes on them. “Maybe we should talk about this more privately.”

“People are not going to suspect my guard to be divulging secrets in the middle of a dance with a ballroom full of people. Go ahead,” she prompts.

“They’re whispering amongst themselves,” he notes.

“Hold me closer,” she commands, and he does, bridging the distance between the two. “There. That’s enough gossip to hold them over until the song’s over.”

He smirks, stepping back into waltzing and she follows suit. “I was asked to go straight to camp  when I delivered your message to Prince Karthi in Lanka because of this prisoner.”

“What about him?”

“He had scars all over his body. When they had tortured him, they had found a branding on his shoulder. Two fishes,” he tells her quietly.

Her eyes widens and she falters to a stop, but Harry pulls her along, floating along the dancefloor. “How old was he, Harry?”

“Mid seventies.”

Y/N’s heart picks up speed. Branding, apart from livestock - was prohibited in the Kingdom but that particular branding was one given by her grandfather to traitors fifty years ago. Specifically to the traitors from the Pandiyan Kingdom. Hundreds of years ago the South was ruled peacefully by three kingdoms: the Cheras, the Cholas, and the Pandiyas. People were allowed to move freely between the borders, trade flourished, and the families remained friends until the Pandiyan King had struck a deal with the foreign clan and had murdered the Chera King. He had invited the Chera family under the pretence of a feast and had slaughtered the ruler and his heirs. It left the Kingdom in shambles with the aristocrats clamouring for power amongst themselves in the Chera Kingdom - unable to come to the aid of the Cholas when the Pandiyan King had attacked. Her grandfather had fought hard with his men for decades to restore peace to the realm. And during the decade long war, all the Pandiya royalty were slain and most of its people had become a victim to starvation because their King had funnelled all their resources into war. 

The people that remained had pledged loyalty to the Cholas, a few migrated to the North, and the Pandiyan empire crumbled. It had taken several years for grandfather and father to foster normalcy and growth in their kingdom - both old and newly acquired. Her father was crowned into an empire that was turning around from the ravages of war. 

“The traitors were all killed. Hundred and sixty three of them,” she remembers from the records.

“Spin,” he tells her, lifting their outstretched arm up and she twirls. When she faces him, there’s a furrow between her brows. 

“If he was killed, why are you here?” She asks, before resetting her face to look composed with a polite smile. 

“He’d mentioned something about an heir. ‘A child coming to claim his birthright,’ he said before Prince Vikarm had killed him.”

“Vikram’s such a hothead. You could not keep him around to ask him more questions?” She rolls her eyes. 

“I wasn’t around for his beheading,” he says dryly. 

“If there is a child that would mean…” She trails off, shivering at the images of civil unrest,  and the threat to their safety of their empire. Their succession.

“Prince Karthi stayed back at your castle to go through the bloodline records,” he tells her. It all makes sense for her, why her younger brother had uncharacteristically hung back in her castle - going against their fathers orders -  under the guise of seeing her off on this journey. “We also found a crumpled paper he tried to swallow. It was the coordinates to one of the brothels here in Handuman.

“That's why I’ve been going there all these nights,” he continues. “I wasn’t going for the solicitors, Y/N, I’ve been trying to follow the lead.”

“Do you think they are in on it?” She asks, looking over to Prince Vinay and his parents. 

“No, they are unaware. I’ve been trailing them too.”

She nods. “Very well. What did you find at the brothels?”

“Not much but the women talked about a man who’d come in once a while to collect coin from the keepers.”

“You think it’s the person that was caught?”

He shakes his head. “This was someone younger. His face is always covered, never talked but two women recalled seeing a tattoo on his wrist. Two fishes. That’s where my lead ends.”

“Thank you for telling me, Harry.”

“Don’t be angry at your brothers. They did not want to worry you until they’d found substantial evidence.” 

She arches her eyebrows in surprise. “How?”

“I think I know your expressions quite well, Princess,” he chuckles. 

“Oh, do you?” She smirks. 

“Yeah,” he says, as he dips her dramatically, before hoisting her up. 

“The music’s ending,” she notes. 

“I know,” he smiles wistfully. 

“You’re not terrible at waltz,” she jests, leaning against him as they sway. “Could use some practice with your feet though.”

He laughs. “Could use some practice with my lips too.”

“Harry Styles!” She lets out a giggle, before restraining herself, aware that everyone in the ballroom was now looking at them. 

“How about we give these people something to gossip about, Y/N?” He asks. 

He was right. People will talk. Sure she danced with the Captain and laughed throughout for three whole dances. But no one would care, given his avuncular disposition. She’s been intensely conversing with Harry for two songs. Surely there are a number of stories going around so far about whatever that was transpiring between them. She needed to give the audience something big that would pull their attention away from their conversation. So, she nods as the song ends and he lets go of her.  

He bows, sinking down on his knee, bringing her hand he was holding to his lips. “Princess Y/N,” he says loudly before pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “It was an honour.”

////

It’s past midnight when Y/N manages to retire from the ball. The party had morphed into something more rambunctious after the Handuman King and Queen bid their farewell. Dances got more suggestive, music got more rowdy, and the younger members of the court surfeited on alcohol had started passing out a pungent herb to smoke. Despite the insistence of people, she managed to get away with Shobita stating they needed to catch up on rest before they set sail tomorrow. 

The heavy wooden door creaks as they swing open, revealing the soft twinkle of her candlelit chamber. She leans against the doors, locking it shut, and lets out a sigh. Her gaze sweeps around the room, taking in the way the flames flicker, casting long harsh shadows against the stone walls. The lingering scent of coral jasmine and rosewater fosters a sense of sanctuary within her. She is more than ready to wash away the hours of bearing royal duties and expectations off of her skin. Windows carrying a cool breeze from the dark of the night, makes the thick velvet tapestries billow, and that catches her attention. “You’ve got to step up your spy game, Mister Styles. My handmaidens shut the windows when I left the room,” she says. 

Harry steps out from behind the curtain, with a sheepish smile, eyes shining in the buttery glow of candlelight. 

“I can recall the dressmakers sewing buttons on your shirt,” she points out, pushing off the door as she saunters towards the dresser. Her eyes unashamedly rake over the exposed skin of his chest. She undoes the clasp of her choker and tosses it on the table.

“Did they?” He makes a show of feeling around for the buttons.

She rolls her eyes, taking off the pins on her head, and her hair cascades down her shoulder. 

“I think you left something on the dance floor, Princess.” He produces her anklet from the pocket of his trousers. Y/N lifts up her saree and looks down to see that her left leg is bereft of the gold rope. She had no doubt that she’d fiddled with it to a point where she’d loosened the clasps. 

“I hadn’t noticed,” she whispers, reaching out to take it from him.

“Allow me,” he says, quickly bending down. He looks up at her asking for permission and she nods. He carefully places her feet on his knee and fastens the gold chain, moving it around so the lotus motif faces him. His fingers linger and before he knows it he’s leaning down to press a kiss on her foot.

She gasps, hand going to steady herself on the table. “Harry,” she murmurs. 

“Been craving this since our first night on the ship,” he confesses, gazing up at her. He traces her soft skin with his lips, thumbs massaging the soles. Her anklet tinkles from her squirming but he continues to pepper kisses.

“It tickles,” she giggles, tugging her feet from his grasp.. 

He rises swiftly, hands coming to cup her cheeks. “Did you really believe anyone could hold a candle to you? All the men and women I have fucked never stood a chance.”

