#it was supposed to be ceremonial </3

[clericlost]

drinking wine out of a big ass mug rn having a joyce byers moment

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

Made some matcha focaccia via Archie Cartwright's recipe :) pretty sure I fucked up the focaccia part but damn if it doesn’t have a great matcha flavor (my favorite !!) <33

ignoring my possibly terrible baking when it comes to bread (tastes good tho) Go listen to Fawx & Stallion by @224bbaker and support their season 2 crowdfund! wonderful podcast and such a delight to listen to <3

[ameriel]

au week 7 | faye/quinn x princess/knight

[t-u-i-t-c]

Theft!? Skateboard!? I'm Kagero!

[ourflagmeansgayrights]

So when my aunt got married, even though I was like flower girl age, she made my older sister, the flower girl, and I was the “wedding smiler”… swede is like that.  He’s just there to put off of vibes and make people laugh.

wait im obsessed with this bc they so easily couldve just had you both be flower girls. me and my cousin were flower girls together at our uncle's wedding and we walked down the aisle together, but instead of that they made you the wedding jester. like were you in the wedding??? did you walk down the aisle?? did u go before or after the ring bearers.

[fayes-fics]

A Beneficial Arrangement

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), loss of virginity, vaginal sex. Bickering, developing relationship.

Word Count: 6.1 k

Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill from HERE (Anthony and a headstrong independent reader make an unconventional marriage pact). Sorry it's taken so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy! <3

It’s a dreary, rather ordinary Tuesday in spring when your life takes a turn.

“The Viscount is in want of a wife.” 

That statement is all you hear as you walk past the drawing room where your mother is taking tea with her good friend, the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.

“My eldest needs a husband,” your mother responds, offering you as if merely chattel; bile rises indignantly as she does so. “But I fear she is far too outspoken to be a suitable Viscountess.” 

You sigh in relief, ear pressed to the closed door now.

“Oh, believe me, nothing would be a better match for my darling Anthony than someone who will challenge him, stand up to him,” Violet peals a knowing laugh. “We should arrange a meeting.”

——

3 days later.

He assesses you with a cool eye as your gaze drifts briefly over to both of your mothers, watching expectantly from a nearby table in the tea shop.

“You should know I will only be taking a wife to fulfil my societal duty,” he sniffs airly. “However, I do not expect you to produce an heir. The title may pass to my younger brothers; they are more inclined to form romantic attachments than I. Their offspring can inherit this title; it feels like a curse anyhow,” he adds quieter, his tone mildly embittered.

“Well, on your attitude to marriage, I can wholeheartedly agree,” you state, stirring your tea primly. “I do not wish to be shackled. I wish to remain free. I shall marry, as there is no other path available to me, but I do not plan nor do I ever want to be someone's wife.” You utter the word with disdain as if it is toxic. 

His admittedly very handsome face transforms into one of surprise, a faint dot of colour on his cheeks as he peers at you as if assessing you in a new light.

“What?” You frown at him, his silent stare becoming too heavy to bear as his interest and engagement intensify.

“You are the first woman I have ever met who shares my outlook,” he confesses, seemingly caught off-guard. “It is so utterly refreshing… and, frankly, novel.” He pauses to pass his fingers slowly over his lips in a way that makes your stomach swoop, even if you refuse to acknowledge such even to yourself. “I do believe we should meet again to discuss this further,” he concludes.

And thus, you find yourself with the suit of one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, both of your mothers overjoyed at the prospect.

——

9 days later.

“If I must marry, you are the most tolerable woman I have met, I must concede,” he states nonchalantly as you meet to promenade. 

It’s quite an opening line for only your third meeting, even for someone as renownedly blunt as the Viscount.

“And a good afternoon to you too, Viscount Bridgerton,” you drawl pointedly with a raised eyebrow, subtly hinting how his greeting may have been lacking.

He chuckles, a flash of what looks like admiration in his dark eyes.

“As such,” he continues, “I would not be averse to a martial arrangement with you. An agreement, a pact if you will, based on our mutual understanding of what we both want from such an endeavour.”

The speed and pragmatism of his apparent proposal do not surprise you in the least. In fact, you are actually grateful for the lack of ceremony around it. If you must marry, you prefer it be swift.

“Did you mean what you said last week? In the tearoom?” You quiz as you begin to walk shoulder to shoulder through Hyde Park, the early summer air heavy with the scent of roses.

“Every word,” he replies solemnly.

“Then, I suppose this is a beneficial arrangement for me too,” you shrug as if agreeing about the weather, not the very course of your future. But there is something about this man that feels inevitable, fateful, but not in a way you dread. Also, his face is so very pleasing. If you must indeed marry, at least the view across the dinner table will be nice.

“Then it is decided,” he nods decisively, a brusque smile passing over his lips. “I so greatly appreciate your candidness with regard to this matter. It makes the whole business so much easier to deal with.”

He offers a hand to shake, and you take it, bemused, shaking on the deal, pretending this mere touch doesn't make every butterfly in your stomach roar to life.

“I shall make the arrangements swiftly,” he states, again with a short smile and nod.

You are married within three weeks.

——

6 weeks later.

‘‘What on earth is this?” he practically spits as he rounds the corner of Bridgerton House onto the back lawn.

“What does it look like?” you sass, tearing the netted visor from your face.

“It looks an awful lot like my wife is fencing,” his reply dripping with conceited judgement.

“Well, I’m glad to know you do not need glasses, husband,” you respond dryly, nodding to accept the excuses of the butler you were sparring with, who suddenly seems very keen to scurry away now the Viscount has arrived.

“Perkins, do not think this has gone unnoticed,” Anthony calls pointedly after the retreating man.

“Leave him alone!” you bark, taking your husband aback with your ferocity, him turning to you and almost gaping in surprise. “Perkins must do my bidding as lady of the house, and I told him to fence with me,” you elucidate, keen that the innocent party not suffer any consequences for your decision. 

“Women do not fence,” he sniffs, changing the subject somewhat.

“This one does,” you riposte, spearing your epee tip into the grass to remove the suede gloves.

“It is unbecoming of a Viscountess,” he adds almost haughtily.

“Good thing such matters hold no truck with me,” you shrug, knowing you are likely provoking him. 

To hell with what is appropriate for a titled lady. The title, and all of its stifling rules and expectations, is the very last reason you married the man standing before you. No, the reason is far, far more simultaneously complex and simple than that. He excites you—in ways you don't even want to admit to yourself.

It’s not something you would divulge to anyone, but arguing with your new husband has become your new favourite pastime. On the rare occasions you see him, that is. Since your wedding day, you have mostly been ships passing at the dinner table; otherwise, your lives have been very separate. At night, his rooms are at the other end of the long hallway from yours, and his days are apparently filled with business obligations. While the utter freedom to fill your days as you wish has been a blessing, it’s also been perhaps a touch lonely.

When you do see Anthony, you invariably end up clashing about something. And, well, it’s often the highlight of your week. A thrill zipping down your spine as you do so. The only person you have met who can keep up with your verbal sparring. It makes you excited, breathless, dizzy, a fizz low in your belly that feels entirely beguiling. Today is no different; you feel that same sensation as he stares at you, arms crossed, exasperated.

“Well, if you insist upon this rebellious pastime,’ he sighs after a few beats, snatching your epee, “the least you can do is improve your grip,” he grouses, rolling his eyes.

You startle as he crowds into your back, a warm hand wrapping around yours as he passes you the blade and demonstrates a different way to wield it that you concede feels better. The spike of victory in your bloodstream from winning the argument morphs into something entirely different as he stands behind you, his breath tickling your ear and the tendrils of your hair as he provides instruction. 

You try to take the details on board, but your thoughts scatter with his overwhelming proximity. How have you never noticed the stirring amber notes of his cologne before? Or how very broad his chest is compared to his slim hips? Perhaps because this is the closest you have ever been, his body heat seeping into your spine, your heart fluttering hard against your ribs. You can’t decide if this effect your husband can have on you is the best or the worst thing. Somehow, it feels like both.

——

1 month later.

You are both relieved to avoid most of the season on the pretence of being on honeymoon, but inevitably, the time comes when you must debut as a married couple. Speculation about you growing ever since Lady Whistledown breathlessly reported your nuptials, a nearly unknown minor Ton member rapidly snaring the most eligible of perenially eligible bachelors.

So when you enter your first ball as Viscountess Bridgerton, all eyes are upon you. You feel mildly uncomfortable bedecked in jewels and a heavy silk dress, but know refinement is of importance at events such as these. You just cannot wait to get home and get out of them. This will never be your preferred milieu, a sentiment you apparently share with your husband—underneath his calm, unruffled exterior, you sense his dampened disquiet.

“Smile politely, nod in acknowledgement, but don't engage for any longer than necessary,” he counsels under his breath as an inevitable hush falls over the room when your arrival is announced. You are grateful for his steadfast support, his arm looped reassuringly through yours as you follow his advice, knowing he has navigated these waters much more than you have needed to. “The best thing to do is seem frightfully ordinary,” he explains quietly as you complete a circuit of the room. “They are ravenous for gossip; if none is to be had, their preoccupation will swiftly wane.”

Indeed, the initial excitement about your appearance soon dies down as other, perhaps more flamboyant, guests arrive. People approach expressing surprise about your union, but once he economically explains you just knew you were right for each other, they often quickly move on, seeming almost disappointed at the lack of apparent scandal.

As the evening progresses, you school your tongue at some of the barbs you overhear, more out of a wish to be left alone rather than any adherence to social rules. Most of the things that appear to preoccupy the Ton you have little patience for. As Anthony spends some time with business acquaintances, you eventually find yourself in the company of the female members of his family, whom you are quickly becoming very fond of with every passing day in their company. Particularly his benevolent mother and headstrong sister, Eloise. In fact, the latter is the primary witness to the flare of your true nature, fatigue overriding your ability to remain silent.

Cressida Cowper is being particularly venomous about a mutual acquaintance. Eloise is quick with her witty tongue in reply, and you cannot stop yourself from piling on your scorn as well.

“Perhaps if the braiding of your hair were less painful, it would allow you greater empathy,” you retort before you can stop yourself.

Eloise’s responding guffaw sprays lemonade all over Cressida, whose shocked mien is the last thing you see before she turns heel to attend to her ruined dress in private.

“That was sensational!” Eloise wheezes in awe as she blots the remnants of her beverage from her chin.

You sigh.

“It was unwise,” you correct, knowing you have probably just made an enemy of one of the worst gossips of the Ton.

“It was wholly accurate and justified,” a cool, authoritative voice cuts in, and you look up to find your husband before you, a rapt glint in his eye that makes your lungs feel tight. It appears he may have also been witness to the moment.

Eloise’s eyes briefly ping-pong between the two of you, and then she loops an arm into the crook of Anthony’s as you continue to gaze at each other, cataloguing something new about each other that you mutually admire.

“I like her,” Eloise nods at you. “Excellent choice of wife, brother,” she grins.

It breaks the spell between you but seems to further ingratiate you with at least one member of his family. And that makes you feel light as air in a way you don't fully understand.

——

2 months later.

Funnily enough, it’s another random Tuesday when your life takes a complete turn. Yet again, you find yourself in another heated debate with your husband of barely twelve weeks. This time while sojourning at your country estate, Aubrey Hall.

“Must you?” Anthony gripes, standing up from his desk and rounding towards where you stand.

“Must I what? Speak my mind?” you bite back, hands on your hips.

“Be so damn argumentative,” he expounds, hands also on hips, chest heaving a little, “urghh, you are so aggravating!”

“Same!” You shoot back. “I have never met a man quite as disagreeable as you,” you add, not realising as you argue that you have taken steps closer and are now huffing irritated breaths close to each other's faces.

“Why did you agree to marry me then?” he snarls, his gaze suddenly fixated on your bottom lip, unbeknownst to you, it’s glistening and swollen from biting in irritation at his demeanour.

“Right now, I have no earthly idea,” you volley in return, but your pounding heart gives away the real reason. No one makes you feel quite as alive as Anthony, even when he is driving you up the wall, like right now. “Why did you agree to marry me, seeing as I am so very ‘aggravating’?” you spit, parroting the word back at him.

His stare blisters as he draws himself to full height right before you.

“We made a pact,” he huffs, “this is duty, nothing more.” 

But the way he breathes and holds himself speaks to something else. A war in his body and mind. The maelstrom in his eyes belying his words… and then it hits you. So singular it knocks the wind from your lungs. This is desire. He wants you. In all the ways a man can want a woman. 

And damn it all to hell if you don’t feel precisely the same.

“For me as well,” your tart, mendacious reply is bitter on your tongue.

The tension in the air is taut like a cord, ready to snap. You both toe to toe, noses almost touching, laboured breaths as you stare each other down like some game to see who will capitulate first. 

“I do believe we are at an impasse… wife,” the last word dripping with disdain, but he is leaning closer than he ever has, his lips fractional inches from yours.

“It would appear so…,” you concur, “…husband,” you roll the last word slowly, lingering on the end of the first syllable as if it is both a treat and a bitter pill on your tongue.

“I have been raised a gentleman,” he hisses, “but there are times that you test my resolve.”

“I do nothing of the sort!” you decry, knowing you are lying even to yourself now. Somedays lately, you live to simply push his buttons, just to see what he will do. “And resolve of what? To not be a good husband? Because I can tell you, forthright, you are doing a wonderful job of being a terrible husband,” you goad, knowing you are poking the proverbial beast now.

