#maybe one of these days i should figure out which tag is the proper one and condense it but today is not that day.

[secondpersonpoetry]

hi!!!!! haven’t been able to get any coherent thoughts down yet but i just wanted to let you know i Have been rotating your post in my mind…….was thinking about it in the back of multiple ubers today…..rain pattering against the window…………like, oh my goodness! YOUR MIND!!!!!!!!!!!! wishing you well. hope you have a safe, healthy, and happy new year!! 💗

"enough music", dorianne laux

[ireadwithmyears]

Hi! Would you be able to write something for the clones (any of them) with a reader who has a guide dog. I've been running into a lot of issues with people trying to distract her and borderline harassing us (the president of my university follows us around with his unleashed dog running up to us, someone grabbed her nose when we were on a bus and then screamed at us, I'm a biology/genetics major so we get some subtle discrimination in academic opportunities like research projects, etc). Also I don't currently live somewhere with public transportation so I have to take Uber to get anywhere which is a whole other nightmare (a driver dropped us off at the wrong location and I was stuck in a sketchy part of town for 45 minutes while drivers kept denying us a ride). Maybe something with how the clones would comfort/handle their SO dealing with these things. Obviously you don't have to write about all of these scenarios, just some ideas

You don't have to of course, but I figured it was worth an ask:)

Looking Out for You:Part 1

Pairing: Commander Fox/fem Reader

Part 2 | Part 3 | Visually impaired reader masterlist

Word count: 4.1 K

Tags/warnings: Visually impaired reader, meet cute, grumpy x sunshine vibes, denial of feelings(Fox falls first, he falls hard, and he denies it every single step of the way because he’s Fox), guide dog cuteness, brief mention of ableism(this chapter is pretty tame, but in future installments, I intend to explore these elements more deeply, specifically as they pertain to service dog users. These topics aren’t always the most comfortable to discuss. But I feel they are important to bring awareness to)

Summary: Making the transition from your small, rural homeworld to Coruscant already promises to be tough. But when you’re employed to work at the Senate buildings directly under senator Organa and you’re also a guide dog user, things quickly become more complicated, in a variety of ways. Luckily, you seem to have caught the eye of a certain Marshal commander, who swears up and down that he’s not falling in love with you, but who, regardless, always has your back, and is always looking out for you.

A.k.a. 

The three times Fox makes sure that you get home safely. Plus the one time he ends up following you inside

Authors note: Hii anon. I was so happy to hear from you and received this request. As a fellow guide dog user, I have so many different experiences that I feel are worth sharing, so that more people are aware of the trials we face because as amazing as it is that we have these incredible animals, it isn’t always just a nice walk in the park. Which leads me to my next point. Because of all of these experiences that I want to highlight, this 1shot quickly evolved into a four part series, to give it the proper breathing room that I feel it deserves. I hope that’s okay, and I hope you still like this one. If you’d like to message me privately so that I can make sure you’re tagged in each subsequent update, please do. I’d be happy to do that

The first time it happens, Fox is admittedly running on his default, which is to say in plain terms that he is annoyed.

“Why is this my problem?”

Fox winces upon hearing the barely concealed snarl in his own voice through his helmet speakers. He could have phrased that better. He should have at least taken the courtesy to add “with all due respect” when leading into that sentence, even if both he and the trooper who has the misfortune of being at the other end of the line are both fully aware that he doesn’t intend to sound respectful in the slightest.

There’s a pause, a hesitation on the other end of the coms, which causes Fox to silently berate himself for his initial sharp tone. He reminds himself, as he does about 500 times daily, that he needs to be more careful with it.

This warning, for some reason, always falls on deaf ears. But still, Fox wagers that he at least keeps trying, and who knows, maybe one of these days, it’ll actually stick. It probably won’t.

“It’s just that the issue is occurring at the entrance closest to your office, sir,” the trooper begins before rushing to add, “but if you’re busy, we can send—”

“Don’t bother,” Fox sighs. “I’m already on my way there.”

Maybe he shouldn’t be on such a high horse, but really, being sent to investigate a loitering complaint is far above what he, as a marshall commander, should be doing. Despite this though, he privately admits that he’s been looking for an excuse to stand up from his desk chair and stretch his legs. Maybe if he’s lucky, he'll manage to shake off the aching twinge in his left shoulder, hunched from filling out a last-minute stack of crime reports that he had been on the scene of, all from the previous night between the hours of 1 to 3 in the morning. So really, he rationalizes, can anyone blame him for being more than a little bit pissed off at the interruption? 

Maybe it’s a sign that he needs a refill on his caf. 

He rounds the corner and, with what is in hindsight probably more force than is necessary, smacks a hand against an access panel. The door slides open, and a cool breeze hits him as he steps outside into the open air.

His eyes scan through the visor of his helmet, and to his annoyance he doesn’t see the suspected loiterer that he had been warned of, at least not at first. 

Sighing, he steps further out and past the awning above the entrance. Though the air is cool, the sun still shines, and the slight glow causes his eyes to catch on the gloss of your hair as you walk past, eyes nervous as they flick around. Sensing his presence, you pause, shoulders stiffening slightly as you turn to face him with trepidation. Fox also takes notice, his eyes widening in momentary surprise when he observes the guide dog harnessed at your left side, looking up at you with big brown eyes, as if silently trying to understand your sudden hesitance.

You, of course, have every reason to be suspicious of any unannounced or unidentified presence in your vicinity, especially now that you’re living on Coruscant. But, if you’re honest, you’re already on edge, and even though it’s still morning, the day has promised to be shit if the beginning of it is any indication.

Senator Organa isn’t in the habit of firing his junior staff for small mistakes like this, you remind yourself. Still, the thought, no matter how many times you’ve repeated it like a mantra at this point, doesn’t manage to calm your growing nerves, because regardless you’re still lost, and you’re still running late. You silently curse the pitfalls of being blind and using a ride-sharing service, and then you have to restrain yourself from cursing aloud when your eyes land on the silhouette parked a few meters in front of you.

You don’t have much vision. But with what you do have, it’s enough to deduce bright, contrasting colors. And the red splotches against white armor has you stopping dead in your tracks, because within the span of two seconds, a cold clarity settles within your stomach, because the red and white armor is distinctly and unmistakably that of a Coruscant Guard member, the visor of his helmet tilted, looking no doubt with suspicion directly at you.

Resisting the urge to bemoan the shortage of orientation and mobility droids designed to assist with transitions like this—which would have ensured that you would have been able to smoothly get yourself out of this situation in the first place—you bring your guide dog to heel before gesturing for her to sit, then slowly and hesitantly raise your eyes to the trooper, already feeling a mix of anxiety and guilt stirring in the pit of your stomach.

There’s a small sound from his helmet, a hesitation as he seems to clear his throat before speaking. 

“Personal Senatorial aides aren’t permitted to use this entrance,” he says, gesturing to the badge on the lanyard that hangs around your neck. 

He speaks as if this is a reminder that he’s given more than once, which you’re sure he has. Still, there’s an underlying sharpness to it that makes you jump despite your efforts not to react. 

“I, I know,” you say, swallowing before rushing to continue. “I didn’t mean to be dropped off here, sir. I took a Speedershare to get here this morning, and I didn’t realize the driver dropped me off at this entrance until I got out, and by that point it was too late, and I should have asked to verify which one he was going to but—”

“Hey, easy. Slow down.”

The trooper steps closer to you, and it’s only then that you register that you’ve been rambling, your anxiety ratcheting up with each word. Now that you’re silent, you can feel the way your heart is pounding. You’ve seen the Guard around, of course, but you’ve never really interacted with any of them. He’s tall, you realize as he stands in front of you and you look up into the visor of his helmet. Tall and broad, and you were already nervous before he showed up. 

But his hands are raised, in supplication or as an offering of peace, you’re not sure. But regardless, he doesn’t seem on the verge of scolding you further for your silly mistake, which is good, because your nerves are still so frayed from getting out of your ride only to realize that you had no idea where you were, and that apart from knowing that you were somewhere at the Senate building, you were effectively lost and alone. A scolding, delivered with just the right amount of displeasure, would probably be enough to make you start crying, which would make this day go from being the worst to certifiably irredeemable.

“Speedershare isn’t always the most reliable service. Your employer is Senator Organa,” he says, eyes once again scanning over your badge. “I’m sure he could arrange an alternate transportation service that is much more consistent and professional for you to use.”

“I don’t want his charity,” you say, and you can’t help the hard edge that creeps into your voice when you speak.

But really, you don’t. You know that he could, and knowing Senator Organa, he would be happy to do so. But it’s unnecessary. You grew up needing extra accommodations and things that, despite your teachers’ constant stream of reassurances, always made you feel singled out. 

You’re an adult now, and you don’t want that. You don’t need his charity, his pity, or to be added to his ever-growing list of things to worry about at the beginning and end of each day—an item to be checked off. 

As far as you’re concerned, the best thing you can do for the both of you is to keep this to yourself, and you’ll figure out how to manage sooner or later.

Fox takes a step back, able to recognize your quick deflection of his suggestion as a sign that he’s slightly overstepped, and he nods, glancing towards the door.

“Well,” he says, forcing his voice to sound lighter. “I suppose I could let you off the hook this once and let you use this entrance.”

“Thank you,” you say, before hesitantly adding, “I, I’m not familiar with the route to get to Senator Organa’s office from where we are. Would you, I mean, you don’t have to if you’re busy, but—”

“I’ll take you there,” he cuts you off, finality in his voice. “Do you, uh, need a guide or anything?”

Fox internally kicks himself for not knowing how to handle a situation like this, but you give your head a small shake, which allows him a moment of relief. 

“The color on your armor is bright,” you respond, and for the first time in this interaction, you smile. He can’t help but admire the way it seems to transform you, your previous nerves and worry disappearing like the sun breaking through the clouds. It’s quite lovely, he observes, and then internally kicks himself just a bit harder as punishment for that traitorous thought. 

Useless, he scolds. Unnecessary. But it’s already been thought, and he can’t take it back. He’s grateful for the helmet concealing his face, hiding the way his lips repeatedly twitch in an effort to turn upward as he hears you, your voice giving a soft, encouraging command, and the slight pitter patter of paws against pavement as your guide dog leads you to follow after him. 

He firmly resolves not to speak unless necessary until he’s taken you to the senator's office.

This resolve lasts for less than two minutes before he feels the slight brush of a wet nose against his hand and hears a small sniffing sound at his hip. Turning his head, he finds your guide dog, who has stopped walking and is sniffing at a pouch around his waist, and you looking sheepish as you stand behind him.

“Mandalore, leave it,” you scold, your voice lower than he’s heard it and with a suddenly authoritative edge that has his eyes widening slightly. You’re so little, he thinks, and all you’ve ever been whilst interacting with him is timid and quiet like a mouse. Seeing that side of you, as if flipped on by a switch, well...he can’t help but be taken by slight surprise. You pull back the harness, giving it a slight shake and the dog, with obvious reluctance, backs off, abandoning its curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly, your cheeks heating with a blush. His hand twitches of its own accord, struck with an unexplained urge to reach out and touch, wondering if he would feel the warmth of your cheek beneath his gloved fingers.

Kriff, his internal monologue groans, disgusted. What the fuck is wrong with you today? He refocuses, looking down at you and shaking his head.

“Your dog’s name is Mandalore?” he asks, genuinely curious and unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

You laugh, nodding your head. “The one and only,” you grin. “Certain training schools do things differently. But the one we went to likes to name each litter by theme, and hers happened to be planets.”

You lower your voice, leaning in conspiratorially with a slight twinkle in your eye. 

“You know, for a Mandalore, she doesn’t look very intimidating, does she?” you ask, and he’s surprised, startled even, to hear the snort of laughter that is pulled from him as he nods his head, looking down at the guide dog who’s unaffected, her professional mask barely concealed behind a tail that wags at him and big, pleading eyes that seem to pierce through his soul.

“No, she really doesn’t,” he agrees, and your grin widens.

“I’ve always joked that if a burglar broke into my house, she wouldn’t bark or growl or try to bite at them,” you say, still smiling as you continue to walk. “She would simply flop down on the ground at their feet and roll over to demand a belly rub.”

“Well…” he says, and faintly, in the back of his head, he registers that he’s 

actually smiling. Huh, he thinks, taken slightly off-guard by the strange feeling. He can’t remember the last time that’s happened. It’s almost slightly disturbing. “If she’s not a fighter, she at least has some good distraction tactics.”

You laugh, your previous nerves surrounding getting lost and being late all but forgotten. It’s a nice sound, bright and lively, and Fox, the Maker help him, finds that he wants to hear it again.

“She probably smells the treats I keep in my pouch for Grizzer,” Fox explains, slightly rueful. He rolls his eyes and pretends to dislike it every time Hound brings the massiff to his office, citing that his panting is distracting, and that his drool gets everywhere, which is disgusting. Those things are both true. But Fox also can’t help but appreciate the warm weight of Grizzer’s head against his leg or the large, imploring eyes the massiff gives him when he knows that Fox has food. 

“I figured it would be unprofessional of me to offer one to her,” he continues, and you nod your head, glancing down.

“It would, but...” you begin slowly, calculating as you clock the staircase you’re approaching and turning your head to look up at him as a slow smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “If you give it to me, I could give it to her by proxy if you want.”

He nods, unzipping the small pouch, guiding you to hold out your hand as he places several small treats on the palm of it, which already has the dog vibrating with eagerness. But you don’t give in right away. 

“Forward,” you say, gesturing your head to the small set of stairs. The added incentive makes the dog quick on her feet, and you have to tell her to slow down as she rushes to comply, guiding you towards the stairs, barely able to contain the excited trot in her step. “Okay, Mandalore, show me where the railing is.”

The guide dog turns slightly, changing course to lead you towards the railing on the far right, placing her front paws up on the stairs and pausing, turning her head to look up at you for approval. 

“Yes,” you beam, stroking a hand along her head. “You learn so fast. Good girl.”

Fox watches, a smile on his face as you hold out your hand with the treats, giving it a few taps against the railing before opening your palm, offering it to her. She eagerly gobbles them up without hesitation, her tail never ceasing its happy little wiggles, which makes Fox want to laugh.

“You know,” he says, stepping up beside you and beginning to mount the stairs. “On second thought, maybe she is a fighter. I mean, she looked like she was ready to take off your fingers along with the treats.”

