#“better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”

[pedgito]

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 | Emperor Geta x reader

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summary | Emperor Geta takes a liking to you but ends up with far more than he bargained for.

author's note | full blame on @hauntedhowlett. also don't look at me and tell me that man doesn't have a mommy kink, he does.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, sub!geta, dom!reader, mentions of spousal/child loss, brief mentions of pregnancy, subtle mommy kink, lactation kink (titty suckin' hell yeah), oral (f receiving), use of sweet boy/good boy, unprotected piv

word count — 4.2k

A widow, a mourning would-be mother—unsuspecting amongst your youthful glaze, the softness in your features as you stare down the two brothers from across the long, crowded table. It has only been a fortnight now, but your face proves entirely unsuspecting.

This meeting was about you—not of your late husband, not of legality or current issues to address, but your qualification to have a spot amongst men. Most were unaware of your puppetry with your late husband and his place in the senate—an older man triple your age that had brought you for a price.

Easily to manipulate, easy to convince.

“There is no place here for a mockery like this,” An older gentleman with stringy, greying hair chirped up from his seat, fist tucked under his wrinkled chin, eyes carefully examining your figure, licking his split, dry lips, “she is young—negotiate a price with her father and—”

“He is dead,” You state flatly, a piercing glare shot down the line toward the spoken male, seemingly ticked by the sound of your voice, expecting submissiveness, “And I will assure the price is one you will never afford.”

Caracalla, as aloof as he was, seemed to snicker at that. A high-pitched cackle that slips from his lips as Geta raises a brow, his mouth hidden behind his curled fingers, opposite hand spread out wide on the arm of his throne.

“I am well versed,” You address both of the emperors directly, “Educated—my husband would be displeased to hear me say this, but he was not the smartest man. I have lost more than just him, but I am not here to beg.”

There was no love lost, fortunately. He wasn’t a good or bad man, only a man. He frequented brothels often, voiced his displeasure when you weren’t serving him correctly, and only forced a child upon you because of societal standards. It was distressing, still deep in your own grief as you avoided the deadlocked stares from the surrounding men, praying that one of the two young emperors would have a soft spot, or even a weakness. 

You would find it, if needed. But, Geta’s amusement was a comforting sign. 

The same man, displeased with your presence, grips hard enough at his wooden cane that it starts to crack, “Better yet, force her to work in the brothel. Plenty of use for you there,” His gaze switches from the head of the table to you, nodding his head with a triumphant smirk.

“As I am sure your wife would love to hear about your visits,” There’s a collective tenseness, both of hands gripping the table and men shifting in their seats, eyes flickering back and forth between the volleying conversation, the dueling man’s face going slack, “do not act surprised, you keep company of men with loose lips, be thankful one of them has died with the rest of your pitiful secrets.” 

Geta clears his throat then, sharing a brief moment with his brother as they nod in unison.

“I will consider this,” He begins, tongue swiping along the inside of his bottom lip, “given the suddenness of—”

“Your highness, do not fall victim to her deception, she is—”

“If you value that head of yours,” Geta’s words are biting, quick, “you will not interrupt me when I am speaking.”

He’s highly temperamental, the dagger he’s spent twirling in his hand for the past several minutes tossing lazily against the wood as he flicks a hand up dismissively, “Get out of my sight,” He excuses them all, aside from his finger pulling like it was held on a string to aim in your direction, “you—stay.”

You’ve just resigned yourself to death, surely.

–

The wine is dark, staining his upper lip as he drinks, clunky rings tapping against the glass of his cup as he passes you off a cup of your own. He had his own private quarters, opposite of his brother and hidden down a long, trailing hallway, an office-like room attached to his quarters.

You weren’t going to defy his command as unsettling as it felt, his glittering and colorful robe dragging against the tile floor as you stood silent, a comfortable distance away. 

Your dress was unbearably tight, back straight as an arrow while your shoulders ached, but you didn’t waver, didn’t slouch. Your breasts spilled over the fabric, barely covered by the shawl draped over your shoulders, signs of motherhood that had yet to dissipate. You cleared your throat, shuffling quietly on your feet. 

“I do not like nervousness,” Geta announces, turning his head over his shoulder as he swivels his body to lean against the edge of the desk—the room was clearly unused, aside from now. 

“I am not nervous,” It wasn’t that at all, rather an uncertainty. 

“Drink,” He suggested, nodding his head toward your full glass, “it will help.”

He doesn’t seem to believe you and you defy his order further, traveling toward him to rest the glass against the desk, hands settled at your stomach as you look at him, his eyes carefully tracking your movement as he sloshes the wine around in his mouth, a fingertip trailing the rim before he mirrors your actions.

“G—your highness,” You begin indecisively, “forgive me for sounding…selfish, but is there something you require? Do I serve a purpose being here?”

“What are your current living arrangements?” He asks suddenly, fingers curled around the edge of the desk, tilting his head in question. 

“I am living under the selflessness of a senator’s wife—though, if he knew, it would not be welcomed with open arms,” Geta is aware of your steadfast gaze, rare that you ever looked anywhere but his face, not the usual roaming nervousness he had become acquainted with.

“Ah,” He chuckles, “If I may pry—well, I am…is it—”

The man who had challenged you earlier with a wife too gracious for her own good.

“Yes, unfortunately.” 

Geta contemplates—he wasn’t against you having a voice within his council, aware that it wouldn’t be well-met, but there was a way to ensure safety and submission; he's learned to mold and shape to achieve what he wants at the lift of a finger. It was a mix of power and practiced manipulation. 

“You will relocate here, to the palace,” He informs, “as an extra measure and because I am fond of your…bite,” His mouth upturns in a lazy smirk, “you will be well cared for here, I assure you.”

A man who was far too fond of his toys, you notice the glint in his eyes as soon as his expression morphs. Greed; he could have everything and even that wouldn’t be enough. 

It was only minimally amusing, his confidence. 

And within a few hours and a few snaps of his fingers, you were set up comfortably in your own room, a pleasant conversation with his less than stable brother and the obedient monkey perched on his shoulder—he was endearing, but visibly paranoid. 

You refuse the help of the servants as you attempt to retire for the night, brow furrowed in frustration as you reach unsuccessfully for the tied string of your dress, resilient and stubborn in your unwillingness for help as you curse to yourself, half a second from ripping the fabric in half before the door to your room is opening quietly, creaking on it’s hinges. 

“I assure you, they are here for a reason,” Geta remarks fondly, the faint fire of the candles lit around your room painting him in a warm glow, softening an unusually rigid man, he approaches without a word as you relent, hands curling around the edge of a nearby chair, his hand working methodically along the knotted fabric at your back, a few minutes passing before he’s tugging it loose, a breath of relief slipping beyond your lips.

Geta takes a few steps back, ringed fingers interlocked behind his back as he watches you expectantly, watching quietly as you turn with your arm clutching the fabric to your chest, hair loosened, your face relaxing into a natural scowl.

“Do you require anything of me?” You ask, curious of his lingering presence but not feeling threatened or undermined—shockingly, he seemed unsteady. Unsure. His confidence failed him for the first time in his young life, “If there is…something you would like to address, I will listen.”

“When did you marry?” An odd start, but you answer with ease.

“Fifteen—he promised my family wealth, it was a simple trade. They died not long after. Tuberculosis, or so I was told,” You shift from one bare foot to another as Geta’s lips pull together in a narrow line, “You know, we are not much different.”

That grabs his attention, his eyebrow raising in a silent question as you approach slowly, arms crossed over your chest now, holding the fabric in place, “Coyness is unbecoming, Emperor.”

“Enlighten me,” Geta replies, his restless hands finding their way over the collars of his robe as he tightens it around himself, joining him near the end of your bed—a strange thing to claim; this entire room, yours. 

“If my math proves me right, we are of the same birth year,” You begin, “—those men, your advisors, they severely underestimate you and Caracalla. They are scared of you, yes. But, if given the chance, they would strike you down without a thought,” He turns his head, blinking away a sour expression, feeling particularly bare despite his state of dress.

Your gaze was powerful, intense, even Geta could not handle it.

“I am trying to say that I understand,” You clarify, tilting your head to catch his eyeline, reaching out slowly to provide a comforting touch, hands curling around his wrist, “not that I understand your role and the burden it carries, but being young and overlooked. I have felt that, I still feel it.”

He’s never been approached so openly—though he prefers the proclivity of men who bow down without question, his psyching was always searching for something more. A poor boy without love, or meaningful relations. You offer a soft smile as he turns his head to you.

“You came here for a reason,” You remind him, “—make it clear.”

His eyes follow the steady rise and fall of your chest, your fingers curling over the rough, coarse lining of the dress as it pushes your breasts up, his tongue trailing along his bottom lip in a wordless hunger.

“Did you plan to force yourself upon me?” You ask curiously, his face flushing with embarrassment, “Or, perhaps, hope that I would be charmed by you?”

“It is rare that I am denied,” He explains, like a petulant kid preparing to be denied their favorite toy, “—but, you are not mine.”

“I belong to no one,” You clarify, “I am not a whore, or a servant. We are…equals, yes?”

“Not entirely,” Geta counters, still donning the crown on his head—more subtle than the formal one he wears around, a delicate band of gold leaves adorned with gems, “but, it seems—”

You smirk slightly to yourself as you reach forward with one hand, plucking the band gently from his hair and tossing it aside to the bed, fingertips trailing down to his chin as you tug his face to look at you.

“You need not put on a performance for me,” You comfort him, his features softening as his eyes flicker toward the crown, “it is as simple as just asking, Geta.”

At level ground, it feels more appropriate. If he wanted your head, he would have it.

Eagerness invades his mind, clawing forward as his palms form to your neck, jaw, lips pressing against yours with impatience, a hum of hunger laying in wait in his throat. For a second, you allow it. Indulge in the simplicity of desire that has been long forgotten, sighing fervently against his mouth before you’re taking grip of his robe and forcing him back, his eyes blackened with lust and his mouth open, blinking with confusion.

“Ask me,” You demand him, “I have allowed so many in my life to take, not this. Not you.”

Geta clears his throat hastily, closing his mouth, gathering the immense willpower it took to listen, comply, “May I—may I kiss you?”

You nod, a grin spreading across your face as he lunges forward eagerly once more, held back by your surprisingly powerful grip, unaware of how your dress had shifted down, held up solely by the body contact against Geta, chest to chest.

It was teasing, taunting him with the ability and control you had over him, lips grazing against his testingly as he laughs too, a quiet and joyous noise as you finally let him have it, arms wrapping over his shoulders as his own hands roam down your sides, around your back and down your side, squeezing a hand at your thigh and bringing it up, high enough that it can rest at his hips, his fingers kneading into the exposed skin near the slit of your gown, toying with the delicate skin that he could reach.

You revel in the neediness, an intense feeling of want washing over you, his nose following the lines of your face as they nudge at your chin, forcing your head up as his kisses trail down, spit slicked lips pressing into your skin, bodies separating as you dress falls, as bare as he under his own robe, plump breasts pulling his eyes down, a slow blink and an instant flick up towards your face.

“Seems the effects of motherhood are taking their time to dissipate,” You admit, his fingers twitching at the sight of them, “If that is an issue we can end this he—”

“No,” He growls, “it—sorry, it is not.”

You reach for his hands quietly, his gaze following your direction as you cup them over your breasts, the heavy weight of them in his hands, the gentle squeeze that would otherwise make you wince but instead has your thighs clenching together. Geta was practically salivating at the sight, mesmerized by the fullness and warmth, his thumbs rubbing carefully over your hardened nipples, a small opaque drop of liquid painting his finger.

You grab his thumb suddenly, shoving his hand away at the sight.

“Despite a loss my body continues to provide,” You explain, “ It is not a lot, but it lingers.I have tried…everything to will it away.”

“Why?” Geta asks, looking up at you with newfound curiosity.

“It is not ideal, you see—”

“Who has told you this?” Geta pesters, watching the liquid drip down his finger before he brings it to his mouth, “I see no issue.”

Your nose twitches in uncertainty, his fingers trailing an abstract pattern into the underside of your breasts, around the side, admiring, “I have always been curious,” Geta admits, his voice trailing as you slowly guide yourself to sit on the bed, the emperor following in suit as he kneels against the edge of the mattress between your open thigh, “did he appreciate your body for everything that it was?”

“He was barren,” You admit, “He liked my mouth on his cock and that was all. He did not care for much else or my pleasure at that, he was much too inadequate anyways.”

He doesn’t address the glaringly obvious admittance—a much longer story for another time that neither of you cared for at the moment, “May I?” He asks politely, his hot breath ghosting over your chest as you nod, his mouth latching onto your skin in an instant.

It starts at the center of your chest, face buried between your breasts as he pulls his robe open, aided down by the push of your hands, his alabaster skin contrasting the plum sheets, his knee rising briefly to push into the sheets as you catch a glimpse of his cock, hanging heavily and intimidating in its size, anticipating of the stretch if you allowed him so far. 

His tongue follows a planned path, along the underside of your breasts and around your nipple, grazing over the pebbled skin with the subtle taste of sweetness seeping into his taste buds as his lips wrap around and such, the faintest push of teeth in your skin as his eyes peer up at you, your brow furrowing in delight at the sudden shock to your cunt, nothing like you’ve felt before.

You did not know pleasure like this, a fair trade. It was a shock to the system. 

He’s looking for acknowledgement, trading off to share the same care to the other breasts, his free hand trailing to the side of your face and under your neck, cradling you with a gentle touch as the hand on your breasts curls around and squeezes, sucking gently at your breasts as his head tilts into your comforting touch, your opposite hand turning as you run your knuckles alongside his jaw.

“Sweet boy,” You praise, “is that what you wanted?”

As if he hadn’t been eyeing you the entire meeting, breasts squeezed together as you leaned daringly over the table to argue with your aggressor, quenching the hunger all day with a steady diet of wine and the assorted fruit placed around the palace, always within reach, watching you quietly. 

He nods slightly, distantly, as he’s focused on his current task.

“Geta,” Formalities forgotten by now, his eyes widened as you stare at him, rising on your elbows with a waiting expression, “have you lost your tongue?”

“It would—it would seem I have not,” He chuckles with a knowing smirk, swiping his tongue around your nipple in a circular motion, “I am pleased, yes.”

He shifts his arms around you, curled fists landing in the sheets beside your head, his cock sliding against the inside of your thigh as he settles to his knees, a fresh flush to his chest as he admires your state of nakedness, trailing two wondering fingers from your chest to your pelvic bone, a slow dance in the low light of the room.

You nudge his hand away, “You are eager,” You note with a fond tone, watching as began to lean into you, eager to capture your lips once more, but your fingers are pressing over his lips before they reach their destination, shaking your head in disapproval, “I have ideas for better use of that mouth, Emperor.”

He pulls back with grin, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip as you filter your fingers through his ginger hair, curling your hand over the back of his head as he bows, settling on his belly with his cock trapped between the sheets, slowly his nose buries into the coarse curls, his tongue dragging down the seam of your pussy.

Geta can only liken it to a taste of the divine, or the closest he would ever reach, settled between your open legs with a mission to please, to satisfy. And for the first time in his life—serve someone other than himself. Normally he would bark at the informality of things, only allow his given title, a strict instruction of a bowed head and obedience, but he finds himself bending to your rule and dropping to his knees, if you demand.

“You have your wits and sharp tongue,” He hums against your cunt, a delightful noise slipping out as you tug at his hair, “I suggest you put them to good use.”

As he does, you find yourself drifting.

He is precise, thorough—which is not at all expected from a man of his status, or any man, really. They were never concerned with the pleasure of anyone but themselves, but Geta has proven you wrong in many ways as undesirable as his ruling may be. 

You only cared for your life anymore, witnessing how delicate it could be when it came to everyone around you.