“I give you a wonderful home to run as you please, I give you the freedom to pursue whatever pastimes you wish, I let you speak your mind. As Viscountess, the world is yours. What else could you possibly want in a husband? I do not ask you to do things, wifely things, that I could,” he warns, his voice buzzing low. “I could demand you submit to my will; it is my right,” he growls.

A flame behind your ribs catches fire, even as your eyes flash indignant.

“You do not wish for that sort of wife; you told me as much yourself.” It’s a heated whisper, much breathier than you mean it to be.

“A man can change his mind,” he gravels, “same as a woman can change hers if she wishes.”

“What made you change your mind?” 

He fixes you with a hypnotic, weighted stare.

“You.”

The way that one word drips from his lips tilts your whole existence. It’s so loaded you don’t know what to say. Unmoored, your system awash with chemicals, your mind flooding with images of sketches you have seen of men and women together. Of what the marital act can entail. It’s something you believed would not ever be a part of your marriage, your life, even, but now…. 

Now your handsome husband is staring at you, ragged breaths, face wild, telling you he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants that sort of marriage, that sort of union. Something gallops hard in your chest as he steps away, as if wrongly intuiting you are about to turn down his suit, and something bubbles up from deep inside you.

“Do not dare,” you growl.

His mouth falls open in shock.

“Do not tease me so and leave me wanting,” you continue with a boldness and timbre you barely recognise as your own. “‘Tis crueller to build false hope than to take what you want,” you sniff and stare him down, so wholly decisive in your intentions and desires. If this is the nudge he needs, you’ll give it.

“You want me to exercise my conjugal rights?” he falters, appearing utterly stunned.

You don’t answer; just do one thing, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. You close the last few inches and press your lips to his. 

They are soft and plush against yours, making your insides warm and glowing. Then, Anthony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. So ferociously, you squeak into his mouth as he opens your lips and slides his tongue over yours, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace so you are enveloped by his warm body.

Good lord.

You feel like you are drowning in him as he grabs your jaw, directing the kiss, turning it into something wholly other. Your lips move endlessly together as you both greedily take from the other for what seems like ages. When you pull apart, you are both heaving breaths and staring at each other, almost confused.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” you snarl, wanting to rip every item of clothing from your body and his.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds airily.

And then you crash into each other again. Drinking desperately from each other's mouths, powerless to resist whatever flame draws you together. 

He walks you backwards as your tongues tangle, and you startle slightly as your bottom hits his imposing desk. Hands loop around your thighs, and he hoists you into the surface, never breaking the intoxicating kiss.

He tries to step between your legs, but your column dress is too tight to allow it. You attempt to wiggle the hem upwards as you kiss, then, with a frustrated grunt, he bats your hands away and, using a strength that shocks you, rips the silk material asunder from the hem to your hip.

“I loved this dress!” you decry over his lips, unwilling to admit you’d destroy every single dress you own if he just kept kissing you like this.

“I’ll buy you another,” he dismisses, pushing your thighs wide with his hands. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.” 

“You had better,” you challenge, scarcely able to believe you even have the wherewithal to debate with him, especially as this is the first time a man has ever touched your bare leg.

He pulls back from the kiss to stare intently into your eyes as his fingertips trace from your kneecap up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You don’t mean to, but you tremble, having never been touched this way before. You gasp as his palm cups the apex of your thighs, his hand feeling so warm through the thin silk protecting your modesty, his fingers swirling circles over your patch of hair as the heel of his palm presses against your slit.

“I can feel your heat,” he hisses.

You can barely process what is happening, your body rioting as he touches and teases you, staring you down. Instinctively, you reach for the tiny buttons at your hip, but your hands fall away as he flicks his middle finger downwards and catches a nub that makes your body buck.

“Anthony,” it falls from your lips unbidden with a halting breath. It may well be the first time you have uttered his first name in his presence.

He groans at the sound. “Please, always say my name like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.

So you repeat it, the same intonation, even as that finger drags slowly up and down over the swollen pearl between your legs, undone by how good it feels.

“Are you chaste?” he inquires; it’s not judgemental in tone, just pure curiosity, his ministrations lighter.

“Yes,” you admit quietly, “but I do know of the marital act”, you add, wanting him to know you are not entirely innocent.

“Hmm,” he hums, looking at once thoughtful and blistering, his finger moving more insistently again, “I am glad to hear it. Then you shall not be entirely shocked by what is about to happen?”

“So… we are to undertake it? The act?” you stutter, his finger making you feel so good you have to bite your lip.

But he doesn’t answer your question directly. 

“Wife, how attached are you to these undergarments?” his tone almost idle, cocking his head to the side as his gaze lingers over them.

You shrug practically. “I have many exactly the same.”

Then, you gasp loudly as the sound of silk tearing fills the room. You are quaking as the warm air of his study swirls around your exposed, damp slit. He shocks you by dropping to his knees before you. Pushing your thighs wide on his desk and looking up at you with burningly intense eyes, he presses his face to your flesh, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in your pubic hair before his tongue peeks out and nudges the swollen nub he was teasing through the silk. 

Your mouth drops open, and something inhuman escapes your lungs. Then he does it again, this time enclosing the whole area between his lips and sucking hard on your flesh, tongue curling and ploughing into your folds. The heat, the suction, the muscular swipe of his tongue feels so good your mind blanks out, a tremor in your splayed thighs that he holds forcibly open with warm hands. He keeps doing so for a few moments as your fingernails curl hard into the edge of his desk, scarcely able to do anything but writhe and gently moan. IIdly you think upon all of your curious research, never once had you heard of or read about a man doing as he is now, placing his head between his wife’s thighs and sniffing, drinking from her body.

“You are plenty ready for me, wife,” he huffs, his warm breath tickling your responsive folds, little ripples of pleasure deep inside scattering your thoughts. “Are you averse to me taking you right here?” he waves a hand nonchalantly at his large, imposing carved wooden desk.

“I… I rather thought su-such things could only ha-happen in a bed,” you confess stiltedly, a quiver in your voice.

He smirks up from between your thighs, turning his head to kiss the fragile skin there. “Oh, no, wife. We can fuck anywhere we please…” he pauses and looks sincere, “however, should you prefer a bed…”

“Here is fine,” you rush out, so very keen to have your husband make a woman of you. As if leaving this room may break the spell you are under. Location be damned. You just want to know him. He smirks again, placing a final quick kiss on your flesh, looking very pleased at your response.

“I wholeheartedly concur,” he rumbles as he hoists himself back up to stand, stepping inwards to rock his clothed pelvis against your pulsing nub. There is something hot and swollen in his trousers now, and you realise this must be his member. 

“Show it to me,” you enthuse, nodding at the insistent bulge.

“So very impatient all of a sudden, wife,” he scolds with a bemused chuckle, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand over the bump. It feels so hot and steely even through the fabric. “Unbutton me,” he orders casually, pointing to the fastening at his hip. 

Exuberantly, you undo them quickly, keen to see if his member matches the sketches you have viewed. As the front of his trousers falls away, he quickly pushes down his white underwear. There, nestled in a thatch of dark hair at the base, is your husband's cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. It seems more considerable than the drawings you have seen, and you are temporarily taken aback by how red and almost angry it looks at the tip.

“Go ahead, touch it,” Anthony encourages, and with a slight tremble in your fingers, you reach forward and make contact with him.

“Oh!” you exclaim without thought, “it’s so soft, your skin, and so hot!” 

He chuckles warmly at your assessment. “Indeed,” he huffs as you wrap your hand instinctively around it, feeling its weight and mass in your palm.

“This will not fit inside me, surely?” you blurt out.

“It will, I promise,” his tone mellow, tinged with understanding even as his breath staccatos when you start to move your hand, the instinct to rub inexplicable, but seemingly precisely what he wants. “Yes, perfect,” he rasps, eyes closing and tongue peaking out to lick his lips.

The odd mix of total honesty and soft appreciation between you as you acquaint yourselves with each other's bodies seems very apt, as if this is the only way such a development would ever transpire. And you realise, as you cradle his most intimate parts, that you trust this man with your very being. Despite your bickering, there is a thread of mutual respect under it that makes you feel safe, seen, and known in a way that no other person has.

“Take me now, husband,” you rattle through your teeth, watching a bead of something sticky form at the tip of his cock as you squeeze him in hypnotic, repetitive motions. The sight makes something in your body turn to fiery liquid, wanting him and that substance inside yourself in a way that doesn't make logical sense. 

He growls at your words, grabbing your hand away from his cock and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the back of your knuckles as your eyes lock, a chaste, almost romantic interlude.

But then his hands grab your hips and haul you almost roughly to the very edge of the desk, your torn dress framing your splayed thighs, his trousers around his ankles as he takes his cock in hand and rubs the tip over your folds of flesh in a way that makes you moan under your breath.

“Are you certain?” he checks, even as he pants anticipatorily.

“God, yes,” you confirm, craving him in a way you have never felt about anything before. An urgent hook tugging deep inside your loins, calling to him like a siren song.

“Watch,” he murmurs darkly, his other hand rounding the back of your neck so your gaze is tilted down to where his cock nudges your opening.

So you do, as does he. Stare down to where your body meet, hissing loudly as his tip slips inside your soaked channel. Your eyes want to roll back at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, but equally, it's such an enthralling sight that you can’t look away.

He moans loudly, lewdly, decadently as he pushes further into your heat, pausing to readjust your legs wider and tilt your pelvis more open.

“This next part may hurt, darling,” he whispers quietly, the first time he has ever used such an affectionate term for you, making your heart race. 

“It's alright,” you reassure mutely in return, “I have heard as such.”

The hand around the back of your neck slides gently until he tilts your chin up to meet his tender gaze.

“You are quite the woman,” he says, almost reverential, as he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet, soft kiss. 

The movement propels his cock deeper into your body, and you cry out into his open mouth at a stab of sharp pain inside. 

“That's it done,” he mutters reassuringly into your lips as you whimper gently. 

He stills as you adjust to the girth, the heat, and feeling so very filled.

“More…” falls from your mouth spontaneously, the want rising, hungry for a need to be met, a thirst slaked, unlike anything you have experienced.

The smile that breaks out over his face makes your nipples pebble hard in your stays, and he slides deeper as you cling to him, exhaling unevenly as he keeps sinking further into your pussy, pushing you open. Just when you think you cannot take more, he stops, and you feel his body pressing wholly against yours.

You stare at each other, eyes wild and wide, unable to form words but knowing instinctually how good this feels for both of you. He looks untamed, something urgent rippling in his being. And without breaking the gaze, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock is inside you, then ploughs back in, in one determined, decisive stroke.

You don't stop the decadent noise that escapes your lungs, your toes curling into the soles of your feet at how wonderful and all-encompassing that feels. Same as you don't miss the victorious smirk on his face at your reaction.

Then it’s a hungry blur of movement as your hands grab his biceps through his clothing, clinging on for dear life as he proceeds to move just like that first thrust. Over and over. Building in pace and with increasing intensity, him sensing your need for such things.

“Anthony…” his name spills over your lips again, and the impact on him is nothing short of extraordinary.

His hands clamp vicelike to your hips, branding heatedly over your skin through your dress, straining the tendons of your inner thighs as he pushes your legs open impossibly wide, his pelvis crashing into yours in a way you are certain may leave bruises. And what shocks you most is just how much you want it. Want him to leave signs of his presence, want to look in the mirror and see the outline of his digits in the globes of your bottom.

He moans your name, hot and desperate, into your ear, his pace never wavering, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead that you can't look away from when he pulls back to tilt your heads together.

“I want to see,” you stumble out, pantingly, as he takes you harder.

“See what?” he sounds almost winded, his thrusts still spearing his cock into your body.

“See you entering me,” you huff into his cheek.

His responding noise is feral and has every inch of your body alight. He bows his spine outward so your bodies only touch where you are joined, and his hand feels heated and heavy on the back of your neck as you tilt your chin down to take in the sight.

His cock, rigid and huge, ploughing repeatedly into your body, shining with a slick substance you can only assume is from within you, the sight making you shudder, but not with anything approaching disgust. It’s something primal. A need to chase a conclusion, the power of the vivid tableau burned into your retinas.

“Don't stop, please don't stop,” you petition, looking back up to his face, your hands sliding up and down his torso now, raking urgent fingernails over his clothing.

He swears, and his lips are back on yours, searing and demanding. This feels like a frantic wave you are riding together, a trickle of moisture running down your spine as you start to push your hips forward as much as you can, meeting his thrusts halfway.

“You are fucking perfect,” he snarls over your tongue, and you couldn't agree more.

Time seems elastic as he lowers you so your back rests on the piles of no doubt important paperwork, not that he pays it any mind, him hunched over you, pulling your hips out over the edge now, the range of motion it allows him making you gasp. He is taking you without mercy now, breath hot on your throat as he moans your name, his hand squirrelling between your bodies and making your vision dance with dots as he passes a slightly calloused tip over your clit.

“Come for me,” he breathes, the request both hopeful and commanding.

“What does that mean?” your question puffed into his lush hairline.

“Oh my darling, just you wait,” his voice dripping with promise even as your skin feels like it wants to vibrate off your very bones as his fingers and cock take you somewhere you never envision. An ecstasy both outside but rooted deep in your being.

He murmurs encouragingly as you struggle for air, your lungs burning, scarcely remembering to breathe, skating some kind of precipice that feels dangerous and addictive. Then, with a flick of his thumb and a gentle bite of your earlobe, you fall into an abyss. Everything all at once quiet and loud, eyes screwed shut as colours burst behind them, and every fibre of your being seems to snap and break, rearranging in a mind-shattering way. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock that now seems impossibly large.

