#so having this strong of a connection for the first time in what feels like ever is something i hold onto if even too tightly
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
You utilized the exact same words i used with a friend when i was talking about this with them. I'm a very analytical person I don't put two man ( or any other couple actually ) together just because they are sexy and im not delulu, like i can tell when the story mean something or not, of course if I want to ship it i ship it in any case, but I'm mature enough to understand if something is meant or not because i do care about the canon events especially if they are well narrated. I saw this thing they have at the very first time, from act 1 Season 1 to act 3 Season 2 and Jayce's relationship with Mel actually helped me, who watched the series as an aroace person so i don't really know personally how love works lol, to understand what Jayce truly wanted. It was so, so obvious for me in Season 1 and Season 2 just confirmed Jayce's feelings, because the character himself realized them. He loved Mel, but because Mel is a Mirror, she reflects other people desires she...she was the reflection of Viktor. Jayce saw something of Viktor in her. These are not the eyes of someone in love who believes in their partner
And I choose these screenshots not to negate the fact Jayce felt genuine attraction for Mel (as i already said) but because these moments are moments of "tenderness" with your partner. But why are you so..distant? It's because Jayce unconsciously knew that Mel is not Viktor and she'll never could be but he still cares about her. And..well THESE are the eyes of someone in love, who believes in their partner knowing they want to stay by their side, for eternity at this point. Look how Jayce shines, AND in the very first time you can see the emotions in his eyes just talking to a stranger. Viktor gives him hope. Those eyes are so so intense when he's look at him
And the feeling is mutual, but Viktor is more subtle because he was so stucked on the belief he wasn't worth it...And then happened what happened. But even after all of that Jayce is here to remind him he's the most beautiful creature in the world in every sense possible, and he believed in him till the end. I really know what brotherly soulmates mean, it's like as you and another person were born from the same ovum, that strong connection between two twins and this is definitely NOT the case They are partners Science Partners Partners in crime Partners in love, with the difference their love it's expressed differently from simple kisses and carnal passion, they loves in their unique way that's why their relationship is so BEAUTIFUL There was no Kiss, not an "I love you" because those things are so..bland if you compare them to everything else, the touches, Jayce's words as you arleady said OP
And this for me, as for you OP, this makes Jayvik CANON And never won't change my mind because the voice actors believed in it. The animation team believed in it, because they showed us EXACTLY this type of love.
I know I'm most definitely not the first one to talk about this but truly I believe that if queer people identify with a ship/character then that makes them queer.
That being said, Viktor and Jayce are most definitely queer to me. Their love definitely defies the bounds of any normal "romantic" or "platonic" relationship and that in itself is inherently queer. Defying societies expectations of a given role, like, how is that not queer?
It genuinely baffles me that it's claimed they're "brotherly" because there are WAYS to code brotherly dynamics, or really close friends, without romantic undertones at all! That's possible, and those relationships are present in arcane! So why is it that Jayce and Viktor feels so queer? because they fucking are! You have to think, one person who worked on arcane does not define a relationship that has been worked on by a shit ton of other people. Their relationship is queer coded even if unintentional, it is there. and when characters are queer coded, they ARE queer.
Jayces confession was such a beautiful way to show his love for Viktor, they don't have to kiss, or explicitly say "love" for that to be the implication. It's there. half the people who watched that scene thought they were going to kiss. there's a reason for that! I hate pulling out the argument "what if one of them was a woman?" but sometimes you genuinely have to use that argument because SO many people would be on board if Jayce or Viktor was a woman and the other was a man.
Jayce is genuinely so devoted to him and it's so so clear the entire time! Because yeah! He chose to go through that with Viktor! He chose to hold him by the neck and hold hands with him! Because he loves him! That is true love no matter the intent! He loves everything about Viktor and never once did he falter in that love because it was such a big part of him!!!!! Like I cannot imagine watching the Finale and not coming out of it like "Jayvik is canon" because to me it is canon. like. legitimately canon. and I will be referring to it as canon because that's how I see it.
Okay thanks for listening to my thoughts lol I love queer relationships in media
#Arcane#Jayvik#SORRY FOR THE WALL TEXT I WAS SO INVESTED AND I WANTED TO EXPAND YOUR WORDS#for me it's a really a pure demostration of love what they have#gottago cry again lol
657 notes
·
View notes
Text
what's december looking like for you? (pick-a-card reading)
1 -> 2
3 -> 4
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
(how to pick a card? observe the given options and choose the one which you feel the most drawn to. select the card based on the number provided below and scroll down to read about the card you have chosen. remember, this is a general reading, so take what resonates! ps.- if you feel drawn to more than one card/image/pile, feel free to read the others too!! if the chosen pile doesn't relate to you, feel free to choose another. the choice is yours<3)
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
⊹₊⋆ pile 1
there seems to be some sort of conflict you might face and mainly, i'm getting the message here that it will be regarding your family or work. someone might reach out for financial help and you might have doubts whether to help this person or not. you might feel trapped and might feel like there is no other option but to help this person because they might be someone who is close to you. but the choice is yours. if you feel like helping this person will benefit you, go for it. if helping this person only causes you harm, i suggest you retreat. i see that you might need to make this decision quickly because sooner the better. your decision to help this person might shape your coming future. and for some of you, im seeing that you might be going out on a trip or there is some change in your environment because i'm getting a lot of ‘movement’ energy too.
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
✦ . ⁺ pile 2
i'm getting a message that you might have recently (or will) cut out ties with someone and hence, there is a lot of arguments between this person or the people connected with this person. you are someone who is calm and responsible and always thinks about the future, but this person has brought you down and has limited your potential. i'm also sensing that for some of you there might have been (or will be) a disagreement in your workplace and hence you might feel tied down and might feel like people are against your ideas or vision. but whatever or however people might view you, you know your true self and you know what's best for you. whatever your plan is, stand with it because i see you winning and proving people wrong. i also see a period of self-reflection and growth. don't be surprised if new opportunities - in terms of work or romance - will come your way.
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
٠࣪⭑꩜.ᐟ pile 3
so the first thing im getting right off the bat here is that you might have been manifesting something for a very long time. and be prepared because it's going to become true! you're someone who is powerful and independent and i see that you've built yourself to be where you are right now. im getting a lot of feminine energy here so if you're a woman, hi there! you've just created the life you manifested!! literally so happy for you!!! you deserve the good things that are coming your way and you have worked hard for it. you have great discipline and determination and that has helped you climb the ladder. i see you growing emotionally and i see a lot of happiness. your angles and the universe is paying you back for all the good things you've done!! also, flowers seem to play a significant role here. maybe someone might get you flowers or maybe you're into gardening. or maybe you just need to buy flowers for yourself as a reward haha! i see sunflowers and roses so keep this in mind. maybe whenever you see them it might mean something to you or it might indicate that good things - or better even, because the good things are already here - are coming your way. im also getting a strong fire sign energy, especially aries (not sure why). also, you might be living in a place where birds are not seen so often? so if you see a bird - especially a crow or an eagle - it might mean something. i see a lot of warmth and happiness in your life and i see you guys moving forward. i also see a child here. maybe some of you might have kids or are trying to conceive. if this resonates then i see satisfaction and fulfilment.
im so happy for you pile 3, you deserve this!<3
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
𓇼 ���.˚ pile 4
oh, wow pile 4! i see that you will be presented with many opportunities regarding work and romance. you might be meeting someone new. if you are in a relationship, i see that you and your partner might take things to the next level - marriage! (if you are looking forward to it). or if you're in a talking stage, i see that you might connect on a deeper level with this person. i also see financial growth and i see that you might be making a lot of impulsive decisions and might invest in materialistic things without thinking too much, but the cards are telling me that you might need to contemplate before spending your money so lavishly. only invest in things that are important and save the rest for the future. this is a very important time for you in terms of finances. i see you will be doing well, but be mindful while purchasing anything. also, if you have been contemplating on an idea or a start-up, it's the perfect time to execute it and take it forward!! im also sensing strong leo energy here.
˚ ✦ . . ˚ . . ✦
hi loves!! i hope this reading finds you in good health and i hope you are doing well. take care of yourself and i will see you in my next reading. thank you for being here<3
(note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!)
#tarot#tarot reading#free tarot#tarot blog#tarotblr#tarotcommunity#tarotonline#tarot cards#tarotista#tarot journal#tarot deck#daily tarot#pick a tarot#tarot pac#tarot pick a card#tarotdaily#tarotoftheday#pick a picture#pick a card#pick a crystal#pick a deck#pick a number#pick a photo#pick a pile#pick a reading#pick an image#pac reading
237 notes
·
View notes
Text
Random Astro Theory’s
🔭I have a theory that Saturn's influence on relationships doesn’t necessarily mean someone will marry later; in fact, it could indicate the opposite. In the charts of some people I know, I’ve observed that when Saturn is in Cancer aspecting Venus or in the 7th house, there tends to be a strong focus on long-term, serious relationships that can lead to marriage. These individuals prioritize stable, equal partnerships, and while they might be late bloomers, once the time is right, they are committed for real. This could also apply to someone with a Venus-Jupiter aspect in Cancer or Cancer in the 7th house, who might even experience family-arranged marriages or similar situations."
🔭Plutonic Synastry/Composite isn’t about love in the way we typically think of it—it’s about transformation through intensity. It's like entering a vortex that forces you to confront the deepest parts of yourself. This connection is a catalyst for deep inner work. You get caught in this whirlwind, feeling that intoxicating rush of what seems like love, but it’s really more of a temporary trap that pushes you to face everything you’ve been avoiding. It’s like a snake that slides unnoticed through your at first, suddenly strikes with a sharp, unexpected bite. The sting feels like betrayal—like you’ve been deceived or hurt, and the trust you once had is shattered. But that venom coursing through your veins? Its something that you needed, even if it feels like it’s killing you in the moment. The poison is your awakening, forcing you to face your deepest fears and wounds.The process is messy and painful. It’s like being in a pressure-cooked cocoon, where the heat of it all brings everything to the surface. All the things you didn’t want to deal with fear, trauma, insecurities come pouring out. But once it’s all released, you are left with a new self, one that’s been purged, cleansed, and rebuilt from the ashes. You come out stronger, more self-aware, and ready to take on the world, like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon. 🦋🦋🦋
🔭I feel like Gemini and Pisces are similar in the way they’re often disliked or called "flip-floppy" or "fake" due to how broad, diverse, and unrestricted their worlds are. For Gemini, ruled by the twins, they don’t just have one way of doing things; it’s always split into multiple opinions, perspectives, and options. Whether it’s the information they share, the people in their lives, or even their choices in food, clothes, or money, they will figure things out in different ways. It’s easy for them to get bored and restless if something doesn’t stimulate their mind or offer something new, which is why they can quickly drop things, change their minds, or shift their personalities. So, if a Gemini flips on you, it’s usually because they’re bored.
As for Pisces they often don’t know themselves fully they just know that their reality is more fantasy, where they can take different forms, shape-shift, and be whoever they want. Because of their vivid imagination and deep sensitivity, they easily adapt to their environment, people, or situations, but often only if it serves their so-called limerence or false reality. Once that illusion is cracked and no longer meets their expectations, they can easily disengage or withdraw."
🔭Venus conjunct Chiron is a placement that gives someone a pure heart and soul when it comes to relationships and connections. These individuals have a unique way of accepting, nurturing, and understanding others in a meaningful, deep way. They’ve been hurt and betrayed many times, often feeling inferior. Most of the time, they've gone through a difficult, painful phase in life, only to suddenly transform into something beautiful, like a swan emerging from the struggle. They are often misunderstood and incredibly adorable, yet carry an air of quiet strength. People with this placement tend to crave love but often feel unworthy of it, which can lead them to attract unbalanced or unequal relationships. Despite the hardship and challenges they face, they possess an incredible capacity for forgiveness and empathy for others. There's a special allure or charm they exude that effortlessly draws people in. Over time, their biggest lesson will be to learn to value themselves first, to feel whole without relying on external validation whether that’s money, beauty, or luxury so that they can attract the right kind of people into their lives. In doing so, they also teach others how to do the same.
🔭Chiron doesn’t necessarily mean that you will suffer in one specific area of life forever. Since Chiron orbits between Saturn and Uranus, it takes on qualities from both planets. Saturn is about longevity, hard work, and the lessons we learn through persistence. As such, Chiron's energy can be challenging, especially in the beginning. It brings harsh and painful lessons that are meant to help us grow as individuals. However, the pain and suffering tend to lessen over time as we gain wisdom, knowledge, and maturity traits associated with Saturn. If someone doesn’t reach a certain level of enlightenment or growth, the cycle can repeat in the same, difficult way, as Saturn teaches us that growth comes through effort and time. But just like in the example above, there’s the potential for a breakthrough with every Chiron placement. These breakthroughs can be sudden and drastic, unlocking an evolution in our consciousness and allowing us to integrate healing in this life.
🔭The Midheaven (MC) shows how people perceive you when they first meet you, not how they view you over time. The 10th house, which contains the MC, is the highest point in the birth chart. Initially, people will see the energy of your MC placement, but as they get to know you better, they can start to appreciate the traits of your 1st house, Ascendant, or Sun sign.
Example: I have Capricorn on my 10th house/MC, conjunct Mars, opposite Saturn.
The Comments: "You look mean, you have resting bitch face, you seem so closed off, I didn’t know you could be nice." These are some of the first impressions I hear when people describe how they first saw me. I also get a lot of comments about my body and face being beautiful, but despite that, people don’t tend to like me right away. And honestly, I kind of get why.
🔭The negative expression of Neptune can be described in just few words in correlation to the planets :
Absence , disillusionment, deception of…
Sun: your Dad
Moon: your Mum
Venus: your Man/Woman
Mercury: your Perception
Mars: your Power and Will
Jupiter: your Beliefs
Saturn: your Limitation
Uranus: your Freedom
Pluto: your Control and Obsession
ASC: one Self
MC: your Public image
~•Milliy•~
191 notes
·
View notes
Text
Minrathous versus Treviso
I keep seeing posts from both sides of this about how it feels like it's unfairly stacked, particularly in terms of how your companions react to this choice.
But here's the thing, the choices are not a 1:1 parallel so it makes sense that the consequences are not a 1:1 split between Neve or Lucanis.
If you choose to not save Minrathous, the consequences are more intimate. The biggest hit, from a game play perspective while not factoring in companions reactions, is which merchant you have available to you. In the short time I had them during my first playthrough, I was far more attached to the Shadow Dragon's shop keep and her look-out than I ever got in the entirety of my Crows playthrough. You get to hear her story of how she survived the Fifth Blight. And she's not the only backstory you get like this. Much of the early game play in Minrathous is meeting individuals, Neve's contacts, her friends, past clients. It's a person to person connection.
But when you don't come to save them, the Shadow Dragons as an organization are dead. The Viper is blighted, those individuals you've met are either dead, dying, or have gone to ground. I teared up when I found out the merchant's fate. Neve's says her apartment is gone. The Threads move in. Mass hanging. But for the city itself, while it certainly needs restoration and repair, the core of the crisis affecting it is that it's now, essentially, under Venatori occupation, something that Treviso has already been dealing with. There is Blight, and it for sure affects the poor disproportionately, but it's not a universal constant for everyone.
Whereas, if you choose not to save Treviso, it doesn't feel as if you take as big of a hit in terms of beloved NPC's. Viago, Teia, Jacobus are all still alive and as I said, I personally never felt a strong connection to the Crows merchant. And as an organization, the Crows will survive this. Treviso is but one branch of the Crows and they'll recover from this. The intimate, person to person connections loss doesn't feel as large in terms of how they effect your story beats.
But Treviso is dead. They blighted the water of a city that's mainly on water. This will hit everyone, regardless of their station. It will not discriminate, it will kill everyone still there eventually. This is a case of a city full of the walking dead who just haven't fallen over yet. The health and mortality rate will plummet. The birth rate will plummet. They were used to occupation, but how do you fight an occupation within your own body?
Now, in terms of your companions reactions, I'm not factoring in the long term outcomes of the cities post-game or even mid-game as you work to help them. This is just to look at their immediate reactions and the game play mechanics as a result of this decision branch.
To me it makes sense that you get locked out of Lucanis' romance and not Neve's because of the long term realities they are facing. What is directly affecting Neve is raw grief. Those were the people she knew and they're gone now. But ultimately, she knows that those deaths are not on your hands and while it takes a while before she can trust you again, she heals from the grief and pain from the loss of life. Versus Lucanis who just sees the long branching consequences of what has happened to Treviso and knows that he warned you. He warned you that Antiva had no standing military and now his city is dead. And this isn't even factoring in all his personal stuff which canonically he tries to keep you away from him if you do fully romance him. The loss of his city is just the last straw needed to fully shut him down. There's just too much to deal with.
(As for Neve/Lucanis, I think that choice plays more into Lucanis' personal hang ups rather than the Minrathous vs. Treviso choice and this post is very specifically about the cities, not Lucanis' issues).
Now, it's fine if you wish to have that perfect 1:1 consequences comparison when choosing between one or the other. I personally don't like that approach when it comes to things like this because it feels like the writers didn't put deep thought into how this would affect the characters and instead were looking at just how to make it match perfectly and hand wave any characterization that doesn't fit their game mechanics.
But it is my personal opinion that I think it's unfair to say that it feels like a bug or lazy writing or unfinished when to me it feels like the opposite. It feels like they actually looked at the characters, looked at the big picture, and put thought into how this would play out, even if it meant it might tip one way or another. That's a sign of writing staying true to the characters rather than cave in the name of game mechanics.
#da4#da4 spoilers#lucanis dellamorte#neve gallus#dragon age the veilguard#veilguard spoilers#da: the veilguard#dragon age veilguard#da spoilers#da veilguard#treviso#minrathous#dragon age#datv#datv spoilers#shadow dragons#antivan crows#Sara you better not be looking until you get to this point in the game...#my things
117 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader
Tags/Warnings: +18, fingering, pussy slapping, degradation, language, dirty talk.
It was common to find yourself in this position, but even so the sensations were still as strong as the first time
“Yeah, that’s it, honey. Be a good little slut for me.” He continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, your hands holding tightly to his knees as your ass rubbed against his clothed cock from the movement. “Do you want to be a good fucking girl for me? Start by taking this.”
You moaned as you watched his fingers move quickly, trying hard not to roll your eyes as you held on to him as best you could.
“Ben-”
“Tsk, tsk, honey. You know what to call me.”
