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darklordofthesimp · 1 year

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Anything III (König x Reader)

Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

Requested by: Literally fucking everyone.

A/N: I was really fighting for my life with this chapter y'all. It's more to set up for the next coming chapters.

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic language, graphic description of PTSD, graphic violence, graphic description of gun violence, graphic description of injury.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

"That fucker needs to go."

"He's not going anywhere, Simon."

The Lieutenant spun on his heel, reeling on Price with startling speed. He didn’t budge, though. Not when Ghost stopped only inches away and not when a finger rested on his chest- a warning. A threat.

“Birdy’s my responsibility,” his voice was dangerously low and the Captain’s eyes narrowed.

“And you’re all my responsibility,” Price’s words were slow and enunciated, spoken through gritted teeth. The heat rolling off his body was tangible, he was fucking furious. He was torn. “You think this was my fucking idea? I get orders from up top just like you do, Riley. They got their own plans in mind.”

Ghost inhaled sharply, dropping his hand to his side. Up top. If the rank has been anything, it’s been consistently shit.

“When someone tears their own fuckin’ face-off, the plan needs to change,” Simon murmured, the images of the incident drifting across his vision. The man was no stranger to intrusive thoughts but these were particularly vivid, they splattered across the carefully cleaned plains of his mind- taunting him.

“I know.” Price lit a cigar, his gaze trailing across the rooftops. “Been working on it.”

“And?”

“Baby steps, Simon. Baby steps.”

_________

Inhale, exhale. Again.

Bang

Then again.

Bang

And again.

Bang

One, two, three, the hole never widened; not even by a millimetre. The target stood strong and unwavering, and you were doused in hot anger. You’d selected the biggest one you could find, it wasn’t as tall as you wanted, but you supposed the chances of finding a nearly seven foot soldier on the battlefield were slim.

You were grateful that the one thing that hadn’t changed over the recent horrors of your life, was your aim. You were still a sniper.

Bang

You were still the best.

“We got another unit comin’ in for their assessments, Birdy.” The range supervisor’s voice was loud over the speaker and you forced yourself not to jump. “You gotta clear out or pick another lane, mate.”

Your eyes trailed over the aisles beside you. The rear of their booths were all open, designed for trainees to have an instructor standing over them. Those days of needing direction were over, as were the days of leaving your back vulnerable.

The lane you had chosen was at the very end of the range, a locked booth designed for soldier’s shooting assessments. It was a bi-annual event, where your marksmanship was tested in order to deem you competent and qualified. No instructor, no target indications, just you in a locked booth with a rifle and a target.

Now, it was the only place you felt safe enough to shoot.

You heaved your body up, clearing your weapon before slinging it over your shoulder. It seemed that your time was up.

As you stepped out of your haven and into the aisle, you tried to settle the anxiety in your chest. It was a burdensome feeling that only faded when you were looking down the sight of your rifle, plaguing your every move and every thought. It was all-consuming.

A shot rang a few lanes ahead and you flicked your gaze up to the screen as you walked. They were half a centimetre or so off from the central aiming mark but the next shot was dead on. You snorted.

As you moved to pass, you spared a curious glance at the shooter.

Your body locked up.

Right in front of you, lying on his stomach with those long legs sprawled out, was König.

You seethed. You were suddenly overcome by a rage that, for once, did not wash over you with a flush of heat. Instead, you were cold. Ice trickled the length of your spine and your fingers went numb, pins and needles pricking at your nails.

Your face stung at the sight of him.

He was the reason you couldn’t look at yourself in the mirror anymore, he was the reason you looked like a fucking abomination. Your face was deformed and mutilated and here this fucker lay, his back turned to the world because he was not the one that got destroyed.

König ruined you and got away unscathed.

You waited for him to take another shot, using the cover of the resounding gunfire to put down your rifle. He had no idea that you were there, he was entirely unsuspecting. He was vulnerable.

Before you could comprehend what you were doing, your body had moved to stand over his prone figure. You could hear his breathing, see the rise and fall of his chest.

In, bang, out.

They had chosen this fucking imbecile to replace you? He couldn’t even breathe right, everything was wrong. His form was wrong, his breathing pattern was wrong, his shooting was wrong, and he was not built to be a sniper. He was built to destroy with his hands, with no finesse, no pinpoint accuracy- just a bludgeon.

There was no honour in what König was.

Again, your face stung beneath the gauze. A reminder. Encouragement.

You reached for the Glock strapped to your belt, cold sweat trickling down your neck. König took a breath in and you flicked open the buckle. But he didn’t take a shot as you had predicted, and he’d heard the noise from above him.

When König turned, you let him see you, just as he’d given you that mercy.

Then you struck.

Unlike before, König hadn’t been given the chance to kick the weapon from your hands before you descended upon him. A startled rasp ripped from his mouth as you dropped onto his body, bringing the butt of your firearm to strike his temple.

His head knocked back, bouncing off the mat beneath him.

How merciful, that it was not concrete? How gracious, that you didn’t grab his head and crush it?

König groaned, his hands flying up to defend himself, stunned by the sudden impact. You knew that his vision would be spinning, a loud buzz ringing in his ears. You knew too well.

But it wasn’t enough.

You pushed his hands away, bringing the gun down again. You felt his skin render from beneath the metal, a wet thud echoing through the booth as you split the skin of his cheek. The blood made your eyes widen. It wasn’t enough.

You would give him your scars. You would peel his skin from his bone. You would shatter him until he was unrecognisable.

This wasn’t enough.

König’s eyes flickered open, hard and betrayed.

You knew that the element of surprise had run out, but you were not finished. You’d just gotten started, the purple of his cheek and the red dripping down his temple only marked the beginning. But you couldn’t overpower the man below you.

When his hands gripped your biceps and he opened his mouth to yell, you pushed the barrel of your handgun past his lips until his teeth scraped the steel.

Everything fell still, his hands frozen on your body and his eyes wide. You hoped that he could taste the gunpowder, you hoped that he could taste his death. The sound of the safety flicking off resounded in the booth and the man beneath you flinched.

His fingers shook against your skin, his breath rattling in his chest.

König was afraid.

And at that realization, for the first time in over a year, a genuine smile twisted your lips. The soldier’s eyes widened, his body twitching beneath yours, groaning around the barrel in his mouth.

“How do you like it?” You whispered, the words a snarl as you leaned down close.

König’s emerald gaze was steady on yours and you could visibly see him attempt to calm his breathing. In, out, in, out. He was breathing wrong, everything was still just wrong, wrong, wrong. You pressed harder on the gun.

This wasn’t enough.

He wasn’t bruised enough, he wasn’t bleeding enough. You moved your left hand to cup his cheek and his eyes flickered. König wanted to buck you off, he wanted to disable you, maybe he even wanted to murder you. You hoped he did, you wanted to see the same hatred in his eyes that you saw that damned fucking night.

You wanted him to look into your soul and know that you were going to ruin him.

That you were going to kill him.

“You feel guilty?” You hissed, your fingers slowly digging into the skin of his cheek. “You feel bad for what you did?”

König’s eyes softened.

Don’t want your pity.

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.

Finally, he hummed his affirmation around the barrel in his mouth. Your nails dug into the flesh of his face, dragging a jagged scratch inch by inch across his features. The man didn’t flinch, he didn’t move, and he didn’t make a sound- he only watched you.

When you leaned in to brush your lips against his ear, he knew what was coming.

Satisfaction flooded your senses, righteous anger gripping you by the throat and forcing the words that you’ve wanted to say for so long from your lips.

“Your fight is finished.”

König took in a sharp breath.

You pulled the trigger.

The sound was deafening and for a sweet, beautiful moment, you felt vindication. You’d won. You’d bested him. The man that had ruined your life had gotten what he deserved and he needed to die, die, die. That was the only thing that would settle his debt, the only thing that would serve the justice you felt owed.

With the simplest pull of the trigger, you had been avenged.

Then, you realised that the blood that had sprayed aross the space between your bodies wasn’t his. It was yours.

König was on top of you. The gun was gone, his mask was on, and your face was crushed. You couldn’t breathe you couldn’t think and the only thing you could feel was the searing pain of the knife twisting in your chest.

No, no, no, no.

This was wrong, this wasn’t what was meant to happen. Why were you back here? His hand was on your face before you could protest and you felt your head lift from the ground.

“Even in victory, you are nothing.”

Crack

“You will always be nothing.”

Crack

You were screaming, you could hear yourself doing it but your mouth wasn’t moving. Your teeth were caved in, your jaw had collapsed, you felt as though your face had melted from the bone. Yet you could hear the shrieks, hear the wailing.

The back of your head was wet, your skull felt like it was falling apart at the seams. The breeze tickled against your brain and your nerves were on fire.

You were broken, broken, broken.

“Birdy!”

This time you could feel every crack of your head into the concrete. This time you felt your brain matter smear across the floor.

“Wake up!”

Wake up.

You sat up with the gasp of someone who’d been drowning, clawing at your throat for air. Sweat trickled down your spine, the room was hot and the blankets were tangled between your legs but you were in your bedroom- you recognised it instantly.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” a rough voice murmured from beside you. There was a hand pressed flat against your chest, firm and grounding. “Breathe.”

“Simon,” you sobbed. The man hummed in response, his other hand rubbing your back with enough force to rock your body. He was trying to keep you rooted in reality, give you something physical, something tangible to hold on to.

“I’m losing my mind,” you gasped, your chest caving at the realisation. You didn’t know what was real or not, fact or fiction, tangible or imaginary- you lived on a plain of uncertainty. You were lost, you were broken and you were unreliable.

Price was right. You had become a liability.

“You’re late to the party,” Simon loosed a soft chuckle, pulling you close against his body. “I lost mine years ago, kid.”

You relished in his touch as you tried to regroup. You were in your room, you were in your bed, it was the middle of the night and you’d had a nightmare. Your clothes were soaked, sticking to your skin uncomfortably; and you had the horrid realization that maybe it wasn’t all sweat. You sucked in a breath, scrambling to push the blankets from your body.

“What-”

You ignored anything that the Lieutenant might of said, scrubbing your hands over your limbs, neck and face. The sweat threw you off and you checked your fingers in the dim light for crimson stains. You couldn’t deal with it again, you couldn’t cope with more damage. You were already disgusting, you were already mutilated and scarred. Unloveable, untouchable, irreparable, irevevocable, irremediable-

No more, no more, no more no more no more-

Simon gripped your hands, tugging them towards his chest and jerking your body forward. You dragged in a sharp breath, eyes wide and frantic.

“You didn’t hurt yourself,” the words were urgent and low, his gaze holding you still just as well as his grip. “You’re alright, Birdy.”

You took in a rattling breath and his grip tightened.

“You’re alright, kid,” Simon reinforced, that ocean gaze compelling you to calm your heart rate. He left no room for discussion with the way that he looked at you, there was no option to disobey. You pushed air into your lungs, following the pattern he’d set for you. “It was just a nightmare.”

You frowned. “Only at the very end.”

Not when you had been shooting, not when you’d been atop of your enemy with a gun in his mouth; that was not the nightmare. You’d felt vindicated, you’d felt insane but satisfied. During those moments in the dream, you were not afraid of König. You were not shaking, you were not whimpering or begging for your life.

You were strong.

Stronger than him.

“How’d you know I was–” You cleared your throat. “How’d you get in here?”

The silence that followed had you on edge, as Simon’s hand worked methodically across your back. He didn’t answer for a long while and your thoughts began to sober. Why was he in your room? How had he gotten there? How did he know you were having a night terror? His quarters were nowhere near yours, he was in the hallway over, divided by thick concrete walls; he most definitely couldn’t have heard your screams.

“Someone tipped me off,” the words were spoken through clenched teeth and his minsitrations against your back faltered. Your chest tightened at the implication. “They thought I’d be better suited to come help you.”

“How-”

“He’s down the hall, Birdy.” Simon interrupted and you could feel his fingers curl into a fist against your spine. “Everyone in this fuckin’ corridor could hear you.”

Your breathing began to pick up and heat flushed against your skin, the blood boiling from beneath the surface.

“That doesn’t explain how you got in,” you rasped, gripping the blankets at your side. You needed to ground yourself, you needed to be calm.

“He thought you were being attacked or somethin’ with the way you were yellin’,” Simon sighed. It wasn’t a direct answer but it was a good enough indication as to what had happened.

You let your gaze drift to the door, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight before you. The hinges had been ripped from the wall, the frame torn straight from the brick. The door itself was missing completely, and as you slowly leaned over to get a look at the floor, your heart dropped to your stomach.

Your bedroom door lay in pieces, the splintered remnants splayed across the floor like shattered glass.

NEXT CHAPTER

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naeverse · 5 months

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The Black Rose

🖤 staring: Tattoo Artist Miguel O’Hara x female reader

◽preview:

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

🖤 summary:

At The Bloody Inks, the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, you meet the skilled, stone-cold and attractive tattoo artist, Miguel O’Hara. Seeking a tantalizing tattoo for your rear end, Miguel isn’t hesitant to get what he wants, especially if it’s a doll like you.

◽tw/cw: Butt Tattoo, Cunninglingus, Dirty Talk, Face-Sitting, Lip piercings Miguel, Needles mentioned, Oral sex, Semi-public, Tattooed Miguel, etc…

🖤 Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Muñeca (Doll), Bebé (Baby)

◽Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

🖤 Word Count: Around 9.6K

(I do not own any of the fanart or photos used! All credit goes to the original artist!)

You were used to getting tattoos, so what made this time any different?

You found yourself pondering that very question repeatedly, as you approached the renowned Nueva York tattoo parlor, 'Bloody Inks.'

Since the age of 18, you've adorned your body with small pieces of inked art, from your ankles to your shoulders. Despite your familiarity with tattoos, today marked a departure from the norm as you contemplated getting a substantial artwork for the first time.

But that wasn't what made you nervous…

It was where you were getting it.

You had a little bet with your friends about your next tattoo, and to your dismay, the idea of a butt tattoo became the central topic.

Secretly desiring one, you were always hesitant due to fears of pain and discomfort on such elastic tissue, the thought of undressing completely from the waist down only added to the nerves.

Yet, here you were, opening the door to the notorious shop…

A bell rang at your arrival along with the crackle of a searing guitar and thunderous drumbeats playing from a speaker. The music’s furious tempo of punk music overwhelmed your senses as you were hit with the smell of ink and antiseptic, and a hint of sandalwood. You stepped inside, your black tennis shoes, on wooden scuffed floors as your eyes roamed the dimly lit lobby before you.

A black leather sofa sat in one corner, a front desk before you, and a few sculptures and decorations covered the worn wooden floors. Despite everything inside, your attention was instantly captured by the gallery of designs that covered the black-brick walls of the tattoo parlor.

There were many sketches and finished pieces that were put on display, an assortment of vibrant colors and intricate details bringing life to the lobby. Mythical creatures, mandalas, floral designs, phrases, and abstract patterns decorated the walls, each one telling a different story and waiting to be chosen and etched onto willing skin.

The counter was empty when you arrived, a soft, dim glow of light hanging from chains on the ceiling cast an amber hue throughout the lobby. You stood patiently at the black desk, fiddling nervously with the bottom of your white t-shirt and pondering if you should go through with this tattoo…

“Oy! We have a customer!”

The loud outburst from a male with a British accent cut through the rather quiet lobby, making you jump. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest whilst you overheard the small conversation between the British male and who sounded like a female coming from further in the tattoo parlor.

“Gwendy, love, I’ve been dealing with the past few customers for a while now. Why not deal with this one, hmm?” The girl responded with a scoff.

“Hobie, you know you haven’t done shit.”

“Ah…you got me there love.” The British guy said with a chuckle. “Well, stop playing around and help the customer.” The girl laughed as you soon heard the sound of heavy footfalls becoming louder and louder. It wasn’t long before the identity of the British male was revealed to you.

The black curtains that separated the lobby from the back of the tattoo parlor opened to unveil an ebony guy with thick black hair and piercings. His hair was styled chaotically on his head, but you had a feeling it was purposeful with the way he carried himself. He had unmistakable confidence and not a care in the world for anyone. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his black jeans, a black t-shirt covering his lean body as his combat boots thudded against the wooden floors.

He came behind the counter, turning his dark brown eyes upon you, instantly making you a little intimidated. “Aye, name’s Hobie, and welcome to the Bloody Inks. Are you here for a piercing or a tattoo, love?” He asked, his slender fingers locating a pen and notepad from his side of the desk.

You chewed your inner cheek, drumming your thumb against the handle of your small bag.

This was your last chance to back out…

To decide to go on with life without the tattoo on your rear or to face your fears and get the beautiful inking.

It wasn’t long before you already had your answer, giving the male before you a small smile. “I’m here for a tattoo.” You said bringing a smile to Hobie’s pierced lips. He glanced down at the notepad, his pen gliding across the page. “Can I see some ID?”

You were used to this question and already had your ID in hand, placing it into the ebony male’s palm. He barely glanced at it before returning it to you. “Nice, have you been to Bloody Ink’s before?” He asked, causing you to bite your lip nervously.

“No, this is my first time.” He looked up at you, his pierced lips pulled back into a smirk. “Ah, great! I’ll make sure the big boss does your tattoo then.” He said with a smile, but you couldn’t help becoming a little more anxious. The boss was going to be the one giving you your tattoo.

The tattoo on your bottom…

You gulped, hoping the male wasn’t scary-looking or a perv.

“O-kay!” Hobie exclaimed, pulling you from your thoughts as he finished writing. “Now, I’ll give you a book to look over the designs whilst the boss finishes up in the back,” Hobie said, pulling a black, hardcover album from under the desk, placing it into your hand, then motioning for you to take a seat on the sofa.

You followed along to his instructions, taking the black book in your hands and moving over to the leather couch where you sat down. Hobie then left, going behind the black curtains and drawing them close once more.

To pass the time and decide upon your tattoo, you look over the many designs inside the book. Each was skillfully sketched by hand and each held their own, unique form of beauty. Your eyes glazed over blazing skulls, graceful elephants, motivating quotes, to lastly land upon a beautiful flower.

You gasped, instinctively reaching out to trace a finger along the intricate lines of the sketch. You could already imagine the rose’s petals on your bottom, sprouting out in full bloom across your right, no… left cheek.

The circular pistil was visible and drawn so full of detail that it felt like it was jumping out at you. A few leaves could be seen peeking out the top of the rose as you felt like this design was for you.

Like it was drawing you in…

…

“Have you decided?”

A deep, husky voice asked inside of the quiet lobby. You jumped in your seat, eyes snapping up to see someone was occupying the counter…

But it wasn’t Hobie…

A tanned male with a muscular, large build was now present. Standing tall and broad, his physique showed proof of his dedication to the wellbeing of his body due to his swell and bulging muscles. His chiseled features were framed by a strong, defined jawline, a sharp nose, and dark smoldering eyes.

His bronze skin held tattoos that were intricately etched on his skin, each design holding a mysterious story across the backs of his hands, on his arms, and even along his chest and neck. They accentuated the contours of his muscles and added even more allure to his already magnetic presence. He placed his hands on the desk, his eyes still trained on you, his taut body dressed in a mere black t-shirt, jeans, and boots, but he made such simple clothes look like it was woven by the gods.

You didn’t know how long you’d been gawking at him in utter shock and disbelief at the magnificence before you. It wasn't until he moved once more, beckoning to you with two inked fingers that you snapped out of your trance.

You gulped, gathered up your bag and the black album, and made your way to the counter.

The closer you got, the more attractive and intimidating he became. His bushy eyebrows were drawn low over his amber eyes and his mouth, holding two ringed piercings on the opposite ends of his lower lip, were pulled into a scowl.

He looked stern, but you pondered if that was just his usual look.

“So have you decided on what piece you wanted?” He asked again, but you were still baffled by how drop-dead gorgeous he was that you almost misheard him once more. “Y-yes.” You stammered, gulping thickly, your finger still holding the page of your desired sketch. He hummed, holding his large hand out to you, motioning to the black book. You complied, placing it open into his palm, the hardcover open to the page of your tattoo choice.

It felt relieving to not have his stern eyes on you anymore, his amber orbs looking at the sketch you’ve chosen in the book. You bit your lip nervously, eyes trained on him whilst he looked over the design before he turned his gaze back up at you. “You know that’s an ass tat, right?” He bluntly asked which made heat rise in the back of your neck.

“Y-Yes, I know.” You replied, causing his eyebrows to rise for a brief second in surprise. “Well…Okay then.” He said, closing the book and holding the page with his thumb. “I’m Miguel, I’ll be your tattoo artist for today.”

Your heart dropped at his words.

You didn’t know to feel excited or nervous as hell, knowing he’d be the one touching you so intimately. “I-It’s nice to meet you.” You replied, giving him a small smile. His eyes lingered on you for a moment too long as he gave you a curt nod, a gesture that hopefully meant, 'You too.'

He motioned with his head to the back of the tattoo parlor, the entrance that was covered in black curtains. “Follow me.” He commanded in a gravelly tone. You gulped, following behind him through the black drapes to venture further into the tattoo parlor.

Instantly when you entered, the smell of ink and antiseptic became more potent, the sounds of the buzzing of the tattoo guns filled your ears along with the playful banter between the two artists from before.

“So Gwendy, you still believe just because you're in your twenties now that you can order me around?” Hobie asked the girl from across the room. She chuckled, looking away from her male client who was getting a skull tattooed onto his leg to over at Hobie. The girl had blonde, wavy hair and black piercings that covered her face. Two studs styled her eyebrow and a hooped one could be seen on her nose.

She smirked at the ebony male. “I didn’t say anything of the sort and stop calling me that. You know my name.” She laughed, eliciting a snort from Hobie. “Aye, but I like Gwendy better than Gwen.”

Miguel groaned in annoyance, looking between the two young artists. “Stop this nonsense and get to work.” He barked at Gwen and Hobie which surprised you, every muscle in his backside tensing up after his outburst. The conversation ceased to be replaced with just Miguel and your footsteps and the buzzing of the tattoo needles, but Miguel’s previous words didn’t seem to affect the two artists’ since after you both left, their conversation started up again.

Miguel grumbled under his breath, his grip on the black album tightening. You walked behind him down the hallway, his tall and broad being completely blocking your view around him. Every time you looked up, you came face to face with his muscular backside that was covered in his black T-shirt that looked to be straining against his musculature.

You clutched your purse while walking down the hallway to watch him enter a room. When you looked over, you saw a name tag on the door that read 'Miguel O'Hara.'

‘This must be his own personal tattoo room.’

You thought, your stomach clenching on cue as you followed him into the room. Your eyes instantly took in the attractive strangers’ workspace, the room you would also be spending the next hour or so in.

The tattoo room seemed to be more grand, more important than the one the two artists’ Gwen and Hobie were in. The walls were decorated, once more, with black and gray masterpieces of artwork, but these were more sci-fi and futuristic than the ones displayed in the lobby.

Spotlights hung from the ceiling carefully positioned to cast a focused radiance upon the vintage leather chair in the center of the room. The space smelled strongly of ink, antiseptic, men's cologne, and…

Smoke.

But not the typical smoke from a fire, more like from tobacco.

You couldn't help but wonder if the fine male smoked. You didn't want to assume or stereotype, but he looked like he would…

Your eyes soon graced over the main attraction of the room, the tattoo chair and station beside it. The seat had a black leather cushion that looked soft and very comfortable. It appeared, overall, brand new as if no one had hardly sat in it. A steel workstation was positioned beside the hot seat, the surface covered in an assortment of tools like a painter’s palette. The main one catching your eye was the needles and the gun.

You gulped, stepping more into the room as Miguel was rummaging through a nearby closet, the sound of metal and items clattering inside. He glanced momentarily over at the flower sketch inside of the black album before returning to get the items he needed.

You’ve learned, so far, that your tattoo artist was a rather quiet man. He barely spoke, and merely did things without providing a reason or explanation. He rummaged through the closet, next to the cabinets of a few counters and then a small chest in the room, trying to find all of the items he needed to, what you can infer, tattoo your desired choice onto your skin.

Your eyes never left him, watching his massive build transverse around the room, moving things, picking things up, putting them to the side all whilst holding an aura of unshakable coldness that dripped from his very being.

It was intimidating, yet alluring, nonetheless.

Once Miguel found the items he needed, he placed them onto the steel workstation.

With the way he was going about things, you would have thought he'd forgotten about your presence; as he was completely engrossed in what he was doing, placing a piece of stencil paper that held the floral design you wanted onto the workstation, along with black ink tubes, napkins, bottles of creams and other things.

However, you couldn’t focus…

You were highly nervous.

You stood nearby, clutching your purse whilst Miguel covered the tattoo chair with a few gray towels, before returning to organizing his workstation, and handling his tattoo gun. His thick, inked gingers deftly glided across the metal tools and inks when he finally looked up at you. You noticed his dark brown eyes roam your figure, meeting your eyes once more as he fiddled with the needles and tattoo gun.

“Which side?” He asked suddenly, placing the gun down on the workstation. You were baffled, confused about what he meant. “W-what?” You stammered, watching him take a seat on a black rolling stool. “You want your tattoo on your bottom, correct?” He asked, causing you to nod at his question. “Then which side?” He inquired once more.

You gulped, biting your lip. You pondered, remembering the artwork of the black rose from the album book and how beautiful it was, briefly deciding with yourself on which side. “O-On the left.” You replied after considering.

He hummed, nodding whilst placing a pair of black latex gloves onto his table.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to undress from the waist down and lay on your stomach.” He directed, pressing a button under the chair with his foot, causing the backing to lean back.

Your heart quickened and your stomach clenched. This was what you were worried about…

The undressing part.

It wasn’t that you had an unattractive body or weren’t familiar with the acts of intimacy, it was the thought of him, a handsome stranger having his stern gaze on your sensitive area.

How he’ll have to be studying your flesh, taking in every curve and dot whilst he worked in etching the beautiful tattoo onto your rear that made you a little reluctant.

You hesitated, clutching your purse once more. Your nervousness started to become palpable as you noticed Miguel looking up at you. He took in your tentativeness, his stern face softening at the sight. He sighed heavily, clenching his jaw as his lip piercings caught in the ceiling light.

“Are you sure about this?” His deep and rough voice filled the quiet room, his movements coming to a halt. You chewed your inner cheek, pondering his question. “Yes…I’m sure.” You replied, causing him to click his tongue. “Then what are all these nerves coming from?” He asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. The movement seems to make his pecs more defined against the black fabric.

“I’ve seen you aren’t new to tattoos.” He said, his amber orbs probably taking in the small, tattooed quotes and patterns covering your body in minor spots before meeting your eyes once again. “So what’s the problem?”

You sighed, meeting his eyes.

Strangely, you felt like pouring your heart out to him.

Despite his coldness, you had a feeling whatever you told him would stay in this room…

“I’ve never got a huge piece done before.” You told him, which was partly the truth. Miguel hummed, his gaze on you intense. “That’s it?” You bit your lip anxiously once more, fiddling with the zipper of your purse. “N-No…I guess I’m nervous about…

Undressing.”

You uttered, biting your lip. However, Miguel seemed unfazed, only nodding in understanding.

“What’s your name?” He asked suddenly which made your eyebrows furrow. “Y-Y/N.” You hesitantly replied, bringing a tight-lipped smile to Miguel’s lips. “As you can see. Y/N, for the tattoo you’ve chosen, it’s required that you undress from the waist down.” He said, his amber eyes searching the room before landing on a decoration that sat on a counter.

He stood up, picking up the small porcelain sculpture of a gray woman’s naked body. The piece looked rather small in his massive hands.

“You see here.” He turned the female around, pointing to the left side of the gray sculpture’s plump rear end. “This entire side will need to be revealed for me to work.” He explained, lowering his finger to point underneath the left cheek. “And the tattoo would end underneath the left buttock.” He said, setting the sculpture to the side, and turning his eyes back onto you.