Then, with a deep booming cry, you feel him lance deeper than ever, his whole body tensing and jerking. A warmth spreads inside, and you vaguely realise he is reaching completion, spilling his seed inside you. For what seems like ages, your mind and body float somewhere, utterly sated, suddenly understanding why this act can be so all-consuming and there is so much written of it.

When your mind returns to the room, you are panting into each other's necks, both breathlessly stunned at how animalistic your first intimacy was. Somehow, your antagonistic chemistry transmuting into an explosive, consuming passion.

“We are going to bed right now,” his tone wrecked, rough, so damn irresistible you want to bite his flesh, even while you still recover from what transpired. Fires stoked again just by those seven words.

He pulls up his trousers haphazardly, picks you up bridal-style, and sweeps you out of his office and up the grand staircase, ignoring the shocked looks of staff at your torn dress and his roughly pulled clothing. 

“We are not to be disturbed,” he barks at his valet, who blanches and leaves the room as Anthony practically throws you onto his imposing four-poster bed. Then, as you lay there, he strips naked before you, and you want to nuzzle every inch of his toned, magnificent body. 

___

It’s three days before you reemerge from what is now your joint bedroom. From that day on, you are never without your husband for more than two days; such is your magnetic need for each other. And when your belly swells with the first of your many children, he confesses his ardent, undying love for you, you returning the sentiment instantly, having felt the same for what seems like forever. 

A hurried, naive pact between two proud, independent souls becoming something wholly other—a loving, passionate marriage of equals. You still squabble with unerring frequency, but now it ends in lovemaking, the intensity sweeping you both into an ephemeral bliss.

A beneficial arrangement indeed.

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor

[othercrossee]

School spirit au time

[ssweetleaf]

rosemary.

pairing— eddie munson x fem!reader

w/c— 2.2k

♡ summary— you and eddie have just got married, and seeing you in your pretty dress, all pure and innocent, he can’t quite wait until after the after party to get his hands on you.

♡ includes— SMUT 18+, corruption kink, semi public sex, mentions of eddie getting a boner in a church lol, unprotected p in v, (please wear protection!!) hand over mouth muffling, slight breeding kink, shitty ending!!!!!!

a/n— based off this lovely ask by @televisionboy pleasepleaseplease let me know what you think!! <3

˖ ࣪⭑

The ceremony was over, rings slid over knuckles and vows spoken, sealing it all with what was supposed to be a pretty kiss, turned a little crude— with Eddie dipping you back, fingertips tracing along your spine whilst his lips worked against yours, all sloppy and full of tongue and spit.

But it was your day. Your’s and Eddie’s— Mr and Mrs Munson, it was kind of odd once you said it out loud, barely twenty-three and already hitched, but you were in love and still extremely touchy. That much was evident once his gaze had flitted to you when walking down the isle— satin dress all tight and short, neckline low enough so the weight of your tits filled out the space, jiggling with each coordinated step and a pretty veil surrounding your shoulders, littered with sparkles and rhinestones, glistening in the light that filtered through the stained glass.

Shit. He was already hard by the time you had stood beside him, joining hands at the altar and he had to subtly adjust the crotch of his slacks— in a mere second the holy space had turned quite hellish, though how could anyone blame him when you looked like that. So pretty.

His wife.

So, the reception began— a free bar and sabbath crackling through the shitty speakers, and it didn’t take long for your guests to become— with lack of a better word— wasted.

And they wouldn’t notice the two of you gone for a little while…right?

˖ ࣪⭑

“Shit, sweetheart, been hard since we said our vows—” he groaned, palms heavy on your hips and kneading at the fatty parts, letting them slip, down, down and squeezing at the soft globes of your ass— prominent from underneath the tight satin. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

You beamed up at him, lazy smile and hooded eyes, a little inebriated by too much champagne and his kisses— hands smushed against his cheeks and continuously pecking, one, two, three, sucking his bottom lip between your teeth and lathering your tongue against it.

“Can’t believe you had a boner in front of the vicar, Ed.” You stifled a laugh, cheeks warming and you heard his chest rumble, pushing you further against the bathroom counter and urging you to jump up, helping you slide your ass against the cool marble, back pressing snug against the mirror while you started for the crimson silk of his tie.

You marvelled at him, the same as you had many times that night, cooing and batting your lids at how handsome he looked, all dressed up.

“So pretty, Eds—” your lips curved, tugging at the knot between his collar and easing it from his neck, haphazardly pushing the buttons through the holes while he sucked on the delicate skin of your neck, heavy with your perfume and slick with your sweat, he inhaled it deeply. “Can’t believe you’re all mine.”

Eddie tugged at your hair, tilting your chin and roaming at the new amount of skin revealed— the calluses on his palms were rough on your chest while they smoothed over the swell of your tits, carefully pushing away the flimsy straps that held your dress up and pulling the cups down, the weight of your tits heavy and spilling free, nipples hardening even with the stuffy atmosphere and he felt like drooling at the sight.

“My wife.” He spoke, simple and syrupy— eyes all gooey and soft, leaning forward to stop your ministrations to nuzzle the curve of his nose against yours. Sweet and not a care in the world in the moment, as if you weren’t having a quickie in the women’s restroom clad in your wedding attire. “when we get to the hotel room, I’m totally gonna love on you properly— candles and all that shit.”

But for now, he thought, he was gonna ruin you— taint the innocence of your dress and pretty veil, leave you impure and drooling, begging to serve like a good wife does.

His cock was swelling uncomfortably, pressing tight against his slacks, almost busting the zipper and he took a hold of your throat, squeezing at the sides, feeling the pre-cum start to drip once that look he knew so well dripped along your features then settled— dumbified and longing, honeyed irises turning glassy, lips all pouty and puffy.

All for him to corrupt. His pretty little bride.

“There she is.” Eddie cooed, pushing the skirt of your dress upwards, grabbing a fistful and tucking it underneath your bra— keeping it there so there wasn’t any interruptions between him and your pretty pussy.

The fabric was crinkling, and if you weren’t so inebriated from his existence, you would’ve berated him for it.

But you were in far too deep.

“You been thinkin’ about this too, haven’t you, sweetheart?” He mocked, tugging at the silk that covered your cunt, snapping the elastic crudely against your tummy, fingers dipping in, only for them to dip back out again. “Saw you watchin’ me, baby— looked like a little bitch in heat, clenchin’ your thighs and everything.”

Your cheeks flushed, heat travelling down your neck and right to your core, leaving your clit pulsing and restless, eager for EddieEddieEddie.

You nodded, big pout much akin to your big eyes, staring up at him and fiddling with his open shirt.

“Couldn’t help it, Eds,” you whined, head spinning from the constant pressing underneath the elastic. “You’re gonna be mine forever— gets me so worked up.”

He grinned, finally pulling your panties down your thighs and shoving them into his back pocket.

“My husband.” You hummed, cunt clenching at the mere sound on your tongue. Fuck, you loved the way it sounded.

“Aw shucks, honey, you really are tryna make me blush, hm?”

And he was, cherry blush smeared along his cheeks and down his neck, you could see it littering his collar bones and flickering down the span of his chest— black button up open and flowing at his sides.

Eddie took his first look at your pretty pussy, different now you were married, much more beautiful and it made his mouth water— so puffy and glistening with your slick, so wet you were dripping onto the counter beneath you, and he marvelled at the way you clenched around nothing.

“Shit, sweetheart, I need to be inside you,” he rushed out, pulling at his slacks and you helped him with his briefs, wet spot apparent and seam almost splitting at how tight they had become. “Promise I’ll eat this pussy later— treat you real nicely, like a little princess, hm?”

His cock was out, thick and long, looming over your pussy while he held it there, before smacking the head against your clit.

“That okay, baby? Gonna let me use you for a bit before I’m all sweet on you?”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, whining at his choice of words and the way his mushroomed tip nudged at your clit, pre-cum spreading along your slit and folds and making you even stickier than before.

“Yeah— need it s’bad.” You gurgled, tongue practically lolling out the side of your mouth and fingers clutching at his forearms, leaving crescent moons in their wake. “Want you to use me, Ed— use your wife.”

He groaned at your filthy mouth, though it wasn’t anywhere near as filthy as his and held the base of his cock, easing the head to your entrance and slipping slowly inside.

Your slick made it easy, slipping right in with barely any resistance, though the squeeze of your walls when you clenched around him had his knees starting to buckle.

“F-fuck, sweet girl—” he whined, bottoming out to the hilt, balls heavy against your ass and cock so full inside you, stretching you out and splitting you in two. “Look like a fuckin’ angel.”

You did, practically glowing, or maybe that was the sweat… or the champagne, though whatever it was, you looked beautiful— pure and sweet, pouting up and him, almost begging to be corrupted and dirtied. The thought made you pulse, made him twitch.

You were already babbling expletives, dirty words dripping from your tongue like honey, all while your lids started to grow heavier and heavier.

“Supposed to be my good little wife, honey—” he managed, groan rumbling in his chest and palms pawing at your tits. “You sure have got a filthy mouth.”

He had the audacity to smirk, balls deep inside, trying not to thrust too hard otherwise he’d cum too soon— though he still thought it was fitting to smirk.

You clenched around him. Hard. Wanting so badly to give him a taste of his own medicine and give him a little cocky smirk back, though with the way he pounded and the way his pretty tip nudged at your g-spot, you weren’t quite sure you could.

“Oh, pretty baby’s all fucked out.” He cooed with faux concern, mocking the pout that stayed put on you lips and he quickly leaned down to press a kiss to them. “Wanna say I’ll go easy on you, sweetheart, but you know I couldn’t do that.”

One quick peck, another, and another— one, two, three, before he slipped his tongue inside, swiping it along your molars and flicking it against your own appendage, heavy with spit, and laced with his throaty moans, going nicely with your pretty whines.

Eddie couldn’t deny the way your noises affected him, hardening him further if that was even possible and leaving his thrusts to get harder— however the two of you had to be somewhat quiet, and though the thought of getting walked in on at any moment was quite electrifying, you didn’t really want any of your family getting an eyeful of the two of you fucking like little bunnies in season.

He’d have to find a way to shut you up one way or another.

So, he pressed his palm heavily over your mouth, muffling your cries to a dull vibration against the lines of his hand— his new ring glistening in the light, showing the both of you how real it was that the two of you were married. In sickness and in health.

“Should’ve put my cock down your throat,” he sighed, trying to suppress his own crude noises with a bite to his bottom lip. “Would’a made you all quiet then, wouldn’t it, dirty girl.”

You were whining still, fluttering your lids when your moans were stifled, finding purchase in grabbing at his chest and clawing at his pecs, easing a groan in return, which you would’ve shushed if it wasn’t for your occupied mouth.

His other hand smoothed over your thigh, kneading at the thickness before travelling upwards, grabbing a handful of tit and squeezing it, thumb and forefinger pinching at your nipple and watching it grow impossibly harder at the cruel action.

Your eyes started to roll back, your nails began to claw deeper.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he cooed, “jus’ wanna let everyone know how good you’re feeling, don’t you?”

You nodded as best you could in the hazy state you were in, thick with fog and eyes lined with tears, now streaming down your cheeks, and you were certain your pretty makeup had turned into a muddy mess— mascara streaks and all that.

“Yeah, that’s right, but you gotta be quiet, baby— gotta be good and make me proud.”

You were close, and he could feel it— hugely familiar with the way your orgasm grew, the way you clenched much harder than normal, pussy pulsing and clit thumping along with your heart, creaming his cock completely and you hadn’t even slipped over the edge yet.

He was close too, stuttering breaths and shortened thrusts, a little sloppy, though still just as delicious, you could feel him twitch inside you, hot and heavy, so ready to burst.

“You ready to cum, baby? Can feel you clenchin’ real hard.” His fringe stuck to his forehead, slick with sweat and you brought a hand up to push it out of the way, a few wisps getting caught in his vision. “Such a dirty girl— does bathroom sex really do it for you?”

Bastard.

“Shit— gonna cum too—” he squeezed his eyes closed, bracing his free hand on the counter and clutching at the edge with tightened fingers. “you ready for my cum, honey? Ready to have my babies? We’ve waited this long, sweet girl, might as well start now.”

You whined and cried out, wanting so badly to scream, though his palm kept that from you.

“Yeah, I know you want it.” He cooed, “make me a real daddy.”

It was in unison when you came— thick ropes of cum painting your inner walls, filling you up and spreading warmth throughout, while you pulsed and spasmed, creaming his cock and dripping all over the bathroom tiles, drool slipping from your mouth and along his hand, escaping the confines and sliding down your neck and pooling at your heaving chest.

So messy.

You felt sated— both of you did, glowing and completely spent, cuddling up to each other as close as you could even in the awkward position.

Until there was a knock.

“Excuse me, is there anyone in there?”

[cupid-styles]

omg hockey player harry spotting ballerina yn practicing late after hours and sees her land a jump wrong or almost pass out (forgot to eat enough + exhaustion maybe) and harry is all worried and helps her out, maybe drives her home and takes care of her

HEHEHEHEHEH I LOVE THIS

word count: 2.5k

content warnings: none! y/n gets a lil injury but just some good ol' hurt comfort

hockey!h x ballerina!yn masterlist

main masterlist

patreon

. . .

From: Harry S👿

Do you need a ride home again?

Y/N knows it's a gross habit, but she can't help nibbling on her thumbnail as she reads over Harry's text again. And then again. And then a fourth, and maybe a fifth time.