Her brows furrow in confusion, but he continues. “You’ve ruined me, Y/N.” The green of his irises disappears, replaced by a blooming lust. “I may be one with the shadows, surrounded by lies and deception but I only speak the truth when I am with you. You are all my mind can conjure in dreams. You are all I see in the poetry I read. Your smile, your eyes, your wit, your grace, your lips…” He trails off, bumping his lips on her cupid’s bow. “I swore an oath to protect your kingdom, I swore to my best friend - your brother - that I would protect you from threats during this voyage and a part of me intends to honour those promises until the end of time. But you’ve claimed a part of me, one that goes beyond loyalty. A part that a spy like me never intended to give away. And you have it - you haunt me. Ever since I first laid eyes on you.

“I swear, Princess, I did not seek solicitors. I went to the brothels as ‘the shadow,’ the spy of the Chola heirs. Not as Harry. The man whose life belongs to you.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. Not knowing what to say, she gets on her tiptoes, a hand weaving in his curls as she crashes her mouth to his. Harry responds with vigour, groaning as she glides her tongue against his. Chest heaving, fire stirring in their bellies, and the air around them crackle with electricity.

“Y/N. Wait,” he whispers, tearing himself away from her. He opens his eyes to find her looking up at him in confusion. “I want to savour this.” He steps away from her and his hungry eyes rake over the way the light bounces off her skin. He picks up a candelabra and places it on the wooden dresser. 

“Do you know how ravishing you look?” He mutters, pushing her hair behind her shoulders. 

“Are you going to draw this out, Harry?” She asks, chest heaving, eyes hooded with lust. “I am used to getting what I want, when I want.”

“You’ll get what you want,” he bends down and whispers, his lips moving against the shell of her ear. “Who am I to deny the Princess Royal?” 

He cups her face, thumbs stroking her heated cheeks, and he teasingly brushes his lips against hers. His hands move down, brushing the column of her throat, along her collarbone, and Y/N’s eyes flutter close feeling the zips of electricity under his touch. He removes the loose end of the saree that hangs over her shoulders, undoing the pleats tucked into her waistband delicately, and tugging the fabric so that it pooled at her feet. He takes in the sight in front of him: Y/N just in a pair of white panties and the silk corset that pushed her breasts up in a delicious way. She stood proudly in front of him, head held high, gaze piercing through. 

“You’re overdressed, Mister Styles,” she notes, kicking the fabric of her saree away, reaching to push his suit jacket off his shoulders. She tugs his shirt from his pants, nimble fingers quickly unbuttoning the one button he has secured at the end. She brushes her fingers over his chest, nails grazing his nipples that harden under the attention. “You have a fine body,” she comments, rocking up on her toes to press wet kisses down the side of her throat. “Must spend a lot of time on it.” She squeezes the firm muscles of his abdomen. 

He nods, unable to take his eyes away from the path her hand takes down his belly button, fingers dusting along his happy trail. She tugs on the button, smiling up at him. “I couldn’t resist,” she mumbles, finger tracing the outline of the bunny. 

He grabs her hands when she goes to unbutton his trousers. “I don’t think I would last if you keep smiling like that while pulling down my trousers,” he confesses. 

“We certainly wouldn’t want that now, do we, Harry? After all you’ve got to live up to the rumours, however exaggerated they may be,” she smirks.

He’s stunned. No once has someone held themselves as his equal while having sex. He’s used to people mooning over him, eyes cast down, eager to please, and here she was jesting, like it wasn’t her first time. “No exaggerations. It’s all true,” he says, affronted, making her giggle.

He shrugs his shirt off, arms circling her waist as he walks them back until Y/N bumps against the bed. “Can I take this off?” He asks and deftly unhooks her corset when he gets a nod. He sucks in a breath as it falls off, “Fuck me.”

Y/N reaches down and peels off her panties and beckons him close. He’s imagined the sight in front of him countless times, but nothing comes close to this sight of her. The wanton in her eyes, the swelling in her lips, the cascade of her long hair, the fullness of her breasts, the deliciously puckered nipples, the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the dip of her waist, the pudge below her bellybutton, the curve of her hips, the dusting of dark hair at her groin, the sporadic white stripes running down her thighs, and those damned anklets decorating her feet.

“You’re drooling, Mister Styles,” she chuckles.

It took an immense amount of restraint on his part to not feel her up when they’d kissed in the past. He tried hard to not let his hands wander away from her waist. He’s certain that restraint was something he can’t exercise anymore. “I don’t think there’s a word in any language that could convey the beauty in front of me. And even if there was one, I don’t think it will do you any justice. No dream of mine could compare to how breathtaking you are. Truly. You are beyond imagination, Princess.”

Her cheeks heat  but she does not have any time to respond because he’s busy capturing her lips, hands cupping her breasts. She hums relishing in the pleasure that seeps in her veins, spreading through the corner of her being. He kisses the top of her breasts, smiling at the way she shivers under his mouth. 

“So soft,” he groans, breathing in her scent, as he toys with her nipples. She’s eager, pushing her chest forward, hands finding purchase at the back of his head, guiding his head down. 

A low mewl escapes her mouth as his tongue leaves against her nub. His hands glide down to her bum and he squeezes it, teeth tugging her sensitive nipple. “Harry,” she moans, full of need and his determination to take it slowly crumbles. “Lay down,” he says, hurriedly. “I need to bury myself in your thighs. Please.”

Harry gets on his knees beside her on the mattress, leaning down to kiss her cheeks, breathing in her floral scent. He kisses her as he tenderly moves her hair away from her face. His hand travels down, and stops at the curls of hair at the junction of her thighs. “Can I touch you here?”

“Yes,” she replies, a furrow appearing between her brows. He smooths it away with his thumb. “Harry?”

“What is it?” He kisses the crescent birthmark by her chin.

“My handmaidens tell me that men do not enjoy pleasuring a woman with their mouth. You should not feel an obligation to do so because I am a Princess.”

He pecks the corner of her mouth. “My only obligation is to deliver on what I said that night in your tower.” Another peck on her cupid’s bow. “Make your body feel things that the Kamasutra failed to mention.” His fingers skate between her thighs, finding her damp, he moans.

“Fuck, Y/N. I really want to kiss you here.” His fingers brush against her folds and she gasps. “Will you let me?”

She parts herself and he settles between her legs, hitching her left thigh up to plant kisses on the inside. When he gets to top, he switches to her other thigh, trailing his tongue up biting down on a stretch mark. 

“Fuck,” she grunts, chest heaving in anticipation. He feels his trousers getting tighter but he brushes it away, laying down on the mattress and uses his thumb to part her folds.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, blowing on her heated flesh. He swoops in, burying himself in her, taking in her potent scent. He uses tongue to lick her from her opening to her clit, mewling at the taste.

“Ah, Harry,” she moans, fingers burying themselves in her hair, and he continues lapping her up, making lewd sounds as he continues. His tongue flicks the bundle of nerves that’s swollen and she cries out. 

He looks up at her to find her eyes scrunched shut, bottom lip trapped between her teeth, arching up from the sensation. “Do you feel it?” He asks, hands clamping down on her thighs.

She nods, opening her eyes to find him staring at her, with every flick of his tongue a zip of pleasure shoots up from her nub to her spine. The faster he does it the stronger she feels these bolts sizzling through her cells. He continues looking at her and he moans, “You taste heavenly, Princess.”

“More,” she demands, tugging on his curls. And he does, wrapping his lips around her clit, he suctions softly in quick successions and she shudders, back arching, thighs clamping down on his head. 