He likes to watch, too. It isn’t at all surprising, eager for praise he brings you to a quick and intense, but fleeting orgasm. It swells in your stomach, the heat pooling before it explodes, hearing the satisfied groan as he licks you clean, murmuring a shaky, “Good–good b-boy,” as you force yourself to catch your breath, allowing him to climb his way back up your body with the head of his cock nudging at your entrance, both of you sighing into the shared space as your foreheads meet and Geta was completely at your control, awaiting your next command.

“Are things often like this?” You ask curiously, “Is this what you seek?”

Domination; someone to submit to.

In a daze, he shakes his head, lips parted slightly.

“Do you enjoy that I make you feel this way?”

He smiles, sated, nodding in response.

“I want to feel you,” It was a whispered request, his eyes searching your face—again, even just the nudge of his cock between your folds was enough to make you tense and you find your own fingers drifting between your legs, dipping inside of you as he looks down, mesmerized as you guide his hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around his as you work together in tandem.

When his brow draws together, you guide him inside of you, staving off his impending orgasm.

“Slow,” You instruct, hands traveling to grip his face, nodding his head between your hold, “You are…quite large, I am not used to that,” Geta seems to find a surge of confidence at that, leaning forward greedily to capture your lips, his teeth dragging along the fleshy skin as he angles his and pulls back slowly, entering you at the same pace despite the impatient shake to his body, eager for more, “slow—slow, look at me,”

“You’re obedient,” You praise, “far more than I expected.” 

“My brother likens you to a goddess,” Geta notes, the odd timing sending you into a gentle snort of laughter, “I must say I agree, you are mesmerizing.”

“I prefer Caracalla not be a topic as your cock is buried inside of me,” You retort with a kind smile, his own morphing into a frown of concentration as your knees hike around his hips, encourage him to lean his weight against you as he rocks his hips, a gentle rhythm that is drowned out by the sounds of the city at night.

His itching impatience grows tiresome, gripping desperately at whatever skin he could reach, pitiful moans of pleasure inked into your skin with the silent plea of more—please, more?

“Make me come once more,” You urge him, “and take what you need.”

It was all he needed to hear, taking the opportunity to slip out of you as he guiding you toward your stomach, guiding one knee up toward your chest as he hovered over you, turning your head to face him as he pushed his cock back inside of you, your walls fluttering around him in satisfaction of being filled again. 

There was a perfect view of the sky this way, a small alcove open to the night breeze, stars twinkling against the contrasting colors of midnight, “It is beautiful,” He begins, not admiring the same sight as you, a shakiness to his voice as he pumped his hips at a nearly unbearable pace, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you.

He’s panting into your skin, a feeling you’ve experienced in plenty of other circumstances, with a well-versed ability to separate yourself from your body as men chase their pleasure, but with the emperor, it was a different experience.

A cacophony of small whimpers followed by an utterances of words you’re not sure he or his brother have spoke often, “Please—-please, may I—“

The gravity of the situation flips as you realize your mistake, giving a man with far too much reach and power any type of influence over you, your brain searching for a way to counter his plea as you turn your body, arm wrapping around the back of his neck as he shakes with his impending orgasm.

Words are lost, unable to speak before he’s pulling out of you, the drip of his warm seed coating your skin, the tight grip at your chest loosening in an instant.

Thank the gods, you pray silently. 

“I apologize,” He breathes heavily, bottom lip swollen and red from the mutilation of his teeth, chest flushed bright and burning, “if—if I scared you.”

He uses his discarded robe to clean you up, unthinking of the consequences as he leaned back to stand, fully nude as he extends his hand in wait, beckoning you closer.

“Scared me?” You challenge, curling your hand into his own as he pulls you up, legs bracketing his thighs as your hands come to rest against his abdomen, staring up at the emperor. 

“Your bark is quite frightful,” He admits, “I can only imagine how you would rip me apart had I gone too far,” His words trail, a softening to his voice as he curls his hand around the side of your face, a gentle gesture.

“Would you like that, Geta?” You ask with a creeping suspicion, a smirk spreading across your face, “For me to rip you apart?”

A man of such power, unrestrained and chaotic—shrinks.

Almost too shy to admit it.

“Careful, my lady,” He warns, “I am still a ruler of Rome, such disrespect is—”

“Punishable by death,” You confirm, “but, you promised me safety, yes?”

Geta nods silently, watching the slow crawl of your fingers up his chest before they grab his chin, your thumb smoothing over the dimpled skin, his lips pulling apart in a shaky exhale.

“And I am sure a good boy like you will keep that promise?”

[littlegaybean1]

Not to go too analytical here, but that's exactly what I'm going to do.

See, that last gif of Buck and international treasure Christopher Diaz is of a scenario where typically the roles 'should' be reversed. That's the scene where Buck is telling Chris that his father got shot. But instead of Buck comforting Chris, as would be considered the more normal thing to happen here, it's the other way around. Buck later says that he should have held it together, but looking through the other GIFs and just thinking about the general context, is it really surprising that Buck broke down?

Think about it. Buck is, as dubbed by Bobby 'the guy who likes to fix things'. He always makes sure everyone else is okay before addressing his own issues, and sometimes he never does. Eddie got shot right in front of Buck. They were only about a metre or two apart, it could so easily have been him instead. Buck, being Buck, believes that it 'would have been better... If I'd been the one who got shot'. He's very clearly showing signs of survivor's guilt. And then, after that, he has to tell his best friend's son that he's not coming home tonight, maybe not ever. He has to say that to a child who has already lost his mother.

And here's the crucial part, the part that is summed up in the original post nicely: nobody checked to make sure Buck was okay.

They were so worried about Eddie that you never actually see Buck get any sort of comfort from anyone. He was barely holding himself together as it was, and his coping mechanism is to push it down and act like he's okay. He kept it all in, which of course can only ever lead to it bursting out. So when, on top of all the pain and stress and fear he's experiencing, he has to go and tell Christopher - a child he already feels like he's failed due to the tsunami - that he might be about to lose his father. And Buck loves them both, Eddie and Christopher, so much and so from his perspective he might be about to lose them both.

And it all comes out.

Then there's Chris, who has already lost so much for someone so young, who understands much more about the situation than anyone his age should. But in that moment, his first priority is to comfort Buck, his father's best friend who is practically family at that point. Nobody else had thought to comfort Buck, not any of the firefighters who have all suffered losses and know how to cope, none of the adults who knew far more of what Buck had been through, just a ten(?) year old boy.

Somebody please give Buck a hug. Literally anyone. I do not care who. Just someone comfort that poor guy.

Thinking about comfort hugs.

Comforting Bobby.

Comforting Maddie.

Comfort Eddie.

Comforting Chim.

Comforting Hen.

And then there's Buck.

Here's a hug, but he's comforting Maddie.

No one even touched him until he collapsed, and then they're just holding him up. He can barely grip Hen's arm.

Bobby drags him back and lets go just as Buck breaks down.

And then there's this MVP.

[bandsofmarv]

Shielded heart

After breaking up with you months ago Bucky realises he can’t live without you after seeing you on a date.

Angst, smut.

The knock at your door was sharp and insistent, but this time, it wasn’t just unwelcome—it was infuriating.

You’d barely stepped out of your heels when it came, loud enough to make you jump. You froze, your hand gripping the back of the couch as you stared at the door. Only one person knocked like that.

Your blood boiled as his voice broke through, low and angry. “Y/N, open the damn door.”

You didn’t move, your heart pounding in your chest. “Go away, Bucky,” you called out, your voice sharper than usual.

“No.” His reply was immediate and clipped. “We need to talk. Now.”

You stormed to the door, your date still fresh in your mind, the laughter and warmth of the evening now overshadowed by the man standing on the other side of the threshold. You yanked the door open, meeting his stormy blue eyes with a glare.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped. “And you don’t get to show up here like this.”

Bucky looked furious, his hair disheveled, his leather jacket unzipped like he’d rushed over. “Like hell there isn’t,” he growled, his eyes narrowing. “Who was he?”

Your stomach twisted, but you refused to let him see how much his question rattled you. “None of your business,” you said coldly, crossing your arms.

“The hell it isn’t,” Bucky snapped, stepping closer. “You think I don’t notice you dressing up? Smiling like that? I saw you, Y/N. With him.”

His words hit you like a slap, the possessiveness in his tone making your anger spike. “You saw me?” you repeated, incredulous. “What, are you stalking me now? You have no right—”

“I have every right,” he interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re mine.”

“I’m not yours!” you shot back, your voice rising. “You left me, Bucky! You don’t get to walk out of my life and then act like you have a claim to me.”

His jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said, his voice strained. “I thought you’d be better off without me.”

“And look how well that turned out,” you said bitterly. “You hurt me, Bucky. You broke me. And now, what? You see me on a date and suddenly you care?”

“That’s not what this is,” he said, his voice softening, but the tension in his frame remained.

“Isn’t it?” you challenged, taking a step closer, your anger boiling over. “You only care now because you’re jealous. Because for once, I wasn’t sitting at home, waiting for you to decide you were ready to come back.”

His expression cracked, guilt flashing across his face. “I know I messed up,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I know I don’t deserve you. But seeing you with him? I couldn’t—I can’t—”

“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you interrupted, your voice shaking. “You don’t get to show up here and act like you own me just because you don’t want anyone else to.”

His eyes darkened, and he stepped even closer, the heat between you palpable. “I don’t just want you, Y/N,” he said, his voice dropping to a growl. “I need you. And no one—no one—can love you like I can.”

You sucked in a breath, your anger mixing with the undeniable pull you still felt toward him. “You’re unbelievable,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“I’m not walking away again,” he said firmly, his gaze locking onto yours. “You can hate me all you want, but I’m not giving up. That guy you were with? He’ll never know you like I do. Never touch you the way I can.”

Your breath caught, the weight of his words pressing against the walls you’d built around your heart. “Bucky—”

“No,” he cut you off, his voice rough and desperate. “I’ve already lost you once. I won’t let it happen again.”

For a moment, you stood frozen, torn between anger and the deep ache you still felt for him. But as much as you wanted to slam the door in his face, a part of you couldn’t. A part of you didn’t want him to leave.

Bucky had made the decision for you before you knew it he was on you, his hands cupping your face as his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was desperate and all-consuming, every ounce of frustration, jealousy, and longing poured into it. You should have pushed him away, reminded him of the boundaries you’d just set—but you didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him back with equal fervor, your fingers tangling in his hair as he backed you against the wall. His body pressed against yours, heat radiating off him as his hands roamed down to your waist, gripping you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“Bucky—” you gasped when he pulled back, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Don’t say anything,” he growled, his voice rough and possessive. “Just let me prove it to you.”

You shivered as his teeth grazed your skin, his metal hand sliding under your shirt to splay across your back, pulling you even closer. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head so he could look into your eyes.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “You think some guy can make you feel like this? Touch you the way I do?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stole the words from your lips. His fingers trailed down your side, tugging your shirt over your head before his lips returned to yours, hot and demanding.

“Tell me the truth,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to your thigh and lifting it around his hip. “Did you feel anything when he touched you? Did it even come close to this?”

You swallowed hard, your resolve crumbling as he ground against you, his hardness pressing against your core. “Bucky…”

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his tone triumphant. He picked you up with ease, carrying you to the couch and laying you down. His eyes were dark with desire as he stripped you of the rest of your clothes, his hands mapping your body like he needed to remind himself you were his.

“You can pretend to hate me all you want,” he murmured, leaning over you as he stripped off his shirt. “But your body doesn’t lie. You still want me.”

You glared at him, trying to hold onto your anger, but it was hard to think when his lips were on your skin, kissing and biting a trail down your chest. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open as he settled between them.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he said, his voice dark and commanding. “Say it.”

Your breath hitched as his tongue flicked over your most sensitive spot, your hands fisting in the couch cushions. “Bucky—”

“Say it,” he demanded, his metal hand pressing against your stomach to keep you still as he worked you into a frenzy. “Say you’re mine, or I’ll stop.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, your head falling back as pleasure built in your core. “I’m yours, Bucky.”

A satisfied growl rumbled in his chest, and he pulled back, his lips glistening as he smirked down at you. “That’s my girl,” he said, shedding the rest of his clothes before aligning himself with you.

The stretch as he filled you was almost too much, but it was everything you needed. He moved slowly at first, his gaze locked on yours as he claimed you in every way possible.

“No one else can have you,” he murmured, his pace quickening. “No one else will ever touch you like this. You’ll never want anyone else, Y/N. You’re mine.”

His words sent you over the edge, your body trembling as you cried out his name. He followed moments later, his movements faltering as he buried himself deep inside you, his groan of release muffled against your neck.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing. Bucky stayed above you, his weight comforting as he pressed soft, lingering kisses to your shoulder.

“You’ll never want anyone else,” he whispered again, his voice softer now but no less certain. “Because no one else can love you like I do.”

This time, you didn’t argue.

[bonbonly]

No bon its fine, i do also see oscar as the sweetest thing, thats why i maybe thought he always forgives you for not paying him with sex, until one day, after like 6 months of not doing anything, snaps and just comes to you and gives yoh an ultimatum either you ride his cock or leave entirely

anon you absolute slut i love you for this, because for the longest time i couldn't even see oscar as a sugar daddy and now im seeing the vision, you genius i am going to pull you onto my lap and make out with you for this ;alsdkjfasldkfja;sldkfjasd;lf LMFAO bon's thoughts (18+)

sugar!daddy oscar piastri who really isn't that entirely older than you. he understand how university life is, and he helps you sometimes. he asks some of his buddies for opportunities for you, and he definitely sends you big checks to help you buy whatever you need, and whatever you want. but there are some days where he really really wants to touch you, just to know what it's like to be inside you. you're absolutely stunning, you're always smiling at him and so he feels awkward bringing this up into a conversation because you seem content, everything's working out fine and he feels a bit too selfish for wanting to ask this of you. so he lets it slide. he's not your boyfriend, necessarily, so he keeps his boundaries and nods his head whenever you talk about sex to him. it's a normal topic, you say, but you're unaware that he's biting his knuckles not because it's a habit of his, but because his cock cannot stop craving to be inside your sweet cunt.

and you can imagine months later when he overhears a phone call with your friends about how one of your classmates invited you to the library to study only to eat you out, oscar's standing there in shock because all this time he was waiting and waiting only to realize that you had just completely ignored him. if you wanted to have sex with someone, he was right there for you! you're in his bedroom, giggling with your friends about masturbating to some porn videos you found online and that's his final straw. when you come down to tell him that you were heading back to your dorm, you see him sitting there with crossed arms and a glare on his face.

"what's wrong?" you ask.

"i'll tell you what's wrong," oscar scoffs, "here's how this is going to work, because i've lost all my patience. either you come over here and ride my cock that's been aching for you for months, or you step out this door to get back to your dorm and you never come back. everything stops between us."

and you raise an eyebrow, a grin on your face when you realize your sugar daddy's feeling jealous that you weren't giving him the attention he deserves. so like the good girl that you are, you straddle him, taking off your clothes and sinking down onto his cock which causes the both of you to moan out loud. all restrain is out the window, the man has his arms wrapped around you just in case you try to leave him without having his cum inside you, and he's thrusting his hips upward to meet your bounces. he's having you cum again and cum, relishing in the feeling of your walls clenching around his cock that just keeps gifting you wave after wave.

"fuck, from now on, you wanna fuck someone you tell me," he groans, "and when i want to have my dick inside you, you better have your cunt spread wide for me. oh my," he throws his head back, slapping your ass as you continue to ride him. you nod your head, telling him that you'll never leave him unattended ever again. he's wrapped around your finger, permanently.

[afterglowkatie]

the bolter | m.p./i.e.

mapi león x ingrid engen x putellas!reader | 0.8k | ‘I know you’re supposed to keep a close eye on me, but this is a little extreme,’

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the pollito universe. pollito is nine in this fic!

❆♡────୨ holiday season blurb event ৎ────♡❆

‘María,’ Alexia exhaled slowly, ‘What do you mean you lost Pollito?’ If Alexia wasn’t just down the other end of the phone, Mapi would’ve already started running. She wasn’t even facing your Mami in person and she felt like she had to run away from Alexia’s wrath. 