She doesn't know where he gets off. He gave her a ride home once last week because she was too nervous to walk home in the inches of snow they were getting, and she happened to run into him as hockey practice was ending. Of course hockey-goalie-superstar-Harry has a car. Of course he does, and now he thinks that this is a regular thing that they do — her riding in his passenger's seat as he tinkers with the music, driving no faster than 10 miles per hour on the roads that weren't cleared yet.

Because today it's snowing again. Badly. And Y/N couldn't miss practice, not with the spring showcase (which is laughable, really, because it should be called the shitty mid-winter showcase, but she digresses) coming up quicker than she even realizes. She has a four minute solo piece she needs to perfect before the show happens in three weeks, so she trekked her sorry ass to campus, even if none of her peers showed up (including her instructor).

But she's tired, and she's been here for hours — since 7:30 am on the dot, and it's nearing 3 pm now — and she doesn't want any more of the snacks she prepared for herself and she just wants to go home, where she can soak in a warm bath, put an eye mask on, and dull the throbbing pain that's currently radiating through each and every leg muscle. She wants to lay in her cozy bed, read one of those stupid smut books Lea got her hooked on, and go to sleep for a very, very long time.

So, she takes Harry up on his offer.

Not because she wants to be stuck in the confides of his car with him, where she feels like she's being suffocated by his warm, musky fragrance. Ever since then, every time she passes by someone on campus wearing the same scent (she's not sure if it's a cologne or body wash or what), but she immediately does a double-take, feeling like a dog that's been trained to recognize the smell of its owner. It's ridiculous and stupid and she grumbles to herself about it.

To: Harry S👿

yes please. im in the auditorium today tho, not the dance studio

From: Harry S👿

Oh. That would explain why all the lights are off and no one's in there. I thought maybe you were doing some weird meditation or voodoo thing to kill me.

To: Harry S👿

like a sacrificial ceremony?

From: Harry S👿

Yeah. You WOULD know what that is.

Y/N snorts to herself before taking a swig from her water bottle. Sitting down, she takes a moment to stretch out the achy arches of her feet. She hinges at her hips and slowly creeps her arms outwards to give her lower back some healthy, much-needed relief. Her eyes flutter closed, enjoying the slight release, until she hears the doors squeak open. Quickly, she sits up to see Harry traipsing down the long aisle.

As usual, he's freshly showered and has changed from his hockey practice clothes. For some reason, she finds herself slightly disappointed that he's wearing a beanie and she can't see his hair.

"You ready to go?" he asks, tossing his duffel bag into one of the seats in the front row.

"No. Can I just run through this one more time?"

He nods, but pulls his phone from the front center pocket of his sweatshirt, "Yeah, but it's supposed to get worse soon and I don't want to be stranded here all night."

Y/N hides a shudder as she stands from her seat on the stage. Her pointe shoes are disgusting from the amount of wear they've been getting lately, and she mentally groans at the thought of having to switch out to another pair sometime soon.

"Um..." Y/N places her hands on her hips and faces Harry, who's now sitting in the front row. "You can't be here."

"Sorry?"

She huffs. "You can't watch me. Go outside."

"...Why?"

"Because it's not ready yet," she explains hurriedly. She tries to avoid the confused, slightly amused expression on his face, but she can't help it when her gaze settles on the dimple in his cheek. "So, like, leave. Please."

"Y/N. People watch out hockey practice all the time."

"Hockey is different. Ballet is meant to be perfect. And it's not perfect yet, so you need to go."

"It's practice for a reason. Didn't anyone ever teach you that?"

"No. That's not an option in ballet."

"What is this for, anyway?"

She sighs in frustration and tugs at the hem of her wrap skirt. She feels a bit uncomfortable being the sole focus of his attention, especially when she's up on the stage beneath the studio lights.

"The spring showcase is in three weeks and I have a solo, hence the whole perfection thing."

"Where's your... coach, then?"

"Not a coach, an instructor," Y/N corrects, "And she didn't want to come in today because of the snow. Haven't you ever practiced on your own before?"

"Yeah, of course," Harry nods. "You must be really good if you have a solo."

"Don't change the subject. The sooner you leave, the sooner we can get out of here."

"Just do it, Y/N. My body fuckin' aches from my own practice and I don't want to go back up those stairs. I'll look at my phone the whole time if it makes you feel better."

Again, she lets out a loud sigh but doesn't fight him on it. She walks the length of the stage to grab her phone and restart her music. Before she presses 'play', she stares at him with narrowed eyes.

"Eyes on the phone. Don't even think about looking up here."

He snorts before nodding his head, making a show of opening the Instagram app and dramatically scrolling through it. With a roll of her eyes, she plays the only song she's been listening to for the past few weeks, and gets in her place.

She'll admit, she knows she can get a bit obsessive about memorizing a dance. She aims for perfection each and every time, even if she knows it's unattainable to expect that from herself especially as she's learning it. But with every run she does, her confidence slowly grows — she's nailing the fouettés and en pointes she struggled with a week ago, and she feels herself melting into the music, allowing her body to move perfectly in time with the steps she's learned like her life depends on it.

And then... she croaks.

During the grand adage, she loses her balance, her flexibility falters, and before she realizes it's happening, she's on the floor with a thrumming ankle, pain shooting out from the joint. She gasps loudly and tears immediately begin to flood her line of vision. The song continues on, making her feel sad and pathetic, but especially when Harry appears in her sight, a worried expression on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asks. She quickly tries to sniffle the tears away and nods wordlessly. "No, you're not."

He grabs her phone and pauses the music and her chest somewhat relaxes. He's back over in a moment, gently helping her stretch out her leg without moving her ankle.

"Do you have an injury here? Do I need to call the school medic?"

"Do not call the medic," she mutters through clenched teeth, "Yes, I have an ankle injury. It gets worse with the weather."

"So you already know what I'm about to say then."

She nods but she doesn't want to hear it, because she doesn't want to be kicked while she's down. It's what everyone does — you shouldn't be pushing yourself so hard with an injury, you should know better, don't you care about your craft? She's heard it from her parents, instructors, random medical staff a thousand times over.

And somehow, maybe Harry knows, because he leaves it at that. And she's grateful when she's not on the receiving end of a lecture.

"What do you need?" he asks softly. It's the gentlest she's ever heard him speak, and it makes her swallow tightly. "Ice? Do you have sports wrap?"

"I'm fine. Can you just pack my shit up so we can go?"

Harry stares at her like she's grown a second head. "You can't walk on this right now."

She shrugs.

"We have crutches and all that in the locker room, but you'll bust your ass in the snow," he thinks aloud. She sniffles again, this time involuntarily. "You're gonna hate this."

She knows what he's implying, so she's already shaking her head.

"Y/N, it's the only way you're getting out of here safely."

"I would quite literally rather be trapped in this stupid auditorium all night."

He rolls his eyes. "You're being dramatic."

She shrugs. He treks on with his grand idea.

"I'm gonna go outside and bring my car around. And then, I'm gonna carry you out of here, and it's gonna be humiliating, but it'll be safe and we'll never speak about it again. Do you need me to bring you to urgent care or do you have supplies at home?"

Y/N knows he's right. He knows he's right, otherwise he wouldn't be so insistent on it. But the pain is continual, a pulsating, aching, throbbing that will 100% prevent her from walking, and she just. Wants. To Go. Home.

"I have shit at home," she finally mumbles, sitting up slightly to fix her mussed bun. "Crutches, wrap, pain relief balm."

"Okay, good." Harry's form deflates a bit, almost as if he's relieved she's decided to stop fighting him. "Let's get your things together and then I'll help you out to the front. You can wait there while I bring my car in front."

Admittedly, she's basically dead weight as he hurries around the stage, collecting her things. He stuffs them all in her bag and brings it over to her. Noticing a pair of sweats in her tote, he glances down at her expectedly.

"Do you want these?"

She sighs. It's a sad, defeated sound, and Harry really feels bad for her in the moment.

"We'll never talk about it again," he reminds her. She nods and she unwraps her skirt from her waist, folding it neatly beside her. Harry helps shimmy the sweatpants up her tight-clad legs, carefully minding her ankle and the leg warmers around them. It's a vulnerable position for both of them to be in — they've never been this close before, not with his large palms moving up her muscular legs, even if it's anything but sexual.

When they're ready to go, he instructs her to just stay seated, move her bum to the side of the stage, and he'll do the rest. She supposes she's impressed by his strength when he easily lifts her into his arms, her pink tote bag on one shoulder and his Adidas duffle bag on the other. She wants to roll her eyes when she feels his muscles flex beneath her as they silently exit the auditorium, but she knows he's going above and beyond for her right now. Instead, she shows her small bit of protest by simply crossing her arms over her chest. It makes him smile, but she doesn't notice it.

He gently lowers her to a bench inside and close to the door. He takes their things and wraps his puffer jacket just a bit closer to his form as he mumbles out to stay here, making quick work to head out to the parking lot. She wants to ask him where she could possibly go, but she guesses that if she could walk, she definitely would.

In the meantime, Y/N texts her group chat with her friends to let her know that fell on her ankle, but she's fine. It's embarrassing to admit that Harry of all people is taking care of her and making sure she gets home safely, and their responses make her blush.

do u think he could lift u over his head like in dirty dancing

abs?

are u guys gonna........

does he smell good?

Harry returns when she's typing out a reply to her friends, telling them to keep it in their pants. They go through the routine again and this time it's just a tinge less embarrassing now that they've done it once. As soon as he helps her into the car — which, she's grateful that he's already pumping the heat — she lets out a loud exhale, cutting it off as soon as he winds around the front and gets in the driver's seat.

"You feel okay?" he asks as he shifts gears into drive.

She nods, doing her best to swallow her pride. "Yeah. Thank you."

"Of course," he shrugs as if it's the easiest thing he's done all day. "Are you good to deal with this when you get home?"

"Mhm. Ice, wrap it, keep it elevated."

"Stay off of it and take some ibuprofen, too."

"I know."

"Good," he praises. The drive home is slow and quiet and Y/N keeps the side of her head pressed against the cool window. She wants to fall asleep, and she probably would if she didn't live so close by.

When his car slowly begins to come to a stop outside of her apartment, she feels it — an all-consuming need to blurt out her affection and gratitude to him, even if she's been attempting to suppress it for weeks.

"I would do this for you too." she spews out, her eyes widening in surprise. Harry's eyebrows furrow as he undoes his seatbelt, then hers.

"What?"

"I would do this for you too," she repeats, keeping her eyes set on the snow falling in front of them. "I mean, I wouldn't be able to carry you, but I would do this for you if you needed it. I would drive you home and make sure you were okay. I just want you to know that I'm thankful for this. And I know I'm grumpy with you a lot of the time, but I wouldn't sacrifice you or do some voodoo stuff. I... I like having you around. You're very nice."

She can't force herself to turn and look at him, but she can feel his gaze set on the side of her face. Even worse, from her peripheral vision, she can see the grin growing, like he's in the Grinch.

"Thank you for saying that," he says, and it sounds like he actually means it. "I'm glad you wouldn't sacrifice me, because I like being around you."

"Okay." Y/N nods curtly, as if they've just made some type of business proposition.

It makes Harry laugh. "Okay."

[redundantz]

Ancient Loz AU Story

10,000 years before the events of BOTW the Princess of Hyrule and the Hero who wields the sword that seals the Darkness first fought off the Calamity. With the help of the Sheikah, Guardians, Champions and the Divine Beasts. However, the hero and her best friend; the Prince of the Gerudo, were now missing. The only one to return from the fight was the Princess… Bloodied and bruised. She emerged from the castle alone. No longer the energetic, and free spirited person she used to be. Now, she is filled with a sole dedication to her Kingdom. But cold, and filled with deep sorrow. She orders the Sheikah to create shrines to train the next hero.They prepare the towers, store the Guardians under the castle till they are needed. Research started on the slate where it can be used for building infrastructure and even battle. Anything to help prepare for another Calamity.

The Gerudo Prince wasn't seen again and the heroes identity was forgotten But, the Royal blood of Hylia lives on….

Link is from a traveling caravan. His family has blood from the ancient Zonai tribe. He travels with a decent size troupe along with his sister, father and grandmother.

He meets Zelda during a festival where he was entering an archery contest in castletown. Zelda, who was disguised as Sheik, was also entering. She beat him at the contest(barely), but was extremely bothered by how good he was.

The festival goes on for about 3 days and at the end there is the sword ceremony where all the people coming of age(18) can attempt to pull the sword. She was presiding over it and witnessed him pull the sword and his whole life change. Not long after they meet officially and Link is appointed as her Knight; She introduces him to Ganondorf, her best friend from childhood.

And the chaos and comrade-ere ensues~

Over 3 years they travel, train, fall in love and wait for the day when the evil is supposed to show itself. With no sign of the great evil, they start to relax a bit. But that is when it strikes. Ganon travelling by himself at this time. Explores a cave in the Gerudo desert and encounters something ominous. Whispers in the dark speak to him and his fears and wants and his distaste for the King of Hyrule…. The voice is familiar, much too familiar, and before he can fight back it consumes him. When he awakes he is alone. He isn't instantly ‘evil’ but over time it twists his thoughts and actions. His closest friends and mother grow concerned. He becomes harsher and radical. Cruel. During a secret meeting with the King, Ganon assassinates him. Zelda happens upon Ganon covered in blood. She thinks he's hurt and is concerned by his behavior the past year. He snaps. He tells her every dark thing he has been thinking, and that he killed her father. In shock, and devastated, she can’t move as Ganon is about to strike her. But Link manages to get to her in time because the master sword was glowing, something he has never seen before but an instinct so old took over him. He races to escape with her. Ganon takes over the castle. But only as a steward because the King and the Princess are nowhere to be found. No one is the wiser to his malevolent plots. Yet. He knows she has to act fast since Zelda and Link escaped.