He suckles her through the orgasm, feeling chuffed to be the only one who's making her feel this way. He smirks when he hears the tinkle of her anklets as she’s riding it out. “There we go. One more, Y/N, give me one more.”

“Harry,” she squeals when his fingers replace his tongue, rubbing quick circles on the oversensitive bundle of nerves. He dips his tongue in her opening, teasing her. She tries to get up, gritting her teeth at the fire raging deep in her belly, and she balances herself on her elbows to get a look at him.

Her wild eyes take in the way his eyes are closed, as he hums to himself as he kisses her. It seems her handmaidens were wrong, Harry doesn’t seem like not enjoying himself. Her fingers curl around the sheets when he pinches her clit and she comes undone for the second time that night crying out his name.

“Fucking hell, that was-” he’s unable to find words. So he settles by peppering kisses to her centre, as she comes down, body relaxing into the mattress, gasping for air. He wipes her slick on her face using the back of his hand, before adjusting the tent in his trousers. 

“I want to help you with that,” she tells him.

He shuffles out of his trousers, and sits at the edge of the bed. Y/N follows suit, scooting beside him. He notices her staring at his cock, already beaded with precum from their actions before, and he twitches under her scrutiny. “What? My manhood’s got you speechless,” he laughs.

“I’ve never seen one before. Would you say you are an average representation of the male reproductive organ?”

“More than average I’d say.” He says, suddenly flustered. “Bigger than most, honestly.”

She cocks her head to her side. “That isn’t what I’m supposed to say is it?” She asks. “My handmaidens say I’m supposed to stroke a man’s ego and tell them that their manhood is impressive.”

“Princess, I do not give a fuck what your handmaidens say.”

“What would you like then, Harry? Can I touch you?���

“Please. Feels like I’m going to burst,” he whines.

Her touch is feathery, curious as she feels the velvety hardness of his throbbing member. “You feel heavy against my palm,” she notes. He lets out a shuddering breath. “You like that?”

“Yes.” He kisses her. “Spit in your hand,” he tells her. And she follows, wrapping her hands around - fingers barely enclosing him. She pumps him slowly. “Oh fuck yeah, just like that.”

A bead of cum blurts out, when she plays with the tip. “Y/N,” he moans. She leans forward, slipping her tongue into his mouth as she moves her hand faster, and he pants against her lips feeling himself climb. 

“How many nights have you dreamed of my hands wrapped around your cock, Harry?’ She whispers against the shell of his ear. 

“So many, Y/N,” he manages to get out before whimpering at the way she twists her hand around him. 

“Does this live up to your expectation?” She asks, mouth nipping the spot she’s found in his throat that makes him putty in her hands.

“Uh huh,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping the edge of the mattress, toes curling at the pleasure that bubbles at the base of his spine. Her mouth continues to suckle down his chest, tongue flicking his nipple like he did hers. 

He whimpers, “Kiss me, Y/N.” And she presses her lips to his in a scorching way, and he comes, hot thick ropes, spilling on his stomach and down her hand. 

He quickly reaches to the floor and wipes the remnants of his orgasm from her hand. “Why’d you do that?”

He looks up at her confused, “I thought yo-”

“I wanted to taste you like you did me,” she states, looking straight into his eyes.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he laughs. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he kisses her forehead, reaching between her thighs to wipe her clean.

She winces, hands clutching onto his arms at the over stimulation. “I know. Just a moment.” He tosses his shirt on the floor.

She leans against his chest, arms circling his neck and he wraps his arms around her, fingers playing with the bumps of her spine.. They stay quiet, relishing the cool wind against their sweaty skin, feeling their racing hearts calm down. He buries his nose in her hair, amazed that it smells like flowers too. 

“Are you okay? With everything that happened?” He asks, tucking her hair behind her ear.

She nods. “What about you?”

“I’m certain that this is a dream,” he sighs. “That we’re in court back home, and you are busy fucking me with your eyes- Ow!” He recoils, a sharp sting shooting against his love handles from her pinch.

“I did not fuck you with my eyes, Mister Styles.” She tells him firmly, but the heat blooming her cheeks tell him otherwise.

“What was the pinch for?”

“To prove that this isn’t a dream,” she laughs.

“I don’t think a Princess is supposed to go around pinching her spy. What would the Queen Mother say about your unbecoming behaviour, your highness?”

She frowns at the mention of her grandmother. The Queen Mother had always insisted that she uphold her duties to the people. ‘A Princess must always put the interests of the Crown before hers,’ she’d told her. Did you act in the interest of the Crown tonight? She knew how lucky she was to have the King let her act in her own free will. She knows the weight she carries on her shoulders to be worthy of her father’s decision. To prove the naysayers otherwise. She was the only Princess Royal in the history of the Chola kingdom to step into administration. She made decisions independently without needing approval from the King or the Princes. 

“Y/N,” his voice pulls her out of her reverie. He tilts her chin up. “Do not do that to yourself.” “Don’t let your duties stand in the way of the choices you make for yourself,” he says firmly. 

She nods, this was something someone like Harry would never understand. He would never understand that the sole purpose of a Princess was to expand the empire and forge allies through marriage. Never understand that the power she held at court was an anomaly, not an exception. That her parents and the elders trusted in her judgement to choose her spouse, without pressuring her.

“Oh I almost forgot,” he exclaims, grabbing his suit jacket. He fishes out colourful cylindrical wax papers from his inside pocket. “I got you sweets.”

“Sweets?” She takes one from him, unwrapping one.

“Yeah. Got them at the market. Figured I needed something to soften the blow. Get me out of the doghouse.” He pops one in his mouth. 

“You were going to bribe me with sweet treats?” She bites into the milky, peanut filled delight. 

“Figured it was worth a shot,” he shrugs.

She hums in delight as the sugary concoction melts in her mouth. “I think I’m going to have to be angry with you more often.”

He laughs, watching her unwrap her second candy.

 “I can try and bring more home,” he sighs. He can’t board the boat with her tomorrow. She knows that. He has a mission to complete. To figure out who that man was with the Pandiyan house tattoo on his wrist. To help her brothers and her piece together how that escaped traitor knew him. To uncover if there really was a surviving Pandiyan hair. 

He would have to play a role tomorrow, making up an excuse as to why he couldn’t join their party. Maybe he would be so drunk somewhere that he’d oversleep, missing the ship's departure. The many deceit and roles he took on as a spy. But that was tomorrow. His work could wait. For now, he was Harry. The man who had his arms wrapped around the woman of his dreams. He still had a few hours left with Y/N before he would have to slip away, leaving no trace of him behind. So, he focuses on unwrapping the candies he’d bought for the one he fancies, until the first light of dawn.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!

[dreamwreaver]

Interesting how the first time we ever see Alastor appear on-screen it was him watching Charlie on TV and stayed watching. He hates modern technology so the fact he stuck around to watch her says a lot for how much this princess made an impact. He specifically said he hadn't been this entertained since the stock market crash of 1929, making it at least 90 years that he's been unentertained.

Damn, a girl who sang her cute little heart out and beat a woman on the picture show finally made you feel a spark after so long, huh, Alastor? We know your type.

Alastor's type (even just looking at the popular female ships) is women that can kick his ass.

While he's not a fan of television he called the broadcast a "picture show" which was period slang for a movie. Which makes sense, thanks to who framed Roger rabbit I know that until the real advent of television in the mid 50s news was either proliferated in print, on the radio, or at the movies. He likely doesn't consider news broadcasts to be "picture box nonsense".