You nodded your head. You felt stupid for forgetting, but let’s be honest… You were stupid, and you could thank him and his magical fingers for that.
“Soldier Boy.”
“Atta girl.” He placed a wet kiss on your cheek as his movements didn’t stop.
His fingers going in and out of your pussy made you feel dizzy. Rubbing against your folds over and over again at incredible speed and at a pace that made you think you might explode.
“You should see yourself now. So fucking high on my fingers that you look like a fucking zombie.”
His words only made you clench around him more often, something you suspected he already knew, because he just couldn’t close his big fucking mouth.
“Bet you’d do anything I asked, huh?” He spread two fingers inside you like scissors, causing you to mewl his superhero name (you wouldn’t forget it again). “If I asked you to get on your fucking knees on the rough floor and choke on my cock you would do it, right?” When he didn’t get a response he removed his fingers from you and hit your clit with two of them. “Answer me, slut!”
“Y-yes!” You grabbed his wrist, wanting him to put his fat fingers inside your pussy again.
“So stupid ‘cause my fingers, huh?” He mumbled into your hair. “But this is nothing compared to what I’ll do to you with my thick cock.” He said before shoving four fingers inside you at once and returning to his previous pace.
“Oh, fu-” He was right. You were so stupid for him and his fucking fingers that you couldn’t even finish talking.
Your eyes rolled back, your arousal running down the inside of your thighs as his pace didn’t stop. The thought that he could calmly kill you with his actions crossed your mind, but was quickly dismissed when he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth. Your heart stopped as you saw a glimpse of his tongue wrap around his fingers before he closed his mouth around them.
He hummed at your taste and withdrew his fingers, a thread of saliva that connecting his mouth to them.
“And to think that some time ago I had thought about murdering you. And here we are, the taste of you on my tongue and your fucking brain melted by my fingers.” He murmured mockingly without taking his eyes off his fingers, almost as if he were analyzing your taste as if it were wine.
You licked your lips, feeling dry, and shifted uncomfortably. The position you two were in might have been comfortable if it weren’t for what you were doing.
“What’s wrong, baby?” He returned his gaze to you. “Do you need to have my thick, wet fingers inside you again?”
He slowly moved his fingers down your body (too slow for your liking) and began to rub your clit gently.
“You got it, doll.”
He put his fingers inside you again and slowly returned to his previous rhythm as your pussy pulsed around his fingers and sucked them like you would his cock.
“As soon as you come like the little dirty slut you are, you’ll return the fucking favor.”
Join My Tag List
@yjessi @s7nburn @tommysaxes @rxouxcesss @deaniemyboo @mrs-nesmith @jackles010378 @ineffable-moons @ailishnovak @dilfsandmartinis @cravemeintellectually @montyrokz
#soldier boy x y/n#fanfic#jensen ackles#jensen ackles smut#soldier boy x you#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy smut#soldier boy#soldier boy x female reader#the boys x you#the boys x y/n#the boys#the boys fanfic#the boys tv#the boys series#the boys amazon#jensen ackles characters#fanfiction
141 notes
·
View notes
Text
❝a storm to remember❞
☾︎✰❛❀ Aemond Targaryen x Fem! Reader
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: As the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and the heir to the iron throne, you are sent to stormlands as your brother to Winterfell, to create allies when you are met with him. Aemond Targaryen, your childhood enemy.
𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of violence and threats, kissing, childhood friends to enemies to lovers trope, minor injuries and blood.
🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: He is my guilty pleasure, man who serves face while doing the shittiest things ever aka killing. This is my first Aemond fic ever, so I hope it's not too bad, and I would love writing advices or tips in my asks or messages, so feel free to send any.
The winds were soothing, although getting heavier as Stormlands grew closer. Your one hand on the rope, and the other touching along your dragon's raspy and rather itchy skin. You sighed, as the thought of having to negotiate with Borris Baratheon, who didn't hold a single regard for your mother or any woman for that matter.
You remember your mother's words; no fighting. No bloodshed. It had made you feel strange, as though there could be a need for it. You bit your lip as the dark castle came into view, with dark clouds forming already. You did not have a good feeling about this. But you couldn't disappoint your mother either, as the heir no less. You had to fight for your birthright, which Aegon took.
A strain coming to your head at the tactics of your dragon, who wanted to fly into circles as you had taught her. She wanted to have fun, not knowing this might be the most crucial occasion of your life. When you tried calling out to her, telling her to get down to some place where you could land, she refused. She was being erratic. With a few attempts at pulling the rope, she finally complied.
“Lykiri, Tessarion.” you say, as your dragon flies lower to the ground, to make a decent landing. You smiled as she grunted, in some annoyance. She always was stubborn, and it took some time to command her.
You wondered how much time it would take Jace to reach Winterfell, a part of you was envious. You wanted to be the one to see the North, yet he was the one who got to truly see it. ‘Borros was harder to convince’, as your mother said, how she needed someone with experience in that area. How it was your job as the eldest. Sometimes you felt it was a burden rather than a privilege, being heir to the iron throne. You don't know if you even deserve it, considering who your father is; your blood father. Laenor will always be your only father to you, the one who taught you how to sit on a dragon, or the great sea snake stories.
Hate, was what you used to feel when those rumours started reaching your ears. Of your parentage. Of your mother's king's guard, ser Harwin Strong. You did whatever you could to get away from those, from him. You didn't like it, he acted much closer to your mother than a mere guard should. And jace and luke being young, didn't see it as a problem. Even looked up to him. But you didn't. You felt so humiliated, that such low born could be your father, you—the heir, you, ser Laenor's true born daughter, as you tried convincing yourself again and again.
You didn't want to be a mutt, a bastard.
Harwin Strong tried connecting with you on many levels, but you denied all of them. You didn't even want to be near him, let alone speak with him. Flaunting your power and acting very rudely whenever he wanted to make conversation. You still remember the sadness in his eyes, as you told your king's guard to take him out of your sight. A filth, you called him. All out of insecurity.
That was the last time you saw him.
And now, all you had was Jacaerys's fond memories of him, nothing more. You wonder if you had cared to hear him out even once, what would he have said?
Shaking off the terrifying thought, you open your locks on the belt on your waist, slowly getting down. The storm had prevailed, with rain pouring down your black and red polish coat. You squint your eyes, trying to see better amidst the heavy rainfall. Tessarion let out a wail of joy, she loved rain. Given her so very nickname, the blue queen. After her blue scales and orange wings. That's when you heard a growl, a heavy one. That could only come out of a large dragon.
Your eyes widened, seeing the sight of that dragon.
Vhagar.
Which could only mean he was here.
“A letter from the queen.” you say, hesitantly as still processing the fact who you were to face very soon. The men guarding the castle nodded, letting you in. It felt like a dark cloud over you, as you entered. The black walls and steel throne, with Lord Borros sitting quite comfortably. You knew he was there, swiftly standing with a smirk, you didn't even want to face him.
“Princess Y/N Velaryon” one of the guards announced, “daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”
You gulp, “Lord Borros, I have brought you a message.” you make sure to add, “from the queen.” he raises his eyebrows, “Yet earlier this day I received an envoy from the king. Which is it, king or queen?”
Your skin shivered as you felt Aemond's eyes constantly on you—not once did his gaze move. You remember when there was a time, a good time, in childhood, when Aemond was your closest companion. You both were around the same age, both quiet, wise, and mature. And you both lacked a dragon at the age all Targaryen children have one. You used to always defend him against the teasing of Aegon and your siblings, scolding Jace and Luke whenever they hurt Aemond's feelings. You remember how you pushed a hair out of Aemond's eyes, after the pig prank, kissing his cheek gently, promising him that he won't go without a dragon in his lifetime. How you had seen that for him.
Alas, after the driftmark incident, you didn't know who to defend, your brothers, or his taken eye. All you knew was that after you had moved to dragonstone, all talked bad of him, and with time, you started believing them.
“The house of the dragon doesn't seem to know who rules it.” Lord Borros sneered mockingly, as you clenched your fists. This was not at all how you planned it. “What's your mother's message, girl?”
You handed the envoy to one of his guards wordlessly, as Lord Borros—unable to read, called for his Mastor. Aemond Targaryen, wasn't a person you once remembered, you once loved. In a way your family would never approve. And you fear you still hold those feelings after all this time. You wonder what your mother would say, your brothers? if they knew the ways of your heart.
“Remind me? of my father's oath?” he says, sounding very offended.
At the corner of your eye, you could see Aemond smirking, as if he already won the bid. It infuriated you, as your hands curled up around your sword tightly.
“King Aegon at least came with an offer! my swords and banners for a marriage pact.” he continues, as you close your eyes in contrast to stop Aemond's winning stare on you, “now if I do as your mother bids, which one of my daughters will your brothers marry?”
Before you could answer, he speaks again, “—or which one of my sons will you marry?”
Your mouth gaped, as his voice sounded so excited and thrilled, as if he was already imagining having Targaryen grand children. Especially when they could be potentially heirs to the iron throne. You grimaced, a picture of his sons, same as him, fat, bearded and a wild lust, came into your mind and it disgusted you. Aemond looked surprised, straying away from his smirking face. His lips had fallen down to a glare, fist tightening.
You cleared your throat, “My brothers are not available to marry my lord, they're already betrothed to another.”
He nodded as if uninterested, looking for a different answer. Eager to know about you. His head peaked forward in question, a one you didn't want to answer; whether you'll bore his sons children or not. You were just seventeen, and even if westeros considered that to be a grown woman—you were still a young girl. And believed to be as well.
“As for me” you took a breath, “I will have to discuss it with the queen. She shall consider your offer.”
“Hmm” you heard Aemond's voice, glancing at him just for a second. This was wrong, this was so wrong. Not at all how you envisioned. He had to ruin everything, didn't he? now you had to go home with a rejection, while Jace would come with more support of armies.
Everything was a mess.
“So you come with empty hands?” Borros says, angered. You sighed, ready to mount back on your dragon and fly the rest of the way in self pity. “Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the lord of storm's end is not some dog that she can whistle up in need to set against her foes.”
Your jaw clenches, in disappointment “I shall take your answer to the queen, my lord.”
This was indeed, a failure. You failed to prove as the heir to the iron throne that you were capable. Especially because you are a girl. You needed to show it, to your mother and to everyone else, that you can take on that responsibility as well as any king. All because of him. It was his fault, and he sure looked proud. You hated this, hated his cunning smile, his swift posture, his one purple eye and oh, him. Everything you hoped you could achieve, he destroyed it for you.
He sure hated you; that was evident.
“Wait”
You hear Aemond, as you halt in your steps while turning back to the gates, “My lady strong.”
Your eyes widen, “What did you say?” he knew it, how to get in your skin. The dinner, with insults about your heritage, calling your brothers strong that resulted in a fight. It was exhausting, what did he want now? after all this time.
“You heard me.” he tilts his head, “did you really think, you could fly around the realm, trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?”
A bitter laugh escapes your lips, which makes him furrow his eyebrows. “Your brother's throne? or rather, Aegon the usurper's?”
“I would mind my tongue if I were you, my lady.”
You bit your lip, his audacity, after all he had done, to remind you of your place. As if he ranked higher than you? A beat passed by, tension thick in the air. Neither of you were looking at each other, waiting for the other to make the move. As if it was a chess board, with the winner taking all. A verbal battle. Aemond finally broke the silence.
“So you're here to usurp my brother's throne then?” he spoke with a calming chill, seeing as your eyes turned into anger, “Traitors.” he mumbled in his breath.
You control every urge to grab his collar and hit him across his face, “I am in haste. Is there something you want from me, prince Aemond?”
His head lies low and a dangerous glint comes in his eyes. You gulped, unknowing where he was about to go with this. He had changed ever since Luke had done it. Taken his eye. Somewhere, you didn't blame him. It was true that none of your brothers ever got punished for what happened, a result of your mother being the obviously favoured child. He was angry, at Luke—at you, that nothing happened. Everything was complicated; but, not unsalvagable. After you returned to king's landing, you tried everything to be nice with Aemond, to be civil, for the least. Alas, he denied all of them.
“Yes, there is something I want.” he looks up, eyes cold, “something that was stolen from me not long ago.”
A hitch escapes your lips, “Aemond—”
“You know..” he cuts you off, stepping a little forward towards your direction, “I always wished for your brother to know, what it feels like, to experience such a pain. To have your eye carved out by Valaryan steel, hmm. Unfortunately, now that he isn't here, I'll have to make him learn some other way. What it feels to have an eye cut out, or rather, a loved one's eye cut out.”
There was just the slightest bit of emotion flash in his eyes, pool of stars, in agony yet so beautiful. Your breathing becomes heavy, as you start to fear for your life. Your hands slowly pulled out your sword.
“I will not fight you.”
You intended to sound harsh, but your voice came out more of a tremble. Aemond and your relationship had gone down the drain, you knew that. Yet, was he really willing and capable of wanting to cripple you? had he started to hold such hatred for you? did he truly forget all the best memories he and you made together. He was acting like you were a stranger to him, that he did not care for your being. Even the mere thought of that sends a bitter taste in your mouth.
“Fight would be little challenge.” his voice is hoarse and cold, “No. I want you to put out your eye.”
A small gasp leaves your mouth when he pulls out his eye patch, a blue emerald stone in the place of his lost eye. He looked so very, beautiful, you thought. Majestic and soft. As even after such an attack on his face, he was born to look gorgeous, no matter what. For a moment you became oblivious to what he was demanding, staring in a trance like state. He was the epitome of Targaryen beauty, tall and long haired, pale skin with features that could start wars between great houses. Your heart fluttered and your throat became dry, unable to form any kind of answer. Aemond did not seem to notice, as he only held a sour and blank look in his eyes.
You only snapped back when he spoke again, “As a payment for mine.”
“No, I will not.” your voice is low, but clearly he heard it since something changed in his expression. He was angry. An emotion he hardly showed ever since the accident.
“Then you are a coward as well as a traitor.”
“You can't be serious ab—”
“Give me your eye!” he shouts all of a sudden and starts to walk towards you with rage, “or I will take it!”
You frantically back away, pulling out your sword on impulse. The guards coming in to shield you, as lord Borros stands up, saying something about wanting to have no such ‘bloodshed’ beneath his roof. You barely hear him over your own beating heart, fear taking over every one of your survival instincts. He orders for you to be escorted back to your dragon, as Aemond watches you exit the doomed castle. The rain has worsened, your clothes, that had been a little dried up, now went back to being wet again. You push your hair out of your eyes, raising a hand to itch your neck. Your hair was long, so it irritated your skin whenever they were soaked with rain or water.
But all you could think about was what had happened inside, his eyes, his face, all his hatred for you. Did he really want to send you harm? or was he faking? your gaze turned to the side, expecting the giant green beast yet, Vhagar was nowhere to be seen. You started to panic, if Aemond had already flown away, it could only mean two possibilities. He went back to king's landing, or he was awaiting to do something much worse. The latter scared you.
You walked towards Tessarion, her dark and orange eyes bored into your figure, wings flapping in excitement. You sigh, slowly getting on top of her and adjusting your straps.
“Sōvēs, Tessarion.”
She hears your command and swiftly takes out into the sky. She was futile and fast, if you were careful enough, you both would be able to make it to dragonstone with no harm done. Besides, rain, was her element of sheer power. You squint your eyes, rubbing water out of them as a few minutes had passed by, the storm nowhere to be stopping anytime soon. All you could hear was the flapping of her wings and the heavy rainfall that held out the dark clouds. It didn't matter anymore of Lord Borros's rejection, he couldn't be any more reliable than he already is. Besides, if you could reach your home safely, without the presence of a one eyed prince, that would be more than victory enough.
However wrong had the universe been out there to prove you.
As you were about to loosen your tight ropes, with a newfound relief—a snarl disrupts you. You looked back to see the giant mouth of the big monster in the name of a dragon, coming up towards you. Instantly you yelped, pulling the ropes sideways to avoid getting eaten. You can hear Aemond's malicious laughs, he was enjoying this. You let out a cry for help, struggling to keep hold of your now panicked dragon, as Vhagar flew around you, mouth wide open.
The rain was making it quite difficult to see, as Aemond chased you down.
Vhagar's giant claws kept trying to cut you and Tessarion, as Aemond began to mumble things in high valaryan, something you could not hear due to your panic and wanting to steer away from him and his beast. You tugged on the leash, pulling her away to the left. You knew Vhagar had a hard time with turning around, and it would buy you some time. His laugh, so cruel and emotionless, he was out to kill you. That was unquestionable. You had to get away from them, instead of processing how your childhood best friend, and the man you loved, could become the reason for your death.
A cannon appeared in your sight, and you quickly flew into the narrow path in between it. Aemond could only follow you from the above, waiting for you to come out.
“Jemēla gēlȳni enkā! Taobi!” You hear him shout, an unexpected emotion and anger in his voice. You owe a debt? No, you didn't. You did not take his eye, or tease and bully him all those years ago. In fact, you were the one who defended him. And he thinks you are the reason for his lost eye?
“For the god's sake stop this Aemond!” you shout, a whimper coming out of you. Tears running down, “please.”
Somehow, at that Aemond's demeanor softened. It looked like he was over playing with you. But your dragon wasn't done with him, instead, Tessarion disobeyed your own commands, flew out the cannon and let out a massive fire at Vhagar's face. Something that didn't do much damage. You cursed, as she shrieked in pain when you harshened the ropes to make her listen. Aemond was going through the same situation, yelling out every command in high valaryan to stop, but his dragon was angered. That's when you were remembered of your grandfather's words, the idea that we control the dragons, is an illusion.
“No Vhagar! No!” was the last thing you heard from him, before his dragon grabbed your coat with its claws, losing the balance off the seat, you screamed as you fell off. The height was above the clouds, and in nowhere will you be to survive.
Until the ocean hit your body, and you blacked out.
Rain droplets on your eyes irritated you, as you could still feel it was raining. Not as hard as before, but still. Slowly blinking, you open your eyes. You found yourself laying on top of some concrete—more over rocks and tiny stones.
A sharp pain hits you, as you realise you were having a hard time getting up.
“Ouch!” you hiss, as blood comes out of your forehead and possibly from your ribcage. With minor cuts and bruises on the tip of your fingers and lips. You were too focused on your injuries, without noticing the very familiar presence by your side. “Don't get up, or it will make whatever injuries you have received worse.”
You gasp as his voice speaks out, swiftly turning and locking your eyes with the very man who was at fault for you being here in the first place. Aemond stood a few feet away, with Vhagar a little further up. An alarm went inside you, what was he doing here? was he here to finish what he started? give you a slow and painful death? and moreover, where was your dragon?