Zelda and Link make it all the way to Kakariko Village and Impa and they are all Informed that the Calamity is upon them. No one can believe it is their Ganondorf who is doing this but it is undeniable. They grieve, but they must act fast. With the help of the Sheikah they gather the guardians, monks and send word to the Races and Champions to prepare for battle. Zelda listens as Link hums an old Zonai Lullaby his mother used to sing to him. And it makes her remember something she read about. A story about there being an ancient Zonai device below the castle that would help defeat the Demon King.

Impa knows the tunnels She can help them sneak in. So they prepare to infiltrate the castle.

Under the castle they find the Zonai Artifacts that were left behind for sealing the great evil.

Ganon's followers saw them enter however and informed him. Knowing this is his chance he stops all pretenses and releases his power. Unleashing a mob of monsters and a cloud of malace into the castle and across Hyrule. But the Champions and Shekah are prepared to meet them.

Looking around for any clue. Trying to think of anything they read or that Link heard from his family that could be used to turn on the sealing jewelry. They don’t know how to activate it, but Ganon is going to be upon them soon as they had to fight through hordes of monsters beforehand.

Out of the dark behind them he emerges.

Zelda and Link manage to avoid the surprise attack. They both go on the defensive. They fight and try to reason with him. They can’t believe this is their friend, their lover. The fight is tough, because they all know each other's moves after training together for years along with the emotional turmoil. Zelda tells Link he needs to figure out how to activate the artifact if they are to succeed. She will hold him off. But by this point they are both exhausted.

Ganon manages to cut Link, spraying blood over the floor and the statue. Link falls to the floor and Ganon towers over him ready to strike him down, but Zelda blasts him away. Ganon turns his attention to her. Annoyed with her meddling and manages to land a blow on her also. Cutting the tip of her right ear off.

The statue lights up from the blood. The blood of a zonai. That  was another part of the Lullaby from Links family Zelda realizes. The Jewelry glows and expands before flying off the wrists of the statue to Link. He is surrounded by a green glowing light that blasts Ganon and Zelda back. The bands constrict around his arms and legs disintegrating the clothing underneath. He screams. Zelda watches on in horror as Link transforms before her. His skin is turning black and his bones and skin stretch until he is 6 ft tall. What did she get him into? This was supposed to help them what was happening… She is living in a nightmare. What else will she have to give up. She cries as she looks at him, feeling his pain and fear. His hair band she had given him falls from his hair. Rolling across the floor towards her. “..Zelda….” He says 

She picks up the hair band and goes to him! But he is not really responding. He is restrained and struggling within himself. His head is filled with the spirits of the Zonai he knows what he must do…he knows this is the last time he will see Zelda and Ganon. To seal the Demon King he must sacrifice himself. He says the last part of the Lullaby to Zelda and she knows. This is it. She kisses him. Though a bit strange now that he's so tall and his lips are cold. Ganon is getting up across the cavern from them, laughing. He mocks them and their weak attempts at thwarting him. One last clash. Zelda manages to get his weapon from him and Link plunges his arm into Ganons chest activating the sealing power. Glowing green. They both freeze in place and all is quiet. Entombed under the castle. The malice and monsters disappear. Zelda cautiously goes up to them. She doesn't touch them lest she break the spell somehow. The only thing she does is grab the hair bangle that fell to the floor in the final fight. It was the one from Ganon’s hair. And she left for the surface.

Alone.

Thanks for Reading! <3

[kkami-writes]

waiting for us — chapter fifty one. the wedding cw. smut!, semi-public sex (bathroom), piv, protected sex (shout out to condoms) wc. 1,965 + 4 ss a/n: THIS IS UNEDITED. I FINALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS MY GOD. I'm so sorry this took forever...that's my bad <3 hopefully the motivation keeps rolling and i'll finally finish this fic.

The ceremony had been perfect, something right out of the pages of a fairy tale. The venue had been small since they had kept it to close family and friends but it still had been breathtaking. Minghao had made you his best “man” and there was no place you’d rather be than next to your best friend on the most important day of his life. (and if you cried while they were reciting their vows, you’d never tell. Though Minghao had taken plenty of pictures of you ugly crying to store in his blackmail folder.)

It was probably inappropriate to daydream during a wedding, but Jeongin couldn’t help himself. You were standing up there, looking absolutely breathtaking, it was hardly his fault that his mind had wondered what you would look like, dressed in all white at their own wedding.

If he was honest, he never expected to get married. Well, he supposed that’s wrong. While he does in fact plan on getting married eventually to all his soulmates, before you had come into the picture that had agreed that a ceremony between eight people would be a little hectic. He didn’t need some grand ceremony to show his love but for now, he could dream of seeing you in a wedding dress for now.

The reception is just as gorgeous as the actual wedding, with lavish decorations and a crystal chandelier.

Currently you were being dragged from table to table, both Minghao and Jun introducing you to people like you were their child. (though Minghao would argue that him and Jun were indeed your dads).

From across the room you can feel a pair of eyes on you, practically burning a hole into your flesh from his heated gaze. Jeongin was sat at your assigned table, a drink forgotten in front of him while he stared you down. His gaze is enough to set you aflame, cheeks reddened from how intense his eyes felt against you, not so subtly running along your body. The boy was practically eye fucking you from across the room, not a shameful bone in his body. It was quite distracting as you tried to introduce yourself to Jun’s grandmother.

The two of you make eye contact and it’s impossible to look away, his deep chocolate eyes captivating you. Jeongin’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, your eyes following the movement and the cheeky fucker smirks, knowing he’s caught you in his web. With a subtle nod towards the bathrooms, he gets up, suddenly paying you no mind before striding in the direction he directed you to. It leaves you a little mystified, blinking and frozen in place. You clear your throat, turning to Jun with a small smile.

“Excuse me Junnie,” You mumble before escaping the male’s grasp, but he lets you go easily enough, too caught up in a different conversation.

As you make your way towards the bathrooms there’s a sense of heat that starts to fill your lower belly, a wave on anticipation for whatever Jeongin has up his sleeve. It fills you with excitement, hands practically shaking as you open the door.

The bathrooms are one of those fancy single ones, lights dim and fancy expensive soap. You don’t have time to admire the decore as Jeongin pins you back against the door, the tell tale click of the door being locked. He doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to yours, practically devouring you. It’s all teeth and tongue, groaning into your mouth desperately. The sound goes straight to your pussy.

Jeongin presses against you, already hard in his slacks, hips rutting up against you.

“Fuck. Do you even know how good you look?” His voice is raspy and deep, sounding already so gone. You can’t help but giggle, rather enjoying the effect you have on the boy.

“Mm, I have no idea,” You singsong. “Maybe you should tell me,” Your words illicit another groan from the boy before he’s picking you up and carrying you over to the counter and setting you down there. Perhaps the way he had lifted you up like it was nothing turned you on further, it would seem your baby bread has been accompaning his hyungs to the gym more often.

Jeongin runs his hands up until they’re splayed across your thighs, easy access thanks to the slit in your dress. His lips are on yours again, this time much softer, taking his time to savor your taste. Meanwhile his hands grope and squish at the soft flesh of your thighs, fingers running up until they hook under the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to your ankles.

You let out a gasp as his long fingers make contact with your wet core and Jeongin takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your awaiting mouth. You’re completely at his mercy, deft fingers circling your clit and his tongue stealing your breath away.

“So wet,” His voice is deep, slightly gruff as he nips at your now swollen tiers. “Eager are we?” The cocky tone makes you want to roll your eyes at him, but they’re rolling to the back of your head anyway as he easily slides a digit into your core, a whine falling from your lips. “Look so good like this for me,”

You can vaguely hear the sound of the music that’s blasting in the venue, the walls of the bathroom muting it but even then, the sound of your slick echoes lewdly in your ear and it heats your body up.

Jeongin is so content like this, watching you fall apart on the counter, soft moans filtering from your lips as he’s lazily thrusts his fingers into you. As much as he would love to take his time with you, his cock is starting to ache, still trapped in the confines of his slacks.

“Can I fuck you baby?” He asks against your ear, pressing soft kisses to your earlobe and trailing them down your neck. You nod your head, probably a little too eagerly but there’s pretty much nothing on your mind besides Jeongin’s cock splitting you in half. But then you remember something important and it makes you whine.

“Innie…you don’t have a condom do you?”

The question makes him freeze and if he wasn’t literally two fingers deep in your cunt you would have laughed at his bewildered facial expression. But then suddenly he’s pulling out of you, a whimper leaving your lips at the loss of his fingers filling you up. Jeongin is frantically patting at his slacks, as if searching for something, leaving you slightly baffled at the sight. Finally he pulls his wallet out and from it, produces a singular condom.

“Seungminnie hyung said I should keep one in my wallet just in case…never really thought anything about it. I’m gonna kiss that man later,” His words make you snort, shaking your head at how silly he is. But if you were honest, you’d probably kiss Seungmin later for the same reason.

The two of you don’t waste anymore time, remembering you are in a public space, at your best friends wedding for goodness sake. In your defense, your brain is no longer working, especially when Jeongin is bending you over the (very nice) counter, moving the skirt of your dress aside and slipping your panties down your legs.

You arch your back just slightly, legs spreading to give the boy a peak at your glistening folds and Jeongin swears he could probably cum in his pants. He’s quick to slide the condom over his almost painful erection, coming close to press his chest to your back, trailing kisses along your shoulder. He ruts his cock against your soaked core before positioning in front of your entrance. With how aroused you are, it’s an easily glide in, just a slight stretch that feels all too good.

Jeongin lets out a borderline pornographic moan when he bottoms out, your wet warm heat squeezing his cock feels heavenly and he already knows he’s not gonna last very long. He shudders against your body as he holds you tightly, large hands splayed across your torso.

“Fuck- You feel so fucking good,” He groans, needing just a second to calm himself down before he blows his load already. You can barely register his words, not faring any better. The sensation of being so full, of having your soulmates cock buried inside your heat is a feeling you don’t think you’ll ever get used to.

The two of you simply relish in the moment for a second and while maybe Jeongin might have jumped the gun on your first time together, he promises that the next time he’ll take his time to savor you. For now he just wants to feel you coming apart on his cock.

He moves his hips rather expertly, rocking into you with strong thrusts and you feel yourself further melting into the cool counter, the drag of Jeongin’s cock against your gummy walls feels too fucking good. Any and all thoughts are leaving your head, the only thing you care about is the heady pleasure that builds steadily in the pit of your stomach.

Jeongin is pressed flush against your back, sucking marks into your skin and whispering sweet dirty words into your ear and you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your peak.

“Such a good girl, hm? Taking my cock so well. You feel so good baby…I’m not gonna last long,” He nips at the back of your ear and you nod your head in agreement.

“Innie! I-Innie…” You’re mumbling his name over and over like a chant, your walls clenching around his length sporatically. “I’m so close…gonna, gonna cum,” You gasp out, the rubber band threatening to snap each time the tip of his cock hits that spot deep inside of you. He brings a finger to your clit, rubbing the swollen button in circles.

“Go ahead baby, cum all over my cock,” He says with a grunt, thrusts somehow getting even harsher and the sound of skin slapping reverberates against the walls.

It doesn’t take much longer before you’re gushing around his cock, coming with a whimper. Jeongin does his best to fuck you through your orgasm but with the way your walls clench around him has him spilling into the condom not too far after you. Both of you need a moment to catch your breath, slowly coming down from the euphoria of such an act. Jeongin seems to collect himself before you, not even noticing him pulling out. You only finally come out of your haze when you feel something damp against your skin.

Jeongin is cleaning you up, even if he didn’t cum inside, you can still feel your own release against your thighs. Slowly, he also helps you pull your panties back up before picking you up to settle you on the counter. He fusses over you, smoothing your hair down and fixing your dress and your heart flutters in your chest at how attentive the younger boy is after having just dicked you down. You giggle before wrapping your arms around him, pulling him into a sweet kiss, one that he happily melts into.

When you two pull away, he’s giving you that bright fox-like smile, dimples practically blinding you as he helps you off the counter.

“C’mon baby. Let’s go dance and hope that your friends didn’t notice your disappearance,” You snort.

“Even if they didn’t, I think the hickies speak for themselves,” Jeongin has the gall to blush, his tongue running along his teeth.

“Sorry, not sorry,”

“You are such a brat,”

“Guilty!”

You roll your eyes, spanking him before moving towards the door.

“Let’s go dance baby bread,”

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[starkwlkr]

Hi can you write a verstappen reader x charles where they're dating in secret but max founds out and he gets mad, you can work out the story, maybe a lot of angst but a happy ending, I love your writing.

friends don’t kiss friends | charles leclerc

btw max and charles hate each other in this so i apologize in advance for all the lestappen fans <3

Max would kill Charles. No, he was going to kill Charles. It was an exaggeration, but it would probably come true.

Y/n Verstappen knew her true feelings. She knew what she wanted and what she wanted more than anything in the world was to be with Charles. He was caring, loving, the perfect man in her eyes. But Max would never allow his older sister to be with him.

So they saw each other in secret.

Max had almost caught the couple once. He had stopped by his sister’s apartment in Monaco and saw Charles’ Ferrari parked outside. When he knocked on the door, Charles opened it thinking it was the food they had ordered.

“Y/n, it’s your brother.” Charles called out to his girlfriend. “Excuse me mate, go to go.”