“When it comes to food, she definitely is,” you say with a grin, following after him. “If only all burglars came covered in peanut butter or dog treats, I’d feel much safer about our odds.”

You both snicker, and the rest of the journey up to the senators’ offices passes in a relatively comfortable silence apart from Fox giving you a few quiet directions as you make your way through the halls. You never fail to turn your head and smile at him each time he warns you of a crowd of people incoming so you can maybe take a step to the side, or if you need to turn left or right at this next intersection.

He isn’t sure how to describe it, but his heart does something strange each time you do. 

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience...” you trail off, uncertain of the trooper’s name as you stand outside the doorway to Senator Organa’s office.

“Fox,” he responds, and he’s quickly struck by the strangeness of how he felt compelled to give you his chosen name first instead of his rank. That, he thinks, is definitely odd and out of the ordinary, but he recovers himself quickly. “Commander Fox,” he adds, and your cheeks rapidly heat with a blush.

“Oh, Force,” you groan, covering your cheeks with your hands and closing your eyes, mortified. “I’m sorry, Commander. I didn’t mean to inconvenience so much of your time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says, and the brush of gloved fingers against your arm is barely there, brief and gone in an instant, but it’s enough to startle you out of your embarrassment, your eyes widening as you look up at him. “It wasn’t an inconvenience,” he says, sounding so sincere that you lose any ability to respond to that, falling into a silence in which the both of you simply stand, contemplating each other.

Fox, for his part, is struck by the realization that, for once, he means every word he’s just said. 

“Well,” you say, blinking as you try to shake yourself out of your stupor. “Regardless of the circumstances, it was lovely to meet you, Commander, and if we ever encounter each other again, you may want to introduce yourself by name if we speak. Every trooper shares the same voice, which makes it much harder for me to differentiate between you all, and I’d hate to mistake you for someone else and embarrass the both of us any further. At least, more than I probably already have.”

“Right,” he says, equally as slowly and strangely hesitant for this conversation to end but not knowing what else to add. “Understood.” 

“I should go,” you say, feeling suddenly shy as you give him a small smile and turn to the door. “See you around, Commander,” you murmur, giving him a playful wink.

You step into the office, not waiting for his response. It takes him a full 30 seconds of just standing there out in the hall listening to the sound of dog paws tapping against the floor, growing distant as you move out of his listening range, to realize that you left him—completely and deliberately if the smirk that was pulling at the corners of your lips was any indication—with a blind joke.

He chokes, uncertain of if he’s allowed to laugh—of if it would be completely inappropriate for him to laugh. His cheeks heat with belated awkward embarrassment. He shakes his head, making a note as he forces his feet to move and forces himself to walk away, heading back in the direction of his office.

The next time he sees you—and he can’t help the strange and foreign hope that twinges in his chest at even the thought of seeing you again—he’ll have to ask you.

Until then, he thinks, giving himself a firm shake as he maneuvers himself through the halls of the Senate building. He resolves to keep you—the girl with the pretty smile, the hair that looks like it was made to run fingers through, and the infectious laugh that he still hears clear as a bell even now that you’re gone—far from his thoughts, ordering himself to stop acting like some sort of lovesick puppy and for kriff sake to just get back to work.

*

Fox, to his consternation, is unsuccessful.

The whole day, as he goes about his tasks—filling out reports, sending requisitions to the Senate, doing patrol—he can’t stop thinking about you. 

Your smile as you tilted your head to look up at him, your warm, encouraging demeanor as you worked with your guide dog, the excitable pup looking up at you like you’re her whole galaxy, the way that he had been able to make you genuinely laugh...

Okay, maybe his bar for sharing friendly interactions with natborns was insanely low up to this point. But knowing that he had brought that out of you had felt strangely good, leaving a warm, unfamiliar feeling in his stomach that lingered every time he thought of it.

He’s so unsuccessful at keeping his mind off of you during the workday that it’s still early in the afternoon when he pulls up your file on the database, scrolls through your work schedule, and at the end of the day is standing outside of Senator Organa’s office waiting for your shift to end.

When he sees you come out, Mandalore, sensing his presence before you do, happily begins to waggle her tail, her footsteps quickening as she leads you out of the office. He calls out to you, and you turn, searching for the voice.

“It’s Fox,” he says, removing his helmet and tucking it beneath his arm. “From this morning.”

Is he imagining it, or do your eyes actually light up when you spot him? 

“I just wanted to make sure that your ride picks you up without complication,” he continues. “Not that I don’t think you can do that on your own,” he rushes to add, his cheeks heating slightly. He’s already gotten the sense that you don’t like being underestimated, and he respects that. “I can make sure that you have detailed instructions in the app so that your driver knows exactly which entrance to collect you.”

“That would actually be super helpful!” you exclaim, and there’s no masking the relief in your voice as you pull out your comm, fiddling with it for a second before passing it to him. “I’ve been meaning to ask someone to update them, because I have a vague idea of what each entrance looks like and how to describe them, but honestly, I don’t think it’s enough to be helpful.”

He takes the device from you, and working quickly, types up detailed directions on how to get to the staff entrance along with a description of its surroundings. He pastes a copy into your notes for good measure so that you’re able to keep reusing it at your convenience. He explains all this to you as he passes it back, letting you know your ride is booked.

“You’re an angel, Fox,” you say in a relieved breath, beaming up at him. “Moving here has been so stressful as it is, and getting used to the transit options is just one more thing on top of that.”

You miss the way his cheeks go pink, but you do catch his quiet, breathy chuckle as he awkwardly avoids your gaze. 

“Right, well,” he scratches at the back of his neck, looking down at the ground. “Your ride should be here soon. Want me to come with you and make sure it shows up?”

“I don’t want to hold you up if you have other things to do,” you say uncertainly, biting your lip.

The truth is, you so badly want to say yes. Waiting for a Speedershare on your own can be anxiety inducing. So many things can go wrong. Your driver might not be able to find you, and when they call and ask you for directions, you aren’t able to provide them with much help. They could drive past and cancel altogether once they realize you have a service dog. Or worse, they can turn it into a full out yelling confrontation. In all cases, you’ve learned, your anxiety is significantly lessened if someone else is with you, ready to back you up at a moment's notice.

It’s true, you’ve only met Fox today. But his presence is steady, safe, and you get the sense that he would stay without question and without hesitation. But you also don’t want to become his burden.

“You’re not,” he states, hooking his helmet to his belt. “And I’m not. Come on, let’s go find your ride.”

And that’s exactly what he does. 

He leads you out towards the pick-up point, and when the speeder gets there, he verifies the plates, opens the door, and helps you inside, waiting patiently for your guide dog to tuck in her tail before beginning to let it close. Before it does though, before it drives away and you’re left wondering if and when you’ll ever see him again, he speaks, his voice low and carrying the softest, lightest undertone of teasing.

“See you around, mesh’la.”

It takes you a moment, but as you drive off, the echo of the words you had jokingly thrown over your shoulder at him just this morning flashes through your memory, and before you know it, you’re tipping your head back against the headrest of the seat, quietly laughing to yourself, uncaring of the driver giving you a funny look from the corner of his eye as he picks up speed, driving away from the Senate building.

You’re still smiling as the speeder rounds the corner, and the building, as well as Marshall Commander Fox, disappears from view.

If you like and enjoy this story, please consider dropping a reblog, as you might help someone else find something they enjoy just as much. Thank you :-) and thank you to @strangergraphics-archive for such cute puppy dividers

[ladykailitha]

A Love Connection Part 3

Hey, all! Welcome to first of two posts today.

I've really got to ask, are you guys seeing these posts? I dropped from 70-80 notes on a post at the beginning of the month to barely cracking 40-50 these days and then it slowly works up as more people see it, but it's taking weeks to get that when it used to take a day maybe two.

I did change my schedule but the people I'm tagging should be able to see them right? And the people that have me on notifications?

Also I've seen a sharp drop in people that used to comment and reblog all the time, from anywhere from not seeing them at all to them only liking a post.

I'm not trying to dog anyone, I'm just curious about the sudden change.

Any advice would be helpful.

This morning's chapter includes the cutest kitten (Sorry Nermal), a Robin apology, and Chrissy and Robin have a confession to make.

Part 1 Part 2

~

Steve pulled up to the apartment building and turned off his car. He put his head on the steering wheel with a heavy sigh. He was about to hit his head on the horn when he heard it. He lifted his head and tilted it.

There!

Steve scrambled to get out of the car. He rushed toward the sound. He skidded on the wet and icy pavement as he tried to come to a stop, nearly toppling over in the process. Near the dumpsters was a wet cardboard box, falling apart in the thick snow.

He scrambled toward it, trying to keep his feet under him. He knelt in the snow and peeled back as sagging corner of the box to reveal the sweetest thing he had ever seen. There, all alone in the destroyed box was a small cream colored kitten with dark brown ears. It looked up at Steve and mewled in the weakest, most plaintive meow imaginable.

He sank to his knees and with gentle hands scooped the wet creature into his arms. It clung to him as he stood shakily to his feet.

“Hey, little guy,” he murmured. “Don’t you know outside is no place to be at this time of year?”

It mewled again and clung a little harder to Steve’s coat. “There’s no place open for me to get you checked out, little one, but let’s get you inside and dried off at the very least, then I’ll see what I have that you can eat until I can get you some proper food. How does that sound?”

“Mew!”

Steve chuckled. “I figured you’d be down with that.”

He turned away from the now fully collapsed box, that once had read on the outside “KITTENS FREE TO GOOD HOME”

~

Before Steve even gotten the kitten dried and fed, he knew he was going to keep it. The poor little thing was as alone as he was feeling in that moment.

He looked up vet services and vowed to make a run to the pet store for supplies first thing in the morning.

He looked up everything he could; like how old the kitten was likely to be, what kind of nutrition the little thing needed, how to tell the sex of his new friend, what toys it would need, proper bedding.

He fell asleep reading how to tell how big a kitten was going to grow up to be, the kitten nestled under his chin.

Steve woke up to distressed mewling. He shot up when he realized it, no not it, he, was no longer on his chest. At first he couldn’t see him, but then he caught sight of the small little paw located near the distressed meows.

He peered over the sofa and burst out laughing. Somehow the kitten had gotten one of his claws caught in the afghan Joyce had given him his first year as a teacher. Something she did for all new teachers at her school regardless of their years being a teacher.

He reached over and gently untangled the little thing from the blanket. “There you go. What were you doing up there anyway?”

“Merrow!” he meowed.

Steve checked his watch and was pleased to note it was barely seven. Which meant he had plenty of time to get dressed, get the little tyke checked out and to stop by the pet store for supplies.

He set him down on the sofa and immediately the kitten tried to walk off the edge. “All all kittens this dumb or is it just you?”

“Meroh!” the kitten cried.

He laughed and scooped him up into his arms. He set the kitten in the middle of the bed so he could change his clothes. Steve laughed every time he had to stop what he was doing and rescue him from the edge, placing him in the center of the bed once again.

Finally he was ready to go. He placed the kitten in his coat to keep it from getting stuck under the car seat and for Steve’s own piece of mind.

He drove to the nearest vet and hoped it wouldn’t cost him an arm and a leg to get the little guy checked out.

~

The vet was quick and painless. On his wallet too. The nice lady at the desk got him set up with a vaccination schedule and the adoption papers.

“All right,” she said warmly, “all he needs is a name.”

Steve chewed on his lip for a moment before he wrote in big capital letters “ODIE”.

She raised her eyebrow but before she could comment the vet’s assistant came out with the little rascal. “That has got be the stupidest or the most fearless kitten I’ve ever met.”

The desk lady looked back at the vet’s assistant and then back at Steve who was trying very hard to hide his smile and failing miserably.

She sighed and helped put the kitten in a cardboard carrier. “There you go, Odie is all set.”

The vet’s assistant burst out laughing. “I like it.”

Steve was about to ask for her number when he noticed a ring on her left hand. Damn.

Oh well, he couldn’t win them all. He thanked them both and took his new friend out to his car.

“Come on, Odie,” he murmured, buckling the carrier into the passenger seat, “lets go get you everything you’ll need.”

~

Steve had just gotten into the car when his cell phone pinged. He opened it to reveal a text from Robin telling him to call her.

He dialed her number. “Hey, Bobbin.”

“So, um...my girlfriend is mad at me for ditching you,” she began nervously, “and making you watch the AV club when last night was supposed to be about hanging out with you before we left.”

Steve sighed. Which meant that Robin had lied to Chrissy about him joining them later and she only found out this morning that was never the plan. “How much hot water are you in?”

“A lot,” Robin admitted. “Like if this trip hadn’t been planned for months, I wouldn’t be going kind of hot water.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand and sighed. “Yeah, that’s pretty bad. Is she doing the thing with her bottom lip and watery eyes?”

“Yes!” she wailed. “Now I feel horrible!”

“About upsetting your girlfriend or for ditching me?” he asked because he felt it was a very important distinction she needed to make.

“Shit!” she hissed. “Of course I feel horrible about leaving you with seven little demons. I know I wasn’t last night when you were messaging me, but I filled with booze. When I got home I was filled with regret. I’m the one that told her about ditching you, she didn’t find out any other way. I promise. You know how get with pretty ladies. Chrissy had showed me what she planned to wear out last night, yesterday morning and that the only thought in my head all day. And when you kept messaging me, and Chrissy kept asking me when you were coming out, I just dug a hole for myself and just kept digging. I’m really sorry.”

She paused for a moment. “I probably should have led with that instead of the upset girlfriend, huh?”

Steve clicked his tongue. “Yeah, probably. So when are you two leaving?”

“In a few minutes,” she murmured. “We have everything packed up and ready to go, we just need to get to the airport and get checked in.”

“Are you sure you two don’t want me to take you?” Steve asked. “I could be there in five minutes. That way you don’t have to take an Uber or pay for long term parking.”

Suddenly there was BEEP, BEEP!

“Looks like our ride is here,” Robin said. “Chrissy got one of her friends to take us because they live closer. But you better pick us up, okay? I’ll miss your stupid face.”

“Your face is stupider,” Steve teased back. “You two ladies have a great trip and I’ll see you in a week.”

Robin sighed dramatically. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“I can’t,” Steve said, “you’re taking all the stupid with you.”

“Hey!” she protested as he hung up on her. He chuckled at the immediate message he got after the call disconnected.