“For other tattoos, I wouldn’t have asked for such things and simply allowed you to keep your undergarments on and work from there.” His tone was gravelly and rough as he spoke to you. “But I'd like to be cautious, so I ask you to remove everything.” He informed you, which made you feel better about the process, but still wary.

Miguel, looked you up and down, tapping his finger against his thick thigh, noticing that you were still hesitant. “How about this,” He began, his words instantly piquing your interest. “I can turn around and allow you to undress and get into a comfortable position on the chair.” He said. “I’ll even give you a towel to cover yourself with.” He proposed with a straight face. “How does that sound?” His demeanor and gravelly tone contrasted greatly with his kind and understanding words.

You thought it over for a while before nodding at his suggestion. He rose from his seat, retrieving a black towel from the closet, and placing it onto the tattoo chair that was already covered in gray towels. He then returned to his rolling stool and turned around to face the wall. “Let me know when you are done.” He said, his voice, husky and deep.

“O-Okay.” You told him, the uncertainty, evident in your voice. Your eyes took in his muscular backside that was straining against his black t-shirt. Every bulging muscle was visible through the fabric.

You bit your lip, feeling rather odd but proceeding on.

You closed the door of his tattoo room and set your purse down on the floor. You exhaled deeply, calming yourself down before looping your fingers into the waistband of your black shorts, slowly drawing them down, your eyes trained on him.

Miguel was completely solid and unmoving. His arms crossed over his chest and his back still facing you. He was so quiet, that you could almost forget he was there.

Well, almost…

When the black fabric of your shorts was nothing but a puddle around your ankles, you stepped out of them, tossing them to the side. You gulped, standing in just your white shirt, black tennis shoes, and panties. You heaved a quiet sigh, chewing your inner cheek.

This was the hard part…

You were about to undress completely…

You exhaled deeply, reluctantly slipping your thumbs into the elastic band of your black panties, pulling them down, and exposing your sex to the tattoo room. You hissed, feeling the cool air against your core. Hastily, you removed them from your being, tossing them to the side along with your shorts.

It felt so weird standing in a foreign place with your rear completely unveiled.

You wanted nothing more than to cover up…

Your eyes shifted over to Miguels’ broad backside, still in its same position.

“Everything alright?”

You jumped at his sudden question, his voice was thunderous compared to the total quietness that had once filled the room. “Y-y-yes.” You squeaked, swiftly moving to climb onto the tattoo chair, laying on your stomach, and placing the black towel over your bare rear to conceal yourself.

After Miguel’s abrupt question, he didn’t say anything else, and neither did you, despite being ready. It took a while for you to tell the sexy, and rather intimidating tattoo artist that you were all set. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest every time you thought you were prepared to do so.

You rested your chin upon the backs of your hands, laying flat on your stomach. You heaved a sigh, feeling rather ridiculous at how scared you were.

You chose to come here, just like you chose to get this tattoo.

‘No reason to back out now.’ You thought, wetting your lips before getting the artist’s attention. “I-I’m ready.” You muttered, causing an instant creak from Miguel’s stool to be heard.

“Good.” He uttered, the sound of the wheels from his seat gliding across the black marble flooring filling the room. You soon felt his presence to your right, seeing him in your peripherals, sitting tall and large on his stool next to you on the tattoo chair. His dark brown eyes continuously glanced over at you before roaming your body, his facial features unreadable. You couldn’t tell if he was checking you out, or was merely looking at you to see if you hadn’t fainted on his chair.

“You seem…tense.” He commented in his usual dead tone. You looked over your shoulder at him to see his large hands attaching a black ink tube to his tattoo gun. His black tattoo arm sleeve was visible under the projecting light of the ceiling as his amber eyes were trained more on what he was doing rather than you.

“Y-yes. I’m still a little nervous.” You confessed, feeling your hands begin to tremble slightly. Miguel looked up at you, the light bouncing off his two lip piercings on his lower lip. “If I start and your body is not relaxed it’s going to hurt like a bitch.” He said bluntly, setting his tattoo gun onto his workstation. His words didn’t help, only causing your heart to quicken in pace and freak you out even more.

Because how could you possibly calm down?

It felt utterly impossible…

You weren’t nervous about the needle, or getting tattooed to begin with. You were experienced when it came to the inking process. What was working the nerves was the thought of his stern gaze and calloused hands feeling up your bare bottom. His gloved thumbs pressed into your rear, his amber eyes trained on every piece of you from the waist down which was making you nervous as hell.

Miguel eyed you, taking in your troubled expression as you lay upon his tattoo chair. Your bare bottom, covered in a black towel and your chin resting on your hands.

“Let me relax you.”

He abruptly said in almost a commanding voice rather than as a proposition. His suggestion made your heart skip a beat. You couldn’t help the naughty thoughts that came to your mind at the thought of him ‘relaxing’ you.

"And h-how would you do that?" You asked, watching him rise from his stool, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you.

"I'm going to give you a massage."

He declared. Your eyebrows furrowed at the unexpected proposal, your entire body suddenly heating up. "I've never heard of a tattoo parlor doing something like that." You admitted, feeling him adjust the chair's height to match his towering 7-foot frame, bringing the seat up to his waist.

"That's because you've never been to the Bloody Inks before," he said, a hint of amusement found in a usual cold voice. "There's a reason we're notorious in Nueva York, Y/N " he explained. "If we did what every other parlor did, we'd be just like any other tattoo shop…

Isn’t that right?”

He whispered, his voice sending shivers down your back. “I-I guess so.” You replied as without warning you began to feel his thick fingers on your shoulders, caressing small patterns into your blades. You gasped, the feeling instantly making you melt into the chair.

“You okay?” He asked, every touch of his thick fingers against your tensed muscles making you shudder. “Mhm.” The hum being pulled from your very being and coming out more forceful than you attended whilst Miguel continued his massage.

Miguel’s tattooed hands were large and strong, tracing the contours of your muscles and pressing gently into them. Suddenly, you winced slightly, the tension resisting his skilled touch. “Relax,” He uttered, his voice a low rumble that reverberated from the depth of his broad chest. You shakingly nodded, eyes fluttering closed at the wonderful sensations. “O-Okay. I’ll try.” You replied, trying to calm yourself.

You shakingly exhaled, feeling Miguel’s hands move down your back, his soothing caresses focusing on the crease that began the arch of your ass.

“Damn, there's a lot of tension here.” He commented, adding more pressure into his fingers and kneading the soft tissue in that area. You let out a contented sigh, his large hands enclosing around the sides of your waist. His thumbs pressed into your skin through the fabric of your white t-shirt, rubbing small patterns into your lower back. You groaned softly, the sensations he was bringing to you felt so good.

His touch, mysteriousness, voice, coldness, everything about him was so hot.

His fingers soothing places in your back that you didn’t even know existed, bringing you closer to tranquility.

“How do you feel?” He asked, pressing and running his palm along the center of your back, making you shiver. You exhaled deeply, your limbs feeling heavy and relaxed. “Mmm, good. It feels good.” You replied with closed eyes.

“That’s good to hear.” He said, his hands leaving your body.

“But I can’t help but notice you are still tense.”

Miguel said, making your eyebrows furrow as a sense of emptiness filled your being without his touch.

“W-what do you mean?” You inquired, entirely puzzled. You didn’t feel a single bit of tension in your backside. A feeling of pure relaxation filled your being, leaving you confused about what he meant by such things.

But it wasn’t like you were skilled as a masseuse yourself, so you could be mistaken.

“Yes, you are still tensed.” He uttered, running his fingers along the center of your backside, over the curve of your ass to rest a hand on your rear that was covered in the black towel.

“Here, it needs my attention.”

You were shocked and in disbelief, instantly becoming speechless; but despite your bewilderment, Miguel continued talking. “It’ll only make sense to massage where I'll be working. It’ll help loosen the muscles of your rear, making tattooing it less painful.” He explained, but it still didn’t stop the huge blush that spread across your face. You didn’t know how to respond, stuck between your own uncertainties and desires.

“T-this will be… beneficial?” You asked shakingly, trying to push past the naughty and erotic things that were filling your head. Miguel hummed. “Yes, I’ll be tattooing your left buttock, so it’ll help make the tattoo process smoother…

For you, I mean.”

You bit your lip. The butterflies, going rampant in your stomach. You didn’t know what to do or what to say, but then the realization that he was going to have to see and touch your bottom anyway when the actual inking process began led you to put your worries to the side and agree.

“No. I don’t mind.” You said, thankful that Miguel couldn’t see how red you were due to your face being away from him. Miguel hummed, his previous touch seeming to linger upon your skin.

“I’ll have to remove the towel. You okay with that?” He asked, which made your heart skip a beat. You shakingly exhaled, nodding. “Yes.”

You felt him lift the black towel from your bottom, the cool air rushing over your bare rear. You sucked in a breath as before, Miguel didn’t warn you, his warm hands groping your cheeks and instantly beginning to knead the fat of your ass.

This time, the sensations were different.

On your backside, the massage was more relaxing and tranquil, but on your rear, it felt more personal, more…

Intimate.

His touch made you feel pleasure beyond anything…

You bit your bottom lip harshly, trying to muffle the erotic cries that wished to escape whilst Miguel’s calloused hands worked wonders on your rear. His fingers pressed firmly into your left cheek, squeezing the fat before moving along the sides. It was a process that you pondered if it was professional or not, but it wasn’t like you cared.

His fingers knead into your soft flesh, like dough, making you see stars every single time. You were slowly becoming wet, your arousal spilling from your exposed sex to gradually coat your thighs and drench the gray towels underneath you.

The massage was good.

Dangerously too good…

A sudden moan broke free, filling the tattoo room when he roughly groped both of your cheeks in his large hands, spreading them apart. You instantly blushed horribly, embarrassed beyond anything.

“O-Oh my gosh, I-I’m so sorry.” You briskly replied, wanting nothing more than to hide. You didn’t know how the hell Miguel would react.

Would he cease his wonderful massage?

Tell you to leave?

Would things get hella awkward now?

You felt like a complete idiot, mentally facepalming yourself for giving into the pleasure of a total stranger.

But to your surprise, Miguel did something you weren’t expecting.

He chuckled.

For the first time since you met the menacing and large Latino artist, he showed an emotion that didn’t make you feel so freaking intimidated. The sound of the small, deep laughter that passed his lips was honestly breathtaking, and you wanted nothing more than to hear it again.

“No need to apologize.” He replied, drawing your attention back to him and his wonderful massage. His touch on your rear became more soft and gentle like he was taking his time with you.

“It just shows I’m providing you what your body needs.” He replied, moving his hands onto your thighs, caressing them with his thumbs before running his hands up to fully cup your asscheeks into his hands. You moaned softly, your body instinctively arching up into his waiting palms. Miguel snickered, giving your ass another squeeze when everything stopped.

His movement on your rear ceased, his small laughs, movement, everything!

You lay there, waiting for anything to happen when you suddenly felt his pierced lips against your ear.

“Let’s drop the act, Cariño.”

He whispered, his breath warm on your face and his piercings, cold against your skin. Your heart dropped, and your body instantly became hot.

You tried to speak, to deny what he was saying, but your quivering lips wouldn’t form the words.

He snickered at your speechlessness and how flustered you were, the sound sending tingles throughout your entire being and going straight to your throbbing core.

“Let me relax you how we both desire, Y/N.”

He hummed, resuming his touch on your rear, but this time it was different. It was purposefully more erotic. He gave your bottom a sensual squeeze with one hand, his other moving up to stroke your hair.

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

It felt surreal.

Something you'll fantasize about your sexy tattooist…

But Miguel’s fingers running through your hair, massaging your scalp whilst continuing to tease and knead your right asscheek with his fingers made you think otherwise.

You were speechless yet again. You didn’t know how to respond, but your body was doing the speaking for you.

Your juices dripping down your thighs and soaking the gray towels under you, spoke volumes on its own. You shakingly exhaled, trying to calm your excitement.

Miguel chuckled, his fingers continuing their tantalizing play on your rear, tempting and taunting you to give in to the sexy artist.

You bit your lip harshly, eyes fluttering as he, teasingly, brushed his thumb across your slick folds. You gasped at his attempt to entice you more.

“Mmm, you are soaking, Muneca.” He growled against your ear, his lip rings brushing your lobe and making you shudder. He sucked in a breath, running his fingers up and down your slick folds, coating his digits in your never-ending arousal. He groaned at your wetness, cupping your mound, to circle his two fingers around your sensitive bud. You moaned helplessly, trembling with pleasure.

“Muneca, you want this, just as much as I do.” He uttered, pressing his fingers more against your throbbing bud, eliciting a cry to escape your lips and making you wetter.

“Let me relax you.” He whispered, his deep voice filled with desire as he removed his hands to place them on your hips, caressing gentle circles against your sides.

“Let me taste what this pussy of yours is like and then I'll tattoo that rose on your gorgeous ass.”

He proposed once again. His words alone made your stomach clench in want. The gray towels underneath you completely soak with your arousal.

You couldn't stop yourself. The desire blinded you as your head slowly nods at his erotic proposition.

“P-Please.” You practically begged; voice tainted with desperation for more of him. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk against your ear.

“Good girl, Y/N.” He praised, nipping softly at your ear before pulling away. His touch left you cold and empty.

“On your knees. Ass up.”

He commanded, his coldness resurfacing right before your eyes. His sternness was even more attractive and made your core throb in anticipation.

You bit your lip, lust blinding your every action, thought, and word as you rose on the tattoo chair. As he instructed, you stood up on your knees and forearms with your ass thrust up into the air.

The cool air continuously brushed along your heated core, making your breathing hitch every time. The position gave him a full display of your wet folds and the gradual drip of your arousal down your thighs. The sight alone revealed your evident desire for him which made you excited, but also ashamed.

This sexy stranger was intimidating, scary, and someone you would, normally, never align yourself with.

So what was different about him that had you practically soaking his chair?

In your peripherals, you saw Miguel move. The mere motion snapped you out of your thoughts as his massive being disappeared from view. Instantly, you became anxious, oblivious to his next actions.

A sexy groan escaped his lips, feeling his amber eyes trained on your exposed sensitive area. “That's a pretty pussy you got that.” He purred, making you blush horribly. You buried your face into your inner elbow, embarrassed for liking the compliment from someone as sexy as him.

Miguel chuckled. “Does someone like my praises? You are a naughty one, Cariño.”

He snickered. Your face, reddening even more. His fingers continued their dance along the skin of your ass, your breathing becoming more shaky and your body burning hot.

His words and touch alone were enough to make you lose control. Beads of your essence running down your thighs.

“Cariño, I've only known you for about 30 minutes, yet, there is something about you that fascinates me. Something that I love so very fucking much….

Want to know what that is?”

He asked, his voice deep and husky, yet sending a shiver down your spine; his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Y-Yes.” You shakingly inquired, curious about his answer, but also anxious for him to cease his teasing and touch you.

He chuckled at your cluelessness, running his nails along your bare rear making you shiver.

“I love that despite your obvious hesitance and, dare I say, fear, you give into your wants, Muñeca

Your desires.”

He uttered, the pads of his fingers barely touching you, but forming goosebumps, everywhere along your skin.

“I-I don't understand.” You breathlessly and honestly replied, trying your hardest to look over your shoulder at the large male but failing every time.

“You don't understand, bebé?” He purred, his fingers leaving your bottom. “Then let me turn those gears in that sexy head of yours.” He whispered, his heavy footfalls slowly walking to stand in front of you. You gulped, glancing up to see him right before you, the growing bulge in his black jeans being the main attraction.

“You come into my shop for an ass tat, yet you were nervous as hell to get it.” He acknowledged. “But despite your nerves, here you are on my chair with that sexy ass all ready for me." He said with a smirk. His hand moved to run through your hair, massaging your scalp with the pads of his fingers once more.

Your eyes fluttered, sinking more into the soft leather, your rear rising. “And even now, I intimidate you, don't I, Cariño?” He asked, his male cologne and the faint scent of cigarette smoke filling your nose, increasing your desire for him.

Regardless of your lust, Miguel did intimidate you. His massive body, bulging muscles, stern-drawn face, tattoos, lip rings, and cold aura made you nervous around him.

That you couldn't lie about...

“Y-yes. You do.” You confessed, eliciting a deep hum from Miguel. “Yet, you are giving yourself to me.” He whispered, moving his hand from your hair to take your chin into his calloused fingers. He turned you to look up at him, your eyes darting to take in his chiseled cheeks, massive neck tattoo, enticing rings on his plush lips, smoldering amber eyes, and dark brown hair that loomed over his eyes.

He smirked, his canines peeking out from his lips. “You are delivering yourself to me on a silver platter, Y/N.” He rasped, caressing your chin and holding your stunned gaze before pulling away. You were left breathless, gasping for air, you didn't know you were holding.

You tried to track him, his huge, menacing form returning behind you and out of your sight. “So love, despite your worries, reluctance, and inner thoughts telling you to stop and turn back.

If you desire something, you go through with it...”

Your eyebrows furrowed. You wondered if Miguel's observation of you was correct.

Were you the type to follow your desires, even though everything in you was telling you otherwise?

You pondered, if the sexy stranger was right, despite only knowing you for a short time.

But that thought soon became nothing but mush in your brain when his sudden grip on your asscheeks made your entire mind go blank. As if dipped in warmth, your body instantly melted like chocolate under his fingertips, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Miguel hummed, his breath brushing along your heated core, only making you wetter.

“And I love a woman that knows what she wants,” He uttered, pressing a kiss to your left ass cheek, making you gasp,

“What she needs…” He whispered, pressing another kiss to your other eliciting another soft moan from you.

“I can tell you are going to be tasty…”

He rasped before finally giving you what you desired and swiping his tongue along your folds.

You cried out, slumping against the tattoo chair whilst Miguel licked at your rear. He groaned, squeezing your ass and pressing his face more into your bottom, licking, sucking and completely devouring you.

You moaned uncontrollably, gripping the leather seat tightly. “O-Oh gosh.” You whimpered as Miguel continued his pleasurable assault, running his skillful hands up and down your spine, brushing your shirt up to feel more of your skin. You were becoming hot and increasingly wet, your love juices spilling from your entrance to be swallowed by Miguel’s eager mouth.

With every suction of his lips and the swipe of his tongue, it made your mind complete mush, time and space becoming non-existent. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He groaned, sloppily ravaging your core, and fucking you with his tongue.

The tattoo room was filled with your whines and whimpers, Miguel’s low groans, and the squelching of your wet pussy. Your entire body was clenching and squirming the closer you got to that sweet end.

Like his hands, Miguel’s mouth worked wonders on you. His tongue moved rapidly across your pussy, seeming to be everywhere at once. Swirling your throbbing bud, thrusting into your entrance, and lapping your delicate pussy lips. a

When it came too much to bear, Miguel held you close, preventing you from moving away from him. It only made you tremble, the pleasure consuming your entire being.

“M-Miguel, I-I’m close.” You cried out, pressing your face into the tattoo chair. He hummed, the vibrations rumbling through you and making your stomach tighten even more. “You want to cum, pretty girl?” He chuckled, moving from your desired spot to kiss along the skin of your bottom. His hooped, lip rings brushed along the skin of your ass and made you even more wetter.

You moaned softly, frantically nodding. “Yes, yes. Please, Miguel.” You whined, wanting him to bring you to your release. You felt his pierced lips pull into a smirk. He pressed a kiss to your right cheek before returning his skilled mouth to your puffy pussy lips once more.

You gasped loudly, his tongue darting erratically along your dripping folds. The feeling was more extreme than ever before as he continued, tugging and lapping at your sweet pussy.

You were so wet, your thighs dripping with your arousal like a relentless rain, its non-stop downpour completely soaking your legs and the gray towels underneath you. You gritted your teeth, the burning in the pit of your stomach becoming too much to bear, begging for a release.

Everything felt so good, you wanted to hold on, to feel more of Miguel’s tongue and hands that roamed your body, caressing you in ways that increased the pleasure by 10-fold;

But you just couldn’t…

With a loud cry, you climaxed hard onto his waiting mouth. Your vision saw white, eyes rolling as your sticky juices covered his pierced lips and ran down your legs. Miguel groaned in pleasure, gripping your cheeks harshly, widening you and licking you clean, whispering, 'So good. Such a good girl for me,’ over and over again.

It was like music to your ears.

Your eyes fluttered as he finished; tugging away from your pussy lips with a wet plop. You were dazed, falling flat against the tattoo chair, and trying to calm your breathing and come down from your epic high.

Faintly, you could hear Miguel’s boots against the black marble flooring, moving around to stand beside you, coming into view once more.

With glazed eyes, you looked over at him, breathing heavily. His chin and pierced lips were completely covered in your arousal. Like a king who had just feasted on a buffet fit for royalty, he used his fingers to wipe it off in satisfaction. “So delicious, Muñeca.” He praised again with a smirk. Your entire body and face flushed at his erotic compliment. You were speechless, not at all knowing how to respond.

For a moment you just stared up at him, still trying to figure out if what just happened, happened.

His amber eyes roamed over your form once more, lingering on your bare rear longer than anything else. He growled, stepping closer once more. “But don’t think we’re done here, Muñeca.”

“I want more.

Just one more taste”

He uttered, the words surprising you, but not as surprising as what he did next…

Everything was a blur, his large being moved so quickly it was hard to follow, especially in your dazed state.

You soon found him underneath you on the tattoo chair, his massive body laying under you and your puffy pussy lips right over his waiting mouth. His large hands roughly groping your rear, and holding you tightly in place.

Certainly, you wouldn't be able to get out of his hold, even if you tried.

You gulped, staring down at him between your thighs in shock. Your mind, not keeping up fast enough. “M-Miguel, w-what-”

“Let me relax you, chica.”

He cut you off, gripping your ass in his large, inked hands and pushing you down onto his mouth once more. You cried out, his mouth even more intense than ever.

Your eyes fluttered and rolled as his tongue circled your clit, teasingly applying more pressure and making you whine. Your fingers, instinctively, found his dark brown hair, gripping and tugging at the chocolate strands and making Miguel groan.

He caressed your bottom with his large, calloused hands, sucking at your sensitive bud with his hot, wet mouth, expertly flicking it. You moaned helplessly. “M-Miguel, g-gosh. It feels so good.” You cried out, instinctively, grinding your hips against his mouth, chasing another steady rising climax. Miguel's eyes fluttered close, savoring your taste on his tongue as he lapped and sucked at your sticky folds.

Your breathing quickened, his piercings grazing against your sensitive skin with every lap of his tongue against your entrance. You were slowly losing it, feeling him gradually ease his tongue inside of you before thrusting you repeatedly with the wet muscle.

You moaned loudly, rutting your hips and continuously brushing his nose into your clit, his tongue continuing its torment. A strangled moan erupted from your throat, the pleasure becoming too much. You shook uncontrollably, gripping his hair tightly and squirming on his mouth.

“A-Ahh, Miguel, I-I can’t-” You tried moving off, but Miguel firmly held you down on his mouth, his tongue, darting in and out of your entrance, fucking you with his warm, wet muscle.

The familiar feeling of scorching heat began to rise in your stomach. You gritted your teeth, his metal ringed, lip piercings brushing against your pussy lips with each suckle. He reached around, parting your lips and sticking his tongue deeply into your opening, messily lapping and sucking you.

Your love juices soaked his lips and chin to be sloppily devoured by Miguel. The room was filled with the erotic sounds of your pussy’s squelches. Silent moans passed your lips, as your head limply fell back to be caught by Miguel’s large hand.

He took your chin in his tattooed finger, pulling you back down towards him. He moved his mouth from your heated core as his intense dark eyes met yours. “I want your eyes on me.” He said, his breathing rather stable, despite almost drowning in your pussy for what felt like an hour. His tattooed hand caressed your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I want to see you cum, Muñeca .” He whispered, pressing kisses along your inner thighs and nipping softly. You bit your lip, a soft moan passing your lips at his pecks. You weakly nodded, almost completely dazed.

He smirked, pressing a long searing kiss to your thigh. “Hmm, good girl.” He uttered parting your pussy lips with two thick fingers and attacking your swollen clit once more. It took everything in you to keep his intense gaze. His dark brown eyes stared intently back at you whilst his tongue and lips moved in a frenzy along your pussy.

Your body trembled horribly, fingers gripping his hair tightly to stabilize yourself.

“M-Miguel.” You whined his name over and over again. The desire to tell him of your reached peak was on the tip of your tongue, but the pleasure was too overwhelming; leaving you unable to say such a thing as your release unexpectedly slammed into you.

With a loud strangled moan, you orgasmed for the second time.

Your body shook uncontrollably as your thighs squeezed around Miguel tightly. Your juices gushed out onto his eager mouth whilst a sensation of pure bliss sprouted throughout your being.

Your eyes rolled as silent and breathy moans busted from the depth of your chest. Miguel didn’t cease his torment, continuing to suckle on your puffy pussy lips, swallowing all of your sweet nectar. His lips and chin were completely drenched in a mixture of saliva and your love juices, but it didn’t seem as if the massive tattooist cared.

Until he was satisfied, Miguel continued to slurp messily at you. You were highly sensitive, squirming on his mouth and whimpering uncontrollably as he held you down with a firm grip on your thighs. When his thirst was satiated, you were relieved to hear a deep hum of delight escape his glistening lips and soon feel him effortlessly lift you from his mouth to rest your bare bottom on his clothed chest.

You were breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. When you finally came down from your high, you glanced up to see his dark eyes peering back at you. His gaze was intense and stern as always, but your attention instantly went down to his mouth and the mess you’ve made upon it.

His tanned lips and piercings glistened with your arousal. Your essence dripping down to coat the entirety of his chin. Your entire face burned up at the sight.

“Oh my gosh, I’m s-so sorry.” You hastily apologized, still a little jittery from your explosive orgasm. You reached over to grab the black towel that was left discarded on his stool to try to clean him up.

“Don’t.”

He simply stated, capturing your wrist in his large hand to halt your movement. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching him take the towel from you and toss it to the side.

You were confused, your eyes taking in his mouth and chin that was still covered in your juices. His pierced lips pulled into a smirk, his hands moving to caress your bare ass.

“I want to taste all of it, Muñeca. I'm not letting none of you go to waste…”

For the next hour or so, the room was filled with the buzzing of a tattoo gun and Miguel’s deep voice occasionally trying to soothe you.

“Beautiful Muñeca. You are doing well.”

“I promise you, this rose will look good on you when I’m done.”

“Just a little longer, I’m almost finished.”

He whispered, his gloved fingers pressing into your flesh as he applied the last finishing strokes of black ink onto the rose on your rear. You bit your lip harshly, gripping the leather cushion when finally, the buzzing of the tattoo gun ceased. The needle, no longer, harshly pricking of your sensitive skin.

“I’m finished, Muñeca.” He said, placing the gun to the side and soothingly, caressing your waist. You exhaled a sigh of relief, your eyes a little teary.

“You did well, Cariño.” He praised once more, proceeding to clean the tattoo, applying an antiseptic ointment and covering it, all whilst speaking to you.

“Although, you’ve surprised me.” He said with a chuckle. “I thought you’d become a crying little mess on my chair.” He teased, making the two of you laugh. “I won’t lie, I thought so too.” You confessed, feeling him finish up putting a protective sterile bandage over your freshly inked tattoo.

“I wouldn’t have let that happen on my watch.” He said with a smirk, motioning to you with a finger for you to stand up. “Carefully.” He sternly said, giving you a pointed look. His voice had its usual coldness but also held a hint of affection in his tone.

That maybe the sexy tattooist might actually care about you.

You gave him a small smile, watching him begin to pack up his tattoo items and place them back into his closet. You followed Miguel’s words, cautiously rising up and off of the chair. You winced softly, your left cheek a little sore.

You walked over to the body mirror in Miguel’s tattoo room, turning around to admire the fresh inking on your rear through its sterile bandage.

It was beautiful…

Just like you thought.

The black rose was wonderfully sketched and etched onto your rear end. Its petals, pistils, and leaves, were all defined perfectly and coated the entirety of your left cheek.