“Leaving so soon?” Max asked.

“Yeah, I’ve got a family lunch tomorrow. Good to see you.” Charles said coldly.

Y/n appeared, having changed from Charles’ shirt to one of her own. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.” Y/n said to Max, who was busy glaring at Charles.

“I didn’t think I’d have to. You’re my sister.” Max replied. “I was just about to ask Charles here why he could come over but I can’t.”

Charles’ heart started beating faster. What was he supposed to say? Confess to their secret relationship? ‘Hey, by the way, I’m having sex with your sister!’

“I asked him to.” Y/n spoke. “He mentioned he wanted to make something for his family lunch tomorrow so I told him he could borrow my book where I keep all my recipes.”

“Then where’s the book?” Max asked.

Y/n then brought out a book she had been hiding behind her back. She then handed it to Charles. “He was just leaving, Max.”

Charles grabbed the book. “Thank you.” Was all he said before he walked to his Ferrari. Once inside, he watched Max start to argue with Y/n. He started feeling guilty knowing he was the cause of it.

He wanted to be able to kiss Y/n in public, hold her hand, take her on dates. He was sure Y/n wanted that too, but if she ever revealed that she was dating her brother’s rival, the name Verstappen would no longer belong to her.

After that day, Charles was more careful when he visited Y/n. Instead of taking his Ferrari, he would order an Uber to her apartment. Sometimes he would spend the night because Y/n convinced him to. (And also because those were the nights Max wasn’t in Monaco so they didn’t have to worry about him coming over)

Y/n was happy with Charles. He treated her with respect, she did the same to him. Their love was real, something Max would have trouble understanding.

When Max finally found out, he refused to talk to his sister. It was during the inaugural Miami Grand Prix. Y/n had watched her brother win the race while her brother came in second. It was a good weekend so far. When the podium ceremony came, instead of wearing hats, they were given football helmets. Y/n laughed at Charles, who found her in the crowd of people and winked at her.

After the ceremony, she made her way to the Red Bull Garage. She wanted no more than to celebrate both Charles and Max, but that would never happen. When Max found her, he grabbed her forcefully by the arm and dragged her to his driver’s room, ignoring her insults she had thrown at him.

“You fucker! You’re hurting my arm!” Y/n punched Max’s shoulder, trying to get him to let her go. Finally, they reached the room where Max had let her go and closed the door behind them. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“How long has this been happening?” Max asked.

Y/n saw the look in Max’s eyes. He was furious. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said.

“Don’t act dumb. How long have you been sleeping with him? Days? Weeks?” Max threw his 1st place football helmet to the ground.

“It’s my life. You don’t get to control who I see!” Y/n tried to leave, but Max held her back. “Let me go!”

“Why are you doing this to me? Why him?” Max asked. He felt betrayed.

“I’m not doing anything to you. He loves me.” Y/n defended the love of her life.

“Does he?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I know him. I know how he is, how he thinks and he’s the worst.” Max went on.

“Well I know him too and I know he would never hurt me. But you are. You’re my brother, Max.” Y/n felt a tear go down her cheek.

Max shook his head. “You’re not my sister.”

Those words hit Y/n hard. Why wouldn’t they? Max was always there for her, cared for her, loved her. That day, Y/n and Max stopped talking.

When Charles found Y/n, she was a crying mess. She had explained everything to him.

“He hates me. He said I’m not his sister anymore.” Y/n cried to Charles in his driver’s room.

“Hey, you’re going to be okay. You’ve got me and my family. They love you more than anything. We’re going to be okay.”

Charles kept his word. The Leclerc family became her own. When she attended races, the Ferrari garage became her home instead of the Red Bull garage. She would sometimes pass by it, but never looked inside or asked for Max. They were strangers now.

Y/n spent all the holidays, birthdays and anniversaries with the Leclercs. Soon enough, she was planning a wedding with Charles.

“The invitations came in.” Y/n told Charles as she showed him the wedding invitations she had custom made.

“They look great, mon amour.” Charles kissed her cheek. “Lorenzo and I are going to take Arthur suit shopping. He says he can’t find the right one. I’ll be back soon.”

Y/n nodded and kissed Charles’ lips. After he left, Y/n was all by herself in their shared apartment. She picked up an invitation and stared at it. She was finally going to get married. But of course something was missing, or rather someone. She still wasn’t in contact with Max. Sure they were at the same events all year, but they never asked for each other. She missed him everyday.

When they were younger, Y/n always thought Max would attended her wedding. He would be by her side, dance with her, but none of that was happening.

Yet.

Charles hated lying to his fiancée. He hated it with a burning passion, but he knew he had to to something about Max. Truth was, Arthur had found his suit the day after Charles and Y/n announced their engagement. Now Charles stood in Max’s apartment. Kelly had let him in while Max had just gotten out of the shower.

“What are you doing here? Did you let him in?” Max asked Kelly.

“She did. I’m here to talk to you about Y/n.” Charles said. “We’re getting married.” Kelly excused herself and left the two men to talk.

“And you want me to congratulate you?” Max scoffed.

“No, I’m here to invite you to the wedding. She’d want you there believe it or not. She does care about you, Max—”

“Then why did she have to fall in love with you? She could’ve had anyone and she chose you.” Max interrupted. “She chose you over her own family.”

“She didn’t. You disowned her. You left her hurt. She cried every night for three weeks and guess who was there? Me. I love her and if you can’t see that then you’re obviously blind as shit.” Charles dug into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “That’s the address.” He put it on the coffee table.

“What? No proper invitation?” Max rolled eyes eyes.

“Don’t push it.”

The day of the wedding finally came. Y/n couldn’t wait to call Charles her husband. She stood in front a full length mirror admiring her white dress. Pascale had helped her with her hair while she applied her makeup.

“Thank you again, Pascale.” Y/n said to the older woman.

“You look beautiful. Charles is going to cry when he sees you.” Pascale smiled. As Y/n looked at herself in the mirror, Pascale heard a light knock on the door to the dressing room. The Leclerc woman walked to the door and slightly opened it thinking it was Charles trying to take a look at Y/n’s dress. She was surprised to see Max in a suit.

Pascale looked back at Y/n, who was too busy fixing her veil. She then turned to Max. “Does she know?” Max shook his head. Pascale sighed and asked Max to wait. She closed the door and walked back to the bride. “ma fille, there is someone here to see you.”

Pascale’s words made Y/n froze. She could only think of one person. She turned to face Pascale. “He can come in.” She nodded at the woman.

As Pascale went to let Max in, Y/n started to take deep breaths. Was she actually ready to face Max? She didn’t know. Was it even a good idea for him to be there? Again, she couldn’t tell.

“I’ll leave you two alone. I’m going to check on Charles.” Pascale excused herself and left the room.

Y/n had her back turned to Max, only this time she was looking at him through the mirror. “You look dumb.” She said.

“So do you.” Max replied with a dry laugh. “You look pretty.” He cleared his throat.

Y/n laughed. She knew how Max was when trying to compliment someone else. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah, well your future husband insisted I come. He told me you care about me.”

“I didn’t stop, Max. You’re my brother.” Y/n finally turned around to face him. “Why do you hate Charles so much? He makes me happy.”

“I guess I didn’t want you to leave me.”

Y/n’s heart broke. Everyone knew how hard Jos Verstappen was on his children, especially Max. Over the years, Max had gone to his older sister for comfort, something Jos was unfamiliar with.

“I know it’s selfish of me. You can hate me all you want, hate me until you die, but I just want to say I’m sorry for everything I ever did and said to you. You’re always going to be my sister.” Max confessed.

Y/n wiped away a tear. “I don’t hate you and I’m not going to hate you until I die. You’re so fucking dramatic.” She laughed through her tears.

“I can leave if you want me to. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry.” Max nodded. He was about to leave the room when Y/n spoke once again.

“Stay.”

The wedding was the most beautiful wedding Max had ever attended. He sat next to Charles’ brothers. As he looked at Charles and Y/n, he felt proud of the life his sister had made.

“You may kiss the bride.” The priest announced. Charles didn’t have to be told twice. He kissed Y/n as if it was the last time they would ever kiss. To them, it was like they were the only ones in the room.

“You know, Y/n once told me her and Charles were just friends.” Max whispered to Arthur, who lightly laughed. “Friends don’t kiss friends.”

[cinnajun]

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: zb1 as your boyfriend

a/n: these get progressively longer the more you go on and that’s my bad, i’m just insane over this group idk …

notes: long hair is implied in jiwoong’s, yujin is not included due to his age!, i did not proofread this so sorry for typos

wc | 3.5k

jiwoong

i think this would be so much fun in the like adult way … like doing taxes together and watching tv shows

dating jiwoong means SETTLING DOWN!!! this is for the long run for real

in all seriousness i think being jiwoong’s s/o means you will feel very secure at all times

he isn’t interested in anyone but you … like seriously

looks at you like you’re the only person on the planet when you’re out and about

if anyone hits on him, he shuts it down SO fast that you’ll barely have time to process what happened

in terms of love languages, i’d say his is probably acts of service in both giving and receiving

there’s no better way to show him that you love him than taking care of little chores around the house (especially the ones he usually does) or picking up some toothpaste when he’s running low

in the same way, he loves to do those things for you—he really appreciates the way you smile when you find out he did the dishes for you <;<3

overall, a very sweet relationship, and a very very long-term one

IT’S ALMOST LAUGHABLE how gentle Jiwoong is as he braids your hair, pulling each strand off your head with such precision and cautiousness that you’d think he was braiding strands of pure gold. Weddings were long events, and you’d noticed that, every time you went to one, you ended up with a million knots in your hair that you had to spend extra time brushing out after.

So, Jiwoong had the bright idea to braid your hair—and insisted he do it for you, so that you wouldn’t have to keep your arms raised for so long, or something. You just didn’t think he’d try this hard at it.

“You can go a little faster, you know,” you said, painting your eyelashes with mascara. “If you go any slower, we’ll be late to the ceremony.”

“We can just sit in the back,” he mumbled, continuing to put one strand over the other. “I need to make sure it’s well-done so it doesn’t just knot your hair even worse than leaving it down does.”

You sighed, a little smile appearing on your face. “Whatever makes you happy,” you sighed, continuing to put on your mascara. “Who am I to say no?”

zhang hao

i feel like the most prominent part of dating zhang hao is trying to figure out how you scored him LOL

i mean look at him … he's so perfect it’s almost painful

and he’s such a good boyfriend that literally all of your friends are so jealous … and he’s the only guy they haven’t called ugly so that’s a plus LOL

i will say though dating him has to mean you’re really comfortable with yourself because just about everyone shoots their shot with him

obviously he turns them down but he’s too nice to do it in a way where they’ll actually be scared off (cough jiwoong cough)

he’s very loving and very appreciative, and loves hearing about everything you do

tbh he just loves you

his love language is definitely physical touch, but in the like sweetest way possible

he holds your hand and swings it around when you’re out and about, he leans his head on your shoulder when you watch movies, he puts his head in your lap when you’re sitting on the couch…

and he always stares at you, which is super nerve-wracking, but he just loves you so much that he can’t help it

seriously has heart eyes for you

IT’S NOT ALWAYS that your mom calls, but you supposed today just had to be the day. As much as you love her, she tends to talk your ear off, which is something you’d rather not deal with at a random time in the middle of your day. Nevertheless, it was better to get it over with now rather than later.

Hao had been napping with his head on your lap when she called, and you’d hoped that would be a good excuse to hang up. Except, when you pleaded with your mom, telling her that Hao was sleeping and you didn’t want to wake him, she insisted that she needed to talk to you right then. So, for the past twenty minutes, you’d been listening to her talk about her knitting club while you ran your hand through his hair.

You’d also failed to notice that Hao had been awake since before she’d even called. Initially, he just wanted a few more seconds laying on you before you kicked him off (because your thighs were cramping and you needed to stretch), but he’d been pleasantly surprised when your attention was stolen by the phone call.

So, when you looked down and saw him staring at you oh-so-lovingly, you choked on air, causing your mom to frantically ask you what was wrong. All the while, he stared at you, wondering how he managed to find you (but shouldn’t you be asking that)?

hanbin

if you’re feeling unloved, just date hanbin and he will fix it right up for you

he is an endless pit of love and is just waiting to give it to someone (that someone happens to be you)

you’re like 90% sure he popped out of a cheesy romance novel and wandered straight to your door but i digress

everything about this guy is so pleasant that it’s almost nauseating

his mom, how clean his bedroom is, how much he happens to enjoy cooking, how much he loves all the things you suggest as date ideas, it’s so much that your friends are suspicious that he’s hiding something incredibly unforgivable

he’s not, though, he’s just like that

and he just happened to be truly, madly, deeply in love with you so congrats on that one!!!

hanbin’s love language is also physical touch (shocker)

he’s super clingy, especially when you go out together, and has to have a hand on you at all times (if you get separated it will literally ruin his day)

really loves to cuddle with you…for example, if you decide to take a nap without him, you will wake up wrapped in his impossible to escape koala hug

he also loves kisses. forehead kisses, cheek kisses, all kisses … he especially loves it when you kiss his tattoos

he gets super enamored with you when you give him the same energy back, so try that out, too

EVERY DAY, YOU GET HOME from work around the time Hanbin’s decided to start dinner, and, every day, you attempt the same little prank. Slowly, you enter your home, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

The sound of the nightly news fills your ears, and the smell of whatever Hanbin decided to make attacks your nose. As subtly as possible, you put your bag and keys down on a dresser you have in the entryway, removing your shoes and tiptoeing through the house as quietly as possible.

