#shimmer sarees

[shaadiwish]

Check out these latest shimmer sarees to add in your festive wear wardrobe. Wedding wear ideas at ShaadiWish. saree trends

[babeswearingblack]

[samkkshopping]

Must-Try Saree Trends for Women This Festive Season

The festive season is upon us, and nothing epitomizes the joy of celebrations quite like the elegance of a saree. Whether it’s Diwali, Durga Puja, or a grand wedding, the right saree can make you the showstopper of the event. This season, it’s all about embracing timeless classics while exploring contemporary trends. Let’s delve into the must-try saree trends that will elevate your style game.

“Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening.”

The festive season is upon us, and nothing epitomizes the joy of celebrations quite like the elegance of a saree. Whether it’s Diwali, Durga Puja, or a grand wedding, the right saree can make you the showstopper of the event. This season, it’s all about embracing timeless classics while exploring contemporary trends. Let’s delve into the must-try saree trends that will elevate your style game.

1. The Royal Charm of Kanjivaram Sarees

No festive wardrobe is complete without the rich and regal Kanjivaram saree. Known for its intricate weaves, luxurious silk, and vibrant colors, the Kanjivaram saree has a timeless appeal. Originating from Tamil Nadu, these sarees are often adorned with temple borders, checks, stripes, and floral motifs, making them perfect for auspicious occasions.

For this festive season, opt for a Kanjivaram saree in bold colors like deep red, royal blue, or emerald green. A touch of tradition, a dash of gold, a perfect pair for a classic finish.The intricate craftsmanship and the sheen of pure silk make the Kanjivaram saree a must-have in your festive collection.

2. The Allure of Banarasi Sarees

A symbol of grandeur and tradition, the Banarasi saree hails from the holy city of Varanasi. Woven from fine silk, these sarees are known for their opulent brocades, gold and silver zari, and intricate embroidery. The Banarasi saree is a favorite among brides, but its versatility makes it suitable for any festive occasion.

This season, try a Banarasi saree in pastel shades or rich jewel tones. The delicate detailing of Mughal-inspired motifs like floral and foliate patterns, kalga, and bel will add a regal touch to your ensemble. The luxurious texture and rich history of the Banarasi saree ensure that you’ll make a grand statement wherever you go.

3. The Elegance of Chanderi Sarees

For those who prefer understated elegance, the Chanderi saree is the perfect choice. Originating from the town of Chanderi in Madhya Pradesh, these sarees are known for their lightweight texture and glossy transparency. The Chanderi saree is traditionally made from a mix of silk and cotton, and it features delicate motifs like peacocks, lotus, and coins, often woven with zari.

This festive season, opt for a Chanderi saree in soft pastels or vibrant colors with subtle gold or silver detailing. The lightweight fabric makes it ideal for day-long festivities, ensuring both comfort and style. Pair it with minimal jewelry and a classic bun for an effortlessly chic look.

4. The Vibrancy of Bandhani Sarees

Nothing captures the essence of Indian festivals better than the vibrant Bandhani saree. Originating from Gujarat and Rajasthan, Bandhani sarees are crafted using the traditional tie-dye technique, creating intricate patterns in bright hues. The sarees are often adorned with mirror work, making them perfect for festive celebrations.

This season, embrace the vivid colors of a Bandhani saree in shades of red, yellow, green, or blue. The lively patterns and the play of colors add a festive spirit to your wardrobe. Pair it with chunky silver jewelry to complete the look. The Bandhani saree is not just a garment; it’s a celebration of India’s rich cultural heritage.

5. The Splendor of Patola Sarees

The Patola saree is a masterpiece of Indian weaving, hailing from Patan in Gujarat. These sarees are known for their double ikat weaving technique, which involves dyeing the yarns before they are woven into the fabric. The saree presents a symmetrical tapestry of geometric and floral motifs, adorned with vibrant hues on both sides.

This festive season, a Patola saree in bright shades of red, green, or yellow will make you stand out in the crowd. The intricate craftsmanship and the vibrant color palette make the Patola saree a symbol of luxury and tradition. Pair it with traditional gold or kundan jewelry for a complete festive look.

6. The Grace of Georgette Sarees

For a modern twist on traditional attire, the Georgette saree is the way to go. Known for its lightweight, flowing fabric, the Georgette saree drapes beautifully, accentuating the wearer’s silhouette. These sarees often come with elaborate embroideries, sequins, and beadwork, making them a popular choice for festive occasions.

This season, opt for a Georgette saree in pastel shades with minimalistic embellishments for a sophisticated look. Alternatively, you can go for bold colors with intricate zari work for a more traditional appearance. The versatility of the Georgette saree allows you to experiment with various draping styles, making it a must-have for the festive season.

7. The Opulence of Silk Sarees

Silk sarees have been a part of Indian traditions for centuries, and their popularity continues unabated. From Kanjivaram silk to Banarasi silk, Chanderi silk, and Tussar silk, there are numerous varieties to choose from. Silk sarees are known for their luxurious texture, vibrant colors, and intricate designs.

This festive season, choose a silk saree in a rich hue like maroon, purple, or gold. The sheen of the silk, combined with intricate zari work, makes these sarees perfect for grand occasions. Pair your silk saree with traditional jewelry and a gajra (flower garland) in your hair to exude timeless elegance.

8. The Sheerness of Net Sarees

For those who prefer a contemporary look, net sarees are an excellent choice. These sarees are made from sheer fabric and often embellished with sequins, embroidery, and lace. Net sarees are perfect for evening festivities, where you want to make a glamorous statement.

This season, go for a net saree in soft pastels or metallic shades. The transparency of the fabric allows you to experiment with bold blouses, adding a modern twist to your traditional attire. Pair your net saree with statement jewelry and high heels for a chic, festive look.

9. The Glamour of Shimmer Sarees

If you love to dazzle, the shimmer saree is your go-to festive attire. Made from fabrics that reflect light, shimmer sarees are designed to make you sparkle at any event. These sarees often come in metallic shades like gold, silver, and bronze, and are adorned with sequins, beads, and intricate embroidery.

This festive season, choose a shimmer saree for an evening event or a grand celebration. The glimmering fabric and the elegant drape of the saree will ensure that all eyes are on you. Keep your accessories minimal to let the saree shine, and opt for a sleek hairstyle to complete the look.

The festive season is all about celebrating traditions, and what better way to do that than by draping yourself in a beautiful saree? Each of these saree trends — from the timeless Kanjivaram to the dazzling shimmer saree — offers a way to express your unique style while honoring the rich cultural heritage of India. Whether you’re attending a family gathering or a grand celebration, let your saree tell your story this festive season. For a collection that truly stands out, explore the exquisite range at Samyakk.

Popular Searches: — Saree for Women || Kanchipuram Silk Saree || Banarasi Silk Saree || Trendy Designer Saree || Ready Blouse Saree || Handloom Silk Saree || Paithani Saree || Ikkat & Patola Saree || Kota Silk Saree || Pure Printed Silk Saree || Saree for Wedding || Festive Wear Saree || Saree for Party || Mehendi Saree || Reception Saree || Haldi Sarees

[archan-shah]

Shimmer Saree: A Blend of Tradition and Glamour

The shimmer saree has become a staple in the modern woman's wardrobe, perfectly combining traditional elegance with contemporary glamour. Ideal for weddings, parties, and festive occasions, a shimmer saree is characterized by its sparkling fabric that catches the light, adding a radiant touch to any ensemble. The beauty of this attire lies in its versatility, allowing women to showcase their heritage while embracing a touch of modern flair.

When choosing a shimmer saree, it's essential to consider the event and personal style. For grand celebrations like weddings, opt for sarees with heavy embellishments and intricate designs. These often feature sequins, beads, and metallic threads that create a dazzling effect. For less formal events, a saree with subtle shimmer and minimalistic design can be just as striking. Pairing the saree with the right accessories, such as statement jewelry and elegant footwear, can further enhance the overall look.

Caring for a shimmer saree involves special attention to maintain its luster and quality. Dry cleaning is usually recommended to preserve the delicate fabric and intricate embellishments. Store the saree in a cool, dry place, preferably in a saree bag, to protect it from dust and moisture. With proper care, a shimmer saree can remain a timeless piece in your wardrobe, ready to make you shine at any event.

[popindesigner]

Indo western crop top

Step into style fusion with our collection of Indo-Western crop top available for rent. Find the best of both worlds with chic designs blending traditional elegance and modern flair. Perfect for any occasion, our versatile crop tops add a touch of sophistication to your ensemble. Rent now and make a fashion statement that's uniquely yours!

[rmsonscom]

We are online wholesaler supplier

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Established as a Proprietor firm in the year 2007, we “R.M.SONNS ” are a leading Manufacturer of a wide range of Ladies Saree and Ladies Blouse. Party wear this pretty elegant looking designer saree in fine colour paired with blouse. This saree and blouse are georgette based beautified with heavy designer Sequins embroidery work with blouse work. Situated in Surat (Gujarat, India), we have constructed a wide and well functional infrastructural unit that plays an important role in the growth of our company. We offer these products at reasonable rates and deliver these within the promised time-frame. Under the headship of “Mr. HARISH” (Owner), we have gained a huge clientele across the nation. SAREES AVAILABLE FABRICS – TO TONE SILK FABRIC , GEORGETTE FABRIC , GEORGETEE SHIMMER FABRICS, TWO TONE GEORGETTE FABRICS ,PURE GEORGETTE ,SOFT SILK FABRIC, SATIN CHIFFON FABICS,SILK FABICS ,SATIN GEORGETTE FABRICS GOLD SILK FABRICS, ICON SILK FABICS .

[tirumaladesigners1]

PRINTED SAREES: A MODERN TOUCH TO A TRADITIONAL ATTIRE!

What makes every woman look graceful and rich in Indian culture? It is the SAREE! Sarees for women are one of the oldest clothing, but even today, they have not lost their charm. Sarees are available in many designs and patterns today – but printed ones… Oh, My My! We don't think any lady out there doesn't love printed sarees. Printed sarees are full of elegance and sophistication. And what is the best part? Every printed saree has a new story to tell. 

Printed sarees have gone through evolution for decades. For instance, remember your mom wearing printed sarees in the past. Isn't that different from the current fashion? It is because these traditional weaves have undergone modification with the population's demands today. It has a modern touch, which has undoubtedly stolen the hearts of many women. Digital prints have won many souls, and women are eager to explore every new print available in the market.

A Refined Look To Designer Sarees

Two women wearing the same saree – have you ever witnessed this scenario? It is pretty rare! Sarees are so versatile that almost every woman has a different piece. The number of prints available in sarees is infinite. You may barely see someone with twinning sarees on any occasion. The craze for printed drapes is not just common in India, but also there is a lot of female population worldwide who love adorning them. It makes them look alluring and sassy. 

The plethora of printed sarees with distinctive features sets them apart from the rest sarees. Additionally, the wide range of fabrics available in them is remarkable! Maybe, that is why you will find at least one printed saree in every woman's wardrobe.

Women of every age aspire to try something new every day. However, the heavy crape-sequenced sarees are tough to handle, so the best option is to experiment with prints. They are incredibly comfortable and soft, which makes them easy to manage. Plus, modern printing cannot be ignored! Season by season, there is a massive lot of printed sherwanis that are trending all over. Tirumala designers have got all the recent printed saree trends covered! We offer fancy voguish sarees that will make you look like a star. Our prints are indeed classy and chic!

