#it’s hard because it’s never direct so it’s not like I can be like hi wtf man

[mikkomacko]

Him and I: Meet the Hischiers

Pairing: Mob Boss! Nico x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, Nico's crappy parents, and mean girls

A/n: Ok I'm so sorry for how long this is, oh my god. I couldn't not add sweet moments between Nico and reader though, but I promise there's only one more chapter of them in Switzerland before they return to Jersey. Anyway, enjoy and please leave comments and thoughts and requests because I love writing mob boss Nico!

xo

~~~~

Nico’s childhood home is humongous. The SUV rolls up the cobblestone driveway to what you’d consider a mansion, honestly. At least three stories, with fields of snow covered grass and hedges, a looping driveway like at a hotel, and a bright red door.

Everything about it screams elegance.

And yet you can picture a tiny Nico toddling after his older siblings in the grass out front, chasing a soccer ball that was half the size of him.

The mental image eases your nerves enough that you’re able to teasingly scoff and smack at Nico’s arm.

“You didn’t tell me your house is the size of New Jersey!”

Nico rolls his eyes at your drama, taking your hand in his and shrugging. “Yes it’s beautiful,” he agrees “but there’s a reason we’re not staying here. Just remember that, ok?”

Dutifully you nod, but that doesn’t stop you from leaning forward to gape at Timo. Your friend just laughs, directing the car into the spot directly in front of the door.

“The Hischier’s are the closest thing to a royal family here,” he tells you. “And Nico is the delinquent prince that ran away from the crown.”

“Stop lying to her Timo.” Nico interjects, his tone hard and commanding. You immediately sink back into your seat, recognizing that for some reason that was a touchy subject.

You’ll ask him about it later when it’s just the two of you.

This time when the car stops, it’s different men in wool coats that pull open Nico’s car door. They greet him in Swiss German, nodding as he slides out and you follow, taking his outstretched hand and stepping onto the stone path.

They look taken aback by your presence, both sharing a look you can’t quite read before greeting you with a simple “miss.”

You smile, wrapping your hand around Nico’s bicep and pressing into his side. Timo falls into step with you, walking alongside as you head for the front door.

Walking into Nico’s childhood home is more like walking into a recently sterilizes hospital room than a house that three children grew up in. Everything is pristine, polished, and pearl white (or beige).

Not a single item in the main room indicates that a family lives here at all. Even the portrait of a man with a thick mustache and sharp nose hanging over the staircase isn’t friendly.

“Wow,” you breathe out, looking over at Timo. He must read the look in your eyes because he nods just once, clearing his throat when Nico shoots him a look over the top of your head.

“Come on baby,” Nico tells you, guiding you further into the house. “They’re probably in the sitting room.”

The sitting room is like a living room, only colder and not exactly lived in. His family is scattered around the large room, perched on white overstuffed furniture. The first to greet you is a light haired woman, and as soon as she smiles you know this is his mother.

“Nico darling!” She exclaims in an accented voice, one that resembles his but with a tone of superiority. Rising from the sofa, she waves the man next to her up. Even if you were seeing him through fogged glass you’d be able to tell he’s Nico’s father.

They have the same nose, same dark eyes that crinkle by the edges. He’s shorter and less broad than Nico, but their posture and gait are the same. Even the way his dark grey hair falls is similar to Nico’s.

They’re carbon copies of each other.

“Son,” the man greets, buttoning up his suit jacket. “The rumors were true then?”

“Rumors?” Nico asks, and his lack of greeting to his parents makes your stomach drop. Throughout the entirety of your relationship you never imagined Nico’s relationship with his family to be like this.

“Word from the airport was that you brought a guest.” His mother supplies, a polite smile being thrown at you. You return it, hanging to Nico’s bicep like a lifeline. Suddenly you feel pathetic, a random American girl pressed at the hip to the heir of a mob family that stretches three countries and two continents. Hiding in the shadow casted by not only Nico but Timo as well.

Maybe it’s a good thing Sieges and the others didn’t come along.

“Timo insisted on tagging along,” your boyfriend jokes and if you weren’t so stunned and stupid you would have laughed. “This,” he continues, prying his arm from your hold to wrap around the small of you back “isn’t a guest, she’s family.”

Steeling your nerves, you take a steady step forward. “Y/n,” you introduce, holding your hand out to his father. “It’s a pleasure to meet you sir.”

He takes your hand, squeezing gently as you meet his gaze. For looking so much like his son, he doesn’t actually resemble him. His eyes are threatening and dark rather than comforting and warm like Nico’s. Even the twitch of his lips feels like it was a muscle spasm.

“Rino,” he tells you. “But sir works better.”

You nod in agreement, now reaching out towards his mother. She’s just as calculated when it comes to introducing herself, her tone haughty and amused as she says “Katja.”

“Wonderful to meet you,” you say, smiling warmly despite the thudding of your heart against your ribcage.

“You as well,” she responds, then shoots her son a look. “I’m afraid we haven’t heard much about you y/n, or anything at all for that matter.”

Ignoring the blow, you settle back into Nico’s side. Timo cuts in, greeting them you think but you can’t really hear him over the voice in your head desperately reminding you that Nico loves you, Nico wants you here.

It’s not until Nico’s nose is pressed to your temple that you snap back into reality. “Breathe y/n,” he whispers, his voice just a tickle in your ear but strong and encouraging. “You’re doing perfect.”

Coming back to yourself, you take his hand in thanks as Katja directs her attention to the few men milling about the room. She speaks to them in Swiss German, an order obviously if them scurrying out of the room is anything to go by.

With her and Rino no longer focused on you for the moment, you helplessly look up at Nico. He’s already watching you, not even a hint of a smile on that handsome face of his. Even so, his gaze is solid and proud, and the subtle tilt of his head tells you enough.

It’s ok.

Your breath shudders, feeling weak under those eyes that know and read you so well. You look away, biting at the inside of your cheek to stop the welling feeling of tears. You have to stop before you let your thoughts run too wild, plagued by images of the sweet man before you living under the scrutinizing gazes of this family.

It’s difficult to even picture how he turned into the Nico you know and love.

The return of the workers distracts you, this time a man and woman following behind them. Another copy of Nico, his brother looks like he could be the elder twin of your boyfriend. The hair, the nose, the jawline, the walk. Must be a Hischier man thing.

And the woman, so obviously his sister, physically resembles Katja but her eyes hold that same twinkle that lights up Nico’s eyes.

“Luca, Nina-“ Katja says warmly. “Your brother is here. With guests.”

Nico sighs, anything he might say remaining unspoken when Nina steps between the two sides.

“Family, Mama.” She corrects, sending you a friendly wink. Like a million bricks have been lifted off your shoulders, you visibly relax at her welcoming.

“Nina,” she tells you “you have no idea how excited I am to meet you.”

She doesn’t hold out a hand, instead stretching out both arms to you. Laughing nervously, you accept her embrace, briefly squeezing her in appreciation and introducing yourself.

“Never thought I’d see Nico with such a beautiful woman,” she teases, an underlying sincerity in her words that warms your cheeks. “He must’ve finally learned how to shower properly.”

Nico mockingly laughs behind you, grumbling in his native tongue to his sister but he’s quick to hug her smaller frame. You almost laugh when he tucks into her shoulder, curling in like he’s supposed to be smaller than her. Like a younger sibling that’s forgotten he’s grown to be the tallest.

Luca greets you, not as warmly as Nina but with more friendliness than their parents. He plants two polite kisses to your cheeks, squeezing your biceps awkwardly before jumping into reuniting with Nico. Nina stands by her mother’s side, nodding at you just once as Katja and Rino tell Nico and Luca something you don’t understand.

Resilience renewed, you turn your head to Timo and he leans down so you can whisper in his ear. “You have to teach me something in German, I’m drowning here.”

He chuckles quietly, leaning into your ear. “I’ll try again but I’m not a miracle worker honey.” You blink at him, jabbing your elbow into him in annoyance. He does it back, jolting you and your gearing up to hit him back when a firm hand is reaching around your back and taking a hold of your elbow.

Easily and swiftly, Nico pulls you into his side. By the way Timo straightens up, you’d imagine he’s been silently scolded by his boss. Smirking, you bat your eyelashes at him and innocently press into Nico’s hold.

“We’ve prepared lunch, if you’re hungry.” Katja offers but she’s already directing everyone to another room. The three of you follow obediently, not having any other option really.

~~~~

Lunch is better than the family reunion that took place in the sitting room. With the distraction of food and a cook and his siblings, Katja and Rino don’t even spare you a second glance or get a chance to grill Nico about anything.

Anytime the Devs or New Jersey comes up, Luca or Nina will steer the conversation away. You’re sure it has something to do with everyone avoiding the topic of Nico’s leave of absence and lack of contact for the past few years, but you can’t be certain because it’s never said.

Nico has a hand on you throughout the whole meal, either lacing his fingers with yours or resting comfortably on your thigh. He makes sure that you eat enough, that your water is ok, that you don’t want more helpings. It’s sweet, the way he always communicates through his actions. Maybe he didn’t prepare you enough for this encounter like he should’ve, but physically he’s been here and done everything to let you know that he has your back.

Besides, after listening to his family carefully navigate around unsavory topics over lunch, you can see why he struggles with words.

Especially when his mother is hell bent on making it uncomfortable. The plates have barely been cleared away when she’s zeroing in on her youngest.

“I suppose it’s time you tell us why you’ve come back,” she says airily. “Or rather why you left?”

Nico’s fingers tighten around yours, eyelids fluttering in annoyance as he suppresses an eye roll. “Mother-“

“Everything was set up Nico,” she cuts in. “The house, the branch, Len-“

“That’s enough!” He cuts off gruffly, silencing Katja. You stroke your thumb over his knuckle, unsure of how to navigate him like this in front of his family. It’s different at home where you have a place, where it’s your job to step in and protect the boys from his angry bouts. But this is different, uncharted. You don’t have a spot in the lives of his family let alone a place to interject. Hell, you don’t even know the context of why Nico left either.

“Watch the tone Nico,” Rino says casually, “that’s your mother.”

Sighing, Nico shakes his head. “I’m here for the week, take it or leave it. And I didn’t come to answer questions you already have the answer for.”

You watch him look around the large table, meeting everyone gaze with a firmness he only gets on jobs and deals. When he receives a simple hum from his mother, he turns to you.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he says quietly, rising from his seat. You follow his lead, pushing your chair back in and sharing a nervous look with Timo.

Nico addresses his parents. “I’m gonna show y/n around the grounds.” Then he’s nudging you towards the hall, large hand on your back as you go.

“Put on a coat Nico!” His mother calls after you and he waves over his head in acknowledgment. You’re silent all the way back to the front door, putty in Nico’s hands as he zips you into your winter coat and slips his beanie over your head.

Returning the favor, the zip his own coat for him, adjusting the collar and hood so his ears and neck stay warm.

Nico doesn’t return to being your Nico until the side door of the house is closing behind you. Immediately he’s attaching himself to you, hunching down to wrap his arms around your waist and tuck his face into your neck. Rising to your toes, you bundle your arms around him as best you can with all the thick winter layers between you.

Closing your eyes, you breathe in the cold air and just hold him for a moment. You don’t let go until he’s pressing a kiss to your jaw, straightening out his posture and looking at you with those moony eyes of his.

“Show me the grounds,” you mock in a posh voice giggling when he rolls his eyes and offers his elbow to you. Taking ahold of him, you tuck your hands into your pockets and let him guide you down the shoveled paths.

The grounds stretch on forever, through untouched wooded land and open plains of snow. Nico shows you a tennis court, a basketball court, the indoor hockey setup him and Luca used religiously as children. You trudge through the snow with him, winter air nipping at your nose and dry lips aching as your awe of the place kept growing and growing. Every ten steps was something new, some fond memory Nico’s dug up of his childhood.

“I almost broke my ankle trying to do cartwheels,” Nico laughs, gaze sweeping over the open area in which Nina apparently tried to teach Nico gymnastics. “She hadn’t even done gymnastics herself, but I wanted her to think I was cool so I did it.”

Giggling, you shake your head at him. “You can’t do a cartwheel?” You ask incredulously. Nico scoffs, shaking his head like it should be obvious. Releasing his arm, you strut to the open space in front of him and throw your arms up.

“Watch and learn Nico baby.” You tease, winking before executing a perfect cartwheel. The snow is cold on your hands, bites at your fingers but you do a couple more anyway just to show off.

Nico exclaims in surprise, staring at you with his jaw dropped and dimples in his cheeks. “Alright, just rub it in my face!” He complains and you laugh, giving him a bow. Leaning down he scoops up some snow, quickly packing it together. You have just enough time to curl into yourself before he’s throwing it at your torso.

Squealing, you dig your numb hands into the snow to throw one back. Dodging and ducking through laughter, you and Nico pelt each other with snow until your hands are so frozen you think they might fall off.

In surrender, you leap at him and throw your arms around his neck. The shock of your bitter cold fingers on his bare skin makes him jump and he goes crashing to the ground, taking you with him.

Luckily he breaks your fall, and the snow breaks his so it’s still giggles when you cup his jaw, sitting up to check him for injuries. He’s got snow in his hair and eyelashes, his cheeks and nose glowing red as he bites at his bottom lip to try and contain his smile.

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper, the words mostly spoken to yourself but in the large, silent estate they carry. Nico’s cheeks redden even more, eyes glimmering with love. Then, thinking of the cold man from whom Nico got his looks, you quickly add “inside and out.”

His face falls with realization, a look of sympathy flashing through his eyes. Not that he should be sympathetic about anything, these people didn’t raise you. “I should’ve warned you,” he says “I just didn’t want to scare you. And I didn’t want you to think I don’t love them because I do, they’re just different.”

The snow has begun soaking into your pants, stinging your skin and you imagine Nico’s butt must be just as cold. Yet he makes no move to get up, just stares up at you from the ground with those all-telling eyes of his.

“You warned me,” you say “maybe not intentionally but you did.” From wasting away the morning with you to the way he always had a protective hand on you today, Nico warned you the best way he knows how. With protective actions.

Brushing his hair off his forehead, you ask “wanna talk about it?” Nico sighs, cheeks puffing up as he does so and the cloud of his breath dances in between you. He agrees though, nodding for you to get up so you climb off his lap and take his hand to help him up.

Nico takes both of your hands in his, squeezing them before drawing the up to his lips. Eyebrows pinched together in concentration, he breathes hot hair in an attempt to warm them up for you. After a moment he squeezes them again, frowning when they’re still too cold for his liking.

Giggling, you pull your hands back and hug his arm. “I’m ok, let’s just go back and we can talk somewhere warm.”

Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, Nico agrees. Oblivious to the figure looming on the balcony that overlooks the grounds, he leads you back towards the house, feet crunching in the snow.

~~~~

Clothes sopping wet and cold, you shuffle into Nico’s old bedroom and immediately begin shedding your winter layers. Unsure of everyone else’s whereabouts in the house, Nico closes the door and locks it before he too strips out of his clothes.

In just his boxers he disappears into the closet and you take the opportunity to look around his room. A large bed sits in the middle of the room, a fluffy blue quilt that matches the accent wall covering it. An old ratty teddy bear sits on the bed, looking out the large window across the room. The view is beautiful, snow covered mountains and white topped trees. There’s a desk in the corner, the top of it empty but the shelves have a few books and childhood awards scattered on them.

You tiptoe over, notice most of the awards have a soccer or hockey player on them. There’s one of a boy snowboarding and one engraved with a book, and though you can’t read them inscription, the year on them tells you that Nico was under 16 when he won all these.

A photo you’ve seen on his phone is hung up next to the desk, Luca and Nina holding a baby Nico on a beach somewhere, all chubby cheeks and blonde hair.

A poster of a Swiss tennis player hangs next to the bed, a few more photos scattered around the room. You don’t get the chance to examine them because Nico strolls back into the room with a ball of clothes in his hands.

“Not sure when these were last washed but it should be fine,” he shrugs, dropping the mess of items to the bed. He digs out a pair of boxers, some dark sweats, and a long sleeve for you. You happily accept the dry clothes, stripping out of your damp underwear and bra.

Nico’s Calvin’s are a little tight when you shimmy them up you hips but not uncomfortable. You pull the sweats on, rolling the waistband so they don’t hang over your feet. It’s not until you’re tugging the shirt over your head that you notice Nico is standing butt naked across from you, boxers in hand as he shamelessly watches you change.

Knowing where this going, you quickly pull the shirt on, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Put that thing away and start talking Hischier.”

He chuckles, beginning to get dressed. You sit on the bed, reaching over for the teddy and pulling it into your lap. “What do you want to know?”

“I know how you ended up in Jersey,” you say, fingers rubbing at the soft fabric of the bears ear. “Inheritance from your grandfather and wanting to get away from here. But I always thought it was because you’re the youngest, ya know? You like to be in charge and you can’t do that with Luca and Nina being in line for everything,”

Nico lets you talk, pulling on his teeshirt and settling into the bed next to you.

“But your parents said everything was lined up. What did they mean?”

Nico sighs, eyes dropping to his lap and he fiddles with the tie on his sweats. You turn to look at him, walking the teddy bear across the mattress and plopping it in his lap. He doesn’t look at you but a dimple sinks into his cheek and he takes the bear from you.

“My parents were trying to branch out, stretch the business like they did sending Nina to France. They had this whole mock up of me using my inheritance to move to Germany and head everything there.

“But they wanted to send someone with me. This girl whose father does business with mine. We had a thing kind of when we’re younger, not dating but like when I wanted to be with someone she was there. So they added a wedding to the plan and invited her to join the family.”

There’s no reason to be jealous of this girl, whoever she is. You know that, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling a little nauseous thinking of his family picking out a wife for him.

“What did you say?” You murmur, slipping your fingers under his shirt and stroking the warm skin of his stomach. Nico picks at a thread on the bear, taking a deep breath.

“Nothing, to them. I took the money and some buddies and left. Told Nina I was starting my own family in Jersey, that I didn’t want to be married or in Germany.

“That’s how I got Timo, Sieges, and Bratter to join me. We’d all been friends for a while and they hated the girl. My parents didn’t know, but she’d been after Luca the whole time she was with me. He was too focused on taking over here in Switzerland though. That’s why she wanted him, she wanted to be the queen or whatever of Switzerland. “

“Why’d she agree to marry you then?”

Nico looks up now, shrugging. You inch closer to him, stomach feeling sick and he must know you don’t particularly like to hear this story because he nudges you into his lap. Straddling his thighs, you relax forward into his chest and let him wrap his arm around you.

“Because one of us was better than neither I guess. I had a feeling she assumed she could marry me and then convince me to push Luca out or something. I don’t know but I didn’t say a word to her either, I just left.”

You nod, the joke Timo made in the car earlier finally adding up. Nico was the prince lined up to be married and grow the business, to make his family stronger. Instead he took his power and his means elsewhere. He built his own kingdom.

“I think you’re so smart Nico,” you mumble, “not many 18 year old boys would be able to do what you did.”

Nico tucks the bear into your chest and you hug it. “I had help,” he says “but it was the best decision I ever made. I got you from it.”

His phone buzzes on the nightstand, interrupting you two. You feel him reach over for it, holding you tighter as he leans over.

“Nina invited us to go out tonight for drinks,” he says. “She wants to have fun without my parents around.”

“Is Timo invited?”

“Yes, Timo is invited.” Nico laughs, stroking your hair.

“Ok. I have to go home for new clothes though.”

Nico hums his agreement, still stroking your hair. You cuddle into him, hugging the teddy bear tighter as you sort through everything he told you. It’s impossible for you to see how some girl had Nico right in front of her, was lined up to spend the rest of her life with him and instead made him feel unwanted.

How could anyone not pick him? How was she not begging on her knees to run away to Jersey with him?

“Nico?”

“Yes baby?”

“I want you,” you whisper. “I always have and I always will. I’d do anything for you.”

You think of everything you’ve given up for Nico, the life you’d left behind for him and it doesn’t even phase you. Because he’s worth it, always worth it.

“Trust me, I know my love,” he assures but you can hear the relief in his tone. Then he’s giggling boyishly, digging his nose into the top of your head. “I knew as soon as met you that there was no getting rid of you.”

Blushing, you close your eyes and enjoy his embrace, enjoying a moment with just him.