As usual, Hanbin’s back is facing the doorway, and he’s hunched over the stove, fiddling with whatever he’s making. You tip-toe run up to him, bumping into him and wrapping your arms around his waist. He giggles, as usual, and puts his hands on your arms.

“Hi,” you say into his back, which prompts him to turn around in your embrace, staring down at you with the most loving expression he could muster up.

And, placing a kiss on the crown of your head, he says, “I missed you.”

matthew

CUTE BOYFRIEND!!!

matthew is like so clueless in a relationship and he’s just kind of winging everything, which makes him about 70% funnier

you’ll be out shopping and he’ll pick something up, usually a trinket of sorts, look you dead in the eyes, and say, “is this something people get for their partners?”

if you say yes, it will magically appear in your bedroom like 4 days later and he’ll be oh-so proud of himself

your parents LOVE matthew, to the point where you begin to wonder if they like him more than they like you

it’s nice, though, because they’re more willing to help pay for your utility bill if they know matthew’s benefitting from it too LOL

he’s such a sweet boyfriend that sometimes you like need to stop and put your phone down

his love languages are words of affirmation on the receiving end and gift giving on the giving end

when you’re away from one another, he texts you selfies along with cute little summaries of what he’s doing and absolutely expects you to do the same

also sends good morning/good night texts if he can’t say it in person for whatever reason

also has some like tiktok-worthy beige flags (the comments say they’re all green flags)

like he asks you what your ring size is like once a month and then comes home with ring pops and goes “i had them custom made to fit your finger”

and you’re like “omg matthew i can’t believe you would do that for me!!!”

MATTHEW’S HANDS ARE poorly covering your eyes as he leads you to this mystery-location that he’d spent the entire day hyping up. He swore it was going to absolutely blow you away, and had even said that you’d be at a loss for words.

“We’re almost there,” he said, excitement dripping from his words. “Be careful, there’s a couple of steps here.”

You did your best to ascend without face planting, although it was a bit difficult given that Matthew was unknowingly rushing you due to his excitement. “Okay, are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

In a flash, he removed his hands from your eyes, and it takes you a second to realize what you’re staring at. It’s a table cutely decorated for some sort of picnic, with string lights overhead and a candle burning on the table. You realize you’re in your parents backyard pretty quickly, but the thing that really has you confused is the teddy bear sitting on the edge. It looks exactly like the one you carried around as a kid, albeit much cleaner—but you’d lost it when you were 10.

“I tore apart your house looking for it,” Matthew said, putting his head on your shoulder. “Mr. Tumnus, right? Like the Narnia character? He was behind the couch. I got him cleaned, too. Do you like it?”

taerae

swoon

UGHHHH taerae is so perfect

like he’s totally the boy next door, locker neighbor, church boy type of boyfriend

he asked you out on valentine’s day with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a box of like really pretty chocolate-covered strawberries and you’ve been whipped since

you’re both wrapped around each other’s fingers in the most severe way possible

you’re also definitely like a married couple, specifically a couple of grandparents who’ve been retired for like 30 years

you probably share a friend group, and everyone in the group considers you two the parents of the group (you’re the dad)

almost always, you have a third wheel, but that’s fine because you and taerae are good at making sure it’s not awkward (which is why people always want to come on your dates)

taerae’s love language is definitely quality time

more often than not you’re both doing something completely separate from one another and he doesn’t care, he just likes knowing that you’re around

i don’t see him being the touchiest person, even in a relationship, so spending time together is the only thing taerae needs to feel loved. if you never blow him off and spend all of your free time just sitting next to him, he’ll be entirely pleased forever and ever

SOMETIMES, YOU FORGET that Taerae is in the room with you, which tends to be more embarrassing than you’d have wanted it to be.

Once, early in your relationship, he’d come over and you’d been spending time in your room. Except, hours had passed without you saying a word to each other, and you’d forgotten he was even there in the first place. You were so engrossed in your latest craft project, attempting to crochet, that he’d blended into the scenery of your bedroom.

So, when you kept messing up on a particular stitch, you found it fit to stand up and absolutely scream at the top of your lungs. When you got done, you planned to sit down and keep doing, but you heard Taerae laugh nervously behind you, causing you to freeze up.

“Uh, what was that?”

You turned around, staring at him with what could only be described as horror written on your face. You stared at one another in complete silence for what felt like hours, although in reality it must’ve been no more than five or six seconds.

“I forgot you were here,” you finally choked out, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. Taerae just laughed, and it only made you feel more miserable.

“You’re adorable, you know?”

ricky

ricky is such a sweet boyfriend

even if he’s a bit awkward at times he’s so nice to be around

i think he just cares about you so much that he fluctuates in the same way that you do…if you’re happy, he’s happy, if you’re sad, he’s sad, etc…

at the same, he’s always completely panicked that he is not doing enough for you

he constantly checks in to make sure that you are getting what you need from him, and, while he wouldn’t say it aloud, he appreciates it when you do the same

he doesn’t like conflict so he pretty much does anything he can to get rid of the problem before it happens

as such, if he finds out anything upsetting, he will approach you about it instantaneously

i think ricky’s love language is gift giving, though, both on the receiving end and on the giving end

whether it’s an origami flower made out of a receipt you got or a pretty necklace you found while out and about with friends, ricky treasures it like it’s his child

almost every gift you’ve gotten him is displayed in his room somewhere, like he’s got a whole shelf dedicated to things that you gave him …

all of his gifts are incredibly well thought out too even if they’re last minute

he also tends to just give you anything that you express literally any interest in

you like the hat he’s wearing? okay it’s yours now

“no i mean that i like it on you!!”

he doesn’t care it’s yours now

THANKS TO A FAMILY VACATION, you hadn’t been able to see Ricky for a week, which had been the end of the world for both of you. So, the moment you got back home, you ditched the comfort of your room to head straight to his house.

The moment he opened his front door, you collapsed into his arms, taking in the scent of his cologne mixed with the smell of laundry detergent coming from his sweater. Then, you realized that the sweater he was wearing was new.

You leaned back to get a better look at it, taking it in. “I like it!” you exclaimed, smiling up at him. He tilted his head in confusion, staring back down at you.

“Like what?”

“The new sweater.”

Without even skipping a beat, Ricky tugged it over his head, causing your mouth to drop open a bit. “Wait, no—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he’d pulled it over your head, and was waiting for you to put your arms through the sleeves. He smiled, happy with his sudden attack. “I knew you would, so I got two.”

gyuvin

dating gyuvin is so much fun

you were probably friends before you started dating, so when you start dating, it’s like your friendship amped up 200% along with like some kissing and stuff LOL

he knows you inside and out, to the point where you wonder if he knows you better than you know you

he also definitely had a crush on you for a loooong time before he acted on it so he remembers little details you shared in passing from years in the past

as such he’s constantly taking you out on the most lovely dates you could possibly imagine

you mentioned you like hot chocolate two years ago on a friend group outing? well good news! gyuvin remembered and he’s taking you to a world-renowned cafe that’s specifically noted for its hot chocolate

you like barbie movies???? every single one is downloaded onto his computer. every one. and he knows which one is your favorite

i think gyuvin’s love languages are acts of service + quality time

he just likes doing things for you and he likes doing things with you too … he just likes you tbh

he’d be heartbroken if you ever said no to one of his meticulously planned out dates so make sure to never do that (his friends would also hate you instantly and being hated by sung hanbin AND park gunwook is terrifying so don’t do that)

strangely enough, when you reciprocate the energy and plan out intense dates based on little tiny information, he gets super flustered, so try it out if you can

THE FIRST THING that comes out of Gyuvin’s mouth when he comes into your living room is, “You remembered?”

You’re almost taken aback by the question, eyes widening the moment the words leave his mouth. He was asking you that? After he remembered every little detail about you, from your favorite episode of your favorite show to your favorite breed of dog?

“Of course I remembered that you like soccer. How could I forget that you like soccer?”

You’d set up a little mini-party for the both of you to watch the World Cup, equipped with snacks and a jersey for his favorite team. And, somehow, he was a blushing mess, as if he didn’t expect you to remember something so basic about him.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, turning away from you as he turned beet red. “I just…I don’t know, I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Well, expect it more often,” you said, linking your arm with his, a bright smile on your face. “Cause I love you. And I love doing things for you.”

gunwook

yea gunwook is definitely your first love and you’re really hoping he’ll be the last

you probably had some sort of super dramatic lead-up to you actually getting into a relationship, so you’re also probably super attached to each other by the first day you’re calling him “boyfriend”

even though he’s young, gunwook feels a lot of responsibility for everything in his life, so being with you is essentially his wind-down time

as a result you have a lot of sleepovers, which include doing facemasks and going to bed at like 9pm because he’s so tired

and you just generally spend a lot of time together because you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert for him

gunwook feels really proud that he gets to have the title of “your boyfriend,” so be prepared for him to call himself that a lot

it makes him all giggly and happy, which makes you all giggly and happy, so you’re pretty much giggly and happy 24/7

gunwook’s love language is absolutely words of affirmation

he’s under a lot of pressure (student council vice president, class president, like good lord he is leading the people) so he just wants to hear that he’s doing well, especially from someone he cares so much about

even just telling him that he’s doing his best will make him melt in a pile of i-love-you putty

and he makes sure to do the same for you :)

IT’S NOT OFTEN THAT Gunwook breaks under the pressure, but when he does, it breaks your heart, too. It’s inevitable that he loses his balance sometimes, given the fact that he often takes on way more than he can handle, but you’re always there to pick up the pieces.

“You need to go to bed,” you say as warmly as possible, placing a hand on his shoulder. He continues to write a flurry of numbers onto his paper, trying to fulfill his plans of finishing all his weekend homework so he could spend the majority of it hanging out with you. “You can finish tomorrow morning, okay?”

Gunwook stops, finally, leaning back in his chair. He looks up at you, a frown on his face, and you can tell that he’s starting to unravel. You cup his face in your hands, looking down at him with the calmest smile you can muster.

“You did a good job, tonight. And calculus will be there for you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

You smile, a feeling of triumph overtaking you. “Thank you very much!”

thank you for reading!

[vilhelios]

— IF YOU'RE THE SACRED SCRIPT, I AM THE HIEROPHANT.

( if you're the holy church, i'm gonna worship . ) ; the old, dusty tomes that amund gives you state that the lemurian gods are perfect, flawless beings. not a single scar or freckle adorns their skin, no emotion creases their hallowed faces.

cw: fluff !!! ; established relationship ! ; abysswalker!rafayel <3 + brief mentions of god of the sea rafayel; slight spoilers for rafayel's sea of golden sand and forgotten sea (?) myths + siren's song anecdote; i am the self-proclaimed ceo of lemuria world building (lemuria lore headcanons!) 💪 ; not beta-read !!!

" THE GODS ART PERFECT BEINGS — FLAWLESS IN FORM AND IN ESSENCE ; THEIR SKIN IS UNMARRED, NAY SCAR OR FRECKLE ADORNS THOSE DIVINE. NAY LINE OF EMOTION MARKS THEIR HALLOWED, PRISTINE VISAGE. "

"RAFAYEL?" you ask, your voice so loud in the quiet dark of night. a hum, a shift in the arms that hold you. "i heard that the gods are perfect."

“they are supposed to be, yes.” rafayel murmurs, hands gently carding through the strands of your hair. the desert is quiet tonight, not a single howl of wind, or a curious fennec fox or gerbil, race across the expanse of sand. the only sounds in your ears are the mingled breaths and synchronised heartbeats of you and your dear abysswalker, tangled beneath the sheets in your shared tent.

his blue-pink eyes stare, searching your gaze. the dark circles beneath them are prominent in the shadows cast by the silvery moonlight. you watch as he takes in a deep breath, and then exhales: "... what books did amund give you today, my love?"

"you know very well that all amund gives me are books and scrolls about lemuria," you huff, thinking of the stack of dusty old books the old man had shoved into your hands at noon, "which would not bother me, if he did not sneer so condescendingly while he gave them to me."

"alright, alright." he sighs, there will be things to discuss with amund in the morning, if the slight exasperation in his tone is anything to go off of. and then, he asks, voice gentle: "what did you learn about the gods, my heart?"

" OUR GOD OF THE TIDES HATH BEEN TAINTED. HIS SKIN HATH BECOMETH SPECKLED. HIS HEART HATH BEEN SURRENDERED. NAY LONGER PERFECT IS HE, WHO IS'T HATH, IN LOVESICK FOLLY, GIVEN BOTH LIFE & DOMAIN. "

"they say you are no longer perfect." you murmur, brushing your lips against his jawline, "using their definition, perhaps they are right. you have scars, and little beauty marks."

"the scars are inevitable. you should know it yourself, my heart." he sighs, solemn, "but they dissolve with us during each seamoon ceremony — i am not reborn with the scars of my past."

"and the beauty marks?"

he hesitates, a bit. there's a far-away look in his eyes that you've grown used to seeing. "they persist and accumulate." rafayel states eventually, as if it's fact, "new ones appear, but i never lose them."

"you never lose them?" you echo, and he nods.

leaning into him, you inspect his face as best as you can in the moonlight. your lips graze his cheek, right above where one lies below his eye. another lies at the tip of his nose, and you repeat the action, rafayel's breath hitching beneath your touch. another sits at the bridge of his nose, and you feel his eyelashes flutter against your skin as you continue.