You liked to run and hide away from Mapi, you thought it was funny when you’d watch from afar, seeing her all frantic. Even better when your mami got involved, you’d end up teasing Mapi for getting in trouble. Safe to say you were never going to change, you took too much joy in it all. 

‘Did I say lost?’ Mapi spoke out slowly, trying to think of a way to diffuse whatever this was turning into while she was frantically still trying to find you, ‘Well yes, I meant Pollito lost the..the game we were playing,’ A small curse flew was muttered under her breath and Alexia definitely wasn’t about to believe anything she was saying. 

‘Alright,’ Your Mami sounded too calm, ‘Put Pollito on the phone, por favor,’ Mapi’s eyes grew wide and she stumbled over saying a goodbye and how you were having too much fun to talk. Even at nine years old, you still liked talking to your mami whenever you could and would run to whoever was looking after you at the time if you heard your mami’s voice.

Mapi hung the phone up but not before hearing Alexia mutter a ‘I’m never leaving Pollito with you again,’ Which was always an empty threat, considering the next time your mami left you with Mapi wasn’t long after that. Mostly since you begged your mami to let you have a sleepover with Bagheera and you knew how to wear your mami down so she’d agree to almost anything.

‘You better not lose Pollito again,’ Alexia raised her eyebrow, there wasn’t a hint of a smile on her face when she was talking with Mapi before giving you over. Mapi and Ingrid had come to pick you up, planning to take you out for the day as well. You’d overheard your mami’s conversation with Mapi and knew Ingrid was the only reason she’d agreed so soon after the last incident. 

You saw the way your mami was looking at Mapi and very smugly copied her, you liked Mapi being in trouble with your mami. Your mami can be scary, so as long as it wasn’t at you, you loved seeing it, ‘Oh trust me, I’ll keep a very close eye on her,’ Your smug expression turned into a glare when you noticed the mischievous glint in Mapi’s eyes when she turned to look at you.

‘I wish I could,’ Your mami muttered mostly under her breath before shaking her head at the two of you and disappearing back into the house, still needing to look after your younger brother and your new baby sister. Officially letting Ingrid be the one to deal with the two of you for now.

Your glare towards Mapi left for about a millisecond before it came back once she tried, and unfortunately was successful, in wrangling you into one of those backpack leashes. Those ones for children, which you were but you were definitely too old for it considering how it was sitting on you. Your deadpan stare was almost identical to your mami, and almost chilling enough for Mapi to briefly forget that you were the child and that she got to make the decisions, not you. She almost let you out of it immediately.

‘I know you’re supposed to keep a close eye on me, but this is a little extreme,’ You wriggled around trying to get it off of you, all your attempts were pointless. You weren’t getting away any time soon.

‘Just keeping you safe, little Pollito,’ To add fuel to the fire, Mapi patted your head, talking down to you a little, making you seem smaller than you are.

‘María,’ Ingrid’s voice had a warning tone towards her girlfriend, not wanting to spend the entire day listening to the two of you bicker. She especially didn’t want to have to deal with Mapi bickering with a nine year old all day long. 

‘Or keeping you safe from Mami,’ Mapi didn’t have to look at you to hear the smirk through your voice. You may only be nine but you picked up on things most wouldn’t expect you to at this age. 

‘Dios mio,’ Mapi muttered, wanting to say more but the look from Ingrid stopped her. You tried to run off, hoping the end Mapi was holding would slip from her hand. But she wasn’t as distracted as you’d hoped when you were tugged back instantly.

Sighing dramatically, you let your body go limp and flopped to the ground, ‘Just take me to see my Bagheera,’ 

[coolingrosa]

I never really see what Nightmare’s abilities could’ve done to help others. Everyone labels his powers as monstrous, but negativity isn’t always a bad thing, and it’s needed to keep the balance. We also know if you have the power, it doesn’t automatically make you evil, as Nightmare was the guardian of negativity and was a gentle and kind soul before the apple incident.

I genuinely believe Nightmare’s role from the very start was to help people through their grief and let them process their negative emotions rather than suppressing them with positivity. You need to feel those emotions to confront them- but his soothing aura likely assisted with this fight and could’ve allowed people a safe place to let it out. He was supposed to be a comfort. Dream was there to bring joy and play and have fun- never to be the one with soothing tendencies. Nightmare was supposed to have that role, which is why he was so nurturing to Dream. It was in his essence. His whole goal in life was likely to soothe and comfort and yet the villagers beat him.

If we keep the auras and powers in mind, Nightmare was likely so weak towards the apple incident because he was deprived of his literal job and way to fuel his power. All his essence wanted to do was help and comfort and he was given fists. Meanwhile, Dream was being saddled with Nightmare’s responsibilities by being forced to comfort others and smother their sadness with his powers- which likely overworked him and made him confused on his own purpose. Was he really supposed to do everything? He just wanted to play. He just wanted to see happiness, not pain. It hurt him, and he was nothing but exhausted at eight years old.

I like to think little Nightmare did help one person in his time being alive, because the idea that his life was pure misery and deprivation is heartbreaking. A individual who had lost a family member and couldn’t cry. They felt nothing- and wanted to get the whirlwind of emotions out so they wouldn’t feel empty. They came to Nightmare in private, and he held them in a hesitant hug, and they began to bawl due to his aura. ( I can’t remember correctly, but I believe eating the apples was only a sin due to one of the guardians doing it. I believe Dream passed around positivity apples and they were safe to eat, so it would make since that the other side of the balance also was. They just can’t be eaten a LOT. So he could’ve also given them a apple)

They cried for hours, and Nightmare was terrified this would cause this to tell the village and anger them, but when they were done, they let Nightmare go and thanked him. They left with a bitter smile on their face, but a better understanding of their grief.

He had one chance to do what his abilities told him to do, and he loved it.

[oceantornadoo]

two strangers in a bar

ch 1 of the wrong john: masterlist | next

john price x f!reader (johnny's twin)

--

You figure one whiskey in the fancy bar across from your hotel can’t hurt.

Johnny put you up in a nice hotel, considerate with all the travel and logistics it took to get here. Two days of your PTO gone, an almost-argument with the gate agent who lost your luggage, chasing down an AirTag with said luggage, and a very uncomfortable taxi ride. But it was fine. It was for Johnny.

Johnny: the brother, the twin, you hadn’t seen face-to-face in over a year. The one who got in a screaming match with your Catholic family last Christmas over who he can love. Nevermind the sacrifices he makes for the safety of the world, it’s where he puts his dick that matters to them. You told him it was bullshit and thus remained the only family member he contacts. You were worried for a second that he’d group you in with them, would sever your holy twin connection for it, but you should have remembered who you were thinking about. If anything, you’d do that to Johnny before he did it to you, a fact you both pretended did not exist. That scrappy self-awareness that somehow only you had been born with, mistaking protection with isolation. So when he said he had a slow week, said he had a partner (a boyfriend!) he wanted you to meet, you couldn’t say no. That was as good as siding with your family.

The meeting was tomorrow (“1000 sharp, m'eudail. Come t’ base an’ we’ll show ye around. Yer gonna love Simon, ‘es all claws like you.”) For the oddest reason, you were nervous. It wasn’t like Johnny needed his family’s approval, if anything, you needed to meet the approval of his found family. The one he created when he left, the one he was slowly opening to you like a secret garden. One sense of a parasite and the gate would be locked forever. He never said as much, too happy-go-lucky for that, but you could sense the protectiveness behind his words during glitchy monthly phone calls. “Price, Gaz, an’ there’s the L.T. Calls himself Ghost but ‘es more bark tha’ bite. You’ll see, m'eudail.” And so you ordered a whiskey to quell the nerves.

“Miss, a drink for you.” The bartender placed a gin and tonic down that was certainly not what you ordered. “I’m sorry, I wanted a whiskey? You can take this back, I haven’t touched it, I swear.” He shook his head, reaching down to grab a whiskey glass. “‘S from the gentleman on the corner. Told me to say our gin is better than our whiskey, which I disagree with, but whatever pays the tips.” He placed a glass of whiskey (on the rocks) in front of you. “Both are on the house, courtesy of your admirer. Let me know if ya need anything or he bothers you.” You nodded your thanks, glancing around for this mystery man. The bar wasn’t too packed but with a game of football on, there were more single men than not.

Finally, you felt a pair of eyes on you, sticking to the back of your head like honey. You turn and there he is, icy blue eyes and a lumberjack look, bearded in flannel. He’s broad and he knows it, carrying himself with the grace of self-confidence. To add to it, he’s sitting alone in a back corner table, perfect view of all exits (like how Johnny told you to look for one tipsy night eons ago.) When you catch his eyes, he raises a glass, giving you a glimpse of hands you want to examine. Are they soft or worn? What about his beard? You promised yourself a drink to settle you nerves, a bubble bath and lights out before 11, but he’s throwing a wrench into your plans. It feels like foreshadowing, to what you don’t know.

“Bit rude to tell the bartender you don’t like his whiskey. Doesn’t give a good first impression.” Somehow, your feet took you over to his table without your permission. You’re standing while he’s sitting and somehow you’re still tilting your head to meet his eyes. They’re darker than they were on first glance, swimming with something that sends a shiver down your spine. You purposefully take a sip of whiskey, your gin and tonic abandoned at the bar, to will that feeling away.

“Jus’ givin’ some advice to a pretty traveler. Can’t have y’ thinkin’ this part of London has no drinks f’ a woman like you.” You find a gray hair in his beard and track it to the curve of his lips as he speaks, taking in the small details you couldn’t see from the bar. Like the way his eyes crinkle in a world-weary manner or the gruffness of his tone, like he’s used to giving orders rather than initiating conversation. It’s your new mission to unpeel the layers of this man tonight.

“And how did you know I’m a traveler? Could be a local for all you know.” He snorts, and in any other man, the arrogance would put you off, but it’s somehow attractive on him. “Well, sweetheart, everyone’s payin’ attention t’ Arsenal playin’ an’ y’ve barely given ‘em a glance. And any local worth their salt knows the whiskey here is watered down an’ grimy.” You take a sip of your drink, again, to prove a point, biting back a grimace at the taste. You can’t let him win.

“Does that make you a local?” Gracefully, he ignores how you could barely swallow down the last drop in your cup. Instead of answering, he signals the bartender for two gin and tonics, then gestures at you to sit in the other seat at his table. His silent command, and consequential dismal of your question, pulls at a string in your belly you didn’t know existed. Perhaps it’s the whiskey.

“Nah, ‘v been around. Been in London for work a while an’ hav’ learned about whiskey choices the hard way. And you? Not from ‘ere, can tell by the accent.” You write that down in your imaginary notebook, hoping a whiskey enthusiast doesn’t equal a reliance on alcohol. You’re fast to determine red flags, especially with strangers. “From Scotland but haven’t been home in a while so the accent’s a bit over the place. What’s your work?”

He takes a sip of the newly arrived gin and tonic, savoring the taste with his tongue. It darts out to catch a drop the edge of his lip and you’re hit with visions of where else he could put it. God, you don’t even know his name yet. “Security consultant. Protectin’ whatever they pay me to protect. An’ you?” It’s a lie. His eyes don’t stray from your face but your bullshit-o-meter is ringing somewhere. You let him have it, deciding a lie for a lie is the best way to go.

“I’m interviewing with a company around here, so I’m currently in between jobs. But I trade in corporate bullshit.” He chuckles, smooth and low like good whiskey, and it’s enough that you forgive the lie, letting it gather dust in the back of your mind. “My name’s John, sweetheart. An’ yours?” You murmur it sweet and slow, fluttering your lashes to lock in the deal. It’s near 10 now, and you don’t want to be yawning when you meet Johnny tomorrow. You have a feeling the man in front of you could keep you up all night if you let him.

John pulls your chair into his until your thighs are slotted in between each other like puzzle pieces. “Got any plans tonight?” You shake your head no, pressing your leg into his own. The harsh denim of his jeans scrapes against your well-worn ones, reminding you of how rugged he seems. You want to see how untamed he can be, and your panties dampen at the thought.

“Well, John,” you overemphasize the last syllable of his name to make sure he’s paying attention. “My hotel is across the street if you need to expand your London knowledge. Really give you that local aura.” His thumb grazes your knee, stroking against the grain pattern. “Sounds good t’ me, sweetheart. Let’s give it a go.”

–

Few thoughts:

m'eudail - my darling, my dear

The base is on the outskirts of London but the hotel is in the city because I said so.

I don’t know anything about London football, Arsenal was the first team that showed up. Thanks google

This was all build up but the next chapter will have some smut! 

This is more for a plot based audience so here’s my AO3 if you’d like to subscribe

Comment if you want to be tagged 🙂

[mythalism]

the timing of someone apparently shitting on me for being a veilguard hater on some remote corner of tumblr is so funny because i was actually just in the shower like an hour before listening to the atonement ending suite and thinking about the things that i love about veilguard after almost 2 months of marinating on it, so apologies for destroying my reputation as a certified HATER!!!!!!! but i actually wanted to share these earlier so im still going to. i think its interesting especially because ive seen a lot of people that hate these same things about the game, but my opinion has stayed the same. its also interesting because OVERALL the more i think about veilguard the more i dislike it, but for these certain aspects, the more i think about them the more i love them.

THAT FUCKING SONG!!!!!!!!!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!!!!!! even two months later i get choked up listening to it. and guys....... i dont listen to lost elf anymore. like i just dont even think of it. thats not to say trevor morris isnt the greatest of all time, and the atonement ending song relies heavily on lost elf. i know. but my favorite parts of the atonement song are not even lost elf!!! overall i missed trevor deeply, i did not like the veilguard soundtrack. i even turned the music volume to 0 at some points because it felt like nails on a chalkboard to me (ghilannain fight music made me want to d*e). HOWEVER. this is supposed to be positive. and if you ask me to choose lost elf vs atonement theme... im choosing atonement theme. every time. the way it adds to lost elf is wonderful. it gives me chills. it is so haunting. i will never tire of it. I LOVE THIS FUCKING SOOOOOONG. i also love the dread wolf song. so honorable mention to that one.

i love the solavellan ending. i know people hate it but nothing i have seen has convinced me to abandon my love for it. it is the best ending we could have possibly gotten in a game where the veil stayed up. and yes obviously i think the veil should have come down. but my IDEAL ending would have been veil down, rook takes over the mantle of dread wolf, solas and lavellan give up their mortal bodies and become spirits together and ascend to the fade. and honestly thats pretty much what happens, just without the veil. i love the mythological fairy tale vibe. i love the bittersweetness. i love that it is both tragic and hopeful. i love that it is vague enough to leave the future open. i love that the devs refuse to confirm where exactly in the fade they are. i love the sigyn loki eros psyche parallels. i love the maker and andraste parallels. could it have been built up to better? absolutely. but thats an issue with the build up, not the ending. i thought solas was going to die and we were going to watch the light go out of his eyes as lavellan held him and sobbed. it is so much more hopeful than i expected. i love that we get to redeem him through the power of love. i love that lavellan forgives him. i love that they survive. I LOVE IT!!!! and i love it the more i think about it. ive tried to hate it because i understand the perspective of people who didnt like it, but i literally cannot make myself dislike it.