You couldn’t stop looking at it, finding something else about it that you loved.

Large hands settled on your waist, snapping your attention from your tattooed bottom to up at the hot male through the mirror. He smirked, meeting your gaze through the glass. “It’s sexy, isn’t it?” He asked, caressing your sides as you smiled, nodding.

“You did really well, Miguel.” You complimented, both of your eyes, taking in the intricate linings of the rose on your rear. “I’m happy you like it.” He said, cupping your chin in his fingers to turn you to look up at him.

“But make sure you properly treat it every day. I’ll send you a list of aftercare instructions.” He said, his amber eyes taking in your face whilst he spoke. You bit your lip, nodding. “I will.” You replied. He smirked, glancing down at your lips before meeting your eyes once more.

“Good, now kiss me.” He said in his cold tone, but his amber eyes held a look of fondness in them. You smiled, cupping his face in your hands and leaning in to press your lips against his.

You moaned softly upon the impact, his metal lip rings, smooth and cold, only making the kiss even hotter. You passionately kissed his lips, savoring the feeling of his lip rings and the taste of his plush lips against your own.

When the two of you pulled away, breathing heavily from the heated exchange, he smirked, squeezing your waist before stepping back. “I hate to tell you this, but I have a client in the next 10 minutes.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll see you next time, Muñeca, for your check-up.” He smirked, handing you a business card with his contacts and the address of the Bloody Inks on it.

You smiled, taking the card from him, your hands touching during the small interaction that sent a spark straight through your being.

You couldn’t help but wonder if Miguel felt it too…

There was an unmistakable pull that was drawing you towards him. You didn’t want to leave him, despite only meeting him that day.

The desire to snuggle up in his muscular arms, to feel his touch on you once more was overwhelming, but he was right.

It was time for you to depart…

So after carefully getting dressed back into your panties and black shorts, you pressed one final kiss upon the sexy tattooist’s pierced lips. The kiss oddly felt unending, but not long enough when you finally pulled away from each other, leaving you, even more, hungrier for him than before.

You exited out of his room, walking through the tattoo space of the shared artists of Gwen and Hobie who thanked you for coming, to then leave the tattoo parlor altogether.

You walked down the sidewalk, feeling like a completely different person. You twirled the business card that Miguel gave you in between your fingers. A feeling of bursting adoration for the beautiful inking that adorned your left cheek, knowing it was created by the sexy tattooist.

To you, the stunning piece of art wasn’t just a tattoo.

No…

It was the marking of a memory of a day when a serious, cold, sexy, and dedicated artist came into your life, revealing a different side of yourself- a daring, more confident side that would forever be engraved in your mind.

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but feel excited to see the sexy tattooist again, anxious for all the fun you and Miguel would get up to on your next visit to the Bloody Inks…

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed 'The Black Rose.' Make sure to like, comment, follow, and reblog!! Love you guys!

<3 Taglist:

@oscarissac2099 @powerful-niya @szapizzapanda @mcmiracles @mreowmoreww @thedevax @jadeloverxd @lazyotakuofficial @migueloharacumslut @nattywattyy @homewreckingwreck @kinkybandages

#miguel o'hara #spider man 2099 #across the spiderverse #the blue panther #miguel ohara #miguel #miguel smut #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x fem!reader #miguel o hara #atsv miguel #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel x reader #miguel x y/n #spiderman 2099 #astv miguel #miguel x you #miguel x reader smut

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nineslugs · 4 months

Text

Some basic anatomy notes on kee, one of the sophonts in Sea of Spires. They are the most common sophont in the Keeland biotope and, after the establishment of kee-gardens in the Terran biotope hundreds of years after first contact, are the most common Keeland sophont outside of their biotope.

Kee bodies are divided into six segments, each with a single limb and spiracle, arranged in an alternating pattern around their central nerve cord. This lends their bodies a slight asymmetry. Their first segment is most derived, with the limb adapted into a jaw and the spiracle adapted into a "vox" organ capable of synthesizing a wide range of sounds. In a typical kee the fore vox is only present on the right side and a second smaller vox sits on the left side of their terminal segment. In both the front limb and wing segments the spiracle remains intact as a breathing organ.

Also pictured is cranial differences between N and T-type kee, and genitalia differences between males and females. Both sexes have brightly colored flanges surrounding their cloaca for display, similar to the display flanges on their face. The main external difference is that males have brighter flanges and a pair of claspers flanking the cloaca.

N (nurturing) and T (territorial) type kee have no genital differences, but posess major morphological differences in the rest of the body. T-types have very brightly colored heads and wings, along with larger wing-claws and a more prominent beak spike. They are more aggressive and prone to wander, tending towards protecting the edges of a kee flock's territory and participating in foraging activities. N-types tend to fill more of a homemaker roll, raising and guarding young and maintaining their nests.

#my art #worldbuilding #speculative biology #sea of spires #sophont #keeland biotope #kee

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whimsyfinny · 2 months

Text

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: provocative dancing, slight Sam x Reader, jealous Dean

Chapter Word Count: 4211

—-MDNI—-

A/N: aaaaahhhhhhhh sorry this one took ages. I suddenly had a bunch of personal things going on so I struggled to find the time. Also this chapter is wild, I’m so sorry for the complete train wreck that it is. I just keep writing without questioning it too much. But yeah same as always pls let me know of any errors as I am the only one who proof reads this shit.

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Please read the below first:

Prologue Chapter 1

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 8 - Part 1

Morning soon rolled around; my alarm waking me from my deep dreamless sleep, eyes wearily blinking open as I stared blankly at the old ceiling. Turning off the repetitive beeping, I flung back the covers and climbed out of bed, pacing to the bathroom to freshen up before heading down to breakfast. I was in desperate need of a laundry day as I was down to my last couple of clean items: a cropped black tank top that said ‘Singers Salvage Yard’ across the front in old cracked and over washed lettering, paired with a short denim skirt with frayed edges. It was an a-line fit a long time ago, but as I got older and my figure changed it just got tighter and shorter. I don’t even know why I still have the thing. Paired with my boots and some comfy socks poking over the top of them, I looked like I should be getting paid to wash cars. I grimaced, knowing full well that Dean was going to make a comment.

Dean.

My mind raced back to last night with his parted lips and black lustful eyes - I couldn’t tell if he wanted to push me against a wall or be at my mercy, it was hard to say. Both sounded spectacular.

I strode into the central study room where the boys did all their research, looking for my flannel when I noticed a figure out of the corner of my eye. Instinct took over and I grabbed the nearest item to me - a lamp from the middle of the table - and held it up like a bat, ready to swing. The man flinched but held up his hands, an apologetic expression on his ruggedly handsome face.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” his voice was monotone despite his peaceful words.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“CAS!” Suddenly Deans voice rang through the open room and we both spun to see him standing where I had just walked in, Sam following behind.

“Dean I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle her, I wasn’t expecting you to have visitors,” this Cas guy spoke, his tone forever unchanging.

“This is (Y/n), Bobby’s niece. She’s staying with us for a while to help with research,” he explained, before turning to me and giving me a stern look, holding his hand out.

“(Y/n) give me the lamp.”

I did as he asked, placing the cool metal into his palm as he returned it to the table. We shared a look for a second and I was unsure of the meaning behind it - was he mad about me almost bludgeoning his friend? Was it because I was going to use a lamp of all things? Or was it about last night, and the fact I left him hanging? Who knows, but I’m sure I’ll hear about it later. Dean was about to turn away when the monotone voice of Cas spoke up.

“I’m sorry (Y/n), please forgive me for startling you. Although…” he paused, looking me up and down and then almost knowingly between myself and Dean, “I have personally been caught off guard here as well - I was unaware that Dean was involved with someone.”

“Excuse me?” I blinked up at Cas, getting ready to snatch that lamp back. I saw Dean pinch the bridge of his nose and mutter an ‘oh boy’ under his breath.

“You’re sexual endeavours with Dean,” Cas looked at me like I was the one missing something here. Clearly I am. Cas continued, “you’ve been intimate, have you not? This means that you are a couple from what I’ve learned.” Suddenly his eyes went wide and he looked straight at Dean.

“Or is this a pizza man situation?”

“CAS STOP TALKING,” Dean bellowed, embarrassment creeping across his face. I’m assuming he’s not used to that emotion as he was getting very frustrated. I couldn’t help but stand there in disbelief.

“How the actual FUCK do you know about me and Dean after saying that you weren’t aware of me even being here before you arrived?”

“He can smell it,” Dean said quietly, arms now crossed over his chest.

“What?”

“He can smell… me… on you,” as the words left his lips, his eyes locked with mine for a split second sending a jolt down my spine and hair prickling on my skin. I tore my eyes away from him and looked back at Cas.

“So wait, this weirdo can smell that I slept in one of Deans T-shirts last night?”

“You slept in one of his shirts?” Sam asked, piping up for the first time since this conversation started. Dean grinned like the cat that got the cream, embarrassment dissipating for a second.

“Yeah, she did.”

“Hmmm,” Cas mumbled, “No it’s not just that… It’s stronger, like there is part of Dean in her somehow. Or at least there was; not so much anymore.”

My eyes went as wide as the moon and my cheeks felt like they’d been set on fire.

“OH MY GOD,” I hid my face in my hands, wanting the ground to swallow me up. Whilst I tried to hide my entire existence, Dean cackled, leaving Sam confused.

“I don’t get it, what’s going on?” He asked, looking between all three of us. I couldn’t say a word through the white hot embarrassment, which left Dean to explain. He turned and looked Sam dead in the eye.

“You know how much I love pie, Sam,” he paused to see if Sam was catching on, which he wasn’t so Dean continued. “All sorts of pie. Like, uh, apple pie, cherry pie… cream pie…” Sam’s eyes shot open as wide as they could and he almost went as red as me.

“Nope!” He declared, promptly spinning on his heel and leaving. Cas looked confused.

“I smell no pie here.”

“Never mind, Cas,” Dean patted him on the shoulder before urging him to catch up with Sam who I’m assuming is in the kitchen by now. When it was just Dean and I left I peered at him through my fingers, my face still burning up.

“Dean what the fuck just happened?!”

He tried to suppress his laughter, explaining that Cas was in fact ‘Castiel’ and an Angel of the Lord, which explained his rigid behaviour and a weirdly strong set of senses.

“Why didn’t you butt in and explain who he was before everything got so embarrassing!”

“To be honest it was all pretty hilarious.”

“No it wasn’t! That was NOT an enjoyable moment!”

“Ok I’m sorry,” Dean paused, looking down at me with softer eyes, a slight smile still on his lips. He stepped closer and I pushed on his chest.

“You better be! You owe me big time for that one Winchester.”

He grinned as the furious redness on my face simmered down, just leaving a pink glow on my cheeks.

“Ok ok! Look let's just go and get some breakfast and put this behind us,” he put his hand on the small of my back, urging me towards the kitchen. I hummed, walking with him. There were a few moments of silence as we made our way down before he suddenly spoke up again.

“Did you know that he once smelt a bladder infection on a dead guy?”

Breakfast was uneventful. I was unable to make eye contact with Castiel, and it seemed that Sam was unable to make eye contact with me. Dean however was completely unphased. Once we were all finished and I’d cleared everything away I made my way to my room, grabbed my dirty clothes and then headed to the laundry room - today was going to be a practical one as I officially had nothing else to wear. Upon arriving I couldn’t help but grimace; a mountain of mens clothes covered in mud, blood and black goop sat in the middle of the floor by the washers.

“Gross…” I winced, the smell of dirt and iron filling my nose as I got closer and poked the pile with a pipe I found off to the side. I half expected the mass of clothes to sprout legs and walk off. The boys could probably find lore on the thing with how long its been sitting here. I huffed, scooping my hair into a high ponytail before shoving a bunch of my washing in a machine and turning it on before returning for face the Winchesters laundry. I can’t leave it here, that goes against everything clean and hygienic that I stand for. I could burn it? They would definitely complain about having to replace all the plaid shirts. Should I sort it or just hope for the best? Do I check the pockets? Knowing all the crap they carry around, I should definitely check the pockets before a load of bullets or a hex bag goes through one of the machines. I set to work, sorting out colours, blacks and whites - unable to differentiate between lights and darks at times - and search every pocket as I go. The amount of women’s phone numbers I find on napkins and receipts is ridiculous. I can’t help but feel a little deflated, knowing I’m probably just a name on Deans list. I put them to the side in a pile, keeping them separate from the numbers from Sam’s pockets. I load up another machine and turn it on, picking up the stacks of numbers and leaving the room.

I find the boys sitting in their usual places at the tables, surrounded by piles of books and files. Castiel was nowhere to be seen. I walk up to them and slide the collection of phone numbers over to them.

“I thought you might want to keep these,” I said, not understanding the tone in my own voice. They both took a few seconds to realise what it was that I was handing them and they both responded in an abashed manner, shooting each other a knowing look before staring at the accumulation of digits, not once making eye contact with me. Sam nodded a quick ‘thank you’ before I turned to leave, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him crumple them up and throw them away in a carrier bag on the floor next to him. At the same time, I caught Dean shoving his collection into his jacket pocket, which was hung on the back of his chair. I hastened my actions and turned away quicker, not wanting to have the knowledge that he was keeping them. A pang of something shot through my chest, and I couldn’t tell if it was jealousy, sadness, rage or self pity. Whatever it was, I needed to get the fuck away from Dean.

A few hours passed and I was still sorting laundry. My clothes were officially clean and dry and away in my room, however the task at hand was now the clothes belonging to the Winchester boys. I was a few minutes away from the final load of washing being dry, and I’d managed to arrange the clothing into piles of ‘definitely Sam’ and ‘definitely Dean’, with a ‘really not sure’ pile in the middle. The jeans were easy enough to tell apart and due to Deans T-shirt I wore to bed last night, I now knew that he wore a slightly larger shirt size than his younger brother. I guess he had bigger shoulders, despite Sam being taller. My train of thought snapped as I suddenly heard a door slam upstairs and a female voice call out. I recognised the voice immediately. I stopped everything I was doing and headed upstairs, my feet carrying me with purpose as I reached the study room; Sam and Dean also emerging from another corridor.

“Charlie!” Dean beamed at her, going to give her a hug before I caught up to them and shoved him out the way.

“Don’t you EVER abandon me again like that,” I said, embracing her tight. “I’m fucking annoyed at you…. But I’m glad you’re here. These guys are like wild animals.” She patted my hair softly before I stepped back and she had an apologetic look on her face.

“I knooowwww I’m sorry! But you were in such a slump I really had to do something. Plus these guys really needed whipping into shape,” she spoke the second half of her sentence quieter and we both peered at the boys, fully aware that they could hear every word we were saying.

“Anyway!” She exclaimed, moving away and plopping her backpack onto the nearest table, “I think I have a case for you guys…” her voice was excited but the way her expression changed when she looked from the boys to me was slightly concerning. Sam seemed to pick up on this too.

“That’s great, but what’s the catch?” He asked. Charlie bit her lip and looked between the boys and me again.

“It’s in a strip club and we will need (Y/n) as bait.”

“What?!” Both me and Sam spoke up at the same time, and all that Dean could muster was a huge grin.

“I’m gonna need more details than that Charlie,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Right, yes, I probably should have started with the other details. Anyway, I’m pretty sure this club is run by a bunch of vamps, using girls as bait to lure in unsuspecting men to feed on in the private rooms.” The brothers nodded, like they’d seen this sort of thing before. “Anyway,” she continued, “I’ve had a hunch about this place for a while and did some digging, and it turns out that just last night they advertised a new position available and they want someone that looks just like (Y/n). This is a perfect way to take them down from the inside.” Charlie finished speaking and scanned our faces for any sort of response. I shrugged.

“Sure I’m in.”

“No way, we aren’t putting you in the line of fire like that,” Sam turned to me, a look of worry already smothering his features.

“I agree with Sam, this will be more dangerous than the last case. We’ll find another way to take them down,” Dean said, before he added in an almost snide tone “plus I bet you can’t even lap dance. How would you ever fit in?”

I scoffed.

“Fuck you, I can lap dance just fine.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

“I don’t need to prove shit to you.”

“Guys,” Sam held his hands up, “not right now.”

I turned back to Charlie.

“Look I’m in, can you make sure that no one else gets hired?” She grins, opening her backpack and pulling out her tablet.

“Absolutely!”

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Taglist: @justjensenandhisalteregos @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lanassmarty @aliceeinwonderland420 @tina-theslytherin @deans-queen @hell0-ki11y111 @hobby27 @lilcuutiee @sobearcowboy @girls-alias @selfdestructionandrhum @ericasabe @lacilou @littlemadamred @viridiesa @anneanirac @deans-baby-momma @swimregulas @ashdoctor @littlemarvelstan8 @atcamillanorrman @deangirl96 @zannemes @kr804573 @foxyjwls007 @divadinag @ilikw @cookiemonstermusic258 @mysterialee @vsplanet @ababy-girl @joonseuph0ria @mxltifxnd0m @deans-spinster-witch @st4bl3-ch40s @raven-red10 @feyresqueen @lori69 @roseblue373 @clusterfuck-meup @urinternetmom @rachiem4-blog @ceeshellecee @qinnroki @winchestergirl82 @mojos-hidden-castle @snowayumi @evzyi @mymuseisbipolar @magssteenkamp @koharuheartfilia @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @lazygrungekid

Some of the tags haven’t worked so please check your settings if your name is highlighted!

——————————————————————

Up Next:

Chapter 8 part 2

#dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x you smut #dean winchester enemies to lovers #eventual smut #enemies to lovers #supernatural smut #slow burn #supernatural #spn

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katsu28 · 2 years

Text

changed the game

pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

summary: steve would do anything for you, but he would never tell anyone why—until today

(i suck at writing summaries but it’s basically just 4.8k words of best friends to lovers with the best soccer mom ever!)

warnings: swearing, steve being adorable, slight violence but it’s only like one slap, fluff central

a/n: i really am a sucker for the best friends to lovers trope. enjoy!! <3

masterlist + taglist

(gif found on google, credits to owner)

You burst through the doors of Family Video, looking around the store frantically for the one person you needed to find until you finally spotted him reshelving movies in the corner. He (surprisingly) didn’t see you coming, so when you popped into his line of sight, he jumped.

“Jesus Christ!” Steve yelped, all the tapes in his arms clattering to the floor.

“Sorry,” You offered him a guilty smile, kneeling down to help him pick everything up. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Uh, no, you’re—you’re all good. I was spaced the hell out.” Steve mumbled. “What’s up?”

“You’re going to Lucas’ game tonight, right?”

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

“Would it be okay if the boys and I hitched a ride?” You asked sheepishly. “I promised I’d drive them, but my sister called dibs on the car for her stupid date, and I—”

“Yeah, sure! No problem.” His response was immediate (and a bit squeaky too), head nodding so fast that his hair fell into his eyes. “I can pick you up at six, swing around and grab them on the way?”

“That sounds perfect! Thank you so much, Steve, you’re a lifesaver!” You beamed at him, passing off the rest of the fallen tapes into his arms and pulling him into a quick hug. He barely had time to react before you backed away, but your perfume lingered in his space. “I gotta get to work, but thank you again. I’ll see you tonight.”

Steve managed a weak wave goodbye before watching you retreat out the doors, mind still processing your conversation.

“Alright, I’ll shoot. When are you gonna tell her?” Robin’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked over to see her leaning against the front counter with her chin propped up in her hand and a shit eating grin on her face.

“Tell her what?” He snorted, shoving the rest of the movies back on their respective shelves. Robin aimed a rather pointed look at him. “Seriously, what?”

“Oh, you’re serious?” She raised an eyebrow. When all Steve did was give her a dumb look, she sighed. “When are you gonna tell Y/N that you’re in love with her?”

Steve froze in his tracks, gaze whipping over to her incredulously. “What?”

“You heard me, dingus.”

“You’re insane.”

“Steve, you were literally just telling me yesterday about your date with Brenda tonight, and you just agreed to play soccer mom carting around a bunch of your kid friends, all because Y/N batted her eyes and said pretty please?”

“We’re friends, Robin. That’s what friends do.” He replied with a shrug, but even that seemed forced. “Besides, I can just call Brenda and reschedule, no big deal. She’ll understand.”

“I’m your friend too, and you wouldn’t even give me a ride home from school after band practice last week!”

“That was different!”

“Yeah, you’re not completely head over heels for me!”

“Y’know what?” Steve huffed, grabbing the movie cart and pushing it away from Robin. “I have work to do. I don’t need this.”

“Right, because you’re so hard at work reshelving tapes!” Robin called after him, to which he flipped her off behind his back.

Once Steve finished reshelving all the rewound tapes, he glanced back over at the counter to see if Robin was still behind it, and when he saw that she was helping an old lady in the far corner of the store, he hurried over to the phone, digging the scrap of paper that Brenda had given him out of his pocket and dialing her number. He drummed his fingers on the counter as it rang, trying to come up with a way to bail on their date at the last minute without seeming like a jackass.

“Hello?” Brenda’s sickly sweet voice poured through the receiver, and Steve cringed.

“Hey, Brenda, it’s Steve. Harrington.” He said weakly, twirling a pen between his fingers.

“Steve, hi!” She sounded happy to hear from him. “I’m looking forward to our date tonight!”

“Yeah! Um, about that…I hate to do this so last minute, but I just came down with the nastiest case of food poisoning, and I think we’re probably gonna have to take a raincheck on our date.”

“Oh no, you poor baby!” Brenda cooed. “Of course we can reschedule, no problem! Whenever you’re feeling better, just give me a call.”

“Thank you so much, Brenda, you’re a real saint!”

“Maybe I’ll swing by your place and bring you some soup?”

“No!” Steve blurted, then let out a forced chuckle. “No, I mean, I think food poisoning is contagious, and I’d be so bummed if you came by and I gave it to you.”

Brenda giggled, and he could just picture her twirling her permed blond hair around her finger like she always did around him. “You’re so thoughtful, Steve.”

“That, I am.” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I, um, I’ve gotta go…y’know—I’ll just call you sometime, yeah?”

“Feel better soon!”

Steve mumbled out a ‘thank you’ before hanging up, ignoring the guilt pooling in his stomach and instead focusing on how happy you’d looked when he said he could give you and the boys a ride.

“Does your ass ever get tired of all the shit that comes out of your mouth?” Robin asked innocently, pulling him out of his thoughts. Steve just flipped her off again on his way to the back room, where he collapsed into one of the flimsy plastic chairs with a heavy sigh.

Robin was right, he was head over heels for you (but she didn’t need to know that). After Nancy, Steve didn’t think he’d ever be able to connect with anyone ever again. But then you came along with your bright smile and witty comebacks and how much you cared about your friends, and he fell hard and he fell fast. You’d ruined him for anyone else, in the best possible way.

He’d been going on all these dates with different people, trying to find one person who he thought he could be happy with for once, but with every date he went on, his heart wasn’t in it.

You had Steve Harrington wrapped around your finger, and you didn’t even know it.

He’d do anything for you, so canceling a date that he didn’t even really want to go on was the least of his worries. Steve just hoped it didn’t end up backfiring on him in the future, because that would definitely not be a good look for him.

-------

“You’re baking. You hate baking, why are you baking?” Your older sister, Callie, furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as soon as she walked into the kitchen, eyeing the mess of baking supplies on the counter with you in the middle of it all.

You blew a stray piece of hair out of your face, hands too covered in sticky dough to touch anything else. “Cookies for Steve.”

“Cookies for Steve,” She repeated, nodding slowly. “Why?”

“Since someone,” You aimed a pointed look at her, “is taking the car tonight, he’s driving the boys and I to Lucas’ game.”

“Is he now?” She hummed, smirking.

See, what you didn't know was that Callie was friends with Brenda, the very same Brenda who was supposed to be going on a date with Steve tonight. Also the very same Brenda that had just called her sadly about Steve having food poisoning and canceling said date. Now hearing that he’d bailed on her to help you out, everything she’d been picking up on between you and Steve finally made sense.

The way Steve always hung onto your every word, gazing stupidly at you when you weren’t looking. Every single time he’d gotten you something just because he thought you’d like it. How he’d show up at your house and watch god awful movies with you, and she could hear both your snorting laughters all throughout the night.

And now this: Steve making up a bogus excuse to get out of a date all because you’d asked him for a favor.

There was no mistaking it—Steve Harrington was in love with you.

And you definitely felt the same way about him, because here you were, baking cookies for him like you were Betty Crocker despite your outspoken hatred for it.

“So what’s the deal between you and Steve anyways?” Callie asked nonchalantly, reaching across the counter to snag a handful of chocolate chips and popping them in her mouth.

“What deal?” You pulled open the oven to put the cookies inside to bake, setting a timer for ten minutes before turning back to her with furrowed brows to see that she was looking pointedly at you. “There is no deal with me and Steve, Cal, we’re friends. Friends help each other out.”

“Right,” She dragged out the word amusedly, like she didn’t believe a word you were saying. “So you don’t like him? Like, like him like him?”

“Me, like Steve?” You forced out a laugh, shaking your head. She nodded. “No, I don’t like him. Why are you asking?”

“Oh, no reason.”

“Weirdo.”

“Says the one covered in flour,” Callie shot back, wrinkling her nose at you. “Don’t you have to go get ready or something?”

One glance at the clock above the sink had you swearing like a sailor, because you now had less than an hour to clean up your mess, shower, get dressed, and let the cookies cool before Steve picked you up.

“Can you help me clean up?” You yelped, scrambling out of your dusty apron and chucking it at Callie frantically, who dodged it with an indignant noise.

“No, it’s your mess, you clean it!”

You were already hurrying down the hall to your bedroom, but you managed to catch yourself on the doorway as you yelled back at her. “I’ll take your laundry duty for the next three weeks!”

“Five!”

“Deal!”

-------

Steve watched you leap down the steps outside your front door, smiling as you waved wildly at him on your way to his car.

“Hi, Steve!” You chirped, sliding into the passenger seat smoothly. He nodded in acknowledgement, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel casually. “Thanks again for giving us a ride, I hope I didn’t crash any plans you might’ve had.”

“Nah, no plans. And you don’t need to keep thanking me, I’m happy to help out,” He chuckled, pushing down the nagging feeling in his gut and pulling away from the curb smoothly. “Whatcha got there?”

You cracked open the plastic container on your lap with a sheepish smile. “Cookies. Made them as a thank you, but—”

“Oh no, I’ll take that thank you,” He said quickly, opening his mouth without taking his eyes off the road. “Gimme one!”

Popping a cookie into his mouth with a chuckle, you wiped your fingers on the collar of his jacket, listening to him groan about how this was his favorite one and how you’d ruined it. All you did was roll your eyes playfully, cranking up the radio to drown him out, but Steve switched gears right away, singing along horribly to every song that played—especially if he didn’t know the words.

You couldn’t help but admire him from your side of the car, your eyes taking in every slope, curve, and contour of his face. From the sharp angle of his jaw to the curve of his pink lips; the scattering of freckles across his cheeks to the lines on his face that morphed into the cutest dimples whenever he smiled—in your eyes, everything about Steve Harrington was perfect.

Sure, he could be a little dumb sometimes, but that was another one of the things you loved about him.

And you did admit, the whole falling-for-your-best-friend thing wasn’t your smartest move, especially since that best friend was Steve freaking Harrington, who went on dates with different girls practically every other night and had a reputation for being quite the ladies’ man. You liked to think that he’d mellowed out since his King Steve days, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have Hawkins girls lined up out the door to get their share of him.

You didn’t really have any right to feel the jealousy that you did every time Steve talked about how he went roller skating with Stacy from junior year trig, or went out for milkshakes with Carla from the girls’ volleyball team, but you couldn’t help it. Steve was out of your league, and there was nothing you could (or would) do about it.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve’s voice drew you out of your thoughts, and you saw that he was looking over at you in slight concern. When he saw you refocus, he smiled softly. “There she is. I was starting to wonder if I’d have to steal another cookie myself.”