~~~~

Luca owns the bar that Nina had invited you too. Technically the business owns it, but it was Luca’s investment plan that acquired it and it’s his staff that runs it.

You find that out as Nico leads you by the hip to the sectioned off tables in the back. Luca and a few other guys mill about the table, some you recognize from seeing around the house today. Nina is there too, her long hair pulled back into a slick pony and she’s sipping from a fruity cocktail with a blonde girl.

“You made it!” Luca greets upon seeing his brother, his demeanor much more welcoming and laidback than earlier. You let go of Nico’s hand so he can hug Luca again, his eyes crinkling as he laughs.

Timo bro-hugs Luca before disappearing back into the common area, most likely heading to the bar. You’re reaching for Nico’s hand again when Luca crouches down to meet your gaze, glossy eyes and smile shining at you.

He looks so much like Nico.

“There she is!” He shouts, charging you with open arms. You laugh in shock when he scoops you up in a hug, drink sloshing against your back as he sways back and forth.

“Hi Luca,” you giggle, awkwardly rubbing your hand up and down his back. “Nice to see you again.”

He drops you to your feet, gripping your elbow when you stumble. Not that it’s needed; Nico’s hand found your lower back as soon as your toes touched the polished floors.

“You know, I never understood why Nico loved Jersey so much,” he shouts over the music and chatter “but I get it now. I like you a lot even if my parents don’t.”

You’re not shocked to hear that but you dramatically gasp anyway. “Your parents don’t like me?!” You cry, holding a hand over your heart. “What’ll we ever do?”

Luca laughs at you, taking a swig of his beer before shaking his head fondly. “Fuck ‘em,” he says casually “Nico’s better off with you anyway.”

Your cheeks heat up at his words, flattered by the praise. You were hesitant about Luca earlier, not knowing if he liked you or not. He was harder to read than Nico and Nina but you assume that’s the oldest sibling in him.

Without another word he’s walking away, stumbling towards the pool tables with some friends. Nico leans in over your shoulder, nose brushing your temple.

“He’s a friendly drunk,” he explains “but he really does like you.”

You turn towards him. “He’s funny,” you say “I like him too.”

Pressing the lightest kiss to your cheekbone, Nico nods towards the bar. “Something with vodka?” He asks and you peek around him at Nina.

“I want what Nina is drinking.”

Amused, he nods and takes you by the hand. He approaches the booth, leaning over towards his sister to mumble something in her ear. You don’t hear what she says back but Nico straightens out, stepping out of the way and nudging you to sit down. Happily, you slide into the seat next to Nina and accept her giddy hug.

Nico sweeps your hair over your shoulder, squeezing your neck briefly before going to get your drink.

“Oh this is Maja,” Nina introduces you to her friend. You reach over the table to shake her hand and introduce yourself.

“I’m with Luca,” Maja tells you, her pretty blue eyes sparkling. “Sorry I missed lunch today, I tend to skip those gatherings as often as I can.”

“I totally understand!” You laugh,” I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time.”

Nina gasps, gripping your arms as she beams at you. “You’re gonna come back?!”

Giggling, you nod. “Well yeah, I know Nico misses you and Luca and it hasn’t been bad. Besides, it’s beautiful here!”

“You have to visit in the summer!” Maja tells you, “we can make fondue and float the river.”

Nina agrees telling you all about how that was Nico’s favorite thing to do when he was younger. Then she’s inviting you to France, telling you all about the beautiful French men and how much you’d love them.

You let her chatter on, laughing at her antics. French men aren’t exactly your forte, especially not when you’re dating a Swiss man but you can remind her about that later.

“Nina,” Nico interrupts, placing your drink in front of you. “are you trying to set my prinzessin up with a Frenchie?”

Sliding in next to you, he wraps his arm around your stomach and draws you back into his chest. His sister gapes at him, so shocked by his words she’s gone speechless and you shyly sip your drink.

“Prinzessin, Nico!” She gasps, holding her heart. Nina tells him something in Swiss German, reaching around you to excitedly shove her brother.

His response is also lost on you but you can tell by Nina’s moony eyes and how he hunches into you that it was something loving and sweet. “Soon, soon.” Nico finally says, taking a drink of his beer and setting it next to yours.

“Hey don’t talk about me when I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

Laughing, Nico presses a kiss to your temple. “Sorry baby,” he says, squeezing your shoulders. You turn to face him, sliding your leg over his lap.

“You didn’t tell me about Maja,” you murmur, fiddling with the straw in your drink. Nico’s eyebrows pinch together, lips pursing in confusion as he looks around the bar.

“Who?”

“Nico oh my god,” you gasp “Luca’s girlfriend-wife-whatever?”

Some clarity washes over his face and he giggles, glancing across the booth to Maja. Lowering his lips to your ear, “I thought her name was Maria,” he whispers and you laugh.

“I don’t know, Luca got with her after I left and he’s not chatty on the phone. For all I know he’s already married her.”

You look over your shoulder at her hand. “No ring,” you tell him “and I don’t think he’d get married without telling you.”

Nico shrugs, taking a swig of his beer before holding it out to you. You slide him your drink, trying the tangy beer he’s been nursing. It’s not bad but beer isn’t your favorite so you quickly hand it back.

“That’s sweet,” Nico says, smacking his lips and returning it to you. “Too sweet, Jesus Christ.” You laugh, snacking an arm around his shoulders and digging your fingers into the strands of hair at the nape of his neck.

“It’s not that bad,” you argue, guiding him closer to you. Smirking, those dark eyes of his dance across your face before settling on your lips. He does the rest of the work for you, capturing your mouth in a sloppy kiss.

“Mmm,” he hums, pulling back and swiping his tongue across his lips. “Better.”

His voice has that gruffness to it, heavy and thick, and not just because his accent is stronger now that he’s home. It makes your neck and ears feel hot, stomach flipping.

“No PDA in my bar Nico!” Luca’s shouting makes you jump, almost knocking Nico’s beer across the table and him and Timo snicker as they sit across from you.

“Bar PDA is his favorite,” Timo laughs, winking at you. “How do you think they ended up together?”

You can’t even argue with him. Nico is notorious for being handsy, especially when he’s out and drinking.

“Really?” Luca hums, slinging an arm around Maja. “It used be like pulling teeth just to get him to look at girl around here.”

And well, that’s news to you. Although you suppose if he planned on leaving Switzerland anyway and he had that girl to fool around with whenever he wanted, what’s the point? You’re well aware that he was never looking for love.

Nico quickly changes the topic, asking Timo about his day with his family tomorrow and you join Nina and Maja as they sift through songs on the online jukebox to play.

The queue stacks up, your drink starts to run out, and Nico leaves with Timo and his brother to go play pool. Nina leaves the phone with Maja, taking you by the hand to the bar where she orders more drinks and drops them on Nico’s tab. Not that it matters, you doubt he pays for drinks here anyway.

“I’m gonna head to the restroom,” you tell her, and she takes your drink back to the closed off section. The bathrooms are in the opposite back corner, a group of girls huddled in front of the door so you line up behind them.

Your phone buzzes in hand, Nico’s contact lighting up the screen and you almost laugh. Of course he noticed you were missing.

I’ve lost my pretty girl

Biting your lip, you text back bathroom break ♥️

The typing dots pop up and you’re anxiously awaiting his response when the conversation around you catches your attention. Specifically the mention of Nico’s name.

“He’s still as hot as ever,” a dark haired girl in front of you comments, and you keep your eyes on your phone so they don’t think you’re eavesdropping.

“Do you think she’s actually with him or is that just another fuck you to his parents?”

Nico’s text comes through, but you can’t focus enough to read it. “I mean, she doesn’t look his type so who knows. Didn’t he say he wasn’t into commitment Lena?”

Out of the corner of your eye, a tall and leggy brunette twirls her hair around her finger and shrugs. “If he were into commitment don’t you think he’d be with me right now? It’s definitely just to piss off his parents, I mean did you see the size of her? Typical American girl.”

Suddenly you feel sick, like everything you’ve ever eaten is choking up in your throat and about to spew all over the mean girls in front of you.

“I heard he put her in the family,” a quieter voice says. “Timo was talking about it at the bar with Luca. He’s calling her his princess.”

The leader-Lena, scoffs. “Princess? She hasn’t even got a pendent let alone a ring.”

Maybe this why Nico doesn’t talk about his exes. They’re mean and petty little girls, girls that haven’t moved on in over 5 years. That doesn’t make it any easier to hear though.

“Probably another one of his deals. He fucks her, she pretends to be serious with him for a family trip.”

“Why would he decide to come back now with a fake girlfriend?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lena laughs, loud and proud. “He must have heard that I’m back at the estate.”

You decide that’s enough, pocketing your phone and clearing your throat. All the girls jump at the noise, turning to face you and you smile.

“Are you in line for the bathroom or just gossiping?” You ask politely, smirking as the color drains from all their faces. All except Lena, who looks you up and down before sheepishly nodding for you to go ahead.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” You say, stopping in the doorway to look at her. “You’d think Luca would have bathrooms strictly for family but I guess not.”

Embarrassed, they all laugh awkwardly and you close the door behind you. What the fuck?

~~~~

By the time you’ve returned to the booth, you’ve shaken off the word of those girls. You trust Nico, you know Nico loves you, and high school bullies that pick on girls weight and nationality aren’t going to change that.

Nico is still playing pool, but he catches your eye and winks as you settle in next to Nina. Smirking, you blow him a kiss before Nina is handing you music rights. Sipping on your drink, you pull up your playlist on your phone and find the Swiss songs Nico likes. Adding his favorite to the queue you hand the phone back.

“How do you know that song?” Maja asks you, chewing on the end of her straw. You take another sip of yours.

“Nico plays it every time we’re in the car.” You say, catching the eye of Lena over Maja’s shoulder. She simply raises an eyebrow you, throwing back whatever shot is in hand and purses her lips.

“Hey, do you guys know her?” You suddenly ask, nodding towards the bar where Lena is now perched over the top to steal cherries from behind the counter.

“Oh,” Nina mumbles, laughing awkwardly. “Rino does business with her father and uh…”

“She was into Nico?” You supply, glancing over at your boyfriend. Maja bites her lip, hesitantly nodding.

“She was supposed to marry him.” Nina tells you, lowering her gaze to the table. Suddenly it all clicks; the comments about sleeping with him, about him not committing, about using me.

The song changes, the beat immediately catching the attention of Nico who stands up taller and looks over at you. You smile, wiggling your fingers at him as Nina laughs.

“I never thought Nico could be so romantic.” Maja teases you, not that you get it. The rap song is lost on you, any translation you’ve tried to look up being even more confusing. So you just enjoy the beat of it usually.

“What?”

Nina laughs, finally realizing that you can’t understand Swiss German. “It’s a love song,” she tells you, and then she’s pulling up the lyrics and translating them for you.

It’s a lot of nonsense, cute tidbits about how the artist loves the habits and traits of his lover. But the chorus is sweet, a declaration of him finding love after being told he would always be on his own.

Unable to help yourself, you swallow down the rest of your drink and scramble out of the booth. Nico is watching you, bottom lip caught between his teeth as you approach him. He’s leaning on the pool stick but as soon as you get close he’s moving it aside.

You crash into him, bury your nose in his hoodie and holding his waist tightly. “What’s her deal?” Luca slurs, but he goes ignored. Nico squeezes you just once, swaying side to side in time with the song.

Closing your eyes, you think of him singing along in the car, humming it in the shower while he washes your hair for you, blasting it through the house when you two clean together.

“Who translated it for you?” He finally murmurs, his smile present in his tone.

“Your sister,” you say, resting your chin on his chest and looking up at him. He’s all white teeth and dimples when you meet his gaze, eyes glimmering with pride. “Her and Maja think you’re very romantic.”

Nico shrugs but doesn’t argue. The pool balls clink behind you and then Timo is hollering. “Game over Luca, pay up.”

Luca mutters something in Swiss, heading to the bar with his head low. You let go of Nico, giving Timo a chance to high five you both.

“Let me teach you to play,” Nico tells you, handing you the pool stick. You follow him to the end of the table, letting him show you how to rack up the balls. Timo chalks up your stick for you, tells you about the cue ball.

And you go about your night, teaming up with Nico to play Timo. He stands behind you for every shot, large hands over yours on the pool stick and his warm chest tight against your back.

It feels so good to have him wrapped around you that you don’t even notice the staring eyes of Lena and her friends.

And you don’t bring her up to Nico, though you probably should’ve.

~~~~

#nico hischier #mob boss Nico Hischier #nico hischer x reader #mob boss au #Him and I #nhl #new jersey devils #nj devils #fluff

[nathaslosthershit]

Teenage Angst (Dad!CL16)

Summary: Charles Leclerc’s 16 year old daughter, Lila, has had quite the rebellious phase and the Monegasque just can’t figure out what to do. Luckily, his wife has some of the answers.

Charles loved his life. He loved his job. He loved his home. Most of all, he loved his family. But recently, his job seemed to interfere with his homelife and in turn impacted his relationship with his family. 

His family was well versed in the ways of having a husband and father as an Formula 1 driver. They were used to race weekends in exciting new countries, or race weekends spent on the couch as they cheered Charles on. Recently though, as his eldest daughter began to experience the highs and lows of teenage life, she began to resent her father for all the time he spent out of the house. 

Her dad was her most favorite person in the world but she hadn’t ever really cared for Formula 1. She liked watching her dad race and seeing all of the ‘honorary uncles’ she had gained over the years but without them she knew she would never have been a fan of the sport. So, when she began to associate it with taking her father away, she couldn’t stand to watch it anymore.

It had become a source of tension between her and her mom. Charles’ wife had tried her entire life to not force the kids into the world of Formula 1. If they didn’t want to kart, they did not have to. They didn’t need to try and follow in the impressive but expectant legacy their father was bound to leave behind. But they were expected to support their Dad. When Lila refused to watch the race with the family, fights would often break out. Her mom always kept her composure, not one to scream, but when she had a 16 year old trying to yell every hateful thing she could think of at her, it made it hard. 

After a particularly nasty fight, one where Lila was sent to her room and grounded, the tension in the Leclerc house was palpable. Even though his wife hadn’t told him about it, Charles could sense the shift the moment he walked in the door. He hadn’t been given a chance to inquire about it though because the moment he stepped foot in the entryway, he had been tackled by his youngest daughter, only 6 years old. His wife then too joined the mix, happy to have her husband back (and ecstatic to have another parent in the household to deal with her 16 year old). 

“Where is Lila?” Charles asked.

“Ah, she is a bit grumpy at the moment. I am letting her cool down before dinner, which is just about ready. Please quickly shower and get all the plane germs off before you sit to eat with us.” His wife demanded.

As Charles walked up to his room, he passed his eldest daughter’s bedroom and was about to walk in till he noticed she had locked the door, something that she seemed to be doing a lot more recently. Deciding maybe it is best she cools down a little, he walked right by.

Everyone, except Lila, was sat and waiting for the 16 year old to join at the table when after 5 minutes they decided to just start eating. When she finally walked down, she said a quick “hi” to her father, not even looking in his direction, before she started eating.

“Lila, why don’t you thank your mother for her cooking before you eat all the food she made?” Charles asked. Immediately, his wife tensed up, knowing that this would set her oldest daughter off.

“Why? She made pasta. It isn't exactly revolutionary or even hard.”

“She works hard to keep you both alive and happy each day. And the fact she put a lot of love into making sure you are fed well is something to be grateful for.” He was starting to raise his voice, which only caused Lila to turn her attitude up even more.

“She is just a stupid housewife living off the money you make, if it is so hard she can just hire help.” 

There was silence after this. Lila watched as her mother silently got up, tears streaming down her face, and walked into the kitchen, not wanting to cause a scene or have another fight with her daughter. Lila immediately regretted the things she said, once again just looking for the most hurtful things to say.

“Are you kidding me? I cannot believe that those disgusting things just came out of my very own daughter’s mouth! Why would you ever say such a thing about such a wonderful and loving mother? When the hell did this attitude develop?”

“Maybe you would know if you weren’t gone all the time racing stupid fucking cars. God, Dad, you have no right to try and parent me when you aren’t even here. Go back to Ferrari, they are the only family that wants you!” She was screaming now. Nothing she said was true, of course, she knew it, but she couldn’t stop till she made everyone feel as miserable as she did. 

“Enough! I am so disappointed and appalled by the things you are saying. Go to your room because I sure do not want to see you tonight!” At this, Lila stormed off, stomping up the stairs till she slammed the door. Charles could almost laugh at how cliche the whole situation was. Hormonal teenager upsetting her parents then storming off. But he couldn’t think about that now that he had his beautiful and sweet wife crying to herself in the kitchen, and his 6 year old daughter tearing up at all the fighting. “I am sorry, sweetie. Why don’t you go and put a television show on and I can get the special candy I got for you while I was away?” This seemed to do the trick as his youngest daughter immediately perked up and ran to the living room.  

Walking into the kitchen, Charles was met with his wife silently washing the dishes, but he could see how her body shook as she cried. She immediately melted into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

“Charles, she has been like this for weeks now. It always is always worse when you are gone. I- I don’t know what to do. I feel like the world’s worst mother, always fighting and grounding her.”

“My love, it is in no way your fault. How she acted was out of line and I am so disgusted by it. None of what she said was true and I hope you know that.” He said, kissing his wife’s forehead.

“I know, I know. She is just trying to get us upset. I just don’t know how much more I can handle.”

“I am the worst husband for not being here. I am sorry, my love. If I knew it was this bad then I would have-”

“You would have what, Charles? You have a job that takes a lot of time. You will sometimes be out of the loop. And that is okay. You work hard to provide for us, so we can live such a nice and comfortable life. I heard what she said to you too. It wasn’t fair of her to get mad at your career. I think she is just upset that you are gone so often.”

“What do I do about that though? Retire? Because if it comes down to it-”

“No, no, no. You will retire when you are ready to, and that is surely not now. She is just hormonal and extremely emotional. Let me talk to her, I am sure she just misses her dad. You are her most favorite person, you know that right?” he nodded in response, “I would almost be jealous if we didn’t have a 6 year old who told me earlier today that I am the coolest person in the world, and that I was pretty enough to be a princess.” She joked.

“She takes after me, idolizes you in every way.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. Smooth Talker. Let me go talk to Lila.” With a chaste kiss to the lips, she walked away in hope of reconciling this whole fight.  

Luckily, Lila’s door was unlocked. But she was blasting music so hard that she didn’t hear her mother come in until she screamed when she felt someone touch her back.

“Relaxe, honey, it's just me.” Her mother said, turning down the music.

It was silent as she awaited her daughter’s response. Both women at a standoff, seeing who would crack first. Luckily for them it didn’t last too long as it was Lila who lost. She burst into tears, quickly muttering apology after apology at her mother. 

“Sweetheart, it is okay. I was hurt by what you said but I was a teenager once too. I said some pretty mean things to my mom. I understand that it sometimes comes with the territory.”

“Did you say mean things to your dad too?” Lila asked, hiccuping from the sobs.

“No, but I didn’t have as nice of a father as you do. I was more scared of him. You on the other hand have the most wonderful father, and you said some nasty things to him tonight.”

“He already is disappointed I didn’t take after him and start racing. He probably regrets having a girl.” Lila sobbed, breaking her mother’s heart. Those things couldn’t be farther from the truth. 

“Honey, you know how excited your father was when I told him I was pregnant with you? It was far too early to know if you were a boy or a girl, but Charles was convinced he would have a daughter first. There was never a single moment that he wasn’t absolutely thrilled to be a girl dad. It didn’t matter if you were ever a boy or a girl though, he never for a single moment cared if his kids would follow in his footsteps. He has lost too many loved ones to this sport, he was honestly a little relieved when you said you didn’t want to go karting. But he always hoped you would support him. He just wants you guys to be proud of him.”

Lila once again burst into tears at this revelation, thinking herself a terrible daughter for not being supportive. “He must hate me now. I- I have been so terrible to him.”

“You could never do anything to make him hate you. I think he is just upset about the things you said but he knows you don’t mean them. Go talk to him, honey. It will clear everything up I promise.” Lila’s mom said as she rubbed her daughter’s back.