He looked over at the new cat carrier he bought. It was much bigger than Odie currently needed but Steve wanted to give him room to grow into. The kitten was currently asleep in it. Having passed out while Steve was shopping. This is didn’t count as doing something stupid while she was gone, he reasoned, because she was still here.

~

Once Steve got home, he setup the cat bed in the living room, the food and water dishes in the kitchen and the litterbox in the bathroom. He would need to be trained to use the litterbox, but the nice ladies at the vet said it was fairly easy because it was pretty much their instinct to want to bury their wastes.

Steve just had to be consistent. Which was perfect because he had the next two weeks off.

He put the pet toys in his room and settled Odie in. He had been fed and shown the litterbox where he promptly did his business. Steve turned on the latest season of “A Love Connection” and Odie immediately curled up on Steve’s chest right under his chin.

Yeah, this was going to work out just fine.

Over the next week Steve and Odie got used to each other and Steve learned that Odie was more fearless than stupid. He wouldn’t go anywhere he might actually get hurt, once he knew where the limits were. But he was always testing those limits.

Steve knew that he would probably have to find a bigger place once Odie had grown up because of all the jumping the little thing tried to do.

The kitten was aptly named in one sense though, he followed Steve around like a dog. Always at Steve’s heels.

He wasn’t sure how many times he almost stepped on Odie, but it was a lot. But he had good reflexes and he sure put them to the test.

~

A week later, Chrissy and Robin showed up at the apartment with a six pack of his favorite beer, a large bag of gummy worms, and of course his Christmas presents. But it was the guilty expressions that really sold it.

“So um...” Robin began looking at Chrissy for help. “In early November, ‘Love Connection’ posted online for a casting call for their all queer season of their show. I think it’s a little rude that it’ll be for the thirteenth season, but–”

Chrissy put her hand on Robin’s arm. “What Robin is trying to say is that we sent in your application as a joke. We didn’t think that they would pick it. It was one in a couple million shot, you know? Anyway, I think they must have recognized my email as the one attached to my Twitter account and well...”

Steve put his face in his hands. “You didn’t...come on, guys. I don’t want to go on a game show to find love. I’m not that desperate yet.”

“We brought you gummy bears and beer!” Robin said hold up her prizes like that would help the matter. At all.

Steve was ready to open his mouth to shut this down when he got the best idea. “I’ll do the show on one condition,” he said with a blinding smile.

Chrissy and Robin shared a shocked glance. They didn’t think he would agree so easily.

“Yeah, okay,” Chrissy said warily, not sure where this was going.

Steve dashed into the bedroom and came back holding the kitten Lion King style. “I get to keep Odie!”

~

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List: FIVE SLOTS LEFT

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @wheneverfeasible @themoonagainstmers @garden-of-gay @little-birch-boy

[viking-raider]

Thankful

Summary: For Thanksgiving, you decide to take part of a military support group event and host a Veteran, having them over for dinner. Forming a lasting bond with a certain Captain.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warning: G - Cotton Candy Goodness, Angst, Mention of Loss of Family Member, Mourning, Cold Mother, Embarrassed!Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Use, Fluff, Friendly Bets, Southern Charm

Inspiration: It’s for Thanksgiving. 🍗

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS! My Syverson's first name is Austin.

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLISTand turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy! @VIKING-RAIDER-LIBRARY

You had received the message from one of the countless Military support groups you were a part of about the Sponsoring a Veteran for Thanksgiving event, and if you were interested in participating. You had hesitated for a couple days, before finally caving. You didn't have much family left of your own, just your mother. Since your father passed, when you were a kid and your only sibling, a brother, had been killed in the line of duty. Which was why you were a member of the support groups, looking to keep a closeness to him, and find some sort of peace with his death.

“All right.” The lead organizer, retired Lieutenant Sarah Timmans, sighed, looking over her clipboard at the list of names of all the Veterans that had been signed up for the event. “Your mother knows you're hosting a Vet, right?” She asked, cocking a brow at you, knowing how sensitive and touchy your mother was still about being around anything directly Military.

“I told her, I was bringing a friend over.” You answered, biting your lip nervously, knowing your mother's own mood swings on the subject.

“Girl, she's going to flip out on you.” Sarah said, shaking her head, eyes bulging. “Maybe, you should just do something one-on-one with them?” She suggested, trying to bypass a disaster.

“She's expecting us, and I'll get an earful, if I skip another family gathering.”

Sarah snorted at you, smirking. “It's your KP!” She teased, going down the list to find your name and who you'd been assigned. “So, your Vet is Captain Austin Syverson. He just retired seven months ago after nineteen years in the service of the U.S Army. Special Forces.” She informed you, looking up from the clipboard to scan the crowded room for a moment.

“Ah, there he is!” She smiled, motioning behind you.

Turning around and following her gaze, you were surprised for a moment, standing on the other side of the room, in a small cluster of other Vets, was a tall, thickly muscular guy, with a shaved head and well groomed beard. Everything about him exuded authority, self-confidence and calm. He was so damn handsome in his pair of dark wash blue jeans, brown cowboy boots and fleshly ironed, black dress shirt that was tucked in, showing off his belt buckle. Your insides tingled as you stared at him, throat going dry.

“Damn, that's a Texas boy.” You mumbled under your breath.

“Sure is.” Sarah agreed, checking him out as well. “You should go introduce yourself, before he thinks you stood him up.” She added, a hint of encouragement in her voice.

“God, you're right.” You started, frightened he just might, then weaved through the crowd towards him, pausing for a moment, until he noticed you. “Hi there.” You beamed up at him, your knees like a nervous jelly.

“Ma'am.” Syverson greeted you back with a Southern drawl, tipping his head forward.

“I'm your host, Captain Syverson.” You informed him, introducing yourself.

“Oh.” He replied, giving you a proper look over, a smile pulling over his lips as he took your lovely figure in the white, knee-length dress covered in delicate yellow flowers, paired with black flats. “It's a pleasure to meet you.” He said, his bright blue eyes meeting yours once more. “You can just call me, Sy.”

“Nice to meet you as well, Sy.” You answered, cordially extending your hand.

Smirking broader, Sy gently took your hand in his, shaking it. “I'm grateful that you've allowed me impose myself on you and your family's holiday.”

“Oh, it's quite all right.” You waved it off, shrugging your shoulders. “It's really just me and my mom, so nothing major.”

“Well, I'm just a Captain, so it'll literally be nothing Major.” Sy quipped, making the group around him crackle at the inside joke.

You dropped your head, hiding your amused smile, knowing the two of you were more than likely to get along, if he had that sense of humor. “Fair.” You nodded, lifting your head. “More than fair. Well, we can leave whenever you like.”

Sy turned over his wrist to glance at his watch. “We can go now, if you like.” He replied, twisting to a chair that was behind him and picking up a black, denim Sherpa coat off the back. “I'll see you boys later. Have a good Thanksgiving.” He bid the men, patting a couple on the shoulder, before following you out of the building.

“You can follow me to my place or we can ride together.” You told Sy, standing on the sidewalk with him, chewing on your lip.

“I can follow.” Sy answered, smiling down at you. “My truck's just over there.” He said, motioning over to the big, 2021 Dodge Ram, parked a short distance away.

“Okay. I'm just right there.” You informed him, pointing out your little KIA Niro.

“On your lead then, Major.” Sy quipped, winking at you, before heading off towards his truck.

“Christ,” You huffed, watching after him for a moment, your hand moving up to a necklace around your neck. “He reminds me so much of you, Phelan.” You sighed, then made for your vehicle.

Pulling out of the parking space, your phone started to ring, so you connected the car's Bluetooth. “Mother.” You answered, glancing in your rear-view, to make sure Sy was behind you, before you started out of the parking lot and into the street.

“How much longer are you going to be?” Your mother snapped through the car's speakers.

“I'm just leaving now, mom.” You sighed, pressing your lips together. “I had to find my friend and now we're heading there now. We should be there in about ten or so minutes.”

“Why is he spending Thanksgiving with us? Doesn't he have his own family?” She demanded, clearly pacing the house.

“I'm sure he has a family, mother. But I invited him over to ours and he accepted. So, please, be nice to him. He's a very polite and outstanding person, who doesn't need to be pestered and guilt tripped, or reminded his mother is lucky, that her son is still alive and not in the military and so on.” You hoped to warn and deter her from her usual interaction with the males she came into contact with. “Let's just have a nice dinner, for once.”

“How can we, when your brother isn't here.” She growled, then the line went dead.

“At least, I'm here.” You sighed, deflated by her words. “I should really warn Sy before we get into the house.” You thought, then pushed that unpleasantness aside.

Sy managed to keep behind your car, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. He felt a little nervous about going to a random, pretty young lady's home to have Thanksgiving dinner with her mother. However, he didn't have any other plans for the holiday under his belt, other than staying on the ranch he'd started up on his return home with Aika.

“Idle hands are the devil's workshop.” He commented aloud, following you off the on-ramp.

It would have just been him and his pup, working the horses all day, before making another ten minute meal and sitting in front of his laptop, since he still hadn't gotten around to buying himself a proper tv for the living room. So, he let one of his buddies nag him into signing up for the event. Sy wasn't at all disappointed either.

You were more than easy on his eyes.

Finally making it outside your place, you got out and met Sy in your driveway, shifting glances between him and the front door.

“Are you all right?” Sy asked, squinting down at you.

“Okay, look.” You blurted out, not looking back at him. “My mom is super touchy about the military.” You started to explain to Sy, giving him an embarrassed glance.

“Why?” He frowned, confused.

Your shoulders slumped slightly and a tired expression washed over your face. “My brother died in Afghanistan six years ago. My mom has taken that to her heart and soul. So anything military tends to set her off.”

“Then, should I even be here?” Sy asked, concerned about causing your mother any distress.

“It's my house and you're my guest.” You told him, bluntly. “I want you here for dinner. It'll be nice to have someone over that might actually engage with me.” You said, heading up the footpath towards the front door. “And not remind me that I'm not my dead, older brother.” You added under your breath, but Sy's sharp ear heard you all the same.

“Mom!” You called out, toeing off your shoes as you stood in the entry with Sy. “We're here.”

“Took long enough.” Her voice echoed back somewhere in the house.

You looked up at Sy. “I'm so sorry.” You mouthed, shaking your head.

“It's all right.” He smiled, his hand touching the back of your arm.

“Do you want something to drink?” You asked, showing him into the kitchen and pulling open the fridge. “Got wine, a couple bottles.” You twisted your upper half to peek at an upper shelf. “Looks like she's left my Ardbeg whiskey alone.”

“I wouldn't mind a little whiskey.”

Nodding, you shut the fridge and got down two glasses with the whiskey bottle. “Straight or on the rocks?”

“What are you having?” Sy asked, leaning back against your sink, a twinkle of mischievous curiosity in his eyes.

“The rocks.” You answered, a playful smirk tugging on your lips.

Sy drew a breath in through his nose, pressing his lips together as he nodded. “Impressed.”

“Thank you.” You chuckled, grabbing a couple ice cubes from the freezer and dropped them into your glasses, then poured you and Sy a generous amount of amber liquid. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” Sy tipped his head, taking the glass from you and took a sip. “Damn, that's smooth.”

“Mmm, for a twenty year old bottle, it should be.” You snorted, taking a gulp of yours.

“Twenty years.” Sy choked slightly. “Damn, almost as long as I was in--” He caught himself, eyes shooting to the two kitchen entrances. “Well, you know.”

“Yeah.” You nodded, a little stiff, praying your mother was lurking nearby, and polished off your drink, before moving over to the oven, revealing a nice sized turkey, just starting to turn a golden brown, filling the kitchen with a mouth-watering scent. “I started this about an hour and a half ago, so it should have about another hour or so to go. While it does that, I can show you around.”

“And, if you're as much of a Texan as I think you are, I'll pop the football game on.”

“You don't have to put the game on.” Sy laughed, feeling called out. “We can watch whatever you and your mother want. I'd hate to impose.”

“Captain Austin Syverson, you're not imposing.” You informed him, putting your foot down.

Sy's eyes widened and he gave you a half smirk. “I do love a woman that takes charge. Yes, ma'am, if you say so.”

“Besides, I'd love to see the Chiefs kick the Cowboys ass.” You added, teasingly.

“Oh, you're a traitor to your home state!” Sy gasped, horror on his face.

“Texas isn't my home state.” You giggled at him, then tisked. “Kansas isn't either, to be far.” You snorted, amused by the banter. “But I like Mahomes.”

“What's wrong with Dak Prescott?”

“Nothing! He's a great QB. I'm just a Chiefs girl.”

“I may have to call this Thanksgiving off.” Sy said, draining his whiskey glass and set it on the counter behind him and pushed off the edge. “To eat at the same table as a Chiefs girl, may just be too much for this ol' Texas boy.”

You were worried for a moment that Sy was genuine, and felt terrible for bringing it up, until you finally noticed the look in his eye and relaxed. He had a dry humor and pulled it out on you, catching you good.

“Shoot, you had me there.” You chuckled, breathy.

He winked at you, amusing you more with his cute double blink.

“Well,” You sighed, looking at the kitchen. “This is the kitchen.”

“A very nice kitchen.” Sy echoed, nodding and rubbing a hand over the counter top. “Nice and clean.”

“Thank you, I do my best.” You replied, bowing your head. “Out that way is the dining room, where we'll be having dinner.” You said, motioning to your right, and Sy peeked in, finding a long, glass table already set for three people with nice little autumn decorations as a centerpiece. “Over here, is the living room, where we'll probably be starting our football rivalry.”

You showed him into the living room, just as your mother came downstairs, in nothing but a pair of loose shorts, a tank top and an open bathrobe, a half glass of white wine clutched in her hand. You felt a cold shard of embarrassment go down your back. You had hoped, when you told her you were going to get Sy, she would have dressed into something—anything.

“Mom, this is Sy.” You told her, keeping your voice even. “Sy, this is my mother, Dana.” You introduced them, chewing the inside of your lip to bits.

“Pleasure to meet you, ma'am.” Sy greeted her politely, nodding his head kindly, like nothing was out of place.

She looked Sy over, taking a gulp of her wine. “How do you and my daughter know each other?” She inquired, lifting a brow at him.

You stiffened, you hadn't considered fielding that question from her while Sy was over.

“Work.” Sy said, casually.

“So, she's your accountant?” Dana pressed and showed no sign of easing off.

