#I can't say that on air; she's my guest next week! But if you like 70s tinged funky bedroom pop I guess...)

[aeolianblues]

'oh I cannot say horrible things because of the Woke' well boo hoo, I cannot say mean things about bands I dislike because they love my show and will beat me up if I slag them off

[ferrstappen]

max, the wag (for the third time) l Max Verstappen x reader

a/n: i was in the middle of writing this when news of Danny coming back to the grid!!! omg I'm so happy of seeing RIC and listening to his radios and everything, it wasn't the same without him <3

also, about requests. Please keep sending them, I've LOVED all the reqs I've gotten but right now im getting ready for my bar exam in a couple of weeks so my time is super super limited, but I promise I'll get to most of them (bc imsorry there are some reqs that I really can't connect with) after the exam, it's one of the things I'm looking forward to <3 but for now this kind of mediocre story telling will have to do...

ANYWAY, HOPE YOU LIKE THIS INSTALLMENT! you can find part 1 and 2 on the master list <3

summary: the continuation of your favorite paddock couple.

Max arrived to the track by himself.

If he was being honest, it wasn’t on his plans to walk alone with the photographers, Red Bull marketing team snatching him for stuff right after he swapped his credential. Even from far away he was able to hear chants of fans and more media than usual. 

But you weren’t right there next to him. 

He knew it wasn’t your fault, Silverstone not being a track where he was usually welcomed with opened arms and he was aware of you not wanting to be too in the eye of photographers who didn’t make questions to you, but there still were different WAGs and outfits or whatever accounts tracking your every step, especially with the new wave of partners and sudden break ups and polemics. 

Still, the selfish part of him wanted you to enter the track with him, even if it was a few steps ahead or behind him, holding your hand and smiling as you complained about the amount of credentials you had to carry: the usual green VIP Paddock, Red Bull something. You’d think after all these years they’d know me, you’d say and he’d laugh.

On the other hand, you finished getting ready and called the front desk to get a taxi to get there, feeling a bit guilty of letting Max go on his own, especially when there were more eyes on the track with Brad Pitt being there and a lot of important people who’d want to talk with him all day. 

Texting Max to let him know you were already by the guests entrance waiting when you noticed some intense flashes getting near. You’d been around a time or two to know this wasn’t usual, maybe in Miami but not when you were on the abandoned back entrance, not very glamorous and low key. 

But you saw her…

Shakira, are you visiting Lewis?

Who are you cheering today?

Shakira, third Grand Prix of the year! 

Did you talk to Lewis before? Is he nervous?

Your eyes followed her, mouth opening when you followed her small frame, exuding class and sympathy, even Alexandra who was also making her entrance stopped to get a closer look of the Colombian bombshell. 

Of course, they didn’t ask her to show and get accredited, she just walked by with a radiant smile leaving paparazzi behind as she kept talking with the friend she came with. 

But wasn’t that a Haas credential?

It didn’t matter, it wasn’t important, because right then your brain made the connections and started dialing Max while nervously biting your polished nails. 

“Baby, everything okay? Are you already inside?” Max answered, but his words were quiet and rushed. 

“Yes, but you’re never going to believe…”

“I’m sorry we have a meeting, please don’t go to the paddock, go straight to the driver’s lounge, okay? Love you” 

He hung up and you wanted to pull your hair out, knowing he is the one and only person you wanted to share this information with, and you were also certain he was the only person who would truly appreciate the gossip and speculation about his fellow driver’s love life. 

Max was able to leave the meeting almost forty minutes later, getting outside for some air until he remembered your call and that you probably were bored to death on the lounge. He was turning around to go there when…

When he saw the one and only Shakira in all of her glory. 

He wasn’t starstruck or anything, being immune to celebrities and the imaginary pedestal where most people placed them, but this wasn’t about that, it was about the way she was supposedly hiding under a cap walking towards the Mercedes garage.

He covered his mouth and hastily made his way to you. 

You didn’t greet each other with the usual peck on the lips and short hug; his slightly widened blue eyes told you exactly what you needed to know as he opened the door to his small room. 

“Please tell me that you saw her!” You said as soon as he closed the door. 

“Yes, just now she was walking to Mercedes,” Max was whisper shouting as if someone would hear him and it was the highest of secrets. 

“Did you see Lewis?” You asked Max but he said no. “What if you try to ask Brad Pitt if he saw her and like if they’re friends… with Shakira?” This time both you and your boyfriend laughed at the idea.

"I did see Sainz trying to go unnoticed with a tall brunette,do you think she is the new girlfriend?" Max asked and you nodded.

"I'm pretty sure he cheated on Isa with her, and I am almost certain she was in the Paddock Club in Monaco during qualifying," Max whistled at the new information.

Now he kissed you, lips fitting perfectly against each other, but your eyes suddenly opened and separated from him. What? Why? What happened? Max was disconcerted. 

“Please don’t laugh at me because this is a serious idea…” You told Max who had your entire attention. “What if we write to Deuxmoi?”

“Deux what?”

“They have all the inside scoops  and sightings, even your name’s popped up once or twice,” Max’s eyebrows rose at the information. “We should write that Shakira was seen on the British Grand Prix and I am one hundred percent sure someone will have more information!” You proposed and Max chuckled.

“Schatz, I can just ask Lewis why she’s here,” Max told you before embracing you, his arms circled around your waist.

You rolled your eyes before resting your head on his chest, but suddenly it hit you, swiftly lifting your head and facing Max. 

“Then why haven’t you asked him yet?!”

[monster-disaster]

[orc & bear shifter] Thrak & Rowan

orc!Thrak x human!Reader x bear shifter!Rowan Good to know: smut

Summary: After the guests leave, your boyfriends help you to relax.

"This is the last round," Rowan says with a few more glasses in his hands. A quiet thud follows his words as he pushes the door close behind himself. "Good," you hum, scrubbing a plate under the water while Thrak waits for it with a towel. He is next to you. Your arm brushes against his every now and again as you move. "Did you enjoy yourself?" The bear shifter breaks the silence again after sitting down in front of you at the other side of the counter. You smile. "Of course. Your families are really nice." "They like you too," Thrak says, putting away the glasses you are done with. "I hope so." "They do," Rowan says with a reassuring smile. "My mother already invited us over for breakfast next Sunday."

You feel relieved as the men continue to talk. Meeting new people is always hard on you, especially when they are important to your boyfriends, but the day truly went amazingly. Rowan and Thrak gathered their families and friends to introduce you as their girlfriend.

You still can't believe how your life changed in a few weeks. You came to Ironridge to get away from the city, and now you live with two men you fell in love with at a terrifying speed. Your house in Meriad is rented out, and your things are in the living room, still in boxes.

"Now," Thrak's voice wakes you up from your thoughts. He is behind you. His broad chest is pressed against your back, and his breath fans over your ear and the curve of your neck. "We can continue unpacking, or we can make you relax a little." "Oh?" You gasp, already feeling the familiar clench in your stomach. Anticipation surges through your veins. "You were so stressed lately," Rowan grins with a knowing glint in his deep green eyes. "I think you deserve a relaxing night." "I think Rowan is right," Thrak hums, his lips brushing over the sensitive part under your ear. His tusks graze the soft skin there. "What do you say?" "Okay," you gasp, pressing yourself even closer to his body. He towers over you easily, slipping his hands on your hips. The squeeze of his fingers goes straight to your pussy. Your panties are already soaked, and they barely touched you. "Then be a good girl and bend over," the big orc grunts behind you, grinding his erection against your ass as you do as he says. You can feel the cold surface of the counter even through your shirt. Your nipples harden into small peaks.

Thrak's fingers slip under the waist of your shorts, and with a quick pull, you find yourself bare in front of his hungry eyes. A gasp leaves your lips when you feel his grip on the flesh of your bottom. He gropes your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to see you better. An approving growl escapes his chest, sending goosebumps all over your body. Heat creeps up your face at the vulnerable position he put you in.

"She is already wet," he says. Your center burns and aches under his heavy gaze. "Yeah," Rowan hums. "I can smell her." You are still not used to Rowan's sensitive smell. He knows whenever you are horny, it makes you excited and humiliated at the same time. "Grab the edge of the counter and pull yourself up a bit, Nora," Thrak orders you again, but you don't even have time to react. Your fingers curl on the edge while he grabs you again to adjust you in front of him. Your legs hang in the air, and the wooden counter digs into your hips. "Please," you groan impatiently. "Thrak?" You know he enjoys the whine in your voice a bit too much to your liking. You can hear the orc moving behind you, kneeling down and moving closer. His touch smoothes over the wet slit of your pussy, opening you up with his fingers. "So pretty," he hums. You can feel his words in your wet center. Your walls flutter around nothing. "Such a pretty pussy." "Thrak," you moan his name again, pushing yourself back to him. "Please." "What do you want, hm?" He teases you mercilessly. "Tell me, Nora, and I will do it." The answer is at the tip of your tongue, but you can't find your voice. The need to feel him throbs inside you, making it impossible to think straight.

Suddenly, Rowan's hand cups your face, making you look up at his tall form in front of you.

He and Thrak are similar in a lot of things. They are sturdy and powerful. They manhandle you with ease, not even feeling your weight in their thick arms. Rowan is barely shorter than his friend, and while Thrak's body is hard muscles everywhere, the bear shifter has a bit of softness.

The man says nothing as he leans down to kiss you. His lips brush over yours, his beard tickles your face, and his tongue slides into your mouth when you sigh at the feeling. "Tell him what you want," he encourages you after breaking away to let you breathe. "Use your words, love." You don't know how much you can bear between these men. "I want your tongue, Thrak," you force the words out. Your voice is breathless and impatient. "I want your mouth on my pussy." Your confession draws a satisfied growl out of them, and you almost scream when Thrak buries his face in your glistening pussy.

The orc uses his hands to keep you open for him. Flattening his tongue, he licks a long, wet line across your slit. His tusks dig into the sensitive part where your thighs meet your center. They graze your skin with every move he makes. His lush lips close around your clit. His tongue flicks and teases the small bud.

"Ohgodohgodohgod," you chant breathlessly. You whine and wiggle in his hold, trying to grind yourself against his face some more. Thrak's chin is soaked in your wetness. His senses are filled with your taste and smell. His cock twitches in his pants, throbbing with the need to pound into your warm channel.

"Open up for me, love," Rowan's voice straightens your thoughts for a second. When you lift your head to look up at the man in front of you, he stands with his cock in his hand. He jerks himself off lazily, watching the curve of your ass and the delirious heat in your eyes. Your lips fall open on their own accord, waiting for the bear shifter to step closer. Rowan draws the line of your lips with the swollen head of his erection. Your ragged breathing fans over the sensitive skin of his shaft.

You can almost hear the bear in him when he growls as he pushes himself into your mouth. He grabs a good chunk of your hair to keep you in position while Thrak is still busy with your seeping cunt. Your muffled groan resonates through Rowan's length up to his spine when you feel the orc pushing his tongue into your hole.

Both of them fuck you in sync while you lay on the counter, letting them do whatever they want. The wet sound of Thrak devouring you and the mixed moans and groans fill the otherwise quiet house.

"Don't!" Rowan grunts out, pulling himself out of your mouth at the last second. His free hand squeezes around the base of his cock. "I don't want to cum yet. I want my seed in your pussy." Your walls flutter around Thrak's tongue at Rowan's words. You can almost feel him stretching you out and filling you up. But instead, you feel the orc's thick fingers inside you. He thrusts into you while his mouth goes back to your clit. "She is almost there," he growls. "I can feel her gripping my fingers. Fuck!"

The hot coil inside you snaps with such force you can't even breathe. Your hole squeezes around Thrak while your body shakes and jerks without your control. Your blood burns in your veins, and still, you want to beg for more.

Rowan smirks at the mess they made out of you. Satisfaction stretches his chest as his gaze meets with Thrak's. They don't have to say anything to agree that with your arrival, they have everything they ever wanted. "Come on, love," Thrak grunts, scooping you up from the counter. "We are not done with you yet."

- Masterlist Ironridge Masterlist Patreon

[cinemastyles-blog]

Summary: Y/N gets invited onto The Late Late Show with James Corden and does a game of Spill Your Guts or Fill Your Guts with Harry.

I feel like this is a long beginning but just go with it because I promise it gets F I L T H Y.

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, praise kink, squirting, oral, fingering, unprotected sex, biting, F I L T H and some fluff

Master List

∘₊✧── 𝑒𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎 ──✧₊∘

"As you all know, we have the wonderful and talented Mr. Harry Styles here with us tonight!" James reintroduces his guests and the audience claps and cheers, especially for Harry.

"Y/N. Are you ready?" One of the crew asks. I nod, "Oh, yes." She nods and gives a thumbs up to some people.

This is going to be so fun. I've known James for years and everyone knows that Harry and I are friends, but what they really don't know is that we're actually together.

We agreed to keep our relationship as private as we could, for now. I’m honesty surprised we have been able to, It's more intimate for us that way, but Harry has been acting.. weird? I don’t know. He’s asking if I’d ever want to go public and I’m not really opposed to it.

But anyway, I've asked James to keep it a secret that I'm coming on the show, so I've been labeled as the surprise guest for weeks now, so Harry is going to be put on the spot, and we're going to have to pretend that we're strictly 'just friends'.

"As you all know, I like to play a little game.." The crowd starts to cheer, "What? I haven't even told you the game yet!" James laughs, "We'll, since you all know what I'm about to say next, Harry." He motions for him to get to come over to him.

Harry gets up and pulls his suit jacket down as he walks over to him, "Yes, James." He lays an arm around his shoulder. James looks at him with a smile and starts to laugh, "Are you ready to either spill your guts or fill your guts?"

Harry covers his face and laughs, "Oh god. I knew it."

James laughs and motions to the table, "Why don't you go and have a seat over there, but don't touch anything!" Harry walks over to the table and has a seat.

"Now, Harry. You know how this game works correct?" James walks over and sits down across from Harry.

"The title is uh, pretty explanatory, James." Harry chuckles.

"Right, right. Of course it is." James rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and reads his cards, "Oh wait. One more thing before we get started."

"Okay." Harry nods.

"I won't be doing this challenge with you." James stands up and laughs, "Everybody, if you would please give a wonderful round of applause for the very talented and very beautiful Y/N Y/L/N!"

James claps and turns to welcome me onto the stage.

I walk out smiling as I wave my hands to the crowd. I walk over to give James a hug, "Hello, hello." He kisses my cheek, "Hello there, love. How are you?"

I nod, "I'm good, how are you?" He smiles, "I'm great. You look amazing by the way." I smile and wave to the crowd again.

Harry looks at James, "Now I see why you wouldn't tell me who the surprise guest was." He smiles and shakes his head.

I smile and walk over to greet Harry, keeping it very professional. He kisses my cheek, "Hello, darling." I walk around to take my seat and Harry gets up and helps me push my chair in.

"What a gentleman, yeah?" James motions towards Harry. Harry bats the air and pretends to be shy.

That man is not shy around me, let me tell you.

"Okay." I look down at the table and make a face, "Harry? You want to go first?" He shakes his head quickly while smiling, "No, all you."

I roll my eyes, "Fine." I bite my lip and tap my fingers on the table, anticipating Harry's first question for me.

"Y/N."

"Harry."

"On your phone.." he smirks and the crowd "oohs", "Calm down, I didn't even ask the question yet." He laughs and looks at me, "On your phone, what is the last thing you google searched?"

He leans back in his seat and watches me as I think.

I shake my head, "I don't.. I don't know."

Then it hits me, "Oh. Oh no. I can't- nope. It's embarrassing, we'll not.. no." I laugh and can feel my cheeks getting red.

"Y/N? Is it that bad?" James asks leaning in. I shake my head, "Not really.. just like.. personal?" I shrug, "Oh god that's not-" I look down at the glass in front of me, "What the hell is this James?"

