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hoseoksluna · 4 months ago

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SMOKE, ii. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. bangtan)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 9.6k

summary: everything that begins prolongs and deepens.

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join

warnings: hobi is drunk, oc gets triggered and dissociates, throwing up, ptsd, covid and the pandemic, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, thigh humping, social anxiety.

note: so happy to bring part two of the smoke series to my babies. you were all looking forward to it so sm that i worked hard to give this to you. it's longer than the first part and from oc's pov. this might have just become my fav series ever. idk why, it just feels different. more profound. please, enjoy reading and let me know what you think. i want to hear your thoughts. <3

He walks as if he’s immersed in a prayer.

With his hands sunk in the pockets of his sweatpants and his head dipped low, the gray strands of his hair, which compliment resplendently his monochrome tracksuit, shade his eyes with more charcoal that one finds in his absent eyes. It’s the first thing I noticed about him—the way he seems to be so out of touch with reality, how deep he’s fallen through the cracks and the way he’s not one bit bothered by it.

Even the cloud that is suspended over his head is as gray as him. Hefty and sodden with the world’s rain and burdens that he broods over as he paces, unhurriedly. The room is jam-packed, filled with multitudes of people that make my skin crawl, but the way he appears to be pretending that he’s alone in the great spaciousness of the area is… uplifting.

I wish I could do the same.

But when I’m forced to be among souls that have more life than mine, I tend to overexert my non-existent social skills. Usually, it comes out in the form of my silent smile. Or, if the day is going well, I laugh and nod my head. Wait for the other person to continue talking so I’m no longer smothered in the awkwardness of the sudden airiness of wordlessness. And strangely, it works.

And I know why.

I’ve noticed people love to be listened to. To be fully conscious of the fact that the sentences they are uttering are being taken in, thought about and validated, either by that smile and that nod or by your own expansion on the matter. The latter is something I’ve more often than not had a problem with as I was born laconic.

I didn’t speak as a kid until very later on. Didn’t have many friends growing up—and my parents seldom talked to me, as young as they were. It was their first life; kids having a kid and they didn’t know what to do. It may be a psychological block, my tendency to listen rather than speak and engage in a conversation, but it’s not something I blame my parents for. It’s something I’m grateful to them in my heart for.

Had they been perfect and had I been perfect owing to that, I wouldn’t have the oneiric, yet earthy girlhood that created in me the confidence that is a sturdy mountain in me, unable to shatter or crumble. Being by myself, being in my head for the entire trajectory of my life nurtured its smoothness and strength. I’m not embarrassed that I’m unable to do something that is considered normal and perhaps… necessary in society. On the contrary, I take pride in it and I protect it.

And my dignity in me is as unchangeable, assertive and secure as the day fading into twilight, greeting me, beckoning me out.

It’s the only person—headless, mouthless, lungless—that doesn’t ask for words from me. When it takes me by the hand and drags me into its hues of pinks and blues, he doesn’t do it to expect something from me in return. The twilight does it just because. Just so I can breathe and refill my energy, my aloneness. Just so I can be knotted, devotedly, with my thoughts, dwell in them—dwell in my day and its ceaseless, eccentric events—without being under the obligation to share them with him or with anyone else.

I like walks. I like my own walks in the tiny forest behind my apartment that pervade with the dreamy meanings of life stories, often more of other people’s than mine. Where I don’t meet anyone or try to match my steps to theirs. I could never even imagine turning off my brain and my life, in front of groups of nearly twenty people.

But he’s done it and I can’t stop watching him.

Whenever I’m forced to sit in someone’s company, I engage with my attention. He doesn’t—and it’s so stirring.

Encouraging in the way it swirls my emotions because it incites me, almost, to get up on my feet and copy him, though somewhere far off, where no one would see me, so I’d get the hang of it first before I’d have the courage to do it in his fashion.

My stomach grumbles and I don’t know why the question of whether he’s eaten at all joins my contemplation before I think about Jungkook first or before I even talk myself into taking the action to get something to eat. As if he somehow hears my body and mind, he stops in his walk all of a sudden and grasps the bottle of Hennessy that he set down on the table, by which he previously sat when I came in and our eyes locked so deeply that it took my breath away.

I never thought I’d ever experience something like that. All my lonely girlhood, I read about it without ever expecting it to happen to me, nor longing for it. And it’s safe to say that none of them described it right.

It’s not tender and dream-like.

It’s a vacuum. A time-pulling force that sucks out your heart and leaves it hanging on the tip of your tongue for the other person to see.

And I hope Yoongi didn’t see it.

Because he wouldn’t see a flushed, unwrinkled and polished heart.

He would see a bruise.

A dotted, heavily breathing flesh speckled with unsightly yellows, reds and greens. A Vincent Van Gogh’s ‘The Night Café’ painting that is openly considered as ugly by even uglier society.

An inanimate object.

A gun—because whatever the eyes of society view as ugly or unright is a weapon against it.

Yellow for my hostile solitariness. Red for my distrust towards the majority of men. Green for the streak of my hair that Jungkook dyed because he desired it to be a symbol of our special connection; for Grookey and my connection to him.

His former struggle to fit in.

A trauma response, painted by Japanese hands into a form of a chunky monkey monster that I’ve grown naturally attached to—because how could I not when something I struggled with a lot in my childhood was put out there in the world so beautifully and gave me the hope I needed that I will fit in with, that people will accept me the way I am.

And the hope burst in my reality, in its own time.

All those colors, that make the painting that my heart is, are a gun for Yoongi, too. That is if I ever let him in.

It’s better if I keep it safe and hang around Jungkook like a kitten, keeping Yoongi’s safe in the process. Something that I never knew lived in me awakens from its slumber when I’m in his proximity, whenever our eyes lock in that depth and I don’t want it. I’d rather reject it and forget that it’s in me than provoke it to animatedness and get myself hurt in the end. Get him hurt.

Falling in love never has a positive result in my life and the only relationship I had—if I can even call it that—devastated me to the point that I can’t even look in the eyes of a man I find attractive.

Which is why I looked away, immediately, when our gaze deepened, because I knew that if I prolonged it for only two seconds more, my body would whisper to me that it’s inevitable and I’d believe it, succumb to it and beat at my heart until it stops feeling altogether.

Which is why I look away now, when Yoongi senses my staring and swivels his head in my direction. I pray, like him, that he didn’t see the movement of my neck twisting quickly to pay attention to whatever Jungkook’s saying next to me. And I flatten my lips when my curiosity about the contexts of his meditation seizes me, the weight of his gaze only strengthening it, silencing Jungkook’s voice like I silence my body in a worthless fight.

I crawl into myself, spellbound, where a picture of him grows in size. A house where I can walk and contemplate without being seen or noticed, and there I ponder.

A faint image of him rapping his lines flashes across the walls as if it was screened through a projector and I wonder if he was so preoccupied in his thoughts because of that. Jungkook told me it was their first performance in quite a while.

But my own take me elsewhere. My gut tells me it was something else and the image disappears into the white of the surface until only his lidded eyes remain and they gaze right back at me.

It’s like my consciousness is taunting me and it’s too much for me. I don’t feel my legs when I get up and take a walk.

I exit out of the house.

And I stride into the hall.

My heavy eyes, beguiled by my drowsiness, follow the pictures of Korean idols and western singers along the walls. For some reason, whatever it is in me, that has more energy than my body, searches for Yoongi’s eyes, but none of them are so lidded, so in tune with suaveness and geniality of his art, powdered in pinks and purples due to the love he carries in his heart for his fans. I must be looking wrong, or looking in the wrong direction, because it’s nonsensical that I can’t find a group this successful in this venue. They bring glory to this country—and I think only their faces should grace these bland walls and bring more light into this hall.

When I reach the end, I don’t find Yoongi.

I find Hobi.

So terribly low-spirited and pensive that my heart shifts in my chest. He sits on the ground with his knees pulled to his chin, his arms wrapped around them. He must’ve been watching me this whole time because when I meet his glossy eyes, he smiles, weakly, up at me.

Doesn’t ask me to sit. I do it on my own—out of an obligation that is pressing down on me, for turning around and walking away would be too awkward and I don’t want to deal with any stingy feelings of embarrassment that I know would haunt me later in bed.

I mirror his position, but I don’t lean against the wall.

I face him. Him and his delicate, easy on the eye countenance.

My bare toes nearly touch the side of his sneakers and it’s only now that I become aware of how cold the ground is. I shiver, eyeing his black furry jacket and the heads of his group members peeking out of the V of the zipper lining. Taehyung, hilariously, right in the middle and Jungkook, handsome and serious in his all black suit.

No Yoongi.

Hobi takes off his cap, placing it somewhere beside him beyond my sight, sighing distinctively, his stare fixed on a spot in front of him. It breaks when I prop my chin on the tops of my knees, something vague swimming, dazedly, across the enamel of his irises.

He can be a doll, with looks like that.

“Were you looking for someone there?” he croaks out, softly, clearing his throat, running a hand through his short, brown hair. His presence and the subduedness of his tone diminishes the pressure weighing down on me and I let out a muted breath of relief, my muscles relaxing.

When I first beheld him, I thought he was the most beautiful boy I was ever blessed to witness. The fact that it seems I don’t have to force anything or fulfill any obligations is a lambent light my soul gravitates towards, fluttering and basking in the warmth and repose it offers to it. He gives me the hope that I could sit by him in complete, comfortable silence and he wouldn’t mind—he would appreciate it, not eager to change it. And for a brief second, before I answer his question, I muse on the pleasantness of gaining something you never expected—how precious it is and momentous.

It gives hope to life; meaning, beauty and gentleness, too.

“I was,” I say, and there’s no ounce of lie in my agreement, even though I won’t tell him who I was searching for.

Not even Jungkook. It’s my private sentiment. Something to keep me company from now on before I go to sleep.

And it’s safe in my mind, not so much in real life.

“It’s so sad we had to do it online, but it’s the only thing we could do, the only thing we could give them,” he sniffles, lets me see the thick lines of tears that flood the corners of his eyes, and my heart rotates, my emotions in tandem with it. He would give his fans everything if he could, including himself. The awareness of that downturns my mouth into a pout, feeling his pain with him. “I wrote them a message. I told them I loved them, but it still doesn’t feel enough, you know?”

Hobi sucks in a breath and hides his face in his palm and it’s not my mind’s command that lifts my hand and places it on his shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. It’s my heart’s, which splashes in the comfort zone Hobi created.

And my heart, most peculiarly, opens my mouth and speaks.

“They’re grateful that it was online. Everyone got to watch, that’s what’s important, isn’t it?”

Hobi kneads his eyes, catching his tears before they could fall, dropping his hands. And when he sighs, deeply, I smell alcohol on his breath. Poor him, the wretched liquid most likely paints a more melodramatic, emotionally-charged picture in his brain, blurring the true face of reality. And if he’s anything like his members, he also hasn’t eaten, which allowed the liquor to cause havoc in his system.

But then, a panic flickers in me—a distant memory of what alcohol did to a certain past person in my life poisoning my mouth enough that I can’t swallow, a lump forming in my throat. The comfort goes sour and red lights flash in my nerve endings, my need to detach and isolate myself and get my body into a realm of safety ringing, deafeningly, in my ears.

My breath hitches and I pull my hand away from Hobi’s shoulder, my distrust reappearing, my knees shaking as I turn them in the other direction. My toes are icy cold and I flex them, trying to bring back some warmth, but alas—the iciness drags itself up my legs and my emotions glissade to a state of numbness, a thick mist of vague grayness obscuring my vision and my lungs tighten. I can’t breathe, I can’t feel my tongue, I can’t move my arms as painful tingles keep it in place around my stomach and—

A whistle. A raspy voice that calls out Hobi’s name.

And its repetition fades out, melts into the static that I hear.

And then hands. Soft hands that are fire itself, that stop my tingling. Delicate hands that pull me to my feet and take me somewhere.

A splash of cold water on my face. I gasp, my lungs heaving, my throat hoarse as if I was screaming. My hair sticks to my cheeks and then doesn’t, pushed over the crown of my head, tightly. Droplets run down the nape of my neck; my length clutched in a fist that’s not mine. Then, down my spine, soaking the back of my dress at my loins and I am flung into present times, the image of reality unfolding before me, the static tapering off.

Fluorescent lights that ache. Whiteness of tiles. Lidded eyes that used to be small but now are gaping and worried.

It’s not Jungkook.

It’s Yoongi.

My stomach jumps, my gag reflex triggered and I bend at the waist, clasping a hand over my mouth to stifle my vomit. But that delicate fist moves it away and my trauma spills out of me into the sink, where I am pushed towards.

My abdominal muscles clench and clench. Cold water trickles down my back, helping me awaken until I’m conscious of what is happening. The more my pain exits out of me, the more it dawns on me.

Jungkook isn’t here, an observer to my agony.

Yoongi is here, a participant that snagged me out of it.

A stranger that has come to know me, the entirety of me, and holds my hair as I empty it out.

Jungkook can’t know about this. He can’t know it’s happening again. I told him I healed from it, that it’s not haunting me again. Enough time has passed from my past relationship and I promised him that it wasn’t bad anymore.

But it came back to me in the forced quarantine and I don’t know why.

Yoongi washes my mouth once he sees I don’t retch my guts out anymore, heaving over the sink. And the gesture makes tears burn in the back of my eyes, burn like the heat of his hands.

My legs wobble, give out on me and I fall.

Not just onto the ground.

I fall for him, unable to stop it.

No one has washed my soiled mouth before. Not even Jungkook when I vomited in his toilet after we spent the night drinking at his place and I mixed my usual wine with a taste of whiskey that my ex-boyfriend used to love because I wanted to feel him after the breakup.

Jungkook didn’t even hold my hair back. He gave me his frog headband from one of the episodes he shot with his members and I laughed at the lip of his toilet. And when I felt better and Jungkook tore open a new package of toothbrushes, he played that episode for me. Saved me, essentially, because I laughed so hard that I forgot about Ji-hoon and I fell asleep with a weightless heart.

I’d watch it all throughout the quarantine every time it would come back to me. My realm of safety.

Yoongi has saved me, too, similarly, yet differently.

And I look at him as my heart thumps in my chest, tell him through the open windows of my eyes what he’s done for me. And when my chin wobbles, something in his softened expression breaks. Along with it, my fear of him splits and withers, leaving me bare and vulnerable.

I feared him because of that unnamed thing in me that began to long for him when he wouldn’t even give me a tendril of his attention. I feared him because of his aloofness, out of which wildflowers bloomed once his members left and he talked to me for the first time and I detected the exact same flowers growing long and strong along the ivory of my bones. My mouth smiled, even though I didn’t want it to, and my body reacted to him, to his sudden care when he ordered the staff to wait with me for Min-ji to come and get me. I became feverish, boiling hot, even, once he looked back at me and wished me happy birthday. And then rapped his heart’s tenderness and wretchedness on the stage.

I feared him because I knew I’d be his, eventually. And it wouldn’t matter if he’d never be mine.

The Yoongi I profoundly remember wearing a bulby teddy bear headband in that episode, which has become my coping mechanism. The same Yoongi that held my hair while I puked, washed my mouth and now holds me steady on my feet by gripping my shoulders.

And the process begins.

He sucks me into him, taking me—and I am slowly but surely becoming his.

But I don’t feel my stomach springing again. Neither do I feel a certain fear or panic quickening in me.

I feel relief. I feel solace. I feel as though I’m being lulled to sleep—as if he sat by my bed and read me a bedtime story, in a soft yellow light that doesn’t hurt the eyes while the moonlight watches and dreams.