i love the solavellan ending scene itself. i love how inky creeps in through the door. dont ask how she got up there its fine. i love how she sneaks up on him. i love that she comes up those stairs and it parallels the prologue scene with varric. i love that she has a zinger ready for him. "even if those you have wronged asked you to stop?" oh its so fucking good. i love his pathetic defeated "vhenan". i love that he rejects her again. i love that he apologizes but stays true to his goals. i love that it takes something beyond lavellan and the modern world to finally crack him. i love the way he looks at mythal like a kicked puppy. i love the way he cannot meet her eyes. i love the way he crumples and sobs and we see a completely different side of him that I NEVER FUCKING EXPECTED TO SEE IN A MILLION YEARS???? i love mythal's coldness and frankness as she releases him. i love that she doesn't apologize. i love how fucked up and messy it is. i love how it speaks to their entire relationship being fucked up and messy. i love that it has given me so much to chew on about what the fuck was going on with them. i love the way lavellan kneels so she can see his face. i love that she speaks in elvhen (even if the translation leaves something to be desired). i love that its all in the hallelujah cadence. i love that he assumes she wont come with him. i love that she has to chase after him one more time. i love his fucking tear mesh. i love his face when he looks at her. i love that their scene is wedding coded. i dont love the kiss but im trying to be positive and its tiny in the grand scheme. i love her hand on his shoulder as they step into the fade. i have a few complaints about the scene but none of them are enough to cheapen my enjoyment of it.

i fucking love fragment mythal. obviously. but seriously. i love the scene where you get her approval its one of my favorites in the entire game. i love that its hard to get her approval. i love that she fucking kills you if you piss her off. i love her lines. "after he killed the swamp witch. AND WEPT." BITCH!!!! and "you are a thousand years from knowing the correct words" or whatever. I LOVE HER. i love how fucking nasty she is. i love how she has clearly been stewing in resentment for thousands of years. i love that she is rude and proud and haughty. i love that she'd be looking down her nose at you if she wasn't like 5 ft tall. i love the way she falls backwards off the ledge with her arms out and closes her eyes to transform into a fucking dragon. i love her condescension. i love the decapitated wolf statues in the background. i love the note from felassan that reveals solas made her an entire island for herself. i love that she reveals that he put her there. i love that he could not bring himself to visit her even once. ohhhhh my god it makes me dizzy. talking to her was a moment where the game felt like dragon age to me.

i love my lavellan in this game. did i want WAY more of her? yeah. and i expected more. but every moment we got i loved. the first scene with her is mostly whatever its appropriately formal for her meeting a stranger. but the way she stutters when talking about solas? when asking rook to give him a chance by using the wolf statue to learn more about him? the way she looks down and to the side as she says it? banger. masterpiece. the act 3 conversation makes me have to lay down. i can barely even talk about it without foaming at the mouth. i love her characterization. i love that she orders rook to tell her something like she has gotten used to the power of her title as inquisitor. i love her subtle desperation to have her hope for him validated cloaked under her inquisitor mask. i love how it begins to crack as the conversation goes on and she gets lost in the memories of him. i love her sincerity. i love the way she speaks bluntly and unapologetically of her love. i love her facial expressions and her furrowed brow. i love how confident and self assured she is. "or maybe im the prideful one, imagining his broken heart so that i do not have to face my folly; that i loved someone who made such terrible mistakes. that i might love him still" IS MY FAVORITE LINE IN THE ENTIRE GAME. perhaps. PERHAPS. in all of dragon age. yes im serious. its that insane to me. it feels like shakespeare wrote it. im only half kidding. i was rolling on the floor of my bedroom when i heard it. it still gives me chills. i love that her lines are in the hallelujah cadence. i love the way she talks about their relationship. i love how she is angry and indignant about his lies to her but that does not infringe upon her love. i love when she says "how could i have fallen in love with a god and not known? why didnt he tell me?' i love how sure she is that she knows the true solas. i love every word out of her mouth. i love all of it. that is my favorite scene in the game. i love when she shows up with dorian in the end. i love "is there any chance, any chance at all that he'd listen to reason?" i love her face when she says it. i love "speaking from the heart, inquisitor?" i love when dorian asks if shes heading out afterwards and she says "something like that" BE SOOOO FRRRR. SHE WAS FUCKING SCHEMING. there was not a moment that she was on screen that i did not love.

overall, i am happy with solas in this game. this one is last because its the weakest because i do criticisms but overall, i think it was fine LOL. my biggest worry was that they were going to completely woobify him and make him above reproach and erase the negative sides of him in favor of making him MORE sympathetic to new players. the fact that we got the opposite is crazy, but i vastly prefer it. id rather have him be too villainous than robbed of his complexity to be more palatable. that would have fully ruined the game for me. so the fact that we got to see him being an absolute prick little shit who betrayed us TWICE was wonderful. i loved being betrayed. i love the scene where he puts rook in the regret prison. i LOVE how he appears behind rooks shoulder in flashes and the player can see him but rook cant. i love how he circles rook like prey. i love how he does that cunty little thing with his hand over the dagger. i love that he taunts rook. i love that he doesnt actually take the dagger from them and instead waits for it to fall into his hand. its so immortal trickster god. i love that fucking scene. i love the "by my hand" line and how he looks you in the face as he manipulates his words so expertly. i love his banters with the companions. i looooooooved listening to him beef with elgar'nan. it felt so HIM. i was like YES!!!! THIS IS THE DREAD WOLF I WANTED TO MEET!!!! i was screaming during that quest. anyway. i wanted more of him. yeah. i dont really care that much that the companions and general story is weirdly unsympathetic to him. because it obviously didnt work!!! LMFAOOO 72% people still decided to redeem him so whatever! hes still pookie. im just so glad they didnt make him boring and lame. all my issues along this vein revolve more around the veil than solas, so i consider it a separate issue. i loved seeing mean nasty cunty trickster god.

ok in retrospect this list isnt that long KJHREGKJERG. however all of these things are very important to me so the fact that i love them is essential. like i truly got what i needed out of this game. i criticize it a lot but i would have done that even if the game was a 9/10 for me. i do it to literally everything i love. except fmab because its above reproach. but literally everything else. i was writing essays criticizing the percy jackson books on tumblr when i was 15. i have been criticizing dragon age online for 5+ years. veilguard aint special in catching my heat. critical analysis is in my soul. anyway i wanted banger solavellan ending that i could chew on for years and i got it. thats all i needed! ok now going to go listen to atonement ending suite again and transcend into the astral plane

[hazymoonlinh]

Lighter x Reader

Lost n Found

Part1

(Just love this place a lot muehehehe)

Don’t mind the pic

(So the mc was lost in the hollow and having a meltdown after her companions didn’t survive)

The ground beneath you felt cold, the cracked earth pressing into your palms as you slumped against the wall, trying to catch your breath. Your body ached all over—deep, sharp pains where the Ethereals had struck, but it was nothing compared to the heavy emptiness sitting in your chest.

Again, you’re the only one left.

You didn’t even flinch when you heard his footsteps pounding against the hollowed-out ground, his voice slicing through the ringing in your ears.

“There you are!”

Lighter’s voice was hoarse, frantic, raw in a way you hadn’t heard before. You knew he’d find you eventually. He always did. It should’ve mattered. But it didn’t. Not anymore.

You didn’t look up as he stumbled to a halt in front of you, his breath ragged, like he’d been running for days. “Hey. Hey!” He crouched down, trying to meet your eyes, but you kept staring at the ground—at the blood smearing the dirt under your fingertips.

“You’re hurt. Come on, we need to get you out of here—”

“Why am I still alive?”

Your voice broke through his words, soft but sharp enough to make him freeze. He blinked down at you, as though unsure if he’d heard you right.

“…What did you just say?”

You laughed—short, hollow, bitter. It escaped your lips like a cough, a broken thing you couldn’t quite contain. “I fought them. I fought, Lighter. But I shouldn’t have. I should’ve just let it happen. I should’ve just let them take me.”

Lighter’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he didn’t say a word. Then:

“Don’t.”

His voice was low, tight, a warning. But you ignored him.

“I mean, look at me,” you continued, a shaky, almost manic edge creeping into your voice as you gestured weakly to yourself—your torn clothes, the blood staining your skin, the bruises blooming across your arms. “I’m a mess. I can barely stand. I feel like hell, and—”

You cut yourself off with another bitter laugh, your head falling back against the wall. “At least I feel something, though. That’s gotta count for something, right? Pain’s better than nothing. It’s better than the emptiness.”

“Stop it.” Lighter’s voice cracked this time, and you finally looked up at him.

He was staring at you like he didn’t recognize you, his hands trembling at his sides. His green irises burned with something wild, desperate—something you’d never seen in him before.

“Why?” you shot back, your voice rising. “Why should I stop? Why do you care so much, Lighter? Why am I still here? What’s the point of any of this?”

“Because you’re alive!” he snapped, the words exploding from him like he couldn’t hold them back anymore.

Your chest heaved, your fingers curling into the dirt beneath you as you shook your head, a humorless smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah? And for what? I didn’t ask to be saved. I didn’t ask for this life—for this never-ending fight, for this pain that just keeps coming. I didn’t—”

“Stop!” Lighter’s voice thundered through the air, loud enough to cut you off. He grabbed your shoulders suddenly, shaking you just enough to make your head snap up. His hands were firm, his grip almost bruising, but his eyes—those red-ringed eyes—were wide, frantic, pleading.

“You think this is easy for me?” he hissed, his voice rough, unsteady. “You think I haven’t been there? You think I don’t know what it’s like to wake up and wish you hadn’t? To stare down that abyss and want to let it take you?”

You stared at him, stunned, as the cracks in his voice became impossible to ignore.

“I’ve been where you are,” he said, quieter this time. His hands loosened their grip on your shoulders, but they didn’t let go. “I’ve felt it. That weight—the one that keeps pushing you down until you can’t breathe anymore. I know. But you…” He shook his head, swallowing hard. “You don’t get to give up. Not while I’m still here.”

You let out a shaky breath, your lips trembling as you looked away. “You don’t understand—”

“I do,” Lighter cut you off, his voice breaking. He exhaled sharply, letting his hands fall away from your shoulders before running them through his disheveled black-green hair. He looked like he was falling apart right in front of you, trying to hold himself together with shaking hands and broken words.

“I do understand. But you wanna know the difference?” he asked bitterly, dropping to sit in front of you, his knees scraping against the dirt. “I kept fighting. I didn’t think I’d make it out. I didn’t even want to. But I’m still here, and you know why? Because there were people who didn’t give up on me—even when I wanted to give up on myself.”

Your chest tightened painfully, your vision blurring with tears you didn’t want to shed. “Lighter…”

“Don’t you dare tell me your life doesn’t matter,” he said fiercely, his red pupils locking onto you like they were holding you in place. “Don’t you dare. Because it matters to me. You matter to me. And if you think I’m gonna let you slip away just because you think you’re too far gone—”

He broke off, his voice trembling as he looked away, fists clenching at his sides. For a moment, he couldn’t even speak. When he finally looked back at you, his eyes were glassy behind the sunglasses , the sharp edges of his anger softened by something far more painful.

“…I can’t lose you too.”

You choked on a sob, covering your face with your hands as the tears finally spilled over. The pain, the exhaustion, the hopelessness—it all crashed over you like a wave, pulling you under.

The silence that followed your words was sharp, cutting through the air like broken glass. You let out a hollow, humorless laugh, the sound scraping against your throat as you stared at him through blurred vision.

“It’s funny,” you murmured, voice thin, trembling, “because I’m the one who’s supposed to be screaming in despair… and yet…” Your head tilted back against the wall as you looked at him, a ghost of a smile pulling at your cracked lips. “Here you are, doing it in my place.”

Lighter froze. The way you said it—so tired, so empty—made his chest ache in ways he couldn’t explain. You were mocking yourself, mocking him, and yet there was nothing playful about it.

He clenched his jaw, his breathing sharp and uneven as he stared at you. The red in his pupils flared faintly, like embers struggling to reignite. “You think this is funny?” he said, his voice low and strained, trembling with something he was barely holding back.

You shrugged weakly, the motion barely there. “It’s all kind of ridiculous, don’t you think? Me, like this. You, still trying.” You laughed again—a breathless, broken sound. “I don’t even know what you’re fighting for anymore, Lighter.”

“For you,” he snapped, his voice raw, the words tearing from him before he could stop them.

Your mocking smile faltered, your expression slipping as you stared at him. He was breathing hard, his shoulders shaking, his fists trembling at his sides.

“I’m fighting for you, damn it,” Lighter repeated, softer this time, but no less intense. He ran a hand roughly through his hair, his eyes never leaving yours. “You think I’m screaming in your place? Fine. I’ll scream. I’ll yell. I’ll fight as much as it takes, because you won’t. Because you can’t. But that’s why I’m here. That’s why I care.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Lighter dropped to his knees in front of you again, closer this time, his face inches from yours.

“I’ll be the one to pull you back,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less desperate. “I don’t care if you mock me for it. I don’t care if you think it’s stupid or pointless. But you need to understand something—”

His hand reached out hesitantly, trembling before it brushed against your cheek, so light it was barely a touch. “You’re not alone. Not anymore. You don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

Your eyes stung, your chest tightening painfully as his words washed over you. You wanted to argue, to push him away, to tell him he didn’t understand. But the look on his face—the raw, unguarded way he looked at you—stopped you cold.

Lighter exhaled sharply, his thumb brushing against the tear that slipped down your cheek. “Let me scream in your place. Let me fight. Let me carry the weight until you can stand on your own again. Just…” His voice cracked as his hand dropped away. “Don’t you dare leave me here alone.”

You looked at him, your lips parting as if to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you let out another broken laugh, softer this time, as you wiped your eyes with a shaking hand.

“You’re so stubborn,” you muttered weakly.

Lighter huffed out a breath, his lips tugging into a faint, humorless smile. “Takes one to know one, sweetheart.”

The silence that followed was different—no longer sharp and heavy, but fragile, like glass balanced on the edge of a table. You didn’t know if you believed him, if you believed anything would get better.

The world around you had begun to blur—sounds fading into distant echoes, shapes losing their edges until they became nothing but hazy smears of light and shadow. Your body felt heavy, unbearably so, as though the earth itself was pulling you down. The warmth of blood seeping through your clothes spread like ink in water, but you barely registered it.

All you could see, all you could focus on, was Lighter’s face hovering above you.

His usually steady, cool demeanor had shattered completely. Hair clung to his forehead, disheveled and damp with sweat, and his sunglasses were gone, revealing the vibrant red of his pupils that burned with raw panic.

“Stay with me,” he choked out, his voice rough, thick with desperation. “Come on, sweetheart, stay with me.”

You wanted to respond, to say something—anything—to ease that look on his face. But your lips wouldn’t move, your voice wouldn’t come. All you could do was stare at him through heavy-lidded eyes, watching the way his hands trembled as they pressed against your wounds, trying to stop the bleeding.

“This isn’t funny anymore, damn it,” he muttered, his voice cracking as he leaned closer, his breath uneven. “You’re not leaving me. You can’t leave me. I won’t let you.”

You managed a weak smile—a barely there tug at the corner of your mouth—as if to mock him. It was all you could offer, a bittersweet gesture, as the edges of your vision darkened further.

“Please…”

His voice broke on that single word, and you felt his hands press harder, as if trying to keep you tethered to him, to this place.

You could still see him—just barely. His eyes, usually sharp and unwavering, now shimmered with something raw and pleading. His gaze was locked on yours, as though his sheer willpower alone could hold you here.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t you dare—”

But his words slipped away, dissolving into the background noise as everything around you faded to black.

The last thing you saw was him—his worried, desperate gaze burning into yours. The last thing you heard was the sound of his voice, fractured and trembling, as he screamed your name.

And then there was nothing.

_____

(I genuinely was having a broke down writing this. Life sucks btw)

[muffinsin]

Greetings and Salutations, my good Muffin! I was wondering...assuming that reader has clothes from the modern world: which article of clothing of theirs do you think each sister would steal to wear herself? Do you think they'd do it because they like to smell like reader/for reader to smell like them, or do you think they're just generally comfier in reader's clothing? This came to me in a vision of Cassandra wearing an oversized Snoopy sweater, and I have not stopped thinking about it since!