Harry wags his finger at me, "Naughty, naughty." I roll my eyes and look at James, "Y/N.. that is blended up fish with plain yogurt."

I gag and shake my head, "I was-" I laugh and cover my face, I lean back and hold my arms out, "Vibrators. I was looking up vibrators. A girl has needs, people."

The crowd cheers for me as I look over at Harry and his brow cocks up as he smirks.

He clears his throat and looks up, "Definitely didn't expect that." He laughs, "Go." He nods towards me and I shake my head with a smile, "hmm."

"Y/N, what are you going to ask Harry?" James asks walking over and sitting down.

"Are there any songs on any of your albums that are about me?" I rest my elbows on the table, knowing damn well there is because he told me himself.

The crowd '0ohs' again and Harry shakes his head laughing, "Yeah, actually there's track.." he mumbles into his napkin, "On the-" he mumbles into his napkin again, "Album."

He shakes his head and tucks the fabric into his shirt. I laugh and clap my hands together, "You don't have to eat that. You can just tell us."

He looks up at me, to the crowd, at James then back at me, "Bull Penis.. sounds.. delightful." Harry shakes his head, "Can I just tell you one?"

I look at James and he looks at Harry shocked, "So there's more than one?"

Harry cuts a piece of the disgusting food off and locks eyes with me as he pulls it off with his teeth, "That's disgusting." He says leaning over to spit it into the garbage can.

He takes the napkin and wipes off his mouth, tongue and teeth. The crowd absolutely loses it with laughter. Harry turns to the crowd, "It's really not that complicated to figure out." He laughs.

I shrug, "Wow. Looks like I'll have to give your albums another listen." I smile and shake my head, "I'm nervous for the next one."

He laughs and nods towards me, "Rank my Movies." I lean my head back, "Damn it, Harry." I shake my head and spin the table, slowly looking at my options, "My policeman, Don't Worry Darling, and Dunkirk."

James scoffs and laughs, "My god that was fast."

Harry nods, "I honestly didn't expect you to answer." He laughs and claps for me, "Thank you."

I shrug, "I'm not eating bird saliva, sorry."

"Okay, y/n, you get the final question and Harry, you get the final spill or fill." James taps the table, "Let's do this. Drum roll please..”

The crowd drums their legs and I smirk slightly.

"Is it true, Mr. Styles." I lean forward a bit, "About what the magazines say?”

He leans in, “What do they say exactly?”

“That there's a possible future Mrs. Styles floating around with you?”

Harry's smirk turns into a slow smile as he quickly picks up on what I'm asking. He gives me a look and I nod and smile, "Go on. Tell us or enjoy those delicious-" I lean over and pick up the the card, "grasshoppers in ghost pepper sauce."

He look at the crowd and looks over at James, "I will say.." he picks up the napkin, "You know.." he laughs and shakes his head, "These grasshoppers don't look half bad."

I hide my smile behind my hands and watch as he teases everyone.

"So Harry." James says, "Is it spill or fill?"

Harry stares at the plate and then his eyes glance up at me. I nod once and my heart starts pounding.

"Spill."

The crowd goes absolutely insane and James leans in, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Alright, alright, alright." He waves his hand to get the crowd to quiet down.

I look over at the crowd and lean back in my seat, "Spill your guts, Styles." I smirk, "We're all dying to know."

He sighs, "I've had a girlfriend for four, going on five years now." James mouth drops and he looks over at me, "What?"

I laugh and shrug.

The crowd loses it again and Harry laughs and shakes his head, "You'll know who she is soon enough and that's all I'm giving you!" Harry stands up and throws the napkin down, “That’s all I’m giving you.” He walks away and turns around laughing.

God I love his laugh and smile.

I’m so in love with this man, it’s insane.

"Wow." James covers his mouth, "What on earth, y/n. You just got Harry to-" he stands up and walks over to him, "Come on, you have to tell us one thing. Do we know her?"

He smiles and nods, "Mhm."

"Wow. Unbelievable! There you have it ladies and gentleman. Mr. Harry styles and Y/N Y/L/N!"

I walk over and stand on the other side of James. I smile and wave to the crowd when they suddenly gasp and start screaming.

"What's going on?" I look at James and he quickly turns around and gasps with a smile, "Oh my god."

I turn around to see Harry down on one knee. I cover my mouth and my eyes instantly well up with tears, "Harry."

"It's y/n!?" James yells, "Oh. my. god." He gets the crowd to quiet down and he holds his card over his mouth, tears welling up in his eyes now, too.

I look back down at Harry and he smiles, "Y/N, you stuck by me these past, almost five years and I am forever grateful for you. You kept me going and stayed with me through the highs and lows of making music. I want you to be the one who continues to do that for me in ever single thing for the rest of my life. Will you please, do me the honor in marrying me?"

I don't even have to think about my answer, "Yes. Yes. Yes!" He hugs me as he stands up, lifting me off the ground. He spins me around and sets me down, immediately taking my hand to slide the ring on.

"What did we just witness here today? Magic. Absolute magic!" James hugs us both and congratulates us.

"What a way to end the show. They really had us going there for a while, didn't they?" He claps and thanks the crowd, "Goodnight!"

We walk backstage and I look up at Harry, "I had no idea you were going to do this, I thought we just talked about confirming that we were dating."

"We just did." He leans down and kisses me, "Now if you don't mind. I want to take my new fiancée and fuck her in my dressing room."

My cheeks get hot as Harry lays a hand on my back.

James stops us and congratulates us again.

"Thanks, mate." Harry pats his shoulder, "We're off to celebrate."

"Don't break anything please." James laughs with a sigh as we practically run into Harry’s dressing room.

He shuts and locks the door, peeling my dress from my body. He shrugs off his plaid jacket and starts to unbutton his shirt, "You just got so much sexier, Mrs. Styles."

He throws his shirt down and pushes his body against mine. His lips attack my lips before they quickly move down my neck.

He lifts me up and takes me over to the couch, setting me down and getting on his knees between mine.

He leans up and kisses down my chest. His hands kneading my boobs. I moan as he sucks and leaves a little trail of bite marks down to where he takes one of my nipple into his mouth.

I moan and arch my back as he holds it between his teeth and flicks it with his tongue.

"Harry." I moan tangling my fingers in his hair. He switches and does the same to my other boob, only this time he takes a hand and slides it down to my pussy.

His fingers slide up and down my slit teasingly.

"You're so fucking wet, baby. Fuck." He groans kissing and leaning another trail of bite marks down my stomach.

He slips two fingers in and I gasp, pulling his hair tighter. He moan as my action and kisses down my one thigh.

His fingers move in and out and I can hear how wet I am.

"You hear that baby? You hear how soaked you are for me?" He looks up at me and I look down at him, nodding as my eyes roll back, "Ye- yes, baby." I grip the couch and arch my back.

"I'm going to devour you. You're so fucking- Mm." He groans and dives in, licking and sucking my clit as he fucks me with his gorgeous hands.

I moan loudly and struggle to keep it together.

I can feel the pressure. I can feel myself getting ready to cum.

He quickly slips in another finger and curls them upward as he thrust them in and out.

I brings my arm up by my head and dig my nails into the back of the couch, "oh fuck!"

"That was fucking hot, sweetheart." He pulls out and lifts his hand up, liquid drips off and onto the floor. I smile shyly and shake my head.

"Don't be shy baby. You squirted all over me. I love when you do that to me." He smiles and goes right back to eating me out.

His tongue fucks my pussy. His nose rubs against my clit. His fingers squeeze my thighs. He sends me into absolute bliss, "H-ha-" I arch my back and my legs shake against his body.

He continues to eat me out until I'm panting.

"You taste so fucking good. Fuck. I can't get enough of my fiancée and her delicious fucking pussy." He goes back down and the pleasuring sensation makes my mind go blank.

All I can do is moan.

He pulls away and come up, his lips wet with my slick. He kisses me and I wrap an arm around his neck.

"Did that feel good, baby?" He kisses down my neck slowly, "Are you okay?" I nod and smile, "That was amazing."

He smile and kisses back up to my lips, "Want to continue?"

"Please." I whimper, "I need you."

He stands up and take the rest of his clothes off, gently positioning me on the couch, "You're so beautiful when you're fucked."

I smile and bite my lip as he pushes my leg up slowly, "You're so fucking-" He moans as he slips the head of his cock in, "Fucking amazing."

He pushes the rest of the way in, moaning as his hips hit my body. He reaches down and grabs my chin, his thumb running over my lips before I open and take his thumb in my mouth.

I grab his wrist and suck while I keep my eyes on his.

He starts to thrusts and my eyes flutter shut. My lips part as I let out a loud moan. He groans and slides his hand down to my throat.

My boobs bounce with each of his thrusts and I whimper as his hand tightens around my neck, "I love you so- fucking.. much." He leans down and kisses me, his hand still around my neck.

I moan quietly into his mouth and grab his hair, pulling as I feel myself about to cum again. I don't even had to say anything for Harry to know.

"Cum again baby, I know you can do it." He whispers into my ear, "I want to feel you cum as I fuck that tight little cunt of yours."

I moan and arch my back, "f-fuck." I whimper pulling his hair harder.

He moans and slips and arm under my back, holding me to him as he continues fucking me. I cling to him as much as I can, clenching around his cock as I cum again.

"Fuck, I want to cum so bad." He moans, "I-I." He lets out a loud moan and buries his face into my neck, "Fuck, y/n. You feel so, so good."

He continues to praise me, "You're taking me so, so well, baby."

"You feel so good around my cock."

"I love it when you cum for me."

I dig my nails into his back and practically scream out his name.

"That's it baby, let the studio know that you feel good."

He groans as I drag my nails up his back, "Fuck."

His thrusts get sloppy and he pushes as deep inside of me as he can go, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He pants, "Y/N?" He asks brushing hair out of my face.

"I'm still here." I smile and look at him. My eyes are heavy and my brain feels fuzzy. "You fucked me good, baby." I lay a hand on his cheek as he kisses me, “I love you so much.”

He smiles and kisses my forehead as he slowly pulls out. I wince slightly as he lays my leg down, "Sorry."

I shake my head, "No. no. That's a good kind of pain." He smirks slightly and kisses my hip, "We’ll go home and I'll run you a bath, give you some time to recover before we celebrate again." He winks.

I shake my head, "I'm giving you a blow job in the car on the way home."

He smirks and nods, "Fair enough."

——

Requests are accepted! Send me a message!

Part 2?

[lauraryuguji]

Enzo Vogrincic x Reader.

There you were, sitting elegantly next to Enzo at one of the many premieres that the new series generated. Your fingers trembled momentarily with the new anxiety, but it became something normal.

"Oh, a question for Enzo now." The woman said smiling as she opened a small piece of paper. "In principle, you and our guest of honor would never have played a romance in this series, but what does that mean?"

Enzo smiled before looking at you embarrassed and answering calmly. "Well, I didn't like her at all... I mean, it was a bit of jealousy since we shared a particular friend and suddenly she and he did everything together."

The presenter nods as she lets out a sincere smile.

"But our director came in one day and said that the show needed this spark of chemistry that we had. I was like, really? I hate that girl."

You laugh embarrassedly before covering your face with your hands, Enzo slipping his arm over her whispering some apology.

"But we'll get through this, my tantrum can't last long."He massages her back.

"That's magnificent, a real enemies to lovers." The presenter says gently. "The next question is for you."

You nod; everyone admired how you could be so discreet off camera and so expressive on stage.

"Did you know about this hatred of Enzo?" She asks.

"Actually, there's a scene where he says he hated me... and that scene wasn't in the script." You smile. "Coupled with his treatment, I might have had an idea."

"Let me defend myself." He laughs, raising his hands in surrender. "It was only a three-week hatred."

"But after that, Enzo became a very dear friend." You smile again, but notice how he looks at you differently.

The presenter finishes, you and Enzo wave to the camera before being released and heading to the dressing room. It was a short walk, but the air seemed thicker. Enzo throws himself down on the sofa and takes off the microphone, you remain standing, untangling yourself from the wires.

"What's wrong?" you ask him, and he doesn't even make a point of looking at you, turning his head the other way.

"I don't like the way the phrase 'Enzo dear friend' sounds." Enzo puts his feet up on the table.

"What did you want me to say?" his voice is always so soft.

"I don't know, maybe that I'm not your friend? That I'm more than your friend and less than a boyfriend?" he groans, staring at the ceiling."You know that's stupid, you're being immature." She shakes her head.

"Yes, I'm an immature shit for loving someone who doesn't have the guts to tell me they're with me." His words are like knives, and you're his target.

"Don't say that." The soft voice murmurs.

"It's not the truth?" For the first time he looks at her. His eyes are filled with confusion, heat, pleading.

"You know it's not." She looks at him. "Just stop and think about what you're saying."

"It's what I've been thinking for a long time." He stands up abruptly.

He waits for her to say something, he mentally begs her to tell him he's wrong, he begs her not to let him say those things. But she doesn't, she stares at the floor and doesn't even move when he walks past her and closes the door with a loud bang.

[tacticaldiary]

Cut From The Same Cloth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Angst

"We're cut from the same cloth, you and I." She snarls, knuckles turning white at the grip she has on his vest. "You'll never settle for anything that won't destroy you because that's just the kind of person you are!"

Masterlist

Cool, crisp air cuts away the stuffiness of the bar as they step out into the alley.

"The hell were you thinking?" Simon hisses, yanking her away from the back door. "Running your mouth and startin' a fight like that outnumbered?"

"I could've taken them." She argues stubbornly, ripping her arm out of his grasp. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth, a bruise blooming over her jaw.

"Five to one?" He stares at her in disbelief for a second. "Bloody hell woman, are you hearin' yourself?"

"I don't need you patronising me." She snaps, dabbing at her lip with the dirty sleeve of her shirt. He runs a frustrated hand over her head at

"You're hell bent on being destructive-"

"Don't act like you're any better." She glares. "Don't play a fucking saint, Simon."

"I'm not the one starting fights I can't win."

"You're just as self sabotaging as me! Smoking, drinking, mixing yourself with people like me-"

"I wouldn't be with you if I didn't fucking want to." He warns, and nothing about this is warm or kind. Teeth bared and words sharp, the tension between them has been rising for the past month.

"Oh don't make me laugh." She scoffs. "You'd find someone much better if you could stay away from me, if you didn't keep crawling back."

"Watch it." He warns.

"We're cut from the same cloth, you and I." She snarls, knuckles turning white at the grip she has on his vest. "You'll never settle for anything that won't destroy you because that's just the kind of person you are!"

For a moment he doesn't react, letting the words she'd uttered etch themselves into the marble of his mind, resolute and honest.

Because it was honest, wasn't it?

They aren't good for each other. Late nights in each other's rooms, the sweet nothings, false promises...the rough scrape of hands, furious words and shouting. Seeing each other take someone else home after fighting. Not acknowledging it the next day, falling into the same sickly sweet, vicious cycle.

It's killing him, poisoning him in an addictive way he can't help but give into.

Destructive.

"And you're fine with that?" He grits out, grunting when she shoves him away.

"Yes, I'm fucking fine with it." Grim satisfaction and...and pride laces her voice. "This is...I live for this, Simon. This is for me. After weeks of structure and following orders, getting blood on my hands for work? Letting myself go feels so fucking good." Something sour curls in his stomach.

"We're not supposed to have a conscience." A shake of her "Keep your head down and pull the trigger, right? This," She gestures to the dingy alley, gestures between the both of them. "-is my trigger. And I'll fire as many rounds as it takes until the guilt washes away."

Her eyes are wide and earnest, and like a train screeching off the rails, a realisation dawns on Simon, breathing down his neck and twisting a knife into his gut.

He can't save her.

Not from this.

Not from herself.