After a long hug, the 16 year old Leclerc went to the living room where she saw her father watching a kids tv show with her younger sister who was happily demolishing a bag of candy. Once Charles noticed his daughter’s arrival, and that Lila clearly wanted to say something to him but was hesitant, he sent the 6 year old off to go find her Maman. As he looked back at Lila, her tear stained face and puffy eyes broke his heart, even if he was still upset at her. 

Before he could say anything, she rushed into his arms, sobbing out an “I’m sorry Papa! I didn’t mean what I said, I promise. I love you and love watching you race, I just miss you so much!”

Giving her a few seconds to collect herself, he kissed her forehead, tears threatening to fall as he replied. “Lila, I know you didn’t mean those things. It breaks my heart to be gone as much as I am. I love you so much, honey. I am sorry for yelling.”

Pulling away, she smiled at the revelation that she wasn’t in trouble with her dad. “I apologized to Maman too. She told me to talk to you. I am sorry I have been so mean to her while you have been gone.”

“I know. She is always good at getting us back in line, huh? You are still grounded for what you said though.” She laughed at that. Maybe it was a little too naive to think she would be in the clear now and punishment free. “Maybe though, you can come to the next race? Just me and you? I can try to convince your Mama to let you miss a few days of school.”

“Yes! I would love that. But only if I can visit Uncle Pierre at Alpine.” She demanded, giggling with excitement.

“If you step foot in any garage that isn’t Ferrari, you will be grounded for two more weeks” Charles joked… kind of. Maybe he would only ground her one week for that. 

This was far from the last fight they had, but they eventually got out of this hormonal funk Lila had all been in. They had to look ahead though because they still had another daughter to deal with once she became a teenager. 

#formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Healthcare Quotes!

(dark humor)

Four: My patient really needs a liver transplant. I want tonight to be the night he gets it. Legend: What’s your blood type? Four, rolling his eyes: Not my liver. I want to see him recover and all! Sky: That would be the fastest way to procure it, though. The ultimate sacrifice for your patient. Truly being a patient advocate. Legend: Let us know when you off yourself and we’ll give it like six minutes so you can be properly brain dead and all. Four, huffing: How about Warriors? He’s strong, healthy— Sky: Nah, he drinks too much, you don’t want his liver. Wars: >:O I DO NOT Legend: *wheezing*

…

Mo: *coughing* Hyrule: You good? Mo: I’m dying Aurora: None of that crap until the shift is over, we’ve had enough call outs tonight! Mo, sadly: Aw man

…

Warriors: *exiting a patient’s room laughing* Legend: What’s so funny? Wars: This dude has the absolute best insults ever. Legend: Who was he insulting? Wars: Me, because he didn’t get his water fast enough, but man was it amazing. Legend, interested now: So what did he call you?? Warriors, smirking evilly: You’ll never know. Legend: Wha—YOU CANT LEAD ME ON AND THEN LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE THAT

…

Twilight, staring into the void: Ilia: What’s wrong? Twi: The girl in 15 said I couldn’t play with her ponies because I wasn’t cool enough. Ilia, biting back laughter: That’s rough, buddy

…

Wild: This one teenager I was transporting to MRI said I was so bad at directions I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag. Twilight: She ain’t wrong. Wind: Did you say anything back? Wild: I said “Actually I can, animal control tried to use a bag to catch me and I found my way out of it just fine.” Twi, sighing: I can believe it

…

Time, stopping a surgical resident from doing something: That is what we call an artery. When I said don’t kill the patient, I meant don’t kill the patient. Since you were about to cut the artery, I think we need a lesson really quickly on what does and does not kill a patient. Time: For example. Bleeding to death leads to dying. I know this might be hard for you to understand but— Malon: *narrows eyes, raises eyebrow* Time:…But I understand you’re still learning.

…

Fable: Yeah, so she was supposed to get a mini-MVR, they perfed her LV, then they fixed that and her papillary muscles tore, then they tried to fix that and she got a VSD, so they just put her on ECMO and balloon pump and shipped her to us. Wild: What does—what?? Time: Her heart woke up and chose violence. Or her surgeon did, I’m not sure which.

#lu in healthcare #quotes #incorrect quotes #skye time travels through the queue

[giamee]

𝐂𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐖!

╭─────────────────────── ( 🎐 )

even though you don't talk, they'll still find a way to listen

› 〉 📂 .ೃ | mute reader, jus some fluff really, bit on the short side

requested by @/anon

╰─➤ 💌 ₍₁₎ ok i should nawtttt have used this colour scheme im squinting like a rat at my screen tryna see what i'm saying. the title is 'cigarettes out the window' (shoutout tv girl) if u couldnt read it which i do not hold against u

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 GEPARD.

it's simply in his nature to look out for others, to ensure that everyone is alright. and when he meets you, he's thrown for a loop a little. because you are fine.

the first time he sees you is in serval's workshop- you're just leaving, and something compels him to make sure that he speaks to you, even if it's for a few fleeting moments before you leave and he most likely never sees you again.

it's a simple question of how your day is, but you simply offer him a small smile before ducking past him, scurrying out of the door that he held open.

he's puzzled at first- maybe it's something to do with him? did you not want to talk to him? but then his sister explains that you're mute, and now he feels like a fool.

and thus begins his attempts to talk to you.

he writes you little notes to begin with. luckily for him, you're a regular at serval's shop, always seemingly having some device or another broken and in need of repairing. serval rolls her eyes at the pair of you- at gepard for being an idiot (you can still hear, you don't need notes), and at you for your attempts to run into her brother as often as possible (those machines weren't really broken).

despite this, it was somewhat amusing to watch the pair of you attempt to flirt with each other. and somewhat cute when your attempts worked.

you kept each and every one of gepard's notes to you, as redundant as they were. his handwriting was a little scruffy, and if you looked at them hard enough you could spot the little tremors where he tried to make the lettering neat.

a special treat was when he decided to add little doodles to them. it was anyone's guess as to what they were supposed to be- you were pretty sure that one of them was supposed to be you- and your heart warmed amidst the chicken scratch and stick figures.

you decide to write your own note back to him. in the top right corner is a little sketch of him, on a similar level to his own creations, that you hope he'll appreciate alongside the note.

you give it to him along with your best smile, mentally capturing the look of joy on gepard's fave at your little gift to him. you were gone by then, shyness overtaking your urge to stay, so you could only imagined his face when he realised that what you had written to him was a formal request to take him out on a date.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 DAN HENG.

for dan heng to open up to someone new, several criteria have to be met.

for starters, he had to be at least a little bit comfortable around you. receptive, but not too probing or overbearing. rational, but not judgmental. open, but not too much.

in many ways, he was like a cat. you had to let him come to you.

and luckily for you, you seemed to fulfil those criteria.

as one of the newest additions to the astral express, you were in some sort of in-between phase of being one of them and a stranger. you communicated in your own ways, but you found yourself withdrawing to your room. it was overwhelming, this new environment.

it was only natural that you felt more drawn to dan heng more than anyone else. he had similar qualities to you- more introverted, tended to keep to himself. and, as you later found out, you both had a tendency to burn the midnight oil.

it became almost routine to run into him when you're both up late, wandering the astral express for some peace of mind. brief encounters with little nods sent your direction gradually evolved into longer moments spent basking in each other's presence, mostly in silence. but not always.

you both had your reasons to be up late- on the nights where dan heng looked more frazzled, a certain look in his eye, is when you began to piece him together.

he'd lend you some information of his own volition occasionally, telling you about the nightmare he had, recurring or not. there was just this certain quality to you, a look in your eye that made him feel like you truly did listen to him.

and he wouldn't trade your late-night rendevous for the world.

𝜗𝜚 honkai star rail masterlist

#୨୧ gia.txt :: gepard #୨୧ gia.txt :: dan heng #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff #honkai star rail x reader #hsr gepard x reader #gepard landau x reader #gepard x reader #gepard fluff #gepard landau fluff #hsr gepard fluff #hsr dan heng x reader #dan heng fluff #dan heng x reader #dan heng x reader fluff

[moonlightspencie]

rewatched the update video, read some posts from both people who like and dislike the update, and just finished charlie’s (mo1stcr1tikal) video about watcher. here are my complete thoughts:

Video Execution

i appreciate that they seem to have consulted with a PR person, or at the very least really sat down and thought through their approach with the video.

they didn’t try to boo-hoo themselves.

they used a lot of positive “you language” for the fans (which i very much appreciate as a media and communication person myself)

they took accountability for their mistakes, and actually uttered the word “sorry”. low bar, i know, but many apology videos still somehow slip under the bar.

they very clearly put the focus on ryan and shane in the video. it sucks a bit that they probably felt they had to since much of that was probably due to the negative comments directed at steven, but it WAS a smart move. fans feel most betrayed by the two the majority connect with the most.

it. wasn’t. overproduced. (again, low bar, but it is what it is).

overall thoughts on execution? it was smart. they look uncomfortable, and whether that’s intentional or their true feelings, regardless of why they look so uncomfy, it makes it easier to watch. they don’t look pissed or smug. they look embarrassed. which, in an apology video, is a good thing. sorry to say

The Solution

i think they came up with the best alternative they could after royally fucking up with the majority of their fans.

the patreon solution… mixed feelings. i understand they don’t want to just go forward with one or the other: the patreon or the streamer. however, as ive seen some patrons say, it doesn’t make all that much sense to have both logistically. i think it’s only set up this way because they can’t go back entirely on watcher.tv now. good on them for giving a bit of a fix with the codes being sent to patrons.

i was still lost on how they weren’t “advertiser friendly”, and that’s where charlie’s video came in to affirm my suspicions. go watch his video for more information, but long story short: watcher is a GOLD MINE for advertisers. huge and loyal audience, engaging ads that make the viewer want to watch the ad, and an ever-growing channel.

on the back of the last point: how on earth were they struggling with money to begin with? it simply doesn’t make any sense. they had so many revenue streams & again, DO get sponsors and appear to be incredibly brand-friendly.

trust is still lost with most fans, and that will be hard as hell to regain. the ex-buzzfeed three-guys-on-a-couch model didn’t even work when the try guys were fucked over by their friend and brand trust was lost a little bit. and this loss of brand trust is fully on all three dudes on the couch this time

overall thoughts on the solution? it’s good for what they can do now that they obviously cannot just fully backtrack. that would arguably be a worse idea than the original idea for the streaming service itself. i think this would have worked much better and they would have retained integrity if they had done this from the beginning, and/or had a slow rollout instead of jumpscaring us like that. ghost files is supposed to spook us, not surprise paywalls.

Final Thoughts

a ton of trust was lost. the parasocial relationship that specifically shane and ryan fans had with them, that was the REASON for so much of the loyalty, is fractured, and for many it will never be the same as it was. i understand their fuck up when it came to the announcement was likely just them needing more self-awareness and a professional to guide them through it, but i still question how it got to that point where they felt like their fans would enjoy this to begin with. not to mention, again, how were they not making enough? why not try other options first?

i hope sincerely that watcher truly learns from this. that they remember their business isn’t about money or ambition (in a positive or negative way), but is built on the backs of their fans’ loyalty. without that fan loyalty, buzzfeed unsolved would have been the only thing we knew ryan and shane for. we wouldn’t have followed them to a new channel if we didn’t care about them and their work to certain degree.

it was a good apology video. genuinely. i’m glad they didn’t jump into it with a bandaid solution. i just wish they had the foresight to know their fans well enough to understand that there is NO way this would be well received by the majority. and there’s no going back on that now, obviously. what’s past is past. i hope moving forward that they gain a little self-awareness and that they gain some FAN-awareness. until/unless they start working on television and movies, they have to keep their fans happy. we are the consumer, not the employee, and it feels like they started somehow blurring those lines with the original video they posted. it felt like one of the corporate ‘training’ videos for my job when we start using a new system.

fans are important in online spaces, particularly. we provide free advertising for our favorite bloggers/youtubers/etc., and willingly give up money to support them through various streams (in watcher’s case: patreon, merch, live shows). you cannot exist as a creator online and think that you don’t need to keep your fans happy when it is your source of income. it’s simply how being a successful internet personality works, for better or worse.

good job to the watcher boys on how they went about the apology/fix. i hope things go better from here on out.

#watcher #shane madej #ryan bergara #steven lim #watcher entertainment

[msbigredmachine]

New To This - Chapter 3

NEW TO THIS MASTERLIST

--------------------

Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable.

It’s been three hours since her first-ever official wrestling match, and Delilah couldn’t stop smiling. It had lasted all of eight minutes, and although she lost, no one could deny that both she and her opponent, Faye, had pulled a showstopper out of thin air. Delilah had only ever attempted a moonsault once in her life, one evening at training when she was feeling adventurous, but tonight, the burst of adrenaline had buoyed her, and it felt so natural being poised on the top rope. To her shock and delight, the crowd had given them a standing ovation when it was over. It was, as far as she could remember, the happiest day of her life. After Andre’s proposal, of course.

She hadn’t been this confident at first, though. She remembered being alone in the tiny, dingy locker room, on the verge of throwing up about fifteen minutes before the match. She remembered the loud cheers as the announcer geared the fans up for the upcoming match. She remembered forcing herself out, walking numbly towards the ring, then looking into the crowd and almost tripping on her own feet in shock at the sight of Jey up in the VIP area with Tank, unable to believe he’d actually showed up to watch her. HER! How she worked through the bundle of nerves and emotions, she would never know. But she did. And it was enough to convince her that she could still pursue her dream. That she wasn’t walking away from this just yet, because there was hope that she was finally going somewhere with wrestling.

Tank and Jey – she still wasn’t comfortable enough to call him Josh – had taken her out to celebrate afterwards. Even after leaving the bar well after midnight, both men didn’t seem willing to go home just yet. And Delilah didn’t mind.

“Your garden’s really nice, uce,” Jey observed the small but neat bed of flowers gracing the sides of the front door.

“Thanks! Andre worked hard on it,” Delilah beamed on behalf of her fiancé, “Dre’s the greatest landscaper in allll of Pensacola, so if you got a lawn that needs spicin’ up, hit him up.” Stepping over the threshold into her home, she winced at the mini warzone that greeted her. “Sorry for the mess,” she murmured sheepishly.

Tank looked around the trailer house and shrugged. “It ain’t that bad today. I’ve seen it in far worse shape,” he commented, lowering his huge self onto the old, worn couch in the center of the small living area.

“Damn, thanks Tank,” Delilah replied with a roll of her eyes. Way to embarrass her in front of Jey.

The man in question had been silent as he looked around the new environment. “Ignore him, Delilah. I like it,” he commented, finally facing her.

The trainee blushed profusely and dumped the bags of takeout they’d bought on the way home on the coffee table. She knew he was only being nice. “Could be better, I know you’re not used to tiny spaces like this,” she rushed defensively, retreating to the kitchen to grab three Bud Lights from the refrigerator. Surely Jey lived in a far more lavish abode, with all the money he was raking in at WWE. The Bentley Continental GT he drove her and Tank around with tonight was solid evidence. He lived large and her place was no doubt shameful compared to his, wherever that was.

Settling down next to Tank, the huge smile was still glued to her face, her right leg bouncing up and down in excitement. “Oh my god, I’m not sure I’m gonna get any sleep tonight! I still can’t believe I wrestled my first real match!”

“Yeah, and we predict it’s gonna be the first of many,” Tank drank from his beer as Delilah nodded enthusiastically, and he jerked his thumb in Jey’s direction. “At least, he thinks so. Right, Uce?”

"Heck yeah," said Jey, observing her over the rim of the silver can of alcohol in his grasp.

Delilah was still in awe that he was here, sitting in her home. It was tough to pretend she wasn’t thoroughly enjoying the attention she’d been getting from him the past two days. “You ain’t sayin’ that just to fuck with me, right?” she asked him blatantly, then cringed at her unwise choice of words.

Something flickered in his eyes. Then, with a low chuckle, he responded, “Baby girl, I ain’t never said shit I don’t mean,” Licking his lips briefly, he stared at the lone female in the room. “Look, we both see how talented you are. It’s about time you did too. That’s probably what’s holding you back. You should believe in yourself more.”

Delilah tilted her head at the use of that inappropriate nickname yet again, and she was torn as to whether she should voice her objection. Before she could make up her mind, a loud ‘thud’ sounded from the direction of the bedroom she shared with her fiancé.

Oh. Shit.

"Aw, shit, someone’s awake,” Tank chuckled and winked at Delilah, propping his feet on top of the coffee table. “Girl, you in troubleee,” he sang teasingly.

Casting her gaze to the amused smirk on Jey’s face, she refocused on the annoyed grumbles and shuffling feet. “Gimme a sec, guys,” she said softly, getting up and hurrying towards her angry fiancé in the hallway. “Hey babe,” she greeted him, forcing a wide smile as she rested a hand on his bare chest.

“What’s with all the fuckin’ racket?” Andre cut her off sharply, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Looking up into his dark eyes, she rubbed his arm placatingly. “We’ll be more quiet. I promise,” she whispered, “Just go back to bed, okay?”

But Andre was already wide awake and very unhappy about that fact. “For fuck’s sake, Dee, I gotta go to work in…” Pausing, he squinted at the clock in the kitchen. “What time is it?”

“One a.m.,” she answered quietly, her cheeks burning as she lowered her eyes to the floor. “Baby, I’m sorry we woke you. Please go back to bed,” she pleaded.

Shaking his head, Andre glared at his fiancée and gestured towards the two men in the living room. “Hell no. Not until you get ‘em the fuck outta here,” he insisted. When she huffed disbelievingly, he shook his head again. “Woman, I gotta be up in four hours. One of us has to work. Who else gon’ pay for these damn lights you got on?” he spat.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Delilah bit back, crossing her arms angrily, “I made two hundred dollars tonight, F.Y.I.”

When his eyes swept over her wrestling gear, Andre scoffed. “How? Working the pole?” he taunted.

Delilah’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

“Look whatchu wearin’. You couldn’t find more modest attire? Dress like a future wife should dress?”

Watching the entire argument from his seat in the living room, Josh felt his hands ball into fists. He understood the dude being mad for being woken up so late – after all, he’d done some bitching of his own at colleagues who rolled into the hotel at all hours of the morning causing a racket when he was trying to sleep. But he certainly didn’t appreciate the way he was disrespecting Delilah, especially while she was trying to apologize. As much as he wanted to say something to the punk, he did not think it wise to try to step in between the rowing couple. Yet.

“Look, tonight was the most thrilling night of my life, okay?” Delilah was saying, “I got a standing ovation after my match! Unfortunately you couldn’t see it, cuz you weren’t there even though you promised you would,” she made sure to add. “And if I wanna celebrate with my friends for doing so awesome, I’ll do it. God knows you and your friends have kept me up at night enough times in the past!”

“Nah, you not gon’ pull that bullshit on me right now,” Andre rolled his shoulders angrily and glared over her head at the two huge men who had now risen to their feet. “And if you don’t wanna kick your so-called friends out of my house, then I fuckin’ will.” Brushing past his fiancée, he stomped down the hall. He didn’t quite care if they were both built like brick walls and could probably kill him with their bare hands. This was his house and he was the one in charge here. “Ay, Tank, I let you have my girl for the night. It’s time I got her back,” he said.

Acutely aware that both Tank and Jey were about to give Andre a piece of their minds, Delilah quickly stepped between them before anything could go down. “Thank y’all so much for tonight, guys,” she cut in, meeting Tank’s eyes, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she added, giving him a look that told him how sorry she was for Andre’s unbecoming behavior.

With a nod, Tank patted her shoulder. “You know what, Parrish? Why don’t you take tomorrow night off. You’ll need your rest after tonight, trust me.”

She nodded gratefully and turned toward Jey, totally embarrassed to look at him after he’d borne witness to her humiliation at the hands of her fiancé. Honestly, she’d desperately wanted him to think she was a tough chick, that she wasn’t just putting on a show for his benefit. And Andre had ruined it all with his antics tonight.

Following the men outside, she was taken by surprise when Josh stopped midway to his car and suddenly turned to face her. Instantly, she avoided his stare again, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“Gimme your phone,” he told her, holding out his hand. 

“What?”

“Trust me. Give it here,” he repeated, waiting until she placed the device in his hand. He tapped in a number of digits and made a call, smiling when his iPhone rang in his back pocket. “We got each other’s numbers now,” he announced, handing her phone back to her. “If you wanna talk about wrestling, life, whatever…Don’t hesitate to call me anytime.”