In today's era, art has gone to another level. Our designer sarees are also a reflection of that. We aim to make our traditional sarees more exclusive and updated with contemporary art so that you can flaunt your gorgeous sarees effortlessly! To help you even better, we have brought some intriguing prints you will find in our collection of the latest sarees online.

Floral Printed Saree: Flowers give a very fresh feel, and so does an outfit with a similar print. Floral prints are colourful that provide an enchanting look. These sarees generally have bright colours and are majorly worn in summer. The refreshing vibe of floral printed sarees will surely leave you gorgeous. The versatility of colours in floral sarees makes it easy to design blouses as well. Also, there is a lot that you can experiment with when you pick a floral saree.

Tie-Dye Printed Saree: We are sure you might have seen many individuals donning garments in tie-dye prints. Shirts, t-shirts, track pants, and Kurtis is easily found in this print. What if we tell you that it is possible to wear a saree in this print? Imagine a black and white tie-Dye modal satin saree. Exciting, right? Tie-Dye printed saree is one of the most cherished prints that are available today. The best part of this printed saree is that every print is unique – it looks like the ink has faded. These sarees truly define the line 'there is an art in every fault'.

Bandhani Printed Saree: Bandhani sarees have been printed in distinctive designs inspired by the Rajasthani and Gujrati traditions. The magnificent Bandhani designs mesmerize everyone with their ability to match up with anything and everything. For instance, it goes with almost any accessory and blouse. Plus, it can be worn to both western and traditional events. Moreover, the details on Bandhani prints give an exquisite appeal, especially when they have a touch of metallic shades.

Abstract printed saree: Have you seen a painter owning a canvas and portraying his art with colours? That is how abstract printed sarees are. They have many designs and colours in them that do not follow the monotonous design. Everything from top to bottom is varied in abstract printed sarees. Generally, these sarees are multi-coloured with one background and represent the art wholly.

Conclusion

What are your views on printed sarees? It is an ideal attire for both formal and informal events. As said, you can even experiment with different styles when you wear them. You can go for indo-western by just blousing a printed saree with a shirt or t-shirt or belt it up for a refined and glamorous look. The possibilities are unlimited! At Tirumala designs, we have printed sarees in varied fabrics and patterns that you can select from. We always focus on meeting current standards without any compromise on cultural heritage. So, if you are someone who would love to own a printed saree, enjoy our online saree shopping experience only on our website today.

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[fishnets-fingers]

Forbidden Hours

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” he says, voice laced with honey.

“I’m not projecting anything.”

“Sounds like what you’re saying is that you’re jealous that I have the confidence to partake in intercourse and you’re a bumbling virgin-“

“I’ve read all of the volumes of the Kamasutra. I know my way around when I need to engage in coitus for reproduction,” she cuts him off.

“Oh, sweet sweet Princess,” he whispers, using her title condescendingly. “Sex is more than just reproduction.” He strides towards her.

PAIRING - spy!harry x princess!y/n

a/n - happy first day of 2023! this is my first time writing historical fiction. it’s loosely inspired by a movie, particularly this scene. it’s not historically accurate in the slightest. you can read more about the chola dynasty here. don’t know how many parts this would have but i’m hoping to write more of these two’s dynamic. if you have any ideas, let me know. as always, like and reblog. feed back is not only appreciated but much welcome. happy reading!

Word Count - 4.2k (not proofread)

MASTERPOST | PART TWO

….

நிழல். Shadow. That was his nickname among the royal heirs. He was quiet, swift, inconspicuous, and nimble - camouflaging himself in vast rooms and gathering intel. There wasn’t a room in the kingdom he couldn’t weasel himself in; whether that be up on the roof, scaling walls, or hidden in the dark - where candle lights don’t flicker.

Growing up as the son of a British sea merchant, Harry learned that there wasn’t much for a young boy to do in the cramped quarters of the ship. He’d lost his mother the moment he took his first breath. There wasn’t a lot of maternal warmth in his life but that wasn’t to say that he wasn’t loved. He was loved in a different way, his father kept him close during the wuthering nights at sea often pointing out constellations in the night sky to remind him that life had far more in store for him than the fervent passing waves of the sea. But he was also a man that did not believe in making mistakes, so whenever Harry got in trouble, he was asked to scrub the deck floor clean until his hands bled. He learnt his way around a sword from the crewmen. Travelling to different ports of the world also meant learning different forms of combat and gathering information from people of different cultures. Stewing in a ship with ten men for months meant no entertainment, so he began sifting for stories and used their weakness and strengths against them to gain favours.

He docked on Chozhamandalam when he was twenty and was greeted with a red swallowtail flag with a pouncing tiger on it. He grew to love the people of Kaveripattinam - the bustle of the markets, the chortle of the children running about, the welcoming people, and the way art was particularly celebrated in this small port town, and the princess he set his sights on his third day of being docked there. He’s heard of royalty. Lots of royalty. Cruel rulers. Compassionate rulers. Ostentatious rulers. Modest rulers. Heard. But he’s never seen one in the flesh. Until that day.

A crowd gathered near the temple, murmurs of visiting royals spread like wildfire, and when he’d caught wind of it, he couldn’t resist. Ten soldiers walked first clearing the path, two on horses and sheathed swords followed, then came ten men bearing the weight of a palanquin. It wasn’t an ordinary palanquin, this particular one was grandiose, shimmering in gold and stained glass but the insides were draped in silk to obstruct the view of the onlookers. The Queen Mother exited first, greeting the townspeople and that’s when Harry saw her - the Princess Regnant, the one third in line to the throne. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the way her lips curled up in an inviting smile. Harry has seen many a sight in his life but none would compare to the way the royal blue silk saree draped around her body made her skin shimmer; it reminded him of how the first light of the sun would glint and glimmer on the steady ocean water. Her eyes were dark, like the deepest part of the sea where light does not enter. She was adorned in gold, hair piled up into a tall bun that was decorated with jasmine flowers. Their temple visit was brief, the Princess joined her grandmother thanking people for their well wishes before being escorted into the temple premises. It was her eighteenth birthday, so a feast was prepared for everyone in town. As the crowd dissipated to head to the town hall for the royal lunch, Harry lingered wanting to catch sight of the Princess again. He managed to climb a peepal tree that towered over the south entrance of the temple. He saw her again, only this time being told off by the guard as she tried to reach over to pluck a blooming lotus from the temple pond. She huffed in response settling down on the step, so the water lapped at her feet, guiding a tadpole trapped in a water bubble on the lotus pad back into the water.

Three years later, he’d made himself a name in the kingdom. His path stumbled with the Crown Prince a month after arriving. He soon became his confidant, even earning a spot in his army. The Crown Prince, Vikram, was a skilled warrior often going off on conquests under the King’s orders to further expand the country. The youngest Prince, Karthi, was sent to the island of Lanka to study apothecary and healing. And the middle heir, Princess Y/N, was known for her wisdom and strategic wit. She often presided in important meetings with the King and his counsel and implemented many strategies that helped triple the wealth of the dynasty and the well-being of the people. The first battle Harry rode alongside the Crown Prince, he was tasked with bringing home a note sent by the prince to his father detailing his plans on the war spoils to the King. Harry was entrusted with carrying secrets and messages to royalty and trusted members of the Crown. His knack of gathering information also came in handy and now was a spy for the royal heirs three years later.

Soon enough the nickname Shadow was bestowed upon him by Prince Karthi. There wasn’t a single room he couldn’t get into - even the castle. But the tower he was currently scaling was one he never had before - Princess Y/N’s chamber. It was forbidden to talk to her without supervision but in the dark of the night, he supposed it did not matter. His job description came with breaking rules and this particular information needed for her to be in the know sans protocols.

He hitched his leg up over the stone bannister and lurched his torso up to the terrace. Princess Y/N’s tower was away from the main dome of the royal vacation castle and he chalked it up for safety but now standing at her balcony, he understands why. The view was unbelievable - the vast expanse of the ocean was at his feet, calm waters painted silver with the full moon; it also overlooked her personal garden filled with coral jasmine, hibiscus, marigolds, and wildflowers. The ocean breeze carried over the fragrance of the flora straight to her room. It was well known that the princess was an avid gardener; he heard through the grapevine that oftentimes she’d sketch out the garden’s landscape plans and sometimes even join the workers to tend to the flower beds. Princes who came to court her from neighbouring territories would almost always bring a sapling of a flowering plant to gain affection.

One could get used to the view, he thinks, as he leans against the bannister one more time - the sounds of tides crashing over the shore soothe his nerves from his climb up. Being born with the golden spoon ain’t that bad. If the burden of duty came with such lavish living quarters, someone sign me the fuck up, Harry takes in the scenery before him before pushing off from it. His body instinctively makes his way to her, like a moth being drawn to a frame, or in this case a spy being drawn to the lavish canopy bed bathed in the buttery glow of candlelight. He stops in his tracks for the second time by the sight of her, not by the opulent beauty that she radiated when he first laid eyes on her but with fondness.

It’s not the Princess Regnant who’s fast asleep on her bed but Y/N. The same Y/N who bristles every time he’s in the room with her siblings. The same Y/N who straightens up her back and holds her chin up high when he cracks a joke to try and force a smile on her face.The same Y/N who looks away when he catches her eyeing him up as he hands over the sealed scroll sent by one of her brothers. It’s almost as if Harry is seeing her for the first time without any filters - except for the sheer white netted fabric that hangs around. She looks small without all the jewellery and silks. Hair raven and straight and long - longer than what he had anticipated - now that her hair has not been pinned up in a bun or bushed away from her face with intricate braids. She looks vulnerable - almost her age - a twenty one year old with a bare face that is not made up immaculately. She has dark circles under her eyes, and Harry deduces that it’s from reading all the books she has strewn over - opened - beside her on the satin sheets. Her lips are curled downwards; she frowns in her sleep and Harry has to try and fight the urge to reach over and smooth out the crinkle between her eyebrows.

He clears his throat, hoping she’ll wake up before he ends up touching her and landing himself in prison. She twitches in response, her steady deep breaths interrupted by a sharp inhale. He clears his throat again, louder this time, followed by, “Your royal highness.”

Y/N’s eyes flutter open, and she jolts up when she sees a tall figure standing beside her. “Who?” She asks, voice hoarse, eyes darting up over his broad chest.

“It’s me, Princess Y/N,” Harry answers.

“Mr. Styles.” Hand coming over to rub the sleep from her eye. “What are you doing here? In my chamber? You’re not allowed,” she states.

“I apologise, your majesty. I’ve been riding for five hours, ma’am. From the estate in the hills. Couldn’t risk having someone overhearing this for the sake of protocol,” he explains.

“So, was I right?” Y/N questions, shuffling out of her bed. Harry moves behind so she has the space to stand upright. “Are the governors convening?”

She gets no reply, making her flit her eyes up at his jade embers to find him staring at her body. Harry could make out the full curves of her breasts and hips with the flimsy white gown Y/N was wearing. Her nipples pebbled from the cold winds from the sea and peaks out the cotton fabric. She rolls her eyes, and snaps her fingers in front of his face to catch his attention. “I could have your eyes gouged out this instant, Harry Edward Styles! There are guards on the other side of this door.”

“Apologies, Princ-“

“You’re full of apologies tonight, aren’t you?” Y/N folds her arms, shielding her chest from his gaze.