A year of this back and forth, of relying on something as crumbly as hope.

Hope? Funny. When did he start believing in something so childish again?

The chink in his armor stitches itself up, solidifies into something sturdier than the brick wall she tore down to worm her way into his heart all those months ago. It was a mistake. Encased in iron and the new revelation, Ghost lets the silence hang.

The air shifts as he straightens to his full height. It's noteably enough, because the small, exasperated smile of hers slips into something more wary, the hair on the back of her next standing up while she waits for him to speak.

"You want to fuck your life up, be my fucking guest, sergeant." Ghost says.

Sergeant?

"Fire at will." Cold and callous, words sharp and to the point. "But you'll no longer be doing it from the task force."

A beat of silence.

"The fuck I won't. On what authority?" She scoffs, but the statement isn't as confident as her monologue prior.

"Mine. Price will have your discharge papers on your desk by Tuesday-"

"So this is some sick way to what? Blackmail me into staying with you?"

"I don't need you."

"Could have fooled me-"

"I don't need you." He repeats, narrowing his eyes. "Doesn't matter what I fuckin' want. I want a lot of things, doesn't mean I need them."

It's for the best, he tells himself. With how she was acting, how unpredictable she was right now she'd eventually get herself shot and killed on the field.

When, not if.

And as much as Ghost wants to walk away and forget he was stupid to let anything but shallow camaraderie grace his life, he can't stomach the thought of leaving this loose end, of being presented with a pair of her bloody dog tags instead of her smile one night.

Her indignant, angry shouts echo across the grimy alley bricks, nasty, low insults about his character, about how he's insane, how he's selfish and petty.

Setting his jaw, Ghost lets himself have one last pass of her. Rakes his eyes up and down as if trying to commit her to memory one last time. Just as she looks about ready to take a swing at him, he turns on heel and leaves her there.

She can hate him all she wants. Hate him, despise him, loathe him. He's used to it, it won't put a dent in his defences.

Hate was better than destructive indifference.

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(10/12/2023)

[cinemastyles-backup]

Summary: Y/N gets invited onto The Late Late Show with James Corden and does a game of Spill Your Guts or Fill Your Guts with Harry, which reveals something earth shattering for everyone.

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, biting, hair pulling, oral (f rec), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, sexual innuendos, general filth

My original CinemaStyles-blog has been terminated, so I created a new one.

"As you all know, we have the wonderful and talented Mr. Harry Styles here with us tonight!" James reintroduces his guests and the audience claps and cheers, especially for Harry.

"Y/N. Are you ready?" One of the crew asks. I nod, "Oh, yes." She nods and gives a thumbs up to some people.

This is going to be so fun. I've known James for years and everyone knows that Harry and I are friends, but what they really don't know is that we're actually together.

We agreed to keep our relationship as private as we could, for now. I'm honesty surprised we have been able to, It's more intimate for us that way, but Harry has been acting.. weird? I don't know. He's asking if I'd ever want to go public and I'm not really opposed to it.

But anyway, I've asked James to keep it a secret that I'm coming on the show, so I've been labeled as the surprise guest for weeks now, so Harry is going to be put on the spot, and we're going to have to pretend that we're strictly 'just friends'.

"As you all know, I like to play a little game.." The crowd starts to cheer, "What? I haven't even told you the game yet!" James laughs, "We'll, since you all know what I'm about to say next, Harry." He motions for him to get to come over to him.

Harry gets up and pulls his suit jacket down as he walks over to him, "Yes, James." He lays an arm around his shoulder. James looks at him with a smile and starts to laugh, "Are you ready to either spill your guts or fill your guts?"

Harry covers his face and laughs, "Oh god. I knew it."

James laughs and motions to the table, "Why don't you go and have a seat over there, but don't touch anything!" Harry walks over to the table and has a seat.

"Now, Harry. You know how this game works correct?" James walks over and sits down across from Harry.

"The title is uh, pretty explanatory, James." Harry chuckles.

"Right, right. Of course it is." James rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and reads his cards, "Oh wait. One more thing before we get started."

"Okay." Harry nods.

"I won't be doing this challenge with you." James stands up and laughs, "Everybody, if you would please give a wonderful round of applause for the very talented and very beautiful Y/N Y/L/N!"

James claps and turns to welcome me onto the stage.

I walk out smiling as I wave my hands to the crowd. I walk over to give James a hug, "Hello, hello." He kisses my cheek, "Hello there, love. How are you?"

I nod, "I'm good, how are you?" He smiles, "I'm great. You look amazing by the way." I smile and wave to the crowd again.

Harry looks at James, "Now I see why you wouldn't tell me who the surprise guest was." He smiles and shakes his head.

I smile and walk over to greet Harry, keeping it very professional. He kisses my cheek, "Hello, darling." I walk around to take my seat and Harry gets up and helps me push my chair in.

"What a gentleman, yeah?" James motions towards Harry. Harry bats the air and pretends to be shy.

That man is not shy around me, let me tell you.

"Okay." I look down at the table and make a face, "Harry? You want to go first?" He shakes his head quickly while smiling, "No, all you."

I roll my eyes, "Fine." I bite my lip and tap my fingers on the table, anticipating Harry's first question for me.

"Y/N."

"Harry."

"On your phone.." he smirks and the crowd "oohs", "Calm down, I didn't even ask the question yet." He laughs and looks at me, "On your phone, what is the last thing you google searched?"

He leans back in his seat and watches me as I think.

I shake my head, "I don't.. I don't know."

Then it hits me, "Oh. Oh no. I can't- nope. It's embarrassing, we'll not.. no." I laugh and can feel my cheeks getting red.

"Y/N? Is it that bad?" James asks leaning in. I shake my head, "Not really.. just like.. personal?" I shrug, "Oh god that's not-" I look down at the glass in front of me, "What the hell is this James?"

Harry wags his finger at me, "Naughty, naughty." I roll my eyes and look at James, "Y/N.. that is blended up fish with plain yogurt."

I gag and shake my head, "I was-" I laugh and cover my face, I lean back and hold my arms out, "Vibrators. I was looking up vibrators. A girl has needs, people."

The crowd cheers for me as I look over at Harry and his brow cocks up as he smirks.

He clears his throat and looks up, "Definitely didn't expect that." He laughs, "Go." He nods towards me and I shake my head with a smile, "hmm."

"Y/N, what are you going to ask Harry?" James asks walking over and sitting down.

"Are there any songs on any of your albums that are about me?" I rest my elbows on the table, knowing damn well there is because he told me himself.

The crowd 'Oohs' again and Harry shakes his head laughing, "Yeah, actually there's track.." he mumbles into his napkin, "On the-" he mumbles into his napkin again, "Album."

He shakes his head and tucks the fabric into his shirt. I laugh and clap my hands together, "You don't have to eat that. You can just tell us."

He looks up at me, to the crowd, at James then back at me, "Bull Penis.. sounds.. delightful." Harry shakes his head, "Can I just tell you one?"

I look at James and he looks at Harry shocked, "So there's more than one?"

Harry cuts a piece of the disgusting food off and locks eyes with me as he pulls it off with his teeth, "That's disgusting." He says leaning over to spit it into the garbage can.

He takes the napkin and wipes off his mouth, tongue and teeth. The crowd absolutely loses it with laughter. Harry turns to the crowd, "It's really not that complicated to figure out." He laughs.

I shrug, "Wow. Looks like I'll have to give your albums another listen." I smile and shake my head, "I'm nervous for the next one."

He laughs and nods towards me, "Rank my Movies." I lean my head back, "Damn it, Harry." I shake my head and spin the table, slowly looking at my options, "My policeman, Don't Worry Darling, and Dunkirk."

James scoffs and laughs, "My god that was fast."

Harry nods, "I honestly didn't expect you to answer." He laughs and claps for me, "Thank you."

I shrug, "I'm not eating bird saliva, sorry."

"Okay, y/n, you get the final question and Harry, you get the final spill or fill." James taps the table, "Let's do this. Drum roll please.."

The crowd drums their legs and I smirk slightly.

"Is it true, Mr. Styles." I lean forward a bit, "About what the magazines say?"

He leans in, "What do they say exactly?"

"That there's a possible future Mrs. Styles floating around with you?"

Harry's smirk turns into a slow smile as he quickly picks up on what I'm asking. He gives me a look and I nod and smile, "Go on. Tell us or enjoy those delicious-" I lean over and pick up the the card, "grasshoppers in ghost pepper sauce."

He look at the crowd and looks over at James, "I will say.." he picks up the napkin, "You know.." he laughs and shakes his head, "These grasshoppers don't look half bad."

I hide my smile behind my hands and watch as he teases everyone.

"So Harry." James says, "Is it spill or fill?"

Harry stares at the plate and then his eyes glance up at me. I nod once and my heart starts pounding.

"Spill."

The crowd goes absolutely insane and James leans in, placing a hand on his shoulder, "Alright, alright, alright." He waves his hand to get the crowd to quiet down.

I look over at the crowd and lean back in my seat, "Spill your guts, Styles." I smirk, "We're all dying to know."

He sighs, "I've had a girlfriend for four, going on five years now." James mouth drops and he looks over at me, "What?"

I laugh and shrug.

The crowd loses it again and Harry laughs and shakes his head, "You'll know who she is soon enough and that's all I'm giving you!" Harry stands up and throws the napkin down, "That's all I'm giving you." He walks away and turns around laughing.

God I love his laugh and smile.

I'm so in love with this man, it's insane.

"Wow." James covers his mouth, "What on earth, y/n. You just got Harry to-" he stands up and walks over to him, "Come on, you have to tell us one thing. Do we know her?"

He smiles and nods, "Mhm."

"Wow. Unbelievable! There you have it ladies and gentleman. Mr. Harry styles and Y/N Y/L/N!"

I walk over and stand on the other side of James. I smile and wave to the crowd when they suddenly gasp and start screaming.

"What's going on?" I look at James and he quickly turns around and gasps with a smile, "Oh my god."

I turn around to see Harry down on one knee. I cover my mouth and my eyes instantly well up with tears, "Harry."

"It's y/n!?" James yells, "Oh. my. god." He gets the crowd to quiet down and he holds his card over his mouth, tears welling up in his eyes now, too.

I look back down at Harry and he smiles, "Y/N, you stuck by me these past, almost five years and I am forever grateful for you. You kept me going and stayed with me through the highs and lows of making music. I want you to be the one who continues to do that for me in ever single thing for the rest of my life. Will you please, do me the honor in marrying me?"

I don't even have to think about my answer, "Yes. Yes. Yes!" He hugs me as he stands up, lifting me off the ground. He spins me around and sets me down, immediately taking my hand to slide the ring on.

"What did we just witness here today? Magic. Absolute magic!" James hugs us both and congratulates us.

"What a way to end the show. They really had us going there for a while, didn't they?" He claps and thanks the crowd, "Goodnight!"

We walk backstage and I look up at Harry, "I had no idea you were going to do this, I thought we just talked about confirming that we were dating."

"We just did." He leans down and kisses me, "Now if you don't mind. I want to take my new fiancée and fuck her in my dressing room."

My cheeks get hot as Harry lays a hand on my back.

James stops us and congratulates us again.

"Thanks, mate." Harry pats his shoulder, "We're off to celebrate."

"Don't break anything please." James laughs with a sigh as we practically run into Harry's dressing room.

He shuts and locks the door, peeling my dress from my body. He shrugs off his plaid jacket and starts to unbutton his shirt, "You just got so much sexier, Mrs. Styles."

He throws his shirt down and pushes his body against mine. His lips attack my lips before they quickly move down my neck.

He lifts me up and takes me over to the couch, setting me down and getting on his knees between mine.

He leans up and kisses down my chest. His hands kneading my boobs. I moan as he sucks and leaves a little trail of bite marks down to where he takes one of my nipple into his mouth.

I moan and arch my back as he holds it between his teeth and flicks it with his tongue.

"Harry." I moan tangling my fingers in his hair. He switches and does the same to my other boob, only this time he takes a hand and slides it down to my pussy.

His fingers slide up and down my slit teasingly.

"You're so fucking wet, baby. Fuck." He groans kissing and leaning another trail of bite marks down my stomach.

He slips two fingers in and I gasp, pulling his hair tighter. He moan as my action and kisses down my one thigh.

His fingers move in and out and I can hear how wet I am.

"You hear that baby? You hear how soaked you are for me?" He looks up at me and I look down at him, nodding as my eyes roll back, "Ye- yes, baby." I grip the couch and arch my back.

"I'm going to devour you. You're so fucking- Mm." He groans and dives in, licking and sucking my clit as he fucks me with his gorgeous hands.

I moan loudly and struggle to keep it together.

I can feel the pressure. I can feel myself getting ready to cum.

He quickly slips in another finger and curls them upward as he thrust them in and out.

I brings my arm up by my head and dig my nails into the back of the couch, "oh fuck!"

"That was fucking hot, sweetheart." He pulls out and lifts his hand up, liquid drips off and onto the floor. I smile shyly and shake my head.

"Don't be shy baby. You squirted all over me. I love when you do that to me." He smiles and goes right back to eating me out.

His tongue fucks my pussy. His nose rubs against my clit. His fingers squeeze my thighs. He sends me into absolute bliss, "H-ha-" I arch my back and my legs shake against his body.

He continues to eat me out until I'm panting.

"You taste so fucking good. Fuck. I can't get enough of my fiancée and her delicious fucking pussy." He goes back down and the pleasuring sensation makes my mind go blank.

All I can do is moan.

He pulls away and come up, his lips wet with my slick. He kisses me and I wrap an arm around his neck.

"Did that feel good, baby?" He kisses down my neck slowly, "Are you okay?" I nod and smile, "That was amazing."

He smile and kisses back up to my lips, "Want to continue?"

"Please." I whimper, "I need you."

He stands up and take the rest of his clothes off, gently positioning me on the couch, "You're so beautiful when you're fucked."

I smile and bite my lip as he pushes my leg up slowly, "You're so fucking-" He moans as he slips the head of his cock in, "Fucking amazing."

He pushes the rest of the way in, moaning as his hips hit my body. He reaches down and grabs my chin, his thumb running over my lips before I open and take his thumb in my mouth.

I grab his wrist and suck while I keep my eyes on his.

He starts to thrusts and my eyes flutter shut. My lips part as I let out a loud moan. He groans and slides his hand down to my throat.

My boobs bounce with each of his thrusts and I whimper as his hand tightens around my neck, "I love you so- fucking.. much." He leans down and kisses me, his hand still around my neck.

I moan quietly into his mouth and grab his hair, pulling as I feel myself about to cum again. I don't even had to say anything for Harry to know.

"Cum again baby, I know you can do it." He whispers into my ear, "I want to feel you cum as I fuck that tight little cunt of yours."

I moan and arch my back, "f-fuck." I whimper pulling his hair harder.

He moans and slips and arm under my back, holding me to him as he continues fucking me. I cling to him as much as I can, clenching around his cock as I cum again.

"Fuck, I want to cum so bad." He moans, "I-I." He lets out a loud moan and buries his face into my neck, "Fuck, y/n. You feel so, so good."

He continues to praise me, "You're taking me so, so well, baby."

"You feel so good around my cock."

"I love it when you cum for me."

I dig my nails into his back and practically scream out his name.

"That's it baby, let the studio know that you feel good."

He groans as I drag my nails up his back, "Fuck."

His thrusts get sloppy and he pushes as deep inside of me as he can go, "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He pants, "Y/N?" He asks brushing hair out of my face.

"I'm still here." I smile and look at him. My eyes are heavy and my brain feels fuzzy. "You fucked me good, baby." I lay a hand on his cheek as he kisses me, "I love you so much."

He smiles and kisses my forehead as he slowly pulls out. I wince slightly as he lays my leg down, "Sorry."