None of us speaks. We peer into each other’s irises and I am spellbound. A garden that he locks up for the night, so no one comes in to vandalize it, when he curls a strayed, wet wisp of my hair behind my ear. His own hair is shading his eyes once again, but his eyes aren’t absent this time.

They’re present, intentional, and full of gentleness that I’ve never known from a man.

I sob.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?” Yoongi whispers, and the secrecy in his tone gives me the private, sentimental notion that this is just between us—something that only he got to see and no one else will because he won’t let it. Gratefulness swathes my warm heart, pats lovingly my process of me becoming his, advancing it. “You don’t have to be afraid to tell me. Did he do something?”

I take a difficult breath in. I should feel pressured to respond, my obligations descending upon my head, but I don’t. I take my time because I know he’ll want to know the cause of my dissociation and I’m not too sure if I’m capable of sharing that with him. The block is a rising pool of water and I can’t swim.

But then he tips my chin, the pad of his thumb in the center while his index keeps my head afloat. I feel myself being lifted into highs I’ve never got to see before, even though my toes stay on the tiles. And it’s all due to his touch. I can only let out little shivering breaths through my mouth, my tongue tied, my brows rounded. He reads it in my face, that something is wrong, but I don’t want to put the blame on Hobi; I don’t want him to think he hurt me. He didn’t do anything—it was me.

All me.

“Please,” he begs, the sound a mere hushed noise that travels through me and breaks me. “Don’t be afraid of me.”

His words change everything. The beginning of the night and its end, too.

And they change me.

My distrust towards men roots from my fear of them and hearing Yoongi beg me, out of the generosity of his heart, to not be afraid of him punctures a hole through my reclusive bubble, where only Jungkook is permitted to enter. Yoongi’s light shines through, a streak of newness and calmness enveloping the bubble in an opalescent glow, thick with smokiness, wispy and cloud-like as if he brought heaven itself into my life.

And I inhale that smoke, filled with soft tones of the rainbow, becoming it.

And all those colors bring words to the tip of my tongue.

“He didn’t do anything,” I whisper, and Yoongi flinches at my sudden response, his eyes deepening on mine. I soften at his reaction due to the simple fact that I’ve always been the one who flinched. It invites me to not stop there, like I normally would, but speak more. Scream at the top of my lungs. “That’s just who I am.”

His mouth parts and he sucks in a tiny breath, taken aback. A light of the same size flickers in his eyes for a split second and his thumb caresses my chin just once.

And I don’t stop there, either. It’s me who begs this time.

“Don’t tell Jungkook, please.”

And I gaze into a mirror of me when my plea floods his eyes with wetness and redness rushes to the surface of his cheeks. A layer of sweat glistens under the shade of his hair on his forehead and I catch a structure of sadness permanently coming to live in his features. The corners of his mouth round downwards and his eyes return to that smallness I met them in.

He takes his hands off of me and nods.

I mourn them. I mourn his touch.

“I won’t tell him,” he promises, still in that hushed tone. Relieved, I place my hands on my arms, where his have been to replace them, but it doesn’t feel the same. A yearning forms in me—for his hands, for his gentle touch that doesn’t have the traces of roughness that Ji-hoon’s did, and I wonder what waters I have to wade through in order to get it back. I find myself determined to do the unthinkable in order to sense the warm delicacy of that altar. “Do you want to go home?”

I want him to touch me at home with no one else around.

“Can you take me home?” I ask and it’s the bravest thing that ever came out of me. And the same stupefaction that I sense on my face stirs his features, zapping my stomach with electricity.

He holds out his hand. “Come.”

Every muscle in my body spasms and I do.

I take what he offers and, oddly, I don’t let go of it.

It doesn’t hit me what walls have been broken down in me until Yoongi places his red Jordans in front of my bare feet, white Nike socks into my hand and misunderstands my momentary shock for something else I’m too overwhelmed to decipher. He kneels before me and I hiccup at the sight, my cheeks blazing hot as he slides his warm palm down my ankle, prompting me silently to lift my foot.

And inwardly, inertly, I celebrate his touch—my body marred with gooseflesh.

He’s taken me to his dressing room. At first I thought he was changing out of his clothes or grabbing some necessary things he needed in order to get out of this place, but he only snatched his phone from his vanity and went, without a second thought, to his—I assumed—work closet to fetch out his shoes.

For me.

The same red Jordans he wore in the episode, the color of my cheeks.

My heart palpitates once he sets my foot on his knee and, wordlessly, plucks his socks from my hand. Unraveling them and bunching one as if he was putting them on a child, he slides my foot in it, raising the waistband as high as it can go before letting it snap and patting it to signal to me that he wants me to switch to the other one, where he does the same thing. Then, he guides them into his big sneakers, holding the tongue back for me.

The size of my foot barely covers half of the shoe.

I laugh, softly, through my nose.

“They’re huge,” I comment, still on whispering terms, and Yoongi smiles up at me, lopsidedly, screwing up the rhythm of my heartbeat.

“I’ll lace them up for you,” he whispers back, and my muscles spasm again. I believe it will be a regular occurrence throughout the rest of the night.

This would be the time my panic would set in and send out a message to my body to start running, giving me the vigor to do so. But I remain on my spot and what’s more—I smile back, without him seeing because his hands nimbly and tightly make a pretty bow on his sneakers, making sure my heels don’t slip out of them.

I must be dreaming. This can’t be real.

I’m in my bed, settled in a deep slumber, where a dream that’s too good to be true is manipulating my mind because there’s no way that a guy, well one of them, that used to be my comfort for such long months is on his knees for me, having broken down my walls so quickly and painlessly that I didn’t even take a moment to notice them crumbled and decaying at the bottom of me.

I didn’t go anywhere. Not to any concert, not certainly with my only best friend in the world.

I’m going to wake up soon and lament this dream, ponder my loneliness and go on with the rest of my day, living in this dream for some brief time before my body eventually forgets.

It’s happened before. It’s the face of my life.

I have no problem with it. It’s my fate.

“Your outfit looks way better with those shoes on,” Yoongi says, his attention fixed on my feet and I follow his gaze, extending my leg out of the slit of my dress and eyeing my long socks and the Jordans that go well with it, giving it a more casual look.

I wish I had a matching red purse.

Which reminds me that I left everything in the lounge room.

I wipe my palms down my dress, feverish. “I like it.”

I meet his face and blush, find him already smiling at me and I grin. A glint illuminates his dark pools, which makes me break the eye contact and play with my fingers—something I do to avert my mind from my shyness, but his stare is so potent that it magnetically lifts my eyes to interlock our gazes while my chin remains dipped.

And it’s him, this time, who resists.

He chuckles, awkwardly, and I bite my lip.

He tilts his head towards the exit and I follow him out. In the hall, he looks back at me, similarly like he did before he went on stage, and adrenaline rushes through my nerve endings. A particular obsession, that I know that I will think about a lot once I wake up from this dream, with it perches on the top of my heart like a little, gossamer bird, gray like his hair, beginning to tweet its subtle, but ethereal song.

“Can you walk okay?” he asks, and I’m so bowled over that I can only nod, flexing my warm toes at last in the spaciousness of the sneakers.

Who would’ve thought that the guy who barely gave me the time of the day would, ultimately, borrow me his shoes and ask me if I’m able to walk in them.

To say this is a crazy dream would be an understatement.

Yoongi clasps the closed side of the double doors to the lounge room and casts me a glance. “Wait here.”

I scrunch up my brows in confusion. I thought we’re saying goodbye to the rest of the members?

I dip my head inside. The boys are each preoccupied with something else. Jungkook is downing shots with Taehyung at the table. Jin is having a heated conversation over the phone, pacing the room like Yoongi did and shushing Jimin when he laughs a little too hard with Hobi resting his head on his lap, still as devastated as he was. They’re sprawled on the ground with their backs against the alcohol station—Jimin drinking another tall glass of his mojito. And Namjoon… he is sat alone on the couch scrolling through his phone as if he was on a break from babysitting all of these boys.

Yoongi goes unnoticed by all of them, bent at the waist as he drifts through them, looking for my things.

My heart constricts.

He picks up my heels by the straps near the couch and grabs my purse, walking over to Jungkook and tapping his shoulder. He swivels his head mid-shot and he sets it down on the table when I make out Yoongi saying to him that he’s taking me home. Jungkook’s mouth parts and bewilderment erupts in his features, his big and glossy eyes flicking to mine. Yoongi adds something and Jungkook, without another word spared, bolts to me.

But I notice Yoongi straightening up and looking displeased behind Jungkook’s back, his mouth pressed firmly and his head knocked back a little. My throat dries, his semblant possessiveness curling something stable in my sternum.

Run, I hear from within, despite all.

“You’re feeling sick? What did you eat before you came here?” Jungkook asks, pity rounding his eyes, and my brows furrow in confusion for a second before I realize that it’s a cover-up.

Yoongi’s actions silence that voice. His slow walk, too.

My throat dries even more, but for a different reason.

“Tteokbokki with lots of cheese. My hand slipped. You know what cheese does to me.” It’s borderline truth and I’m glad for it because I detest lying probably as much as I detest drunk men.

Jungkook laughs and I fake a smile, facing Yoongi who’s come to stand by the threshold behind Jungkook. He’s biting the inside of his cheek and I fixate on it in the momentary interlude of the conversation, his dimple popping in and out with each movement.

So cute.

“I’ll get my stuff, wait.” He goes to turn around, but faces the dead end that Yoongi is, who grips his shoulder.

“No need,” Yoongi mutters, that wrinkle deepening between his brows. “Stay here with Taehyung. I’ll get her home safely and I’ll be back.”

Jungkook looks back at me to see my reaction and I’m in awe how it’s the same motion, same gesture that Yoongi does, and yet it does nothing to me. I nod my head, curtly, and clutch my stomach, taking a step back as another heat wave washes over me and I can’t breathe.

I need a shower, my bed and my lavender diffuser.

Jungkook swivels back to Yoongi and rubs his shoulder and I catch him wince, silently. I wonder why, but then Jungkook whispers something into Yoongi’s ear that averts my attention from it and sparks my curiosity.

Yoongi only nods in response, avoiding my eyes.

Interesting.

Jungkook, then, turns to me.

“Text me when you get home. I hope you feel better. Rain check?”

I’d rather not, but I nod in the same fashion anyway.

Jungkook hugs me, tells me happy birthday one last time as he rubs my back. Tears blur my vision but I push them back, wishing to not contemplate the misery that my birthdays have become since the breakup.

But Yoongi sees them, mid-hug. And his bottom lip nearly juts out, his head tilting to the side, his arms crossed, that wrinkle between his brows. I blink them away, rapidly, even as I continue to look at him.

Jungkook lets go and lets Yoongi step through. I wave him goodbye and turn on my heel to see Yoongi waiting for me not that far down in the hall, my heels and Grookey on my purse swinging in his singular hand. I skip over to him and we walk the rest of the way to the exit door together.

With mismatched steps and itchy palms.

His displeasure turned into a pure disgruntlement once our lungs were graced with a strong hit of petrichor-tinged brisk air. It was still raining, but not as vehemently as an hour ago, the thunder silenced like the protesting voice within me.

However, Yoongi couldn’t control the weather just as easily. No matter how much he looked like he desired to. He seemed to be deeply uncomfortable by the rain and it ruffled my curiosity all over again, the simple question of why echoing down my being. His energy shifted—away from me as he wouldn’t spare me a glance, waiting for his chauffeur under the roof of the venue.

He wouldn’t talk to me. Not even in the car.

And the only time he spoke was when the driver wanted to drop me off at the spot, where he picked me up earlier. Yoongi told him off, ordering him to drive me all the way home, using a voice that tensed my muscles.

Strict and low, an outright growl that ricocheted in my mind for the rest of the drive.

It was safe to move through the rain; the raindrops pitter-pattered on the vehicle, creating a sedative sound that would mollify my disquiet if I wasn’t so bothered by the sudden change in his demeanor. I longed for his touch more than I did back in the venue, which is why I kept my hand flat on the empty middle seat between us, but he didn’t notice it, as absorbed as he was in his thoughts.

The only time he glanced at me was when the driver killed the engine at my apartment building. The rain softened enough that its song ended as well and I was filled with a yearning so great, knee-deep in my waters, that I whispered the first thing my heart thought of and I wasn’t afraid of it.

“Come upstairs with me.”

Yoongi unbuckled his seatbelt. Didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t give me my shoes, nor my purse. Carried them all the way up the stairs as the elevator was out of service. Walked them up in front of me, not behind me, checking in with me with silent looks every once in a while.

I blamed the five floors I had to climb for making my heart race, not those looks from the back.

I swore Grookey smiled at me the whole time.

Once inside, taking our shoes off felt so intimate that my cheeks burned. I poured us tall glasses of cold water that we finished in one go and that silence settled between us fully, a thick smoke, that I now sensed to be comfortable, wafting between us.

I told him I was going to take a shower and he nodded, solemnly. It took no longer than ten minutes and I didn’t let myself think, not even when I brushed my soapy palms on the places he touched and my yearning couldn’t help but grow.

I stood up in my waters, letting the stream take me wherever it felt disposed to bring me to.

And it brought me to open my bathroom door with a loud thud, indicating to him that he was allowed to come in. My skin was lustrous underneath my short black slip that did anything but cover my breasts with its lacy, heart-shaped neckline. My nipples kissed the fabric and grazed against it when I combed my wet hair and I blossomed into desperation, the longer I waited for him.

A violet wisteria tree.

A thing of violence—my arousal.

And he comes, cognizant of the sweetened fragrance that leads him to me. Stands in the doorway with softened eyes and a mouth that falls, nearly, agape when he regards my nightwear. I glance at him, sweeping a makeup wipe across my cheek for one last time before I reach for my night cream and smear it on.

Once I’m all done—clean, moisturized, and on the cusp of biting into my yearning—I face him with my body.

His eyes, tormented, fall to the sheer fabric across my breasts. And his first primal instinct is to unzip his jacket and put it around me.

“No.”

The word tumbles out of me before any thoughts could rush in and I perceive that it’s my yearning, the stream, that’s in control of me, not my brain.

I throw his jacket onto the floor.

His head knocks back like it did when Jungkook bolted towards me and he didn’t like it. The steam from my shower shields me like the smoke of silence that wafted between us and I step out of it, inching closer to him until I’m forced to look up at him.

Something of great depth looms in his eyes, darkening them, and I recognize that it’s a torturous fight. And he confirms it to me by clasping his hands behind his back.

But I don’t mourn it. I blaze up with anger so pivotal that I unclasp his hands, pressing myself against him.

He sighs, but lets me hold his hands. “Jungkook said no.”

So that’s the string of words that made him not reciprocate my gaze.

My anger thickens, taking my attention off the fact I’m touching him and he’s touching me at last and unraveling, wholly, in my seductiveness that I only feel in my aloneness and experience, for the first time in years, with a man.

I can do anything I please without being held back.

“Since when is Jungkook the boss of me?” I challenge, and Yoongi’s brows rise, his fingers flexing around my hands and lingering in that tightness. A code for me to decipher.

Does he want the same as I do?

Something about the way he’s peering down at me with his chin tilted teases my yearning and the unthinkable becomes thinkable.

Just like that.

“Are you not seeing him?” he asks, flexing his grip again and his thumb brushes along my long, manicured nails, playing with the tips. A sensual storm begins to wreak havoc in my stomach; I draw closer to him, breathe against his neck, ghosting my lips over that smooth skin.