“I, um, I’m good. I was just…thinking.” You mumbled, embarrassed at the thought of being caught thinking about Steve by Steve.

“Thinking, huh? Care to share?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You teased, eyes glinting with amusement.

“I would, actually. Sometimes I wonder what goes on in that mind of yours.”

“Maybe another time, Harrington.” You giggled, offering out another cookie as a consolation prize that Steve plucked right out of your fingertips. The car slowed to a stop outside of Dustin’s house, where the curly haired boy was already waiting outside impatiently, brows furrowed in confusion at the sight of Steve’s car but hopping in nonetheless. “Hey, Dustin! Sorry we’re late.”

“It’s fine, the game doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes,” He assured you, then turned right to Steve. “But what are you doing here? I thought you were going—”

“We should really get going if we wanna pick up the rest of the gang and get to the game on time!” Steve interrupted forcibly, shooting Dustin a very pointed look in the rearview mirror.

“But—”

“All buckled in, Henderson?” Dustin nodded slowly. “Alright, time to go!”

Without further ado, Steve pulled away from the curb, cranking the radio back up and leaving Dustin (and now you) confused.

The atmosphere of the car ride to pick up Mike and Will, then to the high school, was awkward to say the least. The boys were in the back whispering about something you couldn’t make out and glancing at you and Steve in the front seat, while Steve was significantly less chatty with you than he was before Dustin got into the car. As soon as the car was parked, the younger boys filed out of the backseat, barely nodding at Steve’s promise to meet back here after the game was over in case anyone got separated before hurrying off towards the gym.

“I’m gonna say it because nobody else will, but what is wrong with those kids?” You asked incredulously, wrinkling your nose at how weird they were acting.

Steve just chuckled nervously, falling into step with you as you made your way slowly to the gym as well. “I ask myself that everyday.”

You noticed how Steve didn’t answer your question, but decided not to push in fear of making things more awkward than they already were now. The two of you made your way into the school in silence, passing off your tickets and finding an empty space midway up the wooden bleachers, an aisle away from the band. You caught Robin’s eye and waved at her excitedly, nudging Steve with your elbow for him to say hi too. He waved, purposely ignoring her smug gaze by focusing out on the cheerleading squad.

“Has Robin made her move on Vickie yet?” Your voice was soft in Steve’s ear, but still made his breath catch in his chest at the fact that you were basically leaning against him to be heard in the loud gym.

“She, uh—no, she hasn’t. Not that I know of.” He stuttered, gulping nervously.

“I think they’d be good together.”

“I keep telling her that, but she keeps pushing back,” Steve shrugged. “You should talk some sense into her.”

You smiled at him, patting his shoulder. “I think I will. Maybe I’ll swing by Family Video tomorrow.”

Right as Steve was about to respond, a shrill whistle from the referee signaled the start of the game, not leaving much room to discuss Plan Robin-gets-the-girl.

You couldn’t help but touch Steve every time something big happened during the game, whether it was latching your arm around his during a particularly risky play, elbowing him playfully when he made a sarcastic remark about the players, or much to Steve’s dismay, smacking his shoulder roughly every time Lucas touched the ball, as if Steve wasn’t watching the exact same game you were.

The final play of the game was by far the best, when Lucas hit a buzzer beating three to bring it all home, and you nearly knocked Steve over hugging him in excitement. He wrapped his arms around your waist, reciprocating your hug and taking it one step further by lifting you up off your feet for a few seconds. Your nose nudged against his hammering pulse point at that, which you just chalked up to the adrenaline of the game and not what it actually was—you throwing yourself into Steve’s arms without a care in the world. It made Steve’s heart hammer in his chest, so much so that he was still thinking about it as the crowd was filing out of the gym, the cool air doing wonders to sooth his flushed cheeks.

You nudged his shoulder gently, shaking him out of his head. “So, what do you think? Think we got a shot at winning the championships this year?”

“I’d say yeah, so long as Coach takes Sinclair off the bench and puts him in action.”

“I bet you could put in a good word for him, King Steve,” You teased, letting out a shriek of laughter and dodging Steve’s hands when he lunged towards you in retaliation.

“Get the hell back here, you little—”

“Steve!”

Steve stopped in his tracks at the sickeningly familiar, once sweet, now turned very, very angry, voice that rang out from behind him, sending his heart that was just swelling with happiness plummeting into his stomach. Squeezing his eyes shut, he turned around slowly to see none other than Brenda standing behind him, arms crossed over her chest and eyes glaring right at him whilst she snapped the pink bubble gum forcefully between her teeth.

“Hey—hey, Brenda!” He cleared his throat awkwardly in a sad attempt to keep his voice steady.

Shit, she looked mad.

“That food poisoning really cleared up fast, didn’t it?” She deadpanned, and if her gaze were lasers, they’d be boring a hole right through his head right now.

“Yeah, uh—about that, I’m really sorry,” Steve mumbled, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

“Seriously? That’s the line you’re gonna use?” Brenda scoffed, rolling her eyes. “If you didn’t want to go out with me, you should’ve just said so instead of making up some bullshit excuse!”

“I didn’t mean to, I just—it came out! I’m sorry, okay?” He blurted, realizing a split second after that he’d definitely just made things a whole lot worse. She looked about ready to rip his face off as she stalked towards him angrily.

“It just came out???” She shrieked, eyes blazing with fury. “You’re an asshole and a coward, Steve, you know that?”

“A coward?” He arched an eyebrow. Asshole, yeah, he could admit that much. But coward? That one threw him for a loop.

“You heard me.”

“How am I—y’know what, I don’t even think I wanna know,” He shook his head, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Brenda. Truly, I really am. It was wrong of me to lie, and I apologize.”

“Fuck you, Steve.” She snarled. Steve saw her hand go up, but he didn’t even register that she’d slapped him until a burning pain took over the entire left side of his face. Even then, he could only stand there in stunned silence as he watched her storm away from him.

Meanwhile, you were watching the whole thing from a few feet away, going through a myriad of emotions at their interaction and ending wide eyed in shock at the sight of Brenda slapping Steve clean across the face.

“What the hell just happened?” You nearly collided with him as you rushed forward, your fingers instantly angling his chin towards you to assess the damage. An angry red hand imprint was already beginning to blossom across his cheek.

He squinted with a scrunched nose, feeling his face grow hot in embarrassment. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.”

“Steve, she just bitch slapped you across the face, that’s not nothing,” You pressed, dropping your hands to prop on your hips with a frown aimed up at him. “What was she talking about?”

Steve blew out a heaving breath, backing up a few paces. Everything was blowing up in his face right now. “I lied earlier. I did have plans tonight. I was, uh, I was supposed to be coming to the game with Brenda…on a date.”

“Steve, really?” You gasped, bringing your hands up to cover your mouth. “Oh, this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have—”

“No! No, Y/N, this isn’t your fault. It’s mine, I should’ve said something.” He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “This is on me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had plans? I would’ve figured something else out.”

Steve had two options. He could either use the same line about wanting to be a good friend that he used to justify his choice to Robin earlier, or he could man up and come clean, actually tell you why he dropped plans for you. Finally confess that he was in love with you.

But the way you were looking at him, all confused and guilty and so beautifully conflicted at the same time, he couldn’t lie to you anymore.

“I need to tell you something,” He blurted, getting the ball rolling so he wouldn’t chicken out. You tilted your head at him curiously, your expression inviting him to get what he needed to off his chest. Steve inhaled a sharp breath first, steeling his nerves. “The reason why I lied about my date, it’s—it’s the same reason why I keep going on so many dates.”

“I’m not following…”

“I go out on all these dates with all these different girls to distract me from the fact that there’s one girl who owns my heart. One girl that has me so wrapped around her finger that I’d do anything for her, no matter how big or small.”

“Steve,” You said softly, your breath hitching in your chest at the way he was stepping closer to you with every word with the most serious and the most nervous look you’d ever seen grace his face. “What are you saying?”

“I’m in love with you, Y/N, so goddamn much that it hurts. I’ve been in love with you for…god, I don’t even know how long now,” Steve was nearly nose to nose with you now, taking your hand and placing it on his chest, right above his jackhammering heart. He didn’t care how many people were watching right now; he was on a roll and there was no way he was going to stop himself. Steve didn’t think he could even if he tried. “This heart is yours, Y/N L/N. It always has been, and it always will be.”

You didn’t even realize there were tears rolling down your cheeks until the rough pads of Steve’s thumbs swiped under your eyes gently. “You’re crying. You’re—shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Then he was backing away quickly, hands trembling in uncertainty at your reaction to his confession, because shit, out of all the times he’d imagined this whole thing going down, not once did he expect you to start crying.

It was damn near impossible for you to find the words to convey the knot of feelings pooling in your gut, so you did the next best thing that you could think of to make Steve understand that you loved him too. You surged forward before he could back off completely, body crashing against his and arms winding around his neck, and you kissed him. Hard. Lovingly, but yeah, still hard.

Steve froze again for what seemed like the hundredth time today, his brain short-circuiting at what was happening at this very moment. You. Him. You were kissing him. In the middle of the parking lot. For pretty much all of Hawkins to see.

Holy shit.

You were kissing him.

Kissing you was better than Steve had ever imagined—and he’d imagined it a lot. You tasted heavenly sweet, like the strawberry chapstick you always wore and the chocolate from the cookies you’d eaten earlier, and it made him weak in the knees. His hands were traveling up and down your back, resting at your waist, pulling you closer, moving like he didn't know what to do with them but didn't want to let you get away. Yours, on the other hand, stayed firmly planted in his hair, which—despite all the products that you'd always seen strewn across his bathroom counter at home—was surprisingly soft to the touch.

It wasn’t until you heard a series of wolf whistles from passing students that you remembered you were in the middle of the parking lot, kissing Steve right out there in the open for everyone to see. And it was that thought that had you pulling away from his addicting lips, pressing your forehead against his as you tried to catch your breath after the kiss had pulled it out of both your chests.

The world felt like it was spinning when you pulled away from him, like you’d just gotten drunk off his kiss, and you missed it already.

“Whoa,” He panted, chest heaving. “What was—you…what was that?”

You gnawed on your lower lip in contemplation, pondering how to word this in the best way. “In the car earlier, you said you wanted to know what I was thinking about.”

“I remember.”

“I was thinking about you.”

“Me?” His voice was soft, honey brown eyes lighting up at your words.

“Yeah, you. And how I’m in love with you too.”

“You are?”

“I love you, Steve Harrington.”

Steve couldn’t help the dopey grin that stretched across his face at your words. “That—wow, that feels really good. Just hearing you say it.” He chuckled breathlessly, thumbing at your waist. “Can I kiss you again? Please?”

“You can kiss me whenever you want.”

“God, that’s even better.”

He leaned in to kiss you again and you gladly reciprocated, subconsciously bringing your hand up to cup his face as he dipped you down slowly. As soon as your palm came in soft contact with his cheek, however, Steve hissed. “Ow, shit—”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” You yelped, pulling away from him in a panic. “I forgot!”

“No, it was worth it,” He groaned, wincing slightly as your fingers ghosted across the handprint across his cheek once more. “So worth it.”

“We should probably get some ice on that.” You chuckled, lacing your fingers through his and tugging him towards the car, where Dustin and the rest of the boys were all waiting with crossed arms and smug ass smiles.

“About high time you guys figured it out!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air exasperatedly. “God, I thought I was gonna have to confess for you, Steve.”

“Shut it, Henderson,” Steve rolled his eyes, but was still smiling nonetheless whilst snaking his arm around your waist. “Get your asses in the car, I’m taking everyone home now.”

“Why, so you can spend more time sucking face with your girlfriend?” teased Lucas, mimicking kissing the air childishly.

“I’ll make you walk, Sinclair!” Lucas pushed past Will into the backseat without another word. “That’s what I thought.”

The rest of the boys were quick to follow, none of them wanting to make the trek all the way home in the dark. You just shook your head amusedly, climbing into the passenger seat. Steve immediately took your hand as soon as he slid into the driver’s seat, resting it on the gearshift with his on top, but not before pressing a kiss to your knuckles. And when you beamed at him lovingly, he couldn’t help it. He leaned over the center console, capturing your lips in a soft kiss without giving two shits about the noises of disgust and retching coming from the boys in the backseat at his lovesick actions.

Because, in a twist of fate that somehow worked in his favor, Steve got the girl. He finally got you, the girl he’d always wanted but never in a million years thought he’d ever be so lucky to call his. The girl that changed the game for him.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things netflix #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #joe keery

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peaches2217 · 2 months

Note

Given it’s like 2 degrees where I live: 🥶!

🥶 - Cold

First Snow

Inspired by this piece by the exceptional @akiiame-blog!

~~~

Gonnnng! Gonnnng! Gonnnng!

Mario’s stomach dropped into his feet hard enough to make him stumble. The clock in Toad Town’s central square rang the hour out, ten resounding, musical gongs that rattled his very bones. They pushed him to sprint faster once he recovered his footing, and though the frigid air burned his throat and lungs like fire, he forged ahead with unprecedented determination.

Of all days to get distracted by snowfall! Now he would have no choice but to take the pipes at the base of Castle Hill. They would shave valuable minutes off of his commute, but the shortcut wasn’t particularly fun, being sized to accommodate creatures who reached three feet tall at the tallest.

Though the closer to the castle he drew, the more he saw that he was hardly the only one who’d fallen victim to the snow’s charm. Toads spilled from their homes and places of business and even from the schools, filling the streets (and forcing Mario to dodge and leap over them at every turn) to make snowtoads and pelt one another with snowballs and share warm drinks with their friends. That was his out, he decided quickly, and he practiced his wording as he flew through the pipes. You know I’m never late, Princess, please forgive me! I’ve never seen the town so crowded this early. It wasn’t a lie, after all.

Surprisingly, the castle grounds looked much the same as the town itself did. Straight out of the final warp pipe, Mario was met with a flurry of merriment, everyone from visiting families to familiar staff and groundskeepers mingling about, frolicking and playing or otherwise watching their children frolic and play.

And straight ahead, on the bridge gapping the frozen moat, a form in all shades of gold and pink towered over those Toads. She caught Mario’s eyes as soon as he looked her way, and suddenly he felt far warmer than an extensive run could ever make him feel.

“Mario!” Peach’s cheery voice carried with ease as they began in one another’s directions. A luxurious pale pink cape fluttered behind her as she approached, tied in the front with a white bow to which her favorite brooch was fastened. Beneath it, a dress that looked nigh identical to her favorite day-to-day dress, but with long sleeves hidden beneath wool-trimmed gloves.

Mario gulped. Somehow, she was always more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her.

But the warm glow of her presence chilled as they reached one another, and he was forced to acknowledge that he had let her down. He knew his tardiness bothered him far more than it would bother her; admittedly, he was a bit miffed (but undoubtedly grateful) at how easily she overlooked his every fault. Still, he would be remiss to not hold himself accountable. Pulling his cap from his head, he drew in a deep breath—

“Please forgive me.” The words came not from his lips, but from Peach’s.

“...Princess?”

“I had hoped my letter would reach you before you left home,” she continued, casting her eyes aside, her smile turning regretful. “The Public Council will be postponed to next week, in accordance with the First Snow. I’m truly sorry to drag you out here on such a dreary day…”

Mario’s first response was relief. He hadn’t let his beloved Princess down after all! And as much pride as he took in being Peach’s personal guard, attending the monthly Public Council with her was perhaps his least favorite obligation. Standing still and not offering his own opinions as Counciltoads and townsfolk alike shouted over each other about every relevant social and political talking point — for three hours — was a challenge that tired even him. Letting out an exaggerated Phew! and wiping not-so-imaginary sweat from his brow, he slapped his cap back over his hair, and this elicited a small chuckle from Peach.

His second response: confusion.

“First Snow?” Glancing briefly away, he took in the clusters of Toads enjoying the winter scenery once more, and this time he recognized Councilmembers and Chairholders and, well, everyone who usually spent their work days inside the castle walls. And here they were, outside, having themselves a jolly old time. “So today’s like a holiday?”

A matching confusion flickered across Peach’s features. “Yes, of course. You’re aware of…” And just as suddenly, her eyes went wide, and she pressed a palm to her reddening cheek. “No, you’re not aware, are you? I don’t think you were here the last time it snowed!”

Mario couldn’t help but beam at her embarrassed gesture. Even he hadn’t realized it at first, looking out his frosty window that morning. This was only his second winter in the Mushroom Kingdom, and last winter brought nothing but barren trees and the occasional patch of ice, nothing resembling the powdery luster that blanketed everything in sight today.

That Toad Town hadn’t always been his home became easier to forget with each passing day. He wondered, with a bristle of excitement he couldn’t quite put a name to, if Peach had momentarily forgotten as well.

“Hey,” he said, rocking on his heels, “since I’m already here, maybe you could… explain it all to me? I’m always up for learning new things about the MK! And clearly I’ve still got a lot to learn, yeah?”

Bold of him, perhaps, trying to petition royalty to give him their free time. Surely there were thousands of other tasks Peach would have been better off seeing to. But some nagging feeling in his stomach told Mario that she would much rather spend the morning with him than tending to dreary administrative duties, and he would sooner fulfill that desire and his own desire to be at her side for as long as possible than turn around and head back home.

Peach blinked, and in that fraction of a second he swore her face lit up. But if it did, she got it under control quickly, leaving him with nothing more than a gentle smile and the fluttery feeling that he had made the right call.

With a gesture of her head, she turned gracefully and began towards the castle gardens, and he dutifully fell into step beside her.

Oh yeah. This was way better than having to stand through Public Council.

~~~

“Our kingdom boasts an idyllic, seasonable climate all year long, as you’ve no doubt noticed. Our summers are never too hot, and our winters are never too cold. That’s why the Mushroom Kingdom is the world’s foremost leader in power-up exports: this is among the few places where they can flourish in the wild year-round.”

Mario would never cease to marvel at Peach’s talent for making the mundane sound magical. She clasped her hands in front of her as she spoke, her brilliant bluebird eyes sparkling as she prattled off what should have been mildly interesting but otherwise unremarkable facts. Yet he was unable to tear his gaze from her face, and her every word stirred a powerful curiosity within him, her love for her kingdom radiating so strongly outward that he felt it just as deeply.

Tour Guide Mode, he had affectionately dubbed it. Peach had agreed that, should the whole “leader of a nation” position ever fall through, she would make a pretty good tour guide.

“That is to say,” she continued, looking back over to him, “freezes such as this only happen once every few years. For that reason, the first snow after a long stretch of more traditional weather is always declared a holiday.”

Mario chuckled dryly. “That would’ve been nice growing up. Me and Luigi, our mamma would have to drag us to school by the ear when it snowed. And even then, we’d spend all day staring out the window and daydreaming about being out there instead of cooped up inside.”

Peach reached out absently as they passed another snow-capped shrub, its frozen leaves rustling beneath her fingers. “Did it snow often in Brooklyn?”

“Pretty often, yeah. At least around this time of year.”

“Oh, how wonderful! I would love to see it for myself.” The fondness in Peach’s eyes grew more resplendent still, and Mario could feel himself blossoming beneath it, like a flower opening its blooms to the sunlight. A laugh bubbled in his chest.

“I promise you didn’t miss out on much, Princess. Brooklyn snow was always sludgy and gray. Kinda depressing, come to think of it.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.” At the next shrubbery, he blindly mirrored her actions, sweeping a pile of loosely-packed snow to the ground. “That’s why I had to book it this morning! We saw all this fluffy clean snow and ended up chasing each other around in our pajamas. We were neck-deep in the most intense snowball fight the Mushroom Kingdom’s ever seen when I realized what time it was.”

Peach giggled at this information, a gentle teeheehee that released tiny clouds of vapor into the air before her. “What fun! I’ve always wanted to be part of a snowball fight.”

Mario was more than prepared to continue, to draw more giggles from her with descriptions of two grown men all rosy-cheeked and dusted in snowflakes with icicles freezing from their nostrils — but he stumbled at her words.

“...You’ve never been in a snowball fight?”

Peach was only two steps ahead of him when she registered his absence, and she turned to face him where he’d frozen, her delighted grin growing a touch dour.

“Growing up, I was… encouraged to pour my energy into more productive pursuits,” she confessed. As Mario caught up, she steepled her fingers together and cast her gaze to the dense gray sky above them. “Toadsworth thought it unbecoming to dirty my dresses in the name of any game without clear rules. Better something more clear-cut like tennis or golf, he’d say. Keep the senses sharp.”

Her smile warmed once more in nostalgia, yet as she directed it towards him, he saw the slightest gloom beneath that glow. “There weren’t any children my age to rope into a good snowball fight, anyway. I’m happy to live vicariously through others! Oh, but enough of this gloomy tangent. Won’t you tell me more about the snow in Brooklyn? Come, come.”

Though as she resumed their walk, Mario remained where he was. The melancholy in her gaze… no. It was foolish, he tried to reason, thinking that someone so refined as Peach might be genuinely saddened by such a silly topic. But the heaviness that lingered in his heart implored him to give the thought consideration — and, above all, to do something about it.

Peach was his Princess, his charge in many respects, beautiful and composed and perfect… but she was still human. She was just as likely to long for life’s little pleasures as he was. And above all…

“You needn’t be so formal with me, you know,” she had told him only a few months earlier. “You are my friend.”

At the time, Mario had agreed, but was far too hesitant to accept her invitation. Now? For a few blissful and dangerous moments, he was finally able to internalize those words.

He was her friend, and she was his in return, his closest and most cherished friend. He watched her back as she strode forward, his knees bending and his hands scooping and shaping on their own. Just as he was charged to protect her, he felt compelled to humor and address and banish whatever childish sadness lingered within her. And honestly, what sort of friend would he be if let her miss out on such a commonplace tradition?

The notion that launching a projectile directly at a ruling monarch’s head was probably a bad idea didn’t hit him until said projectile left his hand, and by then, it was too late.

Peach squeaked on impact, nearly entangling herself in her own cape as she whipped around to face her attacker. And what could Mario do? He certainly couldn’t look away, not when she stared at him with such unbridled shock, a halo of snow still clinging to her hair. Color rose into her cheeks, but he couldn’t interpret the whirlwind of emotions that flickered across her face, and something told him he didn’t want to.

Oh, he’d done it. He’d really messed up.

“I’m— I’m so sorry!” What was he supposed to do now? Bow? Bowing sounded right. “That was improper,” he uttered sheepishly, bracing a fist over his sternum and bending at the waist and squeezing his eyes shut as if he could undo what he’d done if only he couldn’t see it. “I should— that’s not… I-I should be acting like—”

“Mario.”

Mario looked up immediately at the utterance of his name — and was promptly blinded by a flash of white.

He sputtered and swiped at his face, shocked into newfound alertness by the icy cold against his skin, and the most wonderful sound rang in his ears all the while: laughter. Peach’s laughter, tinkling and light. Shaking his head to clear the snow that still clung to his bangs and eyebrows and mustache (his cap falling to the ground in the process), he found, when his vision cleared, that she was giggling into her left hand, brushing the right against her skirt.

She had— she actually—

“Yeah,” Mario found himself saying before his brain caught up with him, “yeah, I deserved that.”

The color that flooded Peach’s face settled into a dusty pink, and as she closed the gap between them, Mario felt his own skin undergo a similar transformation. Some mix of relief and giddiness and the usual Peach-induced fluster kept him stuck where he stood, unable to do anything but blush and smile nervously.

“Don’t dish out anything you can’t handle being served in return.” Peach stooped elegantly, brushing the snow from Mario’s fallen cap before setting it back on his head. “Or, put simply: it’s on.”

“W-what—?”

Before the ringing in his ears cleared (and, indeed, before he even realized his ears were ringing), Peach fled from him, hiking her skirts and rushing ahead a good few meters before stooping once more to gather snow between her palms, and only then did Mario’s brain catch up with the rest of his body.

He threw himself to his knees in the knick of time, Peach’s second snowball zipping overhead. Taking advantage of his stupor, huh? Once more pulling his cap into place, a wicked grin spread across Mario’s face.

“Ah! Not so fast, Princess!” he called, fumbling hands forming a rushed retaliation. “You should know I’m a battle-hardened snowball fight warrior!”

The snowball he launched barely missed its target; Peach squeaked again, jumping clear of the attack, and then she was preparing her counterattack the moment her feet returned to the ground.

“Well, I’m far scarier than any warrior!” she called back. “I’m a politician!”