I shake my head, "No. no. That's a good kind of pain." He smirks slightly and kisses my hip, "We'll go home and I'll run you a bath, give you some time to recover before we celebrate again." He winks.

I shake my head, "I'm giving you a blow job in the car on the way home."

He smirks and nods, "Fair enough."

——

You can find part two here

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[angelasscribbles]

What Happened in Vegas

Series: None, this is a one-shot and you can find those here.

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Riley x Liam x Drake

Rating: MA

Warnings for this chapter: mature themes I guess

Word Count: 1,796

A/N: Credit/blame goes to @aussiegurl1234 for putting this in my head with the simple statement that the Vegas fling should have been a threesome. To be clear: There is no smut here, this isn't set in Vegas, but rather the aftermath and results of what happened.

My other stuff: Master List.

Liam's head guard entered the council chambers to whisper in the king's ear. "Sorry to interrupt, but the Duchess of Valtoria is asking to see you. She says it's important."

Riley was on the short list of people that had unrestricted access to him at all times. "Thank you, Alec." He nodded to dismiss the guard, then turned back to the council members. "Are we about done here?"

"Well, there was one last item—" The Earl of Dunwick pointed to the line item on the agenda about a proposed construction project and a lake full of some protected fish.

"Anything that can't wait until next week?"

"Well…. The project management company has been waiting for an answer for six months already…"

"So, what's one more week?" Liam grinned. "Meeting adjourned!"

The king of Cordonia damn near skipped through the halls to the private sitting room where the woman who made his heart beat was waiting.

His smile faltered when he found Drake waiting with her.

He had hoped Riley was there to spend some quality time with him. He didn't see her near as often as he would have preferred. Ever since the advent of her marriage to his best friend, their trysts had diminished. Not ended mind you, but it wasn't like it had been during the social season when they had been sneaking off every chance they got to the hedge maze, the rooftop, or an empty guest room.

Then the coronation debacle had happened and everything had gone sidewise.

He had hoped to be able to repair their relationship during the engagement tour and he had, to some extent.

Riley had told him up front when she started sleeping with Drake, but somehow, every time she reminded him of her new relationship, the two of them ended up in bed together. "I'm with Drake now, remember?" Always ended with her screaming his name.

Pushing his disappointment aside, he embraced and kissed her on the lips before turning to acknowledge Drake's presence. Greetings were exchanged, then he directed his attention back to Riley. "Not that I'm complaining, in any way, I am always happy to see you, but why are you here?"

Riley cut straight to the chase. "I think I'm pregnant. My period is late, and I can't remember if I had it last month or not." Life had been busy since assuming the mantle of Duchess and starting married life with Drake.

Liam did some quick backward math. His eyebrows shot up as he looked from her to Drake and back again. "Vegas?"

"Vegas," she nodded.

"So…whose is it?"

Riley threw her arms up in the air. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Of course it fucking matters, Riley!"

"Not to me it doesn't," Drake broke in. He moved closer so he could wrap both arms around his wife. Nuzzling into the side of her neck, he told her, "I love you either way."

"I didn't say I wouldn't still love her!" Liam exploded. "Don't put words in my mouth!"

"Oh, calm down," Riley admonished. "I don't even know if I'm pregnant yet. I thought you should both be here when I take the test, given that there's no way to know which one of you knocked me up."

Liam took a deep breath and tugged at his tie as mentally collected himself. An out of wedlock heir to the throne would be a scandal of epic proportions, but the thought was not entirely unwelcomed. "Right. Thank you for that. If this child is mine, I want to be involved every step of the way."

Riley gave him an affectionate smile. "See? I knew that, and that's why we're here, Right, babe?"

"Right." Drake released her and stepped back. "Are we sure it happened in Vegas? Because if it happened on our wedding night or during the honeymoon—"

"Or in the weeks leading up to the wedding?" Liam interjected. He had spent quite a bit of time helping the new duchess settle into her role. He had also helped her out of her clothes more often than not after a long day of diplomatic lessons.

Riley waved him off. "I had a period just before Vegas, that I remember. So if the baby is yours, it almost had to have happened in Vegas. After all, you were both inside me that night. When you weren't inside each other, that is." Her hand went to her mouth to stifle a giggle.

Drake's eyes met Liam's over the top of her head. Both men froze for a second as both faces flushed red, then both sets of eyes dropped quickly to the floor.

The night in Vegas had been wild, but they had never discussed it after the fact. Liam was out as bisexual, but it had been Drake's first and only experience with a man.

Drake was well aware of his wife's extracurricular activities with his best friend. He had no issues with it. In fact, images of Liam and Riley together fueled more of his fantasies than he liked to admit.

"Okay, I'm going to pee on this stick now!" She brandished it in front of them like a kid with a magic wand before disappearing into the attached bathroom.

The men made awkward small talk as they waited, both of them breathing out a sigh of relief when she returned, alleviating the danger of them having to address the elephant in the room, at least for the moment.

"Now we wait," she chirped. "Could one of you set a timer for two minutes?"

Liam had his phone out first. "Done!"

It was the longest two minutes of his life. He paced the floor, deep in thought as Riley and Drake sat on the settee, making plans for the weekend, laughing and touching each other frequently.

The timer dinged and all three heads snapped up. Three sets of eyes flitted from one person to the other to the bathroom door.

Riley stood and went to retrieve the answer to their question. She returned from the bathroom to both men's gazes locked on her with anticipation.

"The moment of truth…" she glanced down at the stick in her hand, feeling disappointment wash through her in place of the relief she had expected to feel. "It's negative. I'm not pregnant."

Drake's brows furrowed as he moved closer to her. "Are you okay? I thought that's the result you wanted, but you look sad."

Liam backed away from them. "I… just need a moment to process…"

He resumed his pacing as he grappled with an onslaught of mixed emotions.

No scandal, no awkward questions, no figuring out how to juggle schedules between three adults and two homes… but also no heir, no biological tie to the woman he loved, and no relief from the unrelenting pressure to marry and produce offspring. He stopped pacing and spun to face Drake. "Did you mean what you said earlier?"

"What did I say earlier?"

"That you didn't care whose baby it was."

"Right. Yeah…." Drake's eyes tracked from Liam to Riley and back again. "Why? There is no baby—"

"What if there were?"

Drake blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…." He crossed the room quickly and took Riley's hands in his. "Have a baby with me, Riley! On purpose!"

Giddiness bubbled up inside of her at the prospect. But he couldn't be serious, could he? "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Do you want to see me married to someone else?"

Riley's gaze slid to Drake as she considered if her answer would hurt him. But they had promised each other unrelenting honesty, no matter what. She returned her attention to Liam and shook her head.

"Then give me an heir so I don't have to marry…. Anyone, ever!"

"Is that even a thing that we can do?"

"Yes! It's not totally without precedence. I simply have to acknowledge the child and publicly legitimize him or her. Which I will!" He dropped down on one knee. "I know you're already married, but consider this an official proposal to be my royal consort. Openly. Move back to the palace. Take your rightful place by my side!"

Drake's throat cleared. "Um… hello? What are you doing?"

"Sorry!" Liam scrambled to his feet. "I may have gotten carried away there, but I'm serious. Do you honestly like living in Valtoria?"

"Not really," Drake admitted, "But I'd live in Antarctica if that's where my wife was."

"Then you're open to moving back home?"

A spark of jealousy flared through him, followed almost immediately by a pang of longing.

There was no doubt that he was in love with his wife. Helplessly, hopelessly, head over heels in love with her. But the night in Vegas had opened a door he had been avoiding peaking behind for his entire life, leaving him questioning the nature of his feelings for his best friend.

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "I… what exactly are you proposing? That my wife shacks up with you? Where does that leave me?"

"I'm sorry if I wasn't clear. I meant both of you."

Drake's entire body stilled as his mind raced to interpret Liam's meaning. "Both of us…. what?”

Liam shrugged. "Whatever you want, whatever you'll allow. I want you both to move in. We've already agreed to this situation we find ourselves in with Riley. We can continue as we are, with her splitting time between our bedrooms or…"

"Or?" Drake struggled to keep the note of hopefulness out of his voice, sure that everyone in the room could hear the pounding of his heart.

With a smirk, Liam moved closer to him. "Or you and I can continue what we started in Vegas and see where it goes."

Blood rushed to his face, heating his cheeks as he nodded, then looked away.

"Great!" Liam turned back to Riley. "You don't have to answer right now if you're not ready. Take your time and—"

"Yes! I'll do it! We'll move in, I'll be your consort, we can have a baby! As long as Drake is okay with all of it, that is."

"I'm okay with it."

Liam felt a rush of happiness crash over him. "Can you stay tonight? I'd like to start working on that baby right away."

"Oh, I don't know if—"

"It's okay," Drake assured her. "If you want to stay, I can go pack some of our clothes and—"

"Actually," Liam interrupted, "I was hoping you could join us."

Drake's eyes widened, slid down Liam's body, then closed as he drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

The trajectory of his life was about to change. And he couldn't wait to see where it would take him.

[arioloyal]

[[Sepandarmazgan]](King baldwin iv x reader)])

Part2

[Jerusalem- 1182]

Sibylla's pov:

I wasn't there the day that the young traveler appeared on my brother's path with her long hair and strange black clothes. I had gone outside Jerusalem with some of my companions to meet balian. When I came back, I realized that the story of my younger brother's acquaintance with that stranger has become a new topic for any conversation.

All the people were asking one thing: who is this girl who is not known where she came from?, what is her origin?, how come the king of the holy land took her seriously and almost bowed to her?...

Since I have been used to seeing everyone bow to my brother since childhood, I never thought that one day he would bow to someone as a sign of respect. He only bowed in supplication before the statue of Jesus during worship, not before lesser and ordinary persons. That's why I didn't believe what I heard. But when I returned, Raymond confirmed the matter, and as I've never heard such a loyal person tell a lie till this day, I was forced to believe that Baldwin had kissed the stranger's hand at court, in front of everyone.

Besides, as Tiberias said, this uninvited guest who seems to be y/n of Persia, is destined to stay with us from now on.

Who is this stranger who suddenly came down from the heaven with a basket and just appeared in front of him? I wanted to look for her and see her with my own eyes. As soon as I saw Tiberias, I asked him: "Then why can't this girl be found?"

Tiberias silenced me by whispering: "Shh...his majesty and Lady y/n have gone to that bedchamber and closed all the doors."

From a distance, their voices sounded like whispers, but it was impossible to understand what they were saying. I was going that way when Tiberias stopped me again.

:"You better wait Sibylla, they don't want to be disturbed."

Guy de lusignan's pov:

...the long days in Jerusalem are not easily over. But they did not come out, the next day was the same, the next day again...how many words did they already have to talk to each other? What could the king of Jerusalem have in common with an ordinary person?

...One week passed, another week was the same... The servants and physicians lined up behind together every day and left the that leper's medicine , fresh bandages and food behind it and left. Although every day more delicious food was cooked than the day before, baldwin and y/n seemed to eat nothing but a piece of wheat bread and a bowl of milk and left the rest behind the door.

The order of the court was messed up. Every day that passed, I became more nervous and curious; I'm always calm, but this time it was different. At different hours of the day, I would stick my eyes to the door and look inside the room. I eavesdropped tirelessly every day. What if this girl knows about the caravan that Reynald and I robbed? as that orange-colored traitor said: "You should be afraid of famous people"...

But in any case, I did not see anything special. The curtains were drawn halfway. Except for the few words I stole in the air, the only thing I could hear was endless whispers. When there is nothing to see or hear, a person starts to fantasize in his mind. Maybe something has happened to the girl...

Once, Sibylla surprised me while I was listening to the door. she was angry and surprised. I think she also came here out of curiosity and wanted to know what kind of long story this is. Honestly, women are naturally curious. they can't help it.

My princess's eyes became like wild cats and she whispered her words in my face angrily.

:"You have no right to eavesdrop here. Since when did you worry about your king? You are not even allowed to enter this corridor."

Thank God I always keep my excuses in my pockets already: "Your lover now has the support of your brother. I have thousands of Knights and Templars at my disposal, and I have the power to do anything without his permission, but before that, I must remind the king that I am asking for your hand in marriage, otherwise your son's rule will be nothing but destruction... I came to talk to him, but it seems he has a beloved guest who never gets tired of being with her almost a month everyday..." I don't know why, but suddenly I laughed at the thought of it. wondering what just happened there...

(To be continued...)

[fanfic-gallery]

Good morning, Tori! How have you been, dear? This event idea is so creative, I love that brain of yours!

If you're up for writing a little chaotic something for me, could I request a (platonic) League of Villains (BNHA) + reader with prompt #777?

one of us

league of villains x gn! reader

|| cw : DEAD DOVE - DO NOT EAT, near-death experience, light mentions of violence

» manager's note: am i actually liking this fic? damn- i must have gotten better- or my standards have lowered- anywaysss, i'd like to say happy pride month to everybody 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 i hope my people in the lgbtqia+ community is having a lovely time celebrating, with that said enjoy the fic <33

"how much longer do they need..." eyes rolled across from the illuminated dance floor towards your bubbling booze. fingers found their way into your hair, gripping and grasping at a chunk of it before pulling at it by the scalp. dabi huffed a laugh of amusement, nonchalantly clinking his glass with yours in an effort to draw your attention towards him.

"you can always.. i don't know, leave?" stitched hand directed your eyes towards the barely visible exit underneath mountains of people. you growled lowly in response, stuffing your head back into the confines of your bare arms, groaning. how did you know that being selected as the group 'undercover' was so mundane, let alone needing to deal with the ass-hat sat just next to you?

seconds turned to minutes, then hours, it felt like literal days had gone by; yet, no signs of shigaraki or the others. you could feel your soul drifting apart from your body --- could it be from the mass amount of booze you had chugged, maybe.. you really couldn't tell. eyes lingered to your side, pupils eyeing the flashing blue flame sparking from your partner's fingertips; it danced and flowed, jumping from tip to tip.

"i get why i'm here, doing this.. but why are YOU here?"

lips slightly ajar, puffing out a light gust of air, blowing at the flicking flare; leaving ashy grey smoke to take its place. "mm, i don't really know.. i don't call the shots," you stared back at him, unimpressed but weren't expect much from a guy you've only just meet weeks before.

october 9th — the day you stumbled into a fate you could never imagine yourself in. legs wobbled, your hands were uneasy; gripping at bricks as you tried to hold yourself together, frame leaning against the wall just beside you. brain in a total mess, nearing the condition of a melted puddle; yet, the clutch against your burning chest was steady, arm still held close the glorious jewel.

"cOUGH- coughcough..." knees lost their strength as you fell on all fours, crimson leaking from your lips and finding its way onto the concrete pavement. ears ringing, barely hearing the clinking of the crystal-like piece rolling across the alley before suddenly stopping. you raised your head; eyes, a blur, only managing to catch glimpses of saturated baby blue before... darkness swallowed you whole.

"ugh....."

"it seems our guest is waking up~"

"what fast recovery.."

"oh-oh! i can't wait to play with them!"

"shut it, all of you..."

noise, noise everywhere... god, how annoying... lashes fluttered, shutting again from the sudden flash of golden rays before readjusting your focus. as each of your senses slowly returned, the warmth just by your feet had caught your attention; white mask covered in black markings stared back, their bright orange button up paired with an elongated top hat having you draw nothing but blanks.

"hello there," gloved hand waved, their mask seemingly twisting into a grin. you gulped, mouth slightly opening to speak till a strong bang struck the sides of the leather couch.

"ahh~ you're cute; shiggy, can we keep 'em?? pretty pleaseee!!" a girl, no younger than a highschool student, had gripped at your arm; blonde locks swaying along with her as she bobbled with joy, her smile barely fitting her face.