"there is something about them, in the books." you start, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. rafayel leans into the warmth of your touch (after all, you think, grimly, a stray dog will take all the food it is offered, afraid to go hungry again), and you continue with a smile against his skin, "they say that they represent where your lover loved to kiss you, in your past lives."

rafayel hums, holds you ever closer in his arms, considers the thought. when he falls silent, you know he is aeons away; somewhere below the waves, somewhere thirty thousand years away—you patiently wait for his return, like the shore that welcomes a weary sailor home. a gentle kiss is pressed to right above where his heart should be, and another in the middle of his collarbone. it's instinct, second nature, as natural as the way waves lap at the shoreline and leave seafoam in their wake.

"perhaps there is some truth in that." he finally says, returned to your side from his reverie. he presses a kiss to your temple, a gentle smile against your skin, "after all, it seems you still do as you used to, even now. determined to uphold tradition, are you?"

( & aeons ago, beneath the waves, lies the first mark; the first bearer of sin in eden. a young god of the sea laughs, a rumble in his chest, as his beloved kisses right above where his heart should be. every touch is reverent, like tending to an altar. it is no wonder, then, that he entrusted his heart to such a devout worshipper — after all, it will be in loving hands. )

a/n : hi hi hi i think lnd needs to CALM DOWN with all the rafayel banners or i'm gonna intervene. quite rushed and not as deep symbolism woooo as the last one because i was in a haze.... abysswalker my beloved is as odd to write as usual but i think it's not too ooc... also this is just a little manifesting/tribute thing for my god of the sea rafa myth pulls today i want him to come home !!! i'm so so excited for the myth story !!!! good luck to anyone pulling! may the god of the sea give us his heart without us needing to open our wallets 🫧💕 if you sent in a request recently for the follower event, thank you! it'll still be a bit until i can answer them, but it shall be done !!! <3 will be crossposted to my ao3 if you prefer the fic being in actual capitalisation and in normal text!

update: i had to drag him home with 130 pulls ,,,, i also spedran the myth,,, guh buh,,, whadahell,,, someone please talk to me about them,,,,

[mollysunder]

Lunari Heritage in Zaun

This is gonna be a reach, but from the little we've seen of Vi and Jinx's mom and younger Silco, I'd guess they were both from the same ethnic group.

In a place like Zaun, where the people are left with scraps, any piece of jewelry sticks out. Vi's mom and Silco are both wearing similar pieces of jewelry. Silco's bracelet could likely be fitted as a necklace since it twice wraps over his wrist. Neither are wearing anything of high quality, but the necklace and bracelet in their respective pictures seem decently maintained if not worn. That's when I thought, these are probably heirlooms.

In fact they looked pretty similar too, but in smaller scale of the princess's own pendants. I wouldn't bring this up if it weren't for the fact that Piltovans prioritize elaborate art-deco aesthetics, the more elaborately geometric the better (Councilor Shoola). So you would assume even the simplest jewelry would be a square pendant or a straight line. But no, big plain circles, and then I remembered we saw that before, on the princess Ambessa killed. Big bronze circles.

And when we look at young Vi , you notice that she's wearing jewelry too. A simple necklace with a green (it looks green) gem. And I realized that the princess's necklace was also adorned green gems.

I'm pulling from scraps, but it's interesting that small things these Zaunites have to adorn themselves (though not for long with the time skips) are similar versions if not simpler version's of the princess's.

At first I thought this meant that many of the cast were actually of Ionian descent. But then in the Princess's scene a thought kept coming back to me, "Why is Mel wearing purple?". Mel, a skilled diplomat from a young age, typically wears the main colors of the nations she hosts and is hosted by. White for Piltover, Black for Noxus (Ambessa), and always with her signature accents of gold. So if Mel followed her mother to Ionia ,where green is a culturally significant color, why purple? It's because Mel and Ambessa weren't in Ionia, they were in Targon fighting the Lunari.

The Lunari are Rakkor tribal people in the Targonian region who worship the moon, and are persecuted for it by the Solari, the religious order that worships the sun. While technically Mt. Targon is influenced by Mt. Olympus and Greek mythology aesthetic, that's more the case for the Solari. Overtime the Lunari aesthetic has been mixed it's originally nomadic culture with East Asian influences. The prominent colors of the Lunari happen to be turquoise, silver, black and purple. It was such a little thing to remember but it made me see connections I hadn't thought about.

Suddenly everything starts to connect. The bronze coins represent the 3 moons that exist in Arcane's Runeterra. How do we know there are 3 moons, because the Valdiani piece Jinx stole was depicting their planet. In the Valdiani there are 3 orbits circling the Earth, meaning 3 moons (or satelites). Now the engraving on the gold of the princess's necklace makes sense, because it's supposed to resemble the gates at the peak of Mt. Targon. The pendant itself is shaped like the mountain with the gates fitted at the top.

Frankly, it works for the Princess to have been Lunari and waves of descendants of the Lunari to arrive in Piltover and end up in Zaun. In Arcane, Piltover was created as a safe haven to escape the Rune Wars 200 years from the start of the show. Even after the Rune Wars ended the shipping port has likely seen waves of migrant labor and refugees from the ongoing crisis that occur in Runeterra (*cough*Noxus*cough*). It's likely that many of the current generation of Zaunites are of mixed heritage of the various fleeing people's.

It creates a whole new dynamic of the ways in which Piltover's laws, their Ethos, strips the people of Zaun from their identity and reducing them to tools for the mines. Magic is inherently a part of religious ceremonies and religion in general in Runeterra, especially for the Lunari. How do you practice your religion in a place that has banned the means by which it's conducted? There must have been more people like the Lunari who didn't have a problem with their magic, their problem was that they were being persecuted.

The remnants of family keepsakes brought over as communities fled were clung to as best as possible especially as they had to let go of part their spiritual identity. But even that doesn't seem to have lasted either. Vi doesn't keep her necklace, her mother is dead, so lost is her necklace, and we never see Silco wear his bracelet. They could have been stolen, or at best, hidden for safe keeping, maybe Enforcers get suspicious at the hint of mysticism and suddenly they want to talk.

Finally, maybe a little less related, it is interesting how prominent Piltovans and Zaunites take on day and night aspects. The sun shines over Piltover at their best, begins to set at times of uncertainty. While in the cover of night with moon above, the strongest Zaunites strike hardest. One more thing, it is interesting how Arcane's Jinx has taken on darker tones of purple rather than stick with neon pink. I always have to go back and look at a reference to remember that her pants are purple-er than I recall.

Update: I wanted to include that the large doodle Jinx made on her cup actually looks similar to the Lunari's sigil. And the sigil remains on the cup into the timeskip, also the center moon is made smaller within the crescent like in the necklace. I also noticed Jinx's cup later has more violent bomb imagery around it.

[thrumbolt]

Top 5 most annoying Tamlin scene misinterpretations

1. ''There is no such thing as a high lady'' I hate this one, because it is always taken as some sort of proof that Tamlin is a raging misogynist who doesn't want an equal woman by his side or some similar type of nonsense. I don't know where this is coming from. Tamlin never wanted to be a high lord. He would probably welcome for someone to take over most of the work so he could just keep running through the woods. He also has absolutely no issues with taking advice from women in power (Ianthe? Hello??). His first reaction to the high lady question is literally this:

“Is everyone just going to call me ‘Tamlin’s wife’? Do I get a … title?” He lifted his head long enough to look at me. “Do you want a title?”

And let's not forget that Feyre's first reply is ''No, I don’t know if I can handle them calling me High Lady”. To which he then answers that she doesn't have to worry about that, since ''there is no such thing as a high lady'' because the magic choses the title and it keeps chosing males. Also this whole scene happens while he eats her out. Not that it's relevant or anything, just saying...

2. ''Tamlin killed Rhys' family'' No. Tamlin's dad killed Rhys' family. I have no idea how Tamlin doing it is ever the takeaway from that whole story. Let's just quote the actual scene:

“Tamlin’s father, brothers, and Tamlin himself set out into the Illyrian wilderness, having heard from Tamlin—from me—where my mother and sister would be, that I had plans to see them. I was supposed to be there. I wasn’t. And they slaughtered my mother and sister anyway.”

Yeah okay, Tamlin gave the information (supposedly) and was there (supposedly) sure, but it's highly unlikely that he was so willingly. Let's not forget that it's established that Tamlin was afraid of his father, that Tamlin's father is worse than Beron (who, I might remind you, tortures his sons) and that Tamlin was friends with Rhys at the time - which neither family approved of. Even Rhys doesn't actually believe Tamlin did anything besides being spineless:

''I didn’t care that Tamlin had been there, had allowed them to kill my mother and sister, that he’d come to kill me because he didn’t want to risk standing against them.''

In the end we don't know the details. Tamlin could've been tortured and tied up or whatever. Making him watch could've been a cruel form of punishment for being friends with Rhys. We don't really know until SJM graces us with Tamlin's side of the story.

3. ''It's really Tamlin's own fault that the spring court fell'' Alternatively also phrased as: 'Feyre just opened everyone's eyes to Tamlin's incompetence' and....honestly? This low key makes me question the reading comprehension of people.

Yes, Tamlin made a deal with Hybern, which was extremely risky, but the war was coming regardless (as we learn from Rhys in the first half of ACOMAF) and the spring court would be the main target because of its location next to the wall. Inviting Hybern into his lands in a trade is actually a pretty smart way to avoid a lot of death on Tamlin's part - plus he needed help to rescue Feyre and get her out of the deal she had with Rhysand (people forget that Tamlin didn't know Feyre didn't actually need rescuing from the guy that was abusing her in front of him in ACOTAR).

So yeah anyway, Feyre did several things to make the spring court fall: 1. She manipulated the solstice ceremony to make herself seem cauldron-blessed in the eyes of the people, 2. She made a sentry accuse Ianthe (who WAS doing sneaky shit) which essentially did nothing except putting Tamlin on the spot in front of Hybern, so he was kind of forced to throw the sentry under the bus. Good job Feyre, you got a poor sod whipped! But it also built resentment within the soldiers, which was her plan all along and 3. before leaving, she did this (let's just quote the whole thing):

''I had a people who had lost faith in their High Priestess. I had sentries who were beginning to rebel against their High Lord. And as a result of those things, I had Hybern royals doubting the strength of their allies here. I’d primed this court to fall. Not from outside forces—but its own internal warring. And I had to be clear of it before it happened. Before the last sliver of my plan fell into place. The party would return without me. And to maintain that illusion of strength, Tamlin and Ianthe would lie about it—where I’d gone. And perhaps a day or two after that, one of these sentries would reveal the news, a carefully sprung trap that I’d coiled into his mind like one of my snares. I’d fled for my life—after being nearly killed by the Hybern prince and princess. I’d planted images in his head of my brutalized body, the markings consistent with what Dagdan and Brannagh had already revealed to be their style. He’d describe them in detail—describe how he helped me get away before it was too late. How I ran for my life when Tamlin and Ianthe refused to intervene, to risk their alliance with Hybern. And when the sentry revealed the truth, no longer able to stomach keeping quiet when he saw how my sorry fate was concealed by Tamlin and Ianthe, just as Tamlin had sided with Ianthe the day he’d flogged that sentry …When he described what Hybern had done to me, their Cursebreaker, their newly anointed Cauldron-blessed, before I’d fled for my life … There would be no further alliance. For there would be no sentry or denizen of this court who would stand with Tamlin or Ianthe after this. After me.''

So, the sentries left Tamlin because of a lie. A fake story. Without sentries, Hybern decided to take over rather than just be guests and had a prime spot to attack the summer court in turn. Which is also why Tarquin is extremely pissed at Feyre - not Tamlin. So no, Tamlin wasn't a bad high lord. His only real mistake was ever trusting Feyre.

Sure, some argue that Feyre thought Tamlin genuinely sided with Hybern and might be a threat to the rest of Prythian, so taking him down would make sense for her even outside of petty revenge. But there's just one problem with that: Feyre is a mind reader. She could have just.....checked. lol

4. ''Tamlin didn't do anything Under the Mountain'' This one really gets my goat because it's not really true? Things Tamlin did to help Feyre: 1. He sent her away to the human realm. (People forget this, but he basically doomed his court to protect her ass - it's not his fault she came back!) 2. He made Lucien check up on her. (Yes Lucien was Feyre's friend but he still acted under Tamlin's orders!) 3. He ignored Feyre as to not rile Amarantha up even more (Come on, have you seen Amarantha? It totally makes sense) 4. He tries to get to Feyre, begging Amarantha to stop even as he is tied up, bleeding out from a stab wound to his chest that he can't heal because he has no powers - like what do you want him to do??? 4. He literally kills Amarantha the second he is able to

Also personal conspiracy detour: That music that Rhysand supposedly sent to Feyre was SO originally supposed to be Tamlin, you can't convince me otherwise. I will never not believe that this wasn't just a lazily done quick change when SJM rewrote book 1 and 2 to account for the boyfriend switcheroo. Attributing the music to Rhys makes absolutely zero sense. He's not a musical boy at all, come on! Music themes never come up with him again either! Meanwhile Tamlin played for Feyre before, is generally a musical guy COME ON! /conspiracy detour over

5. ''It's Tamlin's fault that Nesta and Elaine got turned to fae'' No. No it's not. He knew nothing about this. Ianthe did this on her own accord because Feyre told her where her sister's lived. Tamlin actually attacks (!) the King of Hybern over it (to no avail, but still).

Some people blame Tamlin for keeping Ianthe around afterwards, despite of what she did. Those people I want to refer to point number 3 in this list. Ianthe was working with Hybern. Tamlin tried to be buddies with Hybern for reasons. No, he can't just throw out Ianthe.