Staring at the card, and then back at him, she raised an eyebrow. “Anytime?”

“Anytime,” he repeated, looking her in her striking hazel eyes which he noticed were filled with the unmistakable shine of tears. “For real. A'ight?”

Delilah gave a small smile and tucked her phone back in her pocket. “Okay. Thanks, Jey, I really appreciate it,” she said sincerely. 

“My friends call me Josh,” he insisted.

“Is that what we are? I've only known you a couple of days,” she responded.

“Sometimes, a couple of days is more than enough," he explained, watching her for one long moment before cupping her chin and tilting her face up to meet his. “Keep your head up, baby girl. You a queen. Don’t let nobody make you hide your pretty face.” And with one final wink, he let go of her, turned and made his way towards his car.

Watching them drive off, she willed away the flutter that was filling her insides and trudged back into the house, taking a deep, shaky breath. She had been filled with so much happiness and pride only a few minutes earlier, filled with hope for the future she was trying to create. But the confrontation with her fiancé, in front of Jey Uso for that matter, had snuffed it all out in a heartbeat. She was tempted to abandon Andre and sleep on the couch for the night, not wanting to be anywhere near him. But knowing the aches and pains that would descend on her in the morning, she thought it wiser to be in a bed tonight, no matter how angry she was with him.

Walking slowly to her bedroom, she pushed the door open tentatively, both relieved and annoyed to see that he was back in bed and out like a light. He always was a quick sleeper, unlike her. Shaking her head, she shed her ring gear, showered and found one of Andre’s big t-shirts to wear. She slid into the bed, ensuring to keep her back to him. She didn’t react when Andre’s strong arms wrapped around her a few moments later, didn’t flinch when his hard body pressed against hers from behind, only stared blankly through the darkness at the wall in front of her.

For as long as she had known her husband-to-be, she had been head over heels in love with him. After their first date, she had told her sister that she was going to marry him one day. She would never forget the twinkle in his beautiful dark eyes, or her unbridled joy, on the day he proposed. Back then, both had only harbored the glamorized fairytale version of the idea of marriage. Back then they’d been inseparable; hardly argued, hardly did anything without the other. Neither of them were weighed down by the strain of responsibility or ambition. Things were so different now. For one, she had far more ambition, and she found herself realizing that it was big enough to want to leave his side and do her own thing for the first time in a decade.

Her personal dream and the dream she and Andre had shared for so long hung in the balance, and right now, one was looking far more possible to achieve than the other.

-------------

Thoughts?

Banner made by me. Credit to the owners of the pics and gifs.

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#jey uso #main event jey uso #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso fanfic #jey uso imagines #jey uso smut #jey uso x black oc #jey uso x black reader #new to this

[deadbeat-motel]

Something of a quick fix to the whole "no one in hell knows angels can't be killed" because it's such an insane thing to believe that in a thousand years, not a single soul ever thought of fighting the angels? In the show, angels are told to be such an easy kill because they never had to defend themselves and Carmilla produces angel-tipped weapons by the hundreds, to the point of having a market for her products. It's so hard to believe that not one of the sinners who owns one of these "Carmine-Crafted" weapons didn't try to fight back against an angel and succeeded.

So here's a thought:

What if only Carmilla and Zestiel, the two at the top of the sinner's hierarchy and even able to keep every overlord in check, had actually known that angels could be killed. What if the idea that angels can't be killed was propaganda they started and kept going to keep sinners from killing an angel and inciting an unwanted war with heaven?

Somewhat long post ahead.

In the show proper, Zestiel voices concern about "Heaven purging all of hell for daring an uprising" when the idea of fighting back against the angels is brought up. He seems so sure that this would lead to an entire purge if they ever attempted the idea and surely, there must be something within the 700+ years that he had spent in that realm that makes him so sure about this possible outcome.

Here's what I wrote:

In Zestiel's time, the overpopulation of hell had just begun to be a problem. There was no yearly purge like the one we're familiar with now. Instead, it was only annual visits to check in on the realm and on Lucifer himself (personally, I would like to believe these visits were to check in on him after being thrown into hell by the higher order of angels.) Sinners back then were just as murder-happy as they are now and have found out that Angels are not good at defending themselves and that they can hurt the angels with the weapons they bring themselves.

This first murder of angels caused an extreme outrage up in heaven that it started the first purge of all sinners of hell but unlike the normal exterminations, this purge wiped out more than 80% of the population. Zestiel was one of the few who had survived this initial purge and personally saw heaven's wrath when provoked. Everyone who had survived lived on and warned the newer sinners to never attack an angel.

Heaven, however, decided to start the yearly extermination a few years later and many of those surviving demons died in the many exterminations that happened after that. Leaving Zestiel as the only living demon who still remembers the first purge and why it happened. Zestiel wants to avoid having heaven's big purge again not because he cares about the sinners like him, but because he cannot let himself live through something like that again.

Carmilla fits in this as the main weapons dealer in hell, she could make sure that the production of angel-infused weaponry is contained and limited to only her and an exclusive few. She can also make sure that the weapons being used in hell are controlled by her since she's basically made a monopoly on weapons in hell. Zestiel makes her his partner in making sure to continue making sure that the sinners will never fight and win against angels.

Both these overlords work together to continue scaring off every sinner from attempting to kill an angel and even if they try to, they're able to rely on the fact that none of their weapons can even harm an angel.

-----

It's not a perfect fix (admittedly it was written hastily and does go against other parts of the worldbuilding) but it's at least a step in a clear direction and makes sense of the "No one knows angels can be hurt" aspect of worldbuilding.

#vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel rewrite #motts is ranting #//also can we talk about how Zestiel feels like he's designed like he came from the victorian era whilst talking in 13th-century English?// #//Cause he made me so confused about whether he should be from 19th or 13th century England/./

[yourmomsemogarlicbread]

Pirates, B****!

pairings: jake kiszka x reader

warnings!!!: 18+, smut, unprotected sex, kissing, secret relationship (if you squint), Pirate AU, fluff, smut, love confessions, love confessions during sex, oral (f receiving), penetration, female reader.

Author's Note: hi! this is the first fic on this account and my first great van fleet fic lol. i wrote this after waking up to the mirador announcement and honestly who doesn't want a pirate!Jake fic yk? anyways if you would like to check out my other works or read this on AO3 you can do so here.

Jake is good at what he does. 

We all knew that. 

You admired him for that. His ways of always keeping calm in the face of enemy attack, always coming back strong, leaving your rivals either slaughtered or surrendering within minutes. He had his reputation, that’s for sure - but he was somehow everything and nothing like the standards he was upheld to. On the one hand, he was like the hard-edged man he was known to be, one of the best pirates out there, our ship, the celestial fleet, was one of the most beloved (by our allies) and the most feared (by our enemies). But on the other hand, he was the best partner you could’ve asked for. He was a very compassionate and loving man behind closed doors, especially when you layed in his quarters at night - but the rest of the crew didn’t need to know about that did they? 

His two sides were almost your favorite thing about him, seeing both of them made you special. Only the rest of the crew saw his tough side, but when it came to you, he always ensured you were loved, even if nobody else knew about it. He would assign the easier chores to you, making sure you were always taken care of and never harassed by your fellow crew mates because god damn anyone who dared to hit on you in front of Jake. And nobody knows; everyone just thought he was going easy on you because you were the only lady on the ship. After all, being the only lady on the ship meant two things for you. Number one - respect. Number two - you were damn good at stealing shit, so it was safe to assume everyone around knew you were too good to give up, especially Jake. 

So when you found yourself on the top deck of the ship directing your fellow crew mates, you couldn’t be more thankful for Captain Jake. 

He was sick, down with what he called “the sea coldness making him sick once a year because ‘the sea is a bitch!’” So he was resting in his quarters for the next two or so days until he recovered. Was he faking it because he was probably just lazy and didn’t want to deal with his crew when he knew that they weren’t treading on any enemy waters? Yes, most definitely. Did that make you love him any less? Not a single bit. 

He made you in charge for the foreseeable future as “his illness” had left him bedridden and you leading the ship was the only solution, or so he claimed. And you know what, that had to be the kindest gesture he had given you to date, well besides all the sex and nightly meet-ups in his quarters, but that’s beside the point. 

So here you are watching as your slightly useless crew mates try sweeping the water off the lower deck while the sea is still roaring from the last run-in you had with a storm a day ago.

“Hey, Sam! You realize how fucking useless that is right?” You called from the top deck. He looked back up at you, covering his eyes with his hand to protect you from the sun. “Well, at least I’m trying to get ahead of it!” He called back out. “Suit yourself then! I’m going to check back up on the captain.” You hollered out, walking down the stairs to the lower deck, and entering the trap door leading to the crew quarters. You hopped off the final stair making your way past all of the bunks reserved for your crew, reaching the door that led to Jake’s quarters. 

Knock, Knock. 

“Who is it!” He called out, obviously thinking you were one of your crewmates trying to complain about something. “Jake it’s me.” You called to him. “Oh, c’mon in.” His voice softened at your identity. You open the door to reveal him in only his white button-up shirt, half-buttoned, lying in bed. God was he a sight for sore eyes, his beauty overtaking you every time you laid eyes on him. “Why hello there.” 

You walk into his quarters slowly walking around to the side of his bed, gently laying a hand on his chest. “How are you feeling, Captain?” His gentle breaths make your hand rise and fall as he looks back up at you, putting on his best sickly performance in hopes you wouldn’t call him on his bullshit. “I’m feeling better every second you’re here.” He speaks weakly with a slight smile, god he was dramatic. “God, you’re playing this shit up aren’t you.” You ask, letting out a laugh as you look down to see his face morph into one best resembling an offended barkeeper you would typically manage to piss off after having a few too many, which is something Jake has managed to do many times. He let you a playfully shocked gasp, “How dare you suggest that I would fake an illness!” Laughing, you find yourself pulled on top of him on the bed. 

Jake laughs as he covers your face in playful kisses. “How have the boys been treatin’ ya, love?” He asks, his classic smile enchanting you more. “Well being completely honest, yes but I do believe Sam is a fucking idiot. He was trying to sweep water off the deck when it just kept coming back up onto it, and when I told him how stupid he was he just said that he was trying to get ahead of it.” 

“Well unfortunately hun I think that’s just how he is. You can't fix him, he’s just…Sam.” You let out a laugh at his admission. Jake takes his hands and rests them on your cheeks, soft for a pirate, rough for a human, the gentle median coming across in this perfect man. You look back into his eyes, they’re gentle, relaxed, and simply beautiful, just like him. 

“I love this side of you.”

“What side of me?”

“This one, it’s the only one I get to see.”

“Well…I’m glad you like it. And if it makes you feel better I’ll make sure only you get to see it.” 

You feel yourself smile uncontrollably at that, you feel your cheeks warm up in slight embarrassment. He takes your head and places it in the crook of his neck. “Let’s just rest here.” You hum in agreement with his statement. His warm chest brings such a sense of comfort. You find yourself being lulled to sleep via his rising and falling chest and the gentle rocking of the ship, sleeping peacefully amidst the sea and the only ground you find yourself on, Captain Jake. 

You wake up in the middle of the night.

Alone…

Interesting. 

You slowly gather the courage to get up and look around for Jake. You get up quietly and peek out the door. You see the rest of your crew sleeping in their bunks, Danny snoring while hanging half off the bed, bottle of rum 5 feet away from him. Josh isn’t even bothered enough to get in his bunk, instead opting to cuddle up next to Sam in what one can only assume to be a drunken attempt to sleep anywhere but the floor. But thankfully those three only stood out to you, the rest of them were peacefully sleeping in their bunks. You walk past them and silently open the trap door out to the deck. 

The cool chill of the ocean air makes goosebumps arise on your skin. The white dress you wear flows in the wind, not protected from the elements. You shut the door gently behind you. Looking out across the sea briefly, you call out for Jake. “Hello, darling! Lovely evening isn’t it?” his voice calls from above you. He’s in the crow's nest, looking back down at you. “Jake, what the hell are you doing up here this late? Even the boys went to bed already, and they drank.” You watch as he climbs down on the ratlines making an abrupt landing on the forecastle. “Come on up here m’lady.” He takes a little bow as he holds his hand out for you to join him. You jump up onto the steps leading you to him, being pulled up onto the upper platform as he greets you. 

“Why hello there, Captain.” 

“Why hello there first maiden.” 

“Oh, so I’m first maiden now?”

“Indeed.” 

He embraced you with fervor, his warmth being your grounding point out on the cold night sea. Your lips meet gently under the moonlight sky. Sweet kisses mixed with the faint taste of tobacco threw you for a loop. By the seconds that pass you can feel what started as quiet midnight endearments turn into lustful kisses under a blood moon night. Jake’s hands snaked around your hips, leading you onto the very upper deck of the ship, his hips meeting yours as he stood between your legs. 

You reach your hands down, feeling his half-covered chest, reaching down towards his stomach, then happy trial, till you finally meet the button of his pants. Jake lets out a whimper, muffled by the connection you two had. You feel Jake’s hips buck into your touch. Slowly, you unbutton his pants briefly breaking the connection you had with your lips. Lust fills the air between you both. You gently pull his boxers down pulling out his cock, Jake moans at the feeling of your stroking him, gathering the drops of pre-cum leaking out of his cock. “Baby-” you smile up at him, never slowing your heartless pace. You moan into a kiss with him, his touch electrifying you more than you already have the whole time you’ve been stroking him, mercilessly. 

“Stop, baby-” he lets out a pathetic lust-stricken sigh, catching his breath. “Not yet sweet girl,” You watch as Jake knees down and looks back up at you from his knees. His hands travel up under your dress encouraging you to reveal yourself. You answer the beckoning call, cool chill making you shake a little. You feel his lips gently tease at your thighs, climbing higher up along with you. Looking down, you see a god himself before you, gently teasing you up until he reaches your clit. 

“God I love this-” 

And then he dives in.

The initial shock of his warm tongue steals your breath out of your lungs. Gasping for air you feel the pleasure as he sucks and rubs and does everything right. 

Fuck, he was good at what he did. 

“Jak-” Another moan was unexpectedly stolen from your grasp, almost embarrassingly loud. You could feel the vibrations and hear Jake moan around your vulva. Two of his fingers enter your cunt, already throbbing and waiting for him not-so-patiently. You could already feel it in your gut, just teasing you, just like Jake would with his playful nature, both inside and outside the bedroom. And god, you fucking loved him. 

Then you feel it snap. 

Like a tsunami you feel your orgasm crash over you, leaving you in another astral plane. Blissfully, and proudly, Jake helped you ride out the high on his tongue and fingers. He slowly retracted them, leaving you painfully empty. You need him. Right here, right now. 

Jake quickly rose to his feet, his pants and boxers were already lost on the deck of the ship, presumably, he was touching himself while getting you off. He takes your hips and pulls them towards his painfully hard erection while stroking himself for a moment's relief. “Can I fuck you? Please bab-” “Yes, for the love of god Jake just fuck me-” His hardness slammed into you, quick and hard. A painfully obvious moan ripped through you, you can only pray that the rest of the crew were too drunk to wake up and overhear. 

“God I love you, sweetheart.” 

The world stopped for a brief moment. And although he was still pounding into you mercilessly, you could only feel what you believed to be whatever would be the closest to feeling your heart exploding and repairing itself again. 

“I love you too.” and you did, more than you could ever admit to even yourself. You could see it in Jake’s eyes, the realization of what he confessed. A smile bright as the sun quickly appeared across his face. He mashed his lips into yours begging for some sort of release - anything. And all he could think of was you. Just simply you. 

Jake’s pounds became more sloppy and hard. His moans quickened and turned into slight whimpers here and there. “Give me one more baby.” He made quick work of rubbing his thumb on your clit. You didn’t even know it before you were putty in his hands again. His hips stuttered to a stop, accompanied by his sweet sweet cries of pleasure, truly the best kind of music. You both found yourself slowly riding out an infinite high. He leaned you back on the deck, slowly pulling out of you with a sigh, making quick work of finding your dress and helping it back over your skin. He got himself back into his boxers and pants quickly too, then stopped in front of you, placing a hand on your cheek. 

“Did you mean it?” was all you heard, timid, but loud enough to make you feel like you found the fountain of youth. You place your hand on his cheek, a connection between the both of you.

“Of course I did. I always will,” you whisper into the void with him. He was your reality now, and that, to you, is the ultimate comfort. 

You watch as he smiles against your cheek, leaning back into you for another kiss. But it was different. Somehow the same method but the feeling felt like you were strewn across the night sky, as the stars and the moon. Intertwined with a unique love you could only get from him.

He breaks apart for you, locking eyes with you once more. You both let out a tiny laugh of your own. “Well, that was fun.” He confessed. “It’s always meant to be” you answer. Laughs plague the two of you for a brief moment. 

“You know what they say right?”

“What?”

“Sex with our kind is always the best, after all…” he trailed off, stopping what sounded like needed to be continued. 

“After all, what, Jake?” you laugh.

“We’re pirates, bitch!”

#gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka x reader #greta van fleet #sam kiszka #danny wagner #josh kiszka #greta van fic #gvf smut #gvf slash #jake gvf #josh gvf #sam gvf #danny gvf #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3

[lorcandidlucienwill]

Hiiii!! First your posts give me life!!! I’m always waiting for the next one because I know you’re going to spit gems and speak facts 💁‍♀️.

I have a question/thought about the mates situation. People keep saying SJM will be exploring the rejected mating bond concept, specifically in Elain’s book….When did she say that? WHERE? From what I’ve seen and read, she did say it was an interesting concept (fate, mating bond vs agency and all that good stuff) but she also said she didn’t know if she would be exploring it in the future, let alone in Elain’s book or the ACOTAR series. So HOW in the world do people take that as a confirmation that she will absolutely do it in Elain’s book? Even the whole “what if the cauldron is wrong” argument. Well maybe she’ll use Elain’s book to demonstrate that in fact the cauldron is never wrong because it actually doesn’t decide anything. This frustrates me to no end.

Anyway, keep slaying Queen 💅!

My dear Anon, we shall have an Autumn wedding.

This is what SJM said:

“That’s something I find to be very interesting,” she replies. “What if the forces that be put you with the wrong person? Or what if you just decide, eh, I’m not interested. … There’s a lot to explore within the concept of mates and your agency about it. 

“I’m not going to say if I am exploring it in future books or not,” she continues, “but it definitely offers a wealth of things to explore with this concept of freewill and what is true love. Is it something that’s destined? Or is it something that you make? Is it both?”

She did NOT confirm that she would be exploring it at ANY point!!!! I do NOT know why people are acting like it is a guarantee.

What if the Cauldron was wrong? COULD be foreshadowing yes, but the answer is rarely that obvious LMAO. Amren told Nesta that there were other ways to fight beside a sword, but Nesta became a warrior. Most likely it's talking about Elain. So is it really so hard to believe that this is NOT talking about Elain at all, but someone else entirely?

The three most likely options for a rejected mating trope are as follows:

LoA-Helion: we get to explore the pain and angst of knowing a mate has married and had children with another, and dealing with the rejected trope for centuries, but will eventually get together in the end. SJM is not about to give Lucien's parents a tragic ending lmfao. And in her world, rejected mates=tragedy.

Mor-Eris: if we go in the direction that mating bonds can only occur between males and females and Mor and Eris are both gay, so they can never have feelings for each other. In which case we explore the difficulties associated with a bond that neither person wants yet the instincts are still there.

Tamlin-Amarantha: did anyone wonder WHY tf Amarantha was so obsessed with Tamlin? Like, I know he's hot and all, but goddamnit girl what the fuck? Now, if they were mates and Tamlin rejected her, it would make sense. It would also add more nuance to Tamlin AND Amarantha's characters, and we'd get to explore Tamlin's trauma post-UTM after being forced to reject and kill his mate and how that drove him a little mad.

But, the rejected bond is NOT a guarantee, so there may NOT be any rejected bonds. These are all just theories at this point. One thing I am CERTAIN of is that the rejected bond will CERTAINLY NOT be Elain and Lucien. Especially not when SJM dangled Gwyn in front of us. Now THAT one is fucking obvious lol.