"where.. am i; and.. who are you people...-" you shook off the wander girl's wander hands, slowly pulling yourself up but stopping when a piercing sting within your chest made you choke.

"I won't move if I were you..." a man, or what looked to be a man, dressed in formal overalls. his face indistinguishable, head covered in mist of blackish-purple with eyes glowing a bright golden. what could was his hand, reached forward, steadying you by your shoulders as he laid you down on the bed once again.

"we are the league of villians... we had brought you here, or should i say, our leader had brought you here as he deemed you as worthy of joining us." he shifted to his side, revealing the familiar saturated baby blue hair over black clothing. he turned, face unwrapped with a sculpture of a hand, within the gaps of the fingers, crimson pupils stared on from the shadows.

"what do you mean.."

"we've heard of you, Y/N.. a vigilant who helps those, too weak and helpless."

"but they took you for granted, they shook you to the side and disregarded you as just another citizen desperate for the limelight!"

"...we want to help you take revenge.."

eyes rolled, upwards, taking at the looming familiar blue-haired figure, just close enough to notice scars of nails digging into the pale boy's flesh, the dry-ness of it all. despite his size and posture, an eerie aura radiated from him, you didn't know what, but it sickened you.. you felt like throwing up...

"and why should I trust you.."

"...do you have anyone else who's willing to help you right now?"

no.

there was no one else.

your parents, sunning you to the side, faces in disgust...

your friends, blocking you, some even writing discriminating comments on your posts...

the people in your college, cackling like the witches they were, pointing fingers and laughing at your misery every where you went...

you truly had no one.

no one but yourself...

"earth to rookie...-"

"aRK-" you jumped from your seat, barely managing to catch yourself. eyes flared with malice as your hand went straight at dabi's cheek, who in turn, caught it with ease. "don't scare me like that-" in response, he grinned, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to return back to his cocktail till...

BEEP BEEP BEEP

"oh.. looks like they're 'just on time'.."

"fUCKING FINALLY-"

"someone's excited.. "

"duh- who wouldn't be- anyways, ready, partner..?"

"... pftt, ready as i'll ever be, partner.. " eyes of fiery blue set ablaze as scarred hands swept the dance floor within their flames. the heat travelled fast, gasping at its first victim within seconds, leaving nothing but the echoing screams of sheer terror. you joined suit with a lingering smirk, hands raising allowing the silver utensils from the drawers to be sent out flying, some grazed the flesh of its victims and other fell to the ground groaning in agony.

students ran in pure chaos, some even resorted to banging on the windows to escape their hellish damnation. one stumbled towards a girl in red, blood pooling over their lips, begging for help as their hands trailed her skin; yet, all they received was a chuckle as her body melted like clay in their hand, but before their could even react, a knife from behind lodged itself into their head.

"...took you all long enough,"

"well, brother shiggy had some stuff to handle~ you can't really blame him.." toga giggled in return as she twirled, her blade purposefully finding another victim to gash.

"toga's right! nO- she's not!" twice followed.

"where is his dry-ass anyw—" your words cut shorter than the sudden silence in the room. eyes flashed in shock as the once rampaging crowd stilled like statues, all that was meat and bones turned to cracked cement before slowly crumbling away leaving nothing but ash and dust.

"it looks like i might have ruined your fun..." steps of his leather boots rang through the halls, as the familiarity of blue stepped out of the shadows.

"...well, the work is done... but i would have wished it lasted a bit longer-" you shrugged, hiding your frown behind strands of hair.

"the nights not over yettt, right brother shiggy?"

"...mm"

[im-a-writer--im-in-distress]

Cormac Said

Insert with: Ruhn Danaan

Reader: Female (she/her)

Words: 2300+

About: Apparently, Cormac has been saying all sorts of things about Ruhn…

Warning(s): XOVER! (Lucifer Season 6 spoilers! Jsyk)

A/N: Day Two of Ruhn Week 2024! The prompt is "Crown Prince". @ruhnweek New stories all week! NOTE: I’ve become obsessed with this crackship between Ruhn Danaan and Rory Morningstar from Lucifer. Yes, it came from a long story idea that yes, you’ll see on this blog in the coming months. So here’s a sort of teaser for that.

The after-effects of a frat party left the house in a haze. Lights danced across the walls, but the music had long been turned down as the energy lowered into a gentle sway.

Bryce, fueled by too-much mirthroot and righteous indignation, however, found herself locked in a heated debate with Flynn's lack of respect for females. "You," she began, her words slurring slightly as she pointed accusingly, "don't know the first thing about how to treat us. You use these parties like a bloody meat market."

Flynn, ever the skeptic, scoffed. "Why would any guy willingly subject himself to the friend zone?"

A whistle cut through the air, drawing everyone's attention to the entrance where Cormac Donall sauntered towards the group, a mischievous grin on his face as he draped an arm around a dark-eyed female. Declan immediately disappeared upstairs, removing himself from the headache.

"This is Aurora," Cormac announced, his tone laced with amusement at their previous conversation. "My friend."

Despite a wish to be polite for the new guest, Ruhn's anger flared as he watched his cousin slump into a seat. "What are you doing here?"

Cormac flashed him a cocky grin, unfazed by the hostility. "Just thought I'd grace you all with my presence," he smirked.

Bryce rolled her eyes. "Well, you can take your presence elsewhere.”

Aurora shot Cormac a withering look as she perched on the arm of his seat. "Do you always bring the party down, Cormac?" she teased.

"Door’s that way."

“I'm not here for you, Athalar," he replied, his gaze flickering to Aurora beside him. "I've got more interesting company."

“Flattery will get you nowhere," she shot back.

Ruhn glanced at her. It was clear the pair were close, but she didn’t seem like his type.

Cormac raised an eyebrow at her, a smug grin on his lips. "Where’s the fun in that?"

Ruhn clenched his jaw, struggling to contain his frustration. Bryce beat him to words. "You weren't invited, Donall," she snapped. "You can't just show up wherever you please."

He leaned back in his seat. "It's part of my charm,” he said for his guest's benefit.

"Oh, that’s not charm," she muttered, not bothering to cover her tone.

"Careful, sweetheart."

The newcomer rolled her eyes, unpeturbed. Ruhn caught his sister’s glance. She was thinking the same thing he was.

Bryce leaned in towards Aurora. "I like you," she said. “Why are you with him?”

"Wouldn't want to hurt that fragile ego of his." Aurora shot an teasing chuckle over her shoulder at the male, whose golden gaze seared into her.

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and get me a drink?” he sneered.

She didn’t even blink. “Get it yourself. I’m making new friends.” But she did smile at Hunt as he folded over in laughter.

Cormac’s hands grabbed her thighs and yanked her down into this lap. With lips at her ear but a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, he says, “I can think of other ways you could use that mouth.”

She elbowed him in the ribs.

Cormac grunted at the blow. "Watch it, you half-breed bitch.”

"You can’t talk to her like that." Bryce snapped, mirthroot anger boiling.

"Mind your business, Bryce.”

Bryce's eyes flashed feral, but Aurora waved her down as she rose from her seat. “Save your breath. I’m only half angel,” she added, sitting down next to Ruhn. He draped his arm across the back of the seat to make room for her.

“You’re an angel?” Hunt asked, suddenly sober.

“Half,” the new female repeated. “And half human.”

The group exchanged surprised glances. Cormac blew out a frustrated breath, the air whistling across the tip of his bottle.

Bryce eyed her. "Where are your wings?" she asked under her breath, like it was a big secret.

Aurora smiled. "I keep them hidden away.”

“You can hide your wings?" Hunt asked her, his eyes trailing her torso like he expected a pull-string to unravel them.

"You can’t?” she asked, but her tone dismissed any more conversation about it.

Ruhn leaned in closer, addressing the new brunette for the first time. "Where are you from?" he asked.

Cormac let out a breathy growl. “Fucking far away,” he said, and then emptied his half-full beer into his mouth.

Aurora laughed at his reaction. “Sure, yeah. Let’s go with that answer.” She shook her head at the blond, and then turned back to Ruhn. “Not Lunathion,” she confirmed with a smile.

Cormac's gaze lingered on Aurora as she spoke, a flicker of something behind it. Ruhn noticed it through the corner of his eye.

"Well, I think the lady needs a drink," Flynn slurred, instantly changing the energy of the group. He struggled to get up, his movements unsteady from the sheer number of drinks he'd had. Frankly, it was surprising he was still awake.

Ruhn stepped in before Flynn could embarrass himself further. "I'll get it," he said, standing up and offering a hand to Aurora. She took it and followed him away from the others.

The kitchen was empty save for the remnants of a success party. Ruhn snagged the last bottle from the fridge and offered it to Aurora, which she accepted. She was perched against the counter, watching him as he rolled a new mirthroot joint. He noticed as her dark eyes trailed his long hair that brushed the tattoos on his arm.

"So, you're the other prince," she said. It wasn’t a question.

Ruhn paused, then took a drag of the joint before replying. "Not if I could help it."

"You don't want to be?" That was a question.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it with a stranger, nevermind a friend of his cousin’s.

Aurora smiled at his hesitation. "Cormac was right about you," she said.

Ruhn coughed on a draw, smoke burst unceremoniously in the air. "Oh, this I gotta hear," he grumbled.

"Sounds like you wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

That was probably true.

Aurora snickered. "He said you'd be the one to change things."

"You're right. I don't believe you," Ruhn snorted.

Aurora shrugged, unbothered. "Well, maybe you'll believe that it makes him crazy," she offered. "He wants his life to mean something, too."

Her eyes grew distant, and Ruhn studied her. She enjoyed drawing this out, and he wasn’t sure he minded. "How do you know Cormac?" he asked.

"Same reason he came here.”

"What? You want to demand Bryce's engagement, too?" Ruhn retorted.

"Fucking coward," She hissed in a frustrated sigh. Then softened, considering her words. "I'd kick his ass if he told my story, so I'm not gonna tell you his. But you should talk to your cousin."

Ruhn's mood deflated further. "Can't wait," he muttered.

Aurora's gaze softened as she defended Cormac, albeit quietly. "Contrary to popular belief, he’s not that bad."

"Right. And I'm a wingless angel," he scoffed. Aurora laughed.

Ruhn had the words to dismiss her outright on the tip of his tongue. But there was something in Aurora's eyes, a sincerity that made him pause. Maybe, just maybe, she saw something in Cormac that he couldn’t. Or maybe she was just as crazy as Cormac. Either way, Ruhn found himself watching her through the corner of his eye.

"You mentioned your father," Ruhn said, changing the subject. "Is he the angel or the human?"

"Angel. Sort of," she added under her breath.

"Sort of?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s an angel,” Aurora said quickly, stumbling on her words, like she wasn’t quite sure what to say. "It’s just, he’s not always considered one? I guess we’re just not like the angels around here."

"The retractable wings is proof of that," Ruhn pointed out.

Aurora’s brown eyes met his gaze, curious and earnest. "Angels here really can't sheath their wings?" she asked. "I assumed it was a choice."

Ruhn took a moment to exist under her gaze, feeling a wave of emotions come over him. Her big, brown eyes were warm and comforting, the honest curiosity sparkling in them as she awaited his response. He could see she genuinely valued his opinion, wanted to hear his thoughts. It didn’t matter that he was a perfect stranger. It was a nice feeling, but it also made him uneasy. He was enjoying her company more than he had anticipated.

"No, they can't," he answered finally.

He thought about asking her where she came from again. He’d never heard of an angel who could fully sheath their wings. Part of him wondered if she was lying about having them. Like, maybe she was ashamed they’d been cut off.

Instead, Ruhn leaned beside her, and settled on a more innocent question. "What brings you here, to Lunathion?"

Aurora took a sip of her beer, her eyes glancing back towards their abandoned group on the couches outside the kitchen. Cormac cheers-ed her from his seat as he returned a particularly sharp snip at something Hunt had said. Their heated debate echoed into the quiet kitchen. "Oh, just a little bit of trouble."

"Trouble, huh? Well, you definitely found that with Cormac."

She looked up at Ruhn. "Yeah, he has that way about him, doesn’t he? I mean, I knew that, but, wow." She laughed on the last word, shaking her head.

Ruhn blew out smoke. "How did you two end up friends? You seem too… level-headed to put up with his crap."

“Like I said, you should talk to your cousin,” she repeated, taking a sip. “His delivery is terrible, for sure, but… He wants to change things. And he’s always there for the people he cares about. He’s a jackass, but he’s a good guy."

Ruhn had never seen any version of his cousin that would warrant such loyalty. It made her all the more interesting.

"What about you?" she asked, turning both her body and the conversation back to him. "What’s your story, Prince Ruhn? What do you want to change?"

Ruhn sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just… I want to earn my place, y’know? I never asked to be a prince.” And he wanted it on his own terms, without his father looming over him with puppet strings.

“It’s not easy to step out of the shadows of our parents, especially when they cast such long ones."

Ruhn studied her. "Spoken like somebody who knows.”

Aurora shrugged. "My father cast shadows over me my entire life. Even though he wasn’t in it.”

Ruhn couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or bad thing.

“Your father’s the Autumn King, right?”—He froze. Oh, no, he thought.—“What would you change as king?” she asked.

That was not in the direction he thought this was going. He hadn’t thought about that in a long time, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so seriously. Back when he still wanted the role. “I don’t want to be king. I’d give it up.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrow shot up and brown eyes glittered.

“What, Cormac said differently?” Ruhn said, a little annoyed they’d been talking about him.

There was a beat of silence.

“Technically, my father’s a king,” she said.

Again, not what he thought she’d say.

She continued, “His empire… If anything were to happen to him—God forbid—it would become mine. It’s an important job, keeping everything running smoothly down there. And I’d get to see my mom. And sister. But…” Her eyes flickered inside the realm of thoughts, before she returned to reality and met his gaze. “There’s no power in it. I’d been Queen, but I couldn’t actually change anything. That kingdom will always be what it is.

From what I understand, the Autumn King has power. Yeah, we all answer to someone else, but you would be making laws, enforcing treaties, forcing change. You’d have actual power! You could change the things in this world that aren’t fair, that are cruel or outdated or…” She drew in a breath and slowed down. “I won’t pretend to understand why you feel that way about your title. But I wouldn’t be so quick to throw it all away. I’d be damn sure you don’t want to change anything.”

A part of him felt a little insulted. Like she’d scolded him for being a rotten child. But a larger part of him was caught in the current of her words, as the wave washed over him and soothed his open sores on the subject. He hadn’t felt in control of his life much at all. Certainly not under his father’s thumb. His mother, despite her archaic pride in continuing the royal line, was an equally balming presence as Aurora, and he felt his anger give way underneath her warm gaze.

Aurora twitched in the silence. “No judgment,” she piped up. “I’m just saying.”

"You’re not what I expected when you walked in with Cormac." Ruhn said.

"Oh?" Aurora arched an eyebrow, laughing. "And what did you expect?"

Ruhn waved a hand, shying away from that question. It’s better he didn’t say anything. With one glance at her face, though, it was clear Aurora knew exactly what he meant.

Instead, he said, "You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met."

"I’m gonna take that as a compliment."

"It is," Ruhn assured her. "You’re… refreshing."

She titled her head, studying him. "You’re not so bad yourself. Prince,” added with a teasing smile.

Ruhn cringed under the title, and the brunette laughed. He said, “If you ever need anything, you can find me."

Aurora’s eyes twinkled at him. "Cormac said that, too."

[shadowqueen402]

Worst Wedding Ever! (A Prim And Proper Problems Fic)

A fic for @kayssweetdreams . This is based on her Prim and Proper Problems fic that she's working on. Hope you enjoy! This fic is basically how Madame Prim reacted to the engagement and how she crashed the wedding.

Esme couldn't believe this was happening to her! The smile graced upon her lips as tears of happiness slipped from her teal eyes. Her true love, Roy Montgomery, had just proposed to her! The ring on her left ring finger shone in the sunlight.