Hey, hon! What a cute prompt!🙌 and damn, that’s adorable as hell XP

Let’s get into it :)

Masterlists

Bela

At first, she’s a little skeptical towards clothing that isn’t from the village

She wants to be considered fearful, still

Now, that can hardly be so when put in jeans, or leggings, or god forbid, skirts, to her

So, even as you plead with her to wear such things- she often shoots you down

At other times, she accepts, though only wears the clothing you bring her in the privacy of your room

And while she, for a long, long time, sticks to her dress, you often find yourself almost drooling over her in some of your clothing

Her thighs, for example, thick and strong, framed so nicely by a pair of tight jeans

You never get tired of that view, often even try to convince her to put them on merely to look at the clothing item hug her legs

So much gets lost beneath the dress…

Alas, it takes a good amount of time until she wears different things, too, only in your room. She loves her signature dress, after all, one of the gifts presented to her long ago by her mother, one of the things to connect her with her sisters, too. And, of course, not only her signature look, but also one that inspires fear wherever she goes. You need to ease her into it all

And, in time, you get her to put on more than just jeans

You begin easy, with dark clothing, tight, much like her dress. It takes a little while to warm her up to the idea of more comfortable clothing

Simple shirts come next, which, in time, she learns to occasionally pair with the jeans

The look has your head spin and a smile spread on your lips each time without fail

Then, as you begin to lay out more clothing items for her, regardless of whether she will wear them or not, she tries new things

And soon she even discovers;

She loves sweaters

Wool, especially, at times, so long as it isn’t scratchy

She loves to steal any sweater from you at all, and she secretly loves how warm and comfortable they are

Bonus points if they’re way oversized for you and therefore cover her fingertips

Of course, she would never admit this, and you know better than to randomly bring up how utterly adorable your girlfriend looks like that

She doesn’t wear your clothing outside your room, still, but it’s something, already

Often, she even snatches your clothing and puts it on without any prompting at all

Sometimes, she’ll pull up the sleeves, but generally she likes her fingertips covered

It’s just so nice and warm

Perfect for winter, really, when she just gets so cold so easily anyway

During those times she likes to stay in with you, sit by the window and read or work, dressed warm

No one is aware of it, no one gets to see her like this, except for you

Ah, well

You, and her sisters, that is, whenever one enters unnanounced, cooing and inspecting their sister’s clothing with wide eyes and growing curiosity

Often, she swats them away before they have a chance to snatch. This does not, however, stop them from whining her ears off about wanting such “fancy” clothing for themselves, too. Especially if she’s worn it often enough the clothing items smells like their beloved, strong, role-model eldest sister

Typical, really. But you know, she doesn’t mind, and often lay out clothing for her that you know she’ll end up gifting to her younger sisters

Now, admittedly, she likes how comfortable the white sweater she regularly steals from you is

Normally, she isn’t one for comfort, that much is clear. Always pushing more, always the type to keep going and ignore discomfort

But…your clothing is comfortable

And in time, you dare push a little more. Baby steps

Instead of allowing her to change into her nightgown, you urge her to try something else instead;

A pale, comfortable sweater, and a pair of light red, baggy leggings

And while skeptical, she practically melts into the feeling of the soft fabric

She sleeps like that regularly now, occasionally matching you, occasionally wearing pieces you’ve worn before

She’s so comfortable, so happy

It even helps her fall asleep a little faster

Now, despite your begging, she will only very rarely allow you to put an oversized hoodie on her, determined to keep up her intimidating, headstrong aura

She knows, after all, she looks far too cute drowning in a hoodie, perhaps especially due to her height

Cassandra

Cassandra is incredibly curious about all from the “outside world”, as she occasionally calls all that lies beyond the village

Places, animals, phenomenons, of course

But this includes clothing, too

At the castle already, she enjoys most type of clothings. She isn’t big on colorful things, though, sticking mainly to her signature dress

Though, technically, she’s sure she would inspire fear no matter what she’s wearing

And while she loves her signature black dress, she does like to snatch some of your clothing items from you the first chance she gets

It’s just slightly about fashion

Just slightly about the fact it’s from the outside

Just slightly about curiosity

No; really, it’s about your scent that sticks to them, really, around her always

As a huntress, and a predator, she’s extremely used to your smell in no time

And, she finds incredible comfort in it

She loves to be on top of you, secretly loves it when you wrap your arms around her fully and push her face to your neck, allowing her to inhale all of your natural scent

Your clothing- well, it’s very similar as it comes to that

She secretly likes hoodies the best, for the simple reason that they cover so much of her and she can cover her face with the hood

Also, they keep her warm

She won’t accept any clothing other than black, though, and perhaps a very, very dark blue

Multiple times you’ve had to dye something for her, laughing whenever she’d insist she will not wear something pink, green, red, yellow!

She’s so adorable when she fights you regarding those things, snarling and growling, her flies buzzing loudly when you dare lift a bright clothing item towards her

She insists- she wants to look threatening!

You don’t quite understand your murderous girlfriend’s point

Even if you put her in the brightest, cutest yellow hoodie, it would be drenched red in blood in no time, anyway

And, you think, everything suits her

What you like best by far, though, are jeans and leather pants

She’s taken a shine to leather jackets fast, though finds leather pants quite enjoyable, too

Now, to be perfectly honest; you first got her into them out of sheer curiosity and a good amount of desire, too

You love to- when she grants it- touch her up in her dress already

Her round, thick ass sticking out for you, so beautiful beneath the dark dress

Pants, however, bring it out far, far more

You suppose you should be glad looks can’t kill, for you feel your stomach tighten each time you look at her like that, the urge to either take her or spread your legs for her almost overwhelming

Those things aside, Cassandra has taken a shine to most things aside from skirts, which she flat out refuses to wear, finding them to be a great source of humiliation

Often, you’ll find her return to you wearing your shirt and jeans, though, her sickle in her hand, the clothing completely drenched in blood

Ah, but you don’t mind

Not so long as you hear her flies buzz happily

Daniela

Oh, she loves your clothing!

You look so cute in them, and they look so comfortable!

Oh, and they smell so well!

It doesn’t even occur to her that she perhaps ought to ask you for the clothing, she just takes some

She can’t help herself, really

And when she pulls those big, doe-like, golden puppy eyes on you, how can you possibly be upset about her snatching and staining your clothing with blood?

Besides, she looks far too cute in your clothing

The first few things she takes are shirts, sweaters, jeans, shoes. Later on come skirts and dresses

She likes to experiment, really

And, while she tries out just about everything at least once or twice at the start, Daniela finds herself favoring certain items more so than others

She even becomes quite good at putting together a look for herself, unsurprisingly

And as such, you soon find her in more and more of your clothing- the same type of clothing, usually

It seems, your love bug has taken a shine to wearing sweaters combined with skirts, especially

She likes going for cozy outfits like that, looking seemingly effortlessly adorable in the clothing she steals from you regularly

She likes to try many colours, though seems to match the seasons, too

As such, in summer or spring, her clothing tends to be a little brighter, when she isn't wearing her signature black dress

The bright colours really do bring out the sharp contrast of the blood whenever she hunts, though

In winter and autumn on the other hand she likes to stick to softer, even a little washed out shades

She likes beige and soft greens then, even brown, soft, thick skirts occaisonally

Your clothing allows you to tell whenever she's feeling really cold, or especially clingy

These are the times she turns to your hoodies, after all

She'll bury herself in one, the bigger the better, and twist about in a nest of your clothing, humming and sighing dreamily about your scent when you ask her to explain the nest she's made

Occaisonally, she lets go of the hoodies once you're home, then

At other times she just likes to curl up with you, in your clothing still, listening to the apparantly comforting beat of your heart

You're not sure how she doesn't get too warm, really

Speaking of just that- in winter, Daniela really loves to snatch your clothing

She loves her signature dress, of course, and all the big, fancy gowns her mother has gifted to her over the years

Still, they're all rather unfit for winter, even as some are made of thick fabric meant to protect her from the cold

Instead, when the months pass and the air turns bitingly cold, she's often seen wearing your hoodie or sweaters

She still likes to keep on the thick skirts, though usually wears a pair of black tights beneath

Once, she only wore thigh-high ones

And while the look certainly did something to you, it did prove far too light for the cold months, even inside the warm castle. Not to mention both of her sisters and her mother giving you a death glare upon seeing the youngest Dimitrescu family member showing off soft, pale thighs, even as it's only a little area of it, the one between the tights and skirtw

And while you pleaded with her to try to cover fully, if only so you may keep your head, there are...occaisions

Times when you'd have her squirm on the bed adorably, her thighs exposed, the skirt pulled up to her hips, the space between her legs glistening wet, her slit leaking for you

A sweet sight, certainly

And with how open and experimental Daniela is in the bedroom, both of you like to try out new outfits during those times, too

Exciting new opportunities, indeed

[storiesforallfandoms]

a winter night at rockefeller ~ jschlatt

word count: 1773

request?: no

description: in which he hates the big city, but he'll go wherever she wants him to go

pairing: jschlatt x female!reader

warnings: swearing, rpf, use of y/n

masterlist (one, two, three)

Most of what Schlatt said and did in his videos was exaggerated. Most content creators exaggerated themselves for the camera, but Schlatt very clearly had an online persona that was completely different to how he was in real life.

One thing that wasn't an exaggeration, though, was how much he hated the city.

When you're born and raised in New York, the place literally nicknamed "the city that never sleeps", people assume that you become accustomed to the big city life. Schlatt, however, absolutely hated the big city. He loved the state of New York, but he hated the crowds and the noise, and the hustle and bustle of New York City.

So when he found himself pushing through the dense December crowds, he was trying to keep himself calm. If it weren't for his beautiful girlfriend excitedly towing him along, he'd probably have lost it already.

Although, if it weren't for that same beautiful girlfriend, he wouldn't be here anyways.

(Y/N) had recently moved in with Schlatt in his house in New York after the two had been dating for two years. She knew how Schlatt felt about the big city, so she rarely ever asked him about going with her if she wanted to explore. She didn't mind going alone, or with Ted and Tucker whenever they visited. But when the snow started to fall, and New York started to look very Christmassy, she asked him to go to Rockefeller with her.

"I've always wanted to go skating there," she had told him. "You don't have to get on the ice with me. I'd just like you to come with me."

Despite her insistence that he didn't have to skate with her, Schlatt went out and bought himself skates, then he brought the two of them into the city.

They arrived at the Rockefeller ice rink and, predictably, the place was packed. There looked like there was no room on the ice at all. Schlatt tensed up. (Y/N) squeezed his hand.

"We don't have to skate yet," she said. "We can go get a hot chocolate or something first, then come back when it's cleared out a bit."

Schlatt gave her an amused look. "How chocolate?"

"Tis the season!"

He put his arm around her and pulled her close so he could kiss her head. "No, let's get on the ice so we can just get it over with. Then we can get hot chocolate to warm ourselves afterwards."

They made their way to the rink. As they changed into their skates, people started to steadily come off the ice. Schlatt had chosen to come down not late enough that it was dark yet, but enough that people would be getting ready to go home for dinner, especially people with kids. And he very much wanted to avoid any kids the most.

(Y/N) was ready before him, and she didn't wait for him before getting on the ice. He looked up in time to see her glide away from the door. He felt a smile tug at his lips. He stood, took a moment to steady himself, then moved to the edge of the ice. (Y/N) was already to the other side of the rink, easily gliding past anyone who she came upon. Even at this distance, Schlatt could see the smile on her face. Seeing her so happy put a smile on his own face.

Before he knew it, she was coming up to him again. She slowed herself down enough to take hold of the edge and stop completely next to Schlatt.

"Sorry," she said, although her smile was anything but apologetic. "I got a little ahead of myself."

"You failed to tell me you're a professional skater."

(Y/N) giggled and shook her head. "Definitely not professional. I always used to skate on the frozen pond by my house as a kid."

"Well, you're much better than I am. You're going to literally be skating circles around me."

(Y/N) put her hand out. Schlatt took it and slowly stepped onto the ice. He definitely wasn't as graceful as (Y/N) had been. The second one of his skates touched the ice, his leg was moving from underneath him. The hand that wasn't holding (Y/N)'s flailed as he helplessly tried to keep himself on his feet. (Y/N) grabbed for him. She was laughing as she helped him steady himself.

"Have you ever skated?" she asked.

"Not since I was in elementary school," he replied. "And I used to use those fuckin' skate guides. The plastic ones that were bright as fuck."

(Y/N) moved so she was right next to him. She looped her arm through his, resting her hand against his forearm. "Well, we'll just have to take it slow then. And if you fall, I'll go down with you."

Schlatt smiled at her.

They pushed away and started their skate. Schlatt was still holding on to the side with one hand. Whenever he stumbled a little, (Y/N) would tighten her grip on his arm to keep him from falling.'

Schlatt eventually noticed that they were going slow enough to be lapped by another couple.

"You know, if you want to skate ahead of me I wouldn't be mad," he told (Y/N). "I mean, this probably feels slower than a snail's pace for you."

"I don't mind going slow," she assured him. "I didn't come here to race around the rink. I came to skate with my boyfriend." She moved her hand to hold his and leaned into him. "Who I'm sure is hating every second of this."

Schlatt chuckled. "Only mildly."

Soon enough, they finally made a full lap around the rink. The sun was mostly gone, the rink was lit by the lights surrounding it. Most people had cleared out, so it was only them and a few other couples. Schlatt was stopped, leaning against the side of the rink. He looked down at (Y/N), who was gazing around the rink in awe. Schlatt couldn't help but smile at her. He reached out to pull her close to him - still trying not to fall over on the ice.

"Are you cold enough to get hot chocolate yet?" he asked.

She chuckled. "Oh, I was cold enough when we were walking from the subway."

Schlatt laughed. "Go around once more, then I'll take you to a cafe that I like."

"You don't want to come with me?"

"I don't think I should be on skates ever again."

(Y/N) didn't try to convince him further. She knew he was probably right. She kissed his cheek and let go of him to skate around the rink once more. Schlatt slowly made his way off the ice and back to where they had left their boots. He almost sighed in relief as his foot slipped free from the confines of the skate.

Why do they make these things so fuckin' tight? he thought to himself. My foot is gonna go numb from lack of blood flow before it goes numb from the cold.

(Y/N) was stood in front of him before he knew it. She was breathing a little heavily, but still had a small smile on her face. Her happiness was so contagious that Schlatt was able to forget everything about this trip that annoyed him.

She changed back into her own boots and they collected their skates to go. Schlatt took her hand and held it tightly so he wouldn't lose her in the crowd. Even though it had cleared off a bit, it was still busy enough that they could easily get separated if they weren't careful.

The cafe Schlatt wanted to go to wasn't too far from Rockefeller. It was a small, not well known spot that he used to go to when he was still in college. There was rarely ever anyone there, which made it the perfect spot to go to get away whenever he needed. He ordered two hot chocolates for them, and they went to sit in a booth near the back of the cafe.

"I appreciate you coming with me today," (Y/N) said. She leaned forward to blow on her drink to cool it off.

"Of course, you wanted me to come," Schlatt said.

(Y/N) lifted her cup to her lips, but winced as the still boiling hot liquid touched her lip. As she placed the cup back down, she said, "Yeah, but I know you hate the city, and I know skating isn't really your thing."

"I mean, I certainly will not be putting these skates to use ever again," he agreed, lightly kicking the skates that were now by his feet. "But I'm not going to say no to something you really want to do."

(Y/N) giggled. "You're whipped."

Schlatt scoffed. "I am not whipped! God forbid I want to do something to make my girlfriend happy."

She smiled and reached across the table for his hand. They were much warmer after holding the hot cup. Schlatt also felt like he had warmed up since coming inside. He almost dreaded having to go back outside.

"We can do whatever you want to do as repayment for today," (Y/N) told him.

He looked at her with confusion. "Repayment?"

She nodded. "I figure you may not have had a great time today, so if you wanted to do something else that you will consider to be a good time, I want to do that to repay you for taking me skating today."

Schlatt was shaking his head before she even finished her thought. "You don't have to repay me for anything. I may not enjoy going into the city, but I'd do it every day if you asked me to. Because I love you, and I love to see you happy. You had a good time today, so I had a good time today."