“I am.” You chimed in, hoping to get her to drop the subject and leave Sy alone.

“That she is.” Sy confirmed, backing you up. “Helps me out with my ranch.” He told Dana, tapping that belt buckle at his waist, bearing the Hook Hill Ranch logo on it.

“Hmm.” Your mother grunted, not sounding convinced. “Why aren't you spending Thanksgiving with your family?” She asked, giving Sy a hard look.

“Mom!” You snapped, horrified.

“It's all right.” He assured you, giving you a soft smile. “I'm an only child. I've never known my father and my mother ran off, when I was ten years old, leaving me to be raised by uncle, her brother. He had a heart attack three years ago, while milkin' his cows. So, it's just me and my dog, Aika, nowadays. Your daughter was kind enough to ask me over to your Thanksgiving dinner, and I accepted.”

“Satisfied?” You asked, annoyed your mother caused Sy to divulge such personal information.

Rolling her eyes, your mother turned in a flare of her bathrobe and headed back upstairs.

“Turkey will be done in an hour!” You called after her, with no reply. “I'm so sorry.” You said, turning back to Sy.

“It's okay.” He said softly, more concerned for you. “Is there anything I can do to help you finish up with dinner?”

“Um,” You tapped your foot. “No, I don't think so. Besides, you're my guest. You should relax.” You told him, waving over to the couch. “I can handle everything.” You assured him, rounding the arm of the couch to swipe the remote of the coffee table and turned the tv on, quickly finding the football game. “Ooh, Cowboys are beating the Chiefs by two points!” You hissed, casting a glance over your shoulder at Sy.

Sy moved to join you, holding your gaze. “I bet you a round of drinks, at a later time, that the Cowboys beat your Chiefs.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Syverson?” You asked, surprised.

“I am.” He admitted, unashamed.

“Then, you're on.” You grinned, giving him a cocky look. “But, if the Chiefs win, I want to see your ranch.”

“Bold.” Sy smirked, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. “I'll even cook for you.”

“Sold.” You agreed, extending your hand out to him.

He shook your hand, then sat down on the couch, getting comfortable to watch the game, while you returned to the kitchen. Pausing for a moment, you refilled his whiskey glass and took it out to him, giving him a soft smile as you set the cool glass down on a coaster and went back to prepping dinner. Sy watched you over the back of the couch, moving and bumping about, taking a deep breath and taking all the lovely smells of your hard work wafting towards him and making his belly rumble.

Lord have mercy, she's gorgeous.

“You sweet on my daughter?” Dana's voice came up behind him.

Sy's head swung around to look back at her, seeing she'd finally gotten dressed, now wearing a pair of black leggings and a loose, cream colored jumper, but no shoes or socks. “I just might be.” He answered, meeting her gaze head on. “She's a sweet, generous young lady.”

“Young lady, how old are you?” Dana huffed, dropping down into a recliner at the end of the couch.

“I'm thirty-eight.” Sy replied, with an odd amusement.

Dana looked Sy over, her gray eyes scrutinizing. “At least you're both in your thirties.” She huffed, curling her legs underneath her and glared at the tv.

What a curious woman. Sy blinked, shaking his head at her.

The two of them sat quietly, not speaking or interacting with each other any further. Which didn't bother either Sy or Dana. You peeked in at them from time to time, scurrying out to fill Sy's glass, whenever you noticed it was empty and always asking if he needed or wanted something, before vanishing back into the kitchen or dining room.

You wanted the dinner to be as great as possible for Sy, and your mother.

“Dinner is ready, everyone!” You declared, coming into the living room, glancing at the football score, discovering the Chiefs had recovered since the last time you'd entered, now ahead by four points.

“Smells delicious.” Sy complimented you, as he and your mother came into the dining room, finding the set table.

The turkey was juicy and golden-brown, slices already carved and on a plate beside it, with sides of stuffing, mashed potatoes, rolls and cornbread muffins, yams with marshmallows, peas and asparagus, accompanied with pecan and pumpkin pie. There were two decanters of red and white wine, a bottle of Ardbeg, and a pitcher of iced tea.

“Thank you.” You grinned with shy pride, biting the inside of your lip. “Sit wherever you like and dig in.” You said, motioning to the chairs around the table, before slipping into one.

Sy joined you, winking at you, as he picked up a plate and started helping himself, piling his plate with meat, rolls, yams and cornbread. “Mmm, this is amazing.” He hummed, nodding his head and chewing his mouthful of turkey and mashed potatoes.

You were giddy that Sy was so in love with your cooking, glancing towards your mother, who was at the end of the table. But found she was sipping a glass of red and nibbling on a buttered roll, to your slight dismay. Pushing the feeling away, you fixed your plate and dug in, moaning at how tasty it was.

“So, your team was winning.” Sy commented, giving you a side brow as he continued to eat.

“Yeah, I noticed.” You smirked, feeling bubbly, as you poured yourself some wine. “Looks like we'll be spending some more time together.”

“That it does.” He nodded, feeling your mother's eyes on him. “I'll have to show you the new foal that was born last week.”

A flood of excitement filled you, you loved the thought of seeing a baby horse. “Oh! I bet they're just the cutest thing on the planet!” You gushed, eyes bright with love already. “What did you name it?”

“Oh, I haven't named the little rascal, yet.” Sy laughed, watching you just gush. “Maybe, you could help me come up with a name for her?” He suggested, looking at you over the rim of his whiskey glass.

“Hmm.” You hummed, falling into a meditative state as you brewed over a name for the baby horse.

“So,” Dana cleared her throat, eyes narrowed between you and Sy. “You're a Rancher?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Sy nodded, turning to regard her, nothing by polite respect in his expression.

“How long have you been one?” She questioned, swirling the wine in her glass.

“Ranchin' has been in my family for generations.” Sy replied, not letting her trip him up. “My many great-grandfather came over from Ireland, just after the American Revolution. Then, when the Civil War happened, my family fought and were granted land at the end, for their service. We've been doing it ever since.”

“So, your family fought for the South.” Dana said bluntly, causing you to choke on your food.

“Mother.” You rasped, eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“No, ma'am.” Sy said coolly. “We fought for the North.” He told her, and left it at that.

“Are you satisfied?” You asked her slowly, eyes still wide and mouth agape.

“No.” She answered, getting up and leaving the room.

“I'm so sorry, Sy.” You stuttered, ashamed of your mother.

“It's all right, love.” He shook his head, wiping his hands on his napkin. “It's not your fault. It's not hers either, really.” He said softly. “She's mourning her son, and doing so takes the form in many ways. That's how your Ma is coping with your brother no longer being on this Earth.” He told you, resting back in his chair and fixing his blue eyes on you. “You're coping by going to support groups and trying to understand the kind people that he was, that he worked with, that he died surrounded by.”

You bit your lip, a lump of emotion strangling you and blurring your eyes; Sy was right. You wanted to be surrounded by those like your brother. It was like still having him there, in a way. You felt the strong, rough warmth of Sy's hand slip into yours, squeezing it and rubbing his thumb over your wrist as the two of you sat there, quiet and surrounded by your Thanksgiving feast.

“You know,” Sy spoke, breaking the silence. “I could actually use an accountant for my ranch.” He said, smirking over at you. “Plus, how about drinks at my place, while you figure out a new name for my foal? Who cares who wins the game.” He chuckled, arching a suggestive brow at you.

“Are you hinting at a sort of date, Syverson?” You asked, playfully thumb warred him.

“It's possible.” Sy laughed, letting you pin his thumb. “Maybe, I'll even cook you Christmas dinner.”

“Oh, I think I'd like that.” You told him, grinning, thankful you'd decided to host him for Thanksgiving.

[glorious-spoon]

Easy as That [9-1-1 | Buck & Eddie | 1/1]

in honor of 9-1-1 day, please enjoy this little episode tag for 7x04 that i recently found in my drafts. because i really wanted to see the conversation between buck and eddie after all that

850 words episode tag | apologies | friendship

-

The first words out of Buck's mouth when Eddie pulls the door open are, "I figured I owed you a proper apology."

"Yeah," Eddie agrees mildly. He's got a crutch tucked under his arm, which makes it difficult to maneuver the door, so he lets Buck deal with it even though he's got a pile of takeout bags in one hand. Apology takeout, no doubt. The bags are stamped with the logo from Anarkali's, and he can smell curry and ginger. As bribes go, he could have done worse. Eddie is weak for their chicken jalfrezi. "You kinda do."

"Not kinda. I was—I was so out of line, Eddie, I'm so sorry."

"Shit happens."

"What, as easy as that?"

Eddie snorts, heading back into the kitchen without bothering to look back and see if Buck is following him. He is, of course. He always is. They already talked on the phone last night, when Eddie was loopy on painkillers and feeling kinda bad about winding Buck up as much as he did. He's less stoned now, and his ankle fucking hurts, so it's a little sharper when he says, "I was always gonna forgive you. You want me to drag it out?"

"Well, when you put it like that, no. But still."

Eddie sighs. It's a character flaw, probably, that he can't resist Buck's face when he looks like this. "We'll get past it. Just like you and Chim did after he decked you that one time. Okay?"

Buck presses his lips together and nods. He sets the bags down on the table and says, "I don't have to stay. If you want some space."

"I don't want space. Maybe an explanation." He nods toward the kitchen drawers. "You can get the forks. I hope you brought enough for both of us, because I'm not sharing."

"Yeah. I—I figured if you didn't want me around, there'd be leftovers."

"I always want you around, you idiot."

"Even after I broke your ankle?"

"It's just a sprain."

"That feels sort of like missing the point, Eddie."

"Listen," Eddie says. He eases himself into a chair, propping the crutch against the table next to him. In the kitchen, Buck pauses with the silverware drawer half-open, takes a visible deep breath, and turns back toward him with a pair of forks clutched in his hand. "You acted like an idiot, and somebody got hurt. It happens. So now you're gonna bring me a fork, sit your ass down, and tell me what's going on with you. Okay?"

"Okay," Buck says, pushing the silverware drawer gently shut. He brings the forks back to the table, sets one in front of Eddie, and reaches into the bag to pull out the takeout containers. 

There's a few minutes of silence while they get everything dished out, and then Eddie takes a bite of his jalfrezi, takes a moment to savor it, then says, "Okay. Talk."

"I mean, I don't know what to say," Buck says evasively. Eddie gives him a look, and he sighs. "Okay, I—I was jealous. Of you, and—and Tommy."

"Tommy," Eddie repeats.

Buck nods, his gaze fixed on his takeout dish, which he's sort of poking at like he expects it to come to life. Eddie reaches across to steal a piece of coconut curry. Buck doesn't even try to knock his fork out of the way. It's kind of amazing how much he looks like a kicked puppy right now. "I—I guess, I thought, you know, I thought he was so cool, and you thought he was so cool, and all of a sudden you guys were hanging out all the time and you kept saying how well you two clicked…"

"I was messing with you. You get that, right?"

"I mean. Now, yeah. Then I just felt like…I don't know. I—I should have talked to you, instead of—but I didn't mean for it to go down like that. I swear."

Eddie nods, chewing the inside corner of his lip briefly. "It was still a dick move."

"Yeah," Buck says. "It was."

"Well, as long as you get that."

"I really do."

"And you and Tommy are cool, now? You kissed and made up?"

Surprisingly, Buck's face goes bright red. Eddie raises his eyebrows, and he says, "Y-yeah, we're—we talked, and—we're good, yeah." He opens his mouth, makes a little stuttering noise, then says, "We're, uh, we're actually hanging out this weekend."

"Without me?" Eddie deadpans, and Buck looks so stricken that he has to laugh. "Kidding, I'm kidding, come on. I'm glad. I knew you two would get along."

"Yeah," Buck says. He lets out a shaky little laugh, then nods a couple of times and says it again. "Yeah."

Eddie raises his eyebrows, but Buck's not looking at him. He's busy spearing a piece of curry, and this time when Eddie tries to steal a bite, Buck smacks at his fork until he retreats, a juvenile little ritual that probably shouldn't make Eddie feel so light. He knows he's not getting the full story of what's going on with Buck, but that's okay. They're okay. He'll find out the rest of it eventually.

[archangeldyke-all]

Sevika × Great outdoors lesbian reader

Because Sevika has definitely never laid a hand on a real tree. But that's fine! She can just fall in love with somebody who knows all about trees and nature in general :)

(Maybe they can go hug some together when they're old coots)

this is hilarious

men and minors dni

sevika doesn't like nature.

she's never been one for the outdoors. as a kid, she spent most of her time in her room reading. as an adult, she spends most of her time working. being outside is something that happens to sevika only when she needs to get from one inside setting to another. she'd never choose to just... go outside.

there's bugs outside. and wind. and unpredictable weather, which always ends up with sevika sweating and getting all sticky, or getting caught in the fucking rain and being damp the rest of the day, or freezing her tits off on what was supposed to be a mild spring day.

so, no. sevika's not an outdoors-y person.

but then she meets you.

you guys hit it off instantaneously, sevika's pretty sure she falls head over heels in love with you on your first date. it's pathetic and embarrassing, but she's too enamored to care about how cheesy she is with you.

and then you ask her out on a picnic.

she tries so hard to pretend like she likes nature. she tries to pretend that the sun beaming down on her is pleasant, and not making her hot; like the grass isn't prickly and itchy; like the mosquito and flies swarming your spot aren't bothering her.

and she is having fun, don't get her wrong! she loves seeing you in the sun, she's pretty sure you've got sunshine somewhere inside you. she adores watching you make flower chains, is impressed with how patiently and gently you place a stray beetle crawling on your lap onto a plant, loves listening you babble about various birds that fly overhead, and the type of tree you're sitting under.

but, that doesn't stop her from grumpily shoving her hair out of her face when the wind blows it, or screaming when a spider crawls across her leg.

"sevika." you giggle at the end of your date. you've walked her home, and you're exchanging kisses at her front door.

"mhm?" she asks.

"if you don't like being outside, we don't have to go to the botanical gardens next weekend." you say, referring to the date you guys planned together a few hours ago. "we can go to a restaurant or catch a movie or something."

"but you're so excited for the arbor day celebration! you've been babbling about it since you picked me up!" she says. you giggle.

"yeah, but i don't want you to be miserable on our date."