“Sorry, Prin-“

Y/N laughs. “It’s far too late for formalities, Mr. Styles. Plus, they only apply to people who follow protocols and walk in through there,” she cocks her head to the carved wooden door. Considering you broke into my room by climbing my balcony, I reckon you can give it a rest. Call me Y/N.”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “Y/N,” he adds. Testing out the way her name rolls out of his mouth. He can’t help the way his dimples carve in his cheeks as the corner of his lips tug upward. I like it, he decides. He likes the way saying her name feels on his tongue, it’s rich and velvety and he wants to keep saying it again and again. “Please call me Harry.”

“Harry, tell me what you saw. Don’t leave out any details,” she orders, walking over to her desk.

Fucking shit, Harry shakes his head. How was he supposed to concentrate when the candles she was lighting only made the silhouette of her body more prominent. She could clearly see the swell of her bum and he’ll bet his entire fortune that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath other than that flimsy gown. He shamelessly lets his eyes rake up over her and his heart flutters when he meets her expenatant eyes, quill hovering over a parchment, urging him to vomit out what he knows.

“Yes. The Hill estate,” he clears his throat. “You’re right. Five governors held a secret meeting at midnight at the Bull temple. You know, the one that was destroyed last monsoon by a landslide.”

Y/N scoffs and lets out a chuckle of disbelief. “Of course, they pick the most obvious spot. Were you able to get a good look at who these governors are?”

“Yes. Do you want me to list them out?”

“Please,” she says, writing down each of the names that Harry listed. He walks closer to where she was hunched over, writing. Harry’s not surprised to see the elegance in her script.

“Impressive. Nice handwriting,” he comments.

“Hardly something to be impressed by, Harry.”

“Well, Y/N, it’s better than mine.”

“If you had tutors from all over the world, I’m sure your script will look just as impressive,” she adds.

“Of course.” He nods. “The meeting. The governors are unhappy with the decree to build schools using the tax money they’re collecting.”

“Of course they are,” she mumbles. “They’re all for taxes when they can use it to fatten themselves up but ask them to spend it on the children of their districts, they are suddenly unhappy with the new system implemented.”

“That’s not all.” Harry opens a silver box and pops a date into his mouth.

“Help yourself,” Y/N comments, shaking her head at his lack of etiquette. Harry’s face flushes with pink and he can feel the tips of his ears getting hot.

“It’s a long journey back here,” he tells her, avoiding her eyes in embarrassment and on cue his stomach rumbles.

Y/N eyes soften. “There are fruits in the basket. And here.” She walks over pulling out a glass jar filled with jujubes from the drawer by her bedside and brings it over to him.

“You have gummies in your drawer,” he notes, smirking at the half eaten jar of sugar coated coloured candy.

“I have a bit of a sweet tooth,” she tells him with a shy smile. He props himself on the table and she makes her way to her desk, watching him eat.

“Harry,” she calls out. “You said that’s not all,” she prompts.

“Your Uncle was there,” he tells her quietly, not wanting anyone to hear.

“My Uncle?” She asks, alarmed. “Can’t be.”

“I saw him, Y/N. He came in shrouded in a black cloak. He’s sired an offspring he said. Claimed that his son had a right to the throne. That’s as much as what was said before they dispersed.”

“You’re positive?”

“Are you implying that I’m being dishonest?”

“I’m not implying anything,” Y/N snaps. “I just want you to be sure.”

“I saw him with my own two eyes, Y/N. I was taken aback too. Both Princes speak of him fondly.”

“Seems like there’s a conspiracy afoot,” Y/N says, almost to herself.

“I’ll let Prince Vikaram know immediately,” he informs.

“Don’t. He’s hot headed. God knows he’ll come charging to the capital and stick a knife in my Uncle’s throat. I’ll take care of it myself.”

“What are you going to do?”

“That’s below your pay grade, spy. I’ll handle this myself. I’m heading to the capital tomorrow for a meeting with my father and the court. How long would it take for you to sail to Lanka alone?”

“Almost a week,” Harry answers.

“Okay. I want you to set sail to Lanka five days from now. I’ll have a scroll delivered to you at noon by the docks. Hand it over to Karthi. Father will want him back in the capital. Keep mum about this and you’ll be rewarded handsomely.”

Harry nods. “Don’t want gold coins this time. I want a house. Close to the sea. One with space for a yard.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll set sail five days from now to Lanka. It’ll also be nice to pay the old man a visit too.”

“Your father’s there?”

Harry nods.

“How is Merchant Styles? I heard he’s retired” Y/N asks.

“He took to Buddhist teachings. Become a proper monk now,” Harry chuckles.

Y/N laughs, one that’s laced with mockery.

“What’s so funny?” Harry asks, standing up abandoning the food.

“Nothing,” she gets out between peels of laughter, wiping her the tears that threaten to spill.

“With all due respect, Princess. Spit it the fuck out,” he huffs out in annoyance.

“It’s just funny. Your father practises a faith that preaches restraint of the senses as one of its precepts and then there’s you.” She bites down on her bottom lip to stop herself from breaking out into a fit of laughter.

“I don’t quite follow,” he crosses her arms.

“Of course you don’t,” she chuckles, straightening up and tilting her chin up.

“You always do that,” he points out. “Pretend you're better than me. It’s obvious you hate me when I’ve been nothing but friendly.”

“You’re not my friend. You’re Vikram’s friend. And Karthi’s. I don’t know you. And I know for a fact that I’m better than you,” YN's eyebrow raises in arrogance.

“What makes you so sure?” Harry takes a step towards her.

“Because, Harry Styles, you’re the proverbial whore of the town. I don’t go around screwing everything with a pulse,” she smiles arrogantly at him.

“How did you come upon this piece of information?” He asks her.

“News travels fast, especially with handmaidens. So, that’s why it’s funny. Your father practises self-restraint and you are on a mission to contract a venereal disease.”

“Sounds like someone’s projecting,” he says, voice laced with honey.

“I’m not projecting anything.”

“Sounds like what you’re saying is that you’re jealous that I have the confidence to partake in intercourse and you’re a bumbling virgin-“

“I’ve read all of the volumes of the Kamasutra. I know my way around when I need to engage in coitus for reproduction,” she cuts him off.

“Oh, sweet sweet Princess,” he whispers, using her title condescendingly. “Sex is more than just reproduction.” He strides towards her.

“It is. That’s what the textbook says: It's a womanly duty to service the man and bear his children. It’s sacred,” she insists, taking a step back.

“I’m surprised for someone with such progressive morals… Your view on pleasure seems archaic,” he takes a step toward her again.

“Books do not lie, spy. They have the whole truth.” She steps back again, bumping into the edge of her teakwood desk, trapping herself.

“What do your precious books say about the way your body sparkles when you reach a satisfying end?” He goads, taking a final step forward and invading her personal space.

“You are forbidden to come this close to me, Harry.” Y/N reminds him in futility. Feeling his hard chest against her, thighs rubbing up against him, she can feel his hard muscles straining against her and his warmth radiate, crawling its way into her skin.

“Call out to the guards then,” he reminds her, dropping his head down to nose at her temple.

“I will,” her voice is feeble. “You’ll be cut into pieces and thrown in the ocean.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he smirks, as his lips circuit down the shell of her ear. “I don’t see you telling me to stop.” His tongue laves at her lobe, teeth coming to clamp down gently and tug.

Y/N squeaks feeling his action go down straight to her core. “I know how to defend myself.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second.” He stops, pulling back to look at her. “You don’t need to fight me,” his voice rings with sincerity. “Just tell me to stop and I will, Y/N.” He looks at her, searching her face for an answer.

“What else?” She murmurs, after a few moments, looking up into his eyes.

“Hmm?”

“What else? Things that haven’t been mentioned in books,” she clarifies.

His eyes shine with mischief as he simpers, dimples dazzling. “Where do I start, Y/N…” he trails off, fully pressing himself against her chest. God, she’s so responsive, he marvels at the way her chest heaves against his, heart stammering a staccato against his own racing heart. She’s soft and warm and she smells heavenly. His lips find its way to the base of her jaw, dragging up and leaving open mouth kisses on her smooth skin. “When you find someone desirable, you feel the heat pool in your belly and spread like wildfire across every nerve ending of your body.” He kisses her cheek, a hand going to intertwine with hers.

“Have you felt that?” He asks, feeling hot puffs of her breath against his neck. Y/N shakes her head. “It’s not very noble to lie, Princess,” he whispers, lips moving against the column of her throat. “I see the way you fuck me with your eyes.”

“I do not-“ her voice cuts off as Harry suckles on her jugular, feeling her hammering pulse underneath his lips. She lets out a whimper that goes straight to his fattening cock. Y/N’s mouth falls open dragging in breaths of fresh air, her free hand bracing against the desk to hold herself upright. “I do not fuck you with my eyes.”

“Really?” He says popping off, his calloused fingers come to caress the agitated spot. He was careful not to leave a hickey but he loved the way her skin turned a baby pink in response to his ministrations. “I guess I must have imagined all those times you looked me up and down?”

“I guess you did, Harry,” her chest heaves as she tries to maintain composure. It wasn’t right to be doing this with Harry. It wasn’t right to be doing this with anyone outside the sanctity of a marital bed but it’s exhilarating, breaking rules. She’s not sure if it’s Harry or it’s just the thrill of doing something that might get her in trouble with her parents. They trust her. Trusted her enough to let her move out of the capital and to the port town with her grandmother because she wishes to live by the beach. And here she was enjoying herself with a plebian. A foreigner. A spy. She met him when she was eighteen as her brother’s friend and he was handsome. Chocolate brown curls, smatter of freckles on the bridge of his nose, a perfect smile, dimples, and an alluring set of mossy green irises. She’s heard stories and rumours of his sexual escapades and as much as she detested hearing those stories, she detested the fact that she’s been comparing the princes who had come to ask for her hand in marriage to him. But all she could think of was how strong his arm was wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer to him.

“Stubborn,” he smirks up. “See what you do to me?” He presses his hard cock against her pelvic bone, watching the way her eyes darken as she realises, the sight smirk of hers doesn't go unnoticed by him. “You’ve been driving me insane since the day I saw you on your eighteenth birthday. Went back to my quarters and touched myself to the thought of you,” he confesses. “You’ve been in my dreams ever since.” He cups her cheek, thumb moving back and forth across her lips.

“Are you going to kiss me, Harry?” She asks, looking up at him.

“Have you kissed anyone before?” He questions.

She shakes her head. “My handmaidens have kissed the people who were courting them. They told me how to do it and helped me practise on fruit.”

“That so?” He smiles, lips ghosting her Cupid’s bow. “You know kissing is pretty easy, Y/N,” he declares. “But it’s also powerful” he tells her, lips moving against hers. “‘A kiss may ruin a human life.’”

“Oscar Wilde,” she says, recognising his quote, surprised by his knowledge of poetry. She gets on her toes, pulling her intertwined hand out of Harry’s, and running it down his chest, she can feel the way his muscles ripple underneath the fabric of his shirt. Her chest heaves, belly clenching in anticipation as he lowers tilts his head to the side, noses squished and her mouth opens in anticipation.

He presses his forehead against hers savouring the moment. “And I’m sure that if I start kissing you now, Princess… I might never be able to stop,” he tells her, breathing in her intoxicating sweet floral scent. He concedes by kissing her eyelids and he’s fighting the urge to not run his hands down her body and up her thighs to see if she’s wet for him, but he steps away wanting to be respectful.

Y/N can’t hide the disappointment in her face when backs away from her. His hands come to cup her cheeks, smearing a tender kiss on her forehead. “Never met anyone who has me on a chokehold, Y/N,” he confesses. “I shall bid my goodbye.” He brings her hand to his mouth and kisses her palm, pressing it to his cheek.