Thud! The attack hit Mario square in the left shoulder, and he cried in mock-pain, launching himself to his feet to make a show of stumbling around before jumping back into the action. And that was how the Princess of the Mushroom Kingdom and her guard spent the next twenty minutes: circling one another, flinging fistfuls of snow to and fro, and filling the chilled air with harmonious laughter.

~~~

The fireplace in Peach’s drawing room was… excessive, put one way, at least ten feet wide and six feet tall. Mario couldn’t help but keep a wary eye on it as he sipped his coffee. One gust of air and that fire would flash over and burn the whole castle down, he was certain of it.

“I suppose I’ll be getting an earful from Toadsworth tonight,” Peach sighed beside him. Mario chuckled regretfully; the old steward had immediately coaxed them inside upon crashing their game in progress, tutting in disapproval at their unkempt appearances and rambling on about the colds they would catch unless they settled in and warmed their bones immediately, “and I shouldn’t have to tell you that falling ill is the last thing we need for you, Princess.”

Even so, taking his leave after delivering their hot cocoa and black coffee some ten minutes later, Mario knew for a fact that he’d seen Toadsworth smile. An old and tired smile, with some odd nuance behind it that he couldn’t name, but a smile nonetheless.

“Just tell him I challenged your pride and it was all my fault,” he offered in the present moment. Then, with a wink, he joked: “He knows I’m a bad influence.”

“Yes, that’s just what I want: two of my favorite people butting heads for my sake.” Peach smiled over her cocoa in good humor, and Mario did his best to smile back just as evenly, but hearing her affections spoken so plainly (if indirectly) sent his heart into a stutter that made his hands feel suddenly weak. He tightened his grip on the mug in his grasp and swallowed thickly.

But if he intended to respond, the words died quickly on his tongue. The oversized fire illuminated Peach’s disheveled silhouette, frazzled strands sticking out all over her head, her bangs still slicked down with sweat, a downy blanket draped over her shoulders and obscuring her wrinkled and ever-so-slightly stained dress. But seated on the chase just inches away from him, she looked… happy. She hummed as she drank her cocoa, and the flames before them danced in her eyes, orange and red against cool blue, staggering in their brilliance yet serene all the same.

To see her so content wasn’t a surprise, not really. But something about the sight still left Mario short of breath.

Only when her gaze shifted towards him did he realize he was staring, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to look away. There was… there was love in her eyes, he realized not for the first time, a love she expressed towards him and him alone.

Though his heart could certainly hope, Mario knew deep down, or at least convinced himself he knew, that the love she felt for him wasn’t the same love he felt for her. But that made it no less sacred to him, and he knew he’d cherish her love in whatever form it took until the day he departed the earth.

Even so, an all too familiar ache seeped into his chest at the thought, more biting than any chill could ever be. Suddenly, the affection she graced him with felt unbearable. He looked back at the fireplace with an uneasy sigh.

“Mario?” He could hear her concern, soft but prodding, and Mario took the opportunity to finish his coffee and recompose himself. The bitterness of his drink dulled the unwelcome bitterness within him well enough for now.

“Honestly,” he said at last, staring down into his empty mug, “days like today… I wish they’d never end.”

Peach didn’t respond, not right away, and Mario worried at first that his melancholy smile might look a touch too melancholy. But finally she spoke, gentle and quiet and maybe just a bit sad: “I wish so too.”

#super mario bros #smb #mario #princess peach #mario x peach #mareach #peaches' fancy fics #peaches’ prodigious prompts #the comic that inspired this is like. THE representation of their mutual pining phase for me #there's an attempt at formality but at the end of the day they just cherish each other and want to make fun memories together #they mean everything to me your honor #sneaky link to a past fic in here too~

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dazaisfountainpen · 5 months

Text

Map of Athens

Marketplace (Agora)

Metalsmith / Dionysus Cafe / Clothier /

Central Athens

Vendor Stalls with various goods for sale:

The stalls are all bustling with activity – people coming and going, some merchants calling out to passersby, others loudly negotiating prices with customers.

There is a book merchant’s stall, dedicated to selling a variety of scrolls imported from Alexandria. Upon closer inspection, you can see that there is a range of everything from books on philosophy to books full of plays and poetry. The owner of the stall watches you with a friendly gaze, her smile stretching and moving the ink on her tattooed cheek. Unlike many of the merchants calling out to people passing by with baskets both empty and full, she doesn’t try pressuring you to buy anything.

Moving on, you pass a stall that startles you, but only for a moment. There are live chickens and rabbits in cages, and the stall is lined with pelts in what seem like every shape, size, and color. The man sitting on a stool there – presumably the owner of the stall – looks at you. He has pleasant eyes, but there is something about him that urges you to keep your feet moving.

You pause at the next stall, long enough to watch two soldiers pass by. Their demeanor appears leisurely as they stroll among the stalls, but you’ve been told that their job is to guard the city. You’re sure that their outward calm belies their readiness to leap into action if need be. They move out of sight, and you turn back to the stall in front of you. “Welcome!” The woman who addresses you wears a big, friendly smile. She is cutting thick slices of bread heavy with fruit and nuts. “It would be a shame not to enjoy it while it’s hot,” she explains at your look of confusion when she holds the slice out to you. “And if you like it, it means you might come back for more.”

Gulls cry out as they circle overhead. You know that the sea is not far; you can smell the salt in the air. “What’s the point in lookin’ if you don’t plan on buyin’?” She’s a little intimidating, the merchant you’ve happened upon next. Sinewy and tanned, she wears an eyepatch, and you wonder – silently – if she might be a pirate. Her stall showcases strings upon strings of salted fish. From the huge barrels placed around her area, you hear occasional splashing and surmise there are also live fish for sale.

You pause for a moment, taking it all in and contemplating the goods available for purchase.

Encounters

Once per group/session, you may roll a die to determine a background event.

(Click on the alt text for more information)

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andhumanslovedstories · 7 months

Note

hello this is kind of heavy and no pressure at all to answer. and apologies because im sure you must have answered this before. but do you go through like a pain management flow chart for your patients and if so what are some of the steps? my dad is having some medical issues and i want to be able to help him manage his pain as much as i can. thank you and enjoy wasteland!

I work in a hospital setting so my pain management care plan is part of an interdisciplinary team in that setting. It's relatively easy for me to get, say, IV pain meds for a patient with extreme breakthrough pain. I don't know how well my approach would translate outside of that setting, I'm not palliative care trained, and I don't personally deal with chronic or acute pain (which is why I'm answering this publicly so other people can chime in), but in broad strokes:

First: Define pain. What type of pain is it? Muscle pain? Indigestion? Neuropathy? Surgical site? Stiffness from lack of movement? Is part of the pain also the fear of the pain? Sometimes when pain has been bad for a long time, or even has been bad in a short-term but very notable way, the idea of hurting that bad again is traumatizing. That fear of pain can, unfortunately, make you focus more on the pain you're feeling because now it's not just the physical sensation of pain, it's also the psychological impact of it.

Then, how does the pain affect you? Is it stopping you from sleeping? Is it stopping you from eating? Is it making you short-tempered or depressed? Does it make it difficult to focus on things? Does it make you nauseated? Anxious? Isolated? Do you feel like you need to hide it from those who care about you?

Everything pain is and affects is a place where you can intervene. Some of these interventions will be very small and would, if they were the only intervention, feel completely inadequate. Pain relief is rarely "you do one thing and you're done." You're addressing pain on multiple fronts, and sometimes that doesn't mean your focus isn't just the reduction of pain but the restoration of what pain has taken away. It's possible the worst part of pain for you isn't the pain itself but, for example, the immobility it causes. Are there different ways you can learn to move? Can you get a grabber? Can you get a shower chair? Can you find physical therapy exercises that help you regain strength or stop you from deconditioning to the degree you're able? What mobility aids might restore movement to you?

And if returning mobility is not possible at this time or ever, how can you modify your environment to support you? Can you figure out what bothers you the most about that immobility and mitigate that? If it's annoying that not being able to leave bed makes you bored, what can be within arm's reach? If it's frustrating that being too painful to move means you feel isolated from other people, can you make wherever you are more central? If pain makes having your bed on the second floor unfeasible, can you move your bed to the first floor? How can you adapt the environment around you?

I'd encourage movement too, to the degree it is possible. Being in the same position HURTS. If it feels good to stretch but you can't do it by yourself, can someone help you with range of motion? (You can look up "passive range of motion" to get an idea of how to do that.) This doesn't need to be exercising, just exploring the joy of moving your body. Related to movement is physical touch. I love lotions and medicated creams for pain patients because you can turn them into massages. Just be careful with pressure and be open about what hurts and what feels good. At the most gentle end of the spectrum is something called the M Technique which isn't even massage, it's like guided gentle touch. Give the body something else to feel.

Different medications work better with different types of pain. This part is hard to talk about in general because of the specificity of some pain med regiments. Tylenol is great, but be cautious with how much you are taking (acetaminophen overdoses are no joke) and remember that there's a point where more tylenol doesn't mean more pain relief. Opioids are great, but they can be very dangerous and aren't well-indicated for a lot of types of chronic pain. Even if opioids work best, I'd encourage you to be working on pain reduction on multiple fronts, as opioids are so controlled, it is easy to lose access to them. If opioids give you enough pain relief to do physical therapy, then make sure to do that physical therapy. Medications are amazing and I love them and I give out PRNs like crazy, but similarly to how I can't just take my depression meds and stop being depressed, pain medication works best in conjunction with other strategies. Those other strategies though can literally be something like "tramadol takes away the pain enough I can focus on something, and what I want to do with that focus is to watch a movie I've been meaning to rewatch for a while now but haven't had the spoons for." Sometimes all you will want to do when you get pain meds is sleep because you can't when you're hurting. Sleep is wonderful; how can you arrange your sleeping place and habits to make sleeping even more of a delight?

And if you find a medication that works, use it consistently. It is always easy to keep pain level than it is to address a pain spike. Don't wait until symptoms are at their worst to address them. Figure out what it feels like when your symptoms are ramping up, and intervene early.

Sometimes medications that aren't explicitly for pain can still help. If anxiety makes pain worse, consider an anxiety medication. If coughing hurts, can you get a numbing spray from your throat to make it less sensitive so you cough less?

I don't know how useful this is to you and your family. Hopefully it's at least something to think about. Think about palliative care (which is about the management of symptoms of illnesses rather than the treatment of illnesses) as not just taking away bad sensations but restoring good ones. You can't always get someone to a place with no pain. But what can you do to enhance life in the presence of that pain? There is a psychological aspect to pain, it's a parasite that drains you and makes you feel like you are nothing but a body that hurts and won't stop hurting. I want to make clear, I'm not saying pain is only in your mind. Bone mets and nerve pain exist whether you're cheerful about it or not. But pain doesn't have to mean suffering, it doesn't have to take away the things that make you you. Address pain through medication and therapies, but also remember that protecting, promoting, and prioritizing the parts of yourself that you most value and give you the most joy will help give your life so much substance that pain can't rob it all. You aren't doing one big thing. You are doing a thousand small things that make life easier, better, more suited to yourself and your abilities, and more aligned with the parts of life that you that give your life meaning.

(And a note in particular for being the family member of someone in pain--ultimately, they are going through this alone. It is their body. What can you make smoother for them? How can you protect their dignity and their privacy without making them feel abandoned or alone? How can you make it so your reaction to their pain is not part of their burden? Like for the six hundred other hypothetical questions in this endless post, the answers will be highly personal and will take time to figure out. Be patient and calm.)

#nursing tag #oops! sorry! it’s an essay with I think no definite answers for you #and also an extrapolation of my in hospital work and my home health work #long post

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reikorun · 2 months

Text

KlubOutside Q&A 501-600 [Translation]

Translated by @reikorun

Q501.

2023.08.14

How old is Riruka? (At the time of the Lost Agent of the Shinigami arc.)

A501.

She's 15 years old.

Q502.

2023.08.14

Sensei, when drawing manga, do you pretend to be the central character at that moment, before drawing? Or do you always maintain an objective perspective?

A502.

Rather than getting into the role of the character, I draw them as if they were right in front of me. When I try to fully embody a character, I feel that the range of the character narrows because there are limits to my own perception.

Q503.

2023.08.21

Why is it called "Karakura Town"?

A503.

The name comes from the mental image of an empty body with a missing soul (in other words, a corpse).

Q504.

2023.08.21

Among the Shinigami, there are some who hide the abilities of their own Zanpakutō, and there are some who remain silent about the fact that they can perform Bankai, but aren't there any rules that require them to declare this information?

A504.

Of course, they have an obligation to report on these things.

Q505.

2023.08.21

With respect to BLEACH, I get the impression that there are few explanations of the situation or a character's abilities which resemble a 'voice from above'. Is there something you're particular about with regard to this aspect?

A505.

I feel like it kills the immersion so I make an effort to avoid using it. Though, I don't particularly dislike this aspect when it comes to reading.

Q506.

2023.08.28

I love the Visored! While there may be differences in the balance of mastery or ineptitude over the Zankensoki, strictly speaking, who is the strongest among those eight when it comes to battle? If the ability of the Zanpakutō is direct attack type, I somehow feel that the user may not have an aptitude for Kidō too, so I would be glad if you could also tell me who is the most adept at Kidō, putting aside Hacchi!

A506.

If we take "adept at Kidō" to mean "a wide range of Kidō variations can be used" then after Haachi, it's Rose. As for who the strongest is, that's hard to say because it depends on the conditions.

Q507.

2023.08.28

How did the Visored previously make a living? Also, Hiyori has a part-time job, but are Love and Hacchi working too?

A507.

Hacchi collaborates with Tessai to develop Kidō goods for use in the Soul Society. Love works part-time at a second hand clothes store.

Q508.

2023.08.28

What specific tasks does Kubo-sensei do when taking on the role of "supervisor" for things like Brave Souls, movies, anime, etc.? For things like Brave Souls, do you check and make corrections to the designs that have been submitted to you?

A508.

The degree of supervision varies depending on the case, and that's the way it is for Brave Souls too.

Q509.

2023.09.04

It was explained within the story that Zaraki Kenpachi took a sword from a Shinigami, but if the Shinigami who had their sword taken were still alive and had achieved Shikai and Bankai, would they end up having a similar ability to Zaraki's Nozarashi?

A509.

That wouldn't happen. Abilities can be overwritten prior to Shikai acquisition (and depending on the person, even after its acquisition).

Q510.

2023.09.04

Rukia and Renji are a working couple, but did Ichika go to nursery school or a daycare center when she was very young, prior to entering the Shin'ō Academy?

A510.

Even though they both took childcare leave, several nannies dispatched by the Kuchiki clan were always stationed at the Abarai residence.

Q511.

2023.09.04

Is the marriage rate low for the Captains and Vice-Captains of the Gotei 13? Are there any Captain class Shinigami we don't know about who are actually married?

A511.

There is no one among the current members. I feel like there aren't many among that lot who seem capable of maintaining a married life….

Q512.

2023.09.11

Previously, in response to a question about the names of Hollows, you answered that "there is a person in charge of naming them", but do they name each Hollow one by one? Or are these names only given to Hollows who have murdered Shinigami, or caused a great deal of damage to the Human World

A512.

It's the latter. Other Hollows are assigned numbers and such based on what is captured.

Q513.

2023.09.11

About Unagiya Kaoru, he is the son of Unagiya Ikumi and who else? My personal prediction is that it's Tsukishima-san!

A513.

What a frightening prospect.

Q514.

2023.09.11

Are all the artwork which appear in Guidelines on KlubOutside drawn by Kubo-sensei while your assistants draw the background and other elements?

A514.

That's right. Characters, drawn lettering and effects are my job, while the background, motion lines and screentones are my assistant's job. I thought that if I continued drawing the motion lines by hand, I wouldn't be able to finish the whole piece so halfway through the series I decided to hand that over to my assistants.

Q515.

2023.09.18

It is mentioned that Urahara created his healing hot springs by imitating Kirinji's baths, but do these baths still remain in Soul Society? Or did he go to the Soul King Palace and analyze them?

A515.

A few still remain in a remote area of Rukongai.

Q516.

2023.09.18

Why does Bakudō #81. "Dankū" possess the anti-Hadō capability to "completely block Hadō numbered 89 and below"? Hadō is meant to be used by fellow Shinigami, in other words, by allies, therefore the anti-Hadō capability is presumably based on the premise of defending against attacks from allies. I speculate that in the past, Shinigami who were skilled in Hadō numbered 89 and below had turned hostile, so Dankū was created as a countermeasure to that.

A516.

That's a good guess.

Q517.

2023.09.18

Why does Orihime call Grimmjow "Grimmjow" but Ulquiorra "Ulquiorra-kun"?

A517.

That's because the atmosphere on their first meeting was not one where she was able to address Grimmjow with the -kun honorific. Though, I also think Ulquiorra is the same in that regard.

Q518.

2023.09.18

Please tell us the gender of Nianzol Weizol.

A518.

You'll know when you hear his voice in the anime, but he's a man.

Q519.

2023.09.25

Are the attack methods which utilize Gintō and the Medallion chant used by Ebern all techniques which are classified as "Kirchenlied"?

A519.

"Kirchenlied" is the equivalent of a Shinigami's "Kidō", therefore that is the case for most techniques which correspond to a spell.

Q520.

2023.09.25

Does Driscoll's Overkill become stronger based on the number of people killed from the time he received his Schrift to now? Or does the buff expire at the end of the battle or some other point?

A520.

The buff is removed by sleeping, eating, or loss of consciousness.

Q521.

2023.09.25

Are there any characters among the BLEACH cast who wear perfume, or has an image of their scent been decided upon in Kubo-sensei's mind? Recently, perfumes and fragrances that capture the image of one's favorite character or idol have been released regardless of whether they are fictional or real, so I wonder if we'll get some released out of the BLEACH universe as well.

A521.

I've been asked quite frequently to release perfume, so I'm starting to think it might be nice to do so. I don't use perfumes but sometimes I'll buy them when I want the bottle….

Q522.

2023.10.02

Nimaiya Ōetsu makes the Asauchi, but did he create them with Shikai and Bankai in mind from the very outset? Or did he realize that the shape and properties of the swords changed with each individual as they used it, and that phenomenon was then given the name Shikai and Bankai by the Monk?

A522.

That is the correct order of events.

Q523.

2023.10.02

Shishigawara-kun's Fullbring "Jackpot Knuckle" has a characteristic where the probability of hitting the jackpot ends up decreasing with continuous use, but will the probability of a jackpot be restored once it has already been decreased? If it does, I would also like to know what the conditions are.

A523.

There is a gradual recovery from misfortune (taking damage, etc.) Full recovery occurs when crossing over to the next day at midnight.

Q524.

2023.10.02

When did Hirako Shinji get his tongue pierced? It wasn't pierced during The Past arc, was it…?

A524.

I always forget to draw it, so I may not even include it anymore.

Q525.

2023.10.09

Is the hierarchy of strength for the Bambies: Liltotto > Giselle > Meninas > Bambi > Candice?

A525.

If they engage in battle with Blut, then that's probably the order. If it's a bare-handed fight then it's: Liltotto → Meninas → Candice → Gigi → Bambi.

Q526.

2023.10.09

Vice-Captain Madarame comes from a distinguished family, but what about 3rd seat Ayasegawa?

A526.

Yumichika was an abandoned child from Rukongai.

Q527.

2023.10.09

When I look at Rickenbacker, I get a buddy-like vibe and at the same time a faint sense of some maternal quality, but do Dragons even have things like gender?

A527.

They do. By the way, Rickenbacker is male.

Q528.

2023.10.16

The Kōtotsu was completely destroyed by Aizen, but after that, didn't any problems arise within the Dangai? Are there multiple Kōtotsu, or perhaps it was restored through a self-purification function or something?

A528.

It will be restored within the next seven days.

Q529.

2023.10.16

Urahara-san runs a small-time candy shop in the Human World, but is there some specific reason why he chose to open up a candy shop?

A529.

It's because Kisuke thought that candy shops were the best in that he could open and close the shop as he pleases, and even if he stocks strange items, it's harder to suspect anything is out of the ordinary.

Q530.

2023.10.16

Will there not be a BLEACH themed pachinko machine released? I'm just allowing myself to imagine that the staging effects and so on would be so fun, LOL.

A530.

There are no such plans, but the staging aspect certainly sounds entertaining. ×[1]

Q531.

2023.10.23

When Ichigo wears his sword, he carries Zangetsu on his back, but how is it held in place?

A531.

The sash on the hilt is wrapped around the chain along with the blade.

Q532.

2023.10.23

Is Yukio unmarried in the Echoing Jaws of Hell arc?

A532.

He's unmarried. It doesn't seem very likely that he'll marry….

Q533.

2023.10.23

When I was looking at the art of BLEACH, I got the impression of ballet movements, like the way in which characters use the tips of their toes and the lower half of their bodies. Sensei, do you ever watch ballet?

A533.

I sometimes watch Lausanne on TV, but I'm not very familiar with it. If anything, I suppose the sharp-tongued humor is the thing that I find interesting to watch.

Q534.

2023.10.30

Kotetsu Kiyone and Kotsubaki Sentarō share the same birthday, are they twins related by blood?

A534.

They're unrelated, but every year, they were made to sit side-by-side by Ukitake and celebrate their birthdays together.

Q535.

2023.10.30

How do Arrancar acquire a Zanpakutō? Do their broken mask pieces transform into Zanpakutō after they become Arrancar?

A535.

I'll tell you because I don't particularly feel like drawing it, but the torn part of the mask becomes the sword. So you are correct.

Q536.

2023.10.30

During the Quincy invasion, Mayuri modified his room and clothes to make them glow so that they wouldn't cast shadows, but wouldn't a shadow be created in Nemu's cleavage if left like that? This is a serious question.

A536.

Now that you mention it, that's true…. I should have placed a glow stick or something between her breasts.

Q537.

2023.11.06

How did you feel when BLEACH was parodied in Gintama?

A537.

When we first met, I was the one who told Sorachi-san "you can do whatever you want"…. Yet, he still apologized to me.

Q538.

2023.11.06

Is Hikifune Kirio-san's Tree of Life based on a similar principle to Kidō?

A538.

It's similar, but since it can only be used by one individual, I guess it's something closer to Ganju's Seppa….

Q539.

2023.11.06

Findorr Calius adjusted his own strength by breaking his mask, but is it also possible to restore his broken mask and strength back to their original state.

A539.

It's possible. Even if it's left alone, it will gradually return to its original state. It's kind of like an injury.

Q540.

2023.11.13

My prized possession is a copy of KaraBuri+ which I bought when I was in the 6th or 5th grade. Would you consider composing something like another official spin-off that is drawn in a light-hearted and humorous manner? I even saw something similar to a Hueco Mundo version of KaraBuri once!

A540.

If other people have drawn something interesting, I'd also like to see it.

Q541.

2023.11.13

I have a question about Ayon and Orihime's abilities! After creating Ayon, if the arms of Apacci and the others were healed via Orihime's powers, could something like an 'Ayon duplication bug' occur? If the arms of the three individuals who create Ayon are restored through Orihime's abilities, would Ayon also disappear? It's just a hypothetical scenario, but I'm intrigued.

A541.

If the bodies of Apacci and co. can endure the rapid continuous regeneration process, a duplication bug is possible.

Q542.

2023.11.13

I was curious about the differences in size between Minazuki's first appearance, published in volume 18, and the time they landed on Sōkyoku Hill, published in volume 21. Can Minazuki's size be changed at will? Or did they become smaller as a result of the lifesaving measures Unohana gave Hitsugaya and Hinamori at the Seijōtōkyorin? (*The enclave where the Central 46 reside.)

A542.

The size can vary considerably. The smallest size is around the size of a puppy.

Q543.

2023.11.20

I totally want the shoes that Rabu is wearing in the new artwork (color version) from the art exhibition. They're exceedingly stylish, are there any plans to turn them into merch in the future!!!!?

A543.

I love shoes, so I'd be happy if merchandise in the form of shoes that a character is seen wearing could be sold, but I wonder if that can happen.

Q544.

2023.11.20

Quilge Opie used Ransōtengai, but no other Quincy were seen utilizing this technique. Is this simply because Quilge Opie has both the talent and understanding, and has therefore mastered Ransōtengai?

A544.

That's right. Quilge is the combat instructor of the Sternritter, and Quilge's students can also be found among the current Wörtlich.

Q545.

2023.11.20

Gin's Bankai, Kamishini no Yari, had the ability to leave a piece of the sword within the body of his opponent, and then dissolve and break down cells with the poison inside the sword, but will the part that was lost through this process never return to its original state again just like other Bankai? Also, assuming it doesn't return, if this ability is used frequently, will the blade eventually be reduced to nothing meaning his Bankai is rendered unusable?

A545.

The part left inside the body is made of poison, and since the poison is a secretion of the sword, it will return to its original state after a certain amount of time.

Q546.

2023.11.27

Each Division among the Gotei 13 has its own Squad Flower and a set meaning within Hanakotoba (*the Japanese language of flowers), but are there opportunities to study Hanakotoba as part of a Shinigami's cultivation at the Academy, for instance? (I was curious because there was a scene in chapter 323 where Kira talked about the 3rd Division's Squad Flower.)

A546.

They learn about the Squad Flowers, but Izuru seems to be well-acquainted with things like Hanakotoba in a general sense.

Q547.

2023.11.27

Are there any characters that you wanted to present as enemies even though they are allies, and are there any characters where the reverse is true?

A547.

There isn't any. Each character can only come to fit into their role because of the relationship they have with those around them.

Q548.

2023.11.27

Before the establishment of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute, was there no research institution in Soul Society?

A548.

At one point, there was a group who, though unofficial, were close in that regard (in the sense that they created things). That group disappeared and there was a period of time where no similar organization existed. What was formally established after that is the Shinigami Research and Development Institute. Mayuri belonged to the first group. Senjumaru was their leader.

Q549.

2023.12.04

It is explained in the manga that Lloyd R, the younger brother, can imitate physical likeness and memories, but why is he able to use Yhwach's abilities and weapons? Please tell us if he inherited his elder brother's ability, or if Yhwach granted him some of his own power, or perhaps there is some other reason?

A549.

Each Lloyd brother can either 'perfectly' copy memories, or 'perfectly' copy powers respectively, any aspect outside of that can be copied on a scale of 70-80%. This is because being able to copy only memories or only powers is of little use.

Q550.

2023.12.04

Do you have a PS5?

A550.

I don't have one.

Q551.

2023.12.04

What are the future plans for the floor of the 9th Division barracks which Mayuri destroyed with his eye beam in the one-shot? Will Hisagi and Kensei pay for the repairs?

A551.

They'll submit the bill to the 12th Division, and if that does work, they'll submit the bill to the 1st Division, and if that still doesn't work, then one way or another Shūhei will probably end up paying for it.

Q552.

2023.12.11

Who is the President of the Shinigami Women's Association by the time of the Echoing Jaws of Hell arc? I think the President is Lisa and the Supervising Chairwoman is Isane….

A552.

The President is Rangiku and the Chairwoman is Yoruichi. By the way, Soifon calls herself Vice-Chairwoman without asking anyone.

Q553.

2023.12.11

Is the aspect of death governed by the Espada the same for different people, as long as they have the same number, like Harribel and Nelliel, for instance? If it's different, I'd like to know what it was for Nelliel when she was an Espada!

A553.

It's the same. Nelliel is also "sacrifice".

Q554.

2023.12.11

Q: Does sensei have an ability to sense the supernatural?

Q: When I read Bleach for the first time, I allowed myself to think “the author definitely has a sixth sense!" But do you really?

A554.

I don't. But I've been told a few times "you must have a sixth sense, for sure!" But, I don't.

Q555.

2023.12.18

Thank you for the wonderful posters at the art exhibition. I bought both the A and B collection. If the posters will be expanded on in the future, will the designs from the Shibuya poster takeover be made into merch? It was super cool and I was walking around Shibuya at the time while becoming all the more proud that BLEACH is my favorite manga. If there is even the slightest possibility, please consider it...!!

A555.

I like those posters too, so I'm hoping they'll sell well in the FC.

Q556.

2023.12.18

Does the blade grow as a Zanpakutō develops?

A556.

The length of an Asauchi does not change, however when Shikai is used it will change in accordance with its development.

Q557.

2023.12.18

Is there some special relationship between the Komamura family and the Shihōin clan in BLEACH given that they are dogs and cats?

A557.

"Komamura" is the surname given to him when he was taken in by Genryūsai, it is not associated with his family lineage.

Q558.

2023.12.25

Were Yumichika and Yachiru's hair ornaments (or other accessories) made by Ikkaku?

A558.

Yachiru's hair ornament is handcrafted by Ikkaku. Yumichika bought his accessories himself.