"i won't be, i promise." she says, kissing your worries away. "i'll be with you-- nothing can make me miserable when i'm with you."

as your relationship progresses, sevika becomes slightly more connected to nature. how could she not, when you're constantly outside in the yard, gardening and watching birds and fucking foraging wild foods-- always rambling sweetly about the plants and animals you see?

this doesn't mean she'd ever choose to go outside. but if you're going, she'll always tag along.

she starts to like nature walks. when she's moving, the bugs can't catch her as fast. plus, she sees a ton of cute dogs on her walks with you-- that's always a plus.

she loves the more scientific side of raising a garden with you. she'll be the one to sprout all your seeds inside on a sunny windowsill, nurturing them until they're big enough to survive outside. she's also the one who'll visit the garden supply store and help you figure out ph-levels in soils, fertilizers, where you should plant each crop to get the proper amount of sun in your yard... she's into the logistics of it all.

she takes care of all the houseplants too-- she's got a little schedule written for herself on a post-it about which plant to water when. it's really cute.

you're most likely to get her to spend a day in the park with you when it's fall.

it's her favorite season. the sun is always hiding behind grey clouds, which means she gets less migraines. the bugs have all gone away for the season, and the coolish weather is the perfect temperature for her. plus, she loves the smell of the dying leaves.

(you know she likes the way the leaves change colors too-- but she'll never say something so romantic and cheesy out loud.)

her favorite outdoor activity, however, is sitting on your screened in back-porch-- a pair of binoculars hanging from her neck, both of you waiting for pretty birds to come visit the various feeders you have scattered around your property. she gets to sit and smoke, she gets to be kinda inside, and she gets to watch the way you grin when you see a bird you've never seen before.

sure, she finds the birds pretty, but she finds your reactions much prettier.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette @ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re

@raphaellearp @iamastar @sevikitty

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Please can I have a Tommy x daughter fluffy fic where as her mums died she asks him to come with her to try on ballgowns with her and he doesn’t like a few for different reasons but he gets emotional when she finds the perfect one

Hey Anon,

Hope this does it justice - this request got me in the feels. Thanks for waiting. <3

Warnings: Teen drama, mentions of funerals and death - peaky related stuff

There were a lot of things you kept to yourself when it came to your father. Most of which Esme and Polly would wrangle out of you and give you advice for. 

You were close with each other the same way you suspected other fathers and daughters were. He was there to comfort you in his own way (mostly just holding you tightly) when you needed him, he gave you books to read and would try to remember to ask you questions about how you enjoyed them. 

He was away a lot for business but he always called you before bed to ask how your day was. Some moments when he’d drank to much you saw the pain in his eyes when he looked at you, a spitting image of your mother but with his eyes. 

You adored him, and rarely ever asked him for difficult things knowing he was always stressed. 

“Awe, you miss us, don't you? Next time we go you’ll be old enough to tag along. An extra week won't kill you darling.” Esme’s voice rang out over the phone and your stomach sank. You were in a proper situation now. You said your goodbyes but didn't tell her why her taking an extra week's vacation with Pol was a problem for you. 

You lit a cigarette and slid down the kitchen wall. They would be home the day of the big charity ball, not the type of event you could get a dress for the morning of. They must have forgotten that they’d promised to take you when they got back. You didn't blame them, this was the one time they got away from kids and the business.

You could ask… Lizzie? She hung around the family, worked for your dad, and seemed nice enough to you when you came by the office. She’d probably be able to help you.

You needed a backup plan, Linda still hadn’t forgiven you for an outburst you’d had at dinner a few weeks ago, but maybe John would help you? 

You thought about getting ready with Esme he’d always tell her what looked good. Well, mostly how he enjoyed the way it looked on her, but still Esme always looked very happy with his commentary. 

You got up and flicked your cigarette out the window before going to ask for a ride to the office.

You showed up and Lizzie greeted you with a large smile. 

“Here to see your dad are you?” 

“Well, I was actually - I -” The words got caught in your throat, she was far too pretty. Thinking of her seeing your awkward body in dresses made you shrink away. “Have you seen Uncle John?” You said quickly. 

“Should be in his office.” She gave you a look and you thanked her. You knocked on the door and his voice called out. 

“Hey kiddo,” he said looking up from a mess of papers. “Your da’s got me right tangled in this stupid paperwork. Give him a kick in the shin when you see him next will ya.” 

“Sure.” You laughed. “Guess you're pretty busy then?” 

“Be lucky if we survive another week with the hens gone.” He sighed, there was no way he’d be out of this mess any time soon, but maybe he could just tell you what to wear.

“What erm- What types of things does Esme wear that you like?” He looked confused by the question. 

“Trying to impress a lad then? Odd person to come to for advice on that.” He scratched the back of his head but before you could fix what you said he’d already carried on.

“Look if he doesn't like you as you are then there's no point in going after him. Gal’s seem to think we care about all the fuss when really - we’re going to see eve-” 

“What are you doing, love?” Your father's voice called from the doorway. Happier than ever to see him you sprang up from your seat and moved to give him a hug. Jarred by what you figured John was implying you decided to just pluck up the courage to ask him to go. 

“Get that shit done John, needs to be out by tomorrow morning,” John swore at him and you followed your father out of the room his arm steering you into his office. 

“What did you need from John?” He asked moving behind his desk. 

“Well, I didn't want to bother you.” 

“Trust me, love if it's worth asking, it’s not worthy of Johns's advice.” 

“Ah, well, I need a dress for the ball.” You stated, and he gave you a curious look. “Um, well it's my first time really going, for the dinner and dancing and everything.” You coughed awkwardly. For a moment you hoped that he would just understand where this was going and tell you he’d help you, but you looked at his face and knew he was lost as ever. 

“SO” you said a little too loudly. “I erm - need to get a proper dress, Polly and Esme said they would take me but they won't be back in time.” 

You brought your gaze from the wallpaper once more to still see him still looking confused. 

“You can have any dress you want, just give me the receipt.” He shrugged. 

‘No- I erm. I just- need someone to go with me.” You confessed sounding irritated. “I don't know what looks good - I’m not good at that type of stuff. John always tells Esme what he thinks about her dresses when we get ready so I figured he would be a good person to ask.” 

“I’ll take you.” He said uncomfortably. “We can go after-” He looked down at his schedule. “Can it wait till after dinner?” 

“Oh, yeah - thanks” 

“No problem,” He said with a nod looking only slightly put off. 

“I’ll head back to the house -” 

“I’ll grab you at 7” 

You gave him a nod and then left the office saying bye to Lizzie. 

Dinner was nice, you rarely ever went out to eat. You rambled on about a book you were reading and your dad followed along. Eventually, you started to tuck into your meal and he sighed. 

“So there's a boy then?” He asked looking pained.

“No?” You said startled with a mouth full of mashed potatoes. 

“No?” Tommy repeated looking at you with the look he gave when he felt you were lying. As a kid, you thought he had superpowers and could see in your mind. 

“No” You shook your head grabbing your glass of water. 

“John mentioned -” 

“He didn't understand what I was asking. Don't need to be interested in a boy just because I don't want to show up in front of all those people wearing something embarrassing.” You said defensively, face flushing. 

Tommy let out a hum and finished the last of his drink. Your last comment seemed to put him off even more. 

You finished up dinner and then headed to a fancy-looking shop. The sign on the door said closed but you followed behind your dad as he pushed the door open. 

The lady barely took notice of you as she shook your dad's hand, ensuring she would take care of anything he needs. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as she touched his arm. 

He turned to you “alright free rein of the place, go pick some out that you like. I’ll start on this side.” 

You almost wanted to laugh as if it was a joke but your father moved passed the woman and started on the far wall. She looked over your body and began pointing out some to try on. 

You thought about her suggestions and said you would try them to be polite. If you turned up looking like a frosted cupcake Esme would never let you hear the end of it. 

You moved to the long dresses and found a nice dark red one. It was a shimmery fabric but it was dark enough that it wouldn't bring too much attention. You had a feeling that it was the right one, but with the lower neckline you felt it might be a fight to take it home. You decided it was worth it and asked the woman to take it to the dressing room for you. 

You found another few that you liked well enough, all of them were black and made of various materials. 

You met back up with your dad in the lounge and saw him sipping another glass of amber liquid, a cigarette in his hand. He met your gaze and held his hands up in mock surrender.

“Wasnt much help out in the field but it’s only because I have faith in your abilities.” 

You gave him a smile, happy to see him in better spirits. You put the first one on and hated it immediately. It was much too tight and it would be impossible to dance in. 

“Not very practical.” You waddled out and you watched him point back to the dressing room sternly. “Alrighty then,” you murmured feeling embarrassed. 

You tried the cupcake one on next and fought to work up the courage to walk out in it. You struggled to get it through the doorway and your father actually laughed. 

A proper healthy loud laugh that was contagious. 

“I feel like Esme would take the piss for ages if I wore this.” You looked yourself over in the mirror.

“Not just Esme. Didn’t think it would be possible to make you look anything less than gorgeous. In that line of thinking it might not be so bad after all. Don’t want this mystery boy enjoying himself too much.” 

“Dad!” You snapped before fighting back into the dressing room. “There is no boy.” 

“If you say so.” 

You wore one of the black ones next. You walked out feeling comfortable, you thought the black would go with any jewelry and looked classy. 

You looked at your dad and his face twisted slightly. 

“No black.” His tone of voice took you off guard.

“Why not? You’ll be wearing black?” you asked trying not to get worked up. 

“No black.” He said firmly and you knew better than to challenge him when he sounded like that. 

You went back into the room. 

“Ah - that leaves one left.” 

“Give it a go,” he called back.  

You pulled on the red one and loved it instantly. It was grown up, hugging you in all the right spots without showing too much skin. The color made your blue eyes seem electric. 

You liked it so much you didn't want to show it. What if he hated it as much as the black dress? Or thought it was stupid like the pink one. 

You took a deep breath and called out. “Don’t be mean.” Then stepped out. 

You looked at the mirror avoiding your father. It looked even better in the lighting. Eventually, the silence was too much. 

You watched him take the dress in and thought you saw tears in his eyes. You wanted to run back and hide. Why was he being so weird? Even if there was a boy, it’s not uncommon at this age. Heck, most of Esme’s sisters were married by 16. 

“That’s the one eh?” He finally said looking at you.

“Yeah. Think I look grown up, but not to - erm-  showy” 

“Grown up, is one way to put it.” He finished his drink and smiled at you. “I think you look lovely. Your mother has a necklace that will match with the color” He said softly. “-if you want to wear it.” He added hurriedly. For a long time, he thought her things might have been cursed, until one day he came home from a very long trip and said it was him that was cursed. You shivered remembering that night. You always avoided touching her things, her room untouched but not forgotten. 

“I would really like that.” You said feeling emotional, you realized that the panic was about wanting to look nice, but some of it was anger that your mother was not there to help you. “Did she wear this color then?” 

“Always red.” He nodded. 

“Ah - well, I can see why.” You looked back in the mirror. 

“Look - I know this sort of thing would have been more fun with Pol or Esme- and you probably miss your mum a lot these days. Lots of changes and whatnot.” He waved his hand uncomfortably. “But - well, I enjoyed this. I don’t mind being around for this stuff. I wouldn't have liked you more as a boy or anything like that” He cleared his throat. 

Tears started to spill over something you hadn't even realized you were worried about. 

“I love you.” You said. Felt strange standing on a platform saying it down to him as a saleswoman was probably judging them from the shadows somewhere. 

“Love you too.” 

On the ride home you both made jokes about different things, Arthur and John weren't very good at taking over for Pol and Esme and you enjoyed your dad’s commentary about trying to keep the place running. 

When things quieted down you finally felt that you needed to end this boy nonsense. 

“Dad?” You asked wondering how he kept the car straight while fumbling with getting a cigarette out and lighting it. 

“Yeah?” 

“There really isn't a boy, if there was John is the last person I would ask. One time he picked me up from school, years ago, and a boy, Tim Weatherby, had waved to me. He ran his car into the back of his parent's car three times before driving off.” 

You watched your father let out another laugh. “Always classy.” 

“I’d tell you first obviously. Esme would get too excited, and Pol would worry.” 

“And what would I do then Eh?” He asked raising an eyebrow.

“Probably meet him and scare his pants off.” You answered honestly. 

“That’s a good thing then?”

“Obviously. If he comes back it's because he really likes me.” 

__________________________________

EXTRA - Tommy's POV 

Watching her walk out in a black dress made the fleeting moments of humor leave him. He sort of saw her in the gown but his mind flashed back to that scared little girl all dressed in black.

“No black.” He said slightly out of control of the feelings biting into him. 

“Why not? You’ll be wearing black?” He could see that you wanted to argue but he couldn't stand to see you in that dress any longer.  

“No black.” He said firmly and you looked a bit deflated before retreating back to the dressing room. His mind pulled him back to that day. You attached firmly to his side, dressed in all black. The way you tried so hard to behave, tucking your face into his neck to cry as they lit the vardo on fire. How you even tried to hit Polly when she tried to take you from him. How you would panic if he was out of your sight for more than a few minutes. 

No black. He ran his fingers through his hair. 

The next dress hurt nearly as bad. Tears he had not cried in years welled up in his eyes as he looked at you taking in your body in the mirror. 

So much like your mother, the style of the dress, the color. You were going to be an adult in a blink of an eye. Only small traces of that little girl left in your features. Now there would be boys and time left with it being just the two of you would start to slip away.  

He thought the dress was much too showy, you didn't understand that yet though. Considering you would be standing next to him the whole night he figured it would be alright. You could pair it with your mother's jewelry and he could get Pol to convince you to wear it with a shall or something.  

Eventually, your eyes looked at him for approval and he felt guilty for snapping at you. There was a very evident look of self-consciousness on your features. He wished it came more naturally to him. 

“That’s the one, eh?” He said and enjoyed the way your eyes lit up. He may not be the best dad, but he would try hard to spend the last time he had with you. Find things to do with you, before you became busy with the rest of the world.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Fic Update: Pennsylvania Under Me

HI! HAPPY SEASON 8 RENEWAL DAY!

To celebrate, here's chapter four, the penultimate chapter :)

Summary:

Buck is determined to have one good day in Pennsylvania before they drive home.

Snippet:

Somewhere on the drive back to Hershey, on their fourth, uninterrupted Fleetwood Mac song, they pull onto a quiet country road that Eddie doesn’t remember driving on earlier. 

“What’s this?” Chris asks, looking out the window the cracked pavement and shallow ditches, overgrown with weeds and wildflowers. 