(Y/N) smiled at him. She squeezed his hand and leaned forward as if he was going to kiss him. Schlatt moved to close the gap, only to be stopped when (Y/N) said, "Whipped."

Schlatt pulled his hand away from her. "Okay, you know what? I take it all back. You can stay here on your own!"

(Y/N) was laughing before taking another sip of her hot chocolate, now cooled down enough that she could actually drink it. Schlatt was shaking his head at her. "You're lucky I love you so much."

"I know," she said, and leaned forward to actually kiss him. "And I love you, too."

[peachhcs]

Samy meeting will’s teammate for the first time

another semi different iteration of samy meting some of will’s teammates when they’re in detroit for a game and she drives out to see them

au masterlist

“hiii,” the girl grins when she sees her boyfriend coming out of the locker room. the blonde quickly grins, already opening his arms to wrap her into a hug. “hi baby,” he smiles.

“sorry you guys lost, but you played well like always,” samy pecked his cheek and the boy smiled despite the disappointing loss.

“it’s okay, i’m just glad to see you for a second,” he hummed even though the time they had was not nearly enough for either of their liking. the sharks were due in winnipeg tomorrow meaning will’s bus was leaving in less than an hour.

“me too. how’s your week been?” the couple tried making the most of the now 50 minutes they had together.

“it’s been okay. busy with hockey,” will said not to complain because he’d never get sick of playing, just tired with how much they’ve been doing recently. samy nodded, “make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“i am, don’t worry. make sure you’re taking care of yourself too,” will poked her arm and she flushed.

“yeah, i am. don’t worry either.”

“how’s your week been now that soccer’s over?” will turned the conversation to her because he liked it a lot better when they were talking about her and not him and his things.

“it’s been a little weird, but we still have offseason stuff, so not too different. it is nice to slow down for a bit though,” the brunette grinned, leaning against the wall now. “i’m glad it’s been good for you. you deserve a break after the very successful season,” will chuckled.

“hey pup. hey hughes,” will eklund had come out of the locker room, a bright smile on his face.

“hey eklund. good to see you again,” samy offered a polite hug to the older blonde.

“you too. sorry you had to see us lose,” eklund frowned.

“it’s alright. you guys still played well,” the girl said. behind eklund came tom, jack, fabian, tyler, macklin, and henry. they caught sight of the three standing along the wall and made their way over to offer a hi to samy.

“hey little hughes,” tom greeted her in another friendly hug—his new nickname for her that everyone seemed to call her.

“oh shit, you’re hughes! pup’s girlfriend!” fabian exclaimed and the girl flushed when the other guys’ faces lit up at the revelation.

“that’d be me. it’s good to meet you all,” she grinned.

“we hear a lot about you,” henry teased a bit and eyed will. he avoided their gazes in hopes of avoiding the blush creeping up his neck.

“i’ve heard i’m the talk of the locker room sometimes,” samy raised her eyebrow.

“not in a bad way, don’t worry. we just like to poke at our rookie and figure out more about his life. it seems like you’re the one who makes him smile all the time whenever he’s looking at his phone,” toffoli teased the younger boy by roughing up his shoulder. samy watched her boyfriend’s entire face turn beet red, but she thought his blush was cute.

“well i’m glad to hear i’m making him smile that hard,” samy squeezed will’s hand.

“we heard from pup too that you just won the women’s soccer cup?” jack wondered and the girl quickly beamed. she’d never get tired of talking about her recent win.

“yeah, i did. my team and i won the ncaa championship for the first time in a few years.”

“that’s wicked cool. congrats, by the way,” jack smiled.

“thank you. oh, my roommate would want me to tell you guys this, but we loved that holiday inflatables video. best thing ever. she was laughing for hours after,” samy added which had all the guys smiling.

“ah, thank you. it got a lot of hits. we’re thinking about making rapping our day job,” fabian said and samy giggled.

“i mean, i think you guys could go far. or make another music video at least,” the boys agreed, appreciating her words. she glanced back at will who playfully shook his head.

they managed to keep her talking for at least another fifteen minutes. whenever samy got talking she talked no matter who it was. it was feature will loved and hated sometimes. he loved that she could quickly get along with any of his teammates, but it also cut short the time they had together.

he glanced at his phone again to check the time now seeing that there only 30ish minutes minutes left. as much as he loved seeing more of his teammates and girlfriend get along, will wanted a bit more time alone before he had to leave, so he eyed macklin in hopes that he’d help drag the others away.

the younger brunette took the hint fairly quickly, “hey guys, we should probably make sure we have all of our things before we head out.”

“shit, yeah, you’re right. well, it was good seeing you again,” eklund smiled, waving bye to samy. she waved to all of the players as they went back down the hallway to recheck the locker room for their things. her gaze fell back to will.

“they’re so nice,” she grinned.

“for you, yeah,” he laughed. they were never as behaved in the locker room but the blonde was grateful they didn’t say anything stupid in front of her.

“well either way, i think you have a good team. they definitely love you,” she squeezed his hand again which will reciprocated as he squeezed back.

“i agree. i like them too.”

the couple talked a bit more until will figured he needed to leave and double check he had everything before getting on the bus. the two exchanged a loving, tight hug and a sweet kiss o the lips.

“i’ll miss you,” will hummed.

“i’ll miss you too. get to winnipeg safely,” samy squeezed the boy’s biceps which made the boy flush anytime she squeezed a part of his body that weren’t his hands.

“you get back to ann arbor safely. text me, okay?” the boy made her promise and she quickly agreed.

“i promise, i will. i love you.”

“i love you. ugh, i wish we had more time,” will frowned, not wanting to let go quite yet.

“me too. fifty minutes is not enough time at all, but i’ll see you super soon, okay?”

the hockey player nodded, reluctantly letting go. samy pecked his lips one last time before walking away first because if she didn’t, will would never let her go.

[ollypopwrites]

The Privilege of Worship

Emmerich Volkarin x Cis!Fem Rook [note: references to the fact Rook is Curvy but there’s little to no description of her appearance.] Summary: He had pieced together everything she hadn’t actually said out loud. Rook had been a bit smitten since he had first moved into the Lighthouse, and she hadn’t been very subtle about it either. It was a very clear conclusion: he didn’t believe that she would put herself first and he was going to have to do it for her. Rating: M (18+ MDNI) CW: canon dialogue divergence, height difference, self-doubt, enthusiastic consent, check ins, communication, breast play, fingering, semi-public sex, body worship, squirting, masturbation reference, after care, very slight d/s negotiation if you squint, Emmrich is almost too gentlemanly for his own good, Rook talks too much when she’s nervous, scaring the hoes (each other), grown ups being grown up about relationships. Word count: 6.7k Notes: I just wanted to have Rook fingerbanged in a graveyard and then feelings happened ok. EDITED: Thank you to @flightlessangelwings for the moral support and assistance with this fic I'm so happy to be yelling about porn with you once more.

Read on A03

“So, Emmrich I wanted to tell you something,” Rook started. “I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing with…all of this. I’ve never been with anyone. Romantically, I mean.”

Rook began to panick at the look on Emmrich’s face. She probably should have worded it better, but she had just said the first thing that came to her mind before she lost the nerve to say it. The night had been going so well, and she thought she was watching it fall apart right before her eyes. 

“Not the first everything! I’m not a virgin,” she quickly went to correct herself. The blunt way she said it didn’t seem to soothe the shocked expression he wore. “I’ve had one or two flings over the years.”

“One or two?” Emmrich repeated slowly, as if trying to process it. 

“What I mean is,” Rook kept on, “it’s all just a bit… new.”

The pause in conversation was enough to make her wince, as she awaited his response. What Rook had considered more than the difference in years between them was the difference in experience in this particular area. Weeks living with the team had meant stories had been told, and with every polite mention of a past suitor or relationship Rook had felt her stomach tie into a knot.

It had hit her in the middle of the same night that the only thing more terrifying than saying it out loud to him was for him to figure it out while they were in the middle of being intimate.  

“We can move slowly.” he assured her with a smile, the same one that always seemed to put her at ease. 

“Hopefully not too slow.” Rook couldn’t help herself. 

Emmrich chuckled, “as you wish, my dear.” Then he added, “I’m… glad you chose me.”

“It’s been good so far,” she breathed, shifting in her seat a little. 

“Oh!” He seemed so pleased with himself. “Excellent.”

“Anyway…” She looked around. “Should we enjoy the garden?”

“Certainly.”

The heat of embarrassment had long left her face, she was still warm, but it had dulled to a low simmer of excitement and contentment. With her arm tucked in his, they walked the gardens without any purpose. No rites or gathered flowers, just enjoying the general splendor as wisps danced to and fro, and meandering spirits appeared and disappeared in the periphery. 

When Rook saw the looming Love in Life and Death monument she gently pulled him toward it. Her thoughts lingered on that first kiss, the gentility and sweetness of it, much as the rest after had been. The slightest hint of becoming more had been either interrupted back at the Lighthouse or by some wandering Mourn Watcher there in the gardens. 

It was not that Rook was rushing it, but it was hard to ignore the press of impatience. 

“I think this is my favorite spot in the gardens,” Rook said as they neared it. 

“And why is that dearest?” 

He knew why, she was certain by the slight glint of mischief in his eye. It made her stomach flutter, and she pushed past the nerves of feeling put on the spot. 

“Just the general atmosphere,” she shrugged, but she was grinning like an idiot, she knew.

Emmrich hummed a response, taking her hand and unlooping her arm from his. She let him spin her so her back was to the monument, a recreation of the very evening that brought them to this moment. Rook felt the stone at her back as he led her, and immediately lifted herself onto her toes, looking up and ready to accept a kiss she was sure was coming.

Emmrich held her in suspense for a few moments. His hand gently cupped the curve of her jaw, the coolness of his rings against her warmed cheeks an intoxicating contrast. He tilted her head back further, eyes roving over her face and settling on her lips. The other hand very gently landed at her waist, not overbearing by any means, and Rook carelessly curled her fists around his pressed shirt as the anticipation began to become too much. Finally, he looked her in the eyes. 

“This is where I ought to say something devastatingly debonair,” he said gently. 

Rook laughed a little, “I am on the edge of my seat.”

“I sorely hate to disappoint, my dear,” his thumb gently rubbed the skin over her cheek bone, “but I find myself too enchanted with the idea of putting my lips to other uses to come up with anything.”

Rook’s breath hitched, she felt her smile falter in pure shock at the intense zap of desire that shot through her. “That — that’s you not knowing what to say?” She replied. “Maker, Emmrich.”

He laughed a little, unguarded and like he was a bit surprised himself. “May I?”

“Please.”

Emmrich kissed her. Similar to most of their previous kisses, it was sweet, a bit chaste except for the way he lingered in each one. The stone at her back kept her steady as his hand flexed its grip on her waist, the other sliding down her face to dip just below the collar of her shirt at the juncture where her shoulder met her neck. His long fingers splayed and tilted her head, his thumb just over the pulse point of her throat. He had to feel her heart hammering. 

But he kept a reasonable distance between their bodies, just close enough that they were touching without him pressing into her at all. Each pass of their lips over each other was a test of her patience, as she surged and retreated, trying not to push the heat of them too far when he met her with the same controlled gentility. Her fingers loosened in the grip she had of his shirt, trying her best to follow his lead despite the urge in her to pull him tight against her and nip at his lower lip until he gave her an opening to slip her tongue in. 

“You don’t have to hold back on my account,” he murmured against her lips. 

“You’re the one holding back,” she teased. 

He kissed her a little firmer then, but just as quickly as the flame had spiked he pulled himself back again. Frustration started to rear its head in her, her impatience reaching its boiling point. She could push through, she could barrel headfirst and approach this the way she had with her previous partners. 

Faking it until she made it, acting confident and assertive and figuring it out as she went was not just her leadership style. It was how she had approached anything she felt uncertain about. But this was different, he was different. 

So she pulled away and asked, “is it because of what I told you earlier?”

Her voice was a bit smaller than she would have liked, the self-consciousness so plainly obvious she felt that heat of embarrassment start to take over again. The slight tang of panic overtaking the excitement she felt before. 

Emmrich pulled back a little to look at her. The desire in his eyes was somewhat clouded by a flicker of doubt. He was considering what to say; how to say it kindly, how to make sure it couldn’t be misunderstood. Rook almost didn’t want him to say anything at all. Maybe she should just grab him by that impossibly stiff collar and kiss him breathless so he couldn’t think about how much she hadn’t experienced in comparison to him. 

“There is a bit of concern, I will admit,” he finally said. “The last thing I want is you to feel as if anything intimate is expected of you, Rook.” His expression tightened, “your eagerness is infectious, and I am enjoying it thoroughly.” His smile was tilted to one side, still tense in his self-deprecation, “almost too thoroughly, if I am being honest. But your comfort must come before all else.”

Oh, he was too good to be true. Rook had to blink a couple times, take a moment to process what she was hearing. What it felt like to be cared for. It was just a little foreign, and for a split moment she wished she was in her armor, not the soft and thin casual clothes that left her unprotected. The vulnerability was stark and a bit scary; like he had pieced together everything she hadn’t actually said out loud. Rook had been a bit smitten since he had first moved into the Lighthouse, and she hadn’t been very subtle about it either. It was a very clear conclusion: he didn’t believe that she would put herself first and he was going to have to do it for her. 

And he was probably right. 

It was a crossroads moment, one that was so obvious it couldn’t have been more clear if it was narrated by some unseen omniscient presence. Rook could choose in that moment to fall back into old ways, to make their connection a fleeting and desperate grab for intimacy in the face of the apocalypse. To let it be something that she would inevitably feel the need to run from when things got too uncomfortable. 

Her past entanglements hadn’t been bad, but they had not been anything more than frisky fun. They were shallow and lasted no longer than a few months: both parties knowing they weren’t staying in the long run so they took and took from each other until there was nothing else either person was willing to give. 

Rook could easily let this be the same. She could act crass and brave; all she had to do was pull Emmrich’s mouth back down to her own and whisper something filthy enough to make him believe she wasn’t afraid. 

Or she could accept this offer of care and hand it back in kind. She could embrace the vulnerability of the fact that he wanted very much to be good to her. He had been so careful, ensuring that without a doubt she was interested in him before he even considered acting on his attraction. He had made every step very deliberately, so that even in this stage of exploration of what this  could maybe become his intentions were always clear. 

“I trust you, Emmrich. Do you trust me?” Rook asked. 

“Of course,” he didn’t hesitate.

Rook touched his cheek, the scratch of five o’clock shadow beginning to sprout there was a tangible and grounding sensation against her palm. She didn’t miss the way he leaned ever so slightly into the touch either, bolstering her and making her certain of her decision. 

 “I promise I will let you know if I need things to slow down,” she assured him, “if you promise to believe me when I say I’m alright.”

“And you will tell me?” 

There it was, that sliver of doubt. 

“Yes. I will.”

Emmrich grabbed her hand from his face, a soft squeeze and the smallest of circles traced on the back of it as he smiled at her. With a gentle tug he placed her hand over her shoulder and leaned in again, lips pressing close and his body crowding her back against the stone. Another chaste kiss, but this time his hands sprawled over curves, grabbing through thin cloth and she lifted herself on her toes to meet him. 

With each press of their lips, he seemed to let go of another bit of reservation. Rook felt herself matching each one, the tension building up again, her prior discomfort from the vulnerability dissolving the moment he groaned so quietly against her lips. He shifted slightly, turning his head and trailing his kiss to the corner of her lips. He was pulling away and suddenly nothing seemed like a worse idea. 

Rook felt a noise slip past her throat, something between desperate and frustrated. Her hand tangled into his hair and pulled him back to her lips properly, giving the tiniest nip over his bottom lip before her tongue pressed in her teeth’s wake. Emmrich’s mouth opened in a gasp, before he teased his tongue against hers. 