“See you Harry,” she smiles. “You’ll be given the scroll at the docks at noon five days from now,” she informs, standing upright; snapping back into the person she was before being pushed up against the desk by Harry.

“Princess Y/N,” he bows, popping a piece of jujube in his mouth before making his way to her balcony. He gives her a salute one last time before climbing down the tower during forbidden hours, like he always does. But this time, he’s rappelling down the side of the stone structure with butterflies in his tummy.

part two

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK SO FAR!

[ltash]

Ashes to flames

Part 1

British India:

1940s.

The flames flickered and crackled ominously as they prepared the pyre. You stood there, clad in a brilliant red silk saree that shimmered under the fading light. The red dot between your eyebrows, the sindoor parted across your scalp, and the heavy gold jewellery that adorned your fragile frame all marked you as a widow, a bride bound to her husband, even in death Your pearly white skin, striking against the deep red of your garments, seemed too pure, too innocent for the fate that awaited you.

Your long, dark black hair, wavy and unbound, cascaded down your back like the night sky, and the henna tattoos that covered your slender arms and feet were still vibrant from your wedding day. Each intricate pattern felt like a mocking reminder of what should have been, but never was.

The weight of the moment pressed upon you, and memories rushed through your mind like a torrent you couldn’t stop.

You had been born into a wealthy Rajput family, one of privilege and tradition. Your parents, progressive for their time, had sent you to school with British girls. You could still hear your father's proud voice.

"You're not just a daughter," he’d said, his eyes gleaming with pride, "you're my pride. You will make your own path in this world."

But the dream of forging your own path had shattered the day he passed away. The vibrant, strong man who had nurtured your hopes and dreams was gone, and with him, your world collapsed. You remember standing there, watching as your mother stepped into the pyre beside him, her face serene with acceptance, fulfilling her role in the cruel practice of sati.

You had begged her not to go, gripping her hand tightly, but she had only smiled. "This is my duty, my child," she had whispered. "It is what we must do."

And now it was your turn.

At 23, you had been forced into a marriage with an 80-year-old man, a frail and terminal figure you barely knew. Your uncle had orchestrated it all, ignoring your protests and pleas. Your life, once filled with promise, had been reduced to caring for a dying man, a man who never loved you, never saw you as more than a young wife to be bound to his deathbed.

As you stood upon the pyre, your heart pounded in your chest, cold terror coursing through your veins. The deceased body of your husband lay beside you, his wrinkled face unmoving, eyes closed in eternal sleep. It felt like a nightmare you couldn’t wake from.

Your uncle’s voice boomed from behind you, cold and resolute. "It is time. Your duty is clear. You belong to him, in life and in death."

Tears stung your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You were an abomination, they said, cursed to burn beside your husband. There was no escape now. You looked at the faces in the crowd, their expressions a mixture of reverence and indifference.

"I don’t want to die," you whispered to yourself, the words barely audible above the crackling wood and the ceremonial chants. Your body felt too fragile for the weight of what was expected of you.

For a moment, the world around you blurred, and you were back in the classroom, sitting at a desk with your British classmates, laughing and learning. You remembered the joy of those days, the dreams you had once nurtured, and the freedom you had tasted.

But it was all gone now.

The fire beneath the pyre roared to life, the heat licking at your feet, pulling you back into the present. Your breath hitched, your hands trembling as they were bound for the final rites. The crowd began to chant, their voices blending with the wind, carrying you closer to your fate.

You stood in shock, your mind screaming for escape, but there was none. The flames rose higher, and the scent of burning wood filled the air.

In that final moment, as the fire closed in, you closed your eyes and let the memories of your father, your mother, and the life you had once dreamed of wash over you. You had been a flower, once full of life, now destined to wither in the flames.

The flames raged around you, a roaring inferno that licked at the edge of your red silk saree, threatening to consume you whole. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of burning wood, filling your lungs with every breath. Your screams had become raw, a desperate plea that seemed to vanish into the night, absorbed by the rising chants of the crowd. Their faces, once familiar, now appeared distant and monstrous in the glow of the fire. Every inch of you trembled, trapped in the suffocating weight of tradition, knowing there was no escape.

Suddenly, through the deafening roar of the flames, another sound broke through, the thunder of hooves pounding the earth, fierce and unyielding. The chanting faltered, and for a moment, all eyes turned toward the source of the sound. Out of the swirling smoke, a figure emerged on horseback, riding at full gallop. The villagers stumbled back, their voices fading as the rider approached.

"Enough!" A voice rang out like a clap of thunder, so powerful it seemed to silence the world. It cut through the noise through the chaos, commanding attention.

Through the haze, you saw him, Lieutenant Admiral Simon Riley. His tall, imposing figure sat astride a powerful black horse, the silver insignias on his pristine uniform gleaming under the darkening sky. His face was set in a mask of anger, jaw clenched, eyes burning with purpose. His gaze met yours across the pyre, and in that moment, time stopped. The weight of the flames, the pressing heat, the terror, all of it disappeared as his eyes locked onto yours. They were sharp, focused, and filled with a fierce determination that left you breathless.

In one swift motion, Simon dismounted, drawing his sword in a fluid arc. The blade gleamed like polished silver, a beacon of power in the dim light. Without hesitation, he strode through the crowd, parting them with the sheer force of his presence. The people, once so confident in their cruelty, shrank back in fear.

His gloved hand reached for you. Strong, steady, unwavering, he grasped you by the waist as though you weighed nothing. With effortless strength, he lifted you from the pyre, cradling your fragile frame against his chest. The heat of the flames still crackled beneath your feet, but in his arms, the terror that had gripped you began to fade. You clung to him, your heart pounding, your body trembling from shock.

“I am taking her with me,” Simon declared, his voice low but lethal, cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. His sword remained raised high, its deadly point gleaming, daring anyone to approach.

Your uncle, face flushed with rage, stepped forward. “You can not do this!” he shouted, his voice trembling with fury. “She is an abomination! The consequences, " He faltered, his eyes flickering with a mix of fear and arrogance. “The consequences won’t be good. Saahib, I warn you.”

Simon’s icy blue eyes narrowed as he turned to face your uncle. “You dare threaten me?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm. His grip on you tightened, his body a wall of strength and defiance. “You call her an abomination, yet you are the one trying to murder an innocent woman in the name of your backwards traditions.”

One of the villagers, emboldened by your uncle’s words, stepped forward. “She has a duty to fulfil! She must burn with her husband. It is our way!”

Simon’s jaw clenched as he glared at the crowd. “Over my dead body!” he thundered, his voice booming across the gathering. “You barbarians think you can hide behind your so-called customs? Killing an innocent woman under the guise of tradition? I will not allow it.”

His eyes swept over the villagers, daring them to defy him. No one moved. Even your uncle, who had always wielded power over your life, seemed small and insignificant in the face of Simon’s wrath.

The soldiers who had followed Simon arrived on horseback, dismounting swiftly and surrounding their commander, their faces set in grim determination. They moved into formation, shields, and rifles at the ready, forming an impenetrable barrier between Simon and the villagers. The crowd’s courage crumbled as Simon’s men stood at attention, their loyalty to him unshakeable.

Simon sheathed his sword with a sharp clink and swiftly mounted his horse, never once loosening his protective grip on you. With one fluid motion, he pulled you up onto the saddle in front of him, his arms encircling your body as he guided the reins. You pressed against his chest, your heart racing, your body trembling, still reeling from the terror of what had almost been your fate.

“Hold on,” Simon whispered, his breath warm against your ear, his voice gentle now, a stark contrast to the fury he had shown moments before.

As he urged the horse forward, the powerful animal surged ahead, hooves pounding the earth as the village disappeared behind you. The wind whipped through your unbound hair, and the world blurred around you as Simon rode with speed and precision, cutting through the night. His chest was firm against your back, a solid presence that anchored you as the remnants of the horror faded into the distance.

You glanced up at him, still too shocked to speak. His face was set in determination, but there was a tenderness in the way he held you, as if he had just saved something precious. His residence came into view on the horizon, a beacon of safety amidst the storm of chaos you had left behind.

As the horse galloped toward his estate, you knew that the life you had been condemned to, the pyre that had almost claimed you, was far behind. In Simon’s arms, you had been saved, not just from death, but from a life you had never chosen.

By the time you reached his mansion, your body had given up. The exhaustion, the terror, the sheer weight of what you had just survived had drained you of every ounce of strength. You could no longer hold on, and with a faint sigh, you collapsed in his arms, your head lolling against his chest as unconsciousness claimed you. Simon’s strong arms caught you, his grip unwavering as he dismounted his horse with practised ease, cradling your limp form close to him.

The grand doors of his mansion swung open as Simon carried you inside, his boots echoing sharply against the marble floors. His face was a mask of calm control, though the tension in his jaw betrayed the turmoil raging beneath the surface. The servants, startled by the sight of their master carrying an unconscious woman, rushed forward, their eyes wide with disbelief.

"Sati! But she is alive!" one of the servants gasped, his eyes flicking nervously between you and Simon. The whispers spread like wildfire, murmurs of shock and confusion filling the air.

Simon’s eyes, cold and resolute, silenced the room. “She will stay alive,” he said, his voice brooking no argument. There was a finality in his tone, a command that left no room for doubt.

“But, Saahib… you shouldn’t have brought her here,” another servant, an older man with worry etched into every line of his face, stepped forward cautiously. He glanced nervously towards the door, his voice lowering as he continued, “They will come for her. The village… they won’t let this go.”

Simon’s eyes darkened, a flash of anger crossing his face as he looked down at you, your fragile form still limp in his arms. “She will stay here from now on,” he declared, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His gaze returned to the old servant, daring him to say otherwise.

The servant hesitated, wringing his hands together anxiously. “But, sir… she has committed...”

“She has committed nothing,” Simon interrupted sharply, cutting him off with a glare that froze the words in his throat. “What they tried to do to her, that was a crime.”

Without waiting for another word, Simon turned and carried you through the wide, opulent halls of his mansion, the luxurious surroundings a stark contrast to the horrors you had just escaped. He moved with purpose, his grip on you gentle yet protective as if he were carrying something precious and fragile. As he reached his private chambers, he nudged the door open with his boot, striding inside.

He walked toward his grand bed, the soft linens and dark wood frame a world away from the pyre you had almost perished upon. Lowering you carefully onto the bed, Simon’s touch was tender, as if he feared you might break. He adjusted the pillows beneath your head, smoothing your hair from your face as he stood over you, his gaze softening for the briefest moment.

“She has nowhere to go,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, his eyes never leaving your unconscious form. His fingers brushed against your cheek, the warmth of his touch a faint comfort against your feverish skin.

The silence hung heavy in the room as Simon stood beside you, the weight of his decision clear in the set of his shoulders. He had saved you from the flames, but he knew the storm was far from over. They would come for you. But as long as you remained under his roof, under his protection, they would have to get through him first.

And Simon Riley had no intention of letting you go.

The soft clink of your heavy gold bangles stirred the quiet room, breaking the early morning silence. You blinked your eyes open, the weight of the ornate jewellery and the lingering scent of smoke bringing back the harsh memories of the night before. Your body felt heavy and exhausted, but you were alive. The bed beneath you was soft, a far cry from the pyre you had stood on, and the air was cool and still.

Simon, who had been standing near the window, turned at the sound of your stirring. His eyes, sharp and alert, softened when they met yours. "You’re awake," he said, his voice low but gentle.