He's a performer at heart, we know this. He's a theatre kid and so is Charlie. I really do think that he feels he found "the one" on a subconscious level. The pretense of wanting to ingratiate himself to her to guide/manipulate her is just that; a pretense. Remember, the best liars are so good at lying they can lie to themselves and be none the wiser

[writing-mlm]

Is it real?

Summary: It’s thanksgiving, current plan: ignore your family, backup plan: stay for Alfred’s left overs. Pairing: Damian Wayne x Male reader Wc: 7.1k A/n: I saw comments asking for part 2 so… rushed this out bc Thanksgiving is like… two(??) days away Warning: mentions of homophobic family but they’re silent the whole time, nothing negative is really just it’s just the feeling of knowing that they are

Damian had always known he liked men, there wasn’t one defining moment in his youth where it clicked. He didn’t watch some movie and fall in love with the lead actor, he didn’t have a love-at-first-sight moment that made everything make sense. It’s just something that’s always been. But falling for you had been something that had been gradual. 

At first, you were just some intern with a loud laugh and clearly hung out with not the best people. He’d seen you in the hallway of Gotham University, which was a surprise considering how large the campus is and he grew a little suspicious. He’s Robin, of course, he’s going to be suspicious of a coincidence. 

But falling for you had been incredibly easy when he looked back at it. He just remembers that one random night, after work and school, on your way back from patrol where he looked at you as you sang along (badly, he’d tease you and you’d say it was on purpose) to your patrolling playlist. It was this warm feeling that washed over him, his stomach tossed up and he was thankful that he got to spend his days next to you. It made him realize he’d been falling for a while now and in that moment, it all just felt right. 

Truly Damian had never expected love to be that simple. He had expected it to be something akin to trials of battle. Something he had to defend like he defended himself. How grateful he is that he was wrong about something. 

He considers himself lucky in that regard. 

He looks at you as the two of you sit in the garden, looking at the fallen white snow cloaking the nearly barren bushes. The cold is nipping at his nose and it’s starting to snow again. His pants are wet and cold, his hands tense with what he thinks are the early signs of frostbite. But you look lovely, you look like everything he wants and more. 

A part of him wonders if he deserves this. If his happy ending is something he has been able to get; if he’s atoned for his past. If the blood he’d split has finally dried and he’s able to truly move along. But he tries not to remind himself about his past, focusing on his present or whatever stupid thing Grayson always preaches about.

Sighing, he taps the cold bench with his knuckles before standing up. 

“I believe father should be done talking with your family,” He says and you hum, following after him. You walk hand in hand, your bodies begging for warmth. He notes the recent footprints that aren’t his or yours and figures it was Diana. She’d been wearing kitten heels and that’s the print of them. It makes him smile, figuring she probably got the hint. 

He glances at you as the two of you walk in tandem; he’s known about your family issues for a while. Sworn to secrecy because you didn’t want the others to pity you or try to somehow make up for your family’s shortcomings. You knew his family; you knew how much they liked you and how if they knew the truth, how your family wouldn’t even be allowed to step foot inside. 

He doesn’t know why, honestly he’s tried to imagine it, but you still love them. You still answer their texts, you still wish them a happy birthday even though they rarely do the same, and you haven’t spoken truly ill of them to anyone but him. 

You believed you never did anything remarkable; born to live in the middle child’s role for the rest of your life and he cannot imagine that. 

Gotham University is comparable to Ivy League in almost every regard. You managed to be one of his father's best interns long before you’d gotten your powers. You had enough self-preservation and drive to uproot your entire life, growing used to the harsh environment of Gotham alone. You’ve been beaten and broken enough times to make a grown man quit and yet, you put on the suit night after night, fighting crime with a joke and a smile. You had literally no one in your corner for years and yet he watches as you smile at the snow falling on your nose. 

He knows you’re incredibly strong and he wishes nothing but the best for you; which is why he’ll proudly wear your relationship on his sleeve. 

You look at him, feeling his intense gaze and he grins, kissing you again. 

“You okay?” You ask when he pulls away. He nods, looking back towards the manor as you exit the maze. 

“I’m happy I can kiss you freely.” Is all he says and you playfully roll your eyes. Your siblings are waiting on the porch while Damian’s siblings and further in the snow, talking using sign language when Cassandra waves you both over. 

“We have a plan,” She says. “We are going to act like I can’t speak. Only sign language with your family,” They do that every time the family is introduced to someone new, kept it up with Bernard for nearly a year before someone broke. You managed about two months but that’s only because you accidentally walked into a very heated conversation between her and Jason about ballet plays. 

“I agree.” Damian nods. 

“It’s only natural.” You agree. 

“Yo,” Jason suddenly says while smacking your arm. “Is your stepmother the mom of your sister?” You cringe when you think about it and the weird family drama around them. 

“No, she’s an affair baby,” You start and scratch your cheek. “She’s my mom's god-sister's daughter. Her and my dad didn’t date, though. It’s complicated.”

“Oh, okay,” Steph sighs. “Because they look so similar.”

“Oh, yeah. They’re cousins.”

“Huh?” They all blink and you glance at Damian. He shakes his head; he’s not going to explain this mess. 

“It’s complicated.”

��I’m going to need a full explanation,” Tim shakes his head, arms crossed over his chest while you inhale. 

“Okay, her mother is Lupe. Lupe and my dad slept together for about five years before they had my sister. My mom found out because Lupe’s mother told her because she thought my dad would ‘step up’ and marry Lupe; spoiler, he didn’t. My dad's wife  is Lupe’s older sister's daughter.” You explain, using your fingers to keep track of people. 

“Okay,” Cass nods. “So, how old is everyone and when did they divorce?”

“My sister, Nadia, is twenty-seven, Pat is twenty-four, Diana is eighteen, and Lupe is ten. My parents divorced before Lupe was born.”

“She has her mother's name?” Jason gasps, holding back a laugh. 

“Dad tried to change it; but you need both signatures. Everyone just calls her Lulu. My mom doesn’t acknowledge her.”

“Are we done here?” Damian sighs. 

“Yes, you can go back to kissing your boyfriend,” Tim rolls his eyes while Jason just shakes his head; still in disbelief that Damian had decided on his own that was in a relationship. He feels like he’s done that in another universe, too. 

“So,” Steph starts just before the two of you can walk away. “When’s your anniversary? Or do you celebrate both of them?” She teases and the others laugh. 

“I’m not answering that,” He grumbles and grabs your hand, pulling you away. 

On the porch, he looks at Nadia and her roommate. They’re holding pinkies, testing the waters while your fingers haven’t left Damian’s in nearly twenty minutes. He feels bad for them; despite his upbringing and hardships, he can confidently say that neither side of his family is homophobic. Not even in the slightest; he’s heard about Ra’s and Bruce’s escapades— although Bruce thankfully reassured him that his grandfather was not on his vast list of people he’d taken to bed. 

He goes to remove his hand, fearing you wouldn’t want your family to know but you squeeze his hand, keeping his hand firmly pressed against your skin. He looks at you and you offer a smile, guiding him to a porch bench while you wait for Bruce to let everyone back inside. 

He blinks, holding back a smile while you pull out your phone with your free hand. You’re playing some tedious game about placing blocks that he finds himself captivated in. It’s as if he can see your thinking in real time; understanding how your brain works. 