Like most things she was finding with Emmrich, even making out in the gardens flowed and ebbed in a well-balanced way that kept her on her toes. Were their prior conversations not so serious, she may have teased the good professor for snogging in the Memorial Gardens like some hormonal apprentice. The difference in height between them kept him from pressing his hips to hers, even as she lifted herself and he leant down to meet her. But her heart leapt at the idea of him grinding against her while they kissed and kissed and kissed. 

Very slowly his hands slid over the curve of her waist past the swell of her hips and onto her backside. With a whine she kissed him harder if possible, and then he squeezed. The gasp she let out had her faltering in their kiss, and then with ease she was not quite expecting him to display he lifted her. 

It was only the short distance to place her in a sitting position on the lowest stone tier of the monument behind her. The second supported her back as her feet dangled and she immediately opened her legs to allow him closer. At this height it was a bit more comfortable, he slotted directly against her, just about the same height as him standing and leaning over her.

Suddenly his fingers were undoing the buttons of her blouse, all the while he ducked his head to kiss at her pulse point. Rook tilted her head back, giving him all the access he could ever need, each press of his lips, teeth and tongue giving her full body goosebumps and pulling a moan from her throat. 

Her shirt was open just wide enough for him to pull it down over one shoulder, his mouth painting the curve of it. A swell of cleavage had been revealed, a nimble hand spanned one of her breasts. He kneaded softly, pressing just enough to create the slightest friction of his palm against a hardened nipple and make her gasp suddenly. 

Rook felt the point of no return creeping up. The sudden recognition that they were in the middle of the garden making her open her eyes to scan around them. There was an atmospheric fog that seemed to settle around the gravestones at all times, but it wasn’t enough to offer real cover. 

“Emmrich,” She whispered, it sounded less like she was trying to get his attention and more like a plead given that his thumb began to circle her nipple through the cloth of her smallclothes. 

For a moment she had forgotten she was trying to get his attention, the lull of the sparks it ignited in her was such a delicious temptation. He offered her a reprieve by simply squeezing her breast, allowing a logical thought to pierce the haze of arousal. 

“What would your fellow Mourn Watchers say — ah,” she faltered as his teeth dug gently into the skin of her neck and he sucked, “—if they found Professor Volkarin necking in the gardens?”

“They’d say I was the most fortunate man alive or dead, certainly,” he murmured, lips not quite losing contact with the skin of her throat. “But only if they were somehow not rendered speechless by the sight of you, my dear.”

Focus, Rook.

Beating a pair of blighted Gods seemed an easier task, but she managed to find her mind. 

“Emmrich,” she insisted. 

Instantly, his hands and mouth stilled. But there was a moment of tense silence as he stayed where he was, his breaths coming in small pants, fingers still twitching to touch and grab. Surprisingly, he said nothing, just gathered himself for a moment. She didn’t want him to fall back into propriety, but she had to ask. 

“What if someone sees us?”

“Would you like to stop?” He tilted his head, still angled so he was below and looking up at her. 

“That’s not what I asked,” she challenged. “As much as I want you to ravish me right here, we don’t need to be on the Mourn Watch’s bad side for desecrating the Memorial Gardens.” 

There was the slightest change in his eyes, a momentary narrowing before he came back to himself. Something going on in his mind she couldn’t quite figure out. 

“I assure you,” he lifted himself to kiss her lips, “no one will be coming to disturb us.”

“How do you know?” 

“I am a senior necromancer,” Emmrich told her with the slightest lilt of haughtiness, “there are privileges that come along with the position.”

“I see what you’re getting at,” she smiled. “Reanimated royal cooks and a private night in the garden,” she moved to undo the chain on his collar, the first step to undressing him, “you really are trying to impress.”

“My dear, this is only the beginning,” he delicately grabbed her hand so she had to stop fussing with his chain, and kissed each knuckle. “But if you truly are uncomfortable continuing on —“

“No,” she insisted. “No, I’m fine,” she nodded her head, “not the first time I’ve been a bit risky, and if you say no one will stumble upon us...” she leaned in to kiss him again.  

Emmrich arched a brow at her. “One of your two dalliances? In public, really?”

She couldn’t tell if he was being jealous or judgemental. The only response she could find was, “come on, with the life I lead? You think no one’s ever fucked me behind a bar before?” 

The unmoving look he gave her was full of as much patience as the unknown other emotion she couldn’t place. She was doing it again. Another attempt at making herself feel less self-conscious,

leaning on bravado that was her only saving grace in moments of uncertainty. 

“I see.”

“I was more worried about your delicate sensibilities.”

Emmrich gave a short laugh. 

“I feel like I keep saying wrong things,” she admitted, “can we get back to the kissing bit?”

He acquiesced, but this time the kisses didn’t start slow and gentle. Emmrich picked up exactly where he left off, overwhelming her with heavy draws of his tongue into her mouth. She was glad for it, reaching back for that fire that was stoking in her, and determined not to let anything douse it again. 

Despite the fervor in his kisses, his hands were more soft. Teasing touches over her breasts again through fabric, still keeping some distance between them even as he was slotted between her thighs. Impatiently she grabbed for him, pulling him close so she could kiss above his collar. He smelled of some kind of cologne or maybe aftershave, lavender and sage and myrrh, she took a deep breath at the pleasantness of it before she nipped at the skin. 

He let out a sigh, thumb grazing over her nipple through fabric again, and she was spurred on. She felt exposed with her top half open, while he was perfectly well kempt except for where she had wrinkled his shirt with grabbing hands. Boldness crested in her as she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him flush against her. 

There was the telltale hardness of him, blocked by all the layers of his clothing and hers, but unmistakable. He grunted, a deep low sound that gave her chills, and immediately she felt the firm grind of him against her. There was far too much clothing between them for her to truly get off from it, but his mouth had dropped to the swell of her cleavage, hot tongue running across the skin and in combination it was enough to make her moan. 

Emmrich stopped moving immediately, and she threw her head back with a disappointed noise. His fingers toyed with the edge of her underclothes, just barely reaching under, grazing the bare underside of her breasts. Rook sucked a sharp breath in, eyes flying open to find his lingering there where his fingers were. They flicked back to hers, and she nodded her head, running her hand up over his cheek and through his hair. 

He kissed her first, sweetly this time, a soft and heart wrenching sincerity to it that she didn’t have time to process before his hand slipped completely underneath her bandeau. He sighed into her lips, squeezing the flesh in his hand. When his thumb traced over her nipple without the fabric as a barrier she moaned, louder than before and her fingers tightened in his hair. 

He did it again, seeming to feed off the reaction. “You make the loveliest sounds, dearest.”

She chuckled a little, not really having the mind to find something to say back. He groped and kissed, and she rocked her hips into his seeking any kind of friction she could get. Emmrich pressed harder into her, and she heard him choke back a groan as she rolled her hips, and he shifted just slightly to pull his hips away. 

A truly petulant groan left her as she grabbed at him again. “You're still holding back, Emmrich.”

“I am,” he admitted plainly.

“Don’t,” she urged. “I’m fine.”

“Trust me, my dear, I know,” he simply said, pulling his hands carefully from underneath her bandeau. “My plans for this evening are going just as I had hoped.”

Rook felt her stomach drop, “but —“

“Give me your hand, please,” he held his out and she didn’t hesitate to press her palm to his. 

She expected him to be a gentleman and help her down from the ledge he had put her on. She preemptively felt the disappointment of desire unsatisfied, her stomach turning at the idea of finishing a walk around the garden so unsated with her underclothes sticking wetly to her cunt, a constant reminder of what almost was. Emmrich took her hand and she felt the slide of metal against her skin, he placed three of his gold bands on her ring finger and one on the middle finger. All six bracelets he normally wore on his right wrist were also slipped onto hers. 

Rook inspected them with a tilted head, not a perfect fit but not too tight or loose enough she worried about them slipping off. The gold bangles jingled against each other as she examined the unfamiliar weight of them. She was confused, and his arm looked so bare without them, it felt incredibly intimate. 

“What are you doing?” She asked him. 

His hands rested on her thighs, sliding up to the belts around her waist, “if you’ll allow it, I’d like to remove these,” he ran his ringer over one of those buckles. 

“Of course I’ll allow it,” Rook frowned. 

“Wonderful,” he started unbuckling. 

She just watched him, before her unadorned hand reached for the fabric tied at his waist. “Can I?”

“No, you may not,” he smiled, with a shake of his head still tilted down to where he was undoing her trousers. His eyes lifted to hers, amused, at the huff of annoyance she gave when she let go of the fabric. 

“How are you planning on fucking me with out undressing at all?”

Emmrich had gotten the buckles undone, untucking her shirt from the trousers and began unlacing. He was quick with it, not faltering over any knots or clasps. “It seems your previous partners have made some egregious errors in their courting of you,” he told her gently, “forgive my language, but I am not going to ‘fuck you’ at all.”

The curse sounded so out of place on his tongue she almost had no idea what to say besides an inarticulate grunt of, “what?”

He untied his own sash around his waist, unfolding it and draping it across her lap. He reached underneath it, grabbing at the trousers that hung open on her and started to tug them down. Rook lifted her hips to let him, watched in confusion as he undid her boots, set them aside and sliding both underclothes and pants all the way off of her so her bare bum sat against the stone. 

As he folded her trousers very neatly to set them aside, she finally found her wits again, “Emmrich? You’re sending a lot of mixed messages right now.”

He kissed her lips, stepping back between her legs. “I’m not going to take you carelessly,” he told her. 

“Maybe I haven’t been clear,” she smiled, “I’d very much like it if you had your way with me, threw me over a gravestone or something.”

“The idea is incredibly tempting, my dear,” he assured her. “Do not mistake me, having you at my mercy is quite often on my mind.”

“Well you can’t say it like that and not follow through,” Rook reached for his shirt again. 

“Rook,” he breathed a laugh, grabbing her hands to place them on the edge of the stone. “That privilege is something that must be earned. I will not even allow myself to look upon you in all your naked glory before I have done so.”

Rook tilted her head, “but you have -“

“Please, humor me, darling,” he kissed her. “Let me do this the right way.”

This was a dance she had no idea the steps to, but she nodded her head, ready to let him show her. It was strange, to be treated like something precious. It left her feeling off kilter, unsure how to show the same care back — but if he minded he hadn’t said so. She was so full of want for him, she hadn’t been secretive about it, but maybe he liked that. It certainly seemed like he did, given the strain in his trousers. 

As Emmrich kissed her his hand slipped to the outside of her covered thighs, roaming down until he finally made contact with the skin of her calf, all the way down to her ankles, across the top of her foot. He followed a trail back up the same way, this time his hand sliding under the cummerbund draped over her lap. 

In her wildest fantasies she had taken care to imagine the drag of metal across her skin from his grave gold, but she felt the weight of it on her own hand. It was somehow even more intimate to be wearing them herself, while his hand was bare as he squeezed the generous flesh of her thigh. 

He began massaging lightly, the press of his fingers never moving into painful, and she groaned a little at the soothing feeling. His head tilted down for her neck again, and she was finding his favorite spot to kiss was right were he could feel her pulse beating. The tickle of his moustache painting a complex mix of sensations while he so gently sucked on the skin there. 

“I fear your skin may become an insurmountable vice of mine,” he said gently. 

His right hand slid down to her knee and back up the inside of her thigh. His other was tracing the curve of her torso, over her side before resting with his hand just underneath her bandeau not quite touching her breast pressing enough to feel her ribs. The anticipation was going to kill her, she was alight, nerves on fire as she wanted more — of this almost touching where she wanted him and for him to just touch her — she wasn’t sure what she would have preferred. 

His right hand had avoided the apex between her thighs, coming up to trial a line over the curve of her stomach. From her belly button and down to where the thatch of hair began, his fingers scratched gently through them before detouring to her thigh again. When he finally traced his fingers over the slick inside of her thigh, her arousal smeared there, he gasped slightly. 

“Maker, preserve me,” his voice was light as he spoke more to himself than her. 

Rook whined, biting her tongue against a string of desperate begging. 

Gentle fingers traced over her outer lips, rubbing and making her choke on the breath in her lungs. A tortuous slow exploration of her, Emmrich’s breath coming a little faster as he seemed to keep forgetting he was showering her neck with kisses — stopping with every dip into a new depth even before he reached where she was wettest for him. A gentle circle of her clit had her head thrown back with a moan that was so loud, she was almost embarrassed as he rubbed against the seam of her. 

When his fingers trailed down to her entrance, he hesitated where he found how wet she was, and then groaned. “Forgive me, I —“

He dipped a single finger slowly inside of her and then pulled his hand from her. Any protest she had died when he lifted the finger to his mouth, sucking on the bare digit, and moaning at the taste of her. 

“Emmrich,” Rook gasped. 

But he just kissed her. The hint of her own arousal on his mouth making her feel more lewd than she had ever before, and the heat of his kiss taking any logical thought away from her. His hand slipped under the fabric again, his hand angled so he could slip a finger in her a grind his palm against her clit gently. Even when Rook gasped, unable to kiss back, his mouth was on hers, tongue flicking and teeth grabbing. 

Another finger slipped into her, her arousal making the stretch easy but no less exhilarating. His bracelets around her wrist jangled against each other as she gripped at his shoulder, trying to find something to ground her, trying to touch any part of him she could. The stone at her back held her upright, and she threw her head back at a shock of pleasure when his hand finally took hold of her breast beneath her smallclothes, mouth dipping to skirt the edge of the cloth and take another pert nipple through it. 

An orgasm was approaching almost embarrassingly quickly. She spoke his name again, a desperate plea that he responded to with only a moan of his own. Her cunt clenched around his fingers, hips jolting forward, and her fingers nearly aching with the grip she had on him.

“Yes,” he murmured, pulling away to watch her. “There you are, I have you.”

Rook crumbled, panting and moaning, each roll of her hips gracefully matched by his hand. He pinched her nipple, and her legs drifted further open, back sliding down the stone a bit so she was at an almost uncomfortable angle. His hand never stopped, palm grinding against her clit, fingers pumping at just the right angle with the slightest crook of them upwards dragging against something truly sinful within her. It curled her toes and made her back arch against her will, all the while she kept fluttering her eyes open to watch him watch her. 

His mouth was parted, just slightly smiling, he may have looked cocky, too pleased with himself, except for the raw focus in his eyes. It was like the world had fallen away entirely, and she was the only one who existed to him. Hungry, pleading and slightly awestruck. He was beautiful. 

The waves of pleasure in her died down, and she opened her mouth to say something to him — but the train of thought flew away when he slipped his fingers out of her and used them to start rubbing a slow pattern over her clit. Testing the sensitivity, and watching for every micro expression. 

Need flared brightly in her again. So soon after, she felt insatiable, like she had to keep that feeling of release going forever. And he was happy to oblige her. 

“Again?” He asked.

“Yeah — yeah, again,” Rook gasped. “Please!”

Emmrich faltered at the begging, something flashing over his face that spelled out nights of wrung out pleasure and his firm hand correcting her when she slipped up. His pace quickened, his body pressing as close as he could to her without impeding his task. 

“This is what you deserve, Rook,” he told her between kisses. “To be undone, at the hands of someone who knows how to piece you back after.” He pressed his forehead to hers, “I can hardly believe you chose me.” When she tangled her fingers into his now completely ruffled hair and tugged slightly, he groaned, “I am beyond fortunate you did.”

It was hard to fully process what he was saying. “Wanted you — from the beginning,” was all she could manage. 

Emmrich stuttered a laugh, rewarding her with a pinch of her nipple again. “Insatiable minx.”

Her second orgasm came with a similar speed, but this time carried on so long she could hardly form words. Perhaps pleasure made time roll on slower than she could tell, his unrelenting pace making her eyes roll back into her head and all words cease. An internal chant of begging for more rang in her own ears but she couldn’t quite make her lips form the words. 

It was entirely overwhelming, the feeling of wanting to be splayed out for him. To let him have her whatever way he wanted. She wanted to beg him to never ever stop until she was crying and mindless.

“Good. Give me another,” Emmrich said, more a demand than a question as his other hand slipped out of her bandeau and beneath the cummerbund lain over her legs. All while one hand still played with different pressures and ministrations on her clit, the other pressed two fingers to her again. 