You slowly sat up, feeling the weight of your golden jewellery shift as you moved. The red silk saree you still wore clung to you, a reminder of the ritual that had nearly claimed your life. Simon watched you closely, his expression unreadable for a moment, but there was something in his gaze, something like awe. You looked like an Indian goddess sitting there, the rich red fabric and gleaming gold of your attire contrasting with the delicate vulnerability of your face. Even in your weakened state, you were breathtaking.

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You are safe now,” he said softly, his tone reassuring, firm. “Nobody will touch you. I will make sure of that.”

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten with gratitude and fear all at once. He was offering you something precious: safety. A luxury you hadn’t known since you were forced into this nightmare.

“The servant will prepare breakfast for you,” Simon continued, his voice softening as he spoke. “Whatever you wish to eat, just tell him.” He offered a faint smile, one that barely reached his eyes before turning to leave, giving you space to gather yourself.

But something inside you panicked as you watched him turn away. Your hand reached out instinctively, fingers curling around his wrist. “They will come back for me,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the fear returning in waves. The memory of the village and the pyre still haunted you, lurking just beneath the surface.

Simon paused, his back still to you, his muscles tensing beneath your grip. For a moment, he said nothing, his silence weighing heavy in the air between you. Then, he turned his head slightly, his voice calm but resolute. “We’ll see,” he replied, his tone carrying a quiet confidence that made you want to believe him.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Simon’s servant stepped into the room, bowing slightly. “Saahib,” he said, a nervous tremor in his voice, “the village minister has come to see you.”

Your grip on Simon’s wrist tightened, fear surging through you once more. “They’re here to take me,” you muttered, dread filling your voice.

Simon looked down at you, his expression softening as he gently removed your hand from his wrist. “Relax,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring. “I will take care of them.”

He turned and strode out of the room, his footsteps purposeful, leaving you alone with the crushing weight of your fear. You sat there, frozen, barely breathing as you listened to his retreating footsteps echo down the hall. The walls of his grand mansion felt suffocating now, closing in around you as the threat loomed just beyond the doors.

Simon entered the living room, his posture straight, his face unreadable as he approached the man waiting for him. The village minister stood at the threshold, his weathered face lined with anxiety. As Simon drew nearer, the minister removed his turban and knelt before him, bowing his head low in submission. The gesture, one of both respect and desperation, seemed to fill the room with an oppressive air.

“Saahib,” the minister began, his voice thick with pleading, “please… I put my honour before you. Give her back to us.” He kept his head bowed, his hands trembling as he placed his turban at Simon’s feet, a symbol of his surrender.

Simon’s eyes flashed with anger, his jaw tightening at the man’s words. He took a step forward, his presence towering over the kneeling minister. “Give her back to you?” Simon’s voice was low, but there was an edge to it, sharp as a blade. “So you can burn her alive again?”

The minister flinched at Simon’s words but kept his head bowed, the weight of his shame clear. “It is our way, Saahib. The village demands it… her duty...”

“Her duty?” Simon’s voice rose, cutting the minister off sharply. He took another step forward, looming over the man. “Her duty is to survive, not to be thrown into the flames like an offering to your backwards traditions.”

The minister dared to look up, his eyes wide with desperation. “Please, Saahib, you do not understand… This is how it has been for generations. The village...”

“Don't try to lecture an officer of the East India Company. I don’t care about your village,” Simon snapped, his anger barely contained. “I will not let you murder her. Not under my watch.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, and he leaned in slightly, his eyes blazing. “If you think you can come here and take her, you’ll have to go through me first.”

The minister’s face paled, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find words, but there was no room for argument. Simon’s authority, his sheer presence, left no space for negotiation.

“Go back to your village,” Simon said coldly, stepping back. “Tell them she is under my protection now. If anyone dares try to harm her, they will face the full force of the British army.”

The minister, trembling, scrambled to gather his turban and stumbled to his feet. He nodded hastily, backing away toward the door. “Yes, Saahib. I will… I will tell them,” he stammered before turning and fleeing from the mansion, leaving Simon standing alone in the heavy silence of the room.

Simon exhaled slowly, his fists unclenching as the tension ebbed from his body. He had made his stance clear, but he knew the battle was far from over. They would return, perhaps with more men, more pressure. But for now, you were safe.

And that, Simon vowed, was all that mattered.

[nidhi-writes]

CHAPTER - III | BEAST OUT OF HIM

MASTERLIST

previous

Please be aware that this chapter contains scenes that explore mature themes 18+. Reader discretion is advised.

As the night wore on, Shiya could not sleep, her mind replaying the dream repeatedly. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel Bhallaladeva's touch, the heat of his body pressed against hers, and the intensity of that moment when their lips collided. Also, the image of Shivudu being dead and how his corpse looked, this thought makes her feel guilty that her part of the brain is yearning for that monster's touch. It was maddening; her thoughts kept circling back to him, and a part of her—a dark, hidden part—almost wished he had gone further and taken her and shown her the things her mother had warned her about.

Her mother's words echoed in her mind, both a warning and a lesson. Sanga often spoke to Shiya about women's power, which could cause kingdoms to rise or fall and even kings to go to their knees for it. "There have been women in history," her mother had said, "who used that very power to obtain anything they desired and to bring emperors to their knees. It is a dangerous power and a tool. It can also keep your husband from straying and secure your place in his heart if correctly used."

Shiya had always listened, but she never truly understood the weight of those words until now. As she lay there, unable to shake the memory of Bhallaladeva's kiss, she wondered if she could use that power to her advantage. Bhallaladeva was a man of immense strength and ruthlessness, but he was also driven by desire—the desire for power, control, and, perhaps, for her.

Could she use that desire against him? Could she manipulate him just like he does to others? Could she make him believe that he was winning her over, only to turn the tables and secure her freedom and others? The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. If she succeeded, she could escape this nightmare, but if she failed, the consequences would be unimaginable.

Shiya's heart raced as she considered the possibilities. She would need to tread carefully to play the submissive captive while slowly weaving a web around Bhallaladeva. It would require every ounce of her strength, cunning, and resolve.

But what choice did she have? If she didn't act, she would remain a prisoner at the mercy of a man who could destroy her in more ways than one.

As the moon glows, Shiya makes up her mind. She will play this dangerous game, using the very power her mother had spoken of. She will become the woman who could bring a man of power to his knees if that's what it takes to reclaim her life and freedom.

She called for Bangara Amma, who arrived promptly, her expression curious yet respectful. 

"Yes, Dear", Bangara Amma replied to Shiya.

Shiya licked her lips as she requested what she needed. "Please bring me the best saree you ever have", knowing that Bhallaladeva had given orders for her to be granted anything she asked for—except for her freedom. Bangara Amma hesitated only briefly before nodding and leaving to fulfil the request.

When she returned, she brought a shimmering golden saree, its rich and luxurious fabric adorned with embroidery that caught the light. Shiya could tell at a glance that it was a garment fit for royalty. As Bangara Amma helped her drape the saree, Shiya's eyes stayed on the mirror, and her gaze filed with no emotion.

"Lower," she whispered just as Bangara Amma went to tie the saree. So Bangara Amma did that and tied it just low enough to accentuate her figure, particularly her bosom. The gold against her skin made her look like a goddess, the fabric clinging to her curves in an alluring and powerful way.

Shiya dismissed Bangara Amma once the saree was in place, giving her a polite but firm smile. "Please ask the King to come and meet me," she said, calm and composed. "There is something I wish to discuss with him."

Bangara Amma's eyes widened slightly at the request, but she quickly bowed and left the room to deliver the message. Shiya watched her go, her heart beating steadily as she prepared for the encounter. This was the first move in her plan, and it had to be executed perfectly.

As she waited for Bhallaladeva, Shiya walked to the balcony, the cool breeze brushing against her exposed skin. She needed to steady her nerves, to remind herself of her goal. This wasn't just about seduction—it was about survival and reclaiming her power. She would use every weapon, including the allure her mother had warned her about.

When Bhallaladeva entered the room a short time later, Shiya turned to face him, her expression serene but with a hint of vulnerability. She could see the surprise flicker in his eyes as he took in her appearance. The golden saree, the way it highlighted her body, and her confident yet slightly hesitant stance were designed to captivate and draw him in.

"You wished to see me, Shiya?" Bhallaladeva's voice was curious, with an undertone of suspicion, as if he was trying to figure out what game she was playing.

Shiya nodded, taking a slow, deliberate step towards him. "Yes, my King," she replied softly. 

"I realized that perhaps I had been... too resistant, too defiant. I thought it might be wise to speak openly with you to understand the situation I find myself in better."

Bhallaladeva's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze lingering on her, trying to read her intentions. But Shiya held his gaze, her expression unyielding yet open, inviting him to believe she was finally submitting to him and ready to accept her fate.

"You look... different," he remarked, his eyes tracing the lines of her saree, the way it emphasized her figure. His eyes had a predatory gleam and a hint of admiration as if he saw her in a new light.

Shiya allowed a small smile to touch her lips, holding the same warmth and sincerity. 

"Perhaps it's time I stop fighting what cannot be changed," she said, her voice steady. "Perhaps it's time I embrace what is inevitable."

Bhallaladeva stepped closer; his interest piqued, his suspicion mingling with desire. "And what do you believe is inevitable, Shiya?"

She met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. "That I am yours, my King. That I belong to you, just as you have claimed."

The words hung in the air between them, charged with meaning. Shiya's heart raced, but she kept her composure, knowing that this was just the beginning of the dangerous game she had chosen to play. 

Bhallaladeva studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow, satisfied smile, he nodded. "Good," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Very good."

Shiya lowered her gaze, her demeanour shifting as she embraced her chosen role. The confident woman who had faced Bhallaladeva moments ago now seemed to wither into someone entirely different—submissive, almost defeated. She stepped closer to him, her eyes downcast and voice softer, carrying a tremor of fear and resignation.

"My King," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I have come to accept that no help is coming for me. My brother... my family... they are not here. I am alone. And in my solitude, I have realized how merciful you have been, how you could have ended my life the moment I was brought here, yet you spared me."

She paused as if gathering her courage and lifted her gaze just enough to meet his eyes, her expression of gratitude mixed with a palpable sense of surrender. "For that, I am thankful. I know now that you hold all the power, and I... I am ready to accept whatever you wish to give or take from me. I no longer wish to fight."

Bhallaladeva's eyes narrowed as he studied her, the curiosity in his gaze growing sharper. He couldn't ignore the surge of blood rushing through him as he looked at her—the golden saree that clung to her every curve, the way her voice wavered with a mix of fear and submission, the subtle trembling of her lips. Every word she spoke seemed to stroke his ego, feeding the deep-seated desire for dominance that simmered within him.

A part of him remained suspicious, wondering if this sudden shift in her behaviour was genuine. But the sight of her standing before him, so seemingly fragile and at his mercy, was too intoxicating to resist. He felt the primal urge to claim her, to make her his, swelling within him, and the thrill of knowing she was willingly submitting to him made the temptation even stronger.

Shiya saw the flicker of desire in his eyes, the way his gaze lingered on her, and she knew her performance was having the intended effect. She had to keep him believing that she was broken and that she was his and his alone.

"My King," she continued, her voice trembling as she clasped her hands before her, "I am ready to be whatever you wish me to be. I will not resist. I have no strength left to fight, and I have no hope left to hold onto. All I have now... is you."