“T—Tessarion?” you manage to whisper, the pain worsening at that. Frantically looking around. Aemond reassured, “That bundle of blue is fine, probably lurking around and searching for you.”
He tries to get closer to you, to which you quickly shift away, wincing in pain at the rocks grazing your bloodied back. “Get the fuck away from me!” you say, as you pull out your sword. Hands shakily holding it.
His eyes weakened, as if a guilt was forming in his throat. His lips parted, but nothing came out. You heard your dragon's roars, she was close somewhere. You bit your lip to suppress the pain, refusing to cry in front of him. The rain didn't leave mercy on you, as it continued to fall. You were soaked, both from the storm and possible blood by scars and fractures. If you didn't get help, you could die in a very slow way, taking around seven to nine days. Perhaps faster by starvation or dehydration—or by his very sword. You didn't know which was worse.
“Y/N..” Aemond breathes out, “I—I didn't intend to cause this.”
That was the first time in years, he spoke your name. Only your name, no titles or formality. It was raw. You didn't answer, not knowing what to make of the whole ordeal. At first he was chasing you around like a mad man, and the next minute he was apologizing for almost killing you. You tried getting back up your feet, but winced at the sheer pain that came with it.
“Let me help you or—”
“No!” you immediately shake your head, pointing your sword further towards him.
In no world will you weaken your guard, let him get close to your body only for him to deceive you and strangle you to death. Or cut your throat with that small knife of his. You didn't know why he hadn't done that already? you were blacked out for almost ten minutes, he could have easily killed you with no difficulty. What did he even want? if not to kill you then why did he do all this?
“Y/N, let me help. Falling into the ocean at such speed is the same as falling in concrete ground. If not worse.”
“You tried to kill me! why would I ever trust you?”
He falls silent at that. Unexpectedly so. You bit your lip, struggling to keep up the strong facade with all the pain masking behind it. You didn't know how much longer you would be able to keep your sword pointed at him. Your dragon is far away and no one is here to possibly protect you against Aemond and his giant beast.
“I didn't want to kill you,” he says, his voice faltering from the rain that had now soaked his entire clothes and hair, “Only scare you.”
“Well you did more than that” you bite back, a bitterness in your tone. He scoffs, “Maybe, if your young and wild dragon hadn't leashed fire on mine, this wouldn't have happened.”
A baffled scoff of your own comes out of you, in disbelief, “Oh so this is—this is my fault?”
“Precisely.”
“Fuck you!” you spat, your throat burning up at the yell. Your condition was getting worse by the minute, and Aemond noticed that. He inhaled a deep breath, preparing himself before matching up to you. You yelped as he reached over you, pulling your arms in order to get you up, but struggling as you put up a fight. You wince at the pain of getting on your feet, eventually giving up as he held on to you firmly, his hands of your waist.
You sigh, so tired like all the blood and mass from your body was being drained. You feel his eyes on you, worried as his breath was ragged. If you weren't on the brink of death, you might have realised you liked this feeling. But that moment is gone as soon as it came, you push Aemond away, roughly. This is your enemy. Not your protector.
“Y/N—”
“What do you want?!” you interrupted him, shouting amidst the heavy rainfall soaking both your breaths. “You threaten me, almost kill me, and then help me when it was you who put me in this position in the first place. I don't understand why you are here if you don't want to kill me! what other reason is there for you to do what you have done ever since I landed here?”
Aemond becomes silent, any words he could speak refused to come out. He looks at you hard, before taking his eyes off you, his jaw clenched. You were frustrated now, you wanted the answer. You needed it. He can't just ignore you after all this.
“Tell me. Why?” you inquire, again. When he doesn't answer, you furiously walk towards him, pushing his chest as he stumbles back a bit. “Why—”
“Because you didn't do anything!” he finally breaks, his voice was surprisingly inflamed with a touch of vulnerability.
You blink your eyes, taken aback, “what?”
“You...” Aemond breathes, willing himself to say those words he never wanted to say, jaw clenching, “You were my friend. My dearest one. Yet, when your brother took my eye and I was the one condemned for it, you didn't say anything. You just stood there, in pure silence. I—”
He stops himself, taking a deep breath, “I thought you would always defend me.”
You were speechless. It was true. What he said. You didn't say anything because you didn't know what happened. You weren't there. And being overwhelmed by all the shouting and bruises on your little brothers faces, you didn't know what to think. But you believed your mother. You couldn't defend yourself, he was saying the truth. You didn't have his back and that's what broke what the two of you shared. You went numb to the pain you had, or the seemingly hatred you had for him. This, this was the Aemond you remember. And you weren't about to let him go.
“I'm sorry.” you say, “I'm sorry, okay?”
But it wasn't enough. You knew it wasn't when his face fell, shaking his head and turning around to walk away from you and this. You weren't about to let that happen. “Aemond!” you called out to him, but he didn't stop. The pain was excruciating, but you needed to make this right. “Aemond!” when he doesn't listen, you take all the best strength you had left and catch up to him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around.
“Aemond I'm sorry!” you yell, wanting him to feel how much guilt you felt, “But I'm in a lot of pain here, okay? it feels like my body is cut by a thousand bolts of lightning, I can't even feel my back and my throat is burning. But still, I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I did not understand what was happening—we were both children for god's sake! but even then, if I hurt you, which evidently now that I have I mean we wouldn't be in this situation if I hadn't, I'm so sorry.”
You don't know if you made it better or worse looking at the stoic expression on his face. But you had tried. The rain had soaked all his emotions, but even then you could see just the little bit of stars in his pupils you once saw as kids. You cross your arms, feeling the cold embrace you as you shudder in your injuries and pain. He gulped, unknowingly laying his head low to avoid looking in your eyes.
“I apologize, for this. For everything. I lost my temper today. It won't happen again.”
Your eyes soften at his words, as if a wall had risen between you two again. You hated it. You wanted to break it. So you did. In a few fraction of seconds, you didn't realise what you were about to do before you walked closer to him, too close. His breath hitches as your face comes in between his wet hair, his hair touching your cheeks just slightly.
“Y/N—”
He was only able to mumble out these words before your lips were on his. So barely. He inhaled a sharp breath, hands coming up but not knowing where to go. You close your eyes and just for one moment, forget the war, the families, the armies. Just you and him. Before you pull away, Aemond finally found his senses and comes up to cup your cheeks. Kissing you back softly but with an unspoken passion. He was careful not to hurt you.
Your hands find his waist, carefully tugging at the black belts that were wrapped around it. It felt like this was what you both had craved all these years. This. All the fight left out of him the moment you kissed him. Like the sun finally just glanced one look at his star. The one closest to it. You were his sun. And he was your favourite star. You only pull away when the growl of your dragon reaches your ears, Tessarion was here. Just a few rocks away. Your foreheads were touching, and Aemond places a small kiss at your head.
“Get home safe.” he whispers, his thumb tracing down your lips.
You didn't know if you would get a moment like this again. But you were happy. That you finally got to have one taste of heaven. Your heaven. Your Targaryen. Your Aemond.
𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠���� 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛!
#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#hotd#team green#team green x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon targaryen#alicent hightower x reader#alicent hightower#criston cole#otto hightower#rhaenyra targaryen#rhaenyra targaryen x reader#jacaerys valaryon x reader#jacaerys velaryon#jacaerys targaryen#game of thrones#aegon ii targaryen#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell x reader#jacaerys velaryon x reader
60 notes
·
View notes
Note
How would Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, and even Ace feel when they see their S/O wearing their clothes for the first time in the beginning of their relationship, like a shirt or a hat (if Luffy and Ace allow their s/o to wear it?)
S/O wearing their clothes for the first time - Luffy, Sanji, & Ace
Content: fluffy established relationship moments, they love you! Sanji is a perv but lovingly <3
Notes* hiiii so I can only do up to 3 characters in a request, and after thought I decided to go with these three :) I love Zoro but I couldn’t figure out what article of clothing to write about, so maybe part 2??
Luffy
If it were someone he didn’t know or wasn’t close to, Luffy would immediately feel like they were invading his personal space and demand that hat right back
Even with other crewmates, he only really lets Nami touch his hat and that’s only if need be
But when it comes to you, it’s different
He knows you’ll respect and keep it safe, but it’s a hard feeling to explain. He would trust his whole crew with his hat if need be, but he only wants you to have it
He doesn’t really understand the feeling, he just likes seeing you in it sometimes
Since his hat is so important to him, seeing his partner wear it would make him feel extremely happy that they recognize its meaning
It also solidifies the idea in his head that you’ll be at his side when he becomes the pirate king
For Luffy, love is about sharing his adventures and dreams. Seeing that hat on your head is the loudest declaration of love that he could ever know
Sanji
Sanji doesn’t have very many comfy clothes and he doesn’t have a hat you can wear, but there’s something about wearing his dress shirts to bed that’s extremely comfortable
Maybe it’s because they smell like his cologne, or because they’re baggy on you, but you always steal a clean one to shirt in
He loves it.
He always ends up with a nosebleed when he sees your sleepy face in nothing but his shirt, draping past your thighs with just a small pair of shorts on under them
That view of your legs, how his shirt swallows you up
You could practically see the steam coming out of his nose while his face turns bright red, heated by the blush in his cheeks
He will definitely say a few pervy things without shame and Nami would probably have to shut him up
Ace
Ace is the one who puts the hat on your head more than you taking it to do so
He likes seeing you in something of his, and his hat is the one thing that he doesn’t mind sharing at all
If you can ignore the sweaty smell, you’re good. His Devil Fruit doesn’t help with that, being hot all the time and all
He makes a show out of it whenever he needs to protect you from anyone by taking off his hat and placing it on your head before diving into a fight
He’s had that hat ever since he set off, and he intends to wear it until the end of his journey. Seeing you in it as well just adds to his growing memories that he’s going to make along his journey
He doesn’t like it when you wear your own hats or hair pieces because he wants your head to be free just in case he feels the need to see you in his hat
It’s a symbol of their strong connection, and that you are truly part of his life, not just a passing moment
#one piece#hwop#harleywritesop#luffy x reader#one piece luffy#straw hat luffy#monkey d. luffy#monkey d luffy#sanji x reader#op sanji#one piece sanji#black leg sanji#vinsmoke sanji#ace op#one piece ace#ace one piece#fire fist ace#portgas d ace
74 notes
·
View notes
Text
THE BALL OF LIGHT, iii. | jjk
pairing: friend!jeongguk x fem!oc
genre: heavy angst, fluff
rating: 15+
word count: 7.8k
summary: the rules yoongi made in your life are doomed to collapse.
pin: ball of light / taglist: join / discord: join / masterlist: run
cp: tba
warnings: biker!jungkook, smoking and vaping, oc is learning what it's like to be platonically touched and loved, state of numbness, anxiety, betrayal, lying, spying.
note: i love this chapter so much. i finally feel connected to the characters, which is something that i was lacking in the first two chapters. i broke sweat writing this and i spent hours on this. don't be a silent reader and have mercy on me. let me know what you think. <3
The vaporous retrospection of Jeongguk’s hands offered you solace beneath the slanted downpour of the hot shower stream. Using the slender, satiny, beige scrunchie that is used more as a statement bracelet of yours than a ponytail holder, you seized your long bob into your trembling fists and put it up, imagining it were Jeongguk’s stable and strong fingers working around the sleek fabric, making sure your hair didn’t soak one drop of the water.
The tears had halted, somehow, the moment your foot lifted over the shower floor. You let the stream dribble over your face, wash away your awkward moment of weakness—the mascara you rubbed off, the ebony teardrop-shaped trails of your agony that in another dimension wasn’t agony at all, but the velvet antithesis of it. Something very akin to the homely-like joy, warmth and a connection you could depend on. This is what you did, more often than not. Set your imagination into motion as a form of coping mechanism that would smooth out all the nerves in your system that had been wrung out into an unnatural, unrecognizable architecture.
It wasn’t that Yoongi didn’t typify a wall you could lean against. Vitally and physically, he did. Daily, you had a roof over your head and food in your tummy. But metaphorically and emotionally, that wall he embodied was too sturdy. Impossible to break through. Impossible to speak through. And that could never be the connection your soul so earnestly sought.
That could never be anything at all.
Nothing awaited you on the other side of this dead end.
Jeongguk helped you perceive that. With his hands, with his wise words that caused such tumultuous chaos in your body. Enough for you to find the nearest exit and isolate yourself. Weep in peace. Wash it all away. And it felt as though someone up above, beyond the clouds and the stars, wrote down this moment a long time ago. Made it so Jeongguk would offer you a chance to shower—in fact made it so the first snow of the wintertime would begin to fall and block your way home.
What would’ve happened if your bus did come after all, if you stubbed Jeongguk’s cigarette and waved him goodbye?
You would be still standing in front of this dead end, in front of this sky-high wall. Not half-pivoted to leave, not considering other options. Not carrying the closest experiences of physical touch in your hands. Not feeling warmth. Not swallowing the aftertaste of Jeongguk’s cinnamon tea. Not having the ghost and the reaction of his hands as an anchor you cling to.
You would have nothing. Just like you did your entire life.
And if the turmoil never happened, it wouldn’t have made this much difference. It wouldn’t have ripped open a hole in this nothingness; it wouldn’t have shattered the iron of your shackle. Because it was this turmoil of his, this pain of his, that coaxed that wisdom out of him, despite his fatal flaw. His friend became yours—and beneath the shower stream, you came to terms with it.
With the principle that makes life a life: no pain, no gain.
Rain brings flowers, and the more you dwelled in the memory of Jeongguk’s hands, the more the buds of blossoms opened with more sense of safety and comfort upon your tree. Because they made you feel this way.
His arm lifting in your direction at the sound of your cry, then whisking back to his side in respect. His hands warmer than the cup they were holding, not twitching at the throe of the scalding liquid. Good, good hands, belonging to a good person.
Nothing about him is unsafe, even when he exposes the painful truth over your life. How could anything about him be unsafe by any means, when the only shower gel he had was of that cinnamon fragrance.
He’s no longer the essence of macadamia, musk and cedarwood.
He’s cinnamon through and through. The spice of sweetness, the spice of winter. The epitome of warmth and carefulness, profound and unforgettable in taste.
The tears you weep next are for him. For the deeply-buried unrequited affection he has for Ka-eun. For the unfair, horrendous treatment he deals with day by day. For all the love he stores within himself while having no one, absolutely no one, to give it to.
And feverish pearls of thankfulness trickle out of your tear ducts for him, too. For the freedom he so freely and selflessly engraved into the flesh of your heart that you sense won’t overgrow anytime soon.
Pearls of thankfulness that he’s a witness of, for he stands at the door. Puffy mouth agape, chocolate eyes wide beneath thick-rimmed glasses. Something is ringing—you can’t hear it, but you can feel the pulse of the noise. The alarm that beats in his aura as he’s frozen on the spot, unknowing what to do. He can’t see one inch of your body due to the tinted hue of the glass separating you from him, but he can see your tears. Can see their flow. And perhaps he can see their inner sadness, too.
You don’t feel naked. You were bare and raw while fully clothed just a while ago in his kitchen, but right now with nothing to cover you, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. His irises don’t glide down. Don’t even dare to skim down to the darkly shadowed back of your shoulder that faces him. His mouth moves, the ball of his Adam’s apple leaps nearly to his chin as he swallows, but you just can’t hear a damn thing.
And then the ringing grows in volume. A sound that pierces your eardrum, that rips your gaze away from him as soon as your hearing senses accept it. Your brows pull in, the shrillness of the sonancy reverberating through your sternum like icy gunfire—and you wish it was softer, you wish the everlasting coldness wouldn’t stalk you, and you wish you would stay warm.
You inhale and exhale. Tightness swathes your chest and the following breath you take is shallow, not enough for your lungs. Panic settles in, your arms wrap around your body, and then… shadow.
Shadow inches in. Spreads its wingspan.
When you glance behind your shoulder, the glass door is open. Jeongguk stands at the entrance with his graceful hands holding up a towel for you. His head is turned to the side, unwilling to look at your nakedness out of that respect of his.
You don’t have control over your body when you step out of the shower and into the cotton of the makeshift security of those wings. Using the carefulness he’s patched together with, he wraps the largeness of the towel around you. As if you were a small child, being dried off by its father. The only spots of your form he touches are your shoulders and the upper planes of your chest. Your eyelids are heavy with the weight of your tears and a certain tiredness from the day as your irises flick to his. And the spell of your numbness, little by little, breaks because he looks right down at you with utmost seriousness and concern.
He sees you.
You’re seen.
“Hold it,” he murmurs, speaking of the two edges of the towel, the edges of the wings that he still holds together with his fist. Those corners of his mouth are downturned, just like they were when you entered his apartment. You mimic that pout, lamenting that you’re making him feel this way, that it’s your fault the turmoil has come back to him, even though the shared negative emotion smears your chest with warmth. It’s an oxymoron, your guilt laced with your desire to stay in this dimmed microcosm with him.
It reminds you of the connection you seek. It resembles it too, too much.
You fold your arm beneath the towel and pinch the edges together, gripping his fingers in the process. A shiver cascades down your spine due to that layered touch and Jeongguk blinks, lingering in your clasp for a moment before he lets go, leaning over to turn off the water.
Grateful, you are. For him, for the way he’s allowing you to experience such an imperative part of humanity that you could never reach. You yearn to hug him, not speak a vowel, and just exist in this newness.
You don’t know what any of this means. You’re conscious of the shift, the shift of the gravity between you and him, but none of it carries the weight of romance. He encapsulates something else, something way bigger, abstruse and abstract.
Something that could kill you… or save you in a millisecond.
“What was that?” Jeongguk asks, his voice still low and murmuring. There’s an impenetrable depth to his pensive eyes that somehow quickens the speed of your recuperation. His question casts a light on you that is blinding, but you can bear it. After what happened in his kitchen, you can, truly, handle anything. “I knocked. Multiple times. I called out to you, but you didn’t answer back.”
His eyes flick between yours, searching for an explanation, demanding it, and you’d give him anything… anything he’d ask after the way he turned your life around.
“I—” you begin but trail off, not knowing how to explain the frailty of your mental health. You, too, comb through his eyelashes in pursuit of help for your words, but what you come across are not letters but the vast prettiness of his being.
Your knees give out on you, weakened by him, and a snuggly blanket of completion comes to rest over you because Jeongguk’s arm jerks towards your direction again and this time, he doesn’t let it drift back. He places his palm on your arm, holding you steady so you don’t plummet to the ground, lingering there once again.