He caught himself, “is that alright?”

All Rook knew was that she wanted more, had to have more. She was all desire, all greedy lust, ready to do whatever he asked as long as he didn’t stop. It was terrifying, it was liberating, but it felt safe. 

“Yes,” she gasped. Finding a shred of her mind through the haze to laugh, “if you think you can manage it.”

His fingers plunged into her at the challenge, wrenching a gasp from her. “Challenging me in this area is not your best idea, Rook.”

“Are you sure?” Rook grinned, drunk on pleasure, “I’m getting exactly what I want out of it.”

“You’re much too capable of speech, darling,” Emmrich grinned back. “I shall have to rectify that.”

He was still fully clothed, and no intimate part of her was exposed to him, but it was perhaps the filthiest thing she had ever done. He had said it was just the beginning, and she believed him wholeheartedly. Even with the slick sounds of his fingers pumping in her, the way she had abandoned any kind of self-preservation to moan, and his mouth latched onto her nipple through the fabric. There was so much more on the horizon, and she was already on the verge of begging him to abandon his vow to ‘properly’ court her. 

Something was happening that she was unsure of, a stirring in her cunt that was not entirely unfamiliar. A brand new pressure, something that had teased itself in her before but never was allowed to fully bloom. In a slight panic, Rook opened her eyes, shock and awe written in the way her lips opened to pant through the sensation. 

He cooed at her, gentle encouragement and praises that made her want to please him so badly it was concerning. “Lovely, my dear,” she caught him saying, “you fall apart so beautifully for me.”

“Emmrich, I —“

 A sigh, “my name on your lips is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s — I’m going to —“ she felt like she had to warn him. 

“Yes, please,” he murmured, sounding just as desperate as her, “you’re so good to me.”

Rook fell apart again. Emmrich pulled his fingers from her as he felt her tighten around him, and to her own shock, she felt a dam break in her, a burst of wetness painting his fingers and the stone beneath her. 

Emmrich let out a whine that made her ravenous, it was needy and raw . Urgently, he kept rubbing over her clit, and it happened again. The sound wet and messy and altogether filthy. She felt tears stinging her eyes, her legs shaking and wave after wave of pleasure rolling through her body. Everything felt more vibrant, colors, sounds, every physical sensation magnified. 

 “Magnificent, Rook,” his voice lowered again. “Absolutely perfect.”

The praise hit her hard and she sobbed when he repeated the same ministrations once more. When he went to do it again she gasped, feeling like she might actually die. She was too sensitive, the stone at her back was beginning to bite and she was honestly a little scared at how her body wanted to have more still. 

“Wait,” she gasped. “Wait — it’s too much — I —“

Emmrich immediately stopped, pulling his hands away to rest on her thighs. “It seems I got carried away.”

“No, no,” Rook shook her head frantically, trying to put words together in a rush to console him. “No, it was perfect.”

“Breathe,” he reminded her, rubbing soothingly on the skin. 

Rook took in a heavy breath. He was watching her closely, but he leaned in to kiss her brow. While she caught her breath, leaning boneless against the stone, he started to clean her up, using the fabric still draped over her. Gently he wiped the mess away between her legs, and on his fingers.  

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, still getting her breath back. “I made a mess I didn’t even know I could make.”

Emmrich faltered for a moment, swallowing audibly. “The last thing you need to do is apologize, Rook, I’m glad I could enlighten you.”

He was being strange. For a moment he didn’t touch her at all, his hands firmly on the stone on either side of her, hips leaned back and taking deep breaths.

“Are you alright?” Concern made her sit up straighter, his bangles clacking against each other on her wrist when she reached out to touch his face. 

Emmrich’s eyes were glued to the jewelry on her skin for a moment. “I’m fine, dearest.” 

He flicked his eyes to hers, another wry smile on his lips that didn’t fit the bliss she was feeling at the moment. The pupils of his eyes were blown out so wide the green of his eyes were barely visible. Still he patiently watched while she caught her breath, leaning boneless against the stone. He was still straining against his trousers. Each breath he took was measured, and intentional. 

“Let me get use of my legs back,” she said suddenly, “and I’ll take care of you.”

“No need, darling,” he assured her. 

“But you just  —“

“Pardon me, Rook, but I know perfectly well what I did,” he cut her off. “It was what I intended to do, I just seemed to have… miscalculated my ability to keep my composure.”

“You don’t have to keep your composure with me,” she insisted. 

“I truly appreciate that,” he said with eyes closed as he straightened up, tall and proud, despite sporting quite an obvious erection. “But tonight was about you.”

“It can be about us.”

“It is,” he said gently, then continuing to clean up. “But you said you’d let me do this properly. You deserve to be courted selflessly.”

Rook leveled him with a look, half exasperated at this surprising new stubbornness and increasingly fond of his commitment to making her feel special. He laughed a little. 

“Put that look away, Rook,” he said, “it’s an erection, it’s hardly going to kill me.”

“But I want to make you feel good.”

Emmrich gathered up his cummerbund in his hands, licked his lips slightly and looked at her. “You’ve given me a great gift,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “the evidence of your pleasure will be more than enough to satisfy me.”

Rook was spent, or should have been anyway, but the flare in her body was instantaneous. He helped redress her while she imagined him alone in the laboratory back at the Lighthouse, holding the fabric to his nose while he stroked himself. Would he wrap it around himself, stroke himself through it? And what had she been missing out on her entire life when his special brand of seduction and devotion was already driving her quickly towards madness? 

“Emmrich,” she said, looking down at him where he was on one knee as he started putting her boots back on her feet. “Thank you.”

“It’s quite literally my pleasure, darling.”

She believed him. 

Thank you for reading!

[itsblasttothepast]

To my fellow Chequistas/Checolovers: you are all amazing, and I know this has hit us hard, unexpected (even when we felt it was leading this way) and poorly handled by a team that doesn't care about their drivers.

Checo looks at peace, happy and relaxed. He is different than when he lost his seat in Racing Point, perhaps because this time it was his decision, and this has been cooking for a long time. Remember when we said Checo had been more outspoken about the team's issues with the car and the failures? When he yelled at Bird? When he marked the mistakes over the radio? Checo knew he had to make a choice for himself, instead of just staying and being miserable.

I'm happy he decided to put himself first this time, and even when there's the possibility of retirement after this, I feel he wants to retire in his own terms and with a different taste than this 2024 left.

So if you need time to regroup, to feel better and assimilate this, we are going to be here for you. If you decide you had enough and move on to other things/fandoms, that's okay too, and if you want to come back we are here with open arms. We are a supportive community, Checo has taught us the importance of being positive, never give up and keep our dreams.

For my part, I'll keep posting Checo things, updating about his social media things, and making joked about the drivers. I'll still ship Chestappen, Chewis and Hulkenrez, and I hope the authors who write amazing fics about them continue, because they're amazing and your stories cheer me up a lot.

Also I met amazing people here, and I want to continue with the conspiracy theories with my buddy @simplywrong, and having tag conversations with @your-ace-cousin-clover; I want to see @selfishpresley's posts about Checo's dick and headcanons of how to get it, and @baby-alien11 and @kirasworldofwords posts about different opinions regarding everything F1 related; I want to keep exchanging fanfic ideas (particularly Chewis) with @wishfuldivine, and seeing the Strollonso content @aston14s and Lance content @11nevergiveup11 post with some Checo appearances; I want to read @lunarprophetuwu posts about the importance of mental health and ending stereotypes, and @cherriebbyyyy posts about Carlos (I'm becoming a fan). I want to understand @vegasgrandprix Checo posts and puns, as sometimes I get lost, but it's so much fun! and see the wonderful pictures @bluebirdy04, @coffee-bulls, @rojasnn post, and exchanging opinions in spanish with @yolixpan. Seeing the amazing fanart @saicoon shares, and the sense of humor of @luna-sibuna-trying (your posts/reblogs, even when they're not F1 related, cheer me up).

And to those who are new and feel you missed the best Checo era, don't worry about it, the best is yet to come, and in the meanwhile, the Chequitas/Checolovers community will keep the Checo fever, because he's not meant to be forgotten, even the haters keep barking even when he's out of RBR.

This post is to thank you all for your amazing impact in my journey here in tumblr, I have so many people to mention, but I'm getting a little emotional and I'll ramble as usual. You made being a Checo/F1 fan a fun and wonderful thing, and I hope we can continue despite of people celebrating Checo's leaving, well, guess what? The fans stay and will continue loving him.

To those who stay, see you in the dash/inbox and messages. Those who leave temporarily, take as much time as you need and we'll be here when you come back. To those who decide to move on, I wish you the best in your journey and if you want to come back someday, we are a tag away!

Baby model Checo for all of you!

¡Gracias por estar!

[claws-and-all]

Unpopular opinions

Today’s been one of those days where all my least favorite theories regarding Tamlin have been popping up, so I thought I’d share some of my unpopular opinions in case anyone else feels the same.

1. Tamlin should not get his own book

From all the male povs we've seen thus far, it's evident that sjm struggles to write male characters with complex feelings. They tend to lack depth, have the libido of a teenager, and the romance aspect is nonexistent. This coupled with the way she handled Nesta's "healing" journey (a character she supposedly loves) - suffice to say, she will not do justice to Tamlin's journey nor his inner monolog.

On top of that, we don't need a Chaol 2.0 book. The only people I've seen enjoy Chaol's book are the haters who became slightly lenient towards him. I feel like that book was not meant for the fans who actually loved Chaol from the get-go (like me). It was yet another "healing" journey that did not heal him 😒 (it's been 7 years since it's release and I'm still mad at it 🙈).

Also, just like Tam, Chaol is another character that is hated by 90% of the fandom. His book had the worst timing. In-between a high stakes book where you NEEDED to know what happened next and instead, you're forced to read a book that took you completely out of the action. It garnered more negativity towards a character that was already so heavily hated upon. It was such an unfair thing that occurred, and his fans were the ones that had to deal with the backlash of our favorite character being torn apart by the fandom. I truly hope history does not repeat itself with Tamlin. The fandom is waiting for the elriel/elucien confirmation, and I can just see the hate pouring in if it's a book about Tamlin instead. He deserves infinitely better!

2. Tamlin and Lucien should never be friends again

I'm sorry, I know a lot of you love Lucien, I'm rather 50/50 on him. If elucien happens, it will mean Lucien is now a part of the NC family, bil to Rhys, friendly with the ic, uncle to Nyx, already friends with Nesta and Feyre. That's not the kind of energy Tamlin needs in his life nor the constant reminder of everything that he lost (Rhys is doing a fabulous job of that already).

I liked Lucien and Tamlin's relationship in book 1, but I was not a fan of how he kind of abandoned Tamlin for Feyre. It's like he became more her friend than Tams as the series progressed. I think Tamlin deserves a better friend - someone who will have his back and not his partners back. And someone not so heavily intertwined with a court that has caused so much pain to him. I can almost see Lucien slowly trying to convince Tam that the nc guys are actually "the good guys". Who knows, maybe he'll also pull a Feyre and compare Springs food to ash since nothing can come close to precious NC food, you know.

That being said, I have no idea where such friends will come from because every character we've met thus far automatically dislikes Tamlin and are fans of nc guys (still waiting for the explanation as to why Jurian, Vassa, Eris, and even Nuan are Tam haters?? Make it make sense, Sarah!).

Alternatively, I do love angst. I would love a storyline of Tamlin moving on with his life without Lucien. As in his future wife/mate/partner doesn't even know who Lucien is. Whilst Elucien is also thriving in the human lands/NC/DC/AC. Yet the entire time, they both feel like there's a missing piece in their life. They would see each other at HL meetings or balls. Yet they're too stubborn to speak to each other. Until decades later when one of them finally breaks the ice. The yearning and the hurt, love that shit lol

3. Tamlin x Briar?

Let’s keep that in the dark where it belongs. - nuff said!

4. Elain should not even look in the direction of Spring

Just because she likes gardening doesn't mean she should be spring queen 😑 I'm sure she can follow in the footsteps of her sister and brother in law and trespass into Spring if she needs to see flowers in abundance. It is afterall, nc tradition to lecture Tamlin in his own court and kick him in the shins. I really don't want to see her becoming friends with Tamlin, helping him rebuild Spring, making it her second home, etc etc etc. Like the point above, she and Lucien have enough homes to go back to. They don't need an extra one in Spring. And Tamlin doesn't need any more nc "friends".

[dorahvante]

It's kinda funny see how people assume Jinx's encounter with alt!Ekko would go. But my guess is it all comes down to who gets switched places. If alt!Ekko was taken to the original Zaun, I think the two simply wouldn't keep in touch enough to create any synergy, as this Ekko would have to deal with his entire world being removed and still be in the place of someone who has dozens of people depending on him. But if it were the other way around, something more interesting could happen.

One of the bases for how Jinx relates to everyone close to her is the search for a constant source of affection. Where her actions, no matter how chaotic and destructive they are, do not change how she is seen by the people she cares about. She had that with Silco, she looked for that in Vi in S1, and for a period of time Isha also filled that role. And ironically, her being thrown into a world inhabited by the ghosts she desperately tried to overcome the pain she caused, but who unconditionally now loved her, would get on her nerves. Less Ekko, at least not in the same degree as the others. he was the constant between the two roles she has in life, and no matter how much she tried to exclude Powder from herself, for almost the entire series, Jinx has always shown herself incapable of truly putting an end to the people from her past.

There would be conflicts at least in the beginning, like OG Ekko had, but in that case they would more quickly turn to violence due to her attempts to refocus on the identity she has been acting on for years, trying to resist a world of constant reminders, of what she wanted to abandon, but given the alternative Powder's possible history with these nervous lapses after her sister's death, everyone around would act as they did originally and give her space, counting on Ekko to be there for her since he and Powder are close. And that's when we reach one of the flexion points, between OG and this alternative, I feel that the arc made by Ekko in ep7 has already been achieved by this alternative, or that things have simply moved at a much faster pace towards a reconciliation between Powder and Jinx in the same person for alt!Ekko.

From what little we know about this version of Ekko, it's not difficult to assume that everything that is integral to ours is easily transferred to this one, the Powder of this world fell in love with the same guy twice, funny. And another point, more difficult to recognize, is that in this case, like everything else in this world, we are dealing with an almost idealized version of what we knew. Remembering Powder's statement that she had never seen her Ekko give up anything.

This Ekko would not accept stagnation in an adverse situation, just trying to preserve the present, something that the original learned to change in himself, to overcome this flaw, citing that he had lost hope in Jinx and with that also in a better Zaun, just trying to keep his head above water. And just like in the show, the alternative would see that even Jinx overriding his girlfriend's personality, changing her name, her mannerisms, the core of who she is, what really attracts him to Powder would be a constant. And this fluidity, this ability to adapt, to accept change, more easily than the original, but also due to the lack of baggage that the relationship between this Ekko and Jinx has. It's easy to see that even with the sharp edges of Jinx's personality, he would adapt to this in order to help her with whatever problem she faced, even with the constant reprimands and threats. It would be less "I can fix her" and more like "She needs me to be there" something that he was experience when his Powder was grieving

And on the other hand, there is Jinx, who until act 2 of the second season, still has problems with her self-esteem, her identity, thanks to the certainty that she has dismissed or hated by the people she valued when Powder, since Vi's slap, and with that the understanding of her sister's rejection, and also the pain she is aware of causing the only other survivor of her past, Ekko. And she kept those two factors with her, those two truths, for almost the entire first season. Until the bridge fight

And this exchange of looks is referenced a few times. she is able to recognize that underneath all the anger, heartbreak and pain she sees in Ekko's eyes, he still sees her with affection. And her having to deal with a version that is capable of expressing this without the layers that submerge this feeling, would probably make her more skittish, but also much more exposed to this truth. And Ekko being more open to the way she wants to be seen would make their relationship much less thorny and violent than expected.