Bhallaladeva stepped closer to her, his gaze never leaving her face. He could feel the tension in the air, the power he wielded over her, and it fueled the dark satisfaction growing inside him. His hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle, but his eyes burned with something far more dangerous.

"You're finally seeing the truth, Shiya," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a twisted kind of warmth. "And I am glad you understand your place."

His words sent a shiver down Shiya's spine, but she kept her expression soft, her eyes filled with the same submissive gratitude she had shown before. She couldn't afford to slip now; she needed him to believe she had given in.

"I do, my King," she whispered, barely holding back the tears that threatened to spill over. "I see now that you are my only protector and hope. I am ready to serve you, to be whatever you want me to be. Please... just tell me what you wish of me."

Bhallaladeva's eyes darkened with desire as he took in her words. The sight of her so willingly submitting to him ignited a fire within him that he could barely control. He leaned closer, gripping her chin and tilting her face to meet his gaze. His eyes roamed over her features, taking in the vulnerability in her expression; her chest heaved with every breath, and the slight trembling of her lips.

"You are mine, Shiya," he said, his voice husky and needful. "And you will give me everything I want."

Shiya nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up at him, her eyes wide with fear and submission. She could feel his breath on her skin, the heat of his body so close to hers, and she knew she had him exactly where she wanted him. 

Shiya's heart pounded as she nodded, her voice trembling. "I am yours."

Bhallaldeva's hands were rough yet gentle as he reached for her, his touch igniting a fire within her that she had not anticipated. His fingers traced her skin, exploring her curves with a mix of reverence and possession. Shiya's resistance melted away as she felt the heat of his touch, her body responding to him despite her mind's efforts to stay detached.

As their lips met, the world around them seemed to vanish. The kiss was fierce and passionate, filled with a hunger that mirrored the tumultuous emotions raging within Shiya. She was swept away by the moment's intensity, losing herself in the warmth and strength of Bhallaldeva's embrace.

Their bodies pressed together, each movement a blend of desire and urgency. The silk of her golden saree slipped from her shoulders, pooling around them as Bhallaldeva guided her towards the lavish bed. 

'Please' she said, her lips quivering.

His smirk widened as he snorted and watched the quivering mess of a woman before him. She was trying to speak a proper word, but she could only let out a babble because of the action.

'Please, what?' He asked as he slowly traced his fingers down from her navel and slowly went up, just his knuckles brushing against her clothed nipple; she let out a faint moan, which made him chuckle. He enjoyed the reaction he could get from the beautiful flower sprawled in his bed.

His fingers continued to trace and softly yet tightly held her neck and raised her head; she gasped at his sudden action as her eyes widened; for a minute, she was scared that her cover would blow off, but just like that, he smashed his lips on to her making her whimper as both of their body mingled in heat.

His lips along her chin lightly bit her ear off ' You were saying?' He asked once again as he continued his action, which caused her to moan again and again, but her moan turned into a squick as he tightened his hold on her throat, causing her to stutter.

'I. ASKED. YOU. A. QUESTION!' he growled, which made her inner pool already wet just with his voice. She bit her lips and tried to speak up. 'I need you, Please,' she whispered, hoping he heard, which he did.

'What you need me for?' He grunted as his lips lowered and went to work on her neck. Just like that, he found her weak spot, causing her to arch her back, which made her breast brush up against his chest, causing a small moan to leave his mouth. Her lips turned upwards, enjoying that even if it was small, she did bring some reaction from him.

'Well?' He asked, biting her neck lightly, which would leave a mark.

'I need you to be inside me.' This time, she spoke up without any shyness; her eyes stayed on his and never left; he liked this boldness.

'Where?' He once again asked; this irritated her to the core, this man knew that he was torturing her to the core, so she took his other hand and shoved it between her thighs where her cunt lays dripping wet. 'There, my king,' She said and captured his lips as she bit them, drawing blood. Bhallaladeva is anything but romantic, but the girl in front of him, who is too young for him, lets a beast out of him, and he is not going back until he devours every drop of her.

"Well, well, Shiya," Bhalla sneered, his fingers trailing slowly down Shiya's bare arm. "I must say, your attempts at seduction are quite admirable. But let me tell you something, sweetheart. You've got a long way to go."

Shiya's eyes widened as Bhalla's hand grazed the fabric of her blouse. A sudden knot in the corner caught his attention, and without warning, he gave it a sharp tug. The delicate fabric of the blouse snapped, causing it to fall from Shiya's body.

Shiya's face was a mixture of shock and embarrassment as she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. Bhalla chuckled darkly, relishing his power over her.

Bhalla's lips trailed down Shiya's neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses that excitedly made her shiver. His hands moved from her wrists to the curve of her hips, pulling her closer until there was barely any space left between them.

Shiya's breath hitched as Bhalla's mouth found its way to the sensitive skin just above her breasts. He licked and sucked at her nipples, eliciting gasps of pleasure from deep within her throat. Each touch sent waves of electricity coursing through her body, erasing any lingering doubts or hesitations.

Bhalla's lips trailed down fabric that barely concealed Shiya's core. With a teasing smile, he whispered into her ear, "You like that? You want me to take you right here?"

Shiya whimpered in response. She nodded eagerly, unable to form words as desire consumed her senses.

Without wasting another moment, Bhalla's hand slipped beneath the fabric and found its way to the heat between Shiya's thighs. She bit down on her lower lip, torn between wanting him to take her right then and there and wanting to feel every moment of anticipation.

Bhalla chuckled darkly, his fingers circling her clit. He knew exactly how to push Shiya's buttons, and he revelled in the power it gave him. His lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses that made her shiver with anticipation.

He paused for a moment, his hand moving slowly in circles around her sensitive core. Shiya squirmed beneath him, desperate for him to continue.

"Please," she pleaded softly, frustration lacing every syllable.

Bhalla's eyes gleamed with wicked amusement as he heard Shiya's plea. He smirked and slowly trailed his finger down her thigh, leaving a trail of wetness in its wake.

"Well, well," he murmured, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Seems like you're ready to be taken by your king, right?"

Shiya's breath hitched as Bhalla's words sent shivers down her spine. She couldn't deny the desire that pulsed through her veins, but there was still a flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

Without warning, Bhalla tore away the remaining remnants of Shiya's clothing, leaving her exposed and vulnerable before him. His gaze roamed over every inch of her naked body - the curves and contours that had captivated him from the moment he first laid eyes on her.

"Please," Shiya begged again, her voice filled with anticipation and uncertainty. "Please show me the pleasures that only you can give."

Bhalla's lips curled into a wicked grin as he heard Shiya's plea. He wasted no time in fulfilling her desire, his hands moving swiftly to spread her legs wide open. With a hunger that bordered on desperation, he buried his face between her thighs.

Shiya's breath hitched as Bhalla's tongue flicked against her sensitive flesh. A gasp escaped her lips as he plunged deep into her wetness, savouring the taste and texture of her arousal. His tongue danced across every inch of her cunt, exploring every fold and crevice with an expertise that left Shiya trembling in anticipation.

"Ahhh," she moaned, unable to contain herself any longer. "Bhall..Please..."

Bhalla chuckled darkly against her skin, his fingers curling around her hips possessively. He continued to work his magic enthusiastically, matching their growing passion. Each lick and suck sent waves of pleasure coursing through Shiya's body, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

Her heart thumped as her vision turned white, and she let out a scream of pleasure; Bhalla slowly raised and pressed his body against her, putting his hand beside her head to not put total weight on her body. His eyes take in her form, the way her chest heaved and gasps, the way. 

"Look at me," Bhalla whispered, causing Shiya to open her eyes and look at the man before her, who could easily break or make her.

"Are you ready?" He asked, making Shiya look at him. Was he asking for her consent?

She gulped down and nodded, which made Bhalla smile: "I need you to hear you verbally, my dear." This caused her to blush as she used her voice to speak out: "Yes, Please." Her answer made him smile.

Shiya's body trembled with anticipation as Bhalla slowly entered into her, filling her to the brim. A gasp and a moan escaped her lips, a mix of pain and pleasure that sent shivers down her spine. It was a reminder of the raw intensity they were about to experience.

Bhalla, sensing Shiya's reaction, smirked in satisfaction. He began to pick up the pace, his movements becoming more forceful and powerful. The pain subsided as pleasure surged through their bodies, tripling in intensity with each thrust.

Shiya clung onto Bhalla desperately, unable to contain herself any longer. Her nails dug into his back as she arched her body to meet his every movement. The room filled with the sounds of their skin slapping together, punctuated by their shared moans of ecstasy.

Bhalla's eyes locked onto Shiya's, a hunger burning within them that matched their growing passion. He relished in the sight of her writhing beneath him, lost in a world where only they existed.

But amidst their primal connection, a flicker of hesitation flashed across Bhalla's face. A momentary pause in his rhythm left Shiya wondering if he was experiencing a similar struggle within himself.

Sensing that they both were nearing the release, Bhalla swiftly shifted their position, pulling her onto his lap. The sensation of being surrounded by him sent shivers down her spine. She couldn't help but feel a surge of power coursing through her veins.

Slowly, Shiya straddled Bhalla's lap, positioning herself atop him as if she held all the cards. With deliberate movements, she slid down onto him inch by agonizing inch, eliciting moans from both of them.

Bhalla's grip tightened on Shiya's hips as he thrust upward, meeting each of her movements with a primal intensity that sent waves of pleasure coursing through their bodies. Their moans mingled in the air, an intoxicating symphony of lust and desire.

Shiya's body arched against Bhalla's as he continued to hit deeper in her cunt, filling her with his relentless thrusts. Their skin slapping together echoed through the trees, blending seamlessly with their desperate moans.

And just like that, Shiys' eyesight turned white as what was left of her was consumed by Bhalla, who moaned into her ears as she clunge down to him. Her thighs quivered, and her body shook as they filled each other with pleasure that no one could take away.

Shiya's mind raced, and amidst the heat of the moment, a fleeting thought crossed her mind—an escape. She had kept the sharp nail hidden in her hair, hoping it might be useful. She reached for it with every ounce of resolve she had left, her fingers trembling as she tried to draw it out from where it had been concealed.

Just as Bhallaldeva's hands were exploring her, Shiya managed to grasp the nail and, in a desperate move, aimed it at Bhallaldeva's side. She hoped to wound him, to create a chance for herself, but her plan was thwarted.

Bhallaldeva's reflexes were swift. As soon as he felt the shift in her intentions, he caught her wrist with a firm grip, his eyes flashing with surprise and amusement. With a decisive movement, he disarmed her, taking the nail from her hand and tossing it aside. His expression turned from intense passion to a smirk that revealed his dominance over the situation.

"What do you think you're doing, my little bird?" Bhallaldeva's voice was low and laced with mockery, though it had a dangerous edge.

Shiya's eyes widened with frustration and fear. Her plan had failed, and now she was left vulnerable and exposed. Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her face flushed with desire and defeat.

"Why?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "Why do you want me? What could you possibly gain from this?"

Bhallaldeva's gaze was intense, filled with a mixture of fascination and control. He pulled her closer, his body pressing against hers with a possessive force. "I want you because you are here," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "Because you are mine to have and to break."

As he spoke, he captured her lips in another searing kiss, his hands roaming her with renewed fervour. Shiya's attempts to resist or escape were futile against his strength and determination. She could only surrender to the overwhelming sensations that engulfed her, her mind reeling from the realization that her escape had slipped through her fingers.