Life-giving, that gesture is. You feel your blood pumping throughout the pathways of your veins with more vigor, enlivening your entire body, helping you come out of the fog of your stupor. The sap in your tree thickens and you can see more clearly, hear with a better precision and breathe without any pinpricks or heftiness in your lungs.
Freedom spreads down your limbs, rooting from the warmth pooling in the dent of your arm, the part of you that Jeongguk is gripping. A cult leader, he’s become. A savior, a dangerous man. And you shall never be his companion again—you’ll be his follower until the day you cease to exist on this earth.
“Are you okay?” he asks, abruptly breathless, and the axis of his grip opens out, descending down to the rounded edge of your elbow. His thumb traces circles on that fleshiness and the comfort you receive from it brings forth your liquid emotions. They spill down onto your cheeks, but you’re not ashamed of them. You’re not ashamed of anything anymore.
“I’m okay,” you say and you mean it—because you’ve stepped inside an environment that feels so terribly secure, so terribly grounding, a place that will never leave the internal realm of your soul.
Jeongguk scans your face, brows knitted. “Tell me what���s going on.”
You inhale, tipping your face down to rub away your tears with your towel-clothed knuckles. “Sometimes when I get overwhelmed I go numb… that’s all.”
His circles halt. A nebulous shadow eclipses over his tense features. “Did I cause this?”
Your lips part. “You told me something I really needed to hear, something that was hard for me to accept. You helped me, Jeongguk.”
His brows twitch and it is like sunlight filtering through the clouds, the way a small ball of light delicately breaks through the shadow on his face. Your heart writes it down on the bark of your tree in flowery prose—it is a moment that gives you the inkling that you should remember it, and you’re not really sure why.
Jeongguk pats down your arm. A singular, ephemeral and a significant caress that is charged with a range of words that he doesn’t get to say, for a phone rings somewhere behind the place you’re standing. He nods his chin towards it, sliding his hands into the pockets of his black sweatpants, and it is now that you perceive that he’s changed out of his scrubs into a monochrome leisure outfit. A black oversized top, matching sweats, socked-feet inside white slippers. Even his glasses fit his choice of color—a prettification that makes your knees wobble again, but not in such a drastic way as before.
“This is the fourth time he’s calling you,” he says, speaking of the phone ringing, but you have very little care for it. Your body, automatically, out of horrible habit, tells you to care, but you feel a strong tendril of strength that helps you resist it, stand up to it—and stand up to your brother. “That’s why I’m here. He won’t stop.”
You glimpse behind your shoulder at the screen of your phone filled with only the letters of Yoongi’s name. No picture, no emoji. You think that quite perfectly illustrates your relationship with him and you scoff, returning your gaze back to Jeongguk, who nibbles his lower lip absentmindedly, eyes following each movement you make.
Yoongi can’t get to you when you’re inside this environment. He doesn’t have the key to it.
The ringing falls to nothingness and a half-minute passes before he calls again. Anger curls in your gut and you turn around, snatching your phone off the ivory bathroom sink, because if you don’t bite the bullet and answer his call, he won’t leave you alone. You press the green button and before you can place the device to your ear and say something, Yoongi beats you to it.
He spills out his radical worry, intertwining your name into the sentence that threatens to impair your environment.
“Why didn’t you pick up the phone? I was worried sick that something happened to you. You should’ve been home an hour ago—”
Your towel shifts as your trembling returns to you, nearly exposing your vulnerable parts, and you set your phone down on the sink, putting him on speaker phone. You wrap the soft fabric tighter around you and connect your gaze to Jeongguk’s in the mirror. Your brother spills on, no longer interrupted.
Sorrowfulness, in vivid hues of blue, draws out across Jeongguk’s countenance.
“—It’s snowing like crazy. Where are you?”
Your throat dries, but you will your strength to last a little longer. You clench your fists and do not tear your eyes away from Jeongguk’s, which seem to have the same determination. He’s a monumental pillar, ready to catch you if you feel faint, and you feel this in a great depth that has the epoch-making ability to replenish you. Even far away in a memory, you deem.
“I’m with a friend,” you croak out and you repeat the short sentence with a bit more heroism because you don’t wish to be suggestive of weakness. Not again, not ever. A subdued light floods Jeongguk’s eyes in slow motion at your words, giving you a sense of pride and validation. A specialty of his; it must be the bottom of his kindness, the foundation of his heart—this very unique act of emotional service. And you close your palm over it, clinging to it with all your might. “I was taking a shower. I’ll get dressed and come home.”
The truth in the rawest form; the exposure of your life beyond the restraints of his standards. You fear his reaction, you fear his reaction so much that within the silence of him comprehending your words you almost go to seek Jeongguk’s comfort in any way he’s willing to give you, but Yoongi stops you.
Yoongi surprises you.
“Okay. Give me your friend’s address. I’ll pick you up.”
Your heart, with full force, kicks against your ribcage just once.
You didn’t expect his resignation—and you would’ve never guessed it would come plaited with such a gentle form of care, for his care has never been gentle. It has always been stifling, frantic and utterly manic.
And the way you lick your lips, swallow and take a new breath in this even newer reality, it feels as though you won. You won the invisible war with your brother who has wounded you too much for you to get up.
But you did.
You got up, and Jeongguk refreshed you, prepared you to fight back and win this round.
It must be his words in your mouth, ones he silently transmitted to you through your potent eye contact with him in the mirror. It must be, you believe it to be so, because at this moment you’re too stunned to do anything.
“No need. My friend will give me a ride home.”
Jeongguk visibly relaxes, nodding solemnly, approving. A spasm of excitement buzzes in your tummy at the sight, and you can’t help the small growth of your smile. And it, too, is complete when he half reciprocates it, a dimple appearing by the corner of his mouth that is lifted in your honor, in the honor of what you both managed to do in the span of one hour.
“Alright, tell her to drive slow.”
Yoongi ends the phone call. Jeongguk pulls his hands out of his pockets and begins to crack his knuckles, rolling his shoulders back as if he were in a stressful situation that strained all of his muscles. You bite your lip to relieve yourself of all the buzzing sensations that crawl upon your every nerve ending, but your abrupt laughter releases your teeth from the pillow.
Her.
You laugh so hard that it forces you to hide your face in the towel, the sound muffled but real, alive and exhilarating. And when you peek at Jeongguk in the mirror for the last time, you catch his smile widening and breaking, at last, into a grin that mirrors your enthusiasm.
“This is your life,” he rasps, adding your name, which propels butterflies to tickle, fleetly, your tummy. “Your life by your own rules. Enjoy every moment of it. You deserve it.”
And with that he leaves, clicking the door shut behind him.
Your tea has gone cold, but the cinnamon scent is still prominent.
Jeongguk is manspreading on the couch, one fist propped on his thigh while he is hunched over his loud phone that he clutches in his other hand. He doesn’t notice you as you paddle softly to the kitchen counter to take a sip of your tea—and it isn’t until you slurp the nippy liquid that he rips his attention away from the videos he was watching. He locks his phone immediately, pocketing it, and bathes his crepuscular apartment in an ample silence.
You're glad for the lack of light.
Witnessing the state of you without his presence was a scare. The traces of your mascara tears were scattered with flecks and specks on your cheeks that the stream didn’t rinse off, and your eyelids have become swollen with the excessive amount of crying you’ve done within the fateful hour. Your excitement hasn’t been shunned by your sparsity of confidence, however. In fact, it keeps on increasing, having transfigured into a velvet ribbon that you wrapped around the bark of your tree whilst getting dressed. You fondled it then and you fondle it now, dwelling on the matter that went down, and how good it felt. How right, how freeing. But owing to what happened, to what Jeongguk has done for you, you’d much rather be pretty in his eyes right now.
And you’re anything but pretty.
You’re a ruination. About to be rebuilt into something pretty. Or someone.
Setting the cup down, you smile at the taste of cinnamon and cloves, liking the way it is so redolent of who Jeongguk is. You hope it fills your dreams later tonight, bursting there into smithereens that you can carry inside yourself.
As little talismans.
To keep you company. To keep the perception of the safety Jeongguk had provided you tucked within the crevices of your body—so you can go back to it, remind yourself of it as soon as you start to forget.
“Ready to go?”
His voice penetrates the silence, announcing that you are to leave the fortress-like environment you are already missing. You direct your eyes, for the last time, at the little gleeful Gingerbread man, graze the tip of your thumb over his smile in an effort to engrave it there as a keepsake. And then you nod, though you’re not ready.
You’ll never be ready. What if your freedom disappears as soon as you cross the threshold of your home?
You blink the thought away. Grow weary of your deathless fear that just continues rising in your psyche. You wish you could kill it—or rather have Jeongguk asphyxiate it, just so it stops whispering those what ifs, those questions and those hostile words.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Jeongguk walks past you and returns to his place where he stood a little while ago. He places two black helmets on the counter. One bigger and one particularly smaller. You wonder if it belonged to Ka-eun once, if the inside of the helmet is still perfumed with the scent of her hair.
Another ifs.
You look away. Your forefinger finds his pink vape, fondling it, saying goodbye. You’ll terribly miss this life you lived in this apartment—and once you get home, you plan to pray for another snow, so you can escape, so you can live properly. Here within this warmth; here where all things are possible, aromatic and whimsical.
Jeongguk studies you, and as soon as you instinctively glance at him, he extends his hand and closes his fingers around your tousled bun. It brings back a memory, a painful memory of the past, when your father would run his fingers through your wet hair. Back when you were a child, when everything was normal and your father loved you. No matter the weather, you would slip away to the petite creek behind the house. Your hair was so long that it would drift upon those soft ripples. Even the wind would gather it and soak it in the water—to cleanse it off all the bad words your mother would utter over it. Too long. It’s shameful. It gets in your food. It’s wet again? It’s dripping all over my floors. Mop it up. God, you’re useless. Do it properly. Water was invariably your means of escapism. Oh, how could it not be when you’re a water sign yourself. And your father was the only one who would dry your hair with a hand towel he would keep in his study for you before your mother saw, before she could curse you for another lifetime.
And the way Jeongguk does it now, you metamorphose into that small child that never did anything right. Suddenly, your hair is long again—and you didn’t cut it when you turned fifteen and your father somehow stopped loving you, stopped paying attention to you, stopped drying your hair. And as small as you are right now, your heart regrets the loss of your dearest papa.
Your hair hasn’t been touched since the death of him.
Since he couldn’t touch it anymore from the afterlife.
The tears burn now behind your eyes, but you stifle them back. You don’t want to cry anymore, you don’t want to experience this pain any longer. You can’t even look at Jeongguk in fear those liquid feelings would betray your will; you can only focus your gaze on that vape of his. And before you know what you’re doing, you're grasping it and placing it between your lips.
My nerves are asking for more, he had said and you relate to him on such a profound level that it feels gratifying once you puff on it and the strawberry scent imbues your lungs—to such an extent that when you respire, you can feel it mingling with the oxygen. It’s still there. Such sweetness. You understand why he likes it so much, why he can’t stay away from it and smokes it, despite the fact he shouldn’t mix it with his cigarettes.
Jeongguk smiles through the ivory fume, drifting his hand up to the crown of your head before he inspects the face-framing wisps. They’re damp, but not wet, not like the ball of your bun.
He lets his hand fall to his side. You lament it.
“Your hair is wet,” he says gently, pursing his lips. “I don’t know if your bun will fit inside the helmet. You should put it inside your sweater, so you don’t get sick.”
It is something akin to a religious experience, not being told off for having wet hair. You mull over it, the fact he cares enough to tell you what to do, so you don’t get stricken with illness. The tears rush forth with more verve, and you try your hardest to not cry again. It’s like your father, a healthy and younger and pre-you version of him, is standing in front of you. Out of this world, heavenly, this moment is.
You take another puff. You must.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Jeongguk asks, a lopsided smile hanging upon his lips. His eyes flick down to your parted mouth exhaling out the smoke that blends in with the cinnamon spice. “Keep it.”
You blink in surprise. “Are you sure?”
He nods, busying himself with something on the other side of the kitchen, beside his refrigerator. In a minute he’s back, carrying a bulbous sack of foreign items that he plants into your free hand.
“Take these fruits home. I put the cinnamon tea inside, too.”
You part your mouth, touched to the core. Open the sack and uncover that he’s put inside three figs and two teabags. You pout, whisk your eyes back to him to see him nibbling on his lip, features back to being solemn and glossy. He’s breaking a sweat—perhaps fearful that you’ll turn him down, laugh at it and brush it off. You’re heard of Ka-eun doing this on many occasions and if there’s anything you could do for him, to caress that scar of his, you shall not be like her.
You fold the paper sack and clutch it to your chest.
“I’ll eat it and drink it all,” you say, but you don’t mean the latter. You’ll put the teabags on your nightstand—to have him close. “Thank you. You’re so kind.”
His following exhale is a sigh of relief and he nods, irises preoccupied with something on the upper part of your sternum. When you follow his sight, he’s already taking a step forward and discarding you of the unknown thing that he was focusing on. You realize it’s a fluff from the towel when he flicks it off from his fingertip—and then, as if he didn’t do such a groundbreaking thing for you, he takes both of the helmets.
“I’d give you more but that's all I have.”
The ground breaks, and so does your heart.
He turns on his heel and heads for the hall. The atmosphere is hushful, but tranquil as you both put on your shoes and jackets. Jeongguk holds the door open for you, waiting for you to step out first before he does. He clicks it shut, waits again for the sing-song tone to tell him it’s locked, and then you’re in the elevator.
The elevator that is microscopic, even for two people.
You glance behind yourself at the mirror, find yourself pallid and colorless. Insecurity gnaws at you, and so you pinch your cheeks, one by one. Jeongguk watches you and shakes his head at you once you notice his stare. There’s no room, no time for any exchange for words because the elevator opens and he signals to you to go first with a tilt of his head.
And that is what brings color to your cheeks, not your pinching.
His bike outside of the apartment complex stands forlornly. The black cover over it is densely snow-laden, and the snowflakes flutter and spin in the air more tenderly than they did earlier. You, yourself, stand back with your sack and watch him do the work. He hands you, wordlessly, your helmet and once his hand is free, he slides his own down his head, popping open the visor. Nimbly, he takes both ends of the cover and lets the snow glissade down on the patch of grass behind his bike, which is draped with the same substance. Then, he expertly folds it and stuffs it inside the trunk, lifting his arm in your direction and asking for the sack, which he neatly places inside as well.
You’re breathless once he’s finished—and you’re empty of all air when he begins to concentrate on you.
His eyes are saturated with something sensitively dark as he takes your helmet from your arm. The close proximity tugs at your heart and you feel smaller than you did in his apartment. Smaller in a way that suggests you’re being taken care of. His icy hands undo your bun, but he doesn’t give you back your scrunchie. Mindlessly, he drags it down his wrist. Your cheeks heat up within this wuthering vicinity, and Jeongguk protects your wet hair from the wind by pulling the hem of your scarf over your head, tucking your strands inside. Your lungs forget to breathe when he glides the helmet down your head with extra tenderness and necessitates for your eyes, flipping up the visor.
His hands remain on the helmet as if upon your cheeks, inspecting.
Always inspecting.
“All good?”
Your heart does a somersault. You nod.
“Are you scared?”
It’s not hitting you yet—the fact you’ll drift through the snowy streets with nothing to protect the sides of your body. No seatbelt, nothing. Only trust in the driver.
“I’ll drive slow,” Jeongguk adds, his words an allusion to Yoongi’s, and you huff out a soft laugh, the lightheartedness from the occurrence consuming you all over again.
He taps the side of your helmet and walks towards his bike. Doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile—as if he didn’t share your enthusiasm in that aspect. He swings a leg over the body of the vehicle and presses the start button, the engine roaring into the evening. It seemingly opens its eyes: lights that line the body of the bike and its tires glare in dark neon red. He’s a black figure against the violet, twinkling scenery, sprinkled with the daintiest, most intricate snowflakes, and your relation is clear to you as you observe him like this.
You’re becoming attached to him. And maybe that should be the thing to be scared of.
Jeongguk curls his fingers in the air, gesticulating that you are to hop on, and you do. Because you’re not scared, because the idea of being scared of Jeongguk doesn’t simply make sense to you.
The bike is cold as you follow his motions and sit down behind him. You hiss at the sensation and he glances back at you, though he’s not able to see much due to the thickness of his helmet.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s cold.”
He coos to himself, ever so quietly that it gives you the impression that you weren’t supposed to hear it. And before you can comprehend his softness and react, he speaks.
“You have to hang on. I’ll get you home soon.” He tweaks the handlebars. “Hold onto me.”
As soon as you place your palms on his shoulders, the vehicle begins moving backwards in a more rapid way than you anticipated. You startle, gasping, tensing behind him and gripping his muscles. Jeongguk is quick with his response—before he drives out of the sidewalk and onto the road, he moves your hand from his shoulder to his waist. Would move your other hand, too, but he has to handle the bike, turning in a swift way that takes your breath.
“Hold me like this, don’t let go,” he calls out, and you comply, intertwining your fingers before his chest, and then he’s drifting.
Your intertwinement loosens. You grapple the front of his puffer jacket for more support as the wind, interlaced with the unmerciful snowflakes, sails through the sides of your body, entering you through your throat, knotting your stomach. The vacant tide of the airy atmosphere appears to be sturdy and ruthless, but when you risk letting go of his jacket to flip down your visor because your eyes have started to burn, the sharpness of the breezing air is silky, elegant and lovely. Not severe, not harsh, not against you, but for you. It’s like the air parts for your touch, enveloping you, and because you long to feel more of it, you extend your hand to the side, allowing yourself to simply feel. Feel life be compliant and lenient. You lean your head against the center of Jeongguk’s back and watch your hand be kissed by the wind and the snowflakes, not having one care in the world.
Everything wrong ceases to exist on this road with him.
You mimic the waves of the sea with your hand because you sense that you’re being carried to a better part of life. You’re sailing, swimming, you’re happy and at peace, and those feelings are accompanied by the sudden sound of Jeongguk’s sweet chuckle. But you don’t shy away. No, you don’t have any reason to, for Jeongguk extends his hand, too. His ripples are way lengthier, protruding through the air in more depth due to the size of his hand. Together you swim like this just for a brief, blissful moment—he, in the front, you behind him like the follower you are, like the child you are in your adulthood.
And the time frame of this felicity doesn’t pause at the red light.