His breath shivers and I feel myself dampen, a thunder sounding in me.

“Would I ask you to come upstairs if I were?” I take that question to his ear and his chest shudders against mine, his heartbeat an accompanying song to the thunder.

I want it to be my lullaby as much as I want it to be my lifeline once I’m submerged in the lustfulness of my waters.

I untangle one of my hands from his and glimpse into his shadowed pools through my lashes in this close proximity. Before I can feel up the part of him that I yearn for, he clasps my wrist and yanks it away, putting it back into the original position—although now it’s him who grips my hand.

I hold him, he holds me.

Cold sweat drips down my spine and I curl my lips, regretting my actions. It was foolish of me to think he’d want me as much as I—

“Are you needy?”

I blink up at him, light opening in me—a momentary streak of sunlight in the middle of the storm. I’m flabbergasted for a moment and he misunderstands it again. Repeats the question, emphasizing my name.

A lightning strikes in me, smiting every negative emotion.

“What would you do if I said I was?”

Again, his brows twitch, the same light enfolding his irises and abiding there.

He lifts my hands and crosses them behind my back, pushing me flush against his thinly clothed body. I feel the top ridges of abdominal muscles against my breasts, my stiffened nipples rubbing against them and I bite back a whimper, caging my bottom lip between my lips. His nose dips under the wet strands of my hair and travels across my cheek until he finds his destination—my ear, leaving the ghost of his soft, warm mouth and breath in his wake.

He stalls the time, ruffling through the flowers of my wisteria tree, my arousal; disturbing the waters of my yearning.

I begin to quiver.

And Yoongi feels my tremor, squeezing me tighter against him. As if to still it.

“I’d make you come so hard you wouldn’t have to touch yourself for days,” he whispers in my ear, reminding me of our privacy, of our whispering terms—something that has become so intimate, something that’s ours. Another thunder rolls in me as my eyes whisk back into my head, a trickle of my arousal drenching the inner of my thighs. And I let out the sound persisting in me—a whine, muffled by the steadiness of the crook of his neck. He sighs, deeply, in response. “Is that what you want?”

I hum out my agreement, fixating on the dream his words paint, wanting mine to fade into it. I clench his hands so rigidly that our intertwinement convulses.

Yoongi withdraws, his mouth wet and agape at last. And it’s him who gazes down at me through his lashes that oscillate in the same rhythm as our hands.

He sucks in a breath. “You have to give me your words. No humming.”

But I’m captivated by that mouth of his, by its small fullness, faint pinkness and luminescence. And he knows this—I sense his observance of my engrossment as I trace the lines of his lips with my eyes.

And our interweaving is magnetic from both sides—the meeting of a wind and a wisteria blossom in a kiss.

Both heads lean in at the same time, wordless synchronization as I take his lips and he takes mine, sucking on them as time ceases to exist.

There’s no air in my lungs and there’s no air in his—his chest deathly still.

We capture time and move it to our terms as we shift our heads in effort to take more of us.

I devour his lips and he devours mine.

Left and right, left and right.

And I slip my tongue into his mouth, rolling the tip of the muscle against his. But he’s a tease—he pulls back just to take control of me, seizing my mouth in a closed kiss, slowing me down. He arches me, pins me against the shower screen and with the movement I get to feel the part of him I yearn for the most.

I drip onto the tiles.

His thigh, too, because he roots it between my legs.

Yoongi deepens the kiss, lingering there, and breaks it. Pulling away, yet dwelling in that closeness, a raw marrow of the world’s light swims past his eyes, through our enduring magnetic, moistened connection, and right into mine.

I feel whole.

Yoongi smiles, delicately. “No kissing, either. Words.”

But that magnetic connection drives my hips to move against his thigh and he moans, mutedly, while I sigh in pleasure, my waters roused and gratified. I tip my head back against the shower screen, the smooth material of his sweatpants causing euphoria to burst in my clit, and Yoongi’s eyes descend to my chin, his hands flexing mine.

And through that connection, I hear what his body said.

He wants to grip my chin and make me listen, but he needs my consent in order to do that.

He’s respectful enough that he won’t do what he pleases, won’t let his hands wander, no matter how much I’d die for them to do that. He lets them be incarcerated—in the place where I’ve put them and he won’t try to break free.

He wants me to open the cell because I have the key.

My orgasm threatens to explode.

And amidst the hot flashes and white dots shrinking my vision, he begs.

“Please, kitty.”

I come so hard that I lose my vision altogether.

I cry out.

My eyes roll back and forth, Yoongi a constant, stable dark figure through my lashes as I ride out my high, my chest shuddering against his in a motion that grazes my nipples, heightening my orgasm. My mouth emits myriads of whispered agreements and exaltations that have no end, concocted with moans that echo through the lessening steam all around.

Yoongi doesn’t let go of our clammy hands. He keeps them in a tight lock—holding me through it.

And when the high tapers off, he swears, hushedly.

He comes into full view; my vision clearing. He’s as pink as his lips, glowy and radiating as if he were the one who just orgasmed. The sight moves me, rippling my waters—and I might just work hard to give him the words he desires.

“That’s the most I’ve heard from you all night,” he comments, his low intonation rasping his voice, teasing me, overstimulating me. “You’re alive when you come. Raw and articulate. No shyness to you.”

I blush and I beam. In the middle of my high, I never know what gushes out of my mouth, but I’m aware of the freedom that surges through me. Having it validated uplifts my seductiveness and confidence and I struggle, purposefully, against his hold.

I want to wade further through these waters.

But Yoongi seems to stop me.

He draws in and maps out my freedom with the lower half of his face. His nose and his chin nudge mine, his lips tracing the corner of my mouth before rising up the peak towards my cupid’s bow. There, he presses a validating, tender kiss.

One that makes my knees weak.

“You know what to do,” he murmurs, sinking his words into my mouth and I swallow them, kissing him back. The smacking sound of our liplocks prolongs my neediness, despite the fact I just received my release.

No more distraction.

“Lick me.”

He stalls the time again. Raises his knee, brushing his drenched thigh against my sensitive clit, daring me.

I shudder.

Yoongi squashes me against him, fully, letting me feel the hardness of him as a reward.

I mewl.

“Where?”

That solidness of his causes my mind to spin; I say the first thing I think of.

“My neck.”

He dives in, licking a stripe across my throbbing vein before he sucks on the skin right beside it. The world shuts out as I roll my eyes back, moaning into the steam and arching myself further into him, yearning to glide into him, into the whole firmness of him. And when he begins to nibble, I make small rocking motions on his thigh, enough to stimulate me, drench me and make me needier, but not enough to get me off.

And Yoongi senses well when it’s too much for me.

“Where else?” he asks against my jaw, mouthing it, his breath ragged, and I lose myself in my arousal.

“My nipple.”

He dips to that lacy fabric on the left side, wafts that hardened breath over my stiffened nub. He flicks it with his tongue and I cry out, my wetness creating a trail on his thigh that sloshes when I ride it, adding to my madness. Yoongi wraps his puffy lips around that adorned peak, sucking it as his tongue, slowly and controlledly, continues to flick it.

I exhale in staccato moans, broken—but whole.

“Where else?” He swirls the muscle around it, taking it inside his mouth one last time.

“My thigh.”

He kneels without losing the hold over our interlocked hands. And when he whimpers against my inner thigh, I realize I molded him into the image of me.

He’s as needy as me.

Needy for me.

“So pretty,” he hushes, dragging his tongue along the ivory stretch marks scattered there, collecting the stickiness of me, grunting. Plants open-mouthed kisses as far as our interweaving lets him.

The taste of me doesn’t let him stay there for long.

I open my legs for him.

He glances up at me, eyes large and glittery. “Where else?”

The last place ventures out of me with ease. “My clit. Please.”

He growls. “Good. Spread your legs more for me.”

I do as he says, the fabric lifting with the movement and revealing all of me to him. Shiny and wet, needy and desperate. He pulls down on our hands so I arch out more, and I lean the nape of my neck against the screen. He studies me, with those softened eyes of his and the glitter in them flickering. With a lopsided smile that he allows me to see, for he gives me a feral look before he leans in and attaches his mouth to my swollen clit, placing that open-mouthed kiss of his there, moving his tongue from side to side.

And moans aren’t enough; I need to speak.

My pleasured body begs me.

“Yes, yes, that feels so good.”

Yoongi hums, eyes in a trance on mine, validating my words. He sucks on my clit with a certain intensity that I’m not used to and I yelp, trembling, my noises growing in volume and I can’t hear myself, only his validating hums and growls that settle deep within me. He doesn’t focus on just one part of me—he collects my wetness, submerging the tip of his tongue inside my heat, fucking me there, before he returns to my clit and spoils it with nimble, fast flicks and and fervent, zealous sucks that make me praise him so loudly that his hands begin to tremble along with me.

And they must cramp, too, because he lets go all of a sudden.

Sinks my fingers into the fluffiness of his gray hair—and I am elated.

His strands, silky and soft, sift through my fingers and I caress them, holding him to me as what he does can only be described as making love—and I break, I break so disastrously and splendidly that I know I won’t be able to recognize myself in the mirror after he’s done with me.

I revel in it.

And I want more.

As if hearing me, Yoongi slides my leg over his left shoulder. His dark pink mouth drips and twists in a faint discomfort and I lift my knee, not wishing to hurt him—the two and two connecting in my brain that he must’ve undergone some kind of injury that he’s still recovering from. But he tugs my leg back down and pushes my hips towards his face more and I stumble, stuttering out giggles that dissolve into his and he lifts me over his good shoulder and throws me down onto my bed, immediately bending me in half.

All breath loosens from me.

He spreads my legs and pins them back to my shoulders. I concentrate on the firm grip he has around the back of my knees and I die, the blood-tingling feeling of his hands on me coaxing my liquid arousal out of me. And he watches the little rivulet follow the curves of my flesh, licking his lips—as if he didn’t already get a taste of me; as if his chin wasn’t dripping with the residue of me.

Yoongi glimpses at me.

“You really want this?”

It’s a question that makes me roll my eyes in annoyance. I’ve moved way past desperation that I can’t wait any longer and I bounce in his hold—just to catch him humming and smirking.

My breath hitches in my throat.

He becomes someone completely different when he smirks. A more vulgar, masculine and playful version of himself; beyond attractive. I bounce again just to please him and see that smirk deepen and he does it, bites his lip dangerously slowly.

I need him.

“I need you inside me.”

Those are indecent words that I never thought I’d ever be saying to a guy I just met, but if there’s anyone to blame, then it’s him. He washed puke off my mouth. The concept of time doesn’t exist in our shared, dreamy realm. We’ve shifted beyond it—outran it and my words mock it.

But Yoongi doesn’t see it the way I do.

“You’re not getting it tonight.”

I trail my fingers up his forearms that bulge with the strength he uses to pin my knees back. It doesn’t pain me that he’s not giving it to me because the more he smirks, the more I perceive that this is a chase.

One I’m willing to play.

“What am I getting from you then?” I purr, basking in the sultriness I radiate. I’ve missed my seductiveness and I fall into obsession with the way I share it with him, with the way it affects him.

He thinks about it, stalling the time again, and I pat his cheek with my big toe—a gesture that makes a swarm of giggles come out of him like butterflies that flutter all over me.

I grin, my fever rising.

This is fun.

Sweat coats him in sheen and I was wrong earlier. Hobi isn’t the most beautiful boy I was ever blessed to witness.

Yoongi is, when he laughs like the world isn’t unmerciful.

He lets go of one of my legs, but I keep it in the same position. He uses the same hand to grip the back of my neck and pull me towards him, kissing me indelicately.

Vulgarly.

Offensively.

And I moan, brattily, into his mouth, dragging him over me. He allows me, allows me to feel his hard manhood against the place where I need him the most and I grind, I grind like my life depends on it, my moans evolving into whines when his grunts deepen and he squeezes his eyes shut, our lips longing for each other, sailing on the almost bruised, swollen surface.

He fucks into me just once and pulls away.

“I can’t,” he whispers, but kisses me with chasteness that I taste for the first time. “I’m sorry, kitty. I’m gonna make you feel good.”

He occupies a castle that isn’t built out of just physical pain. I may have thought the chase was conjured by his knowing better, but there is a more profound reason behind it. An image of the way he paced around the lounge room after the show flares across my vision and I bow to his decision, internally. I respect his emotional pain without demanding to know its story—enough that I sit up and clutch his right shoulder, the good one.

“You don’t have to,” I say, lowly, covering myself by tugging the fabric of the slip down over myself, but he yanks my hand away and flicks the fabric upwards, giving me a look.

“Let me eat you out.” His stare softens, the whites blinding. “I want to forget, please.”

I don’t ask what, knowing how difficult it is to talk about a pain so enormous that it stops you from going after what you yearn for. And the way I lie back down is more of an expression of my chasmic respect than it is out of a selfish desire. And the way I spread my legs for him and pin them to my shoulders with my own hands, like he did, is the declaration of my ultimate submission to him and all the small particles that make him him.

Pain or no pain, he’s the apotheosis of my entire being when he sinks his finger inside me and finds me locked, finds me forlorn. And once he opens me, stretches me and soaks me like a flower singing to God, he becomes the epitome, the core of all of my obsessions.

And I’m going to take care of him.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

BACK to masterlist | READ first part here

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ash-says · 7 months ago

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Hush Hush Honey:

A guide on how to regulate oversharing and balancing the conversation flow.

Each one of us has at least been in a situation where we accidentally ended up spilling more than we should. We do recognise the patterns but are unable to control ourselves. That's why your girl Ash-says is here to say a lot about it.

1) Find the why

What are you trying to achieve by sharing that piece of information? Drama? Attention? Get it off your chest? Is it important to inform them? Is it valuable to them?etc.

First tackle the why. Before you go in to reveal something ask yourself if it goes with the conversation flow and if yes is it really important to share it.

2) Are you a celebrity?

No like why? Who is interested in your life so much? Are those people paparazzi to broadcast your current events and bring you fame? No right. So shut up.

3) Who puts their dirty laundry on display?

When you overshare you are basically putting all your secrets, stuff that you do or did on blatant exposure. People are going to judge you. That's the very nature. So breathe and keep it inside.

4) Try to listen more

Train yourself into listening more than speaking especially in group settings or around people that you don't know much about. Gossip is real. You don't want to be the next tea time sensation.

5) Alternatives for talkative people:

Now I know you might be thinking can't say this can't say that then how the hell am I going to bond with people or what should I converse about?

I have developed a solution for you. It's Ash verified because I myself have been using it unknowingly for around 7 years of my life.

Never open your mouth for passing judgements, expressing your opinions on things that do not relate to you, your dirty laundry, secrets, family issues, relationship issues, your sex life, your goals and aspirations, your daily routine, your political standpoint,etc you get where I am going right?

Instead speak about the experiences you had while travelling somewhere, some goofy stuff that happened to you, your harmless vice for example: I am clumsy so I have a lot of incidents that occur due to it which can be told in a funny way. It adds a nuance to my perfectionist image plus helps people warm up to me. Movie shows, songs, etc here also there's a catch if you relate to a show/song/ piece of literature strongly never reveal it. The smart ones will understand the inner workings of your mind.

Never let them know your next move.

If nothing of this then goof around being nonsense. Do little hand gestures, funny faces if you are bored but never overshare.

6) Be mindful of interruption

Practise practise practise. Literally that's the only way. Try not to interrupt people while speaking. There's no roundabout way. It is what it is.

7) Be comfortable in silence

You have to be okay with the conversation dying down. Running your mouth dry will only result in one sided convo. It's more useless and harmful than the one mentioned before.