The night continued in a whirlwind of passion and power, with Bhallaldeva asserting his dominance over Shiya. The intensity of their encounter reached a crescendo, leaving Shiya both physically and emotionally spent. Her earlier resolve had been shattered, and she found herself enveloped in Bhallaldeva's embrace, her plans and resistance lost in the heat of the moment.

As dawn approached, Shiya lay in Bhallaldeva's arms, her body aching and her spirit subdued. The sharp nail that had been her last hope now lay forgotten, and she was left to face the reality of her situation. Bhallaldeva's dominance was complete, and Shiya had given herself entirely to him, both in body and in the complex, troubled emotions that followed.

As the night wore on, Bhallaldeva's relentless passion showed no sign of abating. His dominance over Shiya was absolute, and their encounter continued into the early morning hours, each moment a testament to his control and power. Shiya, though physically exhausted and emotionally drained, had no choice but to surrender completely to his will.

The first light of dawn began to seep through the heavy curtains of the chamber, casting a dim glow over the room. Shiya lay dishevelled on the bed, her strength sapped by the prolonged ordeal. Her body ached, and her spirit was subdued as the events of the night replayed in her mind, leaving her with a deep sense of resignation.

Bhallaldeva, still consumed by the power and pleasure of the night, was momentarily interrupted by the arrival of his warriors. The alert sounded through the palace, and his expression shifted from satisfaction to concern. The warriors burst into the chamber, their urgency evident.

"My King, the forces of Baahubali have breached the outer defences," one of the warriors announced breathlessly. "The battle has begun."

Bhallaldeva's eyes narrowed, his focus immediately shifting from his recent conquest to the impending conflict. He looked down at Shiya, curled up on the bed, her eyes filled with pain and defeat. A flicker of something—perhaps a trace of regret—crossed his face, but his steely resolve quickly masked it.

Without another word, he rose from the bed, his imposing figure casting a shadow over Shiya. "Stay here," he commanded, his voice cold and authoritative. "Do not move."

Shiya, too weak to argue, could only watch as Bhallaldeva dressed in battle armour, preparing for the now unavoidable fight. He moved with a commanding presence, and his every action reminded him of his power and authority.

As Bhallaldeva exited the chamber, the door closed behind him, leaving Shiya alone once more. The distant sounds of battle began to filter through the walls, the clash of weapons and the shouts of warriors signalling the commencement of the conflict.

Shiya remained in the chamber, her thoughts a tumultuous mix of fear, despair, and a faint glimmer of hope. The night had left her deeply affected, but now, as the battle raged outside, she found herself trapped between her suffering and the impending chaos.

***

As Bhallaldeva lay on the battlefield, a twisted smirk marred his once fierce and defiant demeanour. The cruel smile remained on his lips even as the life drained from his eyes. "You may have defeated me," he rasped, "but I’ve already done what I intended. Your victory comes with a cost."

Baahubali's eyes narrowed with concern and suspicion as he approached his fallen foe. Before he could question further, Bhallaldeva's body went limp, his last breath escaping with a final, chilling smile.

With Bhallaldeva's demise, Baahubali's thoughts immediately turned to finding Shiya. He raced through the palace, his heart pounding with urgency. Upon reaching her chamber, he found her standing by the window, staring out with an expression of profound desolation.

As Baahubali's hand gently touched her shoulder, Shiya's control shattered. She turned into him and buried her face against his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her sobs echoed the deep sorrow and relief she felt. Baahubali held her tightly, his own heart aching at the sight of her pain. Despite not being blood relatives, their bond was as strong as any sibling's.

Two month passes

After the chaos of the battle and the subsequent months of rebuilding the kingdom with justice and care, the day of Baahubali's coronation arrived. The grand ceremony marked the official transition of Mahismati into an era of renewal and hope. Baahubali stood proudly as the new king, fulfilling his father's vision for a just and prosperous rule.

Amidst the celebrations, Shiya watched her brother with pride and concern. As she observed Baahubali’s rise to power, a quiet fear lingered. She discreetly caressed her stomach, a subtle gesture that concealed a significant secret. The passion of that fateful night with Bhallaldeva had left her with more than just emotional scars; it had also left her pregnant.

The realization of this impending change weighed heavily on her. As the kingdom celebrated the dawn of a new era, Shiya faced an uncertain future of her own. Mahismati's legacy was poised to continue, and with the next generation, it seemed once again that the cousins of the great kingdom would have to fight for the throne.

THE END

Whew !!! I'm finally done with this series...and it's also my first time writing this much of explicit scenes...I hope I made it somewhat non cringe...thank you to everyone who read and liked it. I will see you guys with some other work very soon💜💜🙏

taglist: @mahi-wayy @ahamasmiyodhah @whippersnappersbookworm @harinishivaa @mayakimayahai

@jkdaddy01 @gloriouspurpose01 @whyishekinda @salaarfanindia

@aprofoundrickmaniac @toomanyfanficsbruh @willkatfanfromasia

[venusbby]

LOVE!! I SAW YOUR JHUMKA RIN DRABBLE AND OMG IM IN LOVE!! WE NEED MORE SOUTH ASAIN REP, PLEASE YOU’RE SO GOOD AT IT.

How about the blue lock boys seeing you in a saree or lengha for the first time?? Like all dolled up and shit ❤️‍🔥

➝ characters ♡ // itoshi sae, itoshi rin, mikage reo x desi!fem!reader (seperate ofc)

➝ warnings: kinda suggestive for sae's part (makeout session). rin makes reader sit on his lap, reo is a whole tease who's probably watched a bollywood movie and written some things down right before this happens.

note: THANKYOU SM for this 😕 this is actually kinda bad i think but idk ahdhsjndjd have it (cries) also im sorry if there's any typos im too tired to proofread it </3

ITOSHI SAE ｡⁠.ﾟ+ ?¿

he can't even comprehend it at first

lowkey going insane

extra touchy because wtf why are u so hot ? why do u look so good in every single traditional thing u wear ?

good lord. this man is whipped for you im sorry but he's going feral

standing in the living room while you're walking over to him in that red saree, the sound of your heels against the floor and the way your bangles shimmer around your wrists as you adjust your pleats, he feels his entire body almost lose its balance.

with the way your body moves with so much confidence in your traditional clothes, he doesn't understand why you're frowning with an anxious edge to your voice as you speak, his eyes fixed on your subtle pout. "is this too much? be honest."

too much? be honest?

sae was dying to be honest— to tell you just how much you're driving him crazy and it hasn't even been a minute since you came out of the bedroom, but it would lead to something that would make you miss your dinner with your friends and make your efforts to put on that beautiful saree go to waste because he was already dreaming of having himself completely stained with that same red on your lips.

"you look just fine."

really? just fine? you looked more than just fine. he wasn't fine.

your eyes still twinkle with that uncertainty and he slowly takes a step further until his slightly shaky hands can finally hold your hips. his eyes keep on darting from your eyes to your lips and it's making your cheeks flush with heat. "i just don't know, it's been so long since i wore a saree and—"

"stop. kiss me."

"what?"

he takes a deep breath. "kiss me, right now."

your lips curve into a shy smile then as you stare at him with that look. that look. your cherry red lips. he can't handle it anymore. his arm desperately reaches around you until he's pressed against your front with that same red all over his mouth as you share the heated kiss he'd wanted ever since he saw you minutes ago. he feels hot everywhere. this isn't good.

but it's so good.

he knows you're running late for your dinner— but he doesn't care. he doesn't want to care. his fingers trace circles over the soft skin of your waist, and he's not sure how to pick you up when you're in a saree so he settles on just gently pushing you against the closest wall as you stumble just a bit in your heels and let him kiss you with all that he has. the sound of your bangles rings right next to his ears as you tug at his hair and gasp at the way his fingers caress your bare sides.

"you look absolutely stunning," he whispers against your lips breathlessly when he stops kissing you. his forehead presses against yours, your thumb slowly reaching lower to rub the red shade away from his mouth as you breathe heavily and giggle— but it's of no use because he's going to kiss you again anyway. "and i want you all to myself right now. so call your friends and tell them to wait, yeah?"

ITOSHI RIN ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+ ?!

his brain short circuits tbh

he won't stop staring and drooling (internally)

please fix this boy with a kiss or two or maybe just tease him further who cares he's at your mercy now

"you never told me you had a saree."

"ah, i forgot about it too! do you remember my cousin who visited from home a few months ago?" you speak softly as you grab another safety pin from your little box and hold it casually between your teeth, adjusting the pallu over your shoulder so it's just right as you stare in the mirror. "she gifted me this."

you feel his eyes burn into your back as you attentively pin the layers of material over your shoulder so that your pallu stays in place throughout the night. you frown a bit, glancing back at where he's sitting on the edge of the bed. "are you okay?"

he blinks twice and notices he's been biting his lip the whole time. "yes."

you nod, humming as you continue to do some touch ups. it had been a while since you wore a saree, so its not too surprising that you're not used to handling it too well. it's why you've pinned the material at most places so you don't have to take care of it too much, thanks to the tips you remember from back home.

and just once you're finished, you finally turn around with a satisfied sigh, grinning as you give him a pose, your right hand resting on your waist as you let your pallu drape over your left arm. "i'm finally done. god, it's been such a long time since i wore a saree. does it look okay?"

he blinks again, mouth opening and closing as he tries to find the right word. his gaze doesn't shift away from you. the material of your light colored saree is quite transparent, he notices. he wishes instantly that he didn't notice because it makes him feel even more attracted to you— and it suddenly gets really difficult to keep his hands to himself. he clutches the sheets under him as you walk over.

beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, the word echoes in his mind.

but he can't say it for some reason. his face feels hotter when you come and stand in front of him, and it's so hard to tear his eyes away from your visible stomach but he still does it anyway, turquoise eyes staring up at you as you raise an eyebrow at him expectantly. it's not like it's a new thing to him to see your stomach— crop tops existed. but seeing you in something that plays a role in your culture, and seeing you look absolutely breathtaking in it almost makes your boyfriend melt.

"you look beautiful." he manages to speak, still too afraid to touch you as if this saree just made you so much more valuable. so much more delicate. so much more powerful too, because he doubts he can handle any more of your beauty if he keeps staring.

you chuckle at his state, before leaning down to kiss his forehead. it's when he takes the chance and pulls you down to sit sideways on his lap, face still a little flushed, but a glint of adoration in his eyes as he pecks your cheek in return softly, his hand snaking around from behind you completely, slipping under your pallu as his warm palm gently rests on your stomach, making butterflies erupt throughout you as you lean closer to him.

"baby, you know i have to go." you grin as you talk just above a whisper, index finger tracing his lips slowly. rin knew just the right way to tempt you.

"i know." he says, but his tone is enough to tell you he clearly doesn't care.

"rin." you say in a slightly stern tone. however, the smile on your face doesn't leave.

but after you say his name like that, he's kissing your lips already, tasting the sweet and expensive lipstick on you as he holds you flush against him. his other hand carefully pushes your loose strands of hair behind your ear as he slowly holds your chin right after, mumbling quietly in the middle of his gentle kiss, "five more minutes, pretty. you look too good like this for me to let you go so soon."

MIKAGE REO ｡⁠.ﾟ⁠+

he's gonna wife you up right there

gets you an expensive lehnga from india for your friend's desi wedding

how did he get a connection there? who fucking knows. all that matters is that his woman gets to look gorgeous in her traditional clothes

purposely making you cringe is his new favourite thing

"i knew that color would look good on you." he says as he opens the car door for you, a low whistle following as you step out carefully with your hand tight in his.