#anon asks #tamlin #amarantha #eris vanserra #the morrigan #lady of autumn #helion spell cleaver #elucien #pro elucien #rejected mates

[mcverse]

☆ 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝: 𝐘𝐞𝐬/𝐍𝐨

☆ 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞: 𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

☆ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚)

☆ 𝐊𝐞𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝐤𝐞𝐡𝐞 / 𝐧𝐨, 𝐩𝐮𝐤 / 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐲𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐲𝐞𝐰𝐥𝐚 / 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞, 𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧 / 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐲𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 / 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐲𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐞 / 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐤𝐱𝐚𝐰𝐧𝐠 / 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐧

☆ 𝐒𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐫: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐮𝐞 , 𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲

☆ ​𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

“(Name).”

Your eyes flutter, emotions dancing behind each closed eye lid. Your ears press flat against your head as you contemplate whether you’ve heard him right. He speaks your name, a phrase that has spilled from his lips more times than you can recall, to the point where it reaches you even in your dreams.

And yet, this time feels distinctly different. There's an added emphasis and sharpness to it, as if it weighs heavily on his tongue just to say those words. It's almost forced, yet strangely lacks the hesitation one would typically expect in a conversation such as this.

In all your time around him, even during teasing or comforting moments, he has never spoken to you without that gentle tone. The absence of it leaves a void, something you regretfully yearn for now as you find yourself locked in a tense gaze with what seems like a monster in disguise.

He hides his intentions so effectively that you never imagined this confession would take this direction. He fineses the situation so well that you thought of him as a personified version of a blinding sun, simultaneously painful to gaze upon yet offering a small, delightful wave of burn that stings as it gently caresses every inch of your exposed skin.

Your partially chapped lips remain sealed; you’re too afraid that uttering anything would make a bad situation worst. Doubt creeps in. Have you been mistaken all along? Perhaps he doesn't feel the same way after all?

In all honesty, that thought never crossed your mind. It’s not because you’re naturally confident; it's simply because he has a knack for making you feel self-assured enough to entertain the possibility of something more between you both, all based on his actions.

Those moments you didn’t imagine, no matter how much they feel like you did—they were just for you. No other woman in the village has his attention, no other woman does he hold in his arms, bare his heart to, or whisper sweet nothings that are just that; nothing.

That's all it is and all it comes down to, proven to you by his now tense posture and the stone stare he sends you. And it only further destroys the pedestal that you held him so highly upon as he continues to talk while you remain stunned in place.

“I didn’t mean for it—us—to get here…”

What does that mean? You can't help the curt tilt of your head as your eyes swirl with confusion. Did he intend for things to reach this point? Did he knowingly lead to this outcome? It’s a thought that nags at you, but it’s hard to reconcile with the Neteyam you once knew; it just doesn’t seem like something he would do.

The Neteyam you know wouldn't intentionally lead you on. He wouldn't deliberately create a sense of comfort, flood your thoughts with him, and ultimately make you fall in love with him. That idea seems entirely absurd in the context of who you believe him to be.

You blink, swallowing thickly as you part your lips to speak. Licking them, you question him, “I’m not… what do you mean, ‘I didn’t mean for us to get here?’” You need confirmation of your assumptions or even an explanation of why you could be wrong.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, the weight of the moment clearly taking a toll on him. He lowers his head to the ground, unable to meet your eyes. "This shouldn't be happening... It can't go beyond this," he says, the second statement not aimed at you but more of a self-directed declaration.

You don't know what overcame you to respond in the way you did. It's hard for you to even understand why you aren't more on the offense as you softly ask him, "Tell me why not?," when you should be offended and defensive more than anything.

And worst of all, you don't get why your heart is still holding on to hope when you know the answer, but you've played it up to this point like you don't.

He takes a moment to respond, his fists clenched at his sides, as though he's the one facing rejection at this very moment, rather than the other way around. "It'll feel like I'm betraying her," he finally admits, his voice heavy with conflicted emotions.

You may not have known her personally, but you were aware of her existence, and it all makes sense now. It's clear why no other woman is beside him, even though he's of age to mate. The woman he truly desires is miles away, back home where he should be.

You're not her. You just happened to be there when he was feeling low and had nothing better to do. In other words, the time you spent together wasn't enough; you weren't enough.

And the painful truth is that you wish you were enough. Because if you were never going to be enough for him, he should have let you go. It hurts more to be only partially loved when it would hurt less to not be loved at all.

"Betrayal?" You can't help but let out a bitter laugh. His use of the word feels like a double standard, painfully ironic in this context. "You know nothing of betrayal. If you had even a hint..." You pause, tears swelling in your eyes, your face burning with a mix of humiliation, embarrassment, and suppressed anger. "You wouldn't have caused my heart this much pain."

Your words draw his attention back to you, his eyes widening and his mouth slightly agape in apparent shock at your statement.

It only rubs saltwater into your fresh wounds. Did he truly give so little thought to your feelings? It becomes painfully clear that he strung you along, relishing the attention you gave him while holding you in such low regard.

How could you have been so blind?

A better question, how could he be so heartless? Or was it that he only had a heart when it came to her?

Neteyam snaps his mouth shut, his lips forming a thin, tight line. His forehead creases as his eyes flicker over your features, skillfully reading you like a puk. It took a while, months, but he now knew you.

He probably knew you better than you knew yourself because even though he might say it shouldn't have come to this, he had a feeling that's where you were heading.

He could have stopped it, could have saved you the pain—the yawnyewla of falling for someone like him knowing how he felt, but he didn't... a small part of him didn't want to.

A single tear falls down your cheek, but you quickly brush it away. Your chest rises and falls in a slow yet steady rhythm as you work to calm your racing pulse. “You are kawnglan. I wish to never see you again.” you hiss softly, then pivot on the balls of your feet and hurry away from him.

Night falls quickly as you remain within your mauri for the remainder of the day, choosing to nurse your wounds, however poorly you may be at it. You've never been heartbroken before, so a plan needs to be put into motion.

While you wish never to see him again, that doesn't seem practical. You also don't want to stay inside, pouting and crying your eyes out until your tear ducts dry either.

In the days that follow and those that come after, you do the opposite. You put on a facade when you're around others, while at night, you take off your mask.

It's challenging to maintain the act in public, especially when Neteyam is nearby or when you bump into him. However, you are determined to avoid him, even if it means a brief interaction before you can find relief.

Many nights, you lie awake, unable to sleep because your mind is filled with scenarios. You're constantly coming up with better ways to react to his rejection or what you'll say if you ever have another conversation with him.

Ewya, if you had just admired him from a distance, this wouldn't be your reality right now. But instead, you went out of your way to learn his name. Now, all you want is to forget it, to forget him.

You've never felt more unlike yourself. It's hard to recognize yourself when you look into the water during the sun-kissed mornings. Putting yourself willingly into the hands of another for the first time, only for it to backfire horribly, was a terrible mistake.

You should have made a better choice. You should have known better—you knew right from wrong, so how could you not see how wrong it was to love a man who yearns for another?

You spent months avoiding him, and as time went by, it became second nature, making it easier to see less of him without much effort. Were you taking this too far? You didn't think so.

He knowingly took a part of you, so it's only fair that he also knows how you can't stand to be around him... at least not now—he’s lucky if you ever will again.

You learned two lessons from this: There's no better feeling than a first love—it's unforgettable, just as there's nothing worse than a first heartbreak—it takes time to forgive and heal.

And although you were slowly healing, you were cautious as you dipped your toe back into the dating field. You'd be lying if you said you weren't afraid to get hurt again. A small part of you doesn't think you can handle another heartache, so you started slowly; taking baby steps, and this time, you didn't put all your eggs in one basket.

Al'wah, you met him one day while you were sitting thoughtfully on a rock. He came up and sat beside you, and although it was awkward at first, he was smooth at talking.

He even went as far as to say he'd been interested in you for a while but Neteyam was in the way. Unlike Neteyam, he was brave enough to admit his true feelings, and you were flattered. However, you weren't ready to commit while after getting to know him better, Al'wah was.

Next was Zen'kí, a very calm and talented fisherman, proving he was a natural provider. Your conversations with him were easier, as he was more down-to-pandora than anyone you've actually met, and he was truly caring—about nature and all of Pandora's inhabitants.

The only reason it didn't work out was because of rumors among the women of the village. They said that O'laya had been interested in Zen'kí for much longer than you. After knowing how it feels to be in love with someone interested in another, you had to do the right thing and step back so she could finally step up.

There were a few others: Koar and Whûn’k. Each one left an indelible impression, but it wasn't meant to last. Then, you reconnected with Seyknü, a Na'vi you had actually grown up close to. It genuinely surprised you to learn that he was interested in you.

When you were growing up, you had the biggest childish crush on him until Neteyam came around. Now, it seems he's seeing you differently. You can work with that.

As you reconnect with Seyknü, your opinion on commitment change, and it's happening at the right time. You're rediscovering how much he can make you laugh, how charming he is, and how attentive and protective he is toward others. It's good to see that he hasn't changed, but it's tough to realize that you have.

He accepts you wholeheartedly for who you are, and you're ready to reciprocate the same in time. However, it's Neteyam's current actions and whatever game he's playing that seem to be getting in the way.

Honestly, what is he up to?

As your relationship with Seyknü continues, Neteyam's presence becomes more pronounced during your time together. This is growing emotionally taxing and weighing heavily on your heart.

Whenever you and Seyknü seek moments of intimacy or simply enjoy each other's company, Neteyam seems to find a way to insert himself into the situation. Whether he's with Tuk or claiming to have duties from his father, he's always nearby.

When you and Seyknü are lost in your own world, sharing laughter and joy, you can sense Neteyam's gaze on you, like a piercing dagger.

Even when Seyknü reaches out to touch you, whether for a helping hand or more intimately, it's rare for Neteyam not to interrupt. He either "accidentally" bumps into you both or enlists the help of one of the children to divert your attention.

This pattern persists for a while, causing you to question everything that has led to this point. Is it too much to ask for happiness? Should you lower your expectations? But you’re wrong about that too, as you seem to be a lot these months. This realization dawns on you one day when you go searching for Seyknü.

You find Seyknü near some large boulders, and just as you’re about to call out to him, you freeze in your tracks. He isn’t alone. Standing in front of him is Neteyam, and the atmosphere is thick with tension.

Neteyam’s face is contorted with anger, his eyes cold as he looms menacingly within a couple of feet from Seyknü.

Seyknü doesn’t look any better. His tense posture, ears flattened against his skull, and the twitching of his upper lip, baring his canines. With a chest puffed out, he hisses at Neteyam through clenched teeth, “What’s your problem!?”

Neteyam’s hands twitch at his sides, his ears flicking upwards at Seyknü’s tone, but he makes no movement suggesting he’s about to approach Seyknü anytime soon. “You are. Back off her,” he insists.

Seyknü blinks in confusion before his eyes widen as he realizes who Neteyam is referring to. He scoffs, casting a disdainful look up and down Neteyam’s form. “I’ll do no such thing. Save yourself the trouble and move on,” he retorts, his disgust evident in his expression. “She already has with me.” he adds with a smirk.

Neteyam’s jaw tightens in response to Seyknü’s statement. His tail goes stiff behind him as he closes the distance between himself and Seyknü, bringing their faces mere inches apart. Neteyam looms over Seyknü due to his greater height and attempts to explain, “She’s confused—”

But Seyknü interrupts him, shaking his head with a look of disbelief. “No, you’re the one who’s confused,” he retorts firmly. “You can’t force your way back into her life after how you’ve behaved.”

“Don’t speak as if you know what went on between us.”

"I know more than you think," Seyknü spits back, his attempt to push Neteyam away proving futile as Neteyam stands firm. With a confident smirk, Seyknü continues, "I'm the one she confides in now, the one she seeks when she's happy, and the one who takes care of her when she's excited..."

Tensions rise as their exchange becomes more heated but he appears entirely unbothered by the threatening look Neteyam gives him in response to this revelation. Seyknü's smirk widens as he taunts, "Oh, did I strike a nerve? You don't fit in here anymore. You're just a forest boy with no heart.. ha, sorry, a heart that remains anchored to a place far from here."

Neteyam can no longer tolerate Seyknü's words. He swiftly pins Seyknü against one of the boulders, pressing his hand firmly into the center of Seyknü's chest, rendering him immobilized, despite Seyknü's futile resistance.

A faint, mocking smirk tugs at the corner of Neteyam's lips as he observes how weak Seyknü seems, desperately gripping Neteyam's wrist with both hands.

Neteyam can't help but think... How can you be with someone like this? This island boy can't even free himself from Neteyam's grip. He's obviously too weak to protect you. If he can't protect you, Neteyam highly doubts he can provide for you, let alone please you as well as he could. In those aspects, there's no competition.

However, Neteyam acknowledges that everything else Seyknü claims is true. He pushed you into the arms of another man, making him feel like crap since and he often finds himself wondering if that's how he made you feel. He hates that feeling and regrets more than anything that he made you feel that way.

"Last time, Seyknü. Back off—" Neteyam's sentence is abruptly cut short by a powerful punch to the face. The impact temporarily sends him off his feet, and he staggers backward, creating some distance between them. Seyknü seizes the opportunity, taking advantage of Neteyam's momentary confusion, and tackles him to the ground, landing another hit on Neteyam's face.

As Seyknü prepares to land a fourth punch, Neteyam skillfully dodges it by moving his head to the side. In a swift counterattack, Neteyam headbutts Seyknü in the mouth, causing Seyknü to yelp in pain and clutch his mouth with furrowed brows.

Distracted by the pain, Seyknü fails to notice Neteyam's hold on him, ready to flip him over. Towering over Seyknü, Neteyam strikes him in the eye, followed by a flurry of punches targeting his nose and mouth. The physical altercation escalates with each blow Neteyam delivers.

You have to intervene, coming clean that you were eavesdropping because the situation is growing increasingly violent. Neteyam is viciously attacking Seyknü, who, by this point, is simply lying there and taking the blows.

"Get off him!" you shout, rushing in and grabbing hold of Neteyam to pull him away from Seyknü. He moves more easily than you'd expect once he realizes it's you. He watches as you bend down to check on Seyknü's condition. That simple action annoys Neteyam more than it should.

He interprets your concern as an indication that it’s because he's the most injured, or at least that's what he wants to think, rather than realizing that you simply didn't want to interact with him yet. But it was Seyknü who initiated the violence with the first punch, leading to this chaotic situation.

"Seyknü, Seyknü!" you urgently call out to him, trying to get him to open his puffy eyes, while wiping the blood from his face as best as you can. You growl, looking up at Neteyam, "What is wrong with you!?" you hiss, "You hurt everything you touch!"

Neteyam's ears flatten against his skull, his lips forming a small pout as his eyes soften at your words. He bends slightly as steps forward, reaching out to you, and says, “Please let me explain."

"There's nothing to explain. This is what you do," you say with a sharp inhale, looking away. You move to help Seyknü up, his soft groaning urging you to assist him. “Just…leave us alone.” you add, walking past him with Seyknü to get him to the medic tent.

…

After ensuring Seyknü will be well taken care of and crafting a few believable lies, you make the decision to leave the hut. However, as you step outside, you pause when you spot someone loitering nearby.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, your earlier annoyance resurfacing.

Hearing your voice, Neteyam turns to you, straightening up. He slowly steps closer to you, cautious as he should be because you were this close to heading back inside to avoid him. "Is he okay?" he asks softly, nodding toward the tent.

You scoff, rolling your eyes, and cross your arms. "You mean after you beat the crap out of him? He's holding on."

Neteyam rolls his eyes in response, shaking his head, his braids swaying with his movements. "He hit me first," he tries to defend himself, but you're having none of it.

"That doesn't give you the right to do what you did!" you exclaim, stepping closer to him, fists clenched at your side as your whole body burns with anger. "You could have killed him!"

He groans, his brow-bones furrowing deeply as he looks away, his teeth clenched in visible conflict. "Why him?..."

Your expression shifts from anger to confusion as you raise a eyebrow. "Why what?" you ask, crossing your arms and studying him closely, trying to discern what's going on in his head.

"Why him, out of all the men in the village?" he asks, his tone curious, and he fixes an expectant gaze on you.

You blink, momentarily taken aback. His question seems to revolve around Seyknü—on why you chose him. What does this have to do with Neteyam? Given what he did, this is what he was more concerned about? This wasn’t the kind conversation you had in mind, and it's not a topic you're inclined to discuss with him.

You pivot on your heel, declaring your intentions, "I'm going home."

"No," Neteyam's voice booms behind you as his hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you away from prying eyes. He leads you to a clearing and stops, releasing your wrist, his expression now serious. "I'm trying to talk to you!"

"I don't want you to! What I do is none of your business!" you shout, your voice tinged with frustration, your arms gesturing wildly. Your patience is wearing thin, and you're overwhelmed by a mountain of emotions.

You're starting to feel like you're the one losing your mind here, not him. And that's an issue because the problem here is undoubtedly Neteyam. "Why are you so insistent on meddling in my life? What difference would knowing make?”

“Because I still might have a chance” he shouts back, his voice laced with desperation. His chest heaves as he locks eyes with you, and you’re left utterly stunned by his words.

“What?…” Your voice wavers as you struggle to comprehend what he’s saying.

"I messed up, okay!? I was a skxawng—blind and… afraid." He trails off, the last word falling off his lips with hesitation before he gathers himself and continues, “But not anymore. I finally see what was in front of me all along." With each word, he takes a step closer, a sense of urgency in his eyes as he looks down at you, seeking your understanding.

With each step, you back away, shaking your head and raising a finger to mimic your disbelief. "No. You can't just… You're not saying what I'm thinking… are you?"

He nods, following you, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'm not hooked on the wrong girl. The one I want is right here, right in front of me. I can't be afraid of letting her slip away too when I can do something about it right now."

A small gasp escapes your lips as your back meets a tree, leaving you trapped between it and him. Your wide eyes meet his, and your pulse races fast in sync with your thoughts. Since your confession, you never thought he would reciprocate your feelings.

The tables have turned. He's the one approaching you this time. In the past, you might have been thrilled by this new development, but now, knowing what you do, happiness isn't what you feel. Who did he really think he was?

"That's a shame," you say, swallowing subtly with a dry cough to clear your throat, averting your eyes as you attempt to seem uninterested. "You're a little too late. I'm over you." You lie through your teeth, hoping he believes it because you were struggling to believe them yourself. Deep down, you know that you won't ever truly get over him, but you need to try to move on.

He stops in his tracks, his face briefly contorting with hurt. His eyes flicker over your face, searching for any sign that you're lying. Then, as quickly as the hurt appeared, it vanishes, and he's inches away from you, his arms caging you in. "You're lying," he states firmly.

You firmly press your hands against his chest, your voice slightly quivering, "N-No, I'm not!" The tremble in your voice betrays the emotions coursing through you as you apply more pressure. It's been months since you've been this close, and the sudden proximity sends your senses into disarray, leaving you feeling utterly disoriented.

Yet, everything about him remains unchanged; from the musky scent you've grown so fond of, down to the comforting warmth that still emanates from him, a warmth you continue to crave even on these darkest of nights.

His breath gently fans across your face as he leans in closer, until your chests touch. "Then look at me when you say it," he murmurs huskily, his words carrying the weight of a shared secret between you both. His gaze lingers on you, and his features soften as he takes in the tension etched across your face. "Look at me."

It's not a trance. It really isn't. He no longer holds sway over your emotions or actions because your heart has found its place, firmly back in your chest and out of his hands. You've taken control of that all by yourself. Nevertheless, you can't help but respond to his command, your breath catching as your gaze locks onto his mustard-colored eyes, your heart quickening as you notice the unmistakable intensity in his dilated pupils.

Your lips are just centimeters apart, on the verge of touching, about to share a single breath. One part of your mind warns you that it might be a bad idea, while the other part insists that you miss him dearly, and a brief moment of connection wouldn't cause any harm; you can part ways afterward.

You bite down on your lip, fighting the urge, and murmur, “No…” Your eyes remain glued to his lips, torn between desire and caution. You can’t let this happen. Entangling yourself in his web of lies would be self-destructive. It took what felt like an eternity to heal from the figuratively scars he gave you.

"No?... You're not listening again," Neteyam grumbles, his accent growing heavier with each word. He lets go of the tree, cupping your face with his large, warm hands, urging you to lock eyes with him again. "Now, say it," he presses, a mix of frustration and longing in his gaze, searching for your response.

You part your lips, all set to utter the words as your focus returns, but an inexplicable lump forms in your throat, choking your voice.