8) Know your limits

Fix in your brain what you can share and what you can't. Stick to it. Even over your dead body.

9) Be genuinely interested in people

Ask yourself are you asking questions to really get to know the other person or just looking for a chance to talk about yourself? Dethrone yourself first and then interact with others.

10) Put out stuff that you are over with

Always remember what you say can and will be used against you. Drill it and from next time when you speak be mindful that every word can stand against you. Do you have the capacity to handle the consequences? Yes then go ahead. No, then stop live streaming.

Bonus point: Be as private as possible on social media. People don't need to know what you are doing nowadays. Privacy is power. What they don't know they can't ruin.

Strategically put things out. I am not saying be inactive. In Rome you live like the Romans. Do it smartly.

That's all for today's show on ash-says. Stay tuned for more illegal tricks and explosive opinions.

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kingofpopmj · 7 months ago

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hii. can you please do an imagine, where michael in his mature era (aka: mac daddy mike), has a naive soon to be wife, and she doesn't know ANYTHING about sexy times, so Michael decides to teach her. Please and ty

Oooo hunni! You guys keep summoning Naughty Nevaeh lol

Here you go! I hope you enjoy.. 🙈

Let Me Fill You With My Dreams

Michael and I had finally arrived home after a long day full of appearances. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. The hysteria that follows Michael wherever he goes is unfathomable, yet he handles it with such grace. Usually, we keep a safe distance at public events, I appear more so as apart of his entourage than his partner, but it’s how we planned it. However, that was all in the past, now that I’m his fiancée we decided I’d be by his side. We were more than ready. As always he was extremely protective of me and made sure I felt safe. We announced our engagement only a few days prior. Michael and I were elated, the media on the other hand was relentless, I was labeled a gold digger, Michael was attacked and mocked— nothing too out of the norm, which pissed me off to no end, but he insisted I bite my tongue. He ensured me that he could handle it. It was tough to say the least. The noise surrounding us was so hateful— so loud and they were all rooting against us. It was infuriating. Unfortunately, as much as I tried to ignore the noise, it successfully added fuel to the flames of my own insecurities and I had no idea how to come clean to Michael, but it had to happen and soon.

“Baby?” I heard Michael’s voice, along with his footsteps nearing his— our bedroom— where I was currently hiding. “There you are! What’s wrong?”

“Hi. Nothing. Nothing” I answered quickly.

“You haven’t been yourself all day. I know these events can be draining. The crowds of people, the bright lights and the screaming. It’s a lot to get used to. If you don’t like them I promise I won’t force you to attend. I’ll understand. It won’t upset me.” The concerned look on his face made the knot in my stomach tighten. “Are you having doubts? Do you not want to get married?” My heart ached at the pain evident in his voice.

“No! Michael, of course not. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t the best date tonight.” I tried to ease my way into this conversation.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No. It’s just last night—”

“I knew it. I’m sorry if I did too much. I was trying to be spontaneous you know? I completely understand if you want to wait until our wedding night. No matter what it’ll be perfect.”

“It’s not that I want to wait.”

“Talk to me.” He whispered with pleading eyes.

“I’m— I’ve never really— I don’t—” I began stuttering, unable to complete a sentence, my hands trembling as I tried desperately not to hyperventilate.

“Woah. Okay, breathe. Baby, it’s okay. Everything is okay.” Michael wrapped his arms around me, leaving a kiss on my forehead and began to sing to me softly.

Every night she walks right in my dreams

Since I met her from the start

I'm so proud I am the only one

Who is special in her heart

The girl is mine

“Keep going.” I smiled into his chest, loving the sound of his voice.

“Baby, if you wanted me to sing for you, all you had to do was ask.”

“You’re so annoying.” I playfully rolled my eyes, moving to sit on the bed.

“I’ll keep going if—” he paused dramatically, putting his hand in the air. “You tell me what’s on your mind. You can talk to me about anything.”

“I’m nervous about going further because—” I drifted off, feeling overwhelming embarrassment. “I’m a virgin.” I said barely above a whisper.

The only clue I was given that Michael heard my confession was how his grip on my hand loosened before pulling away all together. This was just what I was afraid of, he’s going to leave me.

“I should’ve told you sooner. I’m sorry Michael. I understand if—” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence, so instead I slowly twisted the engagement ring off my finger, trying to fight the tears that threatened to fall as I reached my hand out to return the ring to Michael.

“No. No. I don’t want it back. No. Baby, it belongs right here.” He spoke softly, he sat down next to me as he slid the ring back onto my finger. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sorry if I pressured you. It wasn’t my intention.”

“I don’t feel pressured. I want to. I want to be with you. I just— I’m terrified of disappointing you.”

“You could never disappoint me.” Michael moved closer to me, pulling me into his chest. “I love you so much.”

Suddenly, I didn’t feel afraid, with the weight of my confession finally off my shoulders, I was able to feel something else. Love. Desire. Yearning. Craving. It was all I could feel and I couldn’t help myself— I couldn’t wait any longer. I looked up at him, his beautiful chocolate brown eyes staring back at me. I grasped at his collar with my fingers, pulling him into me, desperately needing him as close as possible. He kissed me back, his hands finding the small of my back, holding me tenderly. I moved into his lap, straddling him as our kiss intensified. I began to unbutton his shirt, before I heard Michael’s voice.

“Slow down.” He gently took my hands into his. “Baby, we don’t have to do this right now. I’ll wait as long as you need. You’re more than worth the wait.”

“All I need is you. Right now. I’m ready.”

“Are you positive?”

“Yes, just maybe talk me through it? Teach me a thing or two? I really want you to enjoy it.”

“Baby, I’m already enjoying it.” He smiled, gesturing to the erection poking into my inner thigh. “Just call me Professor Jackson.” He said, with a flirtation wink.

“You’re making me blush!” I giggled, burying my face in his neck. “I’m trying to be serious! Sexy even..”

“You’re always sexy. You don’t have to try.” He spoke lowly, picking me up, laying me back on the bed as he placed himself between my legs. “Oh, I can do serious.”

“Michael!” I yelped, feeling his warm hand slipping underneath my dress, moving up my thigh teasingly.

“Relax. Let me teach you.”

“Please. Teach me.” I begged, the anticipation building as his hand hovered between my legs, fiddling with the lace of my panties. Michael kneeled down in front of me, causing the air to get stuck in my lungs.

“Do you trust me?” He whispered, his breath tickling my thigh. I was desperate for more.

“Yes.”

“Yes what?” He asked, looking deep into my eyes, his long fingers slipped underneath the lace, his touch sending a shiver throughout my body.

“I trust you, Professor Jackson.”

“Oh, that sounds so much better coming out of your beautiful mouth.” He smirked, kissing me and quite literally taking my breath away. He ripped off the lace that covered my modesty, this side of Michael was quickly becoming my favorite.

I felt an overwhelming urge to scream as Michael began moving his fingers in a circular motion. My breathing becoming unsteady, struggling to process the pleasure I was feeling for the very first time.

“It’s all about touch.” He whispered. “It comes naturally once you stop overthinking.” His pace increasing as he spoke. “When two people are as connected as you and I— every kiss, every touch, everything feels— amplified.”

“Michael! Michael!” My body shaking, falling back into the mattress, suddenly I didn’t feel his fingers anymore. I felt something else— something even better. I slowly glanced down, seeing the top of Michael’s head, his face buried between my legs. The sight alone was enough to drive me crazy. I could feel his tongue, the way it curved, the way it moved, the way it sent shocks of electricity through me. My back arched, unintentionally thrusting my hips forward, locking my leg around the back of his neck. I began to curse profusely, feeling his hand slowly travel up under the fabric of my dress, the skin to skin contact made me shiver as he took a firm hold of my breast.

“Oh! My!” I felt a build up in my core, gripping the comforter tightly, attempting to ground myself, but there was no use. My thighs clenched around Michael’s head as a sound fell from my lips— one I didn’t know I was capable of.

“Just breathe.” I heard his voice, as his fingers slid the straps of my dress down my arms. He leaned down kissing and sucking down my neck. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I got you.”

“Please—” I pleaded between my gasps for air. I had no idea what I wanted. I just knew I didn’t want this to end. Not yet.

“I’m going to try something first.” Michael said before I felt his lips on my nipple. “How does that feel?”

“So good.”

“Open.” Michael murmured, gently tapping my knees. I did as I was told, watching as he removed his pants, taking a place in between my legs.

“Is it going to hurt?” I said quietly.

“I’d never hurt you.” He grabbed my arms, placing them above my head and intertwined our fingers. “I’ll go slow.”

As he looked into my eyes, the sensation of him entering me ignited a flutter in my chest, tears of pleasure puddled my eyes and I squeezed his hands so tight I began losing feeling in my fingers. Once he was fully buried inside of me he made gentle movements by rotating his hips in small circles. The tingle that raced through me was indescribable. I never knew that this feeling existed, but now that I do, I was sure that the reason was because subconsciously I was waiting for Michael.

“Michael!” I cried, ripping one hand free, tightly gripping his shoulder, digging my finger nails into his skin.

“Y/N, baby, you have to loosen up.” He said sweetly, unwrapping my legs that were locked around him. “Now, I can do this.” He started carefully moving in and out of me. As great as it felt I craved more. “How does that feel?”

“God. I love that.”

“I have an idea.” Michael said, moving away from me, I frowned, ready to protest until he laid on his back pulling me on top of him.

“What are you doing?” I panicked, at the extreme withdrawal and our new position.

“Teaching.” He smirked. “You’re going to learn how to ride me.” He said so seductively it gave me goosebumps.

“What if I hurt you?”

“You won’t. Just follow my instructions. All you have to do is—” He guided my hips with his hands, explaining what I had to do, but I couldn’t hear a thing. I was to focused on wanting him inside of me again. As he spoke I slowly spread my legs, coming closer to him until I felt his tip. The rush it gave me was so intense, my knees slid further across the silk comforter and I felt our full connection again. Michael’s eyes widen at my speed, he briefly glanced down, admiring how I took him whole. “Oh god!”

“Oh crap! Did I hurt you?” I panicked.

“No. No. It feels amazing. I just— wow. You’re a fast learner.”

“Well, I have a great teacher.” I slowly began to move my hips, watching Michael bite his bottom lip, his hands squeezing my thighs firmly.

“Baby. You’re gonna make me—”

“Make you what?” I questioned, slowing my pace, waiting for his answer. “Am I doing this wrong?” I felt my cheeks heat up from embarrassment as I stopped my movements all together.

“Don’t stop!” He moaned loudly. Holy shit. That was so hot. I began moving my hips like my life depended on it. Michael had beads of sweat on his forehead and his chest was glistening. “Baby, I’m gonna— I’m almost—”

“Michael!” I begged, Michael pulled me down onto his chest as I felt him twitch inside of me.

“You feel so perfect.” He purred in my ear as we lay still for a few seconds before Michael excitedly propped himself up on his elbows. He rolled us over, so he was now looking down at me. I laid against the mattress with a confused look on my face.

“We’re gonna be here all night.” He finally spoke as he touched my lips with his.

“Well, I do have more to learn. If you’re interested in teaching into after school hours.” I teased, wrapping my legs around his hips.

“Your wish is my command.” He declared, kissing me sweetly before he started up again, his quick pace taking me by surprise.

The wooden bed frame shrieked against the floor boards with each thrust. Our kiss becoming sloppy, needy even. Everything felt so intense. I couldn’t catch my breath, but I didn’t care. As long as Michael stayed on top of me, beneath me— inside me, I didn’t care about anything else. It’s just us.

“Amazing.” I breathed out, working up the courage to speak. “Can I— can I try to use my mouth?” I asked nervously, staring straight up at the ceiling. Michael slowed down, dragging his finger along my jawline, forcing me look into his eyes.

“Baby, you can do whatever you want to me.”

#michael jackson imagine #michael jackson x reader

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theunholybastard · 1 month ago

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Kinktober: October 7th - Deepthroating (Papa Emeritus II x Male!Reader)

Tags: Soft-Dom Secondo, Deepthroating, Sex Education, Throat-Training, Religious Trauma, Internalized Homophobia, Catholic Guilt, Inexperience, Size Kink, Praise, Dick Piercings, Cum-Swallowing, First Person POV

When I left Catholicism to join the Satanic church, I thought it would be completely different. Don't get me wrong, in most ways, it is. A big part of why I left my previous faith was the guilt, the shame, the self-hatred. Coming to terms with my sexuality back then, everybody around me told me to pray it away, that I would go to Hell for my sins if I don't repent, all while those same people preach about a loving God.

When I first stepped foot in the Ministry, I was shocked at the overwhelming acceptance that this place radiated. Sexualities and gender identities of all kinds, expressed openly and without judgement. I'll admit, it took me a while to get used to it. Not just the whole unconditional acceptance part, but how open people here are in... other ways.

It's no surprise that the Ministry takes great pride in their sexual nature. Hell, Cardinal Terzo is known to host orgies on the regular. Brothers and Sisters of sin alike will talk of sex so casually, I can hardly have a conversation with my peers without my face flushing in embarrassment. While my old church condemned sex before marriage and preached purity and abstinence, it seems here the more sexually experienced you are, the higher praise and admiration you receive.

But the one thing the Ministry and my old church had in common? Shame. When I was at my old church, you were shamed for a variety of things, though in the ministry, it seems the only shame you receive is for not having sex. When word got out of my inexperience to my fellow Siblings of sin, the giggles and looks they would shoot me as I passed them by in the hallways were similar to how the people at church reacted when I came out. My shame shifted from my sexuality, to my lack of sexuality.

My shame, in a moment of desperation, led me to the chambers of Papa Emeritus II. I felt foolish, asking for assistance with something like this, but I know if anyone could help me with this kind of thing, it's him. Papa Secondo has been known throughout the Ministry for his sexual prowess, and according to some kind Siblings who've been in situations similar to mine, he also happens to be a very good teacher.

Sighing, I knocked on the door, so softly it was practically inaudible. I cringe at myself, fighting the urge to just run away and lock myself in my room. This whole idea was stupid anyway, I thought to myself. It's a wonder how he managed to hear my knocking, but before I could flee from the scene, he answered, towering over me intimidatingly and staring down at me expectantly. I practically have to pick my jaw up off the floor as I get a good look at him, face bare of paints and wearing nothing but a robe, carelessly tied around his waist.

"Brother ______... Can I help you?" He gruffed, sounding almost annoyed, which only made my confidence shrink more. Suddenly, my throat is painfully dry. I try to spit out a proper response, but all that can come out of me are incoherent stutters, unable to bring myself to ask the big question. He exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just come in."

I step in, nervously fidgeting with my hands, palms disgustingly sweaty. Secondo sits in one of his armchairs, waving his hand as a gesture for me to sit in the one parallel to his. I swallow harshly, obeying his unspoken request. "Drink?" He questions, pouring a glass of wine I didn't even notice he had grabbed. I shake my head no. He shrugs dismissively. "Suit yourself." He hums, swirling around the liquid in his glass before taking a long sip.

"Now, take a deep breath. Clearly whatever is on your mind is important to you, considering it beckoned a meak little thing like you to knock on my door at such a late hour..." He chuckles, but his demeanour reassures he's not laughing at me, which relaxes me a bit. "I am always willing to help out a Sibling in need, but you must tell me what you need first, si?"

I take a deep breath as he suggested, a last-ditch effort to calm my nerves. Here goes nothing. "I... I'm a virgin." I blurted out, practically having to force the words from my throat. Secondos expression remains unfazed. "I can tell." He says blankly. Goddamnit. "Are you asking me to change that, caro?"