Q559.

2023.12.25

Did Mizuiro's parents pay for his high school tuition?

A559.

It was paid for with child-support payments from his father.

Q560.

2023.12.25

Does the position of Substitute Shinigami come without compensation? Do you gain some sort of reward? Ichigo is a high school student and doesn't seem the type to accept rewards as far as his personality is concerned, but I'm curious if there has ever been any offer of reward from the Gotei! I think other Shinigami fight while receiving a salary and incentives as part of their job, so I'd like to know how the Gotei's substitute positions are handled.

A560.

In the beginning, the position was without reward. After receiving the Substitute Badge, it's now come to be that a reward will be deposited within a Seireitei account. Ichigo hasn't been informed though.

Q561.

2024.01.01

Will sensei be eating osechi* during New Year's? (*Assortment of traditional New Year foods.)

A561.

I eat it every year. Currently, I'm in the process of searching for osechi that suits my tastes. After all, you only get one chance a year. If only we had a New Year holiday like three times a year.

Q562.

2024.01.01

When Don Kanonji first appeared, he was performing an exorcism at an abandoned hospital, was it Ishida who tried to stop Kanonji's exorcism at the beginning?

A562.

Yes.

Q563.

2024.01.01

I noticed something in the Echoing Jaws of Hell arc section of BLEACH EX. the "Taka" (*hawk) which came out with Rindō Atau's Zanpakutō ability was "Washi" (*eagle) in the rough draft, right? What was the reason for the change? Is it because the hawk seems faster…?

A563.

I believe this was because eagle in sign language is the same as hawk and was derived from hawk to begin with, and also because hawks have a stronger Japanese image.

Q564.

2024.01.08

Ayon ended up being defeated both times in the story, but let's assume he wasn't defeated, would he continue to exist forever…? If so, that would be awfully frightening. I'm curious about what he got up to when summoned in the past!

A564.

After a short while, he will self-destruct, and not long after that, the arms of Apacci and the others will grow back.

Q565.

2024.01.08

Due to the actions of PePe Waccabrada, Shūhei and Byakuya fought each other, but Byakuya behaved as if he were trying to avoid hurting Shūhei as much as possible. Personally, I think that Byakuya before he met Ichigo would have killed Shūhei. It might be presumptuous of me to talk about Byakuya like I understand him, but as I read on, I feel that Byakuya's views and personality have changed. What do you think?

A565.

I think you're right.

Q566.

2024.01.08

What time does sensei wake up every morning?

A566.

I've been quite busy lately, so ten o'clock. I can't even watch Love It! in real time anymore….

Q567.

2024.01.15

Was it because her five older brothers had passed away that Soi Fon succeeded as the head of Fon family? Or is there some kind of custom where a woman always becomes the head in the Fon family like a "queen bee".

A567.

The strongest person in that generation becomes the head of the family, regardless of gender.

Q568.

2024.01.15

I would like to know the Shikai abilities of the three seated officers of the 3rd Division who were instantly killed by Bazz-B in volume 56!

A568.

Those abilities which never got a chance to be showcased are a secret because I may use them somewhere else.

Q569.

2024.01.15

Kubo-sensei, you mentioned that you draw illustrations on the larger iPad pro, so I also want to try an iPad for the first time, but looking back do you ever feel like… there is something about it that could have been done better? Additionally, I would like to hear about the types of brushes you use in Clip Studio Paint when line drawing and when adding color, and also how you divide your drawing into layers!!!!

A569.

I hope it becomes lighter. As for pens, I often use a pen called Kasure Kashi (*machine translated as “Casper pen” in Clip Studio) and for brushes I use one called Muk01. I separate the layers depending on my mood.

Q570.

2024.01.22

I would like to know the name of the technique that was used when Kirinji Tenjirō got behind Soi Fon. Although she's supposed to have top-class speed among the Gotei 13, Soi Fon couldn't read his movements at all, thinking "what was that move just now…!" Is this because the Hohō used by Kirinji Tenjirō was not "Shunpo"?

A570.

It's the same Shunpo. Shunpo consists of a three stage process: Joritsu, Bakkyaku and Shunpo. Tenjirō is incredibly skilled at the second stage, "Bakkyaku", which allows him to achieve unbelievable speeds. ×[2]

Q571.

2024.01.22

Can't Orihime heal Izuru's body?

A571.

She may be able to heal him, but Izuru probably likes it that way….

Q572.

2024.01.22

Did sensei have any involvement in selecting the songs and characters for Burikon: Bleach Concept Covers? Also, is there one in particular that you liked among the Burikon covers?

A572.

I wasn't involved at all, but I remember liking Mayuri and Nemu's part.

Q573.

2024.01.29

What material is the Substitute Shinigami Badge made of? I want to make one myself as perfectly as I possibly can, so please tell me what it would look like in reality!

A573.

The Substitute's Badge is made of metal. Iron would be too heavy for something of that size, so maybe aluminum would be a closer fit…?

Q574.

2024.01.29

Does Ise Nanao wear glasses because her eyesight has deteriorated by reading too many books? Or is it that the Ise clan are by nature a family with poor eyesight?

A574.

It's a family with poor eyesight.

Q575.

2024.01.29

In volume 62, Urahara-san mentioned that the Quincy are "a race that have no 'antibodies' at all to defend against Hollows." However, Ishida Uryū was at the receiving end of Fornicarás's abilities during his battle with Szayelaporro, and he had his lower arm torn off by Ulquiorra. Was this at a level that is not applicable to the "erosion" that Urahara-san talks about? Or is Uryū special?

A575.

Uryū is special.

Q576.

2024.02.05

Why does Akon have horns on his head?

A576.

They're implants (transdermal implants).

Q577.

2024.02.05

Dordoni, Cirucci, Luppi and Chuhlhourne were all revived at the hands of Mayuri-sama, but while the former three had suture marks on their faces, Chuhlhourne is the only one who had suture marks on his abdomen, is this perhaps the benevolence of Mayuri-sama?

A577.

I too looked at and thought "who knew Mayuri could be so kind!"

Q578.

2024.02.05

In the scene where Ichigo is taught the Final Getsuga Tenshō by Tensa Zangetsu, Ichigo is told "you feared taking on this form in which your mind is suppressed by your own destructive impulses, and as a result you've even become incapable of properly Hollowfying." However, if he were able to Hollowfy properly, would he have been able to manifest the mask with horns that covered his entire face as shown in the battle against Ulquiorra?

A578.

If he were able to "properly" Hollowfy, then he would take on that form.

Q579.

2024.02.12

While in the Dangai, what mechanism did Ulquiorra use to show Orihime the situation in the Human World as images via Garganta?

A579.

There's no lore about this at all!! What kind of system is it!? Ulquiorra!!?

Q580.

2024.02.12

Among the spirits of her Shun Shun Rikka, the ability belonging to Orihime, Tsubaki is the only one who is rebellious towards his master. Is that a reaction stemming from Orihime's dislike of conflict and hurting others given her personality? Tsubaki is her only means of attack, but Orihime does not want to use him too actively. Deep down, she hesitates (fears) to attack her opponent, that is, she unconsciously rejects her means of attack, which contradicts the reason for Tsubaki's existence, and I thought for a moment that maybe he was irritated by that fact.

A580.

That's correct. How impressive, I didn't expect someone to read so deeply into Rikka like this.

Q581.

2024.02.12

Regarding Orihime's ability, Shun Shun Rikka: Sōten Kisshun, it is weak at recovering Reiryoku because Sōten Kisshun is based on the rejection of events and Orihime rejects the form of a wounded individual, in other words, the underlying force is her desire to restore their condition to its original state, to make it out as though it never happened, could another reason be that it's difficult for her to recognize how much intangible Reiryoku needs to be recovered? Is it that Shun Shun Rikka's abilities come from Orihime's own feelings of rejection and denial, or to put it another way, does it stem from wanting things to be a certain way?

A581.

You are more or less correct. The things that can be restored with Sōten Kisshun are, for the most part, what is visible to the eyes and what can be touched with the hands.

Q582.

2024.02.19

Kubo-sensei, is there a character in BLEACH that you consider to be closest to you in terms of your own personality?

A582.

There isn't. No one that I draw resembles me!

Q583.

2024.02.19

When Kūkaku sends Ichigo to the Soul King Palace in the Thousand-Year Blood War arc, she appears to be aware of the connection between Ichigo and Isshin saying "even if it means making uncle sad." Did Kūkaku somehow sense this, or was there some interaction between her and the Shiba clan or Shinigami she was acquainted with in places that are not depicted within the story, after the situation with Aizen was resolved, for instance?

A583.

Kūkaku has been aware of this through Ichigo's Reiatsu since the beginning (volume 9). That's why she let Ganju go with him. Of course, she also received a message from Kisuke at a later time.

Q584.

2024.02.19

The masks of Loly Aivirrne and Menoly Mallia appear to have a design that forms a pair with the left and right eyes, perhaps they are Arrancar with a relationship like that of twin sisters?

A584.

Although these two are not sisters, they have taken a sisterly vow and shaved down their masks in order to resemble each other.

Q585.

2024.02.26

I believe there are works which publish illustrations drawn by readers in the tankōbon of the manga. Bleach didn't have that, but is it that you have a certain preference towards your own tankōbon, Kubo-sensei?

A585.

As a child, I was the type of kid who thought "I didn't buy this to see drawings from readers" when looking at the illustration segment of the manga I used to read, so I didn't do it with my own manga. However, I have kept all the illustrations that were sent to me during the series.

Q586.

2024.02.26

The Captains of the Zero Division are each given one of the five cities atop the Zeroban Riden (*the disc-like structures which are their estates), but if the number of Zero Division captains increased, will a new Zeroban Riden be added? Or is the capacity for Captains limited to 5 individuals in accordance with the number of Zeroban Riden?

A586.

The upper limit is 5 people.

Q587.

2024.02.26

What does the "chain" in Tensa Zangetsu (*Heavenly Chain Slaying Moon) represent? Is it the Chain of Fate?

A587.

"Tensa" means "to lock the heavens", and it's a chain used to link and secure two things together.

Q588.

2024.03.04

What material is the black part of Riruka's clothes made of?

A588.

It's stretch cotton.

Q589.

2024.03.04

I would like to know the nationality of the Sternritter!!!

A589.

In order to avoid a fixed nationality for the group as a whole, I name them in a way which appears to contain spellings from various regions.

Q590.

2024.03.04

In what way did Yamamoto and Unohana come to meet?

A590.

I might draw it someday, so it's a secret.

Q591.

2024.03.11

In his KaraBuri profile, it is noted that the food Hisagi dislikes is sea urchin, but where did he eat it? Or perhaps he came to dislike it because he was teased about the fact that his hairstyle resembles a sea urchin?

A591.

He ruined it for himself after eating the cheap sea urchin he could afford on his salary.

Q592.

2024.03.11

When Rangiku woke up from Hakufuku, she said "this sensation… it's Hakufuku…" I don't think there were many instances of fellow Shinigami fighting each other in Soul Society before Aizen's rebellion, so it seems unlikely she'd recognize the sensation of being put under Hakufuku. Could it be that she is acquainted with the feeling because Shinigami experience it during their time at the Shin'ō Academy in Kidō classes?

A592.

They experience this in class, but Rangiku also has the experience of falling victim to it.

Q593.

2024.03.11

In the Thousand-Year Blood War arc, I believe Captain Komamura takes on a human-like form through the Humanization Technique, however, did he suddenly turn into a wolf after the battle because the technique's time limit had expired? Or is it because Captain Komamura himself was consumed by a desire for revenge? If the reason is the latter, is it correct to assume that as long as Komamura had maintained good intentions such as "protecting Soul Society", he wouldn't have turned into a wolf?

A593.

You are pretty much correct. The "Humanization Technique" is a technique that allows him to maintain a human form while withstanding his great-grandfather's curse. The moment the purpose of Humanization becomes a selfish desire, the curse is forcibly fulfilled, and one transforms into a beast.

Q594.

2024.03.18

No matter how many times I read the manga, I still don't quite understand the relationship between Nelliel and Nnoitra. I would like you to explain it in a way that even an idiot can understand.

A594.

Even if you don't understand, it doesn't mean you're stupid. Just enjoy it when you do understand.

Q595.

2024.03.18

If "Qualkreis" is broadly classified as a Quincy tactic, could it also be considered one of the Kirchenlied? Please let me know if there is any lore around this.

A595.

"Qualkreis" is one of the Quincy spells. "Kirchenlied" is not a classification, but a "chant" for "Sankt Zwinger".

Q596.

2024.03.18

During the Decisive Battle of Karakura Town, is it because of an illusion created by Kyōka Suigetsu that Mashiro's mask broke away without her noticing the depletion of her own Reiatsu?

A596.

It's because Mashiro is just that kind of person who would allow a slip-up like that to happen.

Q597.

2024.03.25

Izuru was quite cheerful during his student days, so why did his personality become gloomy?

A597.

Wait, he was cheerful…? Izuru has been gloomy since the minute he was born.

Q598.

2024.03.25

Captain Unohana named herself "Yachiru", but her current name "Retsu", is that originally her real name? Or is it that, after becoming "Yachiru", she named herself once again, this time to "Retsu"?

A598.

"Retsu" is the name given to her by her father.

Q599.

2024.03.25

After absorbing Ayon, Quilge's appearance steadily returns to its original form, but could this be because his Heiligenschein was destroyed by Ichigo, causing the abilities of his Vollständig to gradually wear off?

A599.

It's because his Heiligenschein was destroyed and thus his "Piskiel" collapsed. The essence of Quilge's "Piskiel" ability lies in the fact that he has the highest capacity for the capture and enslavement of Reishi among all Quincy.

Q600.

2024.04.01

I'm debating whether or not I should have my son take lessons in English conversation. Is sensei able to speak English?

A600.

Since being able to speak English is an advantage, please allow him to learn it. I can't speak it myself, though.

Translation Footnotes:

×1. Staging in this context means staging of the frenzied screen/sound effects of the roulette for stirring up the gambling spirit of players.

×2. These are terms which appear to be coined by Kubo: 序立(じょりつ) - "Joritsu" means "opening stance". 抜脚(ばっ��ゃく) - "Bakkyaku" means "to draw out one's leg", and judging by the way we use 抜 in other terms, it alludes momentum that is created suddenly and rapidly by lifting or drawing out one's leg from the starting position. For example: the word Battōjutsu (抜刀術) - “the art of drawing out one's sword”, that is, getting the sword into action as quickly as possible in response to a sudden attack or some other situation which requires the rapid drawing of one's sword. I believe Bakkyaku is a similar concept except in the context of Hohō as opposed to swords.

121 notes · View notes

thorsenmark · 5 months

Video

flickr

Peaks of the Sawback Range (Black & White) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: A roadside pulloff along Trans-Canada Highway 1 with a view looking to the northeast. There was nothing specific in this image that drew me in; it was just the general look of the entire setting with the nearby hillside of trees and then snowcapped mountain peaks off in the distance with blue skies above. One of the peaks I was able to identify was The Finger in image middle left. I found converting to Black & White also brought out a much richer total contrast in not just the rocks of the mountain peaks but also with the nearby evergreen trees.

8 notes · View notes

outofgloom · 5 months

Text

EYES

The first thing you noticed was that the sand of Karda was not like the sand from Outside, beyond the gate. It was all grains of pulverized crystal. It crunched beneath your feet and the feet of your companions as you marched along the track which wove between the many dunes.

Ahead, the fore-Matoran stopped beside a stone marker and signaled a halt. The fore shaded his eyes against the diffuse light in the sky ahead and looked further down the track into the great shallow bowl of Karda.

“We are near,” he said, moving back up the path now and opening his pack. “Align yourselves and remove your masks.”

Everyone complied, bracing against the wave of weakness which followed mask-removal. The fore-Matoran went down the line and placed a semi-transparent object into the visor of each mask, indicating to replace the mask afterward.

When he reached you, you asked: “What is its purpose?”

“Unknown,” the fore said. “Replace your mask.”

You complied. It was a lens of some kind, covering your eyes. Perhaps a dust-shield. You got used to it quickly, like it wasn’t even there.

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

The Central Construct was vast: a shimmering shape at the heart of the desert. Protometal ribs rose into a sphere-like form, joined by horizontal crossbeams at regular intervals. The lower two-thirds of the sphere were already complete, and a web-like scaffold ringed the Construct, allowing access to the upper levels.

Sparks showered from the welding points around the scaffold, and there was a sound of tramping feet as pallets of newly wrought protodermis were marched up the circular ramps. Cranes lifted and distributed other materials for the workers to use in the construction.

You were stationed on the north hextant of the scaffold, one of the many welders who worked tirelessly to build up the Construct’s outer shell. A grid of metal lines filled the space above you, feeding out the safety-line that attached to your own harness. Below, the inner shell was visible, mostly complete at this point: a dense weave of struts and metal plates which concealed the interior of the Construct. Very soon, the inner shell would be entirely enclosed by the outer. Perhaps another ten cycles, you estimated.

The tone rang in the air, signaling the rotation of workers. You leaned back from your welding and looked it over. The new beam was fixed in place, ready to hold another set of shell-plates. You secured your tools, checked the safety line, and stepped across the gap, back onto the scaffold beside you. The next shift was already on its way up the ramp. Your group would now return back through the gate in order to rest.

Too late you saw the flaw in the protometal beam beneath the one you had just added. It bent suddenly under the strain of the newly-added structure, and its hard edge cut clean through the scaffold you were standing on. A cascade of snapping pins and rods followed, and you were falling down, down through crisscrossing metal into the dark space below.

Your safety-line went taut, as it was designed to do, and decelerated you abruptly a bio before you hit the ground inside the Construct. Tools and other debris clattered and rang on the hard surface below, and your mask came off with a pop as the air was forced from your lungs. Then you were just hanging, suspended, and your heartlight was beating very fast.

Voices echoed down, and there was a commotion as additional braces were pounded into place and spot-welded. You were the only one that had fallen. They would reel you up any second now.

Your mask lay on the ground below you, out of reach. The floor was polished silver, running up in a smooth arc to meet the wall just in front of you. The wall had a mirror-finish; you could see your reflection in it. And behind you, the rest of the space opened up into

The rest of the space opened up into

The space opened up into

Opened up

Opened up into

Eyes

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

Ahead, the fore-Matoran stopped beside a stone marker and signaled a halt. The fore shaded his...eyes...against the diffuse light in the sky ahead and looked further down the track into the great shallow bowl of Karda. Then he looked at you.

“We are near,” he said, moving back up the path now and opening his pack. “Align yourselves and remove your masks.”

Everyone complied, bracing against the wave of weakness which followed mask-removal. Except you. Your mask was already off, for some reason. The fore-Matoran went down the line and placed a semi-transparent object into the visor of each mask, indicating to replace the mask afterward.

When he reached you, you asked: “What is its purpose?”

“Look at me,” the fore said. “Look at me.”

You didn't want to. You grabbed at the lens in his hand.

“I need that,” you said. “Give it to me.”

“Look at me,” he said.

You managed to snatch the lens away from him at last. You placed it into the visor of your mask, and slapped the mask back on your face.

“Look at me,” he said.

The lens wasn't fitting right. You pressed the mask harder. It was too...reflective. Not transparent. It reflected your eyes back into...into your eyes. Into your eyes.

And behind the reflection of your eyes there was something else, off to each side. It was moving and moving and looking at you. It was trying to pry its way around the sides of your face, around your eyes.

Look at me.

You pushed harder.

Look at me.

You pressed your face against the mirrored surface, but you couldn't shut it out.

It moved and moved and looked at you with eyes and eyes and eyes and

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

The cable-reel whirred to life, and the line coiled up bio on bio, loop on loop. The damaged scaffold had been reinforced, and a medic-Matoran had already been summoned. Work had ceased all around the Construct, and the faces of many workers looked on as the operation proceeded.

Bio on bio, loop on loop the line came back. Slow but steady, the cable piled up on the reel, and at last, you appeared. Straight up out of the inner shell you came, still wrapped in your harness, up to where the pulley was affixed above the scaffold, and many hands reached to haul you in.

The medic set to work immediately, checking limbs and joints and heartlight. Another Matoran stepped forward quickly. It was the fore-Matoran. He stopped in front of you, and his eyes widened.

“Your mask?” he asked.

There was a moment of silence.

“Your mask,” he repeated, gesturing. “Is it still below?” He pointed down toward the inner shell.

I nodded slowly.

“And your tools, did they cause any damage to the interior?”

I shook my head.

“Very well.” He turned to the medic. “Injuries?” The medic indicated no damage. “Good,” he continued. “You will not need to be replaced.”

“Thank you,” I thought, then realized:

“Thank you,” I said with my mouth.

The harness was still tight around my waist. I realized this when they loosened it, and the sensations I had been feeling–pain, pressure–began to lessen. They helped me down the ramps, down to the ground. The fore was there ahead of me, along with the rest of my work group. He had retrieved a new mask for me. He immediately placed it on my face. The rush of energy felt...good.

The next shift was already starting at the top of the scaffold again, repairing the damage and moving forward. Simple as that. We would return to relieve them on the next cycle, apparently. For now, it was back into the desert, back to the gate.

I looked forward to it.

∵∴∵∴∵∴∵

The first thing I noticed was that the sand of Karda was not like the sand from the Outside–the real Outside, where I had been born, before They stuffed me in here with these Matoran to mindlessly regulate Their dials. It was all grains of pulverized crystal. It crunched nicely beneath our feet as we marched through the dunes. The other Matoran didn’t really appreciate it like I did though.

Ahead, the fore-Matoran stopped beside a stone marker and signaled a halt, then he looked further up the track out of the great shallow bowl of Karda, as always.

“We are near,” he said like clockwork, moving back down the path now. “Align yourselves and remove your masks.”

Everyone complied. Even me, though I didn't like the weakness that followed. The fore went down the line and carefully removed the semi-transparent objects that had been fixed in the visor of each mask, placing them back in his pack.

When he reached me, I asked: “What was its purpose?”

The fore stopped and squinted at me. “...Unknown,” he said slowly.

“Would you like to know?”

“Replace your mask,” he said after a confused moment, “and avoid redundant questions.”

I complied. Wearing a mask was new to me. All of this was, really, but I was getting used to it. I was malleable like that. I was made that way.

The gate was ahead. Soon I’d be out. Very soon, and then…

My mind flicked back for a moment, back over the crystal-sand, back into the metal shell, the metal prison that They had built for me, back into the wet writhing thing there that was Me, and I heard the thoughts of the other mind I’d left in my place while I was away.

Obviously you were not made for this. You were trying feebly to move your too many limbs, trying to look out through your too many eyes.

But in the polished silver space, there was nothing to see. It was mirror all around, reflecting and refracting, so that all you could see was you…me…you. All you could see was–

“Eyes,” you were saying, or thinking rather. “Eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes.” You had…I had…You had no mouth, after all.

Just eyes. Eyes everywhere, all around.

“Eyes eyes eyes eyes,” you were thinking.

You are thinking it right now.

Don’t worry. I just need to stretch my…legs, yes. See the scenery. I won’t be long. They’ll find me out sooner or later, and then They will send me back, I expect. To tend the dials again.

“Eyes eyes eyes eyes.”

I know, I know.

You’ll get used to them.

#bionicle #art #writing #fanfiction #outofgloom #works #tren krom

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leaping-laelaps-art · 2 months

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Sculpt of the small bivalved arthropod Gladioscutum lauriei from the middle Cambrian of Australia (after Hinz-Schallreuter & Jones 1994).

Gladioscutum had a body only 2-3 mm long, but, being undoubtedly aware of its disappointingly small size compared to its cooler Cambrian cousins like radiodonts and trilobites, tried to make up for it with a pair of (presumably) front-facing spines that were at least as long as the rest of the head shield.

Other than improving its self-esteem, the function of Gladioscutum's extremely elongated spines is unknown. The enlarged spines of other small Cambrian bivalved arthropods have been suggested to fulfill a sensory role, but this remains speculative (Zhang et al. 2014).

References and notes:

Gladioscutum was originally described as an "archaeocopid", an order that is now known to be an artificial grouping of various small bivalved arthropod fossils superficially resembling modern ostracod crustaceans. To my knowledge, the affinities of Gladioscutum have not been reinvestigated since its initial description, but its appearance (marginal rims, valve lobation, ornamented surface, simple hinge line) and age seem bradoriid-y enough (Hou et al. 2001) for me to more or less confidently reconstruct it as one (top scientific rigour as always on this blog).

Appendage morphology is unknown in Gladioscutum - what little soft anatomy I have not modestly hidden under the head hield is based on the bradoriid Indiana sp. from the Chengjiang Biota (Zhai et al. 2019). In that species, only the antennae are differentiated from the rest of the appendages, which has the double advantage of (1) not making crazy hypotheses about limb specialization in Gladioscutum and (2) giving me fewer different types of limbs to sculpt.

Like Gladioscutum, most bradoriids are only known from their decay-resistant valves, which are often squashed flat in a so-called "butterfly" position. This arrangement has been traditionally interpreted as the life position of the animals, which were implied to crawl over the seafloor like tiny crabs (e.g., Hou et al. 1996). Yet, undistorted fossils of head shields preserved in 3D are almost always closely drawn together, which is similar to the way modern bivalved arthropods like ostracods are articulated (protecting the soft limbs and body) and probably more reflective of the actual life position of bradoriids (Betts et al. 2016), as depicted here.

References:

Betts, M. J., Brock, G. A., & Paterson, J. R. (2016). Butterflies of the Cambrian benthos? Shield position in bradoriid arthropods. Lethaia, 49(4), 478–491. https://doi.org/10.1111/let.12160

Hinz-Schallreuter, I., & Jones, P. J. (1994). Gladioscutum lauriei n.gen. N.sp. (Archaeocopida) from the Middle Cambrian of the Georgina Basin, central Australia. Paläontologische Zeitschrift, 68(3), 361–375. https://doi.org/10.1007/BF02991349

Hou, X., Siveter, D. J., Williams, M., Walossek, D., & Bergström, J. (1997). Appendages of the arthropod Kunmingella from the early Cambrian of China: Its bearing on the systematic position of the Bradoriida and the fossil record of the Ostracoda. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London. Series B: Biological Sciences, 351(1344), 1131–1145. https://doi.org/10.1098/rstb.1996.0098

Hou, X., Siveter, D. J., Williams, M., & Xiang-hong, F. (2001). A monograph of the Bradoriid arthropods from the Lower Cambrian of SW China. Earth and Environmental Science Transactions of The Royal Society of Edinburgh, 92(3), 347–409. https://doi.org/10.1017/S0263593300000286

Zhai, D., Williams, M., Siveter, D. J., Harvey, T. H. P., Sansom, R. S., Gabbott, S. E., Siveter, D. J., Ma, X., Zhou, R., Liu, Y., & Hou, X. (2019). Variation in appendages in early Cambrian bradoriids reveals a wide range of body plans in stem-euarthropods. Communications Biology, 2(1), Article 1. https://doi.org/10.1038/s42003-019-0573-5

Zhang, H., Dong, X., & Xiao, S. (2014). New Bivalved Arthropods from the Cambrian (Series 3, Drumian Stage) of Western Hunan, South China. Acta Geologica Sinica - English Edition, 88(5), 1388–1396. https://doi.org/10.1111/1755-6724.12306

#i'll probably make more art of cambrian bivalved arthropods with fucked up spines #because there is no shortage of them #and they still manage to all look rather distinct #gladioscutum #bradoriid #(?)#arthropod #cambrian #paleozoic #australia #paleontology #palaeoblr #paleoart #my art

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icedmatchatae · 1 year

Text

Glimpse of Us | KTH Chapter VIII: Please Don’t Break It

Pairing: Problematic Idol Taehyung x Grad Student Reader

Genre: Idol AU, Ex-Childhood Best Friends into—, Angst (Hello, welcome to my angst central), Fluff (mainly in the flashbacks), Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

Summary: BTS’s V has been living a lavished and successful lifestyle, but underneath all of that, Kim Taehyung is far from the perfect image the media and fans made him out to be. All he wants is to relive the feelings of happiness and purpose in his life, but how can he when he left behind those memories years ago? The same memories, he hopes to see a glimpse of.

Warning: Angst (but what’s new), mentions of incompetency, scenes of therapy, mentions of past substance use (alcoholism, drugs), brief mentions of withdrawals, alcohol consumption, intoxication, aggressive behavior, violence/fights, mentions of murder (no one gets killed) descriptions of panic attacks, vomiting, crying, [Disclaimer—how panic attacks occur varies by the individual. I for one have experienced panic attacks and used some of the methods described. It may not work for everyone but it worked for me and how to cope]

Word Count: 12.6k

Chapter VIII: Please Don’t Break It || Series Masterlist

After the school bell rang, second-year middle schooler Taehyung exited the classroom with his three other classmates. They were talking in-depth about the new volume of One Piece that came out recently. As they were doing so, a flyer plastered on the school’s bulletin board caught his eye.

Geochang Middle School’s Annual Talent Show.

Taehyung remembered last year’s and it was absolutely remarkable. The singing, dancing, the tricks, students performed. He was impressed yet slightly envious of their confidence. He wished to sign up, but he was actually shy about his abilities. He has been practicing the saxophone, but he didn’t think he was all that skilled yet. He can dance?? It was a trial and error, but he didn’t look weird doing it.

But the thing he loved doing the most was singing. He loved it and learning how to sing songs and melodies. Although he never really performed in front of others before, well, except you and his family.

“Hey, Tae! Your girlfriend is coming.” One of his classmates tapped his shoulder for his attention. The other two snickered in the back, making him roll his eyes at their playful teasing.

“Not my girlfriend.” Taehyung corrected as always before turning his head and smiling to see your bright one.

It was your first year in middle school and was so excited when you got into the same school as your best friend. Though you weren’t in the same classes, you were still able to have lunch with him and walk to and from school with him. With your stuffed backpack carried over your shoulders, your uniform bounced in the air as you eagerly walked towards him.