“So,” Nadia’s roommate— girlfriend, he corrects himself, Kendall, starts. Her voice feels almost surreal in the soft silence that fills the backyard. He’d nearly forgotten you weren’t alone. Nearly. “Are you two…”

“Dating?” You ask, voice carrying a sort of understanding that Kendall smiles at. She nods and you smile, nudging Damian’s shoulder with your own. “Yeah, we are.” 

“Cool,” She says, eyes darting to Nadia’s who just looks down. 

“Gross,” Pat says, eyes flickering to Damian’s. “You can do better.” Rolling your eyes, you return to your phone. 

“There is no such thing,” Damian answers and you pause, your thumb-stopping as you’re about to place a block. “Your brother is the best thing to happen to me.” Smiling, you lock your phone but pretend you’re still using it. Pat rolls his eyes but he doesn’t say anything further. 

From what you’ve told Damian he knows that Pat is an envious man. Envious that Nadia had won the lottery, envious Diana got your parent's love and affection, envious that you were able to escape the suffocating clutches of your parents when no one else could. 

He feels bad for Pat. He wanted to be an elementary school teacher but your parents had pushed for a ‘more respectable’ degree. You said after that he lost his spark. Became a shell of himself; not that you liked him before all that. He wasn’t a good brother to you, always thought you were too childish. Too head in the clouds to do anything. It was strange, considering the close ages between the two of you and you remember a time the two of you were close. 

The door opens and Damian looks over at his father as he fixes his jacket. His neck is tight but he forces himself to relax and he smiles. It’s the smile he puts on for a crowd, during gala’s, during meetings; whenever he has to put on his Brucie Wayne persona. Because anyone who knew Bruce, really knew him, knew his smile was different. 

“Come on, children.” He says, stepping aside as Tim rushes in. 

“He’s too anemic to be in the cold for so long,” Jason snickers, stepping in after Tim. 

Damian has you walk inside first, watching as his fathers eyes track you with a solemn look. It’s the look he had when you opened up about your family and he looks forward, staring at the back of your head as you enter the room for the third time that day. 

Your step-mother is no longer on your father's lap, she’s sat next to him and settles with just holding his hand. Your mother is opposite to them, her expression— Damian hates to admit it, he’s sorry for even making the connection in his head— is nearly identical to yours when you’re annoyed. Your father— again, really, he’s sorry for the connection— has the traits too. It’s the eyebrows and nose flare with your mother, the eyes and lip curl with your father. 

He wonders if you realize it and that’s why you don’t like getting upset. The reason why you try to avoid conflict if possible. 

Lupe climbs onto your fathers lap, the coldness has only made her more tired and he kisses her head, providing the warmth you’d never gotten from him. 

Damian looks at you as you’re holding a recording device between your fingers; a conflicted expression clear on your face before Bruce slyly takes it and crushes it under his finger. 

“Bruce-!” You gasp but he shakes his head, hand on your shoulder. “Okay,”

The two of you take your seats again, your head naturally finding a home on his shoulder while his arm wraps around your shoulder; tracing shapes into your arm absentmindedly. 

Diana scowls as she enters the room; the two of you sit in the middle because she just knows- oh, she knows you’re doing this on purpose. You’re jealous of her so this is your revenge, you’ve always done things like this. Getting better grades, turning her friends against her (she doesn’t know how for that one yet, despite it being nearly six years ago), countless others and now this. You can’t just be happy for her. 

You ignore her, still playing that damn game that Damian doesn’t know why you play. 

For some strange reason, Damian remembers back to when you learned Wonder Woman’s identity. How your face had dropped and how he snickered when you muttered; ‘that’s an unfortunate name’ that Diana had raised an eyebrow to. You had quickly apologized, of course, later recounting how embarrassing it was when you were alone with Damian. 

You still call her Ms. Prince, though. 

His eyes flicker to Nadia and Kendall; Nadia is pressed in between your mother and Kendall, her leg bouncing while Kendall seems almost unfazed being between Nadia and Jason. 

He’s probably wondering when the food is going to be done; he’s been preparing for this day. Literally; him and Tim and sometimes even Duke will take on extra patrol shifts the day before and not eat the day of Thanksgiving just to make sure they have enough room in their stomach for the feast Alfred prepares. 

While Damian is a little sad that Duke wasn’t able to make it this year, he’s glad he’s able to spend it with his family this year. He says they’re getting better, it’s taken several years but the Joker venom is weaning off of them. He can tell and the doctors confirmed it. They’re good enough that he can have an actual meal with them again. 

You check the time; five-sixteen, and almost sigh. Dinner always starts at eight on the dot and man, you’re hungry. Alfred doesn’t let anyone in the kitchen for a nibble on anything; just a glass of water before he kicks them out. 

Maybe if you texted Damian he could sneak out and bring some food for the two of you. 

“No,” He whispers when you’re hovering over your texts, debating typing it out. Grumbling, you put your phone down and look around. 

There’s not much going on, a couple of conversations have broken out but nothing worthy of note. Bruce is almost guarding the door with the way he’s placed his seat, facing over everyone. You wonder what he talked about; you’re not stupid, you know it’s about you, but you want to know exactly what was said. It’s stupid but you worry that Bruce is tired of you, maybe he agrees with your parents that you’re just that kid. Nothing special. 

Damian feels your pulse when his hand travels to run across your neck, his fingers ghosting from your elbow up and you shudder. His eyebrows furrow when he feels the beating and he discreetly checks on you, your eyes darting about the carpet as your worry vein starts to show on your forehead. 

“Father,” Damian says and Bruce looks over, a quiet hm of acknowledgment coming from the man. “Can we be excused?”

“Of course, Damian,” He nods as a thank you and taps your back, beckoning you up from the couch and you follow him out of the room. 

“What’s on your mind?” He asks once you’re a couple of steps away from the room. You shrug, fingernails digging into the rubber phone case. He hates that; hates when you don’t give him a verbal response because how is he supposed to help? He’s great at reading body language, yes, of course he is, but he wants you to talk. 

“You’re worried about something,” He says as you’re traveling up the large staircase. The old wood creaks under your footsteps, the banister sharing it when your hand presses down against it. 

“Does Bruce like me?” You ask and he blinks over at you. 

“My father adores you. He’d adopt you if he could,” He reassures with ease and you smile. “You’re worried about what he spoke to your family about?” Nodding, he looks up the stairs and thinks for a moment. 

“I’m going to be honest with you; I have a couple of theories myself. The most likely one is that father invited them here on purpose; he wants to know them because he realized at the tree that your family doesn’t treat you well. He probably played the aloof character he often does and sang your well-deserved praises, watching as your parents squirmed.”

“You really think that?”

“I’d never lie to you,” He promises, kissing your knuckles. “Do you want to take a nap?”

“Yes, please,”

—

Damian had stayed awake at his desk while you napped on his bed, curled up on his blankets and his pillows, Titus happily sharing the space with you. He hates to admit it, but he definitely watched you as you slept; simply admiring you. 

The others had checked on the two of you periodically, finding Damian was more often than not simply sitting in the silence of the room. Jason wanted to make a joke, something about day one relationship bliss but he held his tongue, he didn’t know why. Don’t ask him. He totally should’ve made the joke. 

When you woke up, he put his book down and waited for you to say something.

“Is the food done?” He laughs and checks his phone. Two minutes until eight. 

“It should be once we head downstairs,” You smile this sleepy smile, face still pressed into his pillow and he swears his heart swells. With a quick fixing of your clothes and hair, the two of you head downstairs as Bruce is heading up. 