"W-well, I... I don't k-know, really-" My face grows red in embarrassment, avoiding eye contact bashfully, which his piercing gaze made significantly difficult. "Then I won't." He states. "But I must ask, Brother _____; if you didn't come here for that reason, then what did you come here for?" I bite my lip, thinking for a moment.

"Truth be told, Papa, I'm not exactly sure what I want..." I let out a groan of frustration. I knew this idea was stupid. "I'm... ashamed. Everyone in the Ministry is so experienced, they all have stories to tell, and I just have... nothing. The other siblings look at me differently, they make fun of me behind my back. I'm tired of just being the virgin. I want to do the things they do, I want to have the experiences that they have-"

"_____." He says my name firmly, cutting me off abruptly. "You should never be ashamed of that sort of thing. Sex is not as important to the Ministry as you may think, caro. There are plenty of virgins here, and plenty others that aren't interested in sex at all. The whole point of embracing sexual freedom is getting to choose whether to have sex or to not, and neither option should warrant any judgement. If any particular siblings are bothering you, tell me now and they will be dealt with, but you must know that shame and embarrassment should never influence any of your decisions, especially not these kinds of decisions. Have I made myself clear?"

I nod, looking down at my feet to avoid tearing up. It felt strange to hear someone tell me I don't need to be ashamed, to reassure me I don't need to change. Strange, but nice. Secondo reached a hand out to rub my shoulder comfortingly. "Look at me, caro." He commanded, but he spoke so tenderly it felt more like a light-hearted suggestion. I did as I was told, lifting my head to meet his kind gaze. Dammit, here comes the waterworks.

"It's not just peer pressure that encouraged me to go to you. I really do want to do this sort of thing. My whole life, it was drilled in my brain that sex of any kind is something to be ashamed of, and completely unthinkable to do with another man. I've had to hide my desires for so long, I don't want to have to do that anymore. I want to do this, I just... I want to start off slow, y'know? And I want you to... to teach me." I admit, my voice breaking weakly as I open up to him. Secondo nodded as I spoke, listening intently. As intimidating as he can be, in this moment I felt as if I could tell him anything.

"What do you have in mind?" He asked. I thought about it for a moment. I couldn't help the blush that crept upon my cheeks when the thought popped up in my head; Something I was always curious about.

"I want to suck your cock." That sentence came out of my mouth as quickly as I thought it. That seemed to get a reaction out of the usually stoic Secondo, his eyes widening in surprise and his lips twitching into a smirk. I almost want to apologize for my boldness, but Secondo spreads his legs in appreciation, rendering me speechless. His robe comes looser, exposing more of his bare body, especially his muscular thighs. Still, it's not exposing the one part of him I'm most excited to see.

"Do you now?" He raises an eyebrow slyly. I practically start to drool as I look down at his lap, noticing the movement under his robe as his cock starts to harden and twitch. "Y-yes, Papa. I just, I- I might need a little help. I'm not exactly sure how..." I trail off, my focus on something else.

"I am more than happy to oblige." Secondo purrs, eyes narrowing and trailing down to my mouth, clouding with desire. "Come here, caro. Let me teach you." He takes a pillow from his armchair to place on the ground for me to kneel on, waving me over to him. With inhuman-like speeds, I plop down on my knees before him, rather ungracefully. Secondo doesn't seem to mind. Finally, he moves his robe out of the way, fully exposing his manhood to me.

I almost regretted coming to him for my first time, because surely that could not be a beginner size. He was at least 9 inches, thick and veiny, there was no way I could fit all of that down my throat, and- wait, is that a fucking Prince Albert? Just looking at him from this angle gets my dick to twitch through my pants, pulling a whimper from my throat. "Take the tip in to start, sweetheart." He tells me, and I do just that.

His tip is hot and heavy in my mouth, aside from the coolness of the metal from his piercing. He groans gutterally at the contact, my tongue involuntarily swirling around it, seeming to already know what to do. "Bravo ragazzo..." He grunts, my pants growing tighter at his words. His hand rests on the back of my head, looking down at me affectionately. "T-take it a little further, will you?" He asks so sweetly, I can't help but grant his wishes.

I gradually take more in my mouth, inch by inch, sucking gently as I make my way down, earning more delicious noises from Secondo. The straining in my pants is nearly impossible to ignore, but I push through for him. I keep going till I hit my gag reflex, not even able to take him halfway. I hum against his cock in disappointment, pulling away with a cough. "Sorry." I murmur awkwardly.

He lifts my chin with a single finger, forcing me to look up at his eyes. "Don't be sorry, caro." He tuts sternly. "You can take more, I know you can. Just relax your throat and let me do the work, hm?" Hesitantly, I agree, eager to please. I trust him enough to know he wouldn't do anything to hurt me or push my boundaries an uncomfortable amount. He gently pushes me back down on his dick, relaxing my throat as much as I can, ready as I'll ever be to let him take control.

He pushes my head down slowly, back to where I was last able to take it. He gives me a moment to prepare myself, before he grips the sides of my head, pulling my head further. I gag harshly a few times, and each time he pauses, allowing myself to get used to the invasion going on in my throat before continuing. He takes his time with me, stretching out my throat with immeasurable patience.

"You're doing so f-fucking well, caro. Such a good boy..." He gruffs. I moan around him happily, from both the praise and the fact I'm now able to take significantly more of him in my mouth. Once I've taken all I'm comfortably able to, he begins to shallowly thrust, in and out. "You're a natural, letting me take your tight, wet throat like this. Cazzo, sei divino..."

His thrusts grow quicker and harder the more confident I get, and it's not long before he's borderline fucking my mouth. I can't help but rub my hardened cock through my pants, an embarrassing wet spot forming from the precum I'm leaking. This is the most aroused I've ever been, that I've ever allowed myself to be, that I curse myself for taking this long to experience the joys and ecstasy of sexual pleasure.

"Sto per venire! Caro mio, c-can I cum in your mouth?" Secondo moans, panting heavily. I whine against his cock, sucking harder in hopes he'll take that as an answer. He does, his eyes rolling back in unabashed pleasure. "Oh, fuck!" He groans, releasing his thick load in the back of my throat. I swallow it all diligently, savoring the salty, somewhat bitter taste that I just know I'll grow addicted to.

I pull my mouth off his cock with an obcene pop, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. "Did I do good, Papa?" I ask, insecure of my ability and eagerly awaiting his response. He laughs, a genuine hearty laugh, something I've never seen him do. I don't know why, but something about it sent a fluttering warmth through my chest, a desire to hear him laugh again and again. That's something to question on another day, though.

"Is that even a question, caro? Satanas, you did wonderfully." Secondo smiles, helping me up off my knees. That's when he notices the bulge in my pants, throbbing painfully. "Oh, poor boy. Would you like some help with that, sweetheart?" He asks. My breath catches in my throat, heat rushing to my face. I nod profusely, my brain too fogged with lust to find the proper words.

He reaches for my zipper, undoing it and swiftly taking my cock out. Before I can react, his mouth is on my manhood in an instant, taking it all down his throat with no effort. I could only hope to one day be as good as sucking dick as he is. It isn't long before I'm cumming down his throat as well, reduced to nothing more than a shaking, whimpering mess. He swallows, grinning mischievously.

"Virgins are always so quick to cum." He teases, packaging my sensitive cock back in my pants. After catching my breath, I shoot him a grateful smile. "Thank you, Papa, for... y'know, all that." I say, struggling to compose myself. He hums, re-tying his robe. "No need to thank me, caro. I'm always willing to help." His voice rumbles, low and comforting.

"Do you think we could... do this again? Maybe teach me more things?" I ask, crossing my fingers in wishful thinking. He grins softly, caressing my cheek with his warm, calloused hand. "I would love to, Brother _____. You can come visit me anytime. I can promise you, you will not find a better teacher." He winks. And with that, I leave his chambers, returning to my own. For once, I'm excited for what the future entails, looking forward to my next meeting with Secondo.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band #ghost band smut #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus #papa secondo #papa emeritus ii smut #papa emeritus ii x reader #papa secondo smut #secondo emeritus #daddy secondo #papa emeritus smut #the band ghost smut #ghost kinktober #kinktober 2024 #secondo x reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

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AITA for asking my parents to pay my tuition for the semester, lying about how I lost my scholarship, and then planning on lying to my dad regarding his requirements in exchange for him paying the tuition?

My (20X) college has a scholarship for offspring of faculty members, and I was lucky enough to have my application accepted by the college that my dad (53M) works at. This means that I get a full ride scholarship; if I graduate within 4 years, I won't have to pay a single penny to my college (books and supplies not included, of course).

Unfortunately, the scholarship does have two requirements; I need to have taken at least a certain amount of credits semester before (not a ridiculous number), and for that semester, I need to have gotten over a 2.0/4.3 GPA. Easy enough, right? Who can't get a GPA over 2.0?

Well. I suffered a mental health downfall the past semester and I ended up failing half my classes. I was unable to sit my finals. I know this wasn't smart of me, and I think I should've done something about my academic situation other than just wait for the semester to be over, but I had quit a semester due to my mental health decline previously and I didn't want a repeat of that. In any case, I got a GPA of about 1.6. I'm not on probation but I did receive a warning.

Fortunately, this doesn't mean I lost my scholarship for good. I just need to fulfill those requirements in the upcoming semester and I get it back.

I realized I did need to pay my tuition this semester two days before tuition fee acceptance closes and I debated telling only one of my parents. My mom wants me to finish college no matter what, and my dad has told me that he does not care anymore as long as I don't stress him out. He's also told me he no longer has any expectations for me whatsoever. I did also consider talking about it with my brother and borrowing money from him to put together the tuition fee.

I figured I'd bite the bullet and just told my dad, who I know has been stressed about my future and how badly I'm doing in college. I just casually dropped it as I was making breakfast for myself and then we had a lengthy conversation that my mother (51F) joined when she got back home.

I don't remember much of the conversation (I may have memory problems) but the AITA mentioned part is that I lied to my parents and told them I did sit all my finals and try my best. I didn't. I tried that for mid term exams but I had nothing to write, so for finals I didn't sit them at all. This happened with three of the classes I was taking. I just didn't take my finals. My dad was suspicious of my claim; he said that as a professor himself he wouldn't fail students who at least submitted homework and sat their exams to write anything at all, but I maintained that I tried.

The conclusion was that my dad would be willing to pay my tuition if I got my shit together and also deleted my social media, which he thinks is a drain on my time and energy. He's not wrong. I deleted my Twitter accounts immediately afterwards (which my parents don't know about) because I've been thinking about it, but I can't really bring myself to get rid of Discord, where so many of my friends are. People I've met while studying internationally, long-term friends who moved to other countries; Discord is the only way to contact these people.

This is the AITA part; if my dad follows up on that particular requirement to check if I deleted Discord, which he particularly dislikes (he has previously confiscated the electronics I bought with my own money that I earned, after he saw me on muted call at night with some friends), I plan on deleting the app/program on my devices but using it anyway as a website. This would be a betrayal of my dad's trust in me, but there's no love lost between us anyway. He's already told me he doesn't love me unconditionally. (Yes, I'm his biological child and he did raise me.)

I also feel like an asshole because I could've settled this with the help of my brother; I'd pick up a job during the winter break to pay him back, but it would have been done eventually. Or I could've just gone to my mom. She works her own job, and we could've figured it out together without telling my dad. I told my dad anyway, wanting him to pay the tuition, even though I knew that talking about having to spend money on his kids stresses him out deeply.

My mom also told my dad to go to therapy (in detail, so I know it wasn't just something she said as a throwaway thing) during the conversation. It did get heated. I don't disagree, but I don't know if that'd be okay; mental health is stigmatized where I am, and my dad as a grown adult man and a respected professor if seen going to therapy could have his reputation kind of effected. It wouldn't have happened if I just brought up this whole situation quietly up to my mom, or just my brother.

So I lost my scholarship, I lied to my parents about the technicalities of how that happened, and I'm asking for some amount of money from my parents but also planning on lying to them in regards to the terms they set out. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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vandal-flower · 8 months ago

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Chapter 6 - Emperor and Heir

Blue Roses with Gold Lining

With his majesty's goal in mind, you continue to work in the library. However Michael's meeting with her majesty and Aurora intoduces a requirement for both your plans to succeed.

W.C: 3.4 words. (I'm so proud.)

Warnings: Mentions of children, intimacy via touch, stories on infidelity, dialogue, implied kissing.

I.¹ - II.² - III.³- IV.⁴ - V.⁵

"I want you to remain loyal to me Michael."

You gently rub his hand with your own. Silently pleading with him to fulfill your request. Your desire. In exchange of his loyalty, you'll make him an emperor. The mightiest known to man.

Michael's eyes look at you, and he then chuckles to himself. "What ever ploy you are trying to play is good, but not good enough. Consider your script rejected."

For a moment, his words caught you off guard, but you quickly compose yourself to snap back at him.

"Oh, your majesty, this isn't some ploy I'm playing just to get a head start in the competition. I mean it. Honest.", you calmly say, "Also, I don't always follow by a script, I prefer to improvise occasionally."

He gives you a look of uncertainty, unsure if what you are saying is really true.

"Your majesty, if you truly do lack faith in me, then please, do name one time that I, (Name), daughter of one of the Ministers of House Ludwig, has ever deceived you."

"Fair enough.", he replies. You possess a trait that not even his mother's court cannot get their hands on. Convincing. One could say you're manipulative to a degree.

On your first day at the palace, you were able to form a pact with him, and own your own terms and conditions. He will- he must help you in times of need. It's only fair.

You gently take his hand off your face. Had anyone seen you with the prince like this, you'll never hear the end of such gossip. The people residing in this palace have the largest ears and the loudest mouths known to man.

That is not to say that you don't enjoy such gossip while drinking your tea.

You quickly pick up the papers on the floor and hold them tightly to your chest. "Anyways in short, in order for you to become an emperor, you must help me into gaining some power in this place. Fair enough?", You explain.

"Alright then.", he mutters as he rakes his hand through his hair. You smile at how quickly he accepts your proposal, not questioning you or having any suspicions.

"Since you decided to take the initiative to approach 'Little Miss Pinkie' for me, smooth-talk your way into her confessing about her new accessories. Talk to other women too, just in case.", you remind him.

"Just in case of what?"

"Just in case, I don't get into trouble for falsely accusing someone.", you reason.

"I'm the daughter of a minister, not a princess like the others. The chances of me getting punished for minor things is higher compared to anyone in the place."

'Valid points.', he thinks. "Well then, I guess I must get to work then. I ask for a goodluck kiss before I go." , he says, as he points to his lips with his index finger.

The smirk on his face.

"No. It's unnecessary."

"I'm not leaving until you give me what I want."

You sigh in defeat. 'He's awfully stubborn for his age. It's almost concerning.', you think bringing his face closer to yours and gently plant your lips onto his, a peck on the cheek.

"Can I have one more?", he asks with a cheeky smile on his face.

"I recall that you asked for a kiss, not kisses Michael."

"Are harsh words really necessary whenever we converse alone?"

"Yes, now go do smooth talk your wives-to-be."

Before you walk out, he calls out to you. "And where will our secret meetings take place, if you want that plan of yours to succeed?"

"Meet me in the library, before evening. If you're unable to do that, I come see you myself. I hope you don't have any duties to attend at that time."

You walk out of the room and come face-to-face with Alexis. He stares at you for a moment, before giving you a look of distaste, and walking off to enter the room.