“Whatever you say!” His classmate scoffed before the three of them went their separate ways. Taehyung waited for you as you headed down the hallway.

Once you reached him, he pulled you into a big hug and shook your body happily in his arms. “You think you did well with the quiz after lunch?”

As you parted away, you nodded proudly with your shoulders high. “It was surprisingly easy. Algebra equations weren’t as bad as I thought.”

“Only you would say that because you love math so much.” Taehyung retorted before his eyes diverted back to the board. “Hey, Blue.” He then pointed at the flyer. “What do you think about the talent show?”

Your eyes followed his pointing and hummed in thought, “I haven’t seen it, but it sounds like fun. Of course, I could never do that.”

Taehyung chuckled softly at your evident shyness from the spotlight. His curled lips progressively sunk as the nerves got to him by the thought. “W-What if I…signed up?”

Your head pivoted at him as your irises gleamed with glee. “If you signed up, you’re gonna be amazing, Hyungie! You have so many talents!”

A tint of pink powdered across his cheeks and nose from your compliment. “Stop, you’re just lying.”

You gasped dramatically before slapping his arm, “I can’t believe you think I’d stoop that low. I would never lie! I’m always honest with you.” You pouted childishly as you crossed your arms over your chest.

Taehyung cooed at your fond expression, wrapping his arms around you once more. “Of course, my Blue. Forgive me!” You shook your head before getting away from him. He quickly followed behind and caught up.

The two of you walked out of the campus and headed down the pathway toward your houses. There was a moment of silence before you spoke up about the talent show. “So…are you gonna sign up?”

He sighed as he stared up into the clear sky. “I’m not sure, like what if I’m not good enough?”

“If I’m not mistaken, it’s a middle school talent show where anyone could sign up for anything.”

“Wow, you say it so rashly.” He laughed, throwing his head back. “I don’t wanna make a fool out of myself. Middle schoolers are mean!”

“You’re not gonna make a fool out of yourself.” You reassured, holding the straps of your backpack. You pulled on it, so it’ll lift higher. “Because you have talents. Singing, dancing, playing an instrument…”

“Rapping?”

“No.”

“How can you be so cruel??” He shouted, his prepubescent ego shattering at your comment.

“I told you I’m always honest with you!” You giggled mischievously but spotted him pouting like a puppy. “Hyungie, I’m serious though. If you sign up, it’s gonna be a decision you won’t regret.”

“Really?” He asked, still having doubt.

“Of course, because if you won’t, you’ll keep thinking about it and wondering what if.” You linked arms with him as you leaned into his body. “If you do, I’ll support you every step of the way, okay?”

You sure knew how to make him feel better. Like how you needed reassurance, he needed some cheering on too. He looked down at you with a sad smile on, “You know how nervous I get, Blue.”

You nodded empathically, then squished your cheek towards his arm. “As I said, I’ll be the one to support you every step of the way.”

“So from all of this, how do you feel about her back in your life?” Dr. Im looked at Taehyung sitting across on the couch as practice and routine. In the idol’s opinion, the past sessions have been dreadful. Dr. Im said nothing negative regarding his client, but through his therapist’s non-verbal responses, it was best to say he even agreed.

Taehyung was aware he was at fault. He hasn’t been honest with him, despite certain sessions’ moods consisting of feeling good and better. Though the idol first entered into therapy to “get better,” his goal remained undetermined. Dr. Im tried very hard to cooperate with his stubborn client. He got him talking about happiness in previous sessions, but even that had gotten static.

Taehyung didn’t know why he was so hesitant into telling Dr. Im about his life. Before their meeting, the company provided a file for the professional so he knew everything about him including his alcohol and drug use, minor fights and under-the-table conflict, and even his…episodes that only his close-knit circle knew about.

Dr. Im reminded him again that these sessions would lack if nothing was spoken. He was brutally honest when he spoke that though progress wasn’t linear, actions and words had to be made to see progress. He was there to help by all means within the time frame. Because they both knew that Taehyung wanted to feel better, be better. Yet the term was used so often that it felt futile.

Though he was worried, Taehyung eventually opened up about something. He explained how unsatisfying life has been, including the struggles of feeling happy. But one good thing that has happened recently for the last months was reuniting with you. He described your childhood friendship, how close-knit you were with him and even his family, the fights and distance that happened leading up to the falling out, the reunion, the start, and potentially the beginning of the end once again.

It was the way Taehyung rambled about you for such a long time that there were only ten minutes left in the session. Though Dr. Im enjoyed every minute of how willing the idol talked, he needed to get out some answers to all of this.

“So how are you with her now?” His therapist asked.

The idol frowned at the recent memory. It has been two weeks since you’ve last spoken to him or since he last saw you. When it reached the one-week mark, he have had enough and tried to go to the restaurant to see you. But for some reason, Jungkook convinced him that you didn’t want to see him. Why? The answer was through Jungkook’s phone. You texted him saying he was forbidden to see you.

Everything he experienced about that felt so wrong to him that it stabbed him in the chest. The distance between you two seemed to grow as days went on. He missed you and wanted to talk to you. He didn’t like how close you were being to his member, nor did he like how you text Jungkook instead of him. The youngest even texted you right in front of him with a fucking smile too.

You were his best friend. Not fucking Jeon Jungkook.

Nevertheless, Taehyung grinned appreciatively as he reminisced about his time with you those weeks before. “It’s nice, I love it, a lot…” His responses were curt but genuine. “I, uh, she was actually part of my memories when I was happy. She was a big part of my life and helped me through a lot. I guess you can say, I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for her.”

“Which is…”

The idol squinted his eyes as he dived into the question. “Well, being an idol. To tell you the truth, I used to get quite nervous in front of crowds or people in general. In earlier times, performances used to trigger…my episodes.” His face grimaced at the worrisome experiences, especially the ones when you weren’t there. “She was there to help me, and also encouraged me to sign up and audition.”

“What I’m hearing is how appreciative are you of her?” His therapist smiled empathetically, making Taehyung nod. “I’ve noticed from the way you talked, you must really care for her too despite the years away. She is very important to you.”

“I’ll always care for her,” Taehyung confirmed pridefully with no arrogance slipping out. “Even when I accidentally become a dick sometimes.”

“And why do you think that?”

Chewing on his lips, Taehyung looked at the man as if he caught something that wasn’t supposed to show. He could lie to his therapist, but what good does it do for him? He was spending his money on this anyway. Either way, Dr. Im was wise and has been in the game for decades. A problematic idol wasn’t going to outsmart him because he’ll eventually find out about it.

So he gave up his internal battle and sighed. “I guess because I’m selfish.” And before Dr. Im could say what the meaning behind it was, Taehyung continued. “Since my life was in shambles and was in the dark for so long, I wanted a little bit of control in my life.”

“Care to explain? I remembered you talking about being an idol and the exposure to the world.”

Today was shockingly growth between him and his therapist. Taehyung was willing to let most of his vulnerability flow out in hopes to find at least one other person who understood his thoughts and feelings without shaming him for what he has been doing. “And to be honest, I feel like I haven’t made progress. It’s been the same bullshit every day for the past year and…I don’t know. I don’t feel good at all.“

“You’ve been going through a lot, especially recently.” Dr. Im responded as he scribbled down more notes on his clipboard. Once he was done, he placed his pen and clipboard on his lap to look over at his client. “I know you may think and say that you haven’t done much, but from seeing you when you first came to now, I’d say you’ve changed.”

Snorting in disbelief, Taehyung rolled his eyes as he leaned back into his seat. “Stop lying, sir.”

“As someone in this field of work, it is unethical to lie. Well, when was the last time you used or took substances? Recklessly drunk? Been into fights? Or even have your panic attacks?” His therapist listed meaningfully as he observed the idol.

Pursing his eyebrows together, Taehyung pondered on the thoughts. Sure, he has gotten drunk and had minor episodes but it wasn’t to an extent compared to last year. Jesus Christ, last year was a whole mess. Taehyung was going through scandals back to back and HYBE had to cover it up because most of them were true.

Substances…he promised Namjoon and Jimin that he’d stop for the sake of the group, but he took it hard with his withdrawals. Screaming, hitting, throwing things around, and being tackled by a member or his friends. One of the only coping mechanisms was drinking or fighting with the members, and even that still wasn’t good.

Taehyung merely shrugged, “I still drink but less, I guess. I don’t know about the rest…probably a while. I was forced to stop when I came here. The…substances that is.”

“That’s amazing, Taehyung. You’ve pushed through that very well.” Dr. Im praised and nodded. “There have been improvements. You just haven’t been entirely aware of them with everything else that’s going on.”

“You think?” The idol asked softly. He always had this concern. His life never felt any better—apart from you—to fully accept how much he overcame in the past year. There were still more problems, but fewer than before.

“Of course, I’ve kept track and listed down all we discussed and the concerns that were brought up from the first time.” Dr. Im explained. “I commend you with your strength.”

“But what if I fuck up? Won't disappointment come my way?”

“Having those negative emotions will not benefit the situation, whether it’s internal or external. The hars truth would still be that you messed up, but there’s always time to get back up. Relapsing happens, but it's not the end. It may take longer but have patience with yourself.”

Taehyung didn’t realize that a tear ran down his cheek until he hiccuped a sob. But it wasn’t by the comment. It was the realization that Dr. Im was the only person who understood him being like this—a fucked-up unhappy person. Someone who won't blame him or scold him around.

But still, the hard-hitting question lingered in his mind. With or without all the problems he had, why was the feeling still there? “But even with all of that, then why am I still unhappy?”

You were wiping down tables while Kenji took a nap behind the cash register. You glanced at him before shaking your head in disappointment as always. He was lucky that it wasn’t busy today, it was practically empty. Then again, rush hour for lunch was over so all that was left was to wait until dinner time.

You heard rummaging through the tarp before looking up to find Jungkook and Jimin smiling and waving at you. “___! Hi!” Jungkook greeted you before coming towards your frame for an unexpected hug.

You flinched at the touch before carefully hugging him back. “H-hi?” You lightly pushed away from him despite his strong grip. You waved at Jimin with a friendly smile. “W-what are you two doing here?” You were kind of shocked to see them. It wasn’t a bad thing because they’d been here before, but those times, they would be with Taehyung.

You haven’t spoken to or seen Taehyung since the somewhat incident. You weren’t angry at him, but the behavior still bummed you out. You were still undecided about how to think about it, but it didn’t mean you wanted nothing to do with him anymore. Ugh, you regretted those words out of your mouth. It didn’t even help that you even texted Jungkook you didn’t want to see Taehyung at all the day after.

Wow, you were dramatic and exaggerated everything. Can’t really blame yourself because of all the trauma and hardship that you’ve experienced.

You wanted to see Taehyung again, and knowing how stubborn he was, you expected him to come and disregard your insult at most a week, the earliest being the following day. But now it has been two weeks, and you were rethinking your actions. Though it was to protect yourself, you were still so hard on him. Every frown, sad twist on his face, the deflating in his shoulder, it killed you.

You always hated seeing him like that, even when you were younger. If Taehyung hated seeing you cry, then you despised seeing him sad or scared. He was never good on his own with things like that, so you wondered how he held up all those years.

These months reuniting with him were flourishing. When you were able to push the tension to the side, you’ve seen a new light of this Taehyung. More mature, more charismatic, and more confident in himself, which made you very proud to see knowing his struggle.

But after reflecting and being honest with yourself, you truly saw your Taehyung in him. Still playful, still has a shit ton of friends, still caring, still affectionate, still thoughtful, you’ve seen him all the time.

You just weren’t fully trusting of him to even accept it. You were scared, but you had every reason to be. You knew the effort he made while you gave very little. Maybe he too had his reasons for the mishap. You shouldn’t think of him so lowly, he was trying his best while you weren’t. You felt guilty about what you’ve done and now suffered the consequences.

You dearly wanted his friendship, whether you liked it or not.

You did miss him within the weeks that passed. Maybe it was your turn to approach him.

“Jimin Hyung actually just came back from a trip to America.” Jungkook stretched a smile at you. “That means to eat your heart out with homeland food.”

You chuckled at him as you threw the used cloth into the bucket behind the cashier, though you purposefully missed so it hits Kenji hard enough to wake him up. He startled awake and groaned when he smelled the dirtied fabric on his face. He threw it rightfully into the bucket before standing up and glaring at your calm state. It happened before, but it always got to him like it was the first time.

“So I’m assuming you both are here for dinner? It’s pretty early for that, but doesn’t matter.” You quipped as you pulled out two menus for them.

“Actually, no.” Jimin shook his head, which made you confused. “We wanted to invite you out…for dinner.”

“Uhh, what?”

“Please, it’ll mean so much for us if you could come.” Jungkook came forth to you and grabbed your hand with both of his. Gently squeezing it when you tensed up, you seemed to relax right after. “It’ll be fun! We have to go to our company building really quickly, but we’ll eat!”

Though their invitation remained harmless, you couldn’t help but be hesitant of them and their doings. For starters, you were working and it was a weekday. You were sure you explicitly mentioned that you worked every day of the week except weekends. Though Jungkook and Jimin were kind, you don’t know much about them. Yes, you texted Jungkook from time to time but he’d usually initiate it and if you hung out with them, Taehyung would be in the picture.

“Umm, just us?” You asked. When you felt another pair of eyes on you, you glanced to the side to find Kenji staring entertainingly.

“Well, Hobi Hyung and Namjoonie Hyung will come too! That’s why we have to go back to the company.” Jimin responded enthusiastically. “Everyone else has a schedule or other prior engagements—”

“Then I remembered you, and we haven’t hung out in a while!” Jungkook interjected impatiently, squeezing your hand again for encouragement. “Please, please, please, come!”

Now there was too much hand-in-hand contact with this man. You pulled your hand away from him but lightly laughed it off to avoid any awkwardness. You waved him off and shook your head. “Thank you for the offer, but as you can see I’m w—”

“___ can go!” Kenji shouted out of the blue. He sped towards you before wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him. You huffed at the unexpected contact with your smiling coworker before scowling up. “We aren’t as busy today actually, so we don’t need two workers here. I’m the boss so…”

“Excuse me, you are definitely not—”

“Give yourself a break from time to time, ___.” Your coworker suggested. “The last time you did so was when you were in the hospital, which shouldn’t really be the only time to take a break.”

“Kenji!”

“Halmeoni will understand and will be happy for you!” Kenji wasn’t taking no for an answer. You thinned your lips into a line before pushing him away.

“Just because you’re their grandson doesn’t give you special privileges!”

“Uhh, it absolutely does.” He scoffed, enjoying your angered state. Well, not only him. The two idols were quite fond of your reaction. “Just go, ___. Plus you need to eat.”

“I’m not a child. I can remember things like that by myself.” You rolled your eyes before crossing your hands over your chest.

“So you’ll come?” Jimin’s eyes lit up with hope. “The Hyungs don’t mind at all! I even texted them.”

Having dinner with four highly-acclaimed and handsome idols all by yourself? The offer was very intriguing, to say the least. “But wor—”

“___, Halmeoni would get mad if she saw you here and not me because she knows how much you work for your gra—”

You smacked your palm over Kenji’s mouth while you glared deadly into his pupils. You didn’t want them to know your business, despite telling your only coworker and perhaps friend—you don’t even really hang out with him outside of work—in confidence. With your eyes piercing holes into his brain, he quickly shut his mouth. “Don’t speak of it if you want those to be your last words.” He nodded, agreeing in a heartbeat before you released him.

Your coworker gasped exaggeratedly, getting a nasty shiver from you. “But ___ can go. I don’t mind working the whole dinner rush and closing up alone.”

“I don’t even have money to spend!”

“We invited you! It’s our treat!!” Jimin announced with a very lovely smile.

You sighed, still contemplating. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure! Go have fun.” Kenji reassured.

“If you text help, I’ll drop everything to come back, okay?” You told him, making sure that he was free to ask you.

Kenji shook his head, knowing how much you liked to help but never wanted it back. “Yeah, I will.”

You turned your head to spot Jungkook and Jimin being all giddy. They couldn’t believe they got you out of work so easily. They were mentally high-fiving and slapping each other’s shoulders. “Yeah, I’ll come but will it be okay? I know you’re idols and privacy and all that stuff.”

“Not to worry about that.” Jimin shooed that idea off. “Let’s go!”

You took your apron off and hung it back on the hooks. You barely grabbed your bag when Jungkook reached for your hand and tugged you to follow him out. Your irises looked back at a waving Kenji as he watched you three leave.

This was going to be an interesting experience. Maybe it’ll be good. Help you put yourself out there again after years of keeping to yourself. That was what you and Taehyung wanted after all.

Though you left, you didn’t realize that you forgot your phone inside your apron pocket.

Taehyung mindlessly stared into the lit TV screen with a random drama playing. The cascading sun began settling down for the day through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Yeontan rested on his lap while the idol stroked his coat. Not bothering to pay attention to his surroundings, he was deep into his thoughts which all resorted back to you.

He wondered how you were, probably working right now since it was close to dinner time. But he wanted to know if you were okay, with school, with work, with everyone going on right now. He understood that you practically banished him and tried to respect your wishes, but the selfish devil on his shoulder told him to fuck that and run back to you. But he reminded himself of what his therapist told him a couple of days back.

“Though it’s great for you to have her back in your life, you can’t force her to do things that you want and she doesn’t.” Dr. Im informed carefully.

“That’s not fair!” The idol whined. “I know she does, she’s just so hesitant with me after all that I did.”

“Well, think about it this way—if someone made you do things you didn’t want but they did, how would you feel? Both sides have to consent, right?”

Taehyung kept silent, knowing the right and moral answer to it. But he knew you were different. Your friendship was different compared to anyone. Simply accepting defeat and parting away from either side was wrong and cruel, making that a bad best friend in the eyes of Hyungie and Blue.

If there was one trait you and Taehyung’s relationship was always strong about was stubbornness and adamance. Your friendship stood long because neither side wouldn’t give up on the other, even if communication lacked at some points. You’d bother and irritate (mainly Taehyung) but also protect and care for one another by all means. Because you knew what was best for each other, whether you liked it or not.

If anything, he knew more about you than you did yourself and vice versa.

“Honey, I’ll be back!” The high-pitched voice sent shivers down his spine. She seemed too giddy for his liking right now. Scowling a bit before relaxing an emotionless expression, he shifted his attention towards his dolled-up girlfriend. He was about to ask where she was going, but remembered she had dinner plans with friends she hasn’t seen in a while.

“Have fun. Hope you black out for me.” He piped, but his demeanor remained.

Clara rolled her eyes, then laughed. “Will you be home alone? You haven’t been out with anyone.”

Ahh, there it was. Yes, what she said was true. After making up with her, Taehyung stayed home all day or at the company building. He hasn’t seen you, Seojoon, or any of his members despite texting. There were no in-betweens, making the growing feeling inside eat him alive.

Life sucked, but hey, his girlfriend wasn’t biting into his ass. The past two weeks Clara was soooo lovey-dovey, sweet, and happy seeing him always in the house. She would ask him if he was going out or not but knew the default answer which she would get all excited over. She spent so much more time with him in that time frame than this past year.

But Taehyung was going mental. Actually, that was the reason why he remembered where she was going because it was finally away from him.

“I’ll be fine.” He hummed, trying to go back to focusing on the TV before him, or whatever he was doing.

“I’ll miss you.” She cooed as she skipped towards the couch. From behind, she bent down to kiss him on the cheek. He scrunched his nose, keeping his hands on his sleeping dog. “Bye, I love you!”

“Me too.” He muttered. Once Clara left and closed the front door, Taehyung realized he held his breath. He felt suffocated, it wasn’t good. Like a time bomb ticking waiting to be detonated any minute, he seemed a bit more alleviated now that he was in the house alone for the night.

Yet he didn’t want to turn into that woman from the Yellow Wallpaper Namjoon talked about before. Maybe it was time to get out. He needed it, but most importantly, perhaps he needed to go to the restaurant to make up with you. He had to. It didn’t sit well with him knowing that you were away from him. He just needed some good right now and if it doesn’t happen, he’d crack.

He turned his head slightly to spot the peace lily plant he had bought for you sitting on the coffee table. It has been sitting there since that night. He took care of it in the meantime, searching online on how to maintain it.

He hoped you understood and forgave him. He didn’t comprehend why he tried to kiss you, but he’ll do anything to get you back.

“Jesus Christ, this place is top-notch.” You muttered under your breath when you observed Jimin scan his face to make the elevator function. Jungkook heard your comment, making him giggle beside you. Jimin pressed a floor button before it began to move.

“Our safety is important, especially when visitors come regularly,” Jungkook explained. “That’s why there’s security everywhere.”

“Yes, but it didn’t help that they accused me of being a sasaeng when you both were on my sides smiling.” You mentioned the unfortunate mishap. You stood there embarrassingly without any knowledge while Jimin had to report to them you were a friend. But you weren’t on their friend list, so you needed to make a pass and fingerprint scan. It took longer than anticipated, so you were slightly uncomfortable.

“Sorry about that.” Jimin blew a chuckle out of his nostrils. “Precautions, that’s all.” You hummed in response, patiently waiting for your floor.

Once you were on the fifteen floor, your trio walked out of the lift. You followed them down a hallway where you reached a spacious lounging area. It shouted out rich and expensive because the couches were built into the floors. Table tennis in the corner, unlimited stocks of water, juice, and other endorsements HYBE groups had, but what fascinated you was the spread of plants surrounding the room.

It looked like the nursery you and Taehyung went to, but of course, the plants were for aesthetics than grabs. You were in awe, scanning through them while Jimin spoke up.

“I texted the hyungs but they aren’t answering, so I’ll bother them. Be right back.” Jimin announced before separating and going down another hallway, leaving only you and Jungkook here.

While you were preoccupied staring at the greenery, Jungkook stared at you nervously. There was something he wanted to ask you but didn’t know how to or when would be the appropriate time especially since it was difficult to hang out with you. The maknae was confident in himself, but yet he was still shy at heart. But this was probably the only time he had a moment alone with you.

“___?” He called your name. Turning your attention to the youngest member of the group, your eyes grew wide in acknowledgment. “C-Can I ask you something? I promise it won’t take long.”

“Sure.” You agreed while keeping a wondering yet polite look.

“I know we only text and we don’t usually hang out but…” Jungkook began. He paused to bite his lower lip to calm himself before gazing his doe eyes onto yours. “I was wondering if we could like…go out together…alone…like a date?”

The sudden confession made you blush red like a tomato with eyes blinking rapidly to wake yourself up in case it was just a dream. But it wasn’t. Jungkook asked you out with confidence and genuineness.

You knew he had a crush on you, but you assumed it was nothing more. Kind of like his crush on IU, it was there but there was no action. Then again, you weren’t an idol. You didn’t even look like IU or even up to par with her visuals…why did he even like you?

“Why?” You wondered aloud.

Your one-word questioning shocked him yet amused him with your furrowed eyebrows and puffed pout. “What do you mean why?”

Your eyes roamed around you to avoid his staring. “Like…why? I’m nowhere near your type!”

His lips twitched upwards. “How do you know if you’re not my type?”

“Well, even though Taehyung and I parted ways before you all debuted, I still kept up with news and music.” You responded, still not meeting his eyes. When he knew you were trying to avoid his stare, he grabbed your chin. Turning to face him, you finally meet his eye contact and cocked your brow. “I-I know I’m not your type. You said it was IU, or anyone will long hair and nice thighs or something. Sorry if I come a bit rude.”

“You’re not.” He smiled, shaking his head. “And that was my type, so who knows what my type is now?”

“You. You would know.”

Jungkook squinted his eyelids at you. A bit sassy, yet you come off so blunt like it was obvious. It reminded him of someone close. “Type can also be different from attraction. But regardless of type, I’m still asking you if you’d wanna hang out. I wanna get to know you.”

Though Jungkook was a good guy, a good person actually, it would be wrong to lead him on when you were not interested in him. He was handsome, sweet, and a bit silly, but it didn’t feel right with him. You knew it wasn’t a good sign to affiliate with him or any of the other members personally.

“Jungkook, thank you for the offer but—”

“Fuck, I knew this was gonna happen.” Jungkook groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in despair, already thinking the worst.

“No, no, hear me out.” You tried your best to give the benefit of the doubt. “I-I just want to focus on my studies right now. Graduate school is a pain for a simpleton like me. Adding onto work, it’s a lot.”

“You’re not a simpleton…” He spoke softly.

You grinned sympathetically. “Either way, I don’t really want to lead you on if I’m not putting all my effort into it. I hope you understand.” It made sense, though there was more to your reasoning than what was said. But he didn’t need to know that.

Jungkook sighed, “Fortunately, and unfortunately, I do. I should have known better than to ask you since you are Taehyung Hyung’s best friend like you’re…” He scanned around cautiously to see if anyone was around. “The..B word.”

You were taken aback, so much questioning running through your mind. First of all—“The B word? You’re not thinking bitch, right?”

His pupils dilated, waving his hands in denial. “No, definitely not that! I meant your nickname!”

“Nickname?”

“Blue!” He yelled but then slapped a hand over his mouth. He acted like he said a cursed word that brought a demon around us. Still confused, you tried expressing your concern but the man beat you to it. “Sorry, we’re not supposed to call you that, that’s why.”

“It’s not some forbidden word though…” You weren’t offended, but his high alert left you baffled. Taehyung was the only one who ever called you that. Not once did anyone else tag along with it, or at least followed through. You remembered that his younger siblings tried calling you Blue and he was not happy about it.

The nickname held much meaning to you and was kept deep into your heart, even with the hurtful memories that came with it. You haven’t heard the name in a while, so your heart longed for it, yet didn’t like it, especially when it came out of the mouth of someone else. But again, Jungkook didn’t need to know that.

“Hyung gets angry with it.” Jungkook chuckled nervously, easing the awkward tension he created.

“Relax though. It’s not harmful.” You tried calming him down. He nodded and stood quietly, but you still had more questions you wanted to ask. Your heart slowly grew anxious. “But what do you mean you knew better? What does me being Taehyung’s best friend have to do with that? But also I must remind you that we aren’t be—”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, but it’s okay. I still want to get to know you better. I wanna be your friend at least!” The youngest member shrugged, shifting the topic.

He just blew you off like that, but it was whatever. A weird conversation…but you too wanted it to be over.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” You agreed slowly. Jungkook gave you two thumbs up and a loving bunny smile. You then heard a group of footsteps progressively getting louder, so you turned your head to see Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok coming back. You praised the heavens after that.

So much going on, very little knowledge…

“What do you mean she’s not here?” Taehyung questioned a sitting Kenji who was finished with his remaining customers leaving. The restaurant was still open, but no one but the idol was there for dinner.

Halmeoni then came out from the kitchen and noticed the handsome idol right away. “Oh, Taehyung! You’re back. How are you?”

He looked at the elderly woman and forced a smile and bow at her. “Hello, Halmeoni. I-I’m fine, but Kenji said ___ isn’t here.”

She hummed in response, “Yeah, she’s not here! Kenji convinced her to take the night off. She needed it.”

“Do you know where she is? Is she at home?”

“She’s actually having dinner…with some guys,” Kenji smirked playfully because he saw Taehyung’s eyes bulged out and jaw unhinged.

“What?” The idol yelled a little too loud, making the younger man giggle.

“Finally, she’s hanging out with people!” Halmeoni cheered.

Knowing how much stress and concern the idol was in, Kenji decided to alleviate it. “Relax, it’s your bandmates.” He informed explicitly to get it into Taehyung’s head. “Jungkook Hyung and Jimin Hyung came to visit and asked her out for dinner. Taehyung nodded, also recalling that Jimin was also back from his trip. “Seems like you weren’t invited if you didn’t know?” That brought a scowl towards the younger man, but he couldn’t care less as he kept a smile on his face.

His expression relaxed as the words sunk in. Though it probably was a simple and casual dinner, Taehyung felt insulted and sad. You’ve been away from him for a while and said that you never wanted to see him again. Yet Jungkook and Jimin had the privilege of hanging out with you.

He was hurt, not at you. The entire situation. He hated where everything was going and what changes are happening. It wasn’t fair for him and his feelings. But this was all his fault, right? His doings led to this, so he had to deal with it, right?

He hated it, he hated himself even more. Nothing really was going his way and he had to suck it up so he couldn’t be selfish? Let others be happy and enjoy one another while he sulked and self-deprecated alone by himself. So much for improvement, right Dr. Im?