He waits for just a moment, his mind already determined on what comes next, but he does so with a bated breath, hoping you won’t utter the words he dreads. It’s clear that you’re stronger than him, evident in how you’ve rebuilt yourself after your last encounter.

He'd go to any lengths to prevent that from happening. Getting over his previous love became more manageable after he sorts out his feelings, partly thanks to the distance and you. Yet, if he has to remain here, watching you move on right before his eyes, getting over you will be an agonizing process. He's prepared to do whatever it takes, even if it means begging, to avoid that.

Your silence stretches on, becoming almost unbearable, and Neteyam's patience finally gives way. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that's not as gentle as he'd like it to be. His kiss is passionate, a raw expression of all the intense emotions coursing through him, a desperate attempt to convey just how much he wants you, and only you.

You fight it at first, not wanting to give in but your lips mold so well into his and they feel so soft against your own that you cave. Instinctively you turn your head to deepen the kiss and he takes your submission as an okay to slide a hand down your back and tangle the other in your hair so you’re flush against him.

Ewya you missed him. Every part of him. Down to his braids that always wack you in the face to the mischievous glint in his eyes when he’s caving into Lo’ak antics. Is it even possible to miss someone this much when they’ve been so close to you this whole time?

You grunt when your back hits the tree again, with more force than before. It was enough to knock you back to your senses and your mumbling against Neteyam’s lips before pulling away and placing a steady hand on his chest to stop him from chasing yours.

“Kehe…” you huff firmly, trying to catch your breath. What was he doing? Trying to literally take your breath away? He was on the right track if he was. “I can’t be with you.”

He only hugs you tighter, cradling your head in the hand still in your hair, “Why not? I know you still want me. Don’t do this. I want you too… I need you.” he pleads, leaning in to kiss your cheek, then several times again, hoping to distract you from continuing this conversation when he can be showing you something better.

“I can’t stand you.” you blurt out, naming one reason why this can’t move on. It’s only a half lie. You can spend all your days staring at him, his beautiful patterned smooth skin and luminescence freckles that littered his body. He was art in its purest form. A rare shell you can only find at the bottom of the ocean in a dozen eclipse.

But you couldn’t stand him all the same. He played you, like a wind flute and he had no remorse when he tore you down. He can’t just show up when he had time to mule over his mistakes and comes to terms with his heart. As a warrior—no, a man—he should have had enough courage to tell you how he truly felt before you let yourself get in too deep.

He hums, showing he acknowledges your statement before mumbling, “I know…” as he trails from your cheek to your neck, licking a strip up your pulse, which he found easily due to your heart rate. He plants a kiss before attacking it, sucking hard enough to leave a bright, purple bruise.

Your body tense automatically at the strange sensation, your eyes squeezed shut as you bite your lip to stop the moan from leaving your lips. Your body may be tense, yet it arches off command to get closer to him.

If he knows, then why is he kissing you and handling you like you’re already his? It was embarrassing, leaving you feeling shame when it’s him who should after what he did and what’s he doing now.

“I hate you.” you continue, opening your eyes to peer up at the night sky, the stars shining brightly—it’ll be wonderful to relax under it but instead you were being ambushed by a persistent ex-someone.

He breathes out a chuckle, finding your words amusing as he continues to assault your neck with more marks of claim, “You don’t.” he replies matter of factly, shaking his head and causing his braids to tickle your shoulder. He jerks your head back enough for him to move on to the other side to apply the same treatment.

The tug causes you to whimper slightly, it is both pleasure and pain, but the pain wasn’t physical—at least not in that way. “Yes, I do.” you insist, thankful he’s holding you so securely as he does or you’ll surely collapse to the floor, wishing in that second that it’ll swallow you whole.

He pulls away just enough to look you in your eyes, his own a shade darker than normally, “You wouldn’t still be here if you did.”

His words cause you to freeze, eyes wide again at the realization that he was in fact correct. All you had to do was tell him no, tell him you really didn’t want this and walk away because even though he was a manipulator as recently discovered, he still held some honor. He had sisters, he wouldn’t take it that far if you didn’t want to.

Which brings you back to this moment, why can’t you seem to do just that?

"I understand," he whispers, placing a tender kiss on your forehead. "I know I need to work to earn your trust back." He presses his lips softly against your nose. "Consider this a promising start." He concludes with a gentle kiss on your lips, expressing his sincerity in a less intimidating manner.

He leaves you breathless once more, and you allow it, letting your emotional barriers crumble to expose the heart that still longs for him underneath. Your heart races in your chest, and you wonder if he can feel it against his own—if they beat in unison, if you affect him as profoundly as he affects you. Just this once, you wish for him to share your nervousness.

After a few minutes, he breaks away, his lips parting, both of you slightly out of breath. Though it might not have matched the intensity of your first kiss, you're secretly flattered by the thought that you have an effect on him, even if it's more subtle.

Before long, he returns his attention to your body, his lips finding the front of your neck, coaxing you to tilt your head back again. He showers you with kisses and gentle nibbles as he travels down to your collarbone. When he playfully nips at it, you can't help but emit a mixture of a whimper and a hiss, to which he responds with a low chuckle.

His hand, previously entangled in your hair, loosens its grip, and the one resting on your lower back joins it on your hips, softly caressing your skin as he continues his downward journey. Although the angle is slightly awkward, he doesn't seem to mind. His lips trail along the edge of your top. You observe his every move, a sense of anticipation growing within you as you wonder what he’s going to do next.

As if he's attuned to your thoughts, he lifts his gaze to meet your eyes just as his bottom lip brushes over your nipple from beneath the revealing top. The sensation makes you jump slightly, and your nipple responds by stiffening. You resist the urge to hide your face, feeling a tinge of embarrassment. It felt really good. It shouldn’t feel that good with him of all people.

His ears perk up, his interest piqued by your body's reaction. He repeats the action, gradually applying more pressure with each brush, making you squirm and proclaim that it's not enough. "Stop," you frown, "Quit teasing me. You have no right."

He apologizes with a kiss to the center of your chest. "I couldn't help it," he says, "Your reactions are adorable, they drive me crazy…." He trails off, running his hands up your back, fingers toying with your straps before loosening them and letting the top fall to the ground.

He pulls back slightly, gazing at you in a way you never thought he would. "You're so beautiful, yawne. How could I have been so blind? Forgive me, however long that takes."

You're completely lost for words. Despite all the different sides of Neteyam you remember from before you both went your separate ways, you can't recall a time when he was this gentle—even when you thought he was already at his gentlest with you.

It makes your stomach flutter with shimmyflies. If this is his way of trying to earn your forgiveness, you won't be able to remain headstrong for long. It won't be long before you're putty in his hands once again.

"I refuse to listen," you stammer out, closing your eyes to avoid looking at him. Your body may have yielded to him, but you won't entertain his lies. You don't have to pretend there's something more. Right now, you only need one thing from him, and it doesn't involve much talking.

"That's fair," he mutters, "I deserve that." Leaning forward, he playfully sticks his tongue out to gently lick your right nipple. "I won't talk anymore, I’ll show you…" he concludes before wrapping his mouth around it and giving a fervent suck. His action elicits a shuddering exhale from you as you arch your chest forward and weave your fingers through his braids, pulling him closer.

A deep groan reverberates from his chest as you secure his hair firmly, keeping him in place. He proceeds to suck, lick, and nibble, to the point where drool starts forming at the corner of his mouth. His breathing becomes ragged, his hold on you tighter and you can only imagine the tightness in his tewng.

It doesn’t take much for you to imagine the wetness forming in yours. You can feel it, moistening the fabric right at the center. With each passing second, it grows even wetter as he continues to suck, teasing your nipples until they border on a pleasurable ache. Soon enough, he switches to the other side, repeating the tantalizing treatment; one of his hands slithers up your body to keep your other company.

With a gentle pop, he pulls away, lightly pecking your puffy nipple before gazing up at you from beneath his thick lashes. Neteyam seems like he wants to say something, as evident in the way his jaw slackens, but he quickly closes it, perhaps recalling his earlier words. Instead, he averts his eyes, focusing once more on your breast before trailing down your body, mirroring his descent as he settles on his knees to align with your navel.

His hands find your hips, but they don’t stay there long when one confirmation curt nod from you has him untying your tewng, joining your top on the ground. You shiver slightly, attempting to squeeze your legs shut as the cold air hits your glistened lips.. Neteyam doesn’t allow you to succeed, choosing to grab your inner knees and keep them open.

There’s this primal, cloudy look in his gold optics as he stares at you for a moment too long before he leans in to give a long, drawn out lick from your hole to your clit. Your breath hitch when the pressure on your clit was oddly aggressive and moan as that one lap turns into many messier laps.

As he presses firmly against your lips, any concern about his ability to breathe fades when his tongue delves into your trembling heat. The rhythmic brush of his nose against your clit dispels any lingering worries. His groans intensify with each movement of your hips against his face, his gaze alternating between your expressions and the mesmerizing sway of your breasts.

He could spend hours savoring the taste of you, never growing tired. Your intoxicating scent sends him into a frenzy, he’s humping the air as thoughts of you consume his mind. He was suffocating, yes, but in the best way.

Neteyam’s hand skillfully guides your leg over his shoulder,, the new angle making it easier to fuck his face as his tongue reaches deeper. Your hips move almost instinctively, driven by the mounting tension in your stomach; you're close and Neteyam knows it or he wouldn’t be guiding your movements to go faster, mouth open as he eagerly awaits to taste every drop you offer, his tail thrashing behind him in anticipation.

Moments later, sensing your need for an extra push towards the edge, he plunges two thick fingers into you down to the knuckle with a curl that has you throwing your head back and creaming all over them.

It required every ounce of restraint to prevent his name from slipping out amidst the sinful moans escaping your lips. Despite experiencing the most amazing head you’ve had, you cling to the last shreds of your sanity, refusing to reveal his name.

Your breath catches, your fingers tightening in his hair as the overwhelming sensation of him slurping your juices clean threatens to overstimulate you. Despite your attempt to pull away, Neteyam remains steadfast, only relenting once he’s finished. As he withdraws, he licks his lips and rests his head on your thigh, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

"I hope that was as enjoyable for you as it was for me," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin as he steals a glance at you, his ears perked. "It was hard to stop; you taste like something forbidden."

"You're speaking again..." you grumble, your stomach twisting uncomfortably at his words. "What did I say?"

Neteyam chuckles, rising to his full height and pressing his chest against yours. Your leg, previously draped over his shoulder, now finds a resting place at his hip. “I was thinking about that while I was…” He pauses, lip curling as he observes the flushed pout on your face. “And I realized that whether you listen or not, talking is better than silence. Although there wasn’t much silence from you just moments ago.”

You hiss, anger and embarrassment mingling as you bare your teeth, your ears pressing flat against your head, “Is this a joke to you?!” Were you, even now after what you’ve done together, a joke to him?, you want to ask, but the potential answer makes you hesitate.

“Have you truly not been listening?” he responds with a question of his own, his tone earnest. “I’m here with you, finally… showing you how I feel, expressing all this because I need you.” He tilts his head, his eyebrows furrowing as he locks eyes with you. “Only you,” he adds with unwavering conviction.

Damn it.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!

Don’t you crave, (Name). Don’t you fucking dare. Remember the pain, the hurt, the tears, and the loneliness he put you through. How you weren’t even his first choice, how some good head wasn’t equivalent to love.

You swallow thickly, your voice catching in your throat. "What does that mean, Neteyam..?"

You’re stronger than this.

Without hesitation, he responds, "I see you... hey..." gently guiding you to meet his gaze when you attempt to turn away. "I see you, always have, always will. What do humans say? 'Till death do us part'?"

Damn it.

You burst into laughter, a deep, genuine sound that reverberates through the air, and playfully smack his shoulder at his amusing choice of words. "Enough," you protest with a breathy whine, feeling the heat rising from your neck to your cheeks. "Humans have such strange ways with words."

Neteyam nods, acknowledging your point. “You’re right. Death wouldn’t stop me. My love for you will endure even beyond death,” he affirms, sealing his words with gentle kisses to your lips. “Please, tell me you feel the same,” he requests softly, pulling back to search your eyes. “I need to hear it from you.”

Gazing at his lips, you contemplate whether to voice your feelings or not—though, in truth, you already have. But saying it again, what if this was just a dream and it would end like your first confession? After a moment, you meet his gaze squarely, "I still feel the same. My feelings never left," you affirm softly.

His shoulders relax as he exhales deeply, his eyes softening and smile becoming more relaxed as he firmly grasps your other leg, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. He presses you back against the tree, his pelvis pressing against your bare pussy, you can feel just how hard he is during this whole confession, "You have no idea how happy that makes me," he confesses, pulling you even closer.

"Hm..." You playfully arch an eyebrow. "Judging by your tweng , I'd say very happy... perhaps we can make each other even happier."

#✰ 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐮— 𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐭¡𝐜𝐚 #✮⋆˙ 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 — 𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦 #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam sully #atwow #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #avatar x reader #avatar wow #avatar neteyam #neteyam imagine #neteyam imagines #neteyam avatar #neteyam smut #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x omaticaya!reader #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam sully x you #neteyam sully x y/n #avatar x y/n #avatar x you #avatar 2022 #atwow headcanons #atwow fanfiction #atwow x reader #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam fic #neyetam

[kaigarax]

"By The Way, I Think I Love You."

Julian Loki x Reader

Quote: "Fall in love with someone you haven't seen in awhile."

My Dearest,

Amongst the billions of people in this world we might one day simply walk past our soulmates and never even know that was them in the first place; with the only interaction being nothing but a simple glance in their direction.

We might spend every single day of our lives with them. Happy, ecstatic, and thrilled because you know that you’ve found the one. We might never get the chance to meet them at all. Always left wondering and waiting for someone that might never even come in the first place. We might be distant friends that are left simply wondering what if.

And maybe -just maybe- we might meet them soon.

Yours Truly

---

“Julian Loke?” You say incredulously as you spot him, a teasing grin on your lips, “the Julian Loke? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Loki scoffs, “we just saw each other six months ago and now you’re acting as if I’m a celebrity or something.”

“Yeah, and all you said to me was hi in a passing glace,” you tease, “so I thought that I should take a more… appreciative approach. Besides, you are basically a celebrity after winning that gold medal there around your neck. Do you plan on showing off to everyone that you’re the prodigy that everyone’s talking about?”

“You say that as if this isn’t your third gold medal.” Loki rolls his eyes in an attempt to get you to ignore the burning hot feeling of his face, “and besides, not everyone is talking about me. Plenty of people talk about you too.”

Your eyes twinkle with amusement the same way that Loki remembers that they used to and it makes his heart race. The last time the two of you had a genuine conversation had been back when the two of you had decided to go your separate ways.

Loki had been the one to initiate the separation and what could you do but accept his departure? You very well couldn’t force him to continue to skate with him despite how disappointed you had been. And it wasn’t as if your friendship had been based solely around figure skating but Loki imagines that it couldn’t have been very easy for you to keep on seeing him so he made the decision to slowly disappear from your life. It was… hard.

Everytime after that had been nothing but the exchanging of pleasantries.

After years of brief conversations Loki’s glad to see that you’re still the same bright eyed girl that he remembers. Happy to see that the fame hadn’t altered the warm ice loving idiot that Loki had once been Loki’s best friend.

Loki clears his throat, “you skated well.”

“You did too.” You replied, smiling softly.

“You watched me?”

“Of course! I always watch your performances when I can. Gotta make sure I don’t miss out on any mistake you make.”

Loki rolls his eyes, “of course you do,” but smiles fondly, “you never did miss the chance to point out when I mess up.”

“Well someone’s gotta keep you humble, Speed King.”

Loki blushes, “oh gosh. Please don’t call me that.”

“What? I thought it was a cool nickname~” You smile brightly, “I’d love a nickname like the speed king.”

“The only nickname you’d get would be slave driver.” Another voice says, as a salmon haired boy pops up behind you, wrapping his arm around you comfortably. You lean into his touch ever so slightly rather than flinching away the way you usually do when someone wraps their arm around you.

Loki immediately recognizes the salmon haired man as your figure skating partner. If not for the fact that he’d watched the two of you skate together than from the way you stand beside him.

It reminds Loki a little of how you and he used to act around one another. There’s a certain comfortable ease that you and the salmon haired boy seem to have that comes with spending hours upon hours with one another.

“I’m not a slave driver! You’re the one that insists on skating as long as I do with your horrible stamina.” You exclaim, smiling as you look at the salmon haired boy.

“Says the one that’s always encouraging me to skate the routine faster or add in another trick that won’t even make it into the final routine.” The salmon haired boy turns to look at Loki, “oh, wow! You’re Julian Loki! I hope this one wasn’t bothering you too much. She’s a total figure skating junkie.”

“I’m familiar.” Loki says.

“Julian and I are childhood friends.” You explained.

Loki cuts in, “and I was her first figure skating partner.” Truthfully, Loki isn’t quite sure why he even spoke up in the first place and is absolutely clueless about what he says next, “I was there for all her firsts.”

You roll your eyes and smile fondly, “ah yes, being the first to see me fall flat on my face hundreds of times when I first started skating. Very exciting.”

“Well I for one would have loved to have seen you fall flat on your face hundreds of times,” the salmon haired boy says, his eyes never once leaving your form.

You nudge him playfully, “as if you don’t already see me fall on my face all the time during practice.”

“That’s because you keep trying to do moves that you haven’t practiced.”

“Well, everyone needs to start somewhere.”

“Not in the middle of practicing a routine.”

Loki clears his throat, “you’re still changing things up on the fly, I see.”

You pout, “hey! I only try to change things up during personal practice and it’s not like I do it all the time. I just get bored of doing the same thing all the time.”

The salmon haired boy turns to look at Loki with an expression that says ‘look at this silly girl’. Loki can only muster up a polite smile in response, his stomach burning.

“Oh, Julian. Is your mother here?” You ask, “I’d love to say hi. It’s been so long since I last saw here.”

“Oh, she’s already gone home after watching me skate. My dad had a headache so the two of them went home instead of watching the doubles. I’m sure she watched you skate on the television though.” Loki clears his throat, “you could come with us to dinner though. I’m sure they’d love to have you come with us. Your parents are invited too if they want to come.”

You smile, “yeah, I think they’d love that. Oh, do you want to go see them now? I’m sure they’d love to greet you. They’re always going on and on about how they miss you and watching the two of us skate together.”

“Oh, that sounds great.” Loki smiles softly.

You turn to look at the salmon haired boy, “you okay to head back without me?”

“Yeah,” he warily looks between you and Loki before nodding, “I’ll be okay. Will you?”

“Of course I’ll be okay.” You give the salmon haired boy a reassuring smile, “Julian will be with me anyways so if anything happens I can push him towards the danger.”

“Wow.” Loki pokes your cheek, “I’m really feeling the love over here.”

You roll your eyes before grabbing onto Loki’s hand like you used to do when the two of you were young, “come on. Let’s go before my parents leave. You know how much they hate to linger.”

---

“Dinner was nice.” Loki says, breaking the silence as he walks you home.

“It was very pleasant,” you smile, “just like old times.”

“Just like old times.” Loki repeated.

You nod.

The two of you had attended many dinners together with both yours and his parents coming together to treat the two of you after a long fought competition much like the one you had done today. Of course, the main difference is that the two of you no longer skate together but the feelings still feel the same.

What is different though has to be you.

Sure you’re the same playful girl that Loki grew up with but you’re simultaneously so different. So much prettier.

He’d never admitted it when the two of you were young but he had always thought you were pretty. He even went as far as calling you ugly one day which sent you into a flurry of tears and you refused to skate with him again until he promised to buy you shaved ice for a week. Now though, Loki doubts he could ever call you anything but pretty and even that seems like an understatement.

Who’d have thought that you’d turn into such a looker when you grew up.

His childhood best friend was now the girl that made his heart race and flutter. The one that made his heart skip a beat. The…

“Congratulations.” Loki says suddenly.

“Hm?”

Loki’s face heats up from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, “congratulation on winning gold.”

You laugh softly, “congratulations to you too.”

“Yeah. Who’d have thought that after such a rough beginning for the two of us that we’d end up as gold medalists in one of the biggest skating competitions of the year.”

“I did, of course.”

Loki laughs, “liar!”