"Good afternoon, royal advisor Ness. I believe it is good courtesy to greet, don't you think so?", you turn to face him, just to see him halt his movements.

"You don't need my greetings, you are but filth in my eyes.", he snarls at you. You take notice at how dull his eyes are. You shrug it off, "Very well then. Good to know that is how you view me, dear sir. Anyway, may you enjoy your day."

You continue your way down the halls as he stands there, still in his position. You wonder to yourself if he acts like this to anyone, or just you. Either way, you couldn't care less.

Ness scoffs to himself before entering the room. 'Who does that woman think she is?', he thought to himself. He quickly puts a smile on his face for his majesty. It is protocol for royal advisors to look their best when presenting themselves to their master.

For him, it was his smile.

As soon as he entered, he saw his majesty smiling to himself. Ness wondered why. Was because his great majesty played mind games with you, like the other women or, was it because his majesty merely thinks you are a joke to him?

Michael calms himself as he notices Ness and stops smiling. Ness takes notice of this, but doesn't question it. "Your majesty, the queen has requested your presence at her chambers. She says it is something concerning your interactions with the participants.", he says.

"My interactions with the participants?", Michael questions. "Indeed your majesty.", Ness answers. "Though it is rude of me to make assumptions concerning this matter that does not need my input, however I think...", he takes a pause for a moment.

Michael's face hardens, "You think?". Ness takes a deep breath and looks away, "I think it is about future heirs, your majesty."

Michael's face becomes sour with the thought of future children. He didn't like them, but didn't hate them either. He just thought they were just...there.

It already didn't help that he has to choose a queen- empress suitable for him and his standards. But his mother was just piling more pressure onto him with the thought of children.

Though it is just as assumption made by his advisor, so there could be a chance that it could be false.

He straightens his posture, "Alright then, escort me to her." Ness smiles once again. "Of course your majesty.

"So, my dearest Michael, it seems you have been doing quite well lately. Alexis informed me about your wellbeing before I requested your presence.", the queen says, placing her teacup on the saucer ontop of the table. She then rests her hands on her lap.

"Yes, mother. I hope you are also faring well.", Michael says, drinking his own cup of tea. His mother smiles, the crinckles under eyes show how sincere her emotion is. She really is doing well. "I have, no need to worry about your mother, after all I did want to talk about your interactions with the participants."

His jaw tightens, 'The issue can't be that important.'

"What about them, surely you aren't afraid one of the participants will drop out of the competition due to my 'intolerable behaviour?"

His mother chuckles to herself. "Of course not, it's just that I want to see how you have progressed." Michael raises an eyebrow. "And if you bedded any of the girls."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. 'Damn it, Ness was right.'

He remembers about how Ness would constantly be right on his assumptions. And this one was no different.

"Mother dearest, don't you think that this conversation is too early. We are only a few months in, and here you are talking about heirs already.", Michael explains. His mother gives him a serious look and sighs to herself.

"Michael, it's for the palace's sake. If any of those girls don't produce an heir suitable for the throne, the palace will fall into pieces.", she reasons. "This is the only way for you to become a true king."

"I don't want to become a king, mother.", Michael says.

His mother becomes stunned at his words, before she could say anything, he interrupts her.

"I want to become an emperor, the greatest one known to man."

She looks at him with a puzzled look before smiling. "Very well then, but in order to do that you must listen to what I have to say." She stands up and walks up to the prince.

"I want you to bed one of those fifteen girls. In order for you to become the greatest emperor, you must have a suitable heir."

She takes his hands into hers and gently squeezes them, silently pleading with him to listen to what she has said.

"If you don't know which one you should start with, I'll choose which one is best.", her words stern and her face serious. Michael lowers his head as an attempt to not look at his mother.

"Please my son, I'm only doing this for you. Don't become a disappointment, because I know only you can be the greatest."

Michael raises his head and looks at his mother's pleading eyes. "Yes mother, I hear you. I'll do what you have to say." His mother smiles and gently places a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, my dearest."

Moments later, Michael excused himself to prepare himself to meet with one of the participants. As the door closes, the queen's most trusted servant, a middle-aged woman enters the room quietly.

"Sophia.", the queen called out to her servant. "Yes, your majesty."

"Monitor those girls for me. Bring me the ones that are most beautiful, and most importantly..."

"Suitable enough to produce an heir."

Sophia looked at the queen with surprise, "Your majesty, forgive me for asking but, isn't it too early for such things?"

The queen smiled at her servant, "I'm merely doing it for my son, he wishes to become an emperor. These girls didn't come here to just have the 'princess treatment' for free."

Her smile grew wider, "They have to work for it Sophia, and I'm making them work for it. Even if it means making them drop out of the competition."

Sophia titled her head to the side in confusion. "And what do you mean by that, your majesty?" The queen laughed to herself loudly, catching her servant off guard.

"You ask ridiculous questions, Sophia.", she answers. "I'll simply root them like the flowers in my garden. Once I see any of their petals wilt or slight change in their behaviour, I'll simply get rid of them."

"I only want flowers that are absolutely perfect for my son."

Sophia smiled to herself as she heard the queen's explanation. "Indeed your majesty, only the best is suitable for his majesty."

In the garden, sat Michael and Aurora of the Palace of Cecil, infamous for her lavish lifestyle. She wore jewelry and a tight fitting dress, intended to show her curves as an attempt to seduce the prince.

"Your majesty, it's a great honor to be in your presence once again. I had thought I would never had the opportunity to see you again, but you managed to lift my hopes.", she looked at him with an adoring look. Michael smiled at the praise he was given.

"Of course my dear, I would never leave you all alone by yourself.", Michael starts. "I missed you with all my heart, my dearest.", he gently rubs her cheek, causing her cheeks to become a tint of pink.

She giggles at the attention given to her. "You know how to make a princess swoon for you, your majesty!", she says with excitement. Michael smiles to himself.

Aurora twirls a piece of her hair,"So if I may ask your majesty, where is Alexis? It's strange not seeing him with you.", she looks over to him with a pout. He is surprised but questions her,"Why would you want to know?"

Aurora giggles in response, unaware this irritated the prince. He noticed this was a habit of hers, to annoyingly giggle at an inquiry she wishes not answer.

"Anyways.", the prince starts,"I would like to ask where you get such beautiful dresses and accessories. I believe they greatly suit you."

Michael gives her a gentle smile, waiting for her to answer and potentially give up some information concerning the suspicious increase of taxes.

"Oh these, they're just some gifts my parents sent from home. I hope one of these days we could visit my homeland.", she says. Her smile falters a bit.

He smiles.

"So, if I may ask, what were you doing when I wasn't around?" Aurora giggled nervously, fidgeting with her hands. "I was...well. I was thinking about you, your majesty."

Michael looks at her with disappointment. "Aurora, do you recall the words I told the participants those few months ago?" She hesitantly nods. "You do know I refer to you as well." His tone becoming darker with every word he spoke.

"I instructed you to either show me your affections, or become someone of great use to me. And yet..."

"You decide not to pick any one of the options I gave you. You decided to waste my time."

She stands up in shock at his words, her nails stinging her palm. "How could you think of me that way?!"

She stared at the prince with anger, before realizing what she has done and sitting herself back down. She yelled at the prince. She caused a scene. If anyone were to see what had happened, rumors would spread like wildfire.

Suddenly, she puts a gentle smile on her face. "Forgive me your majesty for my outburst, I didn't know how to react when you said such hurtful words to me." She pouts as a way to soften his heart, but unknowingly fails to do so.

Michael quirks a brow at her act, but decides to brush it off and forgive her, reluctantly. Her pout is replaced with a smile as she fixes her dress and her hair.

With him reaching a near dead end, Michael decides to make a final move.

"Why don't you come to my chambers, alone."

Aurora is shocked at the invitation and deducts that not only could this be a great opportunity to surpass her competitors, but also as a way to gain an advantage of potentially producing an heir before anyone else.

"I would love to, your majesty.", as she reached her hand out for him to escort her, personally.

You awaken from your nap in the library, you then stretch your arms before folding them. Your eyes slowly adjust to your surroundings, looking at the wooden shelves filled with books from top to bottom.

'I've never seen Michael read a book ever since I came here.', you wonder. It's a mystery to you on why this place has a whole library, but you have seen no one enter the place.

Other than the maids coming to dust the area thoroughly, but that doesn't matter. You should focus on more important things. For instance, where is Michael?

You take a look at the sky through the window. It's past evening. The two of you were supposed to meet before then. You blame yourself for dozing off, when trying to learn about the royal etiquette. The book you read was big enough to be used as a murder weapon.

You hastily walk out of the library, to go meet with him. 'He probably did this on purpose, making me work like a mad woman. Though it is my fault for not keeping track of time.'

When you reach the doors to his chambers, you knock on the door to check if he's available.

You hear a few whispers, not audible enough for you to make out what their saying. "Enter.", but you hear someone whisper to someone, to not let you enter.

Taking in a deep breath, you enter.

The scene before you was Michael and Aurora holding each other in their arms. Her palms resting on his chest and his hands on the sides of her hips.

They both look disheveled. You saw smudges of pink lipstick trailing from his lips to his neck and his collar unbuttoned and wrinkled, while her sleeves lower than they were before.

The smile on Michael's face was mocking and the flushed cheeks of Aurora was almost identical to her hair. As well as the pink smudged lipstick on her lips.

To witness such a thing before you. It hurts. You've read stories on women who've caught their husband in the act of an affair, but acted as if it never happened.

You've eavesdropped on your mother and the other ministers' wives conversations a few times before. According to your mother, one woman found her husband in bed with another, but only asked for what he wanted for dinner.

It's quite devastating when you think about it. But that doesn't matter. You're dealing with a prince who's love and affections could be given to all, but is not truly genuine.

You should care less.

"I sincerely apologize for interrupting your time with his majesty, however I am need of his assistance." Aurora gave you look of disdain, upset about how you barged into the room of them cuddling together.

The nonchalance in your voice does not help either.

"What is that you need his majesty's assistance with, you can clearly see that I'm still having my time with him.", she breaks away from his hold and stands in front of you.

"I can understand why you are upset about me barging in, however his majesty has a meeting with me. So, please excuse us."

You gestured to Michael so the both you could go, and he nods.

"Lady (Name) is right, you should get going. You've spent more than enough time with me.", he takes a napkin out of his pocket and wipes his face. "We'll continue this later."

"But your majesty-"

"Get going now, or are you incapable of escorting yourself out?"

With no other option, Aurora leaves, but with a sour look on her face directed to you. You could almost see tears coming from her eyes, you almost felt bad for her.

Key word, almost.

You waited to hear the sound of her footsteps to diminish. You sigh to yourself and look over to Michael. The smile on his face.

"So, did you get anything from her?", you started. He looked at you, fixing his collar and wiping the lipstick stains.

"Why, but of course. At first, she claimed her parents sent her gifts, but with a kiss or two, she confessed to the tax increase."

"Did she ever explain why she did all this?"

He gave you a side eye before continuing , "Apparently to gain more of my attention, it's a habit of hers to seek the attention of every person around her. Friend or foe."

He chuckled at the look on your face. You were...disappointment. The sympathy you had for her died when you heard the reason why of the sudden tax increase.

"How did she manage to do this? Surely, she couldn't have done it by herself.", you questioned.

"She asked her majesty. My mother."

Pardon. He saw how confused you are, with your mouth agape and your brows raised.

"I suspect my mother has given her permission to do whatever she wants in order to get my attention.", he says.

"Wouldn't that be an unfair advantage, what about the rest of participants?", you were confused. Did her majesty really not care of what the public thought of her?

"It would only be unfair if I fell for it, after all I'm not all that interested with anyone at the moment.", he smiled mischievously.

For some odd reason, you were relieved when he said those words. "Why are you so relieved at this fact? I thought you already knew I'm not interested into such women.", he started.

You shot him an irritated look, "Then do explain the lively scene I saw moments before. Was it to rile her on, to play with her, to bed her, your majesty?"

He stated clapping at you, as if saying 'Precisely the point.' To say it felt humiliating would be an understatement. But you didn't know why.

You took a deep breath.

"Would it be wrong for I to assume that her majesty, requested an heir from you?"

His form became still as if he had been turned to stone. "If that is the case then..."

You straightened your posture.

"Would you do the honor, of making me the first woman to carry your child."

In order for Michael Kaiser to become an emperor, he needs to have heir.

Taglist.

@lightoftheamethyst , @kimura-uzuri , @kascar-chronicle , @faaariiii-world , @comet-kun , @nerdiel-has-no-braincells , @ariachaos , @kaisers-wife , @v1viarisu , @sleepyharuu , @izayumi-chan , @tamashiiraiden.

Hi.

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #michael kaiser #michael kaiser x reader #Blue Roses with Gold Lining #vandal-flower

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keets-writing-corner · 9 months ago

Note

One thing I noticed is that Lucifer doesn't disassociate when singing, and what's one common factor in his songs? Charlie, so I like to imagine that in these instances he's so focused on her that his depression temporarily takes a back seat because he loves his kid so much that he forgets why he's sad in the first place.

ooh I like your headcanons!

hmm I guess we could look at this a couple of different ways (some of what I'm about to say comes from personal experience which may be different than what some other people experience so idk feel free to agree or disagree with my musings)

So dissociation doesn't [technically] affect your ability to speak, it affects your ability to focus. The way I was talking about it in my analysis was that it nerfed Lucifer's conversation comprehension, with him being unable to follow along the entire time (and consequently either has NO idea what anyone is talking about or only gets half the picture).

The only times Lucifer really fumbles his words is when he gets nervous around Charlie either cuz he's trying to make a good impression

Or when he realizes his depression is biting him in the ass and he just missed crucial pieces of information and cannot bluff his way through the conversation

Although shout out to that one time we caught him realizing he needed to bluff and stumbled a little

But otherwise, he articulates himself perfectly fine, cuz again, dissociation isn't about speaking ability so much as it is about focus. Even in my bouts of dissociation I can verbalize myself just fine for the most part, it's whether or not what I have to say is relevant to the conversation, which uh Lucifer also showed off at some point when he thought Charlie was asking him about the hotel's appearance rather than her actual plan to redeem sinners and comments on the railings. (Or idk there is another interpretation that he was avoiding the subject, maybe it was both he disassociated while Charlie was explaining everything to him but did catch that she wanted to redeem sinners at some point, but didn't quite understand what she was asking until she clarified? he didn't seem surprised when she did clarify so I'm assuming he ended up catching it at least once)

So I'm bringing this up because it ends up being kinda hard to tell whether or not he is or is not disassociating when he sings, cuz the dissociation wouldn't affect the singing at all.

When he's having a sing battle against Alastor, sure he's articulating himself well and presenting his points, but we don't actually know whether or not he's following along what Alastor is saying. Honestly, Lucifer vs Alastor just seemed like 2 territorial chickens yelling at each other trying to be louder than the other one. Maybe Lucifer is catching everything cuz his jealous and rage helped him focus for once, maybe he's not catching everything but he doesn't need to catch everything to know that he doesn't like Alastor and he doesn't need to focus to tell Alastor how much he dislikes him.

But what about the other two songs, "More than Anything" and "Finale"?

He is technically outright having a conversation with Charlie in the first one and in the second one, he seems fully aware of the context of the situation and is focusing more on a lifting spirits role

Well it could be a lot of things I think. I don't think it's that the depression or the sadness took a back seat, that's still present. From my own experiences, it is possible to get yourself to focus in a dissociative episode when the subject matter is something you're passionate about or in Lucifer's case, someone that he loves. We know the dissociation was unfortunately strong enough that it was making him miss out on a lot of things Charlie (aforementioned loved one) was telling him, especially in the beginning.