You’ve situated your hands back to his chest, and Jeongguk rubs them in fast motions, warming them up, glancing back at you.
“Did you flip down your visor?” he questions, his voice deepened by the adrenaline of the ride.
You nod, internally geeking at the fact he’s touching your hands. “I did. My eyes were burning.”
“Good.”
Your heart is delectated by that praise. Content drowsiness seizes you while your joy beats, meekly, in your belly. And it is now that you perceive that you’re hugging him. It may be through a myriad of warm layers, but you’re hugging him—and he’s holding your hands, caring enough about them being cold while his own are frosty, but still filmy, still soft, still gentle. And this time, when he lets go, you don’t lament their absence because he’s buried in you, somehow, the trust, the security that he will touch you again.
There’s nothing to be afraid of.
He’ll come back around.
Everything is okay.
You must have fallen asleep with your one eye open because you don’t even recognize how much time has passed. Jeongguk taps your hands again, calling you by your name, and you hum, feeling him burying that trust deeper by the gesture, feeling yourself getting used to being touched by him.
“I’m driving through your bus’s line now, I need you to tell me where you live.”
You straighten and squint in the dark, deliberating your surroundings. You’re four stops away from the one you get off on.
“Go straight and then take the first turn,” you navigate him, your tone marked by your sleepiness. “If you see the trees in the distance, that’s where my house is.”
You return to your former position, resting peacefully on his back, and you’re about to close your eyes again, but Jeongguk’s following question fling them right open.
“Should I stop a few houses down?”
You’ve never had Yoongi expecting your arrival, so you’re not sure if he’ll be standing by the window, waiting for your friend’s car to park in the driveway. You hesitate, but are inclined to go with his suggestion, though Jeongguk continues to speak in your silence.
“I don’t want you to deal with his bullshit once he sees that I’m not a girl.”
His intonation is snappy, laced with his own personal vexation from your relationship with your brother. Your lips curl in a satisfied smile, quivering under your helmet—and here and now, the guilt doesn’t creep in, the inert need to stand up for him doesn’t resurface. You take pleasure in the way he’s bothered by it and the emotion stays. You’re so glad for it that you softly pat his chest a few times and agree with his suggestion.
It dawns on you that his vexation with your brother is the reason why he didn’t share your enthusiasm when you stood outside of his apartment complex. Your inner child dances around the tree within you, the tails of the velvet ribbon brushing through her long, long hair.
Jeongguk sighs once he nears your house and you deem he does so because he sees how it’s positioned. The ivory castle of doom dominates the street, overlooking all the other smaller houses, which face each other, while perched on a hill. There’s nowhere for him to hide, not now when he’s driven up the hill.
He kills the engine, parking the bike by the side of the road. Your hands are numb as you untangle them. You shake them in the air in an effort to get your blood pumping in them. Jeongguk remains sitting and you take it as a sign to hop off first, which you do. Your bum is bitingly ice-cold and, hissing, you rub it. Jeongguk laughs at you, popping open his visor. His eyes are crinkly and starry while he amusedly looks at you, and there’s some kind of intent to his stare that makes your stomach feel all fuzzy.
You burn under the helmet.
Blood flows to your digits, and therefore you use them to rid yourself of the protective headpiece. You struggle, however. Stuck in it, you can’t move it—no matter how hard you try, how many muscles you flex in order to discard yourself of it. You hear a muffled chuckle, and then you feel cold hands against yours, pulling up the helmet with a certain kind of precision and strength you don’t possess. And there is the close proximity again, jumbling your guts. The depth to the eye contact and unvoiced words that are passed through the wind, which blows through your sweat-clad hair and forehead, unraveling your scarf, baring you for his eyes to see. A wispy strand of hair gets entangled in your eyelashes, flying through the planes of your face, and Jeongguk doesn’t put it away. He surveys it as he contemplates something—and at this moment all you can think about is how he’s never not lost in his thoughts.
The boy is always reflecting on something within the complex space of his mind, and you deem that’s why there’s an entire canvas of stars in his eyes. The universe must have given it to him, hand-picked by God, because his head is permanently in the clouds.
How beautiful that is, how momentous.
“You fell asleep on me,” he rasps, as if he himself couldn’t believe it. “It wasn’t that bad then, was it?”
You loop that strand of hair behind your ear and shake your head, flicking your eyes for a split second to the unlit balcony of your parents’ bedroom. How great and bad would it be, if they stood there. You don’t know why your heart is seeking them at this moment, why your eyes looked there, but you leave it be. Some purpose it has, but your mind doesn’t have to understand it right now. You find peace in that.
“You’re a safe female driver,” you joke, your words split by your soft laughter, but Jeongguk isn’t amused, not anymore. You bite your lip, your pleasure from it heightening. “I was scared at first, but then it felt liberating.”
Jeongguk nods, attuned to your experience. He hangs your helmet on one of the handle bars. “So you’re willing to ride with me again?”
He peeks at you, magnetically pulling your answer out of you by the laws of the stars in his eyes, and as you blush, you melt. You irrevocably and nonsensically melt.
“Yeah, but remind me to bring my gloves next time,” you say, grinning so wide the muscles in your cheeks ache. You pull down the sleeves of your jacket to keep the cold from penetrating them. Jeongguk notices, but if he smiles—you can’t tell. He’s still wearing his helmet.
You think about his offer in the short interlude, looking forward to it. You’d get on and drive back with him to his apartment if you could. When will the next time be, though? He doesn’t drive to school on his bike—he uses public transportation and you wonder why.
“Why don’t you take the bike to school?”
Jeongguk inhales a big gust of air, tilting his head back. The snowflakes fall into the wide hole of his helmet, sitting on his nose. As he mulls over his response, his eyes land on you with a tendril of ferocity that puzzles you.
“I’d rather not give them any more reason to talk about me.”
He begins slapping his hands back and forth, an act that portrays how nervous he is to talk about this. The stars in his eyes lower to dullness, his irises unwilling to pierce yours. You recollect his nerves and how unwilling he was to flesh them out and unriddle them, too. You know, from his past bus stop heart-spilling, that he doesn’t have many friends within his field, but he never mentioned that they genuinely dislike him. You never heard the details, the gravity of this day-to-day problem. And you feel so bad for him that as he looks out into the distance across the hill, you take the necessary step towards him and take his hand into yours.
It is the most courageous thing you’ve ever done, but Jeongguk is perturbed.
And you don’t know it is due to the light unexpectedly turning on in the bedroom of your parents until he pushes you back onto the sidewalk and towers over you, creating a shadow over you that hides you from your brother, who has entered your parents’ bedroom to spy on whether you’ve come home or not.
“He’s there,” he clarifies in a hushed tone, completing the puzzle piece, and when you lean your head out of the shadow, he gently presses you back into safety by cradling your ear.
But you can’t dwell on the touch, not when your heart thrashes against your ribcage with such dreadful, stabbing trepidation because Yoongi never goes to your parents’ bedroom. As far as you know, he hasn’t been there since their death. He kept their door bolted tight for the longest time and it remained so until you begged him to give you the key, so you could keep the room tiny in their honor whenever you missed them. He believed ghosts swarmed its walls there the most out of all the rooms in the house, and if the double doors remained locked, they would stay away—and they would stay away from you, even more so with the bracelet he braided you. You persisted, reminding him of the black plait, and he surrendered. For cleaning and nothing else; we don’t come here for any other purposes, he had decided.
This should be the thing to be scared of. Yoongi prancing around the room as if your parents never died, as if he never swore he’d never walk there again, as if his belief in the paranormal never haunted his mentality.
This is flat-out terrifying—and bears the image of betrayal.
Your throat dries out, and your lips form that pout of yours.
“Is he… still there?” you ask, your voice breaking in consequence of your full-body trembling, and the stars in Jeongguk’s eyes plummet to an unmitigated darkness.
He doesn’t vacillate as he pushes your head to his chest and holds you to him, keeping you safe in his shadow while he discreetly checks if his presence is still by the balcony windows. His fingers dig into the thickness of your hair, and you wish he would pull on it, so you wouldn’t feel this sagging pain in your sternum, which forces your knees down, which forces your tears like strings of a puppet.
You don’t want to cry, and you don’t want to believe this is real. His room is next to your parents’, for God’s sake. He could’ve spied from his own window and seen you perfectly fine. Without any obstacles, without causing any of these nagging difficulties.
“He’s gone. The lights are off.”
There’s no relief from his words. There’s nothing that could alleviate you from what you saw. And you don’t hold back. You tell Jeongguk of the horrible picture as he continues to hold you to him, his fingers sinking deeper into your scalp.
“He never goes to my parents’ bedroom. He keeps the door locked and he allows me inside just to clean because I begged him to. What is this? He decided that we would never go there.”
Jeongguk doesn’t say anything for a while. He merely breathes with you, his chest lifting and falling while he contemplates the information. His heart is dead silent—just like the room.
Or so you thought.
“I don’t think you should trust anything he says,” he utters, at last, withdrawing you from his chest to glimpse into your eyes. Dark, dark those pools are. No stars in sight. “Fuck his stupid rules.”
You gasp for air, frustrated that this is your life, that it’s interwoven with those rules of his that you no longer respect.
“I’ll have a cigarette just so he doesn’t think you were with me, but that’s the last time I’m abiding his fucked up rules and views. I want you to know that. This stops today.”
He’s right, and as he smokes his cigarette and you grip his vape in your fist, puffing from it simultaneously with him, the new decision begins to plunge down your body. This stops today, and the decision roots in your belly like a pebble in a creek once he stubs out his cigarette and gets on his bike, pulling out the sack of figs and cinnamon tea and handing it to you.
This stops today, and the next time he takes you for a ride on his bike, he will park by your house for Yoongi to see.
Although, you don’t realize, not in your poisonously blossoming spite, that you won’t see Jeongguk anytime soon, and that he won’t hop on his bike for months.
You don’t realize in the moment, as you’re waving Jeongguk goodbye while he drives off, that your efforts are everlastingly useless.
And that is the curse your mother spoke over you when you were still a child with long, dripping wet hair. That is the demon that lives in the walls of your parents’ bedroom.
Let out, freed, having been given permission by the breaking of spoken rules to ruin your life.
𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @jjk7k , @tkslovechild , @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl , @ririkookiemonster , @perfectiondazesworld , @https-mei , @bangtansonyeondanue , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl, @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk , @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo
© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved
BACK to masterlist | BACK to series masterlist
#divider by dollywons#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#bts x reader#bts x oc#bts x fem!reader#bts x you#jeon jeongguk#jeon jungkook#jeon jungkook fic#jungkook fic#jungkook imagine#jungkook x you#jungkook x reader#jungkook x oc#jungkook scenarios#yoongi x oc#yoongi x reader#yoongi angst#yoongi fanfic#yoongi imagine#bts imagine#bts scenarios#jungkook angst#jeon jungkook fanfic#kpop fic#jungkook
54 notes
·
View notes
Text
Joel Takes Your Virginity (yippee)
Haven’t done this in a while, so please bear with me!! I also need more ideas for what to write LOL. Thinking about doing some Arthur Morgan stories?? Mayhaps?? I also do angst & fluff YIPPEEE
Pairing: Joel Miller (hbo) x fem!reader (use of she/her, feminine terms)
Word count: 4.3k Warnings & Content: Smut, 18+. Age gap (reader is 19, Joel in his 40s), fem!reader, oral - female receiving, praise, P-in-V unprotected, loss of virginity, slight awkwardness, established relationship, creampie, dom!Joel, marking, sleepy aftercare, veryvery smutty, set in Jackson.
It’s already been a wonderful eleven months being with Joel. Sure, moving into his house before you two had even crossed a year together was a little bit risky, yet, it felt right; still feels right. Plus, you two had connected before you’d even gotten together, so it wasn’t as if it happened completely out of the blue.
Everything was amazing - Joel was the best boyfriend you could ask for; sweet, gentle, yet protective and ready to defend you if it came down to it (and it has, many times). He was thoughtful, and never wanted you to do things yourself, even if it was as simple as making coffee in the mornings. The age gap may earn some…questionable looks from a few randoms here in Jackson, but he never cared. Joel loved you loud, and he was damn proud of it.
On an intimacy level, however, you two hadn’t gone past the casual late-night makeout sessions, the hickeys here and there, the occasional groping. But it never went past any of that. It began to frustrate you, even if it was your doing. You stopped things before they went past that line of intimacy, but it was only because you were scared. What if you weren’t as good as the other girls he’s had? How many girls has he had, exactly? What if you can’t please him the first time-
“Thinkin’ hard over there?” Joel’s gruff voice interrupts your thoughts as his large hand comes out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His words ground you back into reality, and suddenly, you’re back on the couch with your boyfriend, watching some cheesy action film on a small TV. “Starin’ off into space like that, you alright?”
Your gaze flickers over to Joel, noticing his hand gently squeezing your thigh in a reassuring manner. He seems to be worried, his brows furrowed, the slight wrinkles on his forehead deepening.
“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you quickly brush his worries aside. Your hand reaches out to grab his own, feeling the way his palm and fingers nearly dwarf yours in size. “Just thinking.”
“Thinkin’?” With a grunt, the Texan shifts closer to you, his free hand trailing down to your chin to tilt your head in his direction. God, the man was stunning. Even in his late forties, he looked so full of youth. His brown eyes, deep and intense, met yours, beckoning you to be honest.
A sense of uncertainty fills your brain. It’s best to be honest, but you feel odd talking about it - intimacy was never your strong suit, even if it’s only because you were so inexperienced. So, you inhale a deep breath, your eyes fluttering slightly as you prepare to express yourself.
“I wanna…well,” it’d be nice to turn your head and dodge his eye contact because you can already feel your cheeks heating up, but he keeps you in place. “I just think maybe we, uh, we take things..” Fuck, this was hard.
“I want to have sex. With you. Uhm, right. Yeah.” Jesus Christ, you kick yourself mentally, a palm slapping over your face in embarrassment. That was so awkward you might as well have just jumped his bones instead.
You can see a wave of surprise rush over Joel’s features. His eyes widen slightly, lips parting to say something, yet he remains silent, only the sounds of his near-silent breaths filling the room. The hand on your thigh tightens just a bit.
He then clears his throat, “you sure, pumpkin? That’s a big step. I don’t want you to feel like you have to. We can go as slow as you w-” But you cut him off by leaning in just slightly. The air between you thickens with tension, and you can feel Joel’s body tensing with anticipation.
“I’m ready,” it’s all Joel needed to grab your hand, leading you up from the couch and towards your shared bedroom upstairs.
☆☆☆☆☆☆
It was a quick mess of clothes being discarded as soon as you two passed the threshold leading into the bedroom. Joel’s arms are tight around your waist, your own clinging to his shirt while your lips fight for dominance; a fight Joel quickly wins every. Single. Time.
Hot tongues slide and tangle against each other while your feet step towards the bed. Joel’s strong arms, marred with scars and scratches from all of his arduous years of surviving, guide you to lay back on the bed.
“Just lay back, sweetheart. I wanna make your first time somethin’ special, you hear me?” The older man murmurs whilst slowly crawling on top of you.
Your back sinks into the fluffy softness of the covers, eyes flitting up to meet Joel’s intense ones. His gaze is roving over your body, pupils widening at the sight of every inch; the swell of your breasts, your flared hips, those plush lips and beautiful eyes. He could spend countless hours just ranting about how amazing you are, how special you are to him.
How much he loves you.
His lips brush against the shell of your ear, breath warming the skin there whenever he talks. And the way his hand slides up to your stomach, tracing the contours, makes your insides clench. Though things were starting to get steamy, the nerves were starting to take over.
“Hey, hey. Darlin’, breathe,” You tried to keep it together as much as you could, but Joel could see the slight tremble in your body, the way you were unintentionally digging your nails into his shoulder. “Are you sure this is somethin’ you want?”
“Yes. It- It is. I know it…it doesn’t seem like it, but,” a shy laugh escapes your lips, and you loosen your grip. “But I want this. I’m serious, Joel.”
At your words, the Texan nods firmly. His touch resumes on your stomach, fingertips trailing up and over your ribcage, feeling the ridges even through the skin. His touch is featherlight, calming even. And then his fingers brush against the bottom of your underwear, earning a gasp from your mouth.
“Someone’s eager..” He murmurs, shifting his hips nearly imperceptibly. But you could feel the hot bulge of his arousal pressed to the soft flesh of your inner thigh, the way it twitches through the thin fabric of his boxers.
“I could- could say the same about, uh, you,” It sounded a lot smoother in your head, but not so much when you stutter it out.
But he was right. The soft cotton panties that adorned your hips were damp in the crotch from your arousal, the slickness only growing with each touch, each loving caress from your older lover.
“Remember what I said, pumpkin. Breathe, in and out.” For someone so…intimidating, Joel can never help himself from babying you; especially in this moment of pure vulnerability for you, for your relationship.
Taking his advice, you suck in a deep breath, letting the oxygen sit in your lungs for a few seconds before you exhale just as slowly. The nerves are still there, but they’re calming down, and you can feel yourself enjoying the moment even more.
Joel can tell, too, because his touch becomes bolder. Leaning in, his lips descend upon your neck. He makes sure to carefully nip at the sensitive flesh behind your ear, earning a soft moan. But the acts of affection lower, and he starts to trail down the column of your throat with them, occasionally slipping the tip of his tongue out to taste you.
By the time he’s got you more opened up to the idea of this, you’re squirming under him, trying to press your hips up into his own. He chuckles, the movement making his beard scratch nicely against your jawline.
One of his hands begins to slip down, dipping below the elastic waistband of your underwear. He stops just short of actually making contact with your pussy, his fingers pulling back slightly. Joel leans his head back, only enough to look down at you. He can see the flush on your cheeks and it makes his dick throb.
“Is this okay?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head, those weathered puppy eyes staring longingly into yours.
“Yeah..” You breathe. The anticipation combined with your arousal is sending tingles up your legs and into the apex of your thighs, amplifying every one of your intense feelings. Your pulse quickens, the steady thrum of your heart filling your ears.
Without hesitation, his fingers finally make contact with your most intimate area. Joel emits a soft groan, while you emit an even softer whimper. His touch is electric, sending jolts of pleasure through your legs and lower stomach, even if he hasn’t touched a particularly sensitive area yet.
“You’re fuckin’ soaked,” he whispers, voice hoarse and full of incredulousness. The older man continues his exploration of your cunt, index finger languidly sliding between your hot folds, feeling the way it glides so easily from your evident need. You’re too flustered to say anything, so you only look away, wanting to shrink away from his gaze.