“ This is the road where I learned how to drive,” Buck says. “Figured I’d take the small detour, for old time’s sake.”

Something snakes inside Eddie’s stomach at the thought. To be honest? Learning to drive is not an experience with which Eddie has a positive association. The first time he drove anything, it had been his father’s truck, right into the side of the garage, intending to drive his mother, in labor, to the emergency room. He’d been eight. After that - after the severity of the punishment that followed, despite the terror of it all being punishment enough - Eddie never really lived down the mistake. When it was time, finally, for his dad to teach him to drive as a teenager, the experience had been marked by impatience, humiliation, door handle clutching, and shouting. It had honestly taken Eddie years after that not to jolt any time something remotely surprising happened while he was behind the wheel. 

“Did your father teach you?” Chris asks Buck. 

“Mm, no,” Buck says. “My parents paid for a driving instructor, but never did it themselves.”

“So the driving instructor took you here ?” Chris asks.

“Nope,” Buck says. “She just let me drive around Hershey. No, my buddy on the football team, he was a couple years older, had his license. He did it. Took me out here one weekend, before my proper lessons started, because I was kinda jittery about the whole thing. He had his mom’s old minivan. Was super nice about it. Good guy.”

Something about that makes Eddie feel more sad than maybe it should.

---

Tagging @epicbuddieficrecs @theotherbuckley @sevenweeksofunrepression @slowlyfoggydestiny @devonwritesstuff @diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @aquamarineglitter @loserdiaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @your-catfish-friend @incorrect9-1-1 @hawaiianlove808 @babytrapperdiaz @watchyourbuck @lyricfulloflight @tizniz @aroeddiediaz @estheticpotaeto @buddieswhvre

[compassionatereminders]

I'd say to just reblog the ones with the vetting in their ask sent or pinned post as you see them, or perhaps dedicate a few min at a specific moment in the day/week/etc for going through the ones in your inbox/saved from your dash (via drafting maybe?) with said vetting.

generally you dont need to do the vetting yourself as many of the people doing outreach asks will include their vetting sources with a link to show its real, and the majority of them are very legit vetting processes. there is undoubtedly also a list out there of the legit vetting orgs and individuals to verify the vetting source linked in the ask/post is legitimate

otherwise if you cannot do that, with each individual donation post, a compromise can be to add the links to the official google docs etc in a pinned or regularly queued post where vetted fundraisers continually get added to, including ones of congo sudan etc

↳ this post would be an option for that; (insert tumblr period com part here since if i do my ask doesnt deliver)/soft-zawa-png/753900486558695424/fundraisers-gazasudancongo-more-google

and perhaps since people will undoubtedly complain at you like crazy about how it i'd say to do it with another one of your personalised post distinguishing tags (like your getting personal/asks/serious etc ones) that doesn't as clearly end up filtered out automatically (as many people prefer to not have it tagged as just donation/boost etc for various reasons w the filtering and spam stuff of the site)

sidenote; i also dont doubt you'll get a crazy amt of zionists and racist people using the "everyone is a scammer dont risk it" interactions abt this discussion so do make sure to keep in mind that yknow, lotta racism and zionism abt it all n to not believe the UMMM ITS ALL SPAM!!!!! things nor give them the time of day with spewing bigoted ideology etc

I absolutely get that "doing some work to check which campaigns are real/properly vetted" would be the ideal approach here. But I am not exaggerating or just being stubborn when I say I can't do that work, and that this lack of skill also includes figuring out who to trust to do accurate vetting. I am not capable of doing any kind of work and research associated with prioritizing between campaigns and checking for proper vetting. I am not saying this means that I shouldn't share any campaigns ever, but please stop suggesting "checking if a campaign is verified/checking people's vetting sources" as the solution here. I can't do that. I already said I can't do that work. And that includes doing it sometimes/once a day and checking people's sources to see if other people are actually doing their vetting correctly. When I ask "what should I do if I can't do any of the research work associated with vetting campaigns" telling me to "just do some of it sometimes" misses the point quite a bit.

[getinthefuckingcarkitten]

Something i wrote a while ago trying to figure out some stuff. No content warnings, this time.

The vision of that brat slumped face-down on the couch would be almost amusing if Bailey wasn't already having a shit day. She had to leave soon, and that would be much easier if that idiot hadn't picked the couch in front of her office to go comatose on.

Already impatient, she reached for the brat and started to shake her awake.

"Get the hell up." She mumbled, between clenched teeth. "You have your own damn bed, get the fuck up from the couch..."

It took a while, but eventually bleary dark eyes started to flutter open.

"Mmm... Can't i go to your bed instead?~" The brat slurred, half-unconscious.

At least the face Veronica made when she opened her eyes fully, lifted her head and saw Bailey was pretty fucking funny. It was a shame that it wasn't funny enough to make Bailey feel any less irritated at her antics.

"Who do you think you're talking to?" Bailey asked, full of venom.

"...You..." The brat clenched her fist, then. She tried to look angry, but just ended up looking like she had a stomachache. "Shit. Where's Robin?!"

"How the fuck should i know." Bailey gritted her teeth again. "Go to your room, Veronica."

"You have something to do with it, you asshole." The brat accused her again, but Bailey just let out an impatient breath. She seemed to lose confidence, then. "You do, don't you?"

"I don't even want to know what the fuck is going on between you two dimwits." Bailey started to pull her up by the arm, and she didn't resist much. Judging by the stench of alcohol coming off of her, it figured. "Just don't bother me about it."

She pulled Veronica upwards, and then forced her to lean her body weight in a way that made it easier for Bailey to drag her ass back to her proper room. That brat was becoming more and more difficult as time passed. Well, rowdy for sure she had always heen, but she mostly tried to keep her messes away from Bailey's eyes instead of involving her in any of it, and seeing her veering dangerously in the opposite direction was infinitely more infuriating as it only meant more work.

Maybe Bailey had been too soft on her lately, which could had been what convinced Veronica she could lounge about in front of Bailey's office and try to make her deal with her missing puppy (well, between the one who was missing and the one letting out pitifully sad noises over Bailey's shoulder, it was actually hard to know which one was the puppy) as if it was her problem.

If it had been her problem, she would've had let the pathetic brat on her arm that she had heard her birdie was flying about Remy's estate, the sight of one of Bailey's brats trying to look tough while tagging along with some of Remy's hired help nearly enough to drive the guy who had told her so to tears of laughter. But it wasn't her problem, and she sure as hell just hoped that whatever was going on, it helped pay their rent on time.

Her only problem was making sure that she didn't break Veronica's neck as she threw her onto the creaking bed, and then get out and solve the rest of her actual, more pressing problems as quickly as possible.

"Bailey..." Veronica reached a hand to Bailey's cuff that was promptly slapped away, but she continued to try and get up nevertheless.

"For heaven's sake." Bailey had to touch her again, then, pushing her head down on the pillows against her will. "Down."

"But i..." Veronica blinked a bit, a few teardrops escaping her wet eyes. "Robin, she wouldn't..."

"The brat is fine." Bailey finally let out, impatient. "None of my goddamned business, but she's fine."

"...Would you go get her if she was in trouble?" She asked, now seeming to believe Bailey.

"I'm not your fucking mother." Bailey snapped at her.

The brat let out a stupid little chuckle that left Bailey strongly considering banging her head on the headboard. Maybe it's be better to leave already and let her figure the rest out on her own. If she hit her head trying to do something stupid, it'd be her own fault

"I know." Veronica said, and wisely choose to let the subject die at once. "But..."

"Yes, fucking hell, didn't i go get your ass from that creepy basement?" Bailey sighed in deeply. "Now stay quiet."

"Oh." The brat finally seemed to accept whatever was happening. Then, just as Bailey was turning around to finally leave, she had to speak again. "I thought i was special."

If crying herself to sleep on the couch as she had likely done earlier hadn't sobered her up, that resounding smack to her head just now might as well have done it. On her way out, a few orphans peeked out of their rooms anxiously as Bailey left Veronica's room. Her withering glare made them all scurry back inside like mice as she stomped out of the orphanage and into her car. Fucking brats, she thought.

[on-leatheredwings]

Main Dami thought, including specific sub thoughts!

Doing any type of skin, body or hair care with him turns into him doing them for you. 1) he wants you to rely on him and show you that he can take care of you, and one way he slowly starts that process is insisting on "pampering" you. 2) he thinks he knows best and the proper products you should be using. Alot of organic products that are handmade or prestige and luxury that you couldn't dream of affording, the hand made ones are from his mother I feel like, with your personal preferences in mind.

-i feel like he would see you shaving with a disposable razor or even just a plastic one and be appalled. He will shave you with a straight razor, which he's very good at. Steady hands and all that blade training coming in handy. He would also learn how to wax/sugar if that's what you prefer. If you insisted, and I mean full blown conniption fit several times, he will call someone to privately do it. It might be someone from the league.....it might not. Who's to say?

It doesn't matter what hair texture or style you have, he WILL be giving you a scalp massage and oiling it. He will also be putting in whatever hair products you use for you. He's desperately touchstarved so he loves the fact that the scents he associates with you linger on his hands, even if they're not his preferred scents.

-i feel like he would have a fairly clean scent to him. Nothing to musky or sweet. Some sort of herb and tea mixture. Like a matcha/green tea with a bit of honey, amber, chamomile and maybe even a bit of dark cocoa/chocolate to bring that initial almost bitterness back. Well balanced, green florals with a tad bit of sweetness that doesn't get cloying and a hint of earthiness. Uses a plain peppermint lip balm.

Also the process of explaining things like everything showers or girl dinner/math to him would be similar to explaining what a cell phone is to a Victorian child.

Much love from Damian anon (I really need to figure out a shorter sign off, even just Damian anon is still long as frick)

god this kinna hit the spot i needed the relaxation today EHEHEH... DAMIAN SPA DAY.... IM HAVING IDEAS

as a grower of body hair thank you for the clean shave dami 🙏🏾 (kinda a fantasy for a guy to shave me with no disgust . im sure that stems from some trauma of being a woman <3 we live in a society <3)

It doesn't matter what hair texture or style you have, he WILL be giving you a scalp massage and oiling it. He will also be putting in whatever hair products you use for you. He's desperately touchstarved so he loves the fact that the scents he associates with you linger on his hands, even if they're not his preferred scents.

every black damian fan screamed BEGGING YOU TO BRAID MY HAIR FOR ME DAMI....S AVE ME DAMIAN SAVE ME DAMIAN, DAMIAN SAVE ME

oh god i agree i think he'd have such a nice "clean" scent to him... refreshing... maybe like match or mint like you said... and some lightly-sweet aromatics idk . lord i dont know smells <3

this was eggcellent im putting it in my recs tag

now im going to search up what everything showers are bc i know girl dinner/math but not that . if i told damian about girl dinner he'd be appalled . he'd be like "That's a level of desolate nutrition I've only experienced during assassin training or a mission in the Alps."

[randomfoxehs-belly]

Still thinking Dragon Quest thoughts but DQ11 is running out of steam for me so I'm switching to DQ3's remake properly lol

And that game is making me think of a different noms oriented DQ inspired idea track I've had, with a bunny preyboy protagonist instead >3> Name of Mudison, because his dad would be name Muda.

Thinking of basically like, he was taken in as an orphan by a foxeh who used to be an devil demon king overlord final boss dude who was in charge of a nation of monsters (predators), but that was a long time ago and now he's just living in seclusion. Found the bunny infant after his home was destroyed during a storm and his family was gobbled up by preds, so he took the child in and raised him to be a 勇者 "yuusha" (the "hero" title in japanese in Dragon Quest) because he thought that'd be funny.

was basically ruling the world being a walking natural disaster and kingdom devourer, then one day was like "okay this is boring I'm done" and just up and disappeared. Various stories about what happened to him, but no one really knows the truth. That he just dipped lol. Found prey protag boy alone and was like "this might be fun for a while I guess" and adopted him raised him to be RPG protagonist OP busted O-o

Finally once he turns 16 his dad boots him out to go become an adventuring hero dude, and the bunny is all like " c= " cuz he's a real boy scout paragon type who wants to help everyone and solve problems.

Dressed up like this cuz I DO love the Erdrick costume lol

Heads into the closest castle town to get his start, first person he runs into literally runs into him because she's a thief-y mouse girl. She yoinks his coinpurse but he snatches her hand. And while she's like >.>'' he's just like " =3 hi, speaking of my money, know where I can get some more? Don't think I have enough to buy some proper adventuring gear with." And she's like =x well you can always go gamble it at the town Arena.

And he's like oh cool an Arena, I can fight in that and get prize money maybe, good suggestion ^^

And mouse girl is like =/ yeah no, I said you should try betting on the fights, not actually JOIN the fights. Little bunny boy like you would get gobbled up instantly.

But he's already heading towards the fight pits and she's like >.> and follows along. He enters to fight despite all skeptism, and uses the Arena provided sword and shield gear. Gets sent out to fight some "Monsters"

In this setting I'm basically imagining it just being furries. Prey species furries as the "civilized" ones with towns and castles and whatnot. Pred animals just being overworld and dungeon dwelling random encounter dudes. In place of the typical fantasy monster races, you'd just have carnivore furries. like going through the monster manual and just making them lions and tigers and bears instead lol. Instead of harpies, you'd have raptors like eagles and hawks. Instead of orcs, you'd have boars. Ect. Probably still would be dragons though cuz dragons HAVE been pretty much coopted by furries lol.

So he goes out in the Arena to fight the Arena preds, like beefy tiger dude and wolf dude and bear dude. And long story short he totally wins in a darkhorse victory. Using unique Yuusha magic like Zap to pull out the win. Gets the prize money for beating the Arena. And as he leaves the mouse thief girl is like hey wow good job not getting eaten, and it turns out she bet on him and made BANK because he was the underdog. Her name is Hazel. He wants to start an adventuring party which he invites her to join. She says she'll think about it, but the next day after he buys some Adventure gear she meets up with him at the pub where they go to recruit two more Party members.

First recruited party member to join is a black mage squirrel boy, big hat logan sized wizard hat and he casts from a spell book. He's a squeaky book worm type. He joins up because the news about a bunny boy winning at the arena was making waves in the city so he figured he should tag along with a strong adventurer and go out and get some practical experience.