“No! I’ve always believed in the two of us. I just thought that we’d…” you trail off.

“That we’d do it together?”

“Yeah.”

“Well it all turned out for the best,” Loki clears his throat in an attempt to get rid of that uncomfortable feeling in his chest, “I don’t have to worry about you not being fast enough and you’ve… found someone that matches you well when you skate.”

You nod, smiling a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“You and Sabito are rather different.” You say softly.

“Different?” Loki asks, though more through politeness rather than curiosity, “how so?”

“You love the praise that comes with being brilliant while you’re on the ice,” you explain, “while Sabito loves the expression of himself that he leaves while on the ice. Both admirable reasons for being on the ice - well, as admirable as one can be when it comes to a sport like skating.”

“And which are you?”

“Which am I?”

“That is what I asked, yes.”

“Hm,” you place a hand on your chin before smiling, “why don’t you tell me? Considering what I told you.”

Loki sighs, rolling his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s a strangely familiar feeling that brings a fondness' to Loki’s chest, “you love the very ice itself.”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

Loki chuckles, feeling a genuine smile form on his face. He’d forgotten how introspective you could be and in turn how introspective you made him.

“Hey,” you pout cutely as you turn to look at Loki, “what���s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing. I promise.”

“Liar.”

“And how do you know I’m lying, huh?”

“Please. As if I wouldn’t. I was your skating partner for years. I’ve picked up on all your little habits and quirks. You have that same look on your face whenever that you would get when I would ask you to slow down.”

Loki laughs again, “and what kind of a look is that?”

“It’s that one where your eyebrows narrow ever so slightly,” you move your eyebrows as you attempt to replicate the expression for him, “and your eyes say ‘are you serious?’”

Loki ignores the pathetic skip of his heart, “I’m surprised you paid that much attention to me back when we skated together.”

“I’d be an awfully lousy partner if I didn’t notice small things like that.”

Ah, yes. That’s why he had never been all to cut out for partner skating. Not only did his best moves come from a speed that no one else could keep up with but because of his inability to notice mundane details like you. He doubts that he would have had any success in partner figure skating if he hadn’t been paired with you. Not that the two of you ever had much success apart from a bronze in the younger amature leagues.

He bets that the two of you would have done well eventually as you aged. Not only did you increase your speed in skating but Loki had gotten better at adapting to other people. It makes his heart ache as he wonders about what might’ve happened if he hadn’t decided to abandon you.

But this is for the best.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself as he thinks about the respective medals the two of you had won. Both rising up to claim the gold in your respective categories as young prodigies that had seemingly come out of nowhere.

Loki needed a chance to spread his wings and you needed someone like Sabito (Loki begrudgingly admits) that could understand you intuitively. That could help elevate you to another level on the ice rather than someone like him.

“Sabito always makes fun of me,” you say, smiling fondly as you look ahead into the distance, “says that I can read people like a book on the ice but can’t read a social situation to save my life.”

Loki rubs your head affectionately, “he’s not wrong. You are pretty dense.”

“Hey!” You duck lower to escape Loki’s grasp, “I’m not dense!”

Loki laughs, “according to who?”

“Ah, well um… okay maybe no one has said that I’m not dense but it’s not as if people go around talking about how…” you pause for a moment as you attempt to figure out what to say next, “how not dense other people are?”

“And how many people have called you dense?”

You blush, “that’s not important!”

“I’d beg to differ.”

You roll your eyes, moving to flick his forehead like you used to always do when the two of you were young after he’d say something to annoy you.

He lets you.

Momentarily allowing himself to bask in the familiarity it brings him. Allowing himself to pretend, if just for a moment, that everything was the same as it had been before. That the medals around your necks are the ones you won together. That you’re still just kids with big dreams instead of young adults with the pressure of the world on your backs.

He gives you a pout and an over exaggerated wince in pain.

You roll your eyes before leaning in to kiss his forehead.

He blushes brightly in response.

Luckily, you don’t seem to notice as you quickly pull away, preoccupied with your own blush, “oh my goodness! I’m so sorry! I should’ve asked before doing that! I was just so caught up in the moment and forgot to ask.”

“It’s okay,” Loki says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound strained.

You tilt your head to the side cutely, “yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

Loki smiles, “it was like back when we were young. You flick my head when you’re annoyed and then lean in to kiss it better because you feel bad about flicking me in the first place.”

“Gosh,” you pout, “you make me sound bipolar.”

“I mean, if the shoe fits~”

“Julian!”

“Sorry,” he flashes you an unapologetic smile.

“Well anyways, thanks for walking back with me.”

“No problem.”

The bright lights of the hotel glow in the distance. The idle chatter of the city distracts you while Loki finds himself hating the fast walking pace he had initially set wishing to have walked with you for a little longer. You yourself also have a tendency to walk faster than normal and Loki’s always liked that about you but right now finds himself wishing the two of you had for once chosen to take your time. That you had stopped to admire the roses for a moment and appreciate the moment you lived in rather than charging forward without a second thought.

But, Loki supposes, there’s always something that must be sacrificed if one hopes to achieve greatness.

He brushes the back of his hand against yours which causes you to turn to him.

He thinks that maybe, right now, he’ll allow himself a moment of reprieve. Even if it might lead to nothing. The words slip from his mouth before they can even form in his mind.

“By the way,” Loki cleared his throat, watching you with a serious look on his face as he walked you back home, “I think I love you.”

Fall in love with someone you haven’t seen in awhile.

---

Him: There’s no universe or timeline where I don’t love you.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #julian loki x reader #100 ways to fall in love

[itsabouttimex2]

Amazing job at writing the new part as always! It flows nicely and you can easily tell how familiar Macaque & MC without making him OOC. Honestly i admire your grasp at these characters and ability of doing something as complex as interactive series. I'm kinda curious how do you plan things and how far ahead but only if you want to share it ofc.

Going back to the actually piece- it actually made me look up the meanings of flowers despite the original thought of it only being because of the color association. Two first flowers have pretty easy and basic meaning. I can see why the edgy (/affectionate) mentor wouldn't want them near his home.

Freesia - friendship trust innocence

yellow roses - friendship, joy and similar stuff

The one choosen by Macaque are a little more interesting.

Tansies - immortality, resistance, "I declare against you", sometimes used in medicine

black dahlias - (warning of) betrayal, sadness, (not specified black ones: dignity, good luck, elegance)

I'm guessing the tansies are about him being bitter about the Wukong and their more practical use. Black dahlias could be about Monkey King but also some kind of foreshadowing depending on our choice. Or I'm reading into it too much.

Hopefully I'm not overthinking it or completely missing the point (and if i am, I'm really,really sorry). Just wanted to share it in case other readers didn't look it up + i know some people like to see their work analysed but if i'm going to far please let me know! Have a good day/night! :]

(Sorry for any mistakes and feel free to delete the ask)

Oh my god, thank you so much! That’s such a sweet thing to say! (Please never stop analyzing my work I put a lot of effort into it💜💜)

🌻🌻I’ll start with flowers: you are right on the money here. Freesia especially are bright and colorful blooms, coming in many different gorgeous colors. Yellow roses are just the same, bright and cheery and so similar to the sun.

And, given that freesia come in orange and yellow… it’s possible the potted plants were a living reminder of Sun Wukong that Macaque finally got sick of and ripped apart. Or he just took advantage of someone else shredding the innocent flowers and took something that Y/N worked hard on and changed it to his liking instead. (Written to be ambiguous as to which scenario occurred.)

Notably, the new flowers not only match his own personal feelings, but even his color scheme! Yellow, then red and black. Twice over do these flowers symbolize him, something he took and changed to make more suitable to his tastes and feelings.

But he’s not the one who takes care of them- no, it’s Y/N who is dedicated to seeing them grow.

His student tending and nurturing the flowers that represent Macaque, while Macaque destroys/allows the destruction of the flowers that represent his student. Huh. Funny.

Okay flower rant done.🌻🌻

Macaque is such an interesting character to write, given that there’s a spike of cruelty barbing out from almost every action he takes. I think a lot of people have forgotten that the man hasn’t had a redemption arc in canon- he displays zero regret for, say… manipulating and trying to kill MK. Or leveling the Dragon Palace of the East Sea. Or assaulting Tang, a strict non-combatant. Or holding Mei’s life hostage.

He doesn’t feel bad for doing any of these. If he does, he’s keeping tight-lipped about it. No apologies. No direct atonement.

And even on the extremely rare circumstance that he’s being “kind”, like deciding to stop torturing MK in Shadowplay, it comes across as almost “I’m bored with you, you aren’t fun anymore.”

He’s not a good guy. So even with Y/N, who he genuinely does care for, there’s this level of manipulation.

Like, he calls Y/N adorable, which sounds nice… but there’s almost a level of victim-blaming to it. No matter how roundabout his words, Macaque basically says to his own student: “If you looked different, people wouldn’t bother you, so let me change the way you look.”

And they trust him enough to agree.

Or letting them cook in fear outside his door when he’s clearly near enough to open it, but dropping the act when they start to break down.

He’s such an interesting character to write ugh I love it.

I had a lot of the routes planned pretty far out, actually, and I’ll give a few examples of what was planned:

Spider Demon Y/N was sort of naive and excitable, but was going to mature/sour after realizing that their beloved queen was, in fact, the bad guy. They were going to have to come to terms with her necessary defeat and their own part in betraying her, as well as living on after you’ve cut ties to your family. Then, readers were going to be able to pick one other henchman to convince to join the heroes.

Dragon Y/N was going to have to both gain Ao Guang’s (their father) approval to live on the surface, and decide how they felt about MK possessing the Ruyi Jingu Bang. They fought using two strings of beaded pearls, utilizing them as whips and grappling hooks to maneuver around the battle field. Also, they hated Macaque. Genuinely throwing hands on sight if they saw that edgy rat.

Heir/Proxy Y/N was going to be a pretty miserable and clingy person, having spent most of their life alone on account of both the LBD and Mayor’s influence. Overcoming their fears and anxieties of being unlovable was going to be a massive part of the journey, learning to love themself and be loved in turn. They were going to have to learn to master the powers forcibly implanted into their body, trying to prevent themself from being sacrificed for power to aid LBD’s onwards path to ‘destiny’.

Ne Zha’s Y/N was going to be cute and polite, very excited to explore the mortal realm outside the grasp of their overprotective mentor/brother. They were also going to have to deal with the first two lotus princes (also overprotective) and Ao Bing, who served as a dear friend.

Sun Wukong’s Y/N was going to be his estranged child who was bitter over ML inheriting the staff instead of them. They were going to despise him for never training them, having to find masters and teachers elsewhere all across the world. In turn, he was desperately trying to make amends and reestablish a strong bond with his cherished progeny, hoping to reconnect eventually.

Also Mei was going to call Y/N “Broth-Face”.

#Time Talks #Choose Your Own Adventure #A Brand New Journey

[fariesoiree]

Heyy babes it's me againn

I was wondering if you'd consider writing a smutty drabble about hobie with a reader who has a praise kink? 👀

Much love from yours truly, ☄️

welcome back! always love the interactions c: of cawrse you can! idk how long this is but i think it qualifies as a fic soooo . . . hate the ending but it was getting tooooo long c: ageless and minors dni i will block you, black fem reader, she/her prns

hobie first notices the way you sort of . . . cower when he compliments you a few weeks ago. maybe cowers isn’t the best word — more like shy away. sure, you’ll always smile and accept it all with grace but there’s always something about it. if he looks at you hard enough, your brown eyes looks a little different than usual. it brings about a curiosity in him that he’s never had before.

it’s a question that dwells in the back of his mind and only resurfaces now, when you’re both created comfortable indents on hobie’s gray couch, one that he’s gotten secondhand and restored himself. he holds a wine glass in his hand, filled with cheap, store bought wine. he doesn’t care too much for the taste or expensive experience and you feel fortunate that you are able to pick out the bottle this week.

on the tv, just large enough to cover the stand, plays another episode of too hot to handle. each time another bad episode of trashy reality television comes to an end and netflix auto plays another — your account because hobie would never — you just let it continue playing, transfixed on the forced drama.

“you think you could last on a show like that?” hobie asks, taking a sip from the round glass. the wine is more sweet than bitter and leaves a subtle alcoholic aftertaste on his tongue. he would prefer something a little stronger but the point is not to get drunk. instead it’s to enjoy each other’s presence. “like, on an island with a bunch of hot guys that you can’t fuck but you want to, so bad.”

you glance at him from the corner of your eye expecting to meet his gaze, only to find the side of his face. even from this direction, the angles of his jaw is still just as sharp and reflects his true beauty in a way that used to intimidate you in the earlier days of your relationships. “well, can i fuck the girls?”

hobie’s tongue clicks against the ridged roof of his mouth with a hushed tut! he rolls his eyes but the corners of his lips twitch upwards. you’re such a smartass. “obviously not. don’t act daft.” in between his words, he pauses to scowl at the private interviews from the contestants.

“then no. plus, i only want you. if i ended up on that show after meeting you, i’d just be bored, i think. what would i even do?”

a chuckle rumbles in his chest, spreading in thick warmth that crawls its way out his throat. his head lulls in your direction and the hand, attached to the hand wrapped around your shoulder, rubs across your bare skin, left uncovered under the white shortsleeved loose, cherry patterned top. it’s long enough to be perfectly comfortable when you’re curled up into his side, hanging around your arms without constricting your movement when the fabric gets bunched and stick beneath you.

“jeez, bug. aren’t you proper perfect. always treatin’ me so well.” when he looks down at you, there’s that look again, along with the sheepish smile that slowly creeps along your face. he doesn’t know how to describe it, but it’s there and it makes him curious. you’ve never been too shy with him, not anymore at least. yet, here you are, losing your train of thought every time he sweet talks you. “why do you do that?”

this time, instead of continuing to sit there with that distracted look on your face, you squint at him. his question confuses you enough to turn your head, having to tilt your head up to eye him comfortably. “do what?” you rest the base of the wine glass on your knees, propped up and pressed into your chest. the sock-covered soles of your feet are stable on the couch.

“that thing. every time i say something nice to you, you start acting weird.” hobie explained. he mirrors your expression, confused that you’re confused. how could you not know? you’re consistently doing it, each and every time without fail.

“i don’t know what you’re talking about, ‘bie.” you say with a small shake of your head. the shiny fabric of your silk bonnet catches the sunlight and reflect it back out of the skylight over your head.

hobie’s houseboat is quaint, a little small, and depends heavily on the natural lighting. several windows are littered around the walls and occasionally left open to allow the cool breeze, rolling over the water, inside the room. the kitchen and the living room are only a few steps away, so much so that hobie doesn’t necessarily need a table in the kitchen. instead, he opts for bar stools at the counter that keeps the space from feeling stuffy.

the small, gray sectional is covered in a throw blanket and a few pillows, all varying in color and material — courtesy of you. the brown, coffee table in front of you has its own decor on it. decals from different shows hobie watches, figurines of characters he’s a fan of, a couple plants too that thrive in such sunny conditions.

a little ways down the hall is the bathroom, which is more open concept than your standard way of living. the sink is left unguarded and open to the houseboat residents while the shower and toilet are surrounded by three walls and a door, all designed to mimic the texture and appearance of wood.

farther down from that is the only bedroom in the boat, the one that you frequent for midday naps when you’re seeking the comfort of your partner. the little space is does have is narrow and only enough to fit a full sized bed, stacked on top a bed frame that allows for pullout drawers beneath, optimizing the storage. there’s a window next to the bed with blinds that stay pulled up during the day so you can ogle at the soft waves the push and pull of gravity brings about.

he’s gotten his walls decorated with posters of bands, memorabilia, and other random clutter hobie’s collected over the years. it’s never truly tidy here but it’s comfortable, it’s cozy to be somewhere that feels lived in without regrets.

“you don’t know what i’m talkin’ about?” hobie reiterates with a curl of his lips. he’s got his thick, dark eyebrows furrowed together, knitting and inching together on his forehead akin to caterpillars. sometimes, he’ll rest with his head on your lap and flinch under the cold tweezers when you pluck astray hairs out of their follicles.

you shake your head again and lean further into the warmth of his side. “mm-mm,” you hum and take a sip of the stella rose, pink and swirling in the rounded walls of your glass. you can still feel his skeptical eyes focused on the top of your covered head. before he can press you anymore, you cut him off, lifting your finger to point at the screen. “she’s actually an idiot. he’s been flirting around with two other girls but she’s still trying to get with him. that’s so stupid.”

he wants to side eye you, listening to that voice in his head coming up with what feels like rational assumptions but he doesn’t, because you’ve already moved on. instead, he just shrugs and drops it entirely — for now. “maybe she’s into that. a girl cuck.”

nighttime comes peacefully. the horizon darkens as the sun dips out of visibility. you made dinner, seasoned asparagus with steaming mashed potatoes and herb-crusted chicken; hobie washed the dishes from that night and after going through the motions of getting ready for bed, you both ended up in bed and under the soft sheets, wrapped in each others arms. you’re especially grateful that the boat remains well-vented and the air is cool on the water when you’re pressed into hobie’s bare chest. his skin is always so warm to the touch, so much so that it makes you hot with prolonged contact. in the summer, you can only cuddle for a few minutes before rolling away and throwing the sheets off to cool down.

you got your phone shoved into his face, playing yet another cat video. you smile at the orange feline on your screen, running around its living room in glee. “it’s so cute. i want one so bad.”

“yeah? think you’d be better off with a rock. can’t even take care of yourself.”

you can feel him smirk into your shoulder. one of his long arms goes to trap your body before you can turn and swat at him for his antics. he knows you and how you’d probably flick his forehead for talking about you in such manner.

“what — fucking — ever. get off of me.” you mumble, writhing in his strong hold forcing you into the mattress. he’s left you with enough room to turn your head. it’s a desperate attempt but you try anyway, straining your neck towards his skin to clamp your teeth down. each time, he angles just out of your reach and scoffs.

“feral ass animal. say please and i’ll let you go.”

“hobie!” you more or less whine, lifting your legs and pushing it against is. your futile kicks do nothing but tangle your legs in his until he’s got them squeezed and trapped. you’ve officially lost and there’s nothing you can do.

hobie couldn’t be more pleased with himself and distributes more of his weight onto your back. he grins, white teeth gleaming in the yellow lighting from the lamp on the shelves above your head, set on dim and creating a cozy mood to relax in. “say it. say it or we’ll sit here all night.”

you purse, pout, and wiggle even more. your phone has been discarded and forgotten about, lost somewhere in the bed between your struggling for power. it takes a few minutes to fall still and the air fills with harsh breaths from the both of you. hobie’s giggles are mixed in with snorts and you can’t help but smile at his delight.

“fine! whatever. please let me go.” you’re more upset that you have to admit defeat than the playful battle you’ve gotten yourself in.

it’s almost immediate, the way hobie retracts his grip and removes himself from you entirely, except for the sole arm lazing over your waist, lightweight and without purpose. “atta’ girl. you’re such a good listener.”

he expect some snarky remark to leave your lips, glossy and slathered in aquaphor but nothing. you don’t do anything at all. you only lay there, hands feeling around for your phone. you don’t even turn around to smack his shoulder. you do nothing at all and it confuses him.

hobie sits up, propping his head into the palm of his hand. from here, he gets a wide view of the expression you’re trying so diligently to hide. he can see the soft, timid smile on your face. you’re too busy digging around for your phone to notice his peaked interest. by the time you’re wrapped your fingers around the now warm glass of your phone, hobie’s fingers have done the same but with your chin and tugging it in his direction. “you’re doin’ it again,” he muses.

you’re forced to roll onto your back in his new position and clutch the phone against your chest. you feel a bit like prey, stationed underneath hobie and being accused of something you aren’t even sure about. “what?” your attention flickers between both of your eyes. you’re trying to get an gauge on the situation and turn even further to him.

hobie, much like you earlier, says nothing. his brain whirs with thoughts that rush through a million miles a second. he’s back to jumping to conclusions, working through the possibilities on his own. there’s only a few theories that he can come up with but they all sound silly. all except one. “you like it, don’t you?”