But looking at "More than Anything" what changed in that scene? He was with Charlie the entire episode but that was the first scene where he really managed to hold a conversation. I think it was a combination of: Okay his baby girl is there and she NEEDS him, and he opens up as to why he's hesitant about her plan. He's not explicit with the mention of his trauma, but trauma does make someone more alert. I'd also like to give a special shout out to @in-fair-verona-we-set-our-scene who made these lovely tags on my analysis post

Specifically, I want to talk about that they mention that Lucifer is being a lot more genuine in his song with Charlie, aka he's not masking. He's not trying to hide or bluff how he's doing. He's not putting on a show, he's not being goofy or larger than life, he's being genuine and his genuine self is tired, sad and resigned. Let me tell you, my dissociation is 100% worse when I'm masking.

I think in "More Than Anything" a mix of things are going on, he's not needing to mask for a minute which boosts the focus, he's opening up about trauma and it's being gently received which boosts focus, and he's talking to someone he loves about something he was once passionate about which boosts focus. So ye! It could entirely be that in that song he was not dissociating!

As far as "Finale" I legitimately can't really tell whether or not he is? He's not really having a conversation with anyone, he's just trying to uplift his daughter, and again, in my experiences, dissociation doesn't necessarily nerf your ability to speak. We also know that he knows how to put on a show even in the depths of the dissociation like in "Hell's Greatest Dad" soooo as for that song... -shrug-?????

There is an element here that we have to take into account. Hazbin Hotel is a traditional musical, so we must look at a theater saying, "When the emotion becomes too strong for speech, you sing." Which is more or less what happened in all the songs Lucifer was a part in, so there's definitely some meta technical things going on in that a song wouldn't be very dramatic if the person singing it was dissociating the whole time? I mean I guess it could be done, I've just never seen it? Usually the musical number has to be clear in its purpose. The protagonist of Dear Even Hansen can sing just fine when any other speaking parts he fumbles with his words a lot.

AAAAAAALLL of this to say: Does Lucifer stop disassociating when he sings? -shrugs- I think it really depends on the context, but I wouldn't at all be surprised cuz high emotion can lead to greater focus in a moment. Although it's really cute to think that he doesn't dissociate cuz singing with Charlie is just that much of a boost for him cuz he loves his wittle girl

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mulders-too-large-shirt · 5 months ago

Text

s2 episode 8 thoughts

tears. in my eyes. shaky breathing. oh. okay.

well. no place to start but the beginning.

stares at my laptop screen for a long, long time before typing. give me a minute. allow to me collect myself.

okay. we start with scully's mom narrating. and we learn, thanks to the subtitles, that her mom's name is margaret. this is information i will also be storing in my useless scully facts book.

so we knew she had two brothers, but a sister is also mentioned, named melissa. and we get this story from her childhood, about how dana- which feels wrong for me to type, but i will- was given a bb gun by her brothers, and she joined in with them shooting a snake. but then she realized it was bleeding and she cried as it bled out in her hands and held it while it died. which is already So much to handle. and her mom is saying that she feels how her daughter felt that day watching the animal die.

the next thing we see is mulder is there, and. he's saying it's still too early to know if she's gone. but. well.

we see a gentleman bring something out. and it is a gravestone with her name carved into it.

he turns away like he was burned from even looking at it. and man. that hurt. very badly.

we see that her middle name is katherine. and we learn this because we see it on her gravestone.

he goes back to his place (where he still sleeps on the couch) but then he gets a phone call that they've found her. and he busts into the door when the nurse says he can't go in there. that's our man!

he's screaming at these poor healthcare workers, somewhat rightfully suspicious they're involved with the government who took her, but also man. they don't get paid enough. however, i understand the emotional explosiveness this had to have provoked. so he is really just screaming, at the nurse, at the doctor, demanding to know what the hell happened, where she came from, and he says "i swear i'll do anything, i'll find out what they did to her" while being escorted out

then there is a very tense conversation between the doctor and her mother and him. the doctor must have already have been in quite a state, because mere minutes ago a raving angry man accused him of stealing his friend, and now he's sitting with said angry man explaining that they genuinely have no idea how she got here, and that she has no indication of injury.

we also learn that she had no desire to remain on life support past a certain point. and mulder knows this because. he. he. he uh. well he signed her will.

now i think maybe that's just something you have to do at the fbi and i can see them making a little joke out of it- a nice little trip to get each other's will signed, make a day of it, keep it light and funny- but man. man in this context. oh i'm gonna be Sick.

so we see a woman holding a crystal over her body and we learn it is her sister melissa!!! she's really pretty. she tries to show mulder that you can feel her energy by holding his hands over her but he gets angry and leaves.

(i love this dichotomy here, that somehow the ultra skeptic has a sister who is into talking about spirits and crystals. truly i feel this is what happens to people raised catholic)

at this point i wrote "girl i'm stressed tf out" and yeah. kinda the whole mood.

melissa is saying that his anger and fear is blocking the positive emotions she needs to feel, which echoes my statements about how he has been too cranky this season. but i can't even laugh because the man is in Distress.

he goes back to his place after saying he needs "to do more than just wave his hands", and he's bouncing a basketball and putting tape on his windows. i get it. that oppressive feeling of being unable to sit still. every moment dragging like a lifetime. bounce bounce bounce. he wakes up and rips the tape off his windows.

and back to attending to her bedside. i do not think this man has been clocking into his shift at the fbi.

we see a fellow enter wearing a suit and carrying flowers and i was like oh shit is it last rites time? um. so maybe i don't know what gets worn to a last rites event. i realize my weakness in this area and will do some research when we're done here.

but it's not anyone here to do that- it's frohike, the guy from the lone gunman who was making weird comments about scully! he must have come to pay his last respects. he picks up a clipboard and i thought oh my gosh he's gonna start reciting poetry- but he notices something weird on her chart and sneaks it out

it seems the whole thing was orchestrated, because mulder goes back to the freaks at the lone gunman, who invite him to come over and watch earth 2 and point out the factual inaccuracies- which, all things considered, is very sweet- but they send her blood data to a hacker that uses a richard nixon persona and he says that yeah, her blood is weird. and mulder's like, is she gonna make it, and they say no. it got very somber.

in terms of scully view, we see her on this dock of a boat between life and death. i thought that was nice imagery, and extremely eerie. those around her bedside are on one side of the dock, and it looks like the rope could snap and drift away at any moment.

the nurse comes in to do some blood work and i have another "augh blood" moment. so i look away. and mulder is REALLY pondering her blood. i thought he was honestly gonna take it for himself, maybe bring it in for testing or keep it like an emo.

but no! a strange man in a suit STEALS the blood!

so mulder is back into track star mode and is SPRINTING after this guy. i always forget that he is a runner. and he is RUNNING around this hospital and makes it to the parking lot until...

he is stopped by deep throat 2.0, a man for whom i realize i have no other name. but you know who i'm referring to, right? so i guess that name will work for now. deep throat 2.0 says that mulder needs to stop NOW, and that HE got deep throat 1.0 AND scully killed by looking into things too hard. which is an absolutely awful thing to say btw. deep throat 2.0 has a gun to mulder's head and says to stop searching.

mulder proceeds to run after the blood thief despite these warnings. can't say i blame him. he finds the blood thief!!! and they have a bit of a fight until...

deep throat 2.0, who earlier said he wanted to remain out of this mess, rolls up? so we're getting mixed messages here. and he says i'll take care of this and SHOOTS THE BLOOD THIEF?????? in the head.

back to the hospital. mulder is not pleased about the prospect of life support being removed but melissa says he has to honor her wishes. and he's going on about the blood protein and the doctor is like "why do you think this has anything to do with blood protein" and he Does Not Explain

her mom calls him "fox" again and says this is a moment for the family, but he can come too. and he won't come in. he's the wettest and saddest a man has ever looked as they go in there. and then the rope holding her to the dock of the afterlife is severed.

man. if i had been a contemporary viewer i would have been sobbing. thank god i've seen gifsets that prove this wasn't the end for her. because if i hadn't, i would have been in shambles. i mean i Was in shambles but like i would have been bawling on the floor.

cig man is with skinner. i honestly didn't think we'd get up to any sort of fbi related tasks in this episode, but he hands skinner a report and leaves. and then mulder comes in and denies being involved with the shootout at the hospital

(it's worth noting that he is doing all the denying to be an ass to skinner, and yells about "how does it feel, all the denial")

and he says that it was "cancer man" who took scully. i had been calling him cigarette man, but cancer man is very comparable.

the next thing i wrote was "SKINNER IS A BITCH????" this was because he said that mulder is "just as responsible" as cancer man for scully's situation if he knew the risks of this line of work and didn't warn her.

skinner baby YOU CAN'T SAY THAT? seriously i cannot figure this guy out. every time i think i have a read on him he does something like this that shifts my interpretation. what a horrible thing to say to someone.

cut to scully cam. she's on a table in metaphysical land. and her dad is there. he calls her starbuck and refers to himself as ahab- so the first mate and the captain. and he's monologuing about how he never knew how much he loved her until he realized he could never be with her again, and he says they'll be together "soon", but not now. so i'm wondering if she can hear all of this going on. i would guess so.

mulder is in the cafeteria with melissa and she is trying to talk a bit of sense into him. she says "you could spend the rest of your life finding every person that's responsible and its still not gonna bring her back" and he replies "including myself?"

now usually i would say that mulder taking the blame upon himself is tragic and typical, but here, having it also been implied by skinner AND deep throat 2.0, i am thinking, man, he's got to really believe it, even more so than all the other times he couldn't save everyone. which is. fucked up. so immensely fucked up. i'm sorry you pissed me off last episode baby but we can go to the zoo again like i planned. let's go see some tigers and cheer you up.

a woman walks in and asks him for change for the "cigarette machine", which was the first time in my life i have ever heard the term "cigarette machine", so maybe the earth really is healing

but he finds a pack with an address in it, and then, straight from my notes:

"CIG MAN'S HOUSE. OH MULDER IS THERE AND POINTING A GUN AT HIM. AND ALSO SCREAMING. "why her" oh his finger gets very close to the trigger"

cig man says he likes her and mulder, and. wow. what a despicable human being. he says that he likes mulder more for showing up to his place with a gun. says he's playing the game. mulder seems to have a realization he is acting just like those he swore to destroy and puts the gun down. cig man says it'll be their secret. and also that he was the one that told skinner that mulder shot the guy in the hospital even though he didn't think it was true.

we next see mulder sadly tapping at his computer. he prints a one sentence resignation letter "effective immediately" NOT even a two week's notice, that's how bad they fucked this man up

skinner comes by and says it's unacceptable while mulder is packing all of his things. and mulder says:

"i hate what i've become"

man. fuck. he hates the rage he has been driven to. the loss of control. the way he sees himself as being responsible for deep throat and scully. and all of it stemming from his need for answers, to track down his sister. he hates what that feeling of insufficiency has led him to and the path he now walks upon. hates it. hates his situation and himself and the world.

skinner decides to share some personal story time: he went off to vietnam- willingly enlisting on his 18th birthday. and then while he was there he shot a kid who was covered in grenades. the camera glances back at mulder occasionally, who, despite all of his grief, seems to be consulting his oxford training to try and remember what you're supposed to say to a guy who just told you he killed a child in vietnam.

and then he says he watched all his friends die and that he almost died- he was put in a body bag, and was in a coma for two weeks- and he was too scared to learn what happens next. but mulder isn't. and that's why his resignation is unacceptable.

mulder adds things up and realizes that it was skinner that gave him cancer man's location. again. complicating the vibe i get from skinner in doing something positive now. he says that every day is a risk.

deep throat 2.0 rolls up, saying that the people who did this to scully are going to break into his apartment tonight, and he'll have to kill them. he looks displeased by this- aversion to taking any sort of lives- but resigns himself to it.

so he's in his place in the dark ready to start blasting, when he gets a knock on the door. and it's melissa.

this is where we get the iconic exchange "why is it so dark in here?" "because the lights aren't on" which made me laugh so thoroughly seeing it out of context before i ever decided to watch this show

and melissa is MAD. scully is weakening, and she came to get him to say his goodbyes, but he won't go because. well. shootout is about to go down. this is his ONE chance to learn who did this to scully. but she doesn't know that is why he won't leave, so she YELLS at him, about being in a place even darker than her sister, and asks "why is it so much easier for you to run around trying to get even than just expressing to her how you feel? i expect more from you. dana expects more from you"

and man. those words are heavy. he locks the door, knowing that his place is gonna be robbed, and that he'll never know who hurt her, and comes down to see her.

and he's talking to her. holding her hand. saying he's here. he doesn't know if it'll change anything, but he's here.

when he goes home, his place is entirely ransacked, and he falls to the ground crying. fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. i can't even put into words how bad this broke me. big strong mulder weeping on the ground, his career in shambles and his best friend dead.

i feel like i need to pause there just for how heavy it was. like this was his lowest low. lower than even vampire sex.

but he soon gets a call and he smiles so wide!!! and we learn her eyes are open!! it is the sweetest smile i have ever seen!!!!!!

he gets down to the hospital and she's awake and talking- but she doesn't remember anything- and he, being the insufferable man that he is, says the following:

"i brought you a present (holds up a vhs tape) superstars of the superbowls"

man. man. man. man. she deadpans so quickly. "i knew there was a reason to live"

he must have grabbed a random tape off his shelf and brought it to her with the express intent of antagonizing her back in the realm of the living. and he thought of something to say along with it on the car ride down, his hands shaking. something, anything to make her laugh. a stupid vhs tape. his constant sports references. her quick tongue. oh dear lord help me these two have ruined me.

he gives scully her necklace back, which i wrote about in all caps, while her mother and sister watch

and then we learn that the nurse who was taking special care of her was never actually there when scully wants to thank her and the other nurse is like "um no one who works here has that name" so. SCULLY PARANORMAL EXPERIENCE (POSITIVE)??!?!?!?

overall. man. i am experiencing such a volume of emotions. what the hell. she's back, though. and we saw how much she means to him. and i feel like i could type a million words on the subject but i don't even know what to say because they're still all stuck in my chest. they love each other sososo much.

will he ever tell her what he did in her absence? how he tried to quit? how he broke every rule trying to save her? how he screamed at the doctors, how he broke into cigarette man's house, how he almost pulled the trigger? how he watched a man die when deep throat 2.0 shot him? how he was blamed for her condition by himself and by others? how he left his apartment to be ransacked, giving up his one chance to catch whoever did this to her, to try and let go of his grief and be with her instead? or will he keep quiet except for the latest witticisms and frequent visits and presents and stories by her bedside while she gains strength and recovers?

and how he left, too, when he knew she was okay. how he must have wanted to be there more than anything in the world, but knew she needed to rest, so he left her with her family. how he could breathe easy again. how he had to make it seem like it was cool, and everything was contained.

man. this tv show. i just typed all of those words out and i still feel like i didn't even begin to cover the things i'm feeling. i feel like i need to shake them up and down.

but this should be good, because the x files are reopened... so are we seriously, as the kids say, so back? only time will tell!