Last to join the party is a white mage dog girl. Canines are predators, but dogs are domesticated and it's a whole world building thing. Dogs are the only carnivores accepted in prey society, because they can be trusted to at least ask prey permission before eating them and know that No means No. But the mousie and squirrelly would still be a little nervous about her asking to join them, because she's have MASSIVE fat voluptuous knockers. Just huge boobs. And preds having weight on them like that is an overt indication that they've eaten people - like her tits are obviously that big because she ate some dudes and they went to being padding on her breasts. But she promises that they were willing prey and in fact she has offered to let them out, but they like being a part of her, she's a good girl she promises. Bunny boy has no scruples about letting her join since he was raised by a predator anyway so he's nonplussed about it anyway (he does not reveal this information naturally.)

So we got Yuusha (hero) bunny boy, thief mouse girl, black mage squirrel, and white mage doggy. Going on QUESTS

[fanaticmorelikefantastic]

Talk Too Much: Leon Fic Part 2

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

..............................................................................................................................

Synopsis: First date!! :D Everything is great and wonderful until the government ruins it all (like they always do)

Tags: Leon/fem!reader, leon/reader, fluff, extreme secondhand embarrassment, r makes a fool of herself, smh, FAIRIES:DD, not actual fairies, metaphorical fairies, nothing too deep, r has thoughts, a lot of thoughts, she be thinking

A few days passed, a few chapters passed, despite my conscience. I lie on my bed, back to the mattress and laptop precariously perched on my lifted knees. The character Leon is very much different from (my first impressions of) real life Leon, so it should be acceptable, right? I could always ask him about it the next time I see him. Speaking of, I haven’t messaged him yet. Does he respond to texts, or is he more of a call-me kinda guy? There’s only one way to find out, right? I flop my head to the side, looking at my phone which was staring right back at me. I place down my laptop and sit up straight. This is serious business. I open a new message thread with him as the recipient and stare. It really is hard to know what to say. Would he even reply? It is pretty late. Does eight o’clock count as late? I felt stupid. I wrote a number of drafts, thirteen to be exact, before landing on the glorious, eloquent, concise and demure:

 ‘Hi :)’.

Wow. How original. I sigh after I send the thing, not knowing if I destroyed my entire reputation with him with just one word, but then I remember how stupid I acted when we were talking in person, so I felt a little bit relieved. Maybe he was into stupid people. I had been staring at my phone screen for a while, and I almost jumped when Leon’s reply came in. 

‘Hey there stranger.’ My mom says that. I laugh a little bit to myself, the tension I didn’t know I had accumulated leaving my shoulders. I fall onto my back and type away.

‘About that coffee date,’ Might as well call it what it is, right? ‘How’s tomorrow at 5?’ Most regular working people get off by then right? Or should I not have suggested a weekday at all? That would’ve been better, right? I need to stop saying right, it's making me sick.

‘Yea that works great.’ Oh thank God. I quickly type back (not too quickly though, I don’t wanna mess up my spelling and look like even more of an idiot).

‘Okay, I’ll see you then?’ I held a breath.

‘Of course.’ 

The day of reckoning is upon thee. Thy heart shall be examined and let woe be also upon ye if any impurities they find, for ye shall be smote with their unquellable wrath and thy face forever stained by iniquity.

Today is the coffee date.

I sigh and turn on my side, then my other side. It’s only… 8 in the morning, so I turn over (again) and try to go back to sleep so I can avoid my problems. Problems, like what I should wear. What should I wear?... What should I wear! I sat up so fast my skin almost flew off my bones. I haven’t been on a date since, since, since- My face contorted into shock as I came to the realization that I have, in fact, never been on a date. I think. I hope I’m wrong as I slug out of bed and into my houseshoes. I tried my best to think through all (three) of the drunken parties I had in college, but anybody I liked then ended up being either taken, or a scumbag. Some guys would ask for my number at parties, but they never contacted me, so I think they were just playing around. There was this one guy back in high school, but does that even count anymore? Not that it matters because by the time I figured out he (formerly) liked me back, he had already dated and broken up with one of my friends. Then there was- I don’t even want to think about that mess. I rinsed the lather out of my hair (I started taking a shower while boarded on this thought train) as I came to the rather depressing conclusion that I’ve never been in a serious and proper relationship with someone. I might have gone on a couple dates, but they must not have gone well, cause I don’t remember a single one. Suddenly, I felt very pathetic. Am I really that deprived of romance? I mean, I write (mostly) romance books for a living, it’s a given that I’ll be alone, but I didn’t think I’d be that sorry. I slapped myself in the face while putting on moisturizer. Just because no man has ever wanted to commit to being in a relationship with me or even take me out for lunch doesn’t mean I’m sorry and pathetic and unappealing and desperate and weird and annoying and sorry and just overall a bad catch. I mean, I’m going to lunch (dinner? Coffee?) with a super attractive guy today  (who also seems to have a good personality, that’s important of course!) A super attractive guy whose appearance I totally appropriated for my novel, and when I inevitably have to tell him about it, he won’t want to see me again for the rest of his life. I sigh, burying my face into my hands to hide from my reflection. What the hell. 

I flop onto my bed, deep conditioner in my hair. I’m wearing my specifically oversized shirt, the one I always wear when I’m deciding what to wear for an event. I love how comfortable it is (it also smells great because it just came out of the wash). It’s no use being sad about it now, right? I should properly tell Leon (the real one) what I did and then move on.The worst that could happen is he gets angry and stops me from publishing the book, reports me to the police for stalking and possible voyeurism and I get thrown in jail over something I didn’t (really) do. Even so, I’m still young. Maybe I could write a book about being in prison (people have done it before, I might become successful). For now, I’ll just take a nap until it’s time to rinse out my conditioner. 

It is way past the time to rinse out my conditioner.  My phone delightfully informs me that it’s 10 o'clock (in the morning of course). That’s not too bad.  I rinse the conditioner out of my hair, add leave-in, mouse, moisturizer, the whole shabang. I sigh (again). I don’t have the will to keep working on my book until I clear it with (the real) Leon. I couldn't help but feel helplessly ashamed. It was never a problem before, I would just steal a little bit of someone’s personality and write it into my book. I honestly didn’t do it that often either, so I was never really worried about having to talk to the people I used. It was way too early to start getting dressed, and I didn’t really have anything else on my schedule. I had three options: agonize over the inevitable until my time runs out, clean my house, OR agonize over the inevitable while cleaning the house (shut up about that painting. It’ll be done another time). I chose to kill two birds with one breakdown and began my quest of cleaning. The image of his disgusted face crosses my mind, immediately the living room is immaculate. I think about how I thought I was so smart for naming the character something ‘ComPleTely diFFereNT’ and all the laundry is folded. It’s like magic almost, how when I think about how much of a fool I’m going to make of myself tonight, my bedroom is the cleanest it’s been in months. Just like that, the clock strikes three. I should probably start getting dressed now. 

I tried on a black dress, too fancy, then a sweater and pants, too casual. Maybe I should wear a skirt? If I wore it with my sweater, I would end up looking like a schoolgirl, so I decided against it. Whilst rummaging in the depths of my closet, I found a fluffy cardigan that I’ve never worn. It even had the tag on it still. I ripped the tag off (carefully of course) and decided to throw it on over a black cotton slip dress and tennis shoes of the same color. I put on some mascara and a light brown eyeliner, adding a lip gloss with a darker brown tint. It was cute I guess. It matched my outfit. I think he liked my ponytail last time, so I made sure to have one today too, carefully brushing my bangs into place. As a finishing touch, I bore a rose gold chain with a simple pendant. It’s good, it’s pretty, and I like it. That clock also says that it’s four thirty. Oh my God, it’s four thirty. 

I had no idea how long it took to get to that cafe from my house (which is really an apartment, but I like to- we don’t have time for that spiel). Since I had only ever visited out of leisure, I never thought to check. I quickly typed the address of the place into my phone. Twenty minutes. It takes me ten minutes to get out the door, so I should make it just in time. I threw everything I thought I’d need into my purse. Lip gloss, wallet, keys, phone, pencil, pen, memo pad, if it was in my reach and it made a sliver of sense, it was put in the purse. I quickly locked the door behind me then checked the time on my phone. I’m right on schedule, so from here on out, I don’t have to worry. While walking to my doom, I felt more at ease than I had all day, like the feeling of finally getting to the firing range after weeks of the execution waitlist. Ater this, I’ll delete his number from my phone, never appear in that cafe again, and rewrite the entirety of my novel. I watched a bird deftly land on a tree branch nearby, a mourning dove, how pretty, and took the liberty to call it proof that I’m on the right track. With this newfound relief, I waltzed all the way to the door. Then the fear kicked back in. Even if you know you’re going to die, it’s still scary to face the firing range. Mustering up all the courage in my fallen and twisted stomach, I opened the door. Leon. He was here already, sitting patiently at a table (for two), facing the wall. Without checking who came in, he immediately stood and turned to beckon me over, a bit weird, but maybe he saw me before I opened the door. 

“I thought I was on time for once.” I try to calm myself by being funny (I’m not) as he pulls the chair for me to sit down (wow, gentleman alert (or maybe my standards are low)). 

“No, I'm just early. Military habit.” That tracked. I gathered all my resolve to not twirl my hair after I sat. I spent too much time on it. Instead, I just looked up and smiled. He even looks good from down here. He’s gotta be cheating somehow, that’s just not natural.

“So I guess you’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes?” He raised his eyebrows for a second, as if to communicate his answer. I guess I was right. At least something good came out of being raised in a military household (though the damage to my social skills is irreparable).

“I’ll order. Do you know what you want?” 

“Chicken panini and Chai latte, please.” I think I might have been a little too excited about the food, because he laughed at me. Not audibly or anything, but I could see it in his eyes. 

“Coming right up.”  He was suave in the way that a men’s soap model is.  It only dawned on me as he walked away, but the way Leon spoke was very smooth. It scrambled my brain. So much so that I had almost completely forgotten about the truth of this meeting, my (tentatively) first and last date. It’ll be painful for sure, but I have to set things straight. Right as I took in an exasperated sigh, a white porcelain plate was placed before me. With a chicken panini :) 

“Why the long face? Is it that horrible to be on a date with me?” His smile made me wish I could melt into a puddle. I watched him sit across from me and I knew I had to tell him. 

“No, it’s great actually. I don’t get out much. It’s not about you, I swear. Just… promise you won’t be too mad?” Even if I couldn’t melt into a puddle, my palms sure were trying to. I looked at him. He cocked his eyebrow at me while taking a sip of his coffee. He’s always drinking coffee.

“You’re scaring me, what is it?” Liar. He looked more amused than anything. It made me wonder if he was really as wholesome as he appeared when he asked for my number. Or maybe that was just my mind running off again.

“Okay. You see, I’m an author, and I’m in the process of writing a novel right now. A couple days ago I saw you at the cafe and- I was having a hard time figuring out one of the characters, okay? Well, I saw you, and I wrote the character to look like you and-” I heaved a sigh. This is the worst part. “I named him Leon. I- I really didn’t know! I just made sense with the theme and all. But then the next day you asked me out and you said that  y o u r  name was Leon, and that just made everything worse. I’m sorry, I’ll change it. I just thought it wasn’t right to start- whatever this is- without telling you.” I sighed, looking at him. He looked surprised, but not appalled, thank God. After a moment, he even laughed. A low rumbling thing that made me feel (somehow) even more embarrassed of myself. 

“You know, that’s one hell of a way to start a first date.” I laughed a little. Maybe he wouldn’t press any charges after all. 

“Yea, I know. I’ll pay you back for today. It’s totally understandable if you wanna leave.” I try not to make him any more uncomfortable than he probably already is. It only just occurred to me that he might just be good at hiding his emotions. 

“No, you don’t have to. It’s just- I don’t think I can top that. Here I was planning to butter you up with compliments, then you tell me you wrote a whole book about me? I mean, that’s something else.” I felt my shoulders relax a little. He took it as a compliment?

“You know, most people would think of that as a negative thing.” I couldn’t help but snicker a little. I even took a bite of my sandwich (panini). It was delicious, as always.

“There are things in the world that are much less pleasant than getting written about.” The way he says it makes me think that maybe he experienced one or two of those things, but now is not the time to pry.

The conversation actually went well, great even. We spoke about all sorts of things, family (he doesn't have any), food (his favorite is, get this, grilled cheese. What the hell.), hobbies (that he doesn’t have) and the like. He couldn’t speak about work (classified, he says), so instead I told him of all my creative endeavors, art, literature, music. He said it was good that I’m creative. I said it’s good that I survived it. He owns a motorcycle. Our banter continued and before we knew it, two hours had passed. 

“Is the sun setting already? What time is it?” I was in a daze. Spending time with him felt like I was intoxicated, everything was so warm and fuzzy that I could barely think anymore. I looked back at him. He seemed just as composed and sane as ever. He’s a secret agent after all, keeps his emotions in check. All I ever do is feel. 

“Seven. Do you wanna call it, or should we change locations?” I thought about it for a second. I want to spend more time with him. I mean, he’s cool and friendly, and he didn’t even flinch when I told him about the novel fiasco. 

“How about dinner? You can pick where.” I really just wanted the chance to ride his motorcycle, but let’s not talk about that too much.

“Didn’t you just eat? You wanna dry my wallet, huh?” He said that, but he was already helping me out of my chair and towards the door.

“A sandwich isn’t a meal, and I could pay if it’s really that much trouble.” I laughed. I didn’t know it before I met him, but Leon’s strange sense of humor is really right up my alley. 

“Now that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me, would it?” He opened the door for me. The cold night air made me glad that I wore this sweater. I turned to face him, the streetlights accenting his face in a way that’s probably outlawed in seventeen countries. The chill in the air makes me feel alive. This night was special, for a reason I couldn’t quite put my finger on at the time.

“So, take me away to this amazing restaurant then, Mr. Gentleman.” After my (genius) little quip, I do a spin to soak up the air. I don’t notice the way he looks at me. I don’t see how he’s staring like I’m the first human being he’s seen in months. All I see are the stars above us.

“It’s a pretty small place, but the food is to die for. I hope you’re okay with outdoor restaurants?” I stop and see his face again. His eyes look like pretty blue stars. 

“Long as the food’s worth.” Just as he’s about to lead me away, he makes a face like he forgot something, then turns to me.

“Are you okay with riding my bike there? It’s a little further than walking distance.” I give him a slight nod.

“We’ll see.” 