"Come, mo leannan," Roy said to her, wrapping an arm around Esme. "We have to tell everyone the fantastic news!" If only the two lovers knew what was going to happen…

The next day, Roy and Esme proudly announced their engagement to their friends. Everyone cheered for the happily engaged couple, congratulating them and wishing them the best. "We should celebrate!" One of Roy's male friends suggested.

But one person wasn't happy. It wasn't any of Roy's friends from high school. It was a young woman named Primrose Gaillot. With a look of pure annoyance and discontentment, she screeched, "NOOOOO!!!!"

Everyone turned and frowned at Primrose's outburst. "Prim, can't you be happy for both Roy and Esme?" One female friend asked, crossing her arms.

"Absolutely not!" Primrose barked, rushing up to Roy. "Why should an imperfect being like her marry a Prince Charming like Roy!?" She glared at Esme with anger and jealousy.

"Primrose, that is enough," Roy said with a stern tone. "I love Esme and I would never betray her for someone as self-absorbed and obesessed with perfection as you! So you might as well get over it and find someone new!"

One month later, Roy and Esme were starting to get ready for their wedding. Primrose insisted that she'd at least plan the 'perfect' wedding for them. But Roy specifically stated that he and Esme will be planning things the way they wanted it. And without Primrose's input.

Naturally, Primrose threw a series of tantrums.

"Oh, you must let me know when we're going dress shopping," Primrose said to Esme. "I need to okay your choices. I need to know which dress will be suitable for your wedding." Her nose was stuck up in the air like a snob as she gazed at Esme with contempt.

"Primrose, I already picked out my dress," Esme replied. "I went dress shopping with my friends because they gave me input on what I like rather than what they like."

"How could you choose a wedding dress without me!?" Primrose shouted. "I have a right to have a say in it! I still will never understand what Roy sees in an imperfect being like you!"

"Roy isn't interested in perfection," Esme pointed out. "Unlike you, he knows that flaws exist for a reason. In truth, there's no such thing as perfection. As for you question, you forget that I'm the one who's getting married. Plus, you tend to not respect my choices in just about anything. Same goes for everyone else except Roy."

"Ugh, you're such an improper and imperfect brat!" Primrose huffed and stormed off. "I'll have Roy to myself and make him see that he deserves me!"

After weeks of planning, the wedding day arrived. Esme was dressed in a beautiful wedding gown with a viel over her head. She walked down the aisle with a bouquet of roses in her hands. All of the guests admired Esme and would whisper how beautiful she looked.

Roy stood at the altar, looking at his bride. Tears of happiness threatened to spill out of his soft green eyes. Esme made it to the altar and stared at the man who would soon be her husband. "You look amazing," Roy whispered to her.

The priest began to say his blessings. But just then, someone barged through the doors. "I OBJECT TO THIS MARRIAGE!!" A familiar voice screamed. "ROY IS MINE, ESME!! NOW GIVE HIM TO ME!!!" Everyone turned and saw an enraged Primrose standing at the doors. She was trembling with anger.

"ROY CANNOT MARRY THAT IMPROPER PROSTITUTE!!" Primrose yelled. "HE'S MAKING A TERRIBLE MISTAKE!!"

"I think the mistake that's being made here is you barging in and causing a scene," The priest said with a frown. "You need to leave now, ma'am."

"I'M NOT LEAVING UNTIL ROY DECIDES TO MARRY ME!!" In another fit of anger, Primrose marched over to Esme and ripped both the sleeves of her wedding dress off. The crowd gasped in shock and disgust at what they just witnessed.

"Primrose, leave!" Roy demanded, much to her shock. "I am getting tired of this! I don't ever want to see you near my wife again! You've crossed a very big line when you assaulted her! Why can't you take a hint and accept the fact that I love Esme!?"

Primrose stood, slack-jawed and taken aback by Roy suddenly yelling. She closed her mouth, and without another word, turned around and left. She didn't care that everyone in the room glared at her.

"Sorry this happened to you two," The priest said to Roy and Esme. "I do sincerely hope nothing like this happens again." He then continued with the wedding and the rest of the day went smoothly.

Of course, things would get worse after Aria was born…

Hope you liked the full name I gave Madame Prim: Primrose Gaillot!

Roy, Esme, and Aria belong to me!

Madame Prim is not mine!

[chronicallylatetotheparty]

Prepare For Trouble

Tommy and Kat have a plan to finally catch Jason's Pikachu!

-----------

Jason, Billy, Trini, Zack and Kim had just sat down to eat when familiar theme music echoed tthrough the clearing.

Jason sighed as he stared hungrily at his food. "Of course they'd show up now."

"Prepare for trouble!" Kat announced.

"Make it double!" Tommy answered.

"Can't this wait until after lunch?" Kim asked.

"To protect the world from devastation!" Kat continued.

"To unite all peoples within our nation!" Tommy echoed.

"Statistically speaking, Team Rocket does have an eighty percent chance of showing up at the most inconvenient time," Billy pointed out.

"Only eighty? Feels higher," Trini commented.

"To denounce the evils of truth and love!"

"To extend our reach to the stars above!"

"Mm mmhm hmm!" Zach took a drink of water to clear his full mouth. "You said it Trini."

"Kat!"

"Tommy!"

"Team Rocket, blasting off at the speed of light!" Kat posed so her arm and leg took the shape of an "R".

"Surrender now, or prepare to fight, fight, fight!" Tommy completed the pose with his back against hers. Solidifying the "R's" spine.

"Purrsian! That's right!" Saba finished holding up Jason's Pikachu in front of them.

"Pika!" He called from inside the electricity proof glass bubble.

"Hey!" Jason's head turned from Team Rocket to the empty space where his Pikachu was eating his food and back again. He shot to his feet, hand scrambling for a PokeBall. "Give him back!"

"Aaaand that's all the time we have folks!" Tommy called down from their hot air balloon. "See you next week!"

"Venasaur use razor leaf!" Billy shouted. "Wouldn't it be easier to just catch a wild Pikachu like a normal person?"

"Pidgeot gust!" Tommy countered.

"Where's the fun in that?" Kat asked.

"Besides, our boss is obsessed with this Pikachu," Saba added, tapping the glass cage with his paw.

Before the rest of them could attack Tommy directed his Pidgeot to blow them quickly away.

"Pikachu!" Jason called out dramatically as Team Rocket became a speck in the distance.

"Oh boy." Billy pulled out his Pokedex and started disassembling it for the fifth time. At least he knew what he was doing now.

"Uh, Billy? What you up to dude?" Zach asked.

"If I can combine the Pokedex's scanning capabilities with Pikachu's unique waveform stored in his PokeBall I should be able to triangulate their geographical location."

"... Come again?" Kim asked.

"He's making a Pikachu tracker," Trini explained.

"Ohhh," they all chorused.

Meanwhile, at Team Rocket's "evil" makeshift campsite:

"Genius using our motto as a distraction while Saba snuck up behind them Kat," Tommy praised with his head in her lap.

"I know." Kat gave him a teasing grin as she brushed a knot out of his hair.

"Ow!"

Saba rolled his eyes in exasperated fondness at his humans before turning back to their 'guest'. "Why hasn't your human given you a name besides 'Pikachu'?"

"Pikachu pika Pikachu!" Pikachu huffed, crossing his little arms and turning his nose up at the Purrsian.

"Alright, fair enough," Saba conceded, throwing his paws up in surrender.

"What'd he say?" asked Tommy.

"He said 'Pikachu's name is Pikachu' which is honestly very Pikachu of him."

Pikachu's ears twitched but he didn't open his eyes.

Kat chuckled. There were times Saba forgot to explain certain subtleties of the Pokemon lexicon. "Sounds like Jason just got lazy."

"Pi-pika! Pikachu!"

"Well that's not very nice," Saba admonished.

"What's that rodent saying about my wife?" Tommy made to stand but Kat pushed him back down.

"He can say whatever he likes from inside that globe."

"Piii! Kaaaa! Chuuuuuu!" Lightning flashed bright enough to give Saba afterimages but not a spark escaped. The effort leaving Pikachu winded.

"So!" Saba started once Pikachu got his breath back. "How do you feel about unions?"

Pikachu tilted his head. "Pi-ka?"

----------

Tommy was woken up by the loss of circulation in his wrists. "Wha...?" he looked up. "Oh no."

"Oh yes!" Jason grinned, wearing an imitation Team Rocket uniform.

"Please, this is embarrassing for everyone!" Kat said, tied up next to Tommy.

"Prepare for trouble!" Jason ignored them pressing play on the theme song.

"And make it double double!" Zack backflipped into view.

"To protect the world from devastation!" Trini posed.

"To ignite all peoples within our nation!" Kim mirrored her.

"This is just insulting," Saba hissed, hogtied.

"To denounce the evils of truth and love!" Billy continued.

"To extend our reach to the stars above!"

"Jason!"

"Zack!"

"Trini!"

"Kim!"

"And Billy! That's right!"

"Team Rocket, blasting off at the speed of light!" Zack grabbed Kim and hoisted her up like they practiced.

"Surrender now or prepare to fight all of us!" Trini demanded.

"Pika Pika!" Pikachu finished.

"Man, that was fun!" Zack grinned.

"Yeah, now I know why they say that dumb stuff all the time!"

"First of all," Tommy gritted his teeth. "It's 'unite all people within our nation' not ignite."

"If you're going to mock us you might as well get it right!" Kat snapped, trying to look imposing despite being tied up.

"Oh don't worry," a mischievous glint came into Jason's eye. "There's one catchphrase we left all for you."

"W-why do I get the feeling we're not going to like this?" Saba asked.

"Pikachu! Thunderbolt!"

Several thousand volts of electricity launched Team Rocket into the sky. Their bindings burning off and trailing smoke from the explosion.

Tommy crossed his arms. "In hindsight, we definitely could've parked further away."

Kat sighed. "Boys, I think it's time we went freelance."

"Boss finally get to ya?" Saba smirked.

"She wants that Pikachu so bad she can come down here and get it herself!"

"What about the name?" Tommy pouted. "It's trademarked."

"Since when has that stopped us?"

"I like this idea!" Saba agreed.

Tommy nodded. "It'll make her positively furious! On three?"

"You know I don't like countdowns."

Grinning, Tommy hugged Kat and Saba as they became a point of light in the sky.

"Team Rocket's blasting off agaiiiiiiin!"

-----------

"Hey, Kim? What's Pikachu doing with the other Pokemon?" Jason asked as he set down their food.

"Hmm? Dunno. They've been at it all morning. Aipom came a while ago and grabbed a bunch of markers."

"Hey guys! Breakfast!" Zack called to them.

The Pokemon turned to look at their trainers before scrambling hurriedly. Lifting up signs that had a simple drawing of a food pellet crossed out. Others looked like they had PokeBalls on them.

"Pika pi!" Pikachu came marching at the front. Kinda dwarfed by Zack's Steelix and Trini's Charizard. Climbing onto Jason's Blastoise he went on a short speech which the other Pokemon cheered.

Jason blinked. "Uhhhh, what?"

"It appears our Pokemon have gained worker consciousness and are now attempting to renegotiate the particulars of their social contract with us," Billy observed.

Jason looked at him for a moment before turning to Trini.

"They formed a union."

"What!?" Kim, Jason and Zack exclaimed at once.

"Pi!" Pikachu pointed at Trini and nodded.

"Uh, well..." Jason looked at his Pokemon. Eyes landing on the crossed out PokeBall. "We can't have all of you out of your PokeBalls all the time."

"Pika pi!" Pikachu shook his head and gestured at Kim's Eevee. Who dashed into her bag.

"Hey! C'mon you know I don't like you rummaging through my stuff."

Eevee popped her head out with Kim's planner in her mouth.

"A planner? You mean like a rotating schedule for PokeBall time?" Jason asked.

"Pika!" Pikachu grinned.

Jason looked at his friends and at the signs. Some of which had things that weren't as obvious as the others.

"Well you know what they say about keeping your Pokemon happy," Kim shrugged.

"And it's not like the towns we've passed have been stingy with their communal Pokemon resources," Trini added.

"Yeah, dude! They're part of our team too!" Zack said.

"If they're asking then it's best to listen," Billy agreed.

"Alright, alright," Jason smiled, turning to Pikachu. "It might take a while considering Saba is miles from here but we'll hear you out."

Pikachu grinned. "Pika!"

[fanboyzuko]

Learning to Fly has been my go-to comfort fix, so thank you so much for that. Need Zuko just feels so right.

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

uuu thank YOU nonnie!!! im glad nerd zuko hits for you ;3

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

ooo hmmmm that's hard. I'd say it's between Sands of Time and Dragon's Wings. Sands of Time was a wild ride in really defining and establishing LTF as a whole. Exploring Yangchen's story was super fun and emotional while writing and then Zuko's adventures were riding high in contrast haha. Plus behind the scenes, it was the start of me sticking to a backlog and consistently writing ahead of what I post and it's done wonders for my work flow!

Dragon's Wings has been a ride in writing and I'm emotional about it. I love this part :') can't wait for next weeks update

❌ What's a trope you will never write?

brain processing noises that's a good question... for the life of me I cannot think of any tropes that exist hahaha. I'm of the opinion never say never partially bc i have no memories ever so I'm very likely to say "yeah i don't like x" and three years later have no recollection of it and have no problem with it lmaooo. Idk tropes are rarely on my mind while writing stuff haha

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

Heheh well I'm currently working on part 18 and it may or may not be the last part before we get into the canon rewrites >:D Depends on how long it gets... and I'm like a looney tunes segment of laying the traintrack down in front of the running train bc i'm plotting one step ahead of what i'm writing as i go haha. As for what part 18 entails, it's a collection of adventures~ Have a snippet under the cut for a guess of what adventure I'm working on next ;3

if anyone else wants to get more rambles

“Why are you so focused on Yangchen anyways? You were just in the North Pole. Why didn’t you learn more about Kuruk? And surely learning more about Kyoshi is way easier.”

“My mother was a big Yangchen fan and-” Hui began, a well rehearsed answer he must have given plenty of times before. But he cut himself short with a scoff. “Well, maybe it started that way. But Avatar Yangchen was the last known Air Avatar. Any remaining records about the Air Nomads tend to come in relation to her. Why shouldn’t I be focused on her when there’s no one else left to remember the airbenders?”

Yutu stepped back, caught off guard by Hui’s sudden intensity. He realized, just as Hakoda did, what the implication of Hui’s words was. The airbenders were gone. How else would one learn airbending than through a previous Air Avatar? A sly grin spread across Yutu's face as he nodded.

“Well, at the last port we were in, I heard rumors about a legitimate fortune teller in the area. Maybe if you find her, she can help you.”

Hui’s eyes shone with the strength of the midday sun. He grasped Yutu’s forearm with energetic gratitude, and repeated his thanks as Yutu scurried off to his post, leaving only Hakoda and Bato in their guests’ company.

[chronicowboy]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💖

we don't need to play games like these (you won me long ago)

"Same time next week?" Eddie asks with a little, breathless laugh in his voice.

And this was supposed to be a one-time thing in their fantasyland, but of course Eddie can't leave it at that. The most monogamous, all-in man Buck has ever met could never stop at a one-night stand, but he also thinks that it might have something to do with the hushed conversation where Eddie had told him that he'd wished he could have made Buck 1.0 feel loved enough that he didn't have to fall to his knees for strangers in the bathroom.

"Yeah, baby," Buck murmurs into his skin. "Same time next week."

baby, how'd we end up here?

"Everyone," he says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out shaky. "I'd like you to meet Babygirl One-Eighteen." He uses his pinkie that she still has wrapped in her grip to wave at them, smiling when Eddie chokes out a wet laugh and crosses to his side.