“Good,” He breathes. “I was on my way to get the two of you.”  He waits for the two of you to walk past before heading back down himself. Jason and Dick are helping bring the food into the large dining room. Two trays of food in each of their arms while Alfred carts in more trays. You can smell the food from the bottom of the stairs and you’re so glad Damian forced you to go. 

You can imagine the leftovers now. 

Bruce sits at the head of the table as he’s always had, Damian pulls out a chair, one away from the corner seat where he’d be sitting, and nods with his eyes for you to sit.  

“He’s such a gentleman,” Tim cooes from across from you. 

“Just because you were raised without class, Drake doesn’t mean the rest of us were.” Damian quickly replies. Bruce wants to smile; he’ll never admit he loves his children’s banter, but he puts on his old man's tired face to save Damian the embarrassment of knowing his father finds his actions cute. 

Cassandra takes the seat across from Damian while you find Kori next to you. Dick is next to her, but Mar’i is asleep in a mobile bassinet between the two of them. They promise she’s a heavy sleeper but everyone is ever aware of their volume as she sleeps. 

You wonder why more partners aren’t at the dinner. Jason usually invites at least one of the Outlaws, the Kents are almost always there, and maybe one or two of Dick’s Titans show up. You were hoping at least Jon would be there; it’s been a while since you’ve seen him. 

Stephanie settles next to Tim, followed by Jason. He likes to be as far as he can from Bruce without being too far because… Bruce and Jason's things. 

You don’t care where your family sits, honestly you try to block them out. Between your parents, siblings, aunt, and cousins (plus Kendall and your father's wife), you can’t bring yourself to care. 

The last of the food is set and Alfred takes the seat at the other end of the table. Head of household go on the ends, is what Damian had told you when you first questioned it. 

“Wanna say what we’re grateful for?” Dick grins the same way he does every single Thanksgiving that the others mouth the words as he’s saying it. 

“Sure,” Bruce nods, his eyes scanning over the table. “I suppose I’ll start, then.” 

“I’m thankful for my children finding happiness,” He smiles. “Wherever that may be.” He adds, looking at Jason. 

“Oh, I need a drink,” Jason mutters and grabs his glass, pouring whiskey out from his flask.

It’s Cassandra’s turn and she looks around before signing

‘I’m thankful for ballet.’ Everyone replies in sign, not because they actually want to reply, but because it’s funny. You catch your family's embarrassed glances at each other when they realize they have no idea what she said and no one is willing to translate for them. 

Tim doesn’t realize it’s his turn and returns to staring at his lap, trying to hide the fact that he’s working. Stephanie nudges him and he looks up, not even embarrassed that he’s been caught. 

“I’m thankful for the internet in the dining room.” 

“I’m thankful for…” Stephanie trails. “Cassandra.” 

“I’m thankful for alcohol,” Jason says as he takes another large gulp. He wanted to say guns, he always says guns, but you guess Bruce had told him not to this year. 

Kendall is next, her eyes flicker to you for a brief moment as she thinks. 

“I’m thankful that I have someone to celebrate with,” Is what she settles on before it’s Nadia’s turn. 

“I’m thankful for Kendall,” She smiles, her voice shaking as she says it. Kendall smiles down at the table, hiding her pink face. It continues on, your cousins are thankful for Kai Cenat, your brother says some corporate answer you forgot immediately after, Lupe says her iPad, your father says his wife, his wife says him, your mother said her husband, her husband said her, your aunt said her kids, and then it’s Diana’s turn. 

“I’m thankful that Mr. Wayne opened his doors to us,” She says in this sickly sweet voice that makes you inhale and hold your tongue. Thankfully that Kori’s hair mostly blocks you from the others, you shake Damian’s shoulder and he stifles a laugh. 

The married couple says sappy married couple answers and suddenly it’s your turn. 

“I’m thankful that I have all of my organs,”

“You’re still on that?” Tim glares, looking up from his laptop and you laugh, the others joining in. “It happened one—“

“Kids,” Bruce says and Tim looks back down at his laptop. He looks at you and you sigh. 

“I’m thankful for the blue— I’m thankful for the food Alfred cooked so tirelessly,” You say and the family nods to that, even Tim. 

“I’m thankful for (Y/n),” Damian says and Jason cheers when Dick slides him a twenty. “You’re childish.”

“And you’re predictable,” He sings, holding up the crisp twenty-dollar bill. Damian goes to say something but Alfred clears his throat and anything he was going to say dies before it reaches his tongue. 

“I’m thankful for another year with all of you,” Alfred smiles fondly at everyone, even you. 

“Dig in.” Getting food is nearly a free-for-all hell. It’s why Alfred always makes enough that you don’t need to reach too far to get your favorite foods. You pile food onto your plate, fighting Tim with the spoon and ever aware of your family’s bewildered expressions. 

It’s strange for them to see; you’re so happy here. Clearly, in your time in Gotham, you’ve been integrated into the family, settling nicely in their bunch. You’re laughing with Jason about something they don’t get, sharing a forkful of food with Damian because he wanted you to try the tofu ham he loves so dearly. You never liked tofu before, your mother tried once, but you love their tofu ham. 

You have inside jokes with them, even with Bruce. Bruce asks about your classes and they realize they can’t name a single class you take; they don’t even know your major. 

But somehow, someway, it’s your fault. You don’t call enough, you don’t text enough, you don’t come home. It’s not because of them; they’ve done nothing wrong. 

And you know that’s what they think. 

With the initial food free-for-all done, you settle into nice conversations that often have breaks of silence because you’re talking to Cassandra. It’s also the first time Bruce participates in the ongoing gag. 

“No, you nearly killed Jerry on his first Thanksgiving,” Damian insists to Jason. “You’re the reason we didn’t have a Turkey for four years.”

“I’m not the one who tried to kill me.”

“Pretty sure you have,” Tim comments, and Jason snorts before covering his face. 

“We agreed to no more suicide jokes,” Bruce lazily reminded. 

“Was it ever a joke…?” You test the waters and he sighs, holding his face while the others laugh. 

“That’s so rude, (Y/n)!” Diana shouts and everyone goes silent. Dead silent. “Don’t joke about suicide!” The others glance at her, unsure of what to do. You blink, pushing food into your mouth and slowly chew. 

“It’s harmless banter between friends and siblings,” Damian says. “You wouldn’t get it.” 

“Oh…” She settles in her seat. “I guess,”

“Anyway,” Stephanie looks away from her, giving you a glance that says ‘seriously, you’re related?’ and you just shrug. “Did Jason try to kill Jerry?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Okay, let’s ask Alfred.” Alfred looks up from his plate, wiping a napkin along his mouth with wide eyes when he sees the children have turned to him for his verdict. 

“Oh, well. That was so long ago, I suppose I’ve forgotten what’s happened.”

“Nonsense Pennyworth; your memory is sharp. No need to spare Todd’s feelings.”

“I know the demon spawn can be a bear but you can tell the truth, Alfred.” 

Bruce sighs because he knows this topic will never end.

“It wasn’t him.” Bruce blurts before covering his mouth with a napkin. Alfred gives him a thankful look but Damian slowly turns to look at Bruce.

“What?” Damian leans over, eyes wide as he stares at his father. “Who was it, father?”

“It was…” He sighs. “Me.”

Shouting erupts at the table, you and Cassandra sit, shell-shocked as years of a feud had been for nothing— something Bruce could’ve stopped long ago. 