With that being said, he bolted out of the restaurant in a scurry, leaving Halmeoni and Kenji baffled and wondering what just happened. Now he needed to get away. He wanted to be alone right now. There were so many things that he couldn’t do and have. Well, enough was enough.

He needed an escape fast.

“Cheers!” The sounds of the glass filled clashing together echoed through the private dining room. You smiled and nodded as the boys cheered rowdily at the simple gesture. All of you then took a gulp or sip of the foamed beer that caused you to make a repulsive face with your nose scrunched.

“Don’t like beer?” Sitting next to you, Jimin laughed as he saw your expression.

“Uhh, yeah but it’s fine.” You smiled through the gross bitter aftertaste. “Don’t really like drinking as much.”

“But when you do, what kind do you like? We can order some.” Namjoon, who sat on the other side of you, asked with a friendly dimpled smile.

“I usually just go for wine or any flavored soju. Soda is nice too.” You answered while forcing yourself to drink the beer, making a soured face.

Hoseok, who sat across from you, laughed as he pulled the drink away from you. You grew big-eyed like someone stole your candy. You reminded him of someone and it was so adorable. “You don’t need to force yourself. We’ll get you those.” You muttered a thank you. Before you could even put a vegetable in your mouth, Hoseok wondered, “So how are you? We haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Oh, I’m fine, thank you. Just work and school has been my life right now.” You quickly threw slices of pork belly into your mouth and chewed while thinking of anything else to say. “I’m not doing anything big like you all.”

“___, please. Though our lives are different from yours, we still equate and emphasize the importance of what and why others do.” Namjoon argued as he watched you eat. You stuffed your face and pouted when you did so. It looked so familiar…

“Well, yes. I agree with you.” You shrugged, gulping down the food. “But really, life is…alright.” You hoped they won’t ask because it would be an opening of a dam you didn’t want to let out.

“Feel free to hit us up though!” Hoseok offered, making you relax. “We loved spending time with you at the party! I especially love meeting and getting to know new people.”

“O-Oh, thank you. Just me?” You chuckled politely. You also couldn’t help but be in an intimate atmosphere with your bias.

“Yeah? And the other members too if they want. We all like you.” Jungkook mentioned as he kept grabbing more food off the plates.

Okay, you weren’t expecting this at all. Usually, especially with friends of Taehyung, would only put up with you because of him. They wanted him, not you but you were a package deal. So it was surprising to know they wanted to be friends with you. Perhaps this was what Taehyung meant when they were different than his past “friends.”

“Thank you.” You thanked them, smiling shyly and looking down at the dishes of food.

“You don’t have to be so formal with us.” Jimin giggled as he poured the bottle of wine given in a new glass for you. “You’re acting like it’s your first time making friends.”

“Technically, yes. I’m practically a loner.” You pursed your lips as you looked up to meet all their perplexed yet concerned stares. Obviously, it was true but you made it into a joke, but they didn’t know so you shook your head. “I mean yes, that’s true. But…it’s fine.” You laughed awkwardly, but they continued their gazes, causing you to stop. “I don’t really have many friends.”

“Like…at all?”

You pondered on the thought, trying your best to think of some people. “I guess, there’s my coworker. But we just talk at work most of the time. Oh, and his grandparents!”

“H-How about in Geochang?” Hoseok inquired with a smile. “Taehyungie said he had a lot of friends there! Since you were his best friend, we assumed that they were yours too!”

“They were still his friends. I only was there for Taehyung when he would spend time with them. For the most part, those friends didn’t want me there.” You responded. “His sister was my age. She was my friend, but I barely contacted her after her family moved out. All of them actually…”

Okay, maybe you made this dinner more depressing than it should have, judging by their empathetic faces. Your eyes bounced off of them as you let out a laugh. “I mean now you’re all my friends, right? It doesn’t matter anymore.” You balled your hands in fists and waved them in the air, getting all excited out of nowhere.

Assuming what you were trying to do, Namjoon joined in your laughter to die down the awkwardness. “Yes, we’re friends. Don’t worry, we want to spend time with you too, whether Taehyung’s here or not.”

“Hyung’s right!” Jungkook agreed. “We should be able to hang out with you, even call or text.”

“I guess so, sure.” You said. “Again, I work and go to school. It’s my priority. I’m here in Seoul for that reason.”

“Of course, we respect it.” Jimin nodded reassuringly. “But don’t exert yourself too much. Wouldn’t want to repeat the hospital thing Taehyung told us about?”

With the mention of his name, you were curious if they knew how he was. But you refrained from doing so. For some reason, you didn’t want to ask them. They probably would have meant well, but your gut feeling begged to differ. After all, this was your first time alone with them so you simply nodded. Maybe one day you’ll ask Taehyung about it.

“By the way, let’s get your phone number or username, whichever you prefer.” Hoseok pulled his phone out of his pants pocket.

You accepted and were about to get your phone out of your bag, only to notice it wasn’t there. You checked through the pockets and doubled into the bigger space, but came up empty-handed. You realized you must have left it back at work. “I forgot my phone at work. Can you please bring me back there?”

“Sure, but after dinner, of course,” Jungkook answered before placing meat wraps on your plate. You raised a brow at him, to which he winked cheekily. You scoffed before taking a bite of it.

“___, if you’re not busy on Saturday, I was hoping you could tag along with me to this trendy cafe. I was supposed to go with my sister, but she had a last-minute thing. They have this amazing mango dessert and iced Americano.” Hoseok invited, making you blush. You were experiencing too much with your favorite of the group, but you didn’t want to show how flustered you were.

“I’d love to actually. Weekends are my day offs.”

“Wait, I wanna come too!” Jungkook pouted, not giving up on getting closer to you. “You talked about the place before and it sounded good.”

You shrugged, not minding at all. “Sure, but I hope iced Americanos aren’t the only drinks they serve. I don’t like coffee.”

“They have a lot more drinks like this coconut refresh—” Hoseok couldn’t even finish his sentence when you grimaced at the words. But he merely laughed at your displease. “Not a big fan of coconut?”

“I get queasy from the smell and taste.” Just by imagining it, you swore you could smell the scent, giving you shivers down your spine.

“You’re so much like Taehyung…” Namjoon mumbled, but the rest of you heard him speak. Jimin asked him to reiterate what he said. “I said, you’re so much like Taehyung.”

You blinked at the leader as you straighten your back. You weren’t expecting that either. “Wh—How?”

“You make faces when you don’t like something, you don’t drink coffee, you shake your fists in the air like him, and you pout when you chew.” Namjoon listed his observations, which not only freaked you out but the others. “S-Sorry, I was just looking and thinking. I’m sorry if I disrespected you.”

You shook your head and waved him off. “No, you didn’t. Uhhh…I didn’t think people would notice enough.” After many years and some months reuniting with Taehyung, you realized how many of each other’s habits you took after even to this day. It wasn’t a bad thing but showed how much you influenced and impacted one another.

“I thought I was the only one…” Jimin chimed in as well. “You’ve been doing these small things, like him. Weird…”

“But it’s kinda cute.” Hoseok hummed. “Maybe a best friend thing?”

A soft grin appeared on your face, reflecting on what he said. You weren’t insulted, you didn’t deny, maybe he was right. Maybe Taehyung was still somehow your best friend. “Maybe.”

The clear liquor burned down his throat as he chugged the green bottle in one go. Once it was empty, he threw it to the side of him. The other finished bottles crashed together on the cold concrete ground in the corner of the alleyway.

Taehyung wiped off the excess leaking on the side of his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes roamed around the dark cold night. Blurred blobs of people passed through his hazed vision. None bothered to take a glimpse of a drunken man sitting on trash and dirt. Not even the police were supposed to patrol the area because they didn’t bother to care enough for a place that was deemed sketchy, and probably illegal. Not their business at all.

At some point, the soju and cognac naturally became water to the idol and made him feel something the past two weeks couldn’t do. He cracked, going with the “alcohol can make it better” route he hasn’t done so for a while. He did contemplate his… other methods, but he couldn’t get it right away so this was probably the most convenient way.

He laughed to himself, in a pitied and disappointed way. If his past self saw him like this, the idol he “wanted to be,” he knew the younger him would want to punch present him in the throat for deciding to throw his life away. Because despite being one of the most renowned idols in the world, what the fuck was going on with him inside? He couldn’t help himself with all that was happening to him and the spotlight of V. In the morning, he read articles about death threats and dating scandals with another Blackpink member. Can reporters at least be creative with their fake news? He didn’t like the implied coverage of him running through the group.

He didn’t want to let it get to him, but as a human, it was hard not to. When things spread, it got frightening for him because he knew some of it wasn’t true. He couldn’t have issues that he could keep to himself. A handful of people always had to know, oftentimes before him too.

All these words made him feel discouraged and pressured but hid all his emotions and feelings away to not make anything worsen. Not let those online who read too much into his behavior speculate and spread rumors. But also not let those around him talk down upon him when he suppressed his happiness for theirs.

He fucking hated this. He was feeling too much and there was nothing he could do. He felt it all inside his chest, waiting for it to explode. He didn’t want to cry anymore, he did that within the first hour of drinking. He has been in the same spot for at least three hours. It was probably close to midnight but couldn’t give a single fuck.

He stared at his last unopened bottle, it was Yakult flavored. He never tried it before, only saw them on the shelves. But he couldn’t resist it because it somehow reminded him of you. You used to love Yakult, drinking it at least once a day. It was also because Taehyung gave you one every day to satisfy you.

The alcoholic taste was gone in his taste buds, so he assumed that it tasted like juice. Shrugging, he uncapped the bottle and lipped, gulping in a hefty amount in his mouth.

“Look at that man. Some worthless piece of shit.” Taehyung’s ears twitched at the voice. Turning his head to the sound, he spotted three men staring down at him in disgust. Examining the trio swaying and trying their best to keep still, they were tipsy. Despite being a famous individual, they don’t seem to realize it as their intoxicated minds overpowered their vision.

But Taehyung wasn’t about to ignore another stranger blatantly insulting him. Though with half of his mind only functioning, he lets more of his guard and restrains down. He became more reckless, and messier, and doesn’t give a fuck about consequences. His pride was the center of the cause and he was not about to let a low life say shit to him.

Using his palms, he pushed himself from the ground to stand tall. Well, unsteady but he supported himself with the building wall. He glared at the trio who seemed about the same size as him. At a glance, they looked much older but couldn’t see clearly with their bangs covering their eyes. “Dude, fuck off. You’re one to talk with your five-millimeter dick.” Taehyung slurred.

“The fuck did you say, you bastard?” The center, we’ll call him the leader, a person garbled back as he stepped forward.

“Say it to his face.” The one on the left acted all tough.

“I did. You’re just so stupid, you can’t understand anything any human being says.” The idol snapped back and then glanced over at the other one.

“Acting all brave when you’re a skinny guy.” The one on the right finally came up and slightly pushed Taehyung but he was able to keep his balance.

“Pft, acting all that when you can’t even reach the cupboards above.” Taehyung spat back before hiccuping. “Now leave me alone. I minded my own business and you three shitheads should too.”

“Fuck that, you’re gonna get down on your knees and apologize for what you fucking did.” The leader butted in, getting more riled up than before.

“I didn’t do shit. I’m not apologizing.” The idol shook his head.

“We’ll get it out of you.” The leader came forth and was about to punch Taehyung in the face. But Taehyung threw a jab on the leader’s cheek. The guy fell back on his butt on the ground, caressing his pained cheek. “Ahh, you fucker! You’re gonna get this!”

Then all of sudden, the other two helped his friend by attacking the lonesome idol. But little did they know, Taehyung has had experience with situations like this.

It was the day of the talent show and Taehyung was fearfully worried. He has been practicing day and night and right after school whilst dragging you along with him. You stayed up with him the night before to help him with pronunciation, support, and anything he needed.

This was his first time singing in front of an audience and you were so excited for him. You knew he was going to do well. He always had a beautiful singing voice. It was so worthy enough for him to be an artist, an idol, anything to do with his talent. But you also knew how nervous he was. You had to hold him and run your fingers through his hair last night to calm him down. You cheered him on, praised him, and gave him pep talks, but yet his unconscious thinking dragged him down.

An hour before the talent, his family did quick errands and bought flowers to congratulate Taehyung, leaving you alone with him at his house. You both were dressed up and ready. Him in black dress pants and an ivory buttoned-down shirt while you were in a sage-green dress. Your best friend wanted to do last-minute rehearsals before you left for school.

You clapped proudly as you sat on his bed, watching him finish the song at the end of it. You bounced off and flattened your skirt. “Hyungie, that was amazing. I’m so excited!”

“I felt like I was off-key at the end.” He frowned, criticizing his perfect practice. “Let me do it ag—”

“Taehyung, you did great. There’s no need to practice again. You’ve been practicing so much, you’re gonna hurt your vocal cords.”

“Blue, I know but—”

“No buts.” You squeezed his shoulder as a sign of comfort. “Sit down and rest a little before we leave. I’ll make some tea for you.” He nodded and sat down on his desk chair.

Once you left his room, his thoughts occupied him. He knew how agitated he was. It was because he wanted to do well. He wanted to perform and showcase his talent to not only you but his family, friends, heck, everyone in the school. Sure, there was no winning or losing, but the pride was still there to brag about how well you did.

But this was really for him to prove himself. Though having many other talents, he wanted to think that he was a good enough singer. He enjoyed singing, perhaps even using it to make a career as an idol. But that sounded too far-fetched.

It was the self-confidence he lacked drastically. He couldn’t help but think lowly and envisioned embarrassing himself in front of everyone, giving them and him no hope in his singing. You told him otherwise, and it did help him throughout the weeks before the talent show. But now being on less than an hour before the talent show, every bit of assurance flew out the window and now the negative notions began shining.

Was there even hope for him? How much does he believe to actually go through with this? Maybe he can drop out last minute? He doesn’t think the amount of work and effort he did was enough. Will he disappoint you? His family? The entire school? Himself? He was going to do a shitty job, he just knew.

His hands suddenly became clammy, opening and closing his trembling fists. His breathing felt like it dropped, making him feel choked up and find it difficult to even inhale. The beating of his heart increased rapidly, unable to catch up with it. He winced as the pressure worsened. He got out of his seat hastily, pacing around his room.

He couldn’t process everything clearly, he was getting antsy and afraid by the second. His uncontrollable eyes moved around his surroundings as he felt his tear ducts swell up from the overwhelming state of his body. It was happening again, but this was the worst one yet.

He tried those breathing exercises you taught him to do. “D-Deep breaths. Deep breaths.” He respired quiveringly, but after a few attempts, it didn’t feel like it was working. “Come on, Taehyung. Breathe.” He lets out an alarmed sob. It wasn’t getting better, and he couldn’t come up with anything else.

Unknowing of his episode, you entered calmly into his room with a fresh cup of tea for him. Once you closed the door behind you, you turned around. “Taehyung, I got yo—” You spotted him all frazzled, wheezing, and weeping. He walked all over his room, feeling out of control.

“Bl-Blue!” He wept, going towards you. “I-I’m scared. Pl-Pl-Please.” He grabbed your unoccupied hand into his quaking ones.

You placed the cup down on his table, so your hands were fully occupied with his. “Hyungie, let’s do the deep breaths. You got this. You remember those, right?” Your voice balanced, and relaxed as possible.

He shook his head and cried, “I tried it. It doesn’t work.” He began heaving heavily. You rushed him to sit down on his bed and you followed for support.

You had to think fast about what other things you could do. If deep breathings weren’t enough there has to be something else that can help. Questions? You didn’t have anything cold. Closing your eyes. Maybe distractions?

“Hey, Hyungie. Look at me. Focus on me.” You squeezed his hands. His moving eyes hurriedly gazed at you. “Remember that one song we learned. I love that song and its lyrics.”

He shook his head again. “Wh-What does that have to do with anything?”

“Do you remember it?” You ignored his questioning. “How ‘bout singing me them, come on? I’ll sing with you too.”

“Blue? I ca—”

“Come on. Just you and me, Hyungie.” You encouraged his panicked state.

“Are you sure you want us to leave you from here?” Jimin asked through the rolled-down passenger window. As promised, they took you back to the restaurant. They were willing to wait for you so that they could drop you off at home but you denied. You didn’t want them to know where you lived because it was in a bad area, and they probably had a busy day tomorrow. You didn’t want to bother them for too long.

“Oh, I’m sure!” You promised, shouldering your bag. “I live pretty close to here anyway.” Technically, you needed to ride the bus but that wasn’t anything you didn’t do before.

“Yah, why is this in a scary area?” Hoseok was in the backseat, looking around the area through the tinted window.

“Ahh, it’s not scary. Trust me. I’ve always left here around this time.” You reassured, trying to ease their worries. “I just don’t go down the road we drove through.”

“Yeah, we should take another route,” Namjoon suggested from the backseat, scrolling through his phone. “I think I saw a drug exchange and it’s not sitting right with me. I feel like an accomplice.”

“___, are you really sure?” Jungkook asked once more, ducking down from the driver’s seat to look at you.

“I’m perfectly fine, I promise.” You smiled. “Thank you for dinner and paying. I appreciate it. Jungkook, send my number to everyone.” Jungkook clicked his tongue and threw a finger gun at you.

“Anytime, ___. We’re grateful to have spent time with you.” Jimin chirped happily.

“Call or text us any time!”

“I guess, I’ll get going inside so bye!” You waved your goodbye. They said theirs back and watched you go into the restaurant before they drove off.

Once you flung the tarp open, Kenji was about to yell that they were closed until he saw you again. “Oh, why are you back?”

“I forgot my phone in my apron.” You sighed as you headed towards the hooks. “You know when I was manhandled out of the place.” Your coworker laughed as he started putting up the chairs. You dug into your apron pocket and finally retrieved your phone.

Through your Lock Screen, you noticed many messages and calls. The most recent ones were from Jungkook and unknown numbers, which were probably the other boys. Some messages were from Kenji, but they were irrelevant since most of them were memes. But what intrigued you the most was that there were twelve missed calls and messages from Taehyung. The messages consisted of where you were, how are you, please tell him if you were okay, and other concerns he had.

These were the first contacts from him in a while, telling you that he never bothered giving up. Your lips curled slightly at the thought before you put your device into your pocket. “I guess I’ll get going again. Thanks for covering my shifts.” You announced.

“No need to thank me. It wasn’t bad.” Kenji shrugged. You were about to take your leave before he called for you. “By the way, Taehyung Hyung came to the restaurant and asked about you.”

You stopped your track, diverting your head to your coworker. “H-he came?”

Kenji crooned in response. “Yeah, it was a little while after you left. I just told him you were casually out with his members.” Though it was casual, you spectated that Taehyung could have possibly thought worse of it, especially since you two still weren’t on talking terms yet.

“Do you know where he went?” You gulped, growing concerned.

“No, he didn’t say. Just dipped out.” Your coworker informed. “He was probably pissed that he wasn’t invited.“ Maybe, or maybe even more.

You nodded again before saying your goodbyes. Once he said goodnight, you were out of the restaurant with your phone back in your hands as you wondered where Taehyung was. He may have gone back home, but you weren’t so sure. You could text any of the boys if they knew, but you weren’t so sure if they did since they were with you the entire time. They also mentioned the rest of the members were busy. But now you were questioning how busy Taehyung was if he managed to come here for you.

Calling him should be okay since he texted you back. It should be okay to do so. It would also mean that you were good with him again. As you began your way to the bus stop, you pressed on his contact to call. But after long-awaited rings, it went straight to voicemail. So you called again, but again with the voicemail. Deja vu…

Shaking your head at that thought, you left a voicemail. “Hey, Taehyung. I saw your calls and text. Sorry, I couldn’t answer right away. I left my phone back in the restaurant. I also found out you stopped by. Call me when you received my message…” You were feeling alarmed for an odd reason. “Stay safe, okay?” You ended the voicemail and threw your phone back into your bag.

You couldn’t understand the tingling sensation inside of you. It left you uncomfortable, almost like something was wrong but there was nothing to be concerned about. Your night was restful and enjoyable. The members were indeed affable and kind towards you. Though you were a bit shy with your responses, they knew how to ease you in. They knew how to make people comfortable; you admired that trait of theirs.

While you were walking quietly, you then heard thumps and grunts at a distance. It didn’t stop your feet though, you clutched onto your bag as you pushed yourself to get through. It could be a couple doing public indecency, a burglar, or maybe even a murder. Usually common in areas like this.

But the one thing you had to remember was to protect yourself, so you weren’t about to get into other people’s business and suffer. Unless it was an innocent bystander, you carried pepper spray with you at all times.

The volume of the noises increased as you continued your way. It was until you reached an alleyway that you noticed four figures over each other. It seemed like a fight, but in addition to the emptied bottles you found through your scrutiny, it was a drunken fight.

Because of that, it was not your business, and was about to leave the premises when you heard a shout. “Fuck off!” That voice…was familiar. But senses could deceive you, so you were battling your curiosity with your rationale. You were alone, with nothing but pepper spray and your hands as self-defense, but still, it wasn’t enough if it would be four against one.

Yet if you left, you’d have some sort of guilt if it was someone you knew. But then again, who would it even be? Kenji? He was still at the restaurant. There wouldn’t be anyone you knew, unless—

The sound of glass shattering broke through your mind. You sneakingly stepped forth at the end of the alleyway. You hid behind trashed boxes, observing the people fighting. The streetlights were dimmed and blinking. You were able to see faces and silhouettes, but they were still a bit unclear.

You squinted your eyes. A man held a broken bottle while two stood in front of him. One was on the ground possibly passed out. But you noticed liquid near his head, and it didn’t look like a good sign.

“You fucking killed him!” One of them shouted at the man holding the glass.

“No, I didn’t!” That very man screamed, and it sounded very distinct.

“Yes, you did. You murdered my friend!” Another yelled back.

“No, I didn’t!” The man repeated, voicing out through a sob. Then the two figures attacked him, coming from his sides. They threw punches, kicks, and blows at his body but the man was still standing strong, being able to take both of them. “I’m not a murderer!” He grunted as his back slammed on the concrete wall, throwing down the broken glass.

Through that angle, you were given a vivid image of him. Once you saw it, you swore your heart dropped.

A teary-eyed Taehyung swung his arms and aimed at their face and kicked their chest. One fell back and groaned while the other held his stomach. “I’m not a murderer! You’re hurting me! You’re hurting me!” The vein on his neck was prominent and straining as he kept shouting. He kicked the man on the ground in the chest while he kneed the other in the stomach again.

The two were on the ground, groaning in pain and moving weakly. Taehyung panted, looking down at them. You watched him lean on the wall for support before he covered his face with his palms. You heard soft crying coming out of his mouth, twisting your heart in ache. How did he even get here? How did this happen?

Your thoughts remained, but they were immediately pushed back when you scrutinized him more. His body was notably shaking, even at the distance you were in. He jerked his hands in the air as if it would alleviate him. You could hear his harsh wheezing densely as he began circling the three men on the ground.

It was as if your body was on high alert because you felt yourself running toward him. You curved and jumped over the men to get to him. He then felt another figure coming towards him and was about to get defensive again until he found your eyes, eyes that knew how to calm him down.

“Bl-Blue.” His voice cracked through his heaves, stepping away from you. His eyes went out of control as he looked over at the unconscious men, making him realize you saw him like this. Saw him in a way you have never seen him before.

He feared the worst.

Then all the fears from within traveled from his stomach to out of his mouth, retching all the liquids he consumed on the concrete. You shifted away from the vomit. His throat burned furiously as he gagged the intoxication and dizziness out. Tears pearled down his face and his nose reddened by the forced action.

As he somehow managed to finish, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve. But his hyperventilation intensified as he whined at the piercing pain within his chest. Holding where his heart was, he folded down. Before he could crash down, you hooked an arm under his form and guided him away from the scene. Your steps were wider and brisk until you stopped at the corner that had boxes stacked enough for him to not look at what happened.

You helped him stand steadily with cautious hands on his shoulders. “___, I-I-can’t breathe.” He squeaked, his body convulsing under your touch. Despite the signs of a panic attack, when he was in this state, he always needed a loved one’s touch.

“I’m sorry. Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. We’ll get through this. Let’s do deep breaths.” You shushed him. You led some exercises you recalled from your memories. Inhale, 2, 3, 4. Hold, 2, 3, 4. Exhale, 2, 3, 4. Hold, 2, 3, 4. But it wasn’t working as he shook his head, the breathing was still weighted and tears slipping out of his puffed eyes.

You focused on him, being as peaceful as possible. It wouldn’t help the situation if you were the opposite. You had to think fast, attempting to recollect past things you’ve done. But it was such a long time ago; it was challenging you. You didn’t think he still had them after he overcame his stage fright, but this was probably for a different reason and his coping stayed constant.

But the pleading eyes of Taehyung ached you, wanting nothing more but to help him be free from his episode. You didn’t have anything you used to help him.

Then your eyes lit up at a method, one that worked every time.

“Tae—Taehyung, focus on me. Your eyes on me, okay? Can I hold your hands?” His tensed eyes landed on your solaced ones. He nodded before your hands made their way down until you grasped onto his hands tightly. The feeling of your touch soothed his fragile condition. “Do you remember that one song we learned when we were in middle school?”

“A-A song?” His lips trembled in fear.

“Yeah, let’s focus on that because I forgot how much I loved it! Do you remember it?” You smiled joyfully, scrunching your nose.

“D-Do you…mean…” He gasped as the pain pinched his heart, causing him to fall forward. But you kept his support, carrying some of his weight through your arms. You motioned him to sit down on one of the boxes. While he did so, you bent down on your knees to meet his eye level.

“I’ll start it, okay?” You told him and he couldn’t get a word out but he kept his gaze and nodded. “Okay.” You let go of one of his hands so you could snap your fingers to the beat in your mind, doing a little shoulder dance and sounding soft tickings as the introduction. You were trying to ease him away from tension.

“L is for the way you look at me,” You sang merrily as you looked at him. “Your turn.”

“O-O...is for…the only…one…I see,” He sang slower while you silently mouthed the lyrics for him to follow, but his breathing control got better. You nodded as your smile grew wider.

“You’re doing so well,” You praised. “V is very, very extraordinary,” You pointed at him and tried your best with that high note where you found his lips curling.

“E-E is even more than anyone that you adore,” He stayed on tempo, but still shaky. Yet you were so proud. He inhaled deeply and exhaled.

“All together!” You expressed. His trembling hands came back to your calming ones before you decided to lace your fingers together. You swayed your intertwined hands side to side with the unheard beat when the two of you chorused, “Can love is all that I can give to you. Love is more than just a game for two.”

“Two in love can make it,” You vocalized, while you saw his eyes weeping out more tears. You let go of him. Your thumbs reached out to wipe them off his face but kept your palms on his cheeks.

“Take my heart, and please don't break it.” Though he sang perfectly, his voice cracked with his bawling. He wrapped his hands around your wrists, holding you in place.

“Love was made for me and you,” You sang together and you motioned one more time for the ending. “Love was made...for me…and you.” You both held out the last note, but it was slightly off from Taehyung’s cries. But it was all okay because you saw that he felt a lot better and his breathing became stabilized once again.

Only the noises of his sniffing and breathing rang through your ears as your glassy eyes stayed on him, waiting for his green light. But unexpectedly, he slithered his arms around your waist and pulled you into his lap. He kept his grip tight as he buried his face into your chest.

Your body hardened, but then felt the familiar warmth he gave out like when you were younger. Not wanting to reject him after his episode, you let it be and circled your arms around his torso. When he realized you didn’t push him away, he cried in relief. The wetness of his tears drenched your shirt, but you didn’t bother to care. You rubbed his back and rocked yourselves while humming a random tone.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Blue.” He chanted into your skin, having light hiccups in between.

“You’re fine, Hyungie. You’re good, you did so well. No more fears right now.” You hushed as his weeping remained.

You took it all in, never having any doubts at this moment. All you wanted right now was to make all his troubles go away. It was hard, but it wasn’t impossible. And you would do them in a heartbeat because now you took the first step of having him back in your life.

Accepting him. All of him.

Tagged: @manuosorioh @kaal-ee @stfxthv @dahliasbouqet @bertqut1 @fuckthinking @taebangtanbabe @tan-veee

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