"Hi, babygirl," Eddie whispers, leaning into Buck's side to swipe an achingly gentle finger over her chubby cheeks. She blinks her eyes open, big and blue as she finds Eddie's face. "Oh," Eddie breathes out, barely more than an exhale of air. "You're beautiful."

i love you (and i like you)

"Well, LA is a really special place." Eddie shrugs, looking up from his plate to meet Buck's eyes with an expression of determined hope that makes Buck break out in a cold sweat. "I, uh, love living there." He clears his throat, looking out at San Francisco in the dark. "And, um..." He takes a deep breath, looks back at Buck. "And I look forward to the moments in my day w-when I get to-to hang out with the city." Buck swallows thickly, unable to tear his eyes away from the earnest expression on Eddie's face. "To talk to the city about stuff—the dumb stuff especially." Buck smiles. "The city has really fucking beautiful blue eyes too. And the city has a shocking amount of random facts locked up in their head which I like in a city, you know?"

every time we stop talking (the universe starts screaming)

"I went to see Buck," he tells her honestly. "Didn't go well."

"Were cat laxatives involved?" she asks seriously. Eddie turns a bemused look on her. "Never mind. How'd it go?"

"Oh, terribly." Eddie nods to himself. "His girlfriend welcomed me in like I was a guest, Buck asked about Christopher like he was just a family friend, I said some things, he said some things, I accused him of abandoning Christopher, he told me we were never really friends and we probably shouldn't be anymore. You know," he laughs, a loud and fake thing that draws attention from Marks just trying to lift some weights, "the usual."

accidents happen (but i will love you on purpose)

"Buck, you can't gaslight me," he scoffs, rolls his eyes harder. "I saw you French my dad."

"Where are you learning these words?" Buck blurts out, unwilling to face up to what his heart already seems to know as it pounds against his sternum.

"Mason." Chris shrugs. "He made a Tumblr account."

[unfortunately-obsessed]

"You left without saying a word"

( Previous ) | Part 2 of We Can Make This Place Our Home

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Original Female Character

Word count: 5.9K | AO3 Link

A/n: I was so lazy to post it in here because of all the formating, but I needed to if I want to post the next part, so here it is.

Summary:

Living in Gotham is like waiting the train after midnight.

The pitch-black night creeping, shadows lurking.

Having a gun pointed to the head so many times, it turns into habit. It turns into another day.

The train never comes. The danger is getting closer.

Gotham kills and takes away.

That's a story about war, about scars and trenches, of those born there.

"Your Bristol accent was showing."

One of the greatest pleasures of life is seeing Bruce Wayne visibly scrunch his eyebrows. He learned how to tuck his emotions away very carefully, at a very young age, but sometimes it seemed like his eyebrows had a will on their own.

Helen sits on the balusters and his eyes shine. Bruce is ten minutes later than her, walking without vigor to fight the way she risks her life so carelessly. Or to say she also has a Bristol accent.

They hide where there's no audience to perform to, on one guest bedroom of dozens in the Blackwood Manor. Bruce looks to her like he didn't expect he to be there but knew she would, cold exhaustion in blue eyes, tossing his butterfly tie somewhere and leaning on the stone by Helen's side.

There's more tension on his eyes than should ever be allowed to be. He's handsome using that suit. Alfred could make anything fit anyone with enough prep time, indeed.

"You're smelling like cheap perfume," she says the moment some wind brings the scent to her nose.

Bruce groans and Helen can imagine perfectly the old ladies trying to get a chunk off of the Wayne heir. Her jaw tightens.

"I hate this," he says, putting the glass of champagne between him and Helen.

He's not old enough to have a driver's license but of course someone put alcohol on his hands. Bruce rolls with it, seething this is Gotham, enraged. He is its prince, after all.

"Your speech was good, pretty boy," Helen promised, maybe trying to comfort or distract, carefully adjusting herself on the edge. "Although I didn't think my father would call you to the floor."

Bruce sighs, not flinching if Helen is the one calling him that.

The situation had the underlying humour of Bruce Wayne, rebellious teenager that was in a fight every other week, talking in the podium about whatever her father rambled about his distorted concept of charity.

Two floors below, in marble floors and under candelabra crystals, her father is getting drunk on white wine and promising to change the city once again. The ballroom is packed with politicians and influential people, bubbly champagne flowing or otherwise her father wouldn't allow.

It's designed to demonstrate wealth and power. Even the celling is ornate in intricate golden paint, intended to ease those people's obsession with pointless rivalry and redirect their energy in compliments to her father.

The chilly air makes her shiver, briefly. Behind her lays the almost endless darkness of Bristol, where things don't happen and time is frozen in place, past the garden lights and tall trees, Drake Manor. Then, over it and their just as over-exaggerated luxury, stays Wayne Manor burned to ashes.

Bruce graze at it with a ten-yard stare, even if his eyes can't reach it. A rage flies over the first layer of numbness, burning as Gotham did.

Helen leans back, stretching her arms up. Bruce's eyes change focus then, trained on her like she might fall from the edge at any second.

The height makes her stomach flutter. "Wanna to go downtown, eat some fast-trash?"

The story goes like this: Helen steals her father's most forgettable car so she and Bruce spend time on a cheap diner where the streets still alive but no one pays attention to their faces.

One of those days, this story will have a bad ending.

They're royalty, smell and talk dirty rich. The story will repeat itself on spilled pearls.

But until Helen's is met with blood, she will be trying to make this all sound normal. Like ordinary teenagers planning a little adventure.

Bruce tilts his head, looking up to meet Helen's eyes. "We have a chemistry test tomorrow."

There's some fun on this, too. Bruce's getting a perfect score on every test after having a week-long suspension for cursing the principal straight in the face.

Helen huffs. "As if you ever cared about that." Bruce looks somewhere else, not daring to meet her gaze. "If you don't want, just say it."

Again, there's a comical timing on Bruce's eyebrows as he scrunched it so childishly, it throws Helen years back when he pouted on Martha's arms about how much he hated carrots.

Bruce's head falls between his hands. "Why your father..."

He doesn't even finish his complaint, voice dying halfway through.

Helen smacks her lips together, training her tongue on the inside of her mouth where a scar is placed.

"He's just like that." Making other people take on a speech without any warning, a teenager no less. "I don't know what do with him."

And people would agree with what the Prince of Gotham says even if he had a mouth full of hot potatoes and was babbling nonsense. Up in the tower that watches from above, lives the most fitting rich person to talk about sorrow.

Her father is a politician at heart. She jokes with it.

"You're so pitiful," Helen rubs salt on the wound, swinging her legs.

Bruce groans harder, in despair. Makes her get off the balusters and stand on her feet, balancing herself on designer heels.

"How about a..." Helen pauses in calculated suspense. "Blueberry chiffon cake?"

He runs a hand through his hair, white strips covering the knuckles. "Explain to me how you know to do that but don't know how to make tea."

Helen collects herself, proper and elegant like she should, inspecting her outfit with precise hands. Bruce stands little feet away, observing and only occupying space like he has no coherent thought on his mind.

Like she didn't pause to check herself, Helen elbows Bruce mean on the ribs. "Einstein didn't know basic math."

And like clockwork, Bruce scrunches his eyebrows everytime she says something unfathomably untrue. "This is a myth–"

"Yeah, right, pretty boy," she babbles, adjusting the heels on while using Bruce's shoulder to level herself. "I'll just leave you safe and sound at home then, stomach empty."

Which sounded like an awful excuse to go downtown and crash at his house, but sometimes he's as blind as a door.

Bruce's mouth sets in a hard line. "Alfred will come get me."

A boy with constant cherry-red lipstick marks on his lapels, walking over flashes of cameras and greedy hands that won't love him right, getting cuffed and uncuffed because of the trouble he causes, there's loss on his heart.

But now he looks like just it, a boy. 'Wayne Heir' that tabloids love to plaster on first pages be damned, Helen hates to share.

After the cleaning crew finished working and the golden lighting no longer had value, night on the Blackwood Manor would be considered hell by most people. The deafening silence only breaking by her father reaching for an unopened bottle of champagne, searching for her.

And Helen would prefer being where he can't find.

"Although, I think that..." Bruce starts, unsure and wishful, white strips on his knuckles, "Alfred promised cookies."

Helen's face spikes a bright smile. "Who are you to not to pay attention when says cookies?"

Bruce looks away. Like a telltale story, Helen can see a brash immature Bruce Wayne arguing all the way to her house, cursing her father to Alfred. Arguing is the only thing that would make him not pay attention to such important matter.

"Will you come?"

Not the after-party she's most used to, but the one she loves the most.

"As sure as the sun rises," she answers.

(-)

Golden lights under crystals.

"Well, prom is here," she says, spinning.

Bruce holds her waist a little tighter, leading the dance. And she leaves him to it, all the eyes on them like their lives depended on it.

Him, pretty much like her, has a dozen of invitations waiting an answer, made by people that will start to brag the second they hear a yes.

It is almost funny how Gotham Academy holds a prom for those filth rich brats, as if they aren't attending just as pretentions parties every month.

On marble floor, Helen spins with all eyes on her. Soft glistening golden light, the same color of her gown.

People expect it of them. Bruce grabs her hands and spin her around.

"I didn't even bought a dress yet," she whines, "I don't even know what color I would choose."

A week away from prom, but she hasn't showed much hurry for anything in those past years.

Her father looks from the crowd.

"Red," Bruce demands, as spoiled he always has been.

"Red?"

"Burgundy."

Helen doesn't tip her head back with laughter, but almost. "Oh, you know the name of the color." Bruce narrows his eyes on her. "What makes you think you can decide, though?"

Blue eyes burn into her.

Bruce Wayne looks at her with a question.

Helen has to admit, she's a little selfish at it.

"Rachel Dawes," Helen taste the name on her tongue. "Why don't you invite her?"

Bruce looks at her with several questions, now.

Rachel, Dorothy's granddaughter. Has a scholarship for Gotham's Academy, same year as Bruce but different classes. Pretty and clever, straight A student, lacking an etiquette class or two but charismatic and gentle, well-mannered and well-intentioned. Volunteer at fundraisers on weekends, winner of the debate team.

Most importantly, Helen knew pretty well how Bruce watched Rachel intently as the girl rushes through the halls.

He likes her. Helen is yet to understand the criteria but it's enough.

Bruce scrunches his eyebrows. "Why?"

She watches from the corner of her eyes, her father and his perfect friendly smile.

"Because I'm saying so," Helen answers without missing a beat.

All but Bruce is dull, twirling. And he looks at her with pain, having his heart at her hands while watching her handle it to someone else.

He likes Rachel.

Rachel Dawes doesn't have the supermodel type of beauty but she's adorable, and she'll be lovely by Bruce's side.

Rachel is a familiar face and gentle enough.

And Helen's own heart drops to the floor of the ballroom, crashing like gass.

When the dance comes to an end and Bruce stares at her with a myriad of questions, under soft golden lights.

He likes Rachel but she's not the one he wants.

Helen is a little dramatic at it. She sees blue eyes shimmering, hold his jaw, won't let him be hurt by no one, much less her father.

And she wouldn't hurt him if it killed her.

"Go chase her," she whispers.

Bruce can't do nothing but comply.

Helen Blackwood doesn't show up to prom.

(-)

Living in Gotham is like waiting the train after midnight.

On a railway station.

The pitch-black night creeping, shadows lurking.

Having a gun pointed to the head so many times, it turns into habit. It turns into another day.

Helen learns how not to fear. Not wincing once.

How to lick the love out of every bullet.

The train never comes. The danger is getting closer.

But Helen Blackwood wouldn't know.

She's part of royalty, has a lavish lifestyle, unreasonably wealthy. She never had to wait for the train.

Even with blood hiding under their cuffs. Guilty of all the crimes and all the sins, and innocent lives lay on their shoulders as their fault. Even them, she's still a Blackwood.

The train never comes. Now she has another gun touching her forehead.

She stands on the floor not like someone mourning could.

"As most of you know," she starts, people buzzing to their seats, "my father passed away yesterday, deep in his sleep."

Reporters, journalist, executives, shareholders, noisy rich people, crowding, hold their breaths up to their chest. The room falls silent, people have their faces covered in shock.

Helen Blackwood stands on the floor, has her eyebrows furrowed together. Pearls and a sharp black suit, a look on her eyes that could melt metal.

"I'm his eldest and only daughter, the one who he left as new CEO of the Blackwood Industries."

The flashes of cameras trying to catch the perfect angle don't distract nor blind her.

As if life is worth living but not fair.

She has blood under her nails, like her mother before her.

"It's a prestigious company, with a legacy and a name to uphold," Helen declared. "I plan to continue my father's work, serving this country like he did."

As if life is fair at all, this says something about her.

It could have been easier. If she was the daughter of a strong woman, of a honored man.

"I know there is those who criticize the industry."

As if she stripes naked every reporter, dare them, order them to make her words immortal, she reduces them to bones. Her voice is not imposing because of the microphone.

"They say we profit from war," she remarks, "say we profit from violence."

People will easily underestimate her. She smiles, easily now, not like someone mourning could. "I, however, am proud to play a role in protecting our country and its people."

She's doesn't like what this situation says about her.

Helen pauses. This is what everyone expect of her. Smile natural, pretty face.

Woman don't talk and don't see. They look beautiful and smile.

A memorized speech, charisma. Because she's a stunning face and just that. "That's why I'm honored to announce or new 3d printing technology."

And then everybody holds their breath. Air suddenly thick when the screen behind her changes to show the technology in action.

"This technology will allow us to create complex designs with greater precision, to produce at a much faster rate."

The pitch-black is scratched into the walls of her throat. Swallowing it whole is better than letting anything out.

The silence is palpable, so she explains matter-of-factly, "This new 3D printing technology utilizes cutting-edge additive manufacturing techniques, operating at the astonishing speed of 13.000 millimeters per second."

Her posture changes a little, to be more straight, as if she's proud of it.

She licks love out of this one more bullet. Tasting bitter, gunpowder explodes on her mouth.

"This means," she proceeds, like spelling to children, "that our troops will have access to the best possible weapons when they need them most."

Just like gunpowder, the crowd explodes. Question after question. She meets every one of them with an equally competent answer.

They doubt her and what she says.

So day after say she has to prove herself.

The situation says, she's a horrible person.

She would sit and watch the printers work for hours, way after everyone on the building left.

Helen could use them to make something useful. To make prothestics, or simple car pieces.

Instead, she creates a tool to shed blood. Because she's a Blackwood.

Because that's what about her.

There's blood on her hands, under the cuffs, under the nails, on her teeth. Not a flick of what run on her veins is honorable.

Everyone she goes, people know her as Death.

She makes space for herself. Gets comfortable up on the throne. Main defense contractor is not a badge of honor, not one she feels proud about. People pay attention to what she says.

And her hands are cruel. Either she destroys it or creates something to destroy it.

A bottle of champagne popping open puts her on the edge. She watches from her spot.

Helen see the years pass. Soft golden lights and false promises, the chandelier sparkly, starry nights where she lies like her father before her.

The quietness around when she speaks is deafening, people are listening.

(-)

"Helen Blackwood."

Helen realizes, fairly quickly, she doesn't like how her name sounds on his mouth. The voice is suave and calculated, and a snake recognizes another.

She smiles, tucking away any discontent carefully.

"Lex Luthor!" she exclaims, and they both shake hands cheerfully. "It's a shame that we're only meeting now."

He smiles back. "It really is."

Golden lights. A man that is two decades older and doesn't like to lose.

They shake hands firmly, looking each other in the eyes and reading purposefully for a weakness.

"Your speech was impressive," Lex compliments, so naturally it makes Helen's eyebrows genuinely shot up.

Quiet tall, bald, green eyes, suit expensive even by rich's people's standards. Polished, shook her hand firmly but taking care to not hurt.