"i still can't believe this, reo." you shake your head as you start walking to the entrance of the restaurant, his hand now on your lower back as he quickly nods back at the driver and guides you forward— your lips twitching in a pathetic attempt to hold back a smile when you feel several eyes on you already.

"anything for you, i've told you this a hundred times, baby."

"yeah, but a lehnga? and this expensive?" you chuckle, looking at him as if he'd grown three heads as you both continue to walk. "where did that thought even come from?"

"your cousin once sent me a picture of you wearing one from a few years ago. i'm gonna be honest, you looked really sexy." he shrugs, earning a light slap to his shoulder as he starts to laugh. "and i thought, why not?"

you can't help but feel warmth rising up your cheeks, and you're so glad your cheeks aren't red. you look down as you walk, to make sure you aren't stepping on your long skirt as you hold it up just a little.

he notices that and the smirk on his face makes you feel too much at once.

"want me to carry you? like they do in—"

"baby, please don't." you shake your head as you laugh, walking faster once you see your friends standing right at the entrance of the big venue, leaving him behind in an attempt to hide your embarrassment and your flustered face.

but you don't make it that far and soon you feel his hand around your wrist. your eyes widen as you gasp and get pulled behind in one swift movement, your heavy outfit making you sway without balance and you instantly rest your other hand on his chest to make sure you don't crash into him when he pulls you in. he wraps his arm around your waist to keep you close, smiling innocently as you glare.

"i think this is where they start playing the lovey-dovey background music now. should we kiss?"

you can't stop yourself and you rest your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh loudly. "you're insane."

"insane for you." he winks, puckering his lips lightly as you continue to laugh from cringing so much. he was obviously playing around to tease you, and it was working.

however, you finally give in after a few moments as you press your lips on his in a sweet, chaste kiss— your face warm when reo's hand squeezes your side and his fingers trace over your curves ever so lightly, making goosebumps rise on your skin.

once you pull away, you notice he's more sincere now as he whispers softly, eyes not leaving yours. "you look amazing, y/n. from head to toe, everything about you tonight is even more breathtaking."

now that he's less playful, it means much more to you than it did before. "thank you." you whisper back, the gentle smile on your face changing into a smirk as you suddenly pull him closer by the collar of his suit so that he's resting his forehead against yours. his breath hitches just a bit when you look at him like that. your shimmering lehnga is mesmerizing enough— but your eyes have his knees going weak as he lets out a soft breath and his lips capture yours again.

your hands go up to his shoulders to squeeze as he now uses both of his arms to strongly hold you close to him and he tugs at your bottom lip gently. a few seconds pass and you hear your friends laugh from a distance, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you still continue the kiss but then it starts; the lovey-dovey background music from the inside of the open venue, which makes reo let out an amused huff of air as he picks you up and spins you around, keeping the kiss going until you're both breathless and dizzy.

[shaadiwish]

Richa Chadha And Ali Fazal’s Cocktail Was A Shimmery And Blingy Affair! Check Out The Latest Pictures And Details On ShaadiWish.

[shunrehihosumedha]

The Radiant Bengali Belle

By Sumedha Chatterjee

In the moonlights hush, where shadows play, avision emerges, a beauty to sway,

A Bengali girl, with hands and legs aglow, As if the setting sun had bestowed its final glow.

Her skin, a canvas, where red hues dances, a testament of the beauty of her native trance,

The red stains, a symbol of hers cultures pride, a tradition passed down, where love and beauty reside.

She drapes herself in white saree so fine, with a red border that whispers secrets of the goddess divine,

The fabric flows, like Ganges river's ferocious stream, as she moves, a vision, both silent and extreme.

Her wrists, a knot of colour and light, adorned with red bangles, that chuckles with delight,

Each one a tale, of love, of life, of dreams untold, a symphony of sound, as they softly unfold.

Mirrors, like waning moon that reflects her grace, dances upon her arms, with a reddish shimmering pace,

A thousand tiny lights, that sparkles and play, as she moves, a radiant, Bengali belle , in every way.

Her eyes, like dark pools, where mystery resides, shines brighter with a fire, that burns deep insides,

A passion, a love for life, for culture and for art, a heart that beats strong, with every Bengali heart.

In her, the essence of Bengal comes alive, a symphony of rich tradition, of love and of strife,

A beauty, so pure so strong, so divine, a Bengali girl is a treasure which is one of a kind

As the night deepens, and the stars appear, she shines like a beacon of love without a single fear,

A symbol of beauty, of culture, of grace, Bengali girl, a treasure, in a white saree, with a red embrace.

দি রেডিয়েন্ট বেঙ্গলি বেলে

সুমেধ চ্যাটার্জি দ্বারা

গোধূলির নিস্তব্ধতায়, যেখানে ছায়া খেলা করে, একটি দৃষ্টি আবির্ভূত হয়, একটি সৌন্দর্য দোলিত হয়,

এক বাঙালী মেয়ে, হাত-পা চটকাচ্ছে, যেন অস্তগামী সূর্য তার চূড়ান্ত আভা দিয়েছে।

তার ত্বক, একটি কাগজ, যেখানে লাল রঙগুলি নাচ করে,সেটি তার সৌন্দর্যের একটি প্রমাণ,

সিঁদুরের দাগ, তার সাংস্কৃতিক গর্বের প্রতীক, একটি ঐতিহ্য চলে গেছে, যেখানে প্রেম এবং সৌন্দর্য বাস করে।

সে নিজেকে সাদা কাপড়ে ঢেকে রাখে, একটি শাড়ি এত সুন্দর, একটি লাল সীমানা দিয়ে যা ফিসফিস করে গোপন গোপনীয়তা,

বস্ত্র বয়ে যায়, নদীর স্রোতের মতো, সে চলে যাওয়ার সাথে সাথে একটি দৃষ্টি, নির্মল এবং চরম উভয়ই।

তার কব্জি, রঙ এবং আলোর একটি ক্যালিডোস্কোপ, লাল চুড়িতে সজ্জিত, আনন্দে ঝলমল করে,

প্রত্যেকের একটি গল্প, ভালবাসার, জীবনের, অজানা স্বপ্নের, শব্দের একটি সিম্ফনি, যেমন তারা মৃদুভাবে উদ্ভাসিত হয়।

আয়না, ছোট চাঁদের মতো, যা তার অনুগ্রহ প্রতিফলিত করে, তার বাহুতে নাচ, একটি মন্ত্রমুগ্ধ, ঝিলমিল গতি,

এক হাজার ক্ষুদ্র আলো, যা ঝলমল করে এবং খেলা করে, সে চলাফেরা করে, এক দীপ্তিমান, বাঙালি মেয়ে , সর্বত্র।

তার চোখ, অন্ধকার পুলের মতো, যেখানে রহস্য থাকে,অগ্নিতে উজ্জ্বল হও, যা ভিতরে গভীরে জ্বলে,

একটি আবেগ, একটি ভালবাসা, জীবনের জন্য, সংস্কৃতির জন্য, শিল্পের জন্য, একটি হৃদয় যে শক্তিশালী স্পন্দিত, প্রতিটি বাঙালি হৃদয়ের সাথে।

তার মধ্যে বাংলার সারমর্ম জীবন্ত হয়, ঐতিহ্য, প্রেম, কলহের সমৃদ্ধ একটি রহস্য।

একটি সৌন্দর্য, এত বিশুদ্ধ, এত শক্তিশালী, এত ঐশ্বরিক, একটি বাঙালি মেয়ে, একটি ধন, এক ধরনের, মহৎ।

রাত গভীর হওয়ার সাথে সাথে তারা দেখা দেয়, সে জ্বলজ্বল করে, একটি বাতিঘর, একক ভয় ছাড়াই,

সৌন্দর্য, সংস্কৃতি, অনুগ্রহের প্রতীক, একটা বাঙালি মেয়ে, ধন, সাদা শাড়িতে, লাল আলিঙ্গনে।

[firapolemos05]

@augusnippets Path of Hurt

Day 28: mind control/body control/betrayal

CW: minor character death, false accusations, servitude, implied abuse, whumpee turned whumper, mental manipulation, brief mention of nausea

Word count: 651

Azhaga (he/him)

Amit Chettiar (he/him)

“What have you done?!”

The rage carried in that voice shook Azhaga to his bones. He sprung away from the bed. From the body.

“M-my Lord, I-” he tried to explain, but Lord Chettiar already advanced. He shoved Azhaga aside, pushing the servant to the floor, before collapsing to his knees.

As he gathered the body into his arms, Azhaga caught sight of the man's ring and his fears were confirmed. A gold band inlaid with three glowing garnets.

Well…make that two now.

One gemstone sat dark. Cold and dead like the son it was linked to.

“My son,” the lord sobbed, his voice breaking in a way Azhaga never heard before. He didn't dare move or open his mouth again, fear, dread, and bewilderment stilling his tongue.

How could he even begin to explain? One moment young Prakash had been sleeping soundly, no sign of the terrible nightmares that have been plaguing him recently, that got Azhaga tasked with watching over him during the night. The next moment he was not breathing anymore.

Lord Chettiar spoke with venom that could rival any cobra. “What. Did. You. Do?”

The only thing Azhaga could do was sit on his knees and press his forehead to the tiles. “My lord, I swear on my life, I did not do this. I don't know what happened.”

“Swear on your life, hmm?” the man repeated with a cold consideration.

“I promise! I don't know. He was fine not five minutes ago. He just… stopped breathing? I don't know. I didn't see anything. No scorpions, no spiders, no snakes, no-”

He yelped as a strong hand grabbed a fistful of his saree and pulled him up, hoisting him off the ground.

“No snakes except you, that is.”

His mother always told him that anger and grief often made people irrational.

“Please, my lord.”

“My son is dead, and you are the only other one here. You were supposed to protect him!”

Azhaga swallowed thickly, copper eyes darting between the rage in his master’s gaze and the lifeless stillness of Prakash's form. It was so wrong. Would Lord Chettiar have him killed? Would anyone stop him? His parents? Certainly they would come to their son's defense, right? Even if it meant risking the lord's anger?

“How can I believe anything you say?” Lord Chettiar asked, not truly looking for an answer.

Azhaga could feel his body pulsing with fear, but even more, he was just tired. “I didn't kill him, my lord. I don't know what did. I swear it! Please just listen!”

Tired of this life of walking on eggshells. Tired of being a convenient scapegoat.

He waited to be struck for such insolence. For daring to demand. But the arm holding him aloft lowered. Gone was the anger from Lord Chettiar's face, replaced with something blank and devoid of emotion. In his disbelief, Azhaga peered into his eyes. The whites surrounding dark brown marbled with branches of copper.

There was a crackle in the air, across his skin and tongue. A shimmering energy.

“What shall you have me do?” the man inquired, standing at attention.

Like a guard awaiting orders.

“I did not kill young master Prakash,” Azhaga spoke carefully, unsure of what this spell, for that was certainly what it was, invoked. His mind spun like one of his sister's toy tops. He didn't have time to ask questions.

“You did not kill Prakash.” No hesitation.

“Me and Vimala will search for the true killer. Please allow us to leave.”

“You are allowed to leave.”

Azhaga would not squander this opportunity. He had no intention of returning. No time to question the magic or what he'd turned into. He needed to leave. To get as far away from this estate as he possibly could. He exited the bedroom to rush to find his sister.

He had to stop at a privy to be sick.

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[rmsonscom]