“Hey, look at me. Please.”
You tilt your head back, too weak and in love to ignore his loving plea. A genuine, tender smile curls at the corners of his lips. “I wanna see every emotion on that pretty lil’ face, ‘kay?”
“Fuck-” You gasp again when his digits find your clit, beginning to rub tight circles over the sensitive bud. It throbs under his touch, your legs quivering just a bit while your entrance clenches around nothing, eager to be filled with something. Anything.
“S’alright, let it out.” Joel praises lovingly as he kisses your cheek, continuing his movements that have your hips rocking up and arching to chase that pleasurable feeling.
With his thumb now replacing his fingers, Joel pays more attention to your entrance. But before he does anything, he suddenly lifts off of you. You whine at the loss of the pleasurable sensation, but he only gives you a soft ‘shh’, reassuring you that he’s nowhere near done working you up.
The older man finally settles between your thighs, his rough hands sliding up to your hips. His fingers curl around the waistband, pulling them off in one easy - or easy-looking - movement. The cool air brushing against your swollen folds makes you shudder, your toes curling on the sheets. It’d be surprising that you aren’t feeling exposed or uncomfortable, yet, you’re with Joel, and you trust him more than anyone.
“God, look at that,” A soft kiss is pressed to your mound, making you jump a little. “Every goddamn inch of you is perfect, sweetheart.” he admires.
It’s like you completely shut out every other feeling when Joel’s tongue comes out, mimicking the way his finger had slid between your folds just minutes ago. You can only focus on the wet, heady feeling of his tongue, of the way it brushes once more against your swollen clit.
Another mousy cry of need escapes you, yet your eyes are trained on Joel’s - you don’t want to disobey him. Watching him go down on you for the first time is so fucking erotic. “You taste even better than I imagined.”
Fuck.
Joel’s ministrations become more intense. His tongue flicks and works around your needy bud, not daring to overstimulate you before you two have even begun. Those arms come to wraps around your thighs, keeping you in place as he begins to feast on you like a man once starved.
“Holy shit,” Your hands lose themselves in the soft salt-and-pepper locks of Joel’s hair, tugging his face closer to your dripping cunt. This only makes him double down on his efforts, the obscene sounds of his tongue licking and lapping filling the room.
Joel stops for a moment, looking down. His hand pulls away from your thigh, bringing two fingers to his mouth. Then, he’s looking back into your heated stare, sucking them into his mouth, getting them slick enough to slip inside of you.
Now, this part was a little intimidating. Sure, you’ve touched yourself many a time, yet you’ve never put something inside of you. It makes you nervous to think about, but then you stop to think. He’s never hurt me before.
“Please be careful.” The words leave your lips before you can stop yourself.
“I wouldn’t dream of hurtin’ you, kid.”
The tip of only one digit breaches your small entrance, making you exhale a shaky sigh. It doesn’t hurt, but it feels unfamiliar, and your thighs threaten to lock around his head. Joel slides it in slowly, pupils blown wide at the feel of your velvety walls clinging to his finger, trying to pull him deeper. “I’d say you’re already up for a second. Carefully, ‘course.”
Your left hand loosens the grip it had on his hair, coming down to hold the one still around your thigh for support. Joel wastes no time in intertwining your fingers together, offering three comforting squeezes that melt your heart. I love you.
It’s a little longer of a process for your body to relax enough to let him slip in a second digit. The two inside of you stretch you just a bit, and the sensation is…odd. It’s not painful though, not when Joel’s muttering words of praise and reassurance the entire time.
“I think…I think you can move now.” You decide.
As if on cue, Joel’s fingers begin to slip in and out of your entrance, wanting to get you acquainted with the feeling. And once you do, he curls them up. They brush against your g-spot, feeling the spongy yet hard surface against the tips with each thrust.
Even the slightest touch as your back arched off the bed, a keening moan filling the room. Joel only smiles contentedly, lowering his head to begin suckling at your clit.
Your toes curl once again, and you cry out. “Oh my god, Joel-” Each flick of his tongue, each movement of his fingers has you grinding against his mouth, unable to hold back. The flush on your cheeks has bloomed down to your neck, the cutest sight to the older man who absolutely adores you. “That feels s- so fucking good-”
“Let it out. Be as loud as you need to, baby,” his southern drawl comes out husky with arousal, yet he pushes through. His desires can wait, he’s only worried about making sure you have the best first time. It only comes once, but he wants to make sure you do multiple times tonight.
The praise sets you off, the combination of being fingered and eaten out has you an absolute blissed-out mess. He hums against your cunt, sending vibrations through your entire body. Your hand tightens in his, your head thrown back.
Just another minute or so passes, and you feel the intense tug in your lower stomach. Close, already. Joel can tell as well, seeing the way your walls are fluttering around him as he finger-fucks you with care. His tongue keeps the same steady pace, not wanting to change it up and make you lose the building climax.
“Joel- Joel! Fuck, don’t stop, please!”
And just like that, one more flick of Joel’s tongue, one more thrust of his digits, has you tumbling headfirst over the finish line. Your climax is intense, easily one of the most intense you’ve had in your short life. Thighs clenched tightly around his head, you cry out in ecstasy as your legs tremble and feel like jelly, walls contracting while your juices spill down to Joel’s palm.
And through it all, the older man’s mouth and hand keeps moving, prolonging your orgasm until you're a writhing, boneless heap on the bed beneath him. Your face glistens with that post-orgasmic glow, chest heaving with each gasp for air.
While you’re still reeling, Joel slowly removes his fingers. He presses kisses up along your body, only stopping when he reaches your lips. You can taste yourself on his tongue - slightly tangy and salty, mixed with something uniquely you. It should gross you out, but it only serves to keep your arousal up, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer.
“You did so good, so fuckin’ good,” Joel mumbles between kisses. The kisses aren’t overly eager; no, they’re full of adoration and tenderness, and the desire to make you feel the best that you possibly can.
You already feel like a puddle of goo, but the way he’s complimenting you only makes you melt even more. But something snaps you from your thoughts - his length, once again, pressed to your thigh. It’s as hard as a fucking rock, and you know it has to hurt as this point. One glance down and you can see the wet patch from the pre-cum staining his boxers, and it makes you shudder.
“Keep going..” you murmur, voice weak and slightly husky from the climax. Joel only looks at you with a curious lift of his brow. But you only nod, even beginning to rub your thigh against his bulge.
“Are you sure, pumpkin? I mean- fuck.” The growl deep in his chest makes your pussy wetter, and you can see his hips twitch slightly, wanting to chase that friction. “Alright, alright.” He chuckles.
Pulling back so he’s on his knees, the Texan moves to tug his waistband down.The boxers slip down his muscular thighs with ease, revealing the neatly trimmed forest at the base of his shaft, and most importantly, the seven and a half inch length of his cock. It springs free, slapping against his stomach as he leans back, giving you the full view. It’s thick, veiny, and clearly in need of release. It twitches once again, the tip an angry pink.
You’ve felt it multiple times during your makeout sessions, and even seen it during showers together, but this was entirely different.
“This is gonna hurt, isn’t it?” You swallow thickly. The nerves rush back, making your stomach drop and clench with anticipation. All you can think is ‘how is that supposed to fit in that?’
“I won’t let it,” he’s quick to dispel your fears, once again. “I promise ya’.”
You watch on in aroused disbelief as Joel spits into his calloused palm before he brings it down to wrap around his shaft. “You’ve got me hard as a damn rock, kid.” His head tilts back, strong jaw clenching under his beard as he starts to stroke it with lazy pumps of his fist. It must be only to lubricate it, because he’s back to hovering his body over yours. “Ain’t a surprise though, huh?”
With one hand moving to guide his length to your soaked pussy, the other moves back to slide into your own, holding your hand to support you through what’s going to be your first time having sex.
“You’re so beautiful,” Joel’s soothing words fill you with ease. He kisses your forehead, pouring every ounce of his true love for you into the action. He’s not a man of many words, but you melt down that gruff exterior, and he loves you all the more for it. “So perfect. And all mine, ain’t that right?” It’s possessive, but he’s not mean about it. You nod, and he smiles. “Can you say it for me, pumpkin? Go on, I know ya’ can.”
Trying to gather up the words while Joel’s swiping his cockhead through your folds for lubrication is nearly impossible. Your hand tightens on his, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to focus on the task you’ve been given.
“I- I’m all yours, Joel.” You finally breathe, gasping when his tip breaches your entrance. It feels thicker than his two fingers, and there’s a slight burning sensation that comes with being stretched like that.
Joel grunts, one hand beside your head to keep himself up. His other simply squeezes yours back, grounding you to the situation. “I know, baby, I know. Deep breaths, breathe through it.”
The encouragement is enough, and you start to breathe deeply as he begins to sink inch by inch inside of your tight, wet, velvety heat. You’ve never been stretched so fully - or at all for that matter - it makes you wince, yet clench your muscles around him.
“I love you. I love you so fuckin’ much,” Joel grunts, the pleasure nearly overtaking him. It’s so fucking tight around his cock, he fights the urge to just start thrusting right then and there. But he’d never hurt you, especially not for some selfish need for pleasure. “Say it back, sweetheart, let me hear those words from your pretty ‘lil’ mouth.”
It clicks right then and there; he’s distracting you, trying to make you focus on anything other than the feeling of him stretching you wide around his arousal. It’s so sweet it nearly brings tears to your eyes. In fact, it does. Your eyes fill with unshed tears at the sentiment, and you cling tighter to him.
“I love you.”
The older man finally buries himself to the hilt inside of your cunt, his breathing slightly ragged. He stills to let you work out the foreign feeling for a few moments, leaning down to kiss your cheeks, even kissing away the few tears that had escaped.
“Say it again, kid.”
“F- Fuck- I love you-”
“Atta girl.” Joel encourages warmly, and he begins to piston his hips in gentle, languid strokes. Each thrust has him groaning, mouth pressed against your collarbone, which he begins to mark up with hickeys. It’s a reminder of the trust you put into him, the trust he wouldn’t break for the world. “I love you more.”
Meanwhile, each thrust has you making your own coos of pleasure. The feel of his cock nestled inside of you, each roll of his hips that has his pelvis grinding against your oh-so-sensitive clit, is driving you insane with gratification. With unadulterated need.
Your bodies fit and move together like pieces of a puzzle, your legs wrapped tight against his waist as he drives into you over and over. The pain and burn had begun to fade, opening up to extreme pleasure every time the slight curve of his cock pressed against your g-spot.
Your noises, combined with the slapping of flesh, fills your ears, making it impossible to focus on anything else; not that you’d want to anyway. And the noises you were making were making Joel inch towards the edge, no matter how hard he tried to fight against it.
“You’re so fuckin’ tight, my god, pumpkin,” Joel growls. Making sure you’re still holding onto his hand, his other one slips back down - making sure to caress your breasts adoringly on the way - to rub circles into your bud. You mewl, the dual stimulation serving to heighten your pleasure even more. Your walls clamp down on Joel’s shaft, making him let out a strangled moan. It was no secret, you were both so close.
“I want- ah, shit-” The Texan mutters, trying to find his bearings while his hips begin to rut faster, chasing the release he craves. “I want you to cum with me, kid. Let it- Let it wash over ya’. Deep breaths.”
Joel redoubles his efforts, wanting you to find that wave of ecstasy beside him. He can tell you're close, and with the way his balls draw up tight, he can tell he is too.
“Joel-” Your nails dig into his hand, leaving deep crescent-shaped marks with every step closer you take to the edge. “I- I’m gonna-”
“Shit, darlin’-” It’s not long before you both find that much-needed orgasm. Joel’s lips crash against yours, groaning gutturally into your mouth, his hips bucking. Your climax triggered his own, walls keeping him deep inside while his cock twitches and pulses, emptying ropes of thick, hot cum deep inside your womb until he’s spent and panting.
Your legs had locked tight around him, squeezing him while you rode out your own waves of pleasure. Your cries were muffled by his lips, by his tongue. It was somehow even more intense than the previous one, your juices flowing and dripping down his shaft.
Joel carefully collapses on top of you, his hands moving to gather your boneless form into his comforting arms. “There you go, sweetheart. You did so good. So good for me.” He whispers against your ear, turning your bodies to the side so you were snuggled against the hard planes of his chest instead of laying under him.
“Was it okay?” He asks, genuinely caring about your wellbeing whilst he peppers kisses all over your face. His softening cock slips out of you with a soft pop, a trail of your combined fluids leaking from your well-loved hole and onto the blankets below.
“Okay?” You ask in a tired voice, your face pressed against his neck. “That was...that was fucking amazing.”
Joel chuckles, the deep rumble of it vibrating in his chest and filling your ear. “Good, kid. I’m glad.” There’s a sense of accomplishment in the way he holds himself in this very moment. He’s proud he’s satisfied you, turned your first time into something you’ll never forget. “Don’t worry about cleanin’ up just yet. Lemme hold ya’.”
“Mhm..” You’re so out of it that you’re already falling asleep - and Joel’s kisses aren’t making it any easier to stay awake. The scent of him fills your nose, the comforting smell surrounding you in warmth and familiarity. “How…how was I?”
“The best I ever had. Ever.” His thick fingers start to trace invisible patterns around your back, his movements reverent - he was being genuine with his words, you could hear it in his voice.
“Get some sleep, baby girl. I love you more than anything. And I mean that.” His breath nearly catches, a lump forming in his throat. The man quickly clears his throat, not wanting to get all sappy on you when you’re trying to sleep. Though, he does whisper one last thing before closing his own dark eyes, letting exhaustion wash over him as well.
“Anything, kid.”
#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller x y/n#the last of us hbo#the last of us tv#joel miller x reader smut#joel takes your virginity#pedro pascal#joel miller fanfiction#tlou fanfiction
47 notes
·
View notes
Text
Arcane S2 thoughts
(spoilers, obviously)
Most of this was sent to my friend Penn @pennedinblood in discord first, but I wanted to share it + some more on here too.
Okay, I now that its been a couple days and I've had time to think properly, have some thoughts about Arcane. This isn't going to be as specific and nuanced as I'd like, but I'll need more time for something like that.
Here's the thing... What we did get was good and I liked it a lot - for the most part anyway - but like - it wasn't a very good finale imo...
Like -
In season one they had this just fucking masterful foundation for such a nuanced discussion of class and oppression, of the cycle of violence, of how desperate acts may seem evil to some but are not always as simple as they seem and that one person's actions may influence the narrative but that it is the systems in place - and the willingness to follow systems that harm a disproportionate amount of the population for personal gain - that are the real issue. There were no real villains in s1 imo. It was just people making good, bad, or neutral choices, and they all interconnected and effected not only the plot, but the audiences' understanding of the corrupt system in place.
It forced you (if you're paying attention) to understand with visceral understanding both those of the oppressed and the oppressors; and in the midst of all of that we had magic and science interplaying beautifully against the good and greed of mankind.
AND just vast, resonant, deep interpersonal connections and development that you could feel in your bones.
and then in season two... we just kind of went - 'fuck that here's jesus and a witch ~~~ Magic war tiiime' Like?????
It touched on a few themes for sure, and what Jayce had to say to Viktor about disability and the purpose of people, or the value in imperfection and the point of life - as someone who's struggled with their health and other personal things I don't want to get into on the internet, that hit so hard. I hated Jayce in S1, and he won me over in act one of this season and just - didn't let me down. His arc was beautiful and I really really appreciate it. His connection with Viktor means so much to me. screeches into the void
But lets be so fucking real - they kind of (majorly) chickened out of their mass commentary on the opposing classes and working towards a better system that doesn't harm its people. and instead like - Vi's arc got completely fucked?
Like - oh okay so you ditched everything you were going to say and just made her a strong war pawn who can hit good and is gay coolcoolcool (sobs). Like, act one was so promising it really felt like it was following up on everything they had been working towards, and i loved seeing Vi having to make hard choices; watching her become an enforcer as the only way she could think of to deal with two disparate parts of herself - one that needed to put an end to the monster she feels like she created (Jinx, obvi), and one that desperately needed to hold onto the only person she had left (Caitlyn).
And Cait's devolvement into fascism was so intriguing and dark and I hated it in a good way, yk? Like I was like "oh fuck they made Cupcake unrecognizable in a fucking believable way wtf that's rad bro"
And then in act two they were just like 'HAHA lets not show you anything but the highlights of Vi's inner tumoil, then - wow look Jinx is here to tell her about Vander! - let's just never actually take a hard look into Vi's issues or personal arc ever again teehee - oh! And Cait's on our side again yay!' Like EXCUSE ME???
Vi had stood as one of the most important characters in the entire show. She is the linchpin between Piltover and Zaun - one of only two hinges that connects the two cites (the other being Viktor to a far lesser degree bc his roots are never explored, Singed is the only undercity person we see him go back to interact with, etc etc leaving Vi to be the only 'real one') And they completely sidestepped that - especially how she's also so connected to Ekko and the Firelights - which was just - never touched again - Ekko didn't even get to fix his tree! I get it, bigger fish but ffs - it's not a blaming character thing, it's a writing issue. I understand why Ekko had to focus on smth besides his tree lmao - it's that the writers just dropped this thing that stood so strongly for Ekko's fucking roots man (pun intended). Like - He's representing what Vander wanted to do. What Zuan could be. He is literally making a part of Zaun beautiful and supportive, and standing resolute against the system and saying "both of you are wrong, back tf up and lets talk" and they just got rid of that. I think it says a lot that that in particular was punted into the void.
I'm just not over that we never got to see him and Vi interact again dude wth - and I feel like that really speaks to how much they removed Vi from her point and purpose in S1. It would make sense if she needed more time to reconnect -esp after how Cait betrayed her - but to never actually talk again? Just glimpsing each other in the finale?
Don't get me wrong, I loved some of the time-suckers this season. Mel for one (who I also wasn't a huge fan of in S1 (I didn't trust her lol)). Everything with Mel, Vik, and Jayce was sooo interesting, and Ambessa was a great villain. She was imposing and horrible and yet there were very small parts of her that you could understand - but there wasn't enough time. Not with everything else we were also touching. Not without loosing so much of what we had been working towards. And even with the large focus, The Black Rose was this jumbled mess of ideas that didn't really amount to much besides giving Mel a powerup and probably leading us into the spinoff :(
I've been having trouble processing all of this because I'm shocked and upset because narratively, I didn't like it.
And I HATE that I didn't like it. I liked the individual scenes. I liked the concepts at play. But none of it was fleshed out!