[excadrill]

tagged by @yj-98 ilyyy 🫶🫶🤍

RULES: Reveal the titles of the documents in your WIP folder and tag as many people as there are documents. Let others ask questions about the ones that interest them and post snippets or explain the contents as you see fit!

tag as many people as their are wips.. eep.. sorry i'd put this under a cut but it's not working on mobile 😭

ankhgiveaway.sai [i held an art giveaway in february and havent finished the prizes even tho i keep looking at them and going 'i need to and Want to finish this..']

yuukigiveaway.sai [same as above but the person who requested this one deactivated so i. don't know if i'm still gonna finish it]

sonomomo.sai [my current priority 'For Me' wip.. ive shared this wip w some people but ive never done a proper piece for the 'cycle of life and death' thing for them so that's what this one is..💙❤️]

exozinewip5.sai [pokemon zine oc piece, not supposed to share zine wips so idk if i should say more but it's of my beloved gymsona.. this zine will be free + digital and i'll ofc be promoting it more when it's done but it's soooo cute keep your eyes out for this one :3c '5' not bc im contributing multiple pieces but bc this piece is big and slightly intimidating for me so i keep saving different versions when i do major merges]

pocketzine-nymble.sai [another pokemon zine piece, so i can't really say more But it's not the only thing im contributing to this zine, ive just finished all my other stuff already]

oczine-thumbs.sai [thumbs for an oc zine i signed up for that i'll probably drop out of bc im not feeling like a vibe w everyone else there >w>;;; ]

philip.sai [philip piece ive had sitting around basically since i finished W.. about a year ago now i think ? but i transferred it to my '23 wips folder bc i still wanna finish it..it was supposed to be a 'this one will be quick and easy so i'll have smthn i Finished this month outside of zine stuff' but. zine stuff took up all my time and energy oops]

mrtourism.sai [this one's a silly post-canon kirihiko art i've Also had sitting around for like a year. i chip away at this one sometimes but then keep restarting bc im unsatisfied with the lines i wish i could just sit down and finish it bc i Love Him]

platform.sai [ummm silly ryotaro thing i drew after watching the den-o final stage ^__^ not a high priority one but it's cute so like. maybe one day]

punkjackhelmet.sai [file name was bc i was originally doing helmet studies before it turned into a full sketch. punkjack with the beat buckle bc i was doing this right after his special came out 🎃🫶]

colourwheel.sai [ummm well. yeah im not good at finishing art memes when theyre still on trend. i did all the sketches for these but i probably won't finish at this point..]

poppyangel.sai [poppy ex-aid i sketched as a break between big stuff the other day that i like a lot so. maybe will finish but might just post unfinished if i cant find the energy to get to this one sooner. feel bad that i like ex-aid so much but don't have any clean art done for it..]

millirider.sai [toku oc planning :3 i was saying last night i finally figured the helmet out which ive been struggling with for ages so hopefullyyyy i get around to doing a proper ref sheet]

im not at my laptop rn so im doing this off the top of my head but i THINK that's everything.. tagging umm @ankhisms @heartvisor @madaraki @circeancity @horrorcomedies @yu3s @pleuvoire @kosukeiichi @danothan @seashrine @asticassia @eclipse-song @kirider only if you guys wanna 🤍🤍

[narakasfuck]

you and me, witnessed by the rain

read it on AO3

Pairing: KimChay

Word count: 3.3k

Raiting: Teen and Up Audiences

Additional tags: boys kissing, car make out, fluff

Summary:

Kimhan and Porchay are on their way back from a date when the rainy weather strikes. It is pouring incessantly to the point that they mutually agree to pull over and take shelter at a parking lot.

Maybe it's the way that the lights are shining on Porchay like a halo above his head, making him look like an actual angel. Or maybe it's the way that Porchay's big, sincere eyes are looking at him with so much affection. Or maybe it's just the way that Porchay's lips stretch into the most beautiful smile he has ever seen.

Kimhan is not sure which is the reason, but he really wants to kiss Porchay.

Kimhan’s brows knit into a troubled frown as the rain keeps pouring down incessantly. Every drop of rainwater hits harshly on the roof of his car with loud rattles. So loud, in fact, that it even drowns out the sound from the radio that Porchay switched on earlier.

The persistently leaking clouds hovering above them are dark and gloomy, engulfing the whole area in complete darkness. Even the windshield wipers are struggling to keep up with the rain, barely providing Kimhan enough proper visibility to continue driving. Thus, to ensure their safety, Kimhan has been navigating the road as slowly as he can. His lax posture from earlier shifts into sitting up with his back straight and his tensed knuckles gripping firmly on the wheels. Luckily, there are not many vehicles around at the moment.

“Phi Kim,” The young boy in the passenger seat calls out to him. His voice raises slightly so that Kimhan can hear him through the noise. Kimhan gives him a small nod in acknowledgment, not wanting to avert his gaze from the road in front of them.

“I think we should pull over and wait out, it’s too dangerous to drive right now.”

“Mhm, you’re right. We really should,” He easily agrees. Had he been driving alone right now he probably would not be bothered. He would rather drive through the heavy rain than be stranded at the side of an empty road, just so he could be in the comfort of his apartment as soon as possible. But Porchay is someone Kimhan truly cares about, more than he does himself. He refuses to put the younger one at risk, especially one that he could have easily avoided.

“There’s a recreational park ahead, Phi Kim. We can take shelter at their car park.”

It takes almost 10 minutes for them to safely arrive at the said park, despite it being barely a couple of miles away. And thankfully the parking lot is an open space that is accessible to visitors at any time of the day. And it is lit fairly well too by multiple lamp posts perched alongside the space.

So Kimhan swiftly drives through the entrance and into the parking lot, opting for a spot with a canopy shade for cover. There are a few holes in the canopy, allowing a few drops of rainwater to slide down the windshield occasionally. Regardless, he figures this is better than nothing. At least they are not struggling to hear each other anymore.

“I’m sorry bambi, I should’ve checked the weather forecast before asking you out today,” Kimhan sighs out apologetically as he unbuckles his seatbelt and stretches his back which has become stiff from driving so tensely earlier.

Porchay unbuckles his own seatbelt too. A soft flush slowly spreads across his cheeks, both from the coolness of the car’s air-conditioner and also Kimhan’s casual usage of the term of endearment. It is not even the first time that Kimhan has called him bambi . The man has used it on more occasions than one. But still, it never fails to stir the butterflies in Porchay’s stomach, driving them wild.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Phi Kim. At least I have an excuse to stay longer with you now.”

Porchay looks up at Kimhan as he speaks and flashes him a bashful smile.

A smile that stuns Kimhan in his seat. His own eyes remain unblinking as he stares into the younger’s beautiful ones that are originally big and sparkling but have turned into crescents now from smiling. He watches almost enchanted by the way the boy’s plump lips tugged at the corners to form a smile. They are a little chapped due to the weather, but it is still the most beautiful smile Kimhan has ever seen in his entire life.

Kimhan wants to kiss those pretty lips so bad.

“I used to play in the rain with Hia and his friends, a lot,” Porchay mutters softly to break the silence in the car. He looks out the window, observing the rain in the dark that is still not calming down even a bit since earlier. Then he turns around to face Kimhan who has already shifted his entire form in his seat to gaze in Porchay’s direction.

Porchay swallows when his gaze meets Kimhan’s intense one. He can feel his own heartbeat thumping embarrassingly loudly against his rib cage that Kimhan can probably hear it too even from this distance, albeit faintly. But he keeps it locked there, not avoiding the elder’s eyes.

“Hia doesn’t actually like rainy weather.” He emits a small chuckle upon reminiscing the old days when his older brother Porsche is barely a teen himself. The change is very subtle, but Porchay notices how Kimhan’s eyes soften as he listens to his story. So he continues.

“He thinks it’s too cold and he hates the dark. He also thinks the thunder and lightning are scary.” Memories of Porsche complaining whenever he had requested the older to play in the rain with him vividly played in his head, making him smile fondly.

“But Hia indulges me anyway despite it all. Not without dragging his friends along, that is.”

“No offense, bambi,” Kimhan starts. The corner of his lips lifted into an amused smile.

“But I have to agree with Porsche on this one. Rainy weather is a whole hassle.” Porchay feigns an offended look at Kimhan; eyes wide open, complete with an exaggerated gasp in disbelief. Though he can’t hide the cheeky grin growing on his face soon after. He lifts a finger up at Kimhan and wags it side to side.

“Nu-uh Phi Kim you’re wrong. The rainy weather is nice and cozy! It's deemed cuddle weather for a reason.” He argues in a rather light-hearted manner.

“There’s nothing cozy about walking in wet socks from being drenched in the rain,” Kimhan replies and catches the wagging finger in his own hand. An action he barely even registers he is doing. He just reaches for it out of his instinct to touch Porchay.

When it comes to the younger boy, sometimes Kimhan thinks that his body has a mind of its own, moving on autopilot. He finds himself doing things he does not usually do, saying things he is not used to saying, and most importantly, feeling things he has never felt before. This is all very unfamiliar to Kimhan, and the unfamiliarity scares him sometimes if he has to be honest.

As the youngest heir of a mafia family that owns a multitude of businesses, Kimhan has been trained since youth to live a routine life. Right from the day he was able to speak and walk, he had been taught all the things he supposedly needed to survive living in this family. However, those were all just the technicalities. None of them had prepared him to face a force stronger than a business partner trying to sneak their way into betraying his family, or a rival gang pointing a fully loaded gun straight in his direction.

A force called love . A romantic affection.

But above all, Kimhan thinks Porchay is more than worth it for him to step out of his comfort zone and his trained routines. He allows himself to learn how to feel, for Porchay. Because at this point, he really can’t live without Porchay.

Porchay clicks his tongue and playfully rolls his eyes. “Phi Kim, you're so unromantic.”

Porchay’s mouth is complaining but his hand that is in Kimhan’s gentle grip opens up, then he laces their fingers together so they are properly holding hands. He is even stroking Kimhan’s knuckle soothingly with the pad of his thumb as he continues to tell Kimhan more stories about himself.

Kimhan really, really wants to kiss Porchay right now.

So kissing Porchay is exactly what he will do.

It happens so fast that it gives Porchay a whiplash. One moment he is animatedly telling Kimhan about the time he got sick after playing in the cold rain too long, and then the next second he feels an arm snaking around his waist and swiftly pulling him forward. The action rips a surprised yelp out of him but he is too stunned to resist, so he just lets Kimhan maneuver him into straddling the older man’s lap, sandwiched in the tight space between the man’s toned body and the steering wheel. Porchay immediately stretches his arms out to prop against the leather seat–caging Kimhan’s head between them–to avoid squishing him under his weight.

“Phi Kim!” Porchay gasps out and he lightly slaps at Kimhan’s chest as the latter reclines his backrest a little. Just enough to provide Porchay some more space.

Kimhan tightens his hold around Porchay’s waist, drawing the boy flushed against his chest. Porchay’s breath hitched at how close they are right now. So close that he can feel the warm puff of air when Kimhan breathes. So close that Kimhan can feel every beat of Porchay’s heart right against his own chest.

Porchay purposely ignores the way this position and the close proximity have his crotch pressed right on Kimhan’s.

Kimhan cups Porchay’s soft cheek in his palm and runs the pad of his thumb across his bottom lip. His touch is so light and tender that one would never expect it to come from Kimhan.  His now hazy eyes unable to look away from Porchay’s enticing lips. Porchay finds himself melting under his stare.

“Can I kiss you, Chay?” Kimhan inquires breathlessly, making it evident to Porchay just how much the older man craves for him. So desperate to taste his lips that he can barely control his desire. Porchay’s heart flutters and sings in delight. Kimhan really has a knack for making him feel wanted and desirable.

Porchay is rendered so speechless now that his addled brain can’t even form a word, so he just nods his head in reply, granting Kimhan his full consent.

Kimhan’s initial instinct is to dive in and immediately devour those lips. But Kimhan’s rationale begs to differ; he thinks Porchay’s lips deserve to be worshiped instead.

Keeping his hand on Porchay’s cheek, Kimhan first presses a soft kiss on Porchay’s bottom lip, gazing up at Porchay briefly when he pulls away. Then he switches up to kiss Porchay’s upper lip, letting it linger for a bit before he pulls away again.

Porchay’s eyes flutter close in return and he rests his hands on Kimhan’s shoulder, gripping the fabric of his shirt with pure anticipation. And when he feels Kimhan’s mouth on his bottom lip again–but this time Kimhan captures it in between his own lips and gives it an experimental suck–Porchay has to hold back the embarrassing moan that is bubbling up in his throat.

“More?” Kimhan asks in a deep, sultry voice. Lucky for Porchay he is not standing at the moment, otherwise he is sure his legs will give up on him.

“Yes– please,” Comes Porchay’s immediate answer. Gradually becoming just as breathless as Kimhan is.

Kimhan wastes no time to lean in and claim Porchay’s full lips with his own, pulling the younger into a sweet kiss. Their mouths slide together – lips slotting against each other like they are a puzzle piece. Porchay’s arms move out of instinct to wind around Kimhan’s neck as he returns the kiss promptly. Moving his lips languidly, as if both of them are testing the waters, and in perfect sync with Kimhan’s. And when Kimhan darts his tongue out to lick across Porchay’s lip, he parts his mouth open easily to allow Kimhan access. Letting Kimhan enthusiastically slide his tongue into Porchay’s mouth, exploring his wet cavern and lapping his wet muscle. As if that is not enough, Kimhan proceeds to suckle on Porchay’s tongue, earning him a small whimper from the younger boy.

Porchay’s lips taste as sweet as he has expected – Kimhan thinks to himself as he continues to devour the boy’s lips to his heart's content. Or maybe Kimhan is just biased and imagining things. But he swears Porchay’s lips tasted like the caramel chocolate drink he used to love so much as a teen – before his full adult tastes decided that they do not want anything that is not coffee anymore. So sweet and addictive. The more he indulges himself in those lips, the harder it is for him to control his desire.

Kimhan only lets go of Porchay’s lips when the need for air finally claws at his chest. The sudden loss of contact makes Porchay whine and chase Kimhan’s lips back. Their lips manage to find each other once again. Though this time, gone is the gentleness and sweetness from earlier.

Kimhan’s skilled fingers thread into Porchay’s soft hair and grip a fistful of it, using it as a leverage to pull Porchay closer so he can deepen the kiss. His gentle movements from before gradually