‘Wasn’t it you?’ You ask and she nods, serving herself more mashed potatoes. You snicker, reaching over to finish Damian’s glass of wine. He takes the last sip of his father's glass, angrily downing it because the shouting has made his throat dry. 

“I cannot believe you let Todd take the blame,” Damian breathes as he settles down. “It’s been nearly ten years, father!” 

“Oh heavens,” Alfred shakes his head. “I shall bring out more wine.”

“Bourbon, please, Alfred.” Bruce and Jason grumble. 

“Having fun?” Tim grins over at your family. The bunch are shocked; well your cousins are eating this up and Lupe is still playing on her iPad. You didn’t expect anything less from them if you’re being truthful. 

“You have a… lively family,” Your father’s wife smiles. 

“Hopefully you’ll marry into it, right?” Tim continues to egg them on. “Then we’ll be one big happy family.” He winks at your mother who gawks.

“Yup,” You nod, much to Damian’s shock. “One big, gay, happy wedding, right, Dames.” He quickly collects himself and nods. 

“Honeymoon to whatever island you want; after our destination wedding. I’m thinking Istanbul or Cape Town, South Africa.”

“Mhmm, and then we’ll get a big mansion somewhere.”

“A farm, too.” 

“That sounds nice,” Kori agrees. 

“You’ll be my maid of honor, of course.”

“And Dick will be my best man.” 

“He’ll be mine.” You disagree, turning to Damian. 

“You cannot have both!”

“Fine, I’m taking Casandra.”

“No! She’ll be my maid of honor. Why don’t you pick Drake or something?”

“I’m busy that day,” Tim responds and Damian squints. “I might be able to squeeze you in.” Tim concedes. 

“I’m taking Jon, then.” 

“Oh my god,” Bruce puts his head in his hands as Alfred pours him a glass of bourbon. He downs it and Alfred quickly pours another glass. “There won’t be a marriage until you’ve finished college.”

“I didn’t know you moved that fast,” Jason teases. 

“It’s not fast if I’m sure he’s the love of my life.”

You pause, staring down at your glass as the room falls silent. 

Honestly, this is moving… fast. You’ve never been in love, at least you don’t think you have. You’ve never really known love; your father cheated for five years, your mother married your father's (now former) boss out of spite, your father is currently married to someone the same age as his eldest daughter, and your sister was in a hidden relationship. 

Your girlfriends have been nice. You liked them enough, they weren’t bad in any way. You enjoyed being with them but you wouldn’t say you’ve ever loved any of them. 

With Damian, you aren’t sure if what you’re feeling is love. Maybe puppy love but… love. You aren’t sure about that; you’d been joking about the marriage stuff. It was a joke to get your family uncomfortable. You weren’t even sure you wanted to get married! Let alone to Damian. 

The relationship was literal hours long at this point— sure longer in Damian’s eyes but he’s clearly had romantic feelings for you for longer than you’ve had them for him. Maybe you hadn’t realized before, sure, yes, that’s entirely possible. But you don’t love him just yet. 

“I’m gonna… use the bathroom…” Diana excuses herself, her kitten heels clicking against the freshly polished floor. 

Your ears are ringing as Damian continues his conversations like normal. You glance around, finding Tim’s eyes in the chaos that’s your current state. He raises his eyebrows and you must’ve made a face because he did a short nod. Damian says something; something about you. He wants your opinion about something but you don’t know what he said. There was just one fact running through your mind. 

He was in love with you. Like genuinely. 

You must’ve been a horrible gay boyfriend because you smile and ask him to repeat himself. 

“Oh, (Y/n),” Tim cuts you off, closing his laptop. “I wanted your opinion on something about… stuff; join me.” 

“Can’t it wait?” Bruce asks. He assumes it’s about his case because Bruce was considering asking you some questions about it anyway. It had to deal with your major and why not ask the kid who’s currently studying what he thinks? 

“Don’t wanna forget,” Tim shakes his head. 

“It’s okay,” You smile. “I’ll be back in the second, yeah?” Damian nods, squeezing your hand as you leave the room with Tim. 

“He’s a lot.” Is the first thing Tim says when you’re walking into a nearby room. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” You mumble, falling onto a couch with a loud sigh. 

“Really? Because he just said you’re the love of his life and you looked sick.”

“I’m just—“ Any reasoning dies before you find it and you look at him. “It was shocking.” You settle on saying. 

“Yeah, you’ve been dating for maybe six hours and you were asleep for half of them. Congrats, though. You’ve clearly won him over,” Tim settles across from you, his legs hanging off of the chair while he hangs his head, staring at the dead fireplace. 

“I don’t know what love is.” You blurt and he looks up, half interested. 

“Considering your family is a weird fucking situation, I figured.” 

“Shut up, fucking detective.” 

“Ouch,” He teases with a grin. “Put ‘World’s Greatest’ in front of it next time.” 

“Can you explain love? Maybe then I'll put the title.”

“You’re great at barging,” Tim sits up, now resting his chin on his fists. You stare at him, waiting and he sits there. Thinking. 

“If Jon was to walk through the doors and declare his love for Damian, how would you feel?”

“Upset. Confused.” You shrug. 

“How often do you look for him?”

“Not often. We’re never apart.”

“When you are.” He corrects, rolling his eyes. 

“Often, I guess. I worry;” You shrug. 

“About what?”

“During…” Glancing at the door. “Our side jobs, I worry that he’s been taken. I guess. Maybe worse. During classes I just miss him, I’m used to being around him.”

“Used to or want to?”

“What do you mean?” Your face pinches and Tim tilts his head. 

“Are you used to being around Damian or do you want to be around Damian?”

“I want to,” You answer without hesitation. “I miss him when I sleep and he’s not there. I think of him whenever I’m shopping because I often see something he would like. I’ve…” You trail off, rubbing your hands on your legs. “Never told him I’m mildly allergic to dogs because he loves Titus.”

“You’re allergic to dogs?” 

“Mhmm, my throat gets itchy for a bit when I touch them or something they’ve come into contact with. I try not to touch them too often. I think I’ve built an immunity, though.”

“I’d say you’re in love. I would never do that,” He laughs. “Maybe baby love and Damian’s full deep-end love, but love.” 

“Really?” You smile and he nods, looking you up and down as if he’s judging you. He totally is. 

“Yeah, only fools in love would do something that stupid.” 

—

When Diana returns to the dining room, you pay her no mind. You're holding your goddaughter as she stares up at you, holding your finger. Her eyes really are green like her mother's. She smiles, cooing when Damian strokes the top of her head. 

She’s not old enough to have normal food, but it doesn’t mean she likes it. She tries to grab the fork whenever she can and even tries to remove the tablecloth to get to the delicious food. Against your wishes, Kori takes her upstairs. Dick says she needs to eat and you reluctantly understand, missing her already. 

“It’s time for dessert,” Alfred announces as he stands some time after Kori comes back, Mar’i once again fast asleep. Everyone had finished their plates and slumped in their seats, sure they were going to fall into a food coma. 

“I’ll help clear the table,” You offer, standing up and grabbing some of the trays. Jason does the same and you stare at each other; silently agreeing you’d split the leftovers evenly if you don’t argue and alert the others. 

Alfred takes the trays the two of you don’t and once they’re set on the table, he watches as the two of you rush to grab the tupperware he takes out for Thanksgiving and pile food inside. 