On a charity event that doesn't do anything besides waste everyone's time. His eyes are not very kind but strangely passionate. They don't burn like Gotham but they're intense like Metropolis always has been.

Impressive, he says. You're a good liar, he doesn't.

Only fools would fall for them, anyway.

"Thank you, Mr. Luthor." Helen gives him a glass of champagne, like dancing.

Friendly, if not trying to sound magnanimous for giving her the honor, he says, "Lex is fine." He takes the glass. "You know, Miss Blackwood, we should partner on something."

Helen Blackwood has her veins flooding with adrenaline. She has to take careful note to not smile too wide.

"Oh, please, you should call me Helen." Her voice is silvery, dripping honey and genuine excitement. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lex. We should definitely partner on something."

Looking at Lex Luthor makes her shiver, agony creeping under the skin. He is, somehow, everything she heard about but not as terrifying as she imagined.

Not as terrifying but not harmless.

A snake recognizes an equal on the wild. Many species will hunt and eat each other opportunistially.

Bloodlust, she realizes, is a hell of a drug.

With masterfully-concealed curiosity, they talk the night away, voice singing:

(Dies iræ! Dies illa

Solvet sæclum in favilla

Mors stupebit et natura)

[-]

Because it has been the first time in years that she cried.

Her mind rushed with possibilities, every single way of dying because of the explosion. Choking, being burned alive, being crushed by a wooden column–

Bruce Wayne was dead, dead, dead.

He died and she couldn't do anything.

He died and she wasn't there.

He died and hadn't have been given the chance of a goodbye.

She hadn't cried when her dead died. On his sleep, peacefully. Helen felt a kind of creeping shiver under her skin hearing her father flatline. She wanted him to suffer, to die screaming.

Death is final.

Watching the Wayne Tower burning on live TV was nothing like actively seeing her father die.

He heart roared on her chest, suddenly hallow and echoing.

Helen couldn't even begin to wrap her head around that concept. Bruce Wayne dead.

She didn't allow the tears, either. She hadn't the chance to allow them. Only on the airplane, in the almost-private cabine of the first class, Helen bent over her knees and howled.

Bursting into a helpless cry. Didn't it sound melodramatic and theatrical? It was exploding on her mouth without regard of etiquette.

Bruce Wayne, dead. Her mind was hovering around this concept for the whole flight, holding her head between her hands like she was bleeding off. Maybe if she stays just quiet enough it'll be a lie.

It's all wrapped around her sternum and hands, closed together in a crying without words.

Didn't it meant something of her died too? The best part, that part that feels like summer and sunlight. The part that is like laughter and childhood.

She couldn't afford to have this part of her dead.

But there she was again, making everything about herself. And maybe having him dead, this best part of her dead, was a closure to the goodness lingering on her stomach. This was closure.

Bruce's laugh, small and almost unnoticeable, was the only thing that she could connect to being a good person.

And looking at him now was like seeing a dead man.

Because he was dead.

Until he wasn't.

Until he was there, standing there. Offering tea, talking, disapproving every singe decision she'd made without saying a word. Tender like sunlight, the only shining on Gotham.

"I was actually surprised when I saw the news," Helen sips. The tea is not so bad, a little watered and she would prefer cream with it.

Bruce looks over his shoulder, trying to find something to chew along the tea. As always, he looks like a caught-off-guard animal.

He stayed the same, after all those years. Helen finds it funny, if not a knot on their throat that doesn't let them talk about it.

You left without saying a word.

"Bruce Wayne gives half his fortune to reconstructing the city..." Helen recites the headline. "I don't think no city needs that much money."

Which says something about them two. Billionaires. Sitting on enough money to rebuild three Gothams and build two more.

Which says something about how much this world is unfair.

How much Helen is acid. But not really.

She just needs to know. It is ugly.

"Rebuilding the city and the orphanage..." Bruce starts, hoarsely so, and he's still looking pale. "It takes a lot of money."

Helen leans back on her chair, calculating a way to make the stubborn Bruce Wayne sit down and tell her why his teeth is fake.

He's breathless. Titanium implants, as far as she can see when he talks. Fake but crooked enough it doesn't look like it. So imperfect it is perfect.

"Doesn't matter," she says, a little cursed, "I saw the report of the last WE fiscal year. You're gonna make the same amount until the end of the year."

Bruce scrunch his eyebrows. Briefly. She almost couldn't caught it by how brief it was. Haunted.

Helen wonders if he finally noticed how selfish she is. Wanting to hold more and more power as long it means keeping herself safe, consequently reflecting this wish on him.

It locks her jaw and not a single word or tear is set free. She keeps the grief on her throat and it doesn't die. It doesn't disappear.

Helen thinks of Martha Wayne. Gentle and caring. A merciless death, bullet to the heart.

But what could have been done?

By the end of the day, she's a Blackwood.

Helen doesn't know what to do with this grief that haunts; what does she do with blood on her mouth or the words she swallowed?

What Helen must do with the blood on her hands, staining the glass of champagne? That's a hassle, really.

Now Gotham needed the business working, more money flowing than water.

And, even if Helen didn't like the bitter taste of gunpowder, weapons manufacturing was a hell of a lure to rich people. They threw money on anything she mentioned, anyway.

Helen watches as the rightful prince of Gotham ascends to the throne.

This is all she can do, watch.

[-]

"You broke his heart."

It's strange for Helen, returning to Gotham and having everyone know her name. Especially because her father's corpse returned to there before her, buried on the Blackwood Manor's yard like half her ancestors.

Harvey sounds neither happy or sad, nor angry at Helen. The commentary is made aiming something Helen can't see. Maybe testing the waters.

Helen doesn't have energy for it.

She leans back on the balcony, the cold of Gotham burning her, using only a red taffeta dress, unloved.

They've know each other for how long?

It doesn't matter. They've know each other as long Bruce knew Harvey and Helen knew Bruce.

But all of those statements return false now.

Helen is weapons dealer but legal, Harvey is an attorney that hunts bad people. Years passed under golden lighting and pouring rain.

The city is angry.

"I know."

But I didn't, before.

[-]

"He was like a father to me," Helen lies through teeth, easily as breathing.

Gotham is angry tonight. Not like the usual type of angry, its explosive and burning nature wasn't showing like most nights, but a cold drowning type of angry.

The funeral has been quiet. Only family attended.

Helen was almost family.

From one of the windows, the vineyard covers half the wealthy side of the outskirts of Gotham, Helen can only see the city's lights far away.

Carla sits where her brother used to sit. Content, if not dramatically happy, to wield more power. Chicago already between her fingers, but Gotham is where the treasure stays hidden, an ancient gold mine for criminals.

But Helen knows better. Gotham is yet to explode on their faces.

Both women use black dresses. The weeping veil hide Carla's intention, looking much less brash than she used to look in comparison to her, now dead, brother.

"I know that my father..." Helen says, clenching her fists in calculated hesitancy. "He knew Mister Falcone."

Her voice trembles. There's a little audience watching her perform, bodyguards and family. Not too bold, not too loud, Helen makes herself little.

Of course, Carla is a mother and Helen is just a scared little girl that lost another father. It's devastating, it must be.

Carla might still have a little of a mother instinct but she's watching like a hawk, scanning to see a lie. "Your father was more than just friends to my brother."

He was family.

Helen licks her lips. Head down, watching the wine that was poured to her, smiling simply as if comforted. Demure, like she should, submissive to the older and wiser woman. Studying land, the wine that came from the grapes that are still Falcone.

Gotham is yet to explode on Carla's face, a woman that thinks the war is over. Helen makes herself little and Carla sees an opportunity where there's none.

Carla is not really the type to bend, to be mistaken or wrong.

"This was a long time a go," Helen says, smelling the berries on the wine, voice tiny and sorrowful, nonthreatening. "I can only wish to have a friend now."

She wipes off a tear but she hasn't been crying. Is it too much? Helen is always too much or too little, but somehow Carla surpasses her on this aspect.

A hand comes to her shoulder, comforting. Carla's hand, naturally, but Helen never had a mother.

Rubbing circles on her back, Carla smiles to her and Helen graze back with glistening black eyes and sudden hope. Helen watches as the woman's face changes with dreadful desire.

The tears are silent, but she's not crying. Helen's face is all wet and her mascara is ruined, smudged over the cheeks, but she's not leaning to the older woman nor running away. She is simply there, pitiful.

Carla doesn't bend, she folds.

"We can be friends," she declares, as kindly as she could muster with all the emotion of power, of having the Blackwood's heir at her fingertips. Her heart, without a doubt, beats strong with only the possibility.

Blood runs on her veins, as sweet as cherry wine. Helen may taste it by the end of this.

For now, she melts at her with a promise of friendship that sounds almost childish, if not the implications. She makes herself little and harmless, helpless, a perfect prey. A coy without opinion but loss at heart.

Helen never had a mother, but she is Gotham's child.

Using a dramatic velvet dress, starry with a diamond necklace as the Falcone's chauffeur pulls around the grandiose main entrance, the first proof of friendship. She winked at Johnny Viti on the way out.

The ride home is quiet, passing through the endless silence of Mountain Drive where only the moon can light, Helen goes back to the Blackwood Manor.

She's been born with the weight of the world on her shoulders. No mother, no father. Child of a strange city.

Chicago, Gotham, and now Helen Blackwood? Carla is living the dream.

And Helen smiles.

Gotham is proud of her tonight.

The acoustics are excellent, holding one bottle of wine that has been gifted to her.

Tonight, her voice echoes through the halls. The ride home was silent. But now?

She sings.

(Lacrimosa dies illa,

Dona eis requiem,

Dona eis requiem)

[-]

The necklace breaking, a cacophony takes place. Pearls hitting the ground, a child crying out as the father is down on his knees. Thomas Wayne fought with all he had. Martha Wayne bite the man's fingers off.

Everyone knows this story, how Martha and Thomas didn't die until three hours later because they didn't want to leave young Bruce alone. Bruce didn't want to be left behind either. He crawls and beg into his parents bodies.

But before, he brings Helen forget-me-nots. They walk hand to hand on the endless garden of Wayne's Manor.

Their mothers' laughter echoing through green and blue. Happiness and sunlight, Gotham is happy.

Shy tiny Bruce Wayne offers her a flower. Helen takes it.

Martha peels an orange, separating the halves. The smells stains her hands, perfectly manicured nails being ruined with acid. She gives one to her son and one to Helen.

Then Wayne Manor burns.

Everything goes along the way for destruction; Martha's garden that was cared with love, the flowers and blueberries bushes.

Gotham floods, it rages. It kills.

A dream that melts between Helen's fingers. Gotham kills and takes away.

They're stained with blood, children of a city.

That's a story about war, about scars and trenches, of those born there. How brutally Gotham loves and yearns.

[-]

Living in Gotham is like waiting the train after midnight.

On a railway, waiting for something to happen. But nothing ever happens.

When there's blood must there be bloodshed? Will nothing ever change?

For Helen, then answer is an unwilling yes. It's true, nothing will ever change, she'll stay licking the love our of every bullet.

When something does happen, it strikes Helen on the face first. Filling her mouth with blood and breaking her nose, another gun pointed to her head.

Or, at least, having a gun pointed to her head would be easier to deal with it.

She'd been standing on her office. Gotham's office, one of the only sharp and modern buildings in Gotham. Organizing a lot of paperwork, ignoring how that was her father's office before her and that that information somehow inflicts damage on her brain.

Helen has the weight of leadership, of being listened, crushing her bones.

Helen learns how not to fear. Not wincing once.

How to lick the love out of every bullet.

She leans on the desk, gigantic mahogany dark wood, her shoulders and back burning. Her mind clouded with exhaustion somehow recognizes that she shouldn't feel Gotham's wind.

But she does.

And this alarms every braincell on her head.

Pointing a gun so many times, it turns into habit. It turns into another day.

The train doesn't arrive, it derails.

A figure standing on the edge of her office, lurking.

Helen's first reaction is to hold a gun, the one she keeps close for emergencies.

This is an emergency.

Aiming directly on what her subconscious identifies as head.

Blood drums mad on her ears, then. Until she realizes who is standing there, the finger was on the trigger ready to shoot.

"You scared me halfway to death," she mumbles, feeling the gun's edge.

One of the new models. Light, it feels clean and unused on her hands. She tested the model herself and closing her eyes she can recollect almost every detail; how fast the bullet travels, shooting sounds like a typewriter's click. Nobody would ever hear if she shot it.

"Helen Blackwood," a growly low voice calls.

The Dark Knight is standing on her office and this is every sign of how bad her life is turning to be.

She lowers the gun, then.

And she has no other option but to sit down, feeling her legs wobbly.

Tries, vehemently, to understand why Batman is on her office. No success at it, it's past midnight, she's tired, a lot has been happening and–

"Yes...?" she sighs, gripping hard on the gun. "I'm honored to have you here, Batman. I would offer you a glass but I don't think you would accept."

Helen points at her half-empty whiskey with the gun, but can't see his reaction. Batman is standing directly on the shadow, supposedly to sound more mysterious and threatening.

All she does see is a man wearing some plates of armor, probably kevlar, and believing hard he is going to survive the night.

It might not be what he is used to, too. Helen slips into familiarity as easily a snake shed skin. She knew one day the Batman himself would make her justify the space she's been occupying.

There's a panic button under the desk. Her father put it there.

Helen tilts her head, placing the gun down, eager to view something more from Batman.

"As far I can tell, you only go after criminals," she says, prompting. "What I do is more legal than vigilantism."

He is, somehow, everything she heard about while not as terrifying as she imagined. Maybe that's the thing about nightmares and dreams: it's always a little disappointing seeing it up close.

She wonders how much anger must be filling him. Enough anger to make him go out every night and seek revenge.

Anger, of course, is the only emotion that could possibly prompt any person to do this.

Batman narrows his eyes, stepping closer but keeping himself on shadows. "Your recent involvement with Carla Vidi–"

"Gosh, you're sounding like an amateur," Helen interrupts. "I attended a funeral, this is not a crime."

But something happened.

Gotham is a derailed ungovernable train. Things happen all at once.

And Helen realizes, when Batman stays quiet analyzing her face for hesitancy, that she might have proven innocence on accident.

It wouldn't be surprising if Carla was already dead, but disappointing. Helen was so sure the older and wiser woman would last at least a whole month.

But, alas–

There's a panic button under the desk. Her father put it there like almost everything on the office. Dark gigantic mahogany desk and oppressive walls, a mirror right behind her back and disturbing paintings of battles long forgotten.

Her shoulders crush with the power of being listened.

Helen stands, then, no intention of pressing that button. Feet hurting with the pumps but very proper and elegant like she must.

She'd been waiting for the perfect opportunity. A closure to the goodness lingering on her stomach.

"I actually do have something for you."

Batman's face spikes with curiosity, carefully hidden below a cowl and an oath.

She slides a pendrive on the desk, for him. Helen knew that one day Batman would want her to justify herself, and here she is, doing it.

It's another approach, Helen is offering something as if Batman's a wild animal and not someone that beats criminals to a pulp every other day.

And, for a blink of a second, Helen sees it.

Trust.

Filled with anger, burning. Batman has trust on his eyes, along hesitancy. An apprehensive animal.

An injuried dog, Helen realizes.

A hurt angry dog that is loyal to its owner. A dog that keeps going back to the hand that feeds but also hurts.

A dog that knows no better.

She doesn't understand why or how, what was the criteria she accidentally met to be trusted. She ain't complaining.

Returning home after getting the paperwork done, she won.

Helen is Gotham's child, doesn't matter what she does.

So her voice echoes.

(S'il lui convient de refuser

Rien n'y fait, menace ou prière

L'un parle bien, l'autre se tait

Et c'est l'autre que je préfère

Il n'a rien dit, mais il me plaît)