That impeccable no-crumbs-left writing was suddenly nothing but crumbs. A whole feast of them. Nothing was really held together and it left each arc feeling like a separate vaguely-connected vignette rather than a whole story - let alone a satisfying conclusion to the previous season.
I'm genuinely angry because I wanted so badly to love this season but I just don't; not as a whole, not as an ending. Again, the individual moments were largely great, but good moments don't make a good story.
I just feel like they were trying too hard to serve LoL lore. Originally Arcane wasn't cannon-compliant with the messy lore of the game, and then a few months ago they came out and said that it was now considered canon - and I was excited bc I thought that meant that whatever they did would influence League - but I was wrong. I think it's very clear that Canonizing Arcane had the opposite effect. I think it's why they chickened out of their societal commentary - I think it's why the Champion deaths were so 'no body, no proof'. I think that it undercut all the stakes for the writers and made them forced to bend to the will of a lot more oversight from the higher-ups at Riot.
I don't know guys, how are you feeling? I'm really glad we got CaitVi cannonized (but I have things I wanna say about that too, esp. how their sex scene played into the sidestepping of Vi's arc (not that it happened, but the way it did - I can talk more about this another time lmao)) and I loved getting a timebomb kiss (again more Vi arc things I wanna say *sobbing and gnawing on my cage bars*) but yeah - anyway I gotta stop typing before I get too into-the-weeds of my thoughts. I'll probably make a big post about the specifics of how I feel they fucked up Vi's story in another post bc I clearly can't let it go XD
But fr tell me ur thoughts too pls I want to know what you thing even if - maybe even especially if - you disagree with me :3
Idk I've got to rewatch it.
It wasn't bad TV, it's still better than most things coming out right now... I hate that I can't just love it entirely rn raaaaaaahhh auhfalwoiha (help D':)
#ltbd rambles#arcane#arcane s2#arcane spoilers#arcane thoughts#arcane s2 finale#arcane s2 thoughts#arcane vi#arcane caitlyn#arcane mel#arcane viktor#arcane ambessa#arcane jayce#arcane ekko#arcane jinx#arcane powder#vi#caitlyn kiramman#mel medarda#viktor#jayce talis#ambessa medarda#ekko#jinx
21 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hii can you do a Matt Sturniolo imagine where like the reader (us) is Eminem’s daughter and they like meet at an event and are like super into each other but they Matt doesn’t find out we’re eminems daughter until a little bit later. Please and thank you <3
∿ 𝜗 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜚 ﹐
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: At an event, Y/n, Eminem’s daughter, meets Matt while picking a drink. They connect easily, and when Matt learns who she is, he treats her like anyone else. By the end of the night, there's a spark between them, hinting at something special.
𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 : yes
𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: older!matt x fem!reader | Eminem's daughter
𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: fluff, mentions of alcohol consumption
𝒘. 𝒄.: 3.1k
𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: I hope you like it! 🎀🤍 It's my first request, and I'm pretty nervous! SEND ME MORE REQUESTS, AND IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST, LEAVE A COMMENT ON THE POST:
౨ৎ𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | ౨ৎ𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 |
| ౨ৎ𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 | ౨ৎ𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕
The event was in full swing, a sea of people gathered in the extravagant venue. The lights flickered in sync with the beats of the music, and the air was thick with excitement. But, as always, you tried your best to stay in the background, away from the spotlight that seemed to follow you wherever you went. After all, being Eminem's daughter wasn’t always as glamorous as people made it out to be. Tonight was no exception, your goal was to enjoy the night without drawing too much attention.
You bit your lip as you read over the menu for what felt like the tenth time. A Tommy’s Margarita? A Negroni? You had no idea what the difference was between them, and the last thing you wanted was to look completely out of place by ordering something that tasted awful. You loved a good drink, but you weren’t exactly a cocktail expert. You shifted on your feet, trying to decide, and that’s when you heard a voice next to you.
“Having trouble deciding?” he asked, his voice light and friendly, with a hint of curiosity.
You blinked, trying to shake the feeling that you knew him from somewhere. Maybe a friend of a friend? Or just someone you’d seen in passing? You didn’t know, but his face definitely wasn’t unfamiliar. Maybe you had seen him in a video or an Instagram post? He had that vibe, someone you might come across on a popular account. You couldn’t quite place it, but there was something about him that felt so familiar.
“Yeah,” you admitted with a small laugh. “I’m a little lost here. I was thinking of getting a Tommy’s Margarita or a Negroni, but I don’t even know what the difference is.”
He glanced at the menu, his smile not fading. “Ah, well, the Tommy’s Margarita’s actually a pretty straightforward drink. It’s just tequila, lime juice, and agave. No triple sec like a regular margarita. It’s refreshing—tart, but not too sweet.”
You nodded slowly, trying to absorb the information. “So, it’s like a cleaner version of a regular one?”
“Exactly,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he spoke. “It’s pretty smooth, too, so it’s a good choice if you’re looking for something light and easy to sip on.”
You felt a little more confident now, but your attention still wavered between the drinks on the menu. “And the Negroni? What’s that one like?”
He chuckled softly, as though amused by the contrast in choices you were considering. “A Negroni is, uh... definitely more of an acquired taste,” he explained, his voice gentle and patient. “It’s gin, vermouth rosso, and Campari. It’s very bitter—herbal, strong. Not something I’d recommend if you want something refreshing.”
You wrinkled your nose at the thought of something so bitter. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that one. Not feeling the bitter vibe tonight.”
He laughed, a warm, easy sound. “Smart move. The last thing you want is to be stuck with something you can’t even enjoy. You want something light, right?”
You nodded, relieved that he was guiding you through the options without any judgment. You were starting to feel more at ease in this conversation, even though you couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling that you knew him from somewhere.
“Well, in that case,” he continued, his gaze still on the menu, “the Tommy’s Margarita is definitely your best bet. It’s the kind of drink that goes down easy and doesn’t make you regret your choices later.”
You chuckled, appreciating the reassurance. “Okay, I’ll go with that. One Tommy’s Margarita, please,” you said, feeling like you could actually get through the night without too much embarrassment.
He grinned, clearly pleased with your choice. “Good pick. You won’t regret it.”
As the bartender started preparing your drink, you turned to face him again, feeling like the conversation had flowed so easily. There was something about him that made you feel comfortable, as if talking to him was just... natural. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder where you knew him from.
The more you thought about it, the more his face seemed familiar. Maybe you’d seen him on social media, or in a video—he had that type of presence that made you feel like you’d come across him online before. It was like a faint memory that was just out of reach.
“So, are you new to cocktails, or just trying something different tonight?” he asked casually, his voice relaxed.
You laughed, feeling the lightness of the moment. “I’m more of a wine or beer person. But, you know, fancy night and all that. Figured I should try something new.”
He nodded in understanding. “I get it. Sometimes the fancy drinks aren’t just about the taste. They’re about the experience, right?”
“Exactly!” you said, warming to the conversation. “It’s like, why not try something new while we’re here?”
“Right,” he agreed, his voice softening. “Life’s too short to play it safe all the time. Gotta make the night memorable.”
You smiled, feeling a little more connected to him. There was something about the way he spoke—so laid-back, so easy to talk to—that made the whole event feel less overwhelming. Maybe you had made the right choice coming here tonight after all.
“Plus,” he added with a teasing grin, “if the drink ends up being terrible, we can just blame it on the drink and call it a learning experience.”
You laughed, and the bartender slid your Tommy’s Margarita toward you. You picked it up, raising your glass toward him. “Well, I’ll just blame you if it doesn’t taste good.”
Matt raised his own drink, his eyes locking with yours as he smiled. “You can blame me all you want. I’ll take the hit.”
You both clinked glasses, and you took a sip of your drink. It was perfect—tart, refreshing, exactly what you needed. You smiled at Matt over the rim of your glass, feeling a little lighter now that you’d figured out what to drink.
“This is really good,” you said, your smile genuine.
He grinned, pleased with your reaction. “Told you. You made the right choice.”
For a moment, you just stood there, both sipping your drinks and enjoying the quiet comfort of each other’s company. The event felt a little less like a formal gathering and more like just two people getting to know each other.
"So, are you always this good at making cocktail recommendations?" you teased, a small smile curling at your lips. "Or is this just a one-time thing?"
Matt chuckled, his eyes lighting up as they met yours. "I’m just a guy who knows his drinks. But I think I’m also pretty good at reading the room," he said with a playful glint in his eye.
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the confidence in his voice. "Oh really?" you asked, leaning in slightly, just enough to make the space between you feel charged. "And what does that say about me?"
He took a small step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. "It says you’re someone who appreciates a good recommendation—and someone who knows how to enjoy themselves when they’re out," he said, his voice lowering slightly, as if the words were meant only for you.
You smiled, the compliment making your pulse quicken a bit. There was an undeniable energy between you two now, something that made the rest of the world blur out of focus for a moment. "I like the sound of that," you murmured, feeling a little bolder now that the conversation was leaning into something more intimate.
Matt’s lips curved into a grin, his gaze softening just a touch. "Good, because I’m just getting started," he replied, his tone warm, yet there was a challenge in it, like he was daring you to keep up.
Your heart fluttered, the playful back-and-forth making everything feel more thrilling. The connection between you was undeniable now, and you could tell he was just as drawn to you as you were to him. The night felt suddenly filled with possibilities, and the conversation was only just beginning.
"So, what’s next?" you asked, your voice soft but curious, wondering where this would lead.
Matt leaned in just slightly, his voice quieter. "Whatever you’re up for. I’m all about keeping things interesting."
You couldn’t help but smile, the tension between you two building with every passing moment. The night had just begun, but you already felt like it was turning into something unforgettable.
As the conversation continued, the easy chemistry between you two only grew. You felt yourself relaxing, laughing more easily with him. There was something so natural about the way he spoke, like he was genuinely interested in getting to know you for who you were—not just as someone famous, but as you.
He leaned in a little closer, his eyes locking with yours as he asked, “So, you never told me your name…”
You hesitated for a moment, feeling the subtle shift in the air. "It’s Y/n," you replied, your voice soft, not fully sure what kind of reaction he might have. "But, um, I guess you could say... it’s a bit of a... family name."
Matt furrowed his brow, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Family name? What’s that supposed to mean?” His curiosity was clear, though there was no judgment in his voice.
You smiled, looking down at your drink for a second before meeting his gaze again. "Well... my dad’s kind of a big deal," you said, your words casual but laced with a hint of hesitation. "You might’ve heard of him... Eminem?"
Matt blinked, processing the information. The realization slowly dawned on him, and his expression shifted from playful curiosity to something more awed. "Wait, Eminem’s daughter?" He leaned back slightly, eyes widening. "No way."
You couldn’t help but laugh at the surprise in his voice. "Yeah, I know, kind of a shocker, right?" You shrugged, trying to downplay it, feeling the familiar discomfort of being tied to that name, though it wasn’t the first time someone had made that connection.
But Matt’s surprise wasn’t off-putting. He didn’t seem impressed in the way people usually were when they found out who your dad was. He seemed genuinely... intrigued, and something in his expression softened as he continued, “I never would’ve guessed. Honestly, I don’t even know why I didn’t put it together sooner.”
You smiled, appreciating his reaction more than you expected. "I like to keep things low-key," you said. "It’s just easier that way."
He nodded, looking thoughtful. “I get that. It must be tough sometimes, though, right? Having everyone always know who you are...”
You shrugged. “It’s not that bad, really. I’ve always kind of just... been me. The whole fame thing is something I never really got used to.”
Matt’s eyes softened, his voice quieting. “I like that about you. You’re not trying to be anyone you’re not.”
There was something in the way he said it, so honest, that made your chest warm. His sincerity was refreshing, and it made you feel even more at ease with him.
"So, um..." Matt began, his smile returning. "That’s pretty cool, though. I’m not gonna lie, I was kinda shocked when you said your name earlier, but you’re nothing like what I expected."
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what did you expect?”
Matt chuckled, a bit of shyness creeping into his demeanor now that the mystery was out. "I don’t know, maybe someone who’d be all about the spotlight? You’re just... normal. And honestly, it’s kinda nice."
You smiled at his honesty, feeling your heart flutter a little. “Yeah, well, sometimes I’d rather just enjoy the night like anyone else. No cameras, no interviews... just a drink and a good conversation.”
“Exactly,” Matt said, his voice almost conspiratorial. “And it feels like that’s what we’re having right now.”
The way he said it made your pulse quicken. He wasn’t treating you like you were some celebrity—he was just treating you like someone he was genuinely getting to know, and that felt... nice. More than nice, actually.
"So," you said, leaning in a little, your voice soft, “what do you think about the rest of the night? You up for a bit of an adventure?”
His smile widened, and you could see the same spark in his eyes that you felt. “You know what? I think I’m up for whatever comes next... especially if it means more time with you.”
The air between you two crackled with potential, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you weren’t just the daughter of a famous rapper—you were just Y/n, having a fun night with someone who was clearly drawn to you, not the persona attached to your name.
As the night stretched on, you two continued to talk, laugh, and enjoy each other's company, both of you discovering more about the other in the most genuine way possible. By the time the event started to wind down, you realized how much you were looking forward to what might come next.
And for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel like Eminem’s daughter, just a girl who had met someone she couldn’t wait to see again.
As the event began winding down, the crowd starting to thin out, you found yourself not wanting to leave just yet. There was something about Matt that kept you there, drawn to him in a way that felt effortless. His presence was comforting, like a quiet anchor in a world that could sometimes feel overwhelming.
The music was quieter now, the lights dimmer, but you barely noticed any of that. Your focus was entirely on him, the way he smiled when he caught your gaze, the way his hand rested just a little too close to yours on the bar.
“So,” Matt said, leaning closer, his voice soft, “I’m really glad we talked tonight. I know we’ve only just met, but it feels like... I don’t know, like it’s been longer, you know?”
You smiled, your heart skipping a beat at how sincere he sounded. “I feel the same way,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like everything just clicked, like we’re... meant to be having this conversation right now.”
Matt’s gaze softened, and he smiled at you with such warmth that your chest fluttered. There was something undeniably sweet about how easy it was to talk to him, how comfortable he made you feel despite the weight of who you were. He didn’t treat you like you were someone special just because of your last name. He treated you like you were... you. And that felt like a breath of fresh air.
“You know,” Matt said, his hand moving just a little closer to yours, “I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you. I can’t remember the last time I met someone who made me feel this... easy.”
You reached for your drink, your fingers brushing against his hand by accident, but the small touch made your heart race. “Yeah,” you said softly, “it’s rare to find someone who just gets it, isn’t it?”
Matt smiled, his thumb brushing lightly against your hand as if to reassure you. “Yeah, it is. But I’m glad I found that someone tonight.”
Your breath caught in your throat at the way he looked at you, the warmth in his gaze sending a flutter through your chest. He didn’t need to say anything more for you to understand what he meant. The connection between you two was undeniable, growing with every passing moment.
“Matt,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “this... it feels really nice, just being here with you. I didn’t expect to feel like this tonight.”
Matt's eyes softened even more, and you could see the shift in his expression—a kind of vulnerability that made your heart ache in the best way possible. He leaned a little closer, his voice gentle. “I didn’t expect to feel this way either, but I’m glad it’s happening.”
Your heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his voice. You felt your pulse quicken, and before you knew it, you were leaning in just a little, drawn to him in a way that felt almost magnetic. The tension between you two was palpable now, the air thick with the anticipation of something that could be even more than this easy conversation.
“You know,” Matt murmured, his voice low and warm, “I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you are, Y/n. Not just because of who you are, but because of how you carry yourself. You’re... real. And I like that.”
You felt your cheeks flush, your heart swelling with the warmth of his words. “You’re making me blush,” you whispered, but there was a playful smile on your lips.
Matt chuckled softly, his hand brushing against yours once more, his fingers intertwining with yours. It was a simple touch, but it felt like everything in that moment. “I’m glad I could make you smile,” he said, his voice so sweet, it made your chest ache with affection.
You looked into his eyes, the connection between you two feeling more real with each passing second. "I like this," you whispered, your voice steady but soft. "I like us."
Matt’s expression softened, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand as he smiled at you, a little shy, but genuine. "Me too, Y/n. Me too."
For a long moment, you just looked at each other, the world around you fading into the background. There was no pressure, no expectations—just two people sharing a moment that felt... perfect. The warmth in your chest and the soft smile on Matt’s face told you that this was only the beginning of something good. Something that felt right.
And as the night drew to a close, neither of you seemed eager to part ways. It wasn’t just the drinks or the event that made this night special. It was the connection that had formed between you both, something sweet and real that you couldn’t deny.
"Maybe we can continue this... sometime?" Matt asked, his voice low, filled with anticipation. "Like a real date?"
You smiled, the flutter in your chest growing. "I’d like that," you whispered back, your heart racing a little faster at the thought.
Matt grinned, a warm, sincere smile that made your heart skip a beat. "Good. Because I think I’ve already decided—I’m not letting you go that easily."
And with that, you both knew that tonight wasn’t just a fleeting moment. It was the start of something new, something sweet, and perhaps even the beginning of something more.
﹒◟send me your requests and use an emoji if you want to stay anonymous. 𓂃
@estellesdoll
𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @gemzyy
#estellesdoll#matt sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo x reader#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#aesthetic#request#request open#masterlist#chris sturniolo#older!matt#eminem's daughter#eminem#event#taglist#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#nick sturniolo#chris sturiolo fanfic#chris sturniolo texts#matthew sturniolo x you#matt sturniolo texts#matthew sturniolo x reader#matthew stuniolo
52 notes
·
View notes
Text
KINTYPE LIST!
over the past year, ive experimented with multiple labels and identities. this is to update yall on the creatures i feel connected to and identify as/with!
1. Red Fox
this is my strongest type, and is my main hearttype. i experience phantom limbs, specifically a tail, ears, fangs, muzzle, and being the size of a fox. i also experience the most species dysphoria in regards to my red fox kintype. this has been my longest-lasting identity as well! i own quite a bit of gear for this type, including a tail and multiple self-made masks. for me, red foxes teeter on the line between identifying *with* and identifying *as* one. so far, though, i do consider myself foxhearted! i experience longing for forests and fields, and a burrowed den. i also enjoy collecting and hoarding small items and food, similar to a fox. i specifically know that i have red fur, black paws and ear tips, and a white tail tip with green eyes.