“Do leave some for the rest of us,” He comments as he goes back into the dining room to fetch the dirty plates and utensils and you apologize but continue filling the trays. You end up with eight heavy bowls; four for you and four for Damian. It’s not a lot, all things considered. No one else really gets the vegan things so it's always going with Damian. But even with Jason’s filling, there’s more than enough for everyone else. 

You put your tubs into your toolbox, preserving them exactly how they are while Jason has to put his in the fridge after slapping several sticky notes and writing on the tubs that the food is his and he will shoot whoever takes them. 

You’re nearly tempted. 

Alfred returns with the dishes, scraping the bones and scraps into the trash before he places them in the sink to soak. 

“Go inside, you will not have first dibs on dessert.” He says, eyeing the two of you while you stand in the kitchen's doorway. 

“Aw man,” You frown, dragging your feet as you walk away. 

“I assume you stole the leftovers?” Damian grins when you sit back down.

“Absolutely,” You grin back, knocking his leg with yours. “All the favorites, enough for a week.” He nods in approval, once again looking over the table. 

Alfred wheels in the desert and you swear it’s like feeding time at the zoo because the right side of the table eye the trays like they’re raw meat and they’re wild animals who hadn’t eaten in ages. Even Bruce. 

He sets the left side first; which will have the same things as the right and your mouth waters when you see the knafeh. You know your family won’t love it the same way you do and god, you’re going to take the whole pan home. There’s an elaborate strawberry cheesecake, three pies (apple, pecan, and pumpkin), banana pudding, and crème brûlée donuts. 

“I’m gonna cry,” Stephanie whispers, her leg bouncing with anticipation. “It’s so beautiful.”

When Bruce gives the nod to dig in— after Alfred pre-cut slices and gave everyone warning stares—, the dessert free-for-all is more contained. Everyone gets two slices of each pie, two of the cheesecake, enough of the pudding, and three donuts. It’s typically that way but everyone starts trading for their favorite things. You trade your pecan and pumpkin pie slices for: an apple slice, a donut, and two cheesecake slices. Or you don’t. Maybe you made it up; it’s up to your imagination, really. 

Your focus is on the knafeh; everyone always gives you one of their slices out of tradition. No need to trade for those bad boys. 

Alfred pours eggnog for everyone as well— he even makes special ones for those with diet restrictions. 

“This is so good,” Your cousin says, face stuffed with pumpkin pie. “You’re like Gordon Ramsay, dude.”

“Thank you, young man.” Alfred gives him a warm smile that makes your cousin beam. 

“I’m a man,” He whispers to his mother, eyes twinkling. She laughs and ruffles his hair. 

“So, you two are in a real relationship?” Your father's wife asks, pointing her fork between you and Damian. “Like… actually?”

“Yup,” You nod, licking your spoon clean of the apple pie filling. 

“Unfortunately,” Jason teases. 

“Just so you know; I’m like totally cool with gay people.” She says, holding her hand in your general direction as if you were going to grab it. “I’m an ally!”

“Nice,” You nod again. She smiles and nods, sipping her spiked eggnog. She spiked it, and everyone saw. She’ll deny it later. 

“They’re clearly lying!” Diana shouts. You were waiting for that; she’d been incredibly silent for most of the dinner. It was only a matter of time. “(Y/n) is jealous that me and Damian clearly have a spark! He’s… he’s messing with Damian’s mind! You saw the way he looked at me at the tree and besides— (Y/n) has had girlfriends before!”

“I’m bisexual.”

“As if! You don't even like Ryan Reynolds and I remember when you were eight and you said you’d date Red Hood if he was a girl!”

“I never said that!” You quickly shout, face heating up as the others around you snicker. 

“Yes, you did! You made Nadia make you that Red Hood costume for Halloween and made posters of him! You painted our Nerf guns black! And you said you wanted to marry ‘Girl Red Hood’!” 

“No, I didn’t! Oh my god, I didn’t!” You swear, shaking your head. 

“You did,” Nadia nods and you cover your face, unable to look at the Wayne’s. “It was clear, in hindsight.”

“So,” Jason slowly nods. “Red Hood was your gay awakening?”

“No! I was not into Red Hood!”

“And then he was fixated on Robin for a while. The one with the swords,” Nadia continues and you almost sob, collapsing in your seat. “He wanted swords and he swore his Robin hoodie for almost two months straight; convinced dad to buy Robin bedsheets.”

“They’re lying,” Your voice is muffled under your hands. Damian rubs your shoulder but you can just tell he’s enjoying this. 

“It was so much worse than the Red Hood phase,” Pat slowly agrees. “Is that why you moved here?”

“No, because that never happened.”

“It did,” Your mother slowly agrees. “But you stopped because of…” She trails, looking at your father. The conversation dies there and you’re able to breathe. 

“Damian’s not even gay!” 

“Diana,” You groan. 

“Considering there’s a video going around of them kissing; I’d say he’s pretty gay,” Tim says and you look at him.

“You recorded us kissing?”

“Not me; that’s too weird for me.” He shakes his head, flipping his laptop to show you. “Diana was live and someone screen recorded. You’re trending with the hashtag: stuffing.”

“That’s just crazy,” You snicker but try to be serious. 

“Hickeys so soon?” Stephanie wiggles her eyebrows at Damian as she watches the video. 

“This is unbecoming,” Damian blinks at the video but everyone can see he’s red in the face. “I demand you stop playing the video.”

“I actually sent it to everyone already.”

“Drake!”

“Tim!”

“What?” He grins, looking between the two of you. “All of us have one— it’s a rite of passage for Bruce’s sort of kids to get caught making out and having it posted.”

—

Dinner wraps up, and you’re in the kitchen with Alfred, putting your leftovers into more Tupperware to avoid… all of them really. He’s washing the dishes, insistent that he does it alone and you let him. He won’t budge on his Thanksgiving dish duties for some odd reason. 

You’re finishing up when your phone buzzes and you check it. 

Diana : 

Mom and dad are yelling at each other because of you. I hope you’re happy. 

Just stop pretending you weren’t even bisexual yesterday. 

It’s actually really sad. 

They’re talking about changing custody because of you, now I won’t be able to see mom or dad EVER again. 

Nadia:

I can see Diana texting you

it’s not your fault

you know how they are

and i’m proud that you came out, sorry i didn’t say it earlier 

Your family had left in a haste, mostly rushed by your mother and father who climbed into a large uber with the kids and spouse. Your aunt and cousins were driven back by Dick. 

You:

thanks, you too, btw

Nadia:

LOLLL maybe one day

you two should come visit us one day, see the farm

damian likes animals, right?

You:

yeah

loves them

She sends you some pictures of animals she’s gotten over the course of a couple years and you smile. 

You:

oh he’ll definitely want to see them

maybe during spring break?

Nadia: 

sounds perfect. stay safe, ill worry about mom and dad 

You:

okay love you

Nadia:

love you too

—

Later that night, everyone is doing a late-night patrol when you hear Jason start speaking. 

“Girl Red Hood?”

“They were lying!”

“For Hood’s sake, he better pray that is true.”

[roadstostray]

a teaser of a piece I'm working on with the power of generic brand adderall and the same rare americans song on repeat

[zivazivc]

Finished!

A lazy summer day by a stream~

I finally put my illustration degree into good use and made a proper traditional illustration (although still fanart 😅). Sometimes I really wanted to just "undo" some strokes or move some things around haha but man was this relaxing and satisfying to work on, also I am just so proud of the outcome. I haven't done a proper traditional illustration on this scale since my thesis so it's been a few years.

I took these photos with a phone outside to try and really capture the colors and details.