“what?” you repeat, even more lost than before. you’re rapidly falling behind his train of thought and squint your eyes at him. “you have to give me more than that, hobes. i don’t understand right now.”

he repositions himself, sitting up in totality. he doesn’t hold onto you anymore and instead moves to the space in front of you, space that he created by pushing your legs apart until you’re straddling his waist. he’s got a leg hanging off the side of the bed and dangling. the other is folded into him. “are you acting dumb or are you deadass?”

the sudden change in his demeanor has you spooked, even more so because you’re left in the dark. “are you mad at me? did i do something?” you push yourself up until you’re just a few breaths away. your heart races and you’re already wondering how to make up for your wrongdoings.

with the lighting, the room is still pretty dark. you can’t see too well that far apart but when you’re up close and personal with hobie, every detail in his face is on display and perfectly meshing together.

“you like when i talk nice to you. it’s obvious, darlin’. you start acting weird every time. ever since a few weeks ago.” his accusation is based on a few things he’s noticed as the days passed.

“well, yeah.” you sound like he’s the one pretending to be dumb, getting so worked up because you’re appreciative of his kindness. “of course i do . . .? what’s your point?”

hobie shakes his head. his own night cap glints with the occasional red glow. by now, he’s got his hands on your waist making temporary indents into your skin. “no. no, not like that. i’m talking about you like it. like, real bad. like, i bet i could get your panties wet from it, alone.”

your mouth falls open in a shocked o shape. it catches you completely off guard that he’s so suddenly brought up your infatuation with his sweet talk in such a suggestive manner. “huh?” is all you can manage because worst of all, you know he’s right because you have been hoping you’ve been discrete about it this entire time. “shut up?!”

“you didn’t say no.” he looks arrogant now, thumbing the elastic band of your cheeky-cut underwear, made from a gray cotton material and hemmed with a cream lace trim. the little bow on the front is sewn in and perfected with perma-stitches. hobie pulls it back and retracts his thumb. every time it snaps back into place, his grin widens. “i mean, if you wanna experiment, we can. y’know i never mind it, gorgeous.”

it’s suffocating. this whole thing is suffocating and you feel like you’re going to die in the best way possible. this so called “experiment” was not supposed to go this far. it was only supposed to be for a little bit, a half hour max and then you’d both go to sleep with the new knowledge to expand upon at another time. this was particularly important because you had to wake up early tomorrow and hobie knows this. it’s your fault; you shouldn’t have believed him. he looked too excited to worship you in praises and got so carried away that you’ve gotten your chest pushed into the bed. the arch of your back is so deep, you’re pushing your ass so high in the air and against hobie’s thighs.

hobie’s experiment is going so well for him. he’s gotten his chest against your back and his lips right next to your ear. his goal, done successfully, is to make his words as clear as possible so they process in your brain and send another wave of desire racking through every nerve of your body. a hand of his swipes along your clit, curling around the front of your body. his arm is getting somewhat squished underneath you but he couldn’t give fuck all about it. he’s too busy focusing on your wanton moans as you lose yourself, throwing your ass back fervently.

you got your head planted firmly into the bed and hobie hates it. he despises the muffled tone he’s given no choice but to hear; he puts up with it only because he’s having so much fun, too much fun. leaned down so close the the shell of your ear, he’s able to speak so alluringly, never mind the gravely tone his voice had taken on under the strain of casting his pleasure to the back of his mind. “my good — shit, god you’re so perfect — good fuckin’ girl.”

your response is nothing but open-mouthed whines into the sheets, leaving behind a damp trace of the shape of your lips in your wake. your legs quiver and would have otherwise been plopped onto the bed but you’re held up, what little strength you can muster through your forearms and hobie’s snacked around your waist working together keeping you where he’s got you.

you roll your head in his direction and cup his cheek. you look needy, basking in the warm lighting and drowning out the croaking frogs hidden in the shrubbery surrounding the lake. your fingers dig into his cheek to pull him closer and attach your lips to his, rewarding him with wet and sloppy kiss. both of your saliva mix as your tongues swirl against each other.

each particularly deep thrust paired with the smooth words of encouragement constantly flowing from hobie sends another watery gush of arousal from your cunt. it leaks down the sides of your thighs and becomes slathered on hobie’s.

he can’t help but laugh when your attempts to kiss him fall weak and you’re moaning against him. “hobie,” you whisper with a flutter of your eyelashes. they brush across his cheek and hide the burning desire in the brown rim of your eyes behind your eyelids.

a shudder runs down your back, all in preparation for your ultimate undoing. your head droops back into the bed and you clutch the sheets between your fingers. it’s all balled up and pulled into wrinkles.

he wants to reassure you but he can’t; hobie isn’t any better. he’s just as needy as you are, just as dizzy and on the brink of ascending. it’s just something that comes with being buried in your fluttering cunt. “perfect fuckin’ pussy. soo wet f’me, huh.” he says it more like a statement than a question. he doesn’t have to ask because he knows. it’s not like there’s anyone else that can get you to unravel like this, get you so soft beneath them, get your cunt dripping in slick.

there’s a moment when all movement stills and the feeling, the orgasm ebbing away brings a certain discontent that makes you mewl in hopes that the sound would active some carnal sense in his brain. it doesn’t. the only thing that happens is hobie shifting behind you, lifting his torso until he’s looking down at you. his hands grip at your waist, thumbs pressed into the curved dimples in your back. he likes to think they’ve gotten deeper from the amount of times he’s planted them here. “you want it?”

if you were in your right mind, perhaps the eagerness at which your head rise and falls with a nod. “yes, yes please. please, hobie. i want it.” by now, your bonnet had slipped off and tumbled onto the floor, leaving your hair exposed to the elements. you’re fortune to have twisted it a few days ago because even with the hairs beginning to frizz and coil into knots, most of it remains maintainable.

you can feel his rather large palms massaging your skin. it jiggles in waves whenever his hand cracks down hot and heavy. with enough time, you’re sure he could leave behind a dull shade of red. “do it yourself then, treacle. go ahead. take your dick.” he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, brushing your hair off your shoulders until he’s able to get a good, firm grip. he’s able to lift your head this way, pulling you out of your trance so you’d really and truly hear him.

you can feel your breath hitch and is stolen away. your limbs move for you, reaching out and taking a hold of the headboard. the other hand is firm on the bed, as firm as you can get it. you’re panting by the time you’ve gotten yourself here but you know it’s the right decision because hobie’s fingers trail down the column of your spine.

your tongue goes to spread across your now chapped lips. you can feel each ridge created from your once hydrated lips, stolen from the kisses and rubbing against the sheets. with your newfound hold, you sniff, grit your teeth, and throw yourself back against him.

hobie does nothing else but lightly hold your waist and eye each ripple of your round cheeks when they slam against his groan. he wants to throw his head back but then he’d miss his front row seat to your show, in all your glory. “l - look at you. mmm, fuck! looks so — . . . so good.”

you’re so mouthy, now but it’s all warbling and blabber, nonstop and nonsensical in tandem with every stroke you subject yourself to. it’s unexpected that this is what the night ultimately led to. after watching tv, eating dinner, and bickering with the love of your life, he finishes it off by filling your pretty little head with praises.

“look at how you fit around me. y’so good.” hobie peels apart the round globes of your ass. he’s able to get a clear view of his cock, long and skinny, sinking in between the folds of your cunt. it all glistens with arousal, coating the base of his shaft in a thin, milky liquid. he can’t help but lower his head towards your body and stick out his tongue. a droplet of his spit rolls down his tongue. it adds to the wet mixture of your sex and gets lost in all the precum.

he’s going to kill you, you’re certain. his cock is going to crawl its way up your esophagus and murder you. there’s no way it won’t with how full you feel, your cunt and your brain. still, even with how overwhelmed you feel, there’s no chance you will ever stop. if anything, it’s reinforcement to keep going, to hold the headboard harder, to launch your body back farther. the praise is going straight to your head and he knows it. hell, you know it. to die like this would be an honor and somewhere, in the deep, depths of your brain, you’re hoping it never ends.

#⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 . . . 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 . . . ☄️ 𝜗𝜚⋆ #hobie x black!reader #hobie smut #hobie brown #x black fem reader #x black reader #astv hobie #x reader #hobie x reader #hobie x y/n

[astranauticus]

stultifera navis rerun AKA thinking about Iberia hours again because a lot of the Iberians have such fascinating relationships with the concept of home but specifically Thorns and Lumen are eating at my brain. like where do you call home when the place that is your home Just Fucking Hates You? Elysium's rewinding breeze specifically makes a point to hammers home how differently Iberia treats its Liberi and its Aegir

(which is especially interesting since this comes right after a conversation where Purestream commented on how despite Leizi being a high ranking government official, there are still some experiences that are universal for all Yanese people - because the experience of what Iberia itself is like isnt universal for all Iberians)

But all that being said, Thorns also straight up states that Aegir is not his home, and yeah, how could it be? How could a place you've never been to, never truly known, ever be your home? How could it ever feel like a home?

so where do you go when the place that you are from hates your people and the place your people are from is completely unfamiliar and alien to you? Thorns' answer at the end of the conversation with Aya is: my home is where i chose it to be. my home is where there are people I care about and people who care about me

in the complete opposite direction, Lumen's oprec asks: why do you still stay in a place that wants you gone? because the people of Gran Faro like Jordi well enough but when push comes to shove, they will want the only Aegir in town gone

and yet, when Rald the messenger offers him a chance to leave Jordi turns him down and when he's forced to escape Gran Faro after the people there literally try to send him to his death (or worse) at the hands of the Inquisitors he keeps trying to go back because like everyone in stultifera navis, Jordi is clinging to his own dreams of a golden age

but the shape of that dream is unique to every character and for Jordi, his dreams are deeply, inseparably bound to the Eye of Iberia, the legacy his parents left behind

and it's this dream of becoming someone great, of bringing about that golden age that his parents devoted their lives to help create that ties Jordi to this nothing town because despite everything, despite the mistrust of the townsfolk and the hostility of the Inquisition and the danger from the ocean, he simply cannot leave it behind

(or, because i personally dislike the official translation,)

"I just see this place as my home"

so yeah. not sure what overall point i was trying to make here i'm just. deeply in love with these stories about chosing what is and isn't your home, of saying you will not call a place your home because it has given you no reason to or saying you consider a place your home even though it has given you every reason not to. deeply unwell about them <3

#arknights #asto speaks #not much of an essay writer i just keep thinking about them and i need to force other people to think about them too #thorns story fucks me up bc like. this whole almost found family adjacent idea of like #maybe home isnt something decided by your birth but something you can chose based on what truly matters to you #it just gets to me. i guess. #jordi gets to me in a completely different direction there's nothing personal about it i just find his story *fascinating* #just a guy. a completely normal guy. an absolute nobody caught up in these dreams of greatness while also fully aware of his own normalcy #but never letting either of those overshadow the other. never losing that self awareness or that fuckin obsessive determination #god. what a Character #i love jordi so much like genuinely #i joke a lot about him being just a Guy but thats also kinda like the best thing about him #the fact that he is the way that he is and does all the things he does despite being just a Guy #gently holds #for context i was so hyped about new iberia lore when sn was announced i read the whole thing as soon as it dropped on cn server #cuz someone uploaded all the story sections to bilibili right after it came out #and '我只是把这里当作自己的故乡啊' fucking hit me SO HARD #in like the greater context of elysium demanding to know why hes risking his life in like 5 different ways to return to gran faro #because yeah jordi just doesnt want to leave his home but like we the audience knows the full *weight* of what that home means to him #and the weight of the dreams that made him chose to see Gran Faro as his home and to refuse to let go of that #thats why i like the original a lot more than the translation i think like it really emphasises that active *choice*. #this is the place jordi has *decided* to see as his home and he knows what that means and what it means to him #side note the part on thorns might not actually age well depending on whether hg decides to ever release more aulus lore #i mean i'll gladly take the L if it means more aulus and/or thorns lore like #i just wanna know what (if anything) is tying him to iberia yknow #ak #iberiaposting

[dykemerrilll]

re lrb in any case to me astarion’s arc is less about regaining agency than becoming aware that he already has it and has to act like that. there's a distinction between agency as a material fact, ie having the ability in theory to make your own decisions and act on your desires, and the awareness of having that agency.

i'm no psychologist, but in my experience one of the most helpful steps in recovering from mental illness has been the awareness of my own agency ─ yes, sometimes I feel as though my life is completely run by my intrusive thoughts, but invariably getting out of that place has involved a recognition that ultimately, I am the one in control of my thoughts and I have the agency to work through them. that doesn't mean that it isn't hard, or time-consuming, and sometimes I don't succeed in the way I'd like, but nonetheless the ability to at least try is and always has been in my power.

in baldur's gate 3, your companions appear with varying degrees of agency (aside, obviously, from the tadpole they all share). they range from gale, whose current situation physically and magically restricts him but who at that moment in time doesn't have many other immediate restrictions on his day-to-day actions, to wyll, whose every move is watched by his abusive warlck patron.

nonetheless, your companions benefit from being shown that they not only could have agency at some point in the future, if they break their pact/shar's curse/free cazador/free orpheus/fix the infernal engine/get the crown of karsus, but they have agency now and must therefore use it responsibly. wyll is already to some degree aware of this, i think, even if it's only because he is so morally forthright ─ he's one of your companions who remains actively trapped by their abuser during the game, yet he refuses to kill karlach because he knows that would be wrong. even within his severely limited circumstances, he makes a choice, he demonstrates agency. in the shadowfell, shadowheart ─ a cult victim subjected to extreme psychological and religious abuse ─ has the choice whether or not to kill aylin, and can make it either way.

astarion, at the point at which you meet him, has just been given freedom for the first time in, essentially, his life. it's no surprise that he doesn't know what to do with thise newfound agency, and doesn't recognise it for what it is, given that he literally cannot remember ever having control over his own life. that's deeply tragic, but it doesn't erase the fact that he has control over the things he does during the game. those actions (for example, given i am still talking about that last rb, talking about the children he kidnapped and gave to cazador as though they were nothing), are things he has agency over and is responsible for. nonetheless, he acts as though he does not, lurching from one attempt to gain power to another (killing the druids to suggesting you use whatever's in moonrise to your advantage), because his own self-perception as someone completely powerless is so overwhelming. he must accrue power because that is the only way he can make sure he's safe and can never be hurt again. it's just that that self-perception is not completely accurate, he does have agency; if he makes choices that result in moral wrongs, those moral wrongs are his to bear.

i'm not getting at astarion here, I don't mean to imply that he's at fault for this attitude. it is, obviously, the natural response to 200 years of enslavement and abuse. kind of the whole point of the game, of all of your companions' quests, is that if people are hurt and abused often they will feel as though their only avenue towards power is to do the same to others. but being severely traumatised doesn't make his behaviour okay; he doesn't get a free pass to do whatever he wants because of cazador. you can like him, literally who am i to say otherwise (i like him too!), but don't just excuse everything he does or get rid of the most interesting parts of his character because you're unwilling to grapple with the fact that as it stands in the game, he's morally incredibly complex.

i think there's a tendency to assume that a character either must or must not have agency, and to present it as a binary, because for some reason it's used as a shorthand for moral culpability, when in reality the relationship between agency and culpability is significantly more complicated. i haven't really been getting into coerced choices here because that's a whole other kettle of fish (though i will give the necessary disclaimer that my stance on this is quite clearly influenced by the fact that deep down i'm a bit of a virtue ethicist). nonetheless, while this is my pop philosophy take and i'm not trying to impose this overall moral framework on people, i think it's pretty reasonable to say that lack of agency does not mean that what you did was not wrong.

implying that astarion is at fault here would be indicative of the very attitude I am trying to oppose ─ the idea that people either have agency or don't, and if they do bad things with agency they are evil, but if they don't have agency they are victims. astarion is both ─ he is the victim of horrendous, harrowing trauma and yet he has done bad things and in fact visited that same trauma upon other people. there's no escaping this, and i think it would be bad for astarion to just brush everything he did for cazador under the rug because he did it for cazador. he still did those things ─ he might not be culpable, i do not think he can be considered as such, but there's no way you go through all of that and don't feel guilty for it.

notably, if shadowheart kills aylin and wyll kills karlach (if he can? i actually don't even know if he can do that, but hypothetically), they are still responsible for that action and it was still morally wrong. they have to deal with that: part of dealing with it can be to recognise the coercion they were subject to, but the fact that they lacked agency doesn't just erase the wrong or mean it was never wrong in the first place. likewise, astarion becoming the ascended vampire is still obviously a terrible thing to happen for him and everyone else, and is in no way justified just because it might finally give him the sense of safety and control he craves. the whole point of that moment is that even when he is being retraumatised, when he has returned to the place and person that hurt him, astarion has the capacity to choose, and to choose the right thing. acting as though his trauma means he has absolutely no agency whatsoever and so never has to address the fact that he can, at various points, greatly fuck up, just removes one of the biggest themes of his whole character.

tldr: astarion has agency, one of his greatest challenges is realising that he does and that he must use it responsibly, and acting as though that is not the case does a disservice to his character and the story it is trying to tell. also it is deeply deeply boring. the end.

#bg3 #i logged into tumblr on my laptop to type this out instead of learning how to use a pivot table #hence the abrupt change in capitalising I #i keep going on about this because it's a general attitude towards trauma and mental illness that drives me completely up the wall #yes life is hard yeah you gotta take steps to make that better #yeah thats tricky. sorry. gotta be done though #anyway i could literally talk about this all day like. gale or lae'zel and agency is a WHOLE thing and i could rant about those two for day #but this is getting too long as it is #also obligatory disclaimer that this is in no way a commentary on anyone's gameplay #im not trying to do a 'omg if u ascend astarion you're a terrible horrible person forever' or anything #i think it's great and fun that you can do that and explore his character that way #this is directed at people who just try to make him like uwu traumatised little baby who has never had any agency ever #in his whole entire life #and so cannot be morally responsible for any action he has ever taken

[hecksupremechips]

Honestly though I think it’s really a bad sign when I look at Shin Tsukimi and literally feel like he’s a self insert 😩

#the klock keeps ticking #yttd #i wanna replay yttd so bad but i also like Gotta play other stuff with the time i have akskks #but yeah the brainrot this specific character has given me idk if I ever really talked about it but it was BAD #i like obsessively played the game in like 3 days and it was not a good idea lol but just like shin #i had to take like a week to recover from this guy cuz i couldnt stop thinking about him and how hes just like me fr #first off just the very inconsistent personality hes got going on that is very me he has these different personalities he wears to cope with #all the traumatic shit happening hes both so helpless its comical and so manipulative its terrifying #and idk its really interesting how like good and bad he is at being manipulative like hes very smart and can analyze weaknesses and lie so #good not even he knows the truth but hes also grasping at straws he doesnt think things through at all #like the second main game he just didnt prepare at all hes fumbling his way through everything its going so bad #he just wants to go home he wants to outdo the game makers but hes being used by them so bad he wants it to STOP #and its just the way that like. it hits so hard cuz you know hes really not a bad person not at all he doesnt want any of this hes just #being horribly manipulated and doing whatever he can to survive but its also really scary how #well hes able to lie and manipulate and claw his way through but hes also weaker than a grade schooler #and you never forget that either and as much as he cheated his way through he still failed it was all just a cheap trick in the end #and all of this hits very hard like his personality is eerily similar to mine and just the way he thinks and acts #cuz im the same like im weak and a dweeb who likes funny cats but im also emotionally detached and observant and selfish #but where it hits the hardest is his relationship with midori like oooof that one was too real just like #the first person who was ever his friend was horribly abusive and treated him like a child and didnt respect any boundaries #and he just got sick pleasure out of seeing shin be upset and he was like. a groomer #and shin was fucking relieved when he died but also kept his scarf and adopted his personality to survive #and still goes by sou after ch2 and the scene that gets me the most is when shin ai is asked about his relationship with midori #and you can just SEE how horrified shin is because his deepest shame his abuse is being shared to everyone without his consent #and hes reliving it all in that moment and literally seeing who he used to be experiencing the abuse #he just curls into himself and like covers his ears and pulls his hair thats literally what i do AAAAAA #im just so grateful for the direction they took this character kokichi ouma wishes he was shin tsukimi so bad #and yeah just like damn. its scary how similar i am to shin like damn i really am going through it huh oof #I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I WILL DEFEND HIM WITH MY LIFE HE DID ALL OF THAT STUFF YOUR HONOR BUT LISTENNNN #have you considered that hes cute and smart and weird and maybe just needs friends who arent assholes