#neeeeeed to know what happens while she's getting better #need an incredibly detailed oneshot. because i KNOW they are gonna jump back into the shenanigans in the next episode #and we're not gonna get to see all the time it takes for her to gain strength and how she struggles through it and everyone's reactions #no i know this too well by now. we're gonna get another case next episode and not an analysis into this.#BRING ME THE FIC i bellow from the comfort of my bedroom.#this whole experience had such an emotional effect on me i know that perhaps it can be ME who comes back and writes the fic someday #which is why i'm glad i take detailed notes. so i can jump back in.#i also wanted a fic post episode 20 after they had been eaten by the bugs because i'm a sucker for whump basically #so maybe i'll come back to that someday as well #anyway. this is why we watch this show. not for awkward vampire sex. i forgive u mulder. you're my special meow meow again #but scully can do no wrong so keep that in mind moving forward.#juni's x files liveblog #txf #the x files

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sunbloomdew · 1 year ago

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Love Confessions in the Baxter DLC

The sequel! Monochrome obsession continues. Part 2/3

Part 1 "The Wedding Confession"

Welcome, or hello again! I played the Baxter DLC a couple of times and I like it a lot, so I wanted to ramble about some of my favourite parts. Specifically about love confessions in Baxter’s version of Step 4, because they are all very well written and make me feel good :3

Reading the first part of this "series" isn't necessary, the introduction is just a bit more thorough in the first post. Furthermore if you've read the first part it might seem like i'm repeating myself with certain points, since those moments share some similarities and i like to be meticulous.

It is time for the second confession and the last one that can be initiated by the player. If you don’t confess here and pick an option in which MC expresses hope of Baxter returning their feelings, you will later reach the moment where Baxter asks MC out himself. This confession is my personal favourite, so prepare for me losing my mind over every single detail.

Spoilers for Baxter DLC!

The confessions all happen after the wedding ceremony, so if you hadn't played to this point yet, i recommend skipping this post (and maybe coming back later, if you wanna chat about them with me)! I may not bring up every single line, but i think this post still covers a good part of what happens.

I call this confession, The Morning Confession, because it takes place on the morning after the wedding! Simple name but it does the job.

There is also another reason for this name, but i'll get to it later.

The wedding is over and most stuff had been cleaned up. MC returns with Baxter to his apartment, after accepting his invitation to stay with him until they have to come back to their home. The two have finally reunited and they aren’t ready to part ways yet.

During that evening, MC and Baxter share a moment by the fireplace in the lobby of the building. I wanted to dedicate some time to this moment, because I think it’s a valuable context to the confession. And aside from providing insight into the mind of Baxter Ward, I love the way it’s written. So sue me, i wanna talk about it.

Despite the fact that they have reconciled, Baxter’s reasoning behind his actions still isn’t fully clear to MC. While being in the company of other people made the lingering unease between them bearable, it still remains. They can't act casually, as if nothing had happened, as if the years hadn’t been lost. So Baxter offers to clarify his point of view. “As sorry as I am, I don’t think I’ve been as open as I could have been” he says and well, that is the truth.

If the player chose to confess to Baxter before this conversation, this moment provides a deeper understanding of the character and explains his reluctance to accept the confession.

It is here by a fireplace – a fitting spot for another personal conversation, considering the duo's shared history – that Baxter reveals his innermost thoughts and fears. At his core, he believes he doesn’t contribute anything to any relationship, because he can't see his own value. And to him, if he doesn’t add anything, then he has no right to form and be in deep, mutually supportive relationships.

Baxter convinced himself that he doesn’t matter. That his only worth is in the entertainment he can provide or the help he can give. In his own words, he doesn’t know what it means to be significant to a person, just by being yourself. Which is why he doesn’t let people get close to him. He assumes that upon finding out that there is nothing more to him, they will leave. So it’s better to not let anybody get to know him, that way no one can be disappointed by his “true” self. He is unable to see that none of that is true because deep down, he thinks he is worthless as a person.

Those feelings about himself are something that have influenced Baxter’s decisions about relationships with other people, for example with Xavier. As the baker reveals later, they always felt that if Baxter had no reason to contact them again, he wouldn't. He kept himself away from others and believed that every connection he makes isn’t meant to last.

Still, Baxter wanted to create bonds with other people. And it terrified him.

He wanted to have that with MC, but he was too afraid to take that chance five years ago. It couldn't have worked out back then. Baxter had his assumptions about himself and others, and he held onto them strongly. It’s sad, but there was no way to make him change his ways back then. He was set on leaving no matter what would have happened.

This Baxter is different from the 19 year old who put his comfort above all else. During that conversation by the fireplace he is being vulnerable in ways he never allowed himself to be before. He tells MC that he missed them over those five years. That they made him feel wanted that summer, and as incredible as it felt, he couldn’t believe it would last. He makes it clear that it wasn’t any of MC’s actions that made him feel that way - he applied this mindset to every connection he made at that time.

It’s incredibly sad to witness his thoughts out in the open like that. I think Baxter’s struggles are something most of us can relate to in some way. Low self-esteem can make people withdraw from social situations and spiral into self-hatered. It’s terrible, to be so wrapped up in disliking yourself that you assume that nobody could ever like you. That you have no good qualities as a person, so you have to make up for them somehow. It can feel like it'll stay this way forever, and so there is no point in trying to connect with others.

However that is not true. In the end, Baxter came to understand this as well. He is worthy of love and friendship. He grew and learned from his past mistakes, and so can we.

He apologises to MC once again, and expresses deep regret over not staying in contact with them. And at last, MC can say that they actually know Baxter Alexander Ward.

I think this moment is really beautiful. It’s an apology without excuses, that provides an explanation. Baxter never had malicious intentions, but even so, his actions had hurt people who cared for him (and who he cared about), so he owns up to his mistakes and does his best to correct them.

Aside from being a really good moment of taking accountablity and being vulnerable with another person this conversation also sets the mood for the morning confession. The air is finally cleared. These two characters can finally show how much they value each other because there is mutual understanding and trust between them again. It will take some time to get to know each other after so long, but they are willing to try, and they know they can be honest.

After a day full of emotional revelations, Baxter and MC finally head to bed. Not only the characters, but the players can take a breath and prepare for what’s to come. And boy are we in for a treat.

The next day arrives and the players are given an option to sleep in as much as they want. What time MC wakes up will have an effect on dialogues and is one of the many examples of how the game lets us customize the protagonist however we want, even in the silliest ways. It is something i deeply appreciate about the Our Life series. The comfort level also changes the lines, for example MC's response to Baxter greeting them in the morning.

Eventually the sleeping beauty wakes up and the pair moves to the living room. Despite sleeping in for a while Baxter is still out of it and it’s so adorable (he's just like me fr).

I think the tone set for the confession is lovely. The atmosphere in the morning is relaxing and light and to me it feels like this is exactly what those characters needed. A new day has arrived, not only literally but figuratively for their relationship. There is no negative tension in the air, just the feeling of peace. They are clearly enjoying each other's company and it's great to finally have that again.

This is only my opinion, but the way this moment feels is exactly why i like it more than the wedding confession. The previous confession is meant to feel rushed, high on emotions and full of determination to declare the feelings right away. MC feels like they have to be upfront about their feelings in that moment so they confess. I do enjoy this type of tension, but i simply prefer this kind of setting. As much as i love convincing Baxter to truly express his feelings by shooting down the reasons not to date him (it's so intense and dramatic! absolutely amazing) i find that i like this quiet admission of feelings more.

While it might not be that intense as the moment right after the wedding, there is still this nagging feeling that urges MC not to wait any longer. They love that they are included in this private corner of Baxter's life and they wish they could have been before. It's this feeling of not wanting to lose any more time, that makes them think about confessing then and there.

And so, the player is presented with a choice:

It is time to confess! Hallelujah.

Just like in the wedding confession we can pick the way we want to confess - with words or with a gesture. If we pick the third option you lose the chance to confess yourself. Instead Baxter will do this when the time comes.

Upon choosing one of the ways to confess, MC has the same internal monologue they do in the wedding confession. I've already shared my thoughts about it in the previous post, but i'll just say here that it's a very nice scene. They reminisce about their relationship with Baxter as a whole, eventually coming to the conclusion, that they can hold on to him.

After the monologue ends, the player has a chance to reaffirm their decision, as they did in the previous confession.

If you back out, MC thinks that they can be together just not in the way they'd want to. They are afraid of confessing, in case they ruin what they just got back and make Baxter run away.

But, if you reaffirm your decision, you get my personal favourite confession scene. Let's get right into it!

I mentioned in Part 1 that Baxter reacts to MC's silence, as they reminisce about their relationship. I find it a little funny when i imagine them just sitting in silence and staring intensely for a while. Kinda like when magical girls have their transformations and the bad guys don't do anything to interrupt them. MC monologuing definitely gives off the same energy. Writing inner monologues is tricky like that.

During the wedding confession Baxter is anxious and worried, waiting to receive MC's verdict. Do they welcome him back to their life? Or do they reject him (even though there is no such option in the game)?. It's stressful and the prolonged silence makes Baxter slowly come back to his usual behaviour to protect himself, in case his vulnerability was the wrong move.

This isn't the case here. His reaction is wildly different. There is no tension or stress, just curiosity and anticipation. Instead of being nervous he is very smug, clearly knowing or at least suspecting what MC is thinking about. I gotta say, when i first picked this option i was stunned. I did NOT expect him to act in this way, but it was a pleasant surprise. Mr. Ward is very perceptive and i love this confident attitude of his.

MC asks him what is on his mind, and he comes back to reality. Baxter encourages them to continue, but they insist he tells them what's going on. And that's what he does. He says that he was remembering a "funny story". Then he asks MC if they want to know something absolutely embarrassing. With that kind of an opening, how could they refuse?

Baxter tells them that Jude and Scott attempted to speak to him about his and MC's... situation. He was surprised that they noticed he was sad and wanted to help him, when he was supposed to be doing that with their relationship. I think it was his feelings of inferiority that made him feel that way.

Moving on, the reason he brought that up wasn't to draw attention to how his poor relationship management skills made others concerned for him. But rather to point out, that the men knew, that MC is important to Baxter. Baxter states that he was grateful they met and despite ending their relationship five years ago, he was never sorry he knew MC. He is kinda chaotic with his admission, one second bringing up the chat with the grooms and the other expressing his affection for MC.

Understandably, it makes MC confused. They thought they were the one leading the dance - or the conversation in this case - but clearly now it's Baxter doing that (i mean he is a professional). Even so, he isn't as good with his words as usual and doesn't quite manage to convey what he wants to MC.

He thanks MC for letting him "ramble" for so long and stands up. Shit's getting real. We're about to enter the boss fight.

He moves to sit on the edge of the coffee table, which puts him at the eye level with MC, only closer than before. And then this silly man leans closer acting all calm and confident. Dude. Please. Everytime i play this moment i lose my precious ability to formulate thoughts, not to mention actual sentences. Because. Oh my god.

And then he hits you with THAT. He absolutely knew what MC was thinking about and he is having a lot of fun with teasing them. They realize that he caught on to what was going on and figure that at least it makes it easier to confess. The dialogue varies in this place because of the comfort level - these are their thoughts on the Direct setting. They also think about how hard would it be to tell him they liked him before he opened up to them. I find it pretty funny, because it’s clearly a tiny poke, towards players who did confess right after the wedding and faced this struggle. When you’re replaying those moments it does make you chuckle.

Now we can finally confess our feelings! When doing that verbally there are a couple of options to choose from, as in the case of the wedding confession. One of the options is: "Could I consider all the time we spent together a date?" and you already know i love this one. It's playful, it's a reference to when Baxter asked MC out five years ago, it's perfect. There is no contender, i always choose it.

...Is what i would say, but i actually always choose the option to confess with a kiss during this feelings reveal.

Confessing with a kiss looks a bit different from the first confession. This time there aren't multiple options to choose where we want to kiss him, MC goes straight (or is it?) for the lips. And the way that kiss is described is everything to me. I'm an absolute sucker for kissing scenes and this one is just so, so, so good! I cannot find fitting words in english (and neither can i in polish) so i'll just drop one screenshot from it and move along before i combust.

It's so tender and sweet and adorable please-

While Baxter was acting super confident and cocky, the second MC declares their love for him/moves to kiss him he turns into a shy, blushing mess. Despite knowing or at least suspecting what MC was about to do he is still caught of guard. I think that his reaction is absolutely adorable. Baxter doesn't blush a lot, so it's always a treat when he does.

We can choose to tell Baxter, that MC wanted to be with him even five years ago and this stuns him again.

Now that MC have confessed their love they're waiting for Baxter to respond. But GOD, is he struggling. It's the first time Baxter is so flustered and it makes me so giddy. He allows himself to show how much MC means to him and holy shit, this man cannot look at them for too long because he will just blush even harder.

From the way he is acting it's already clear that he reciprocates MC's feelings. But the fact that he gets so shy? Stole my heart, sir how dare you be so cute.

Of course, Baxter Ward cannot stay flustered for long and he eventually recovers. Damn it.

His response to the confession is so sweet. He basically says "my turn" and tells MC all the things he loves about being with them, how they made him feel and how much he appreciates them. There is still a moment of self-loathing, when Baxter regrets trying to keep MC out of his life- twice. He is surprised that MC still has feelings for him, still wants to be with him despite all the pain he caused them.

He still brings up all the potential reasons why this could be a bad idea. Limited connections, his current financial situation and his past ways of managing relationships. But unlike in the Wedding Confession, here those aren't statements for MC to refute. I'd say they are less of a warning for MC and more of an expose of himself, to be sure that he revealed everything he considers a flaw before accepting their confession. "By all accounts, I shouldn't be doing this. But I am." - those are his words. Even if he still has his doubts, he isn't going to turn MC down anymore. If he let them go now, in fear of potentially not being enough in this relationship, he would regret it.

And so that is his response: "If you'll have me you will have me." Don't mind if i do- yoink.

While he calmed down a bit for this admission, he gets flustered yet again. It's so adorable to see him be so affected by MC and this situation.

Baxter says that it was easier asking MC out himself all those years ago. He is still so out of it that he voices out loud that he has no idea what to do now. His usual grace and poise are still on leave it seems. He follows it up with that it would be the best if he switched from sitting on the coffee table to somewhere with a backrest, just in case. Dude. Baxter is so strongly impacted by this confession that he is fully aware that there is a possiblity that he will just topple down. I'm melting, it's so cute!

He moves to the couch and MC joins him over there. Once Baxter calms down a bit, he says he is starting to "remember some possiblities" and the two kiss again. I can't even begin describe how much i love the way the kissing moments are written. They're amazing and i'm losing my mind.

The last question Baxter has is if his feelings were obvious to MC. He recounts when Jude asked him point-blank if he was still 'into' MC - we get a couple of dialogue answers to pick, either reacting to Jude even asking about it or answering Baxter's question.

And that is the end of this confession! Baxter overcomes his sheepishness at last, no longer blushing intensely. Quite a shame, but i think we all love his usual charming self as well.

There are no more reservations about showing his true feelings. The pair has been reunited after five years and are finally ready to start a long-term relationship. Good for them <3

Baxter shares one last thought at the end of this long conversation:

And yes, this is the other reason why i call this confession the Morning Confession specifically! It's entirely because of Baxter pointing it out. And because he is so surprised about this turn of events.

The second part is finally over! I worked on it during those two weeks (holy fuck, why) it took me to post it. I'm a bit bummed it took me this long to finish it, but i did my best <3

This part is definitely longer than the first, the brainrot got to me. I haven't started the third part yet but i already replayed the last confession scene and honestly? I forgot how good it was compared to the other two! Shame on me, truly.

See you in the third part! Peace out~

Part 1

#baxter ward #our life beginnings & always #olba baxter #baxter dlc #olba #our life beginnings and always #our life #gamer hours #sunbloom talks #gb patch games

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