2. Grey Fox
this is much more recent! a few days ago, i did a moodboard for someone regarding a grey fox, and i felt an instant connection. this is definitely a hearttype for me. something about looking at images of these critters makes me feel like im looking at family. grey foxes are most active at dusk and dawn, which i identify with strongly. grey foxes are unique in their ability for climbing trees, which i identify so strongly with! i love climbing up and just perching in a tree, watching people below me. it makes me feel safe and at-home. looking at this image feels like looking in a mirror, honestly. i believe that grey foxes are a strong hearttype for me, and may also dip into kintype territory!
3. Ocelot
again, this is very recent. i made a moodboard i believe just yesterday with these critters and something just clicked. i have experienced multiple feline shifts/behaviors, but i thought they were just cameo shifts. now i know that this is me!! ocelots are nocturnal, extremely territorial, and spend time in dense brush or trees-- all things that i identify with. ocelots mainly live in coastal marshes, mangrove forests, and tropical forests. i feel SO connected to this critter, it's absurd. this is definitely a kintype for me.
4. North American River Otter
our first linktype! i identify voluntarily as a river otter. ive always thought they were really cool and i feel a strong connection to creeks and rivers. i also exhibit multiple otter behaviors, some intentionally and some unintentionally. swimming is also quite euphoric for me! i don't feel entirely aquatic though, and i know i have paws and fur while in the water. this was my first linktype i chose! to me, this is a funlink.
5. Wild Rabbit
this is mostly behavior-based. i experience intense prey instincts, remain alert when outdoors, feel the need to burrow and make a safe place for myself, prefer to be solitary, make nests, and dig! i have quite a few rabbits in my neighborhood, and i feel a strong relation to them. im not quite sure what label fits my experience-- it's not intentional, but doesn't feel involuntary either. more like learned behaviors. i don't feel that i am a rabbit, but i am very much so like a rabbit. i dont identify with rabbits, but i do act and feel like one. it's strange! but burrowing and nesting makes me feel so euphoric :33 i believe this may be a form of copinglink, alongside a deeper involuntary identity.
6. Wolf
this is a copinglink/involuntary identity. again, it's behavior-based. this type feels the strongest whenever i am alone or with another person i care about, especially when in dangerous situations or areas. this is a very general wolf/canine type, as it's not specific to one kind or breed of canine. grey wolf seems to be the strongest, but i also feel shifts and identify as/with black wolves, coastal wolves, dobermans, german shepherds, and other canines! i believe this does partially stem from trauma, as i feel like a feral dog let free from confinement. however, i still identify on some integral level as a wolf, or as someone who was raised by/should have been one.
thats all for now! ill come back and edit this post whenever i see fit to add/remove information and kintypes ^^
#otherkin#alterhuman#otherkinity#alterhumanity#therian#therianthropy#therianthrope#otherheart#otherheartedness#otherhearted#otherlinked#otherlinker#otherlink#other link#copinglink#coping link#copinglinker#funlinker#funlink#fun link#kinpost#kinlist#otherkin list#alterhuman list#hearttype#hearttype list#linktype#linktype list#kintype#kintype list
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
Am I the only one who is disappointed with Caitvi in season two? When I watched the first season I had the biggest caitvi brain rot because they actually gave me SUCH a fun dynamic with them. Buddy cop Caitvi was hilarious, I loved that so so much!
And season 2 started of strong imo but then it rushed through everything. I loved the scene in the cell, obviously, but it was misplaced. Your sister is about to kill herself girl what are you doing this is not the time!! And other than romantic and sexual tension there wasn't all that much left of their previous dynamic aside from the brief scene in episode six...
Idk, I think I'm just annoyed. Usually when I see a non canon gay ship get more traction than the Canon lesbian couple, I just assume it's misogyny or lesbophobia, and move on with my life. But I can't even do that here because Caitvi was WAY more popular in season 1 (as they should).
Jayvik isn't getting somewhat more popular in season 2 because people don't like lesbians, but because their arcs are connected so strongly to each other. (Also I'm not saying that Jayvik is now more popular than Caitvi, but it's like a graph where the super high stocks caitvi are still even while Jayvik is skyrocketing rn)
Wanna know why Jayvik wasn't all that popular in season 1? Because (after act 1) their arcs were mostly separate, safe for a couple of moments. Viktor worked on his body and Jayce was doing politics.
Caitlyn and Vis arcs intertwined more, they actually did shit together and it was beautiful, funny, romantic, EVERYTHING!
Also a fun opposites attract buddy cop dynamic is also just more fun than men who do science together (in my personal opinion)
Now let's look at Caitlyn and Vis relationship in season two.
It starts of strong. I momentarily thought that Caitlyn was uncharacteristically mean to Vi when she refused to become an enforcer, but she apologized for it later and I recognized the fact that Caitlyn was grieving. Then once we get to episode two and three I could already feel their relationship being a bit more odd. The kiss (though I cheered) didn't feel right. I felt like something was missing, and that was their chemistry from season one. Also I feel like we glossed over too many decisions that Caitlyn made, and I think Vi should've put a stop to it sooner. But overall I was okay with them in act 1.
Then we had a timeskip and the two were fully separated. Act 2 literally started with Caitlyn in bed with another woman, like we can see they're not together anymore. Caitlyn has obviously changed, there is not much of the sweet cupcake left that we had come to love in season 1, and Vi is boxing and getting drunk.
Then they meet and like... Vi calls Cait cupcake, and Cait switches sides IMMEDIATELY? GIRL WTF?!
I get that Caitlyn wasn't entirely on Ambessas side the entire time, but I had hoped for more drama first. So you're telling me the very next interaction the two have after their heart wrenching falling out is them making up again? Come on.
Then we had act 3 and overall it was better I think but the timing of their hot scene in the cell was just odd, like what about your sister about to kill herself? I was very happy and hyped in the moment but then I realized how rushed this was. Why? Why make em fuck right here? And in the final act, the two weren't together because again, their arcs were not as connected. And that's actually pretty cool to have a couple who do their own things! But it doesn't help their relationship when they, in turn, aren't given enough time to develop as a pair!
I feel like season 1 did this incredible job of setting these characters up, showing us why they work so well together and why they would fall for one another. And season 2 gave us pay off for it but with very little set up, which was needed because of how Cait changed throughout the season. I don't mention Vi here because she did not change. She had her drunk boxing phase, which we got nothing but a montage off, but everything else is basically season 1 Vi aside from very few things here and there. Like her becoming an enforcer wasn't a character change for Vi, her finally letting go of powder and calling her sister Jinx, wasn't a big character moment for Vi, they were pay off for a set up we didn't get enough of.
SO TO GET TO MY POINT:
S2 was rushed. We should've AT LEAST gotten 3 seasons, like minimum, because there was a whole lot of plot and very little moments in between for characterization. Especially for Caitlyn and Vi and their relationship to each other.
I still generally prefer Caitvi to Jayvik, but only because of season 1. Season 2 gave me the two things I wanted most (a sexy scene and a kiss) but forgot to give me the things that made me fall in love with this ship in the first place.
Which was the hilarious buddy cop dynamic of rich girl cop Cait, and broke butch prisoner Vi.
#arcane#arcane s2#caitvi#jayvik#caitlyn kiramman#arcane vi#It's not that I dislike Caitvi now. I just think they could've given us more#Season 2 was very entertaining and artistically beautiful#But it wasn't the masterpiece that season 1 was#arcane critical#arcane criticism
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
Boppers, hear me out.
Victor is Luther's father.
Ok, now, you might be thinking: "what the actual fuck are you talking about?" Well, in this essay I'll expose favorable arguments to my theory/theses/head canon that, in the album, the police officer Victor is Luther's father. Keep your radio tuned tight, boppers, bcs I might be crazy OR I might be onto something.
(There will be spoilers)
1. First of all...
For context, Victor is the cop that kills Fox. He's played by David Patrick Kelly, the actor who plays Luther in the original movie, The Warriors (1979). This alone is a huge reason for me to believe that they are somehow connected, BUT THERE'S MORE!
I think we already established that what a character claims to be their reason for doing something is not always their real reasoning, or, at least, not the entirety of it. I do believe Luther kills Cyrus because he enjoys the chaos and has a lot of hate in his heart, as Swan wisely says, but I don't think that's all.
We have hints among his lines that he's also misogynistic and racist. "Well, duh?" You might say, because there were few white men who weren't those things by the time this story takes place, but sometimes we may underestimate how heavy this stuff weighs in the narrative. If he really likes chaos that much, why not kill, Idk, a police captain? That would certainly create generalized chaos just as he likes, but instead, he deliberately targets marginalized groups' leadership — he kills a black woman, a powerful black woman who was trying to unite her community.
She was obviously an obstacle for the cops to keep up with their oppression towards these groups because unity is strength, and all they don't want is strong communities that knows their rights and won't accept to be chased down like animals when they've done nothing but trying to survive.
In the very first track of the album, the question "but is Cyrus atractin' police action?" Is asked. The answer we find further on, especially when the police invades Van Cortlandt Park right after she's killed, is: *yes*, of course she is.
* Also, the timing here is too convenient, don't you think? Just like the police knew exactly when to attack, when the desperate crowd would be disorganized, when they would be easy prey... anyways 😛
2. That weird af phone call
Now that we have established that there would be a lot of interest on the police's part to have Cyrus killed, let's move on to the next topic.
Suddenly, without any further context or this being ever mentioned again, Luther talks to *someone* on the telephone. This happens in the album, and in the movie as well, it is not confirmed who the hell Luther was talking to on that phone call. I've already seen some people theorizing that he has contacts inside the force and that he's talking to them, and I agree, but I think he's not talking with some random cop, I believe he's talking to Victor.
Come think with me: how did Luther instantly knew Ajax had been taken by the cops ("Holy shit, Warrior down [...] Picked the wrong fight / now she's in for a long night", I'll talk about this later btw), and most importantly, what exactly was Victor doing at Union Square's station?
Let's compare this approach with Barnes' one at the park.
Barnes was alone in the bench, and only when Ajax approached him (and started beating the shit out of him), he called for police reinforcements. It didn't feel planned, even tho he was trying to bait them to come closer to him, I think it was much more about sexual harassment than him actually intending to arrest them. With Victor, however, it doesn't feel like a random encounter.
"Officers are on the scene". This line repeats a lot during Reunion Square, that alone indicates that there are a group of cops there, like they've been called. They knew the Warriors, specifically the Warriors, would be there, and why was it so important for them to get the Warriors if they're just a "likkle Coney Island crew"? Because Luther would be FUCKED if the Riffs reached them alive.
Of course, the Riffs could just not believe the girls, but he was not willing to risk it — after the phone call, Luther tells Cropsy the Riffs wanted the Warriors alive, but they don't. And he was right, wasn't him? Cleon being alive and telling the Riffs the truth was the only reason for him to be caught and... well, we don't know for sure what they did to him, but we can imagine they weren't gentle.
That being said, we have strong evidence that Luther was in touch with the cops, else he would have no way of knowing Ajax was grounded. And Victor needed a reason to be there as well; not only an informant, but also a motive, and if we consider the theory that he was talking to Luther, we have both things.
3. Trust in the impunity of a daddy's boy
During the entire musical, Luther thinks he can get away with about everything. I atribute that not only to the fact that he's a white man targeting women of color, but he must also have other reasons to believe he's immune to justice of any kind, and there's where I start to try to convince you that he's Victor's son.
I mean, when Cropsy shows that he's worried the Riffs would go after them, Luther, rather ignorantly, responds with "they're looking for the Warriors, remember?" As if the fact that the Riffs are going after the Warriors is enough for him to believe they would never even think about interrogating them, trying to find the murder weapon, etc.
This behavior suits someone that has never been held accountable for any misdeeds at all, and who would fit this description better than a cop's son?
Let alone that Victor is a captain. He holds even MORE power within the police. Being the son of a cop, even if you're a fucking gang member, you'd feel safe enough to do just whatever the fuck you want without even thinking about the consequences.
Like, how many times he could have been caught doing something illegal, just tell the cops "do you know who my father is?" AND IT ACTUALLY WORKING? I firmly believe he was the one to inform the cops about all of this — the gathering, the Warriors' location, and the fact that he needed daddy to arrest the women who could potentially cause something to happen to him, because the Riffs are not the police, they'd not give af abt who his father is, even someone like him would have to be a little worried about being taken by them.
4. Fox & Luther — Parallels
I bet you did not see that one coming. "What do you mean there's something in common between Fox and Luther specifically that makes Victor killing her an interesting parallel with his (supposed) son?"
Well, games. That's kinda it. Old games.
So, there are only two characters that canonically like games in the musical, because they actually mention them: Fox ("A-yo I'll take you on an Odyssey like Magnavox") and Luther (with his multiple references to Pacman during the entire thing and other game expressions, like "I was at the top of the screen when I took that shot")
The Magnavox Odyssey is actually mentioned on the movie (according to my own father. I confess I don't remember this part, but I trust my nerdy father who actually have a connection with old consoles to notice that) by the Lizzies (fem version of the Bizzies), and Fox was not even there at the moment. Actually, movie Fox does not have a lot of... personality, if you ask me, he was kinda irrelevant. Anyways, even if Lin and Eisa wanted to reference this specific part in which the Lizzies offer to play Odyssey with the Warriors to lure them, why not have the Bizzies saying that? Why Fox?
Because that would be a bitter irony in the future. I might be crazy, BUT HEAR ME OUT, Victor killing a young woman that shared his son's interest for games was a foreshadowing for him being responsible for Luther's death as well — because he failed.
This is other thing they share: they failed. Victor failed to stop the Warriors from going home, Luther failed to kill Cyrus and blame the Warriors with no consequences, they failed together at silencing them, and this CAUSED Luther's (probable) death.
5. A gang member who endorses the police?
Ok, this last section is based in my belief that, even tho the crews fight and have their diferences, they all share a common enemy: the cops. That was the reason for them to accept the truce after all, the cops are their common enemy.
But somehow that doesn't feel true for the Rouges.
First of all, they killed Cyrus, which obviously means they were not in favor of the truce. But why? They sure would suffer from police brutality too if they were a normal gang. And we can all agree that they are even more violent than the average gang (I mean... have you listened to their leader?).
Also, this line intrigues me.
I mean, "picked the wrong fight"? It is clear that Luther's view is biased to take the cops' side. In this case, one could argue that his misogyny would play a big part on him diminishing Ajax's will to fight against an abuser. Anyhow, I think that this evidences that, even tho he's a gang member, he has a strong connection with the police.
CONCLUSION
I think we can all agree that Luther has something going on with the police, and I hope I have convinced you that he has something going on with Victor specifically.
It is possible to argue that their connection is only "tactical", or even go as far as to say that they are friends or something (tho, I don't think that's possible. One thing about brats like the Rouges: they don't go well with old people, with all due respect. I don't personally see this working as a friendship), but I'll stand with the father-son relationship till the day I die!!
Thank you for reading this madness and please lmk what you think! If there's something that doesn't make sense, if you have your own theories... I mean, I'm far more invested in this than I ever thought I would be, please give me more content 🙏🙌
#sopa talks#warriors musical#warriors album#warriors fandom#boppers#theory#luther warriors#fox warriors#analysis#I don't even know what to tag just please tumblr god let this reach the right audience#lin manuel miranda#eisa davis
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
I know the decision to have Julian's parents have him augmented was made on the fly but imo its pretty obvious from early on that Julian has Family Issues because he avoids talking about his family like the plague and I think they should've incorporated this into the Julian and Sisko dynamic right from early on because I think it would've made for some really compelling stories and moments and could've set up a REALLY interesting Julian and Jake dynamic which they kinda started to do but never fully went for
#star trek: ds9#julian bashir#benjamin sisko#jake sisko#s1 Julian being so young and eager to prove himself and latching onto Sisko as this mentor figure to look up to#seeing Sisko with Jake and low-key seeking that fatherly figure connection which he won't even let himself think about#Sisko seeing this young brilliant doctor who's got all the makings to be something great and he's just GOTTA help him along#I think he would also catch on pretty quick that Julian's got Parental Issues#he tries to ask one day all casual like 'tell me about yourself :)' and Julian talks about nothing but Starfleet and med school#any attempts to ask about his family are met with awkward brief answers and redirections#and then theres the way Julian's eyes light up the first time Sisko invites him to watch a baseball game#like he Knows. he's a dad he Knows somethings up#but he doesnt pry#I also think it makes their dynamic more tragic towards the end of the series#where we have Sisko asking Julian to compromise his morals again and again#Julian's trust and respect for him gradually deteriorating#and then at the end of course Sisko is gone and they have no idea when he'll be back#which I think Julian would have a lot of complicated feelings about#but of course theres also Jake#I imagine they'd get closer#very brotherly dynamic#you know that scene in TNG where Wesley goes to Riker for girl advice and Riker and Guinan start flirting?#absolutely happens but with Jake asking Julian for girl advice and Julian wooing a girl at Quark's and Jake absolutely loses the plot#makes the events of ...Nor the Battle to the Strong more intense as well I think#also I like to think there'd be an episode where the B plot is Jake gets mad at Sisko and impulsively decides to move out#ends up at Julian's because he did not think this through#Julian is now very much caught in the middle of this family drama and he Fucking Hates It#also him and Jake are NOT compatible roommates but he's trying so so hard to be nice#eventually they have a talk and Julian cryptically hints at his own home life and tells Jake he's lucky he has a dad who cares so much#them being closer would work into what Alone Together sets up for them
179 notes
·
View notes
Text
me when i stop caring too hard
#-about something that's still bothered me for i think 3 months#i don't care. i want to write this somewhere#and after connecting a few dots with a few situations - im glad this is where it is now#in fact. this just made me realize a few things that i didn't notice back then#and I'm glad that i don't have to deal with it so much anymore#they were so willing to let go of me anyway. its pointless trying to go back and care again when im certain its going to happen again#the only thing im worried with is how it'll affect others#and im sure it will. to some capacity.#things like these are really like an injection#it will sting so hard when it happens. especially for the first time (me). but when you look back on it you realize it's not that bad-#-and it's probably actually for the better#now when i try to recall the past events. i don't feel like crying or getting emotional. i feel neutral - maybe a little puzzled#but nothing of strong emotions#maybe I will think about it from time to time but#consider it like a reflection#does it mean i moved on? maybe not. because it just comes to me whether unprompted or not#anyway. im going home#i guess the only thing that did to me now in the present is just. made me more wary of what i come across#actually. ill never forget what they described me. the absolute gall to say that is really appalling#i am sorry if this will upset someone. but i want to say what i want to say
5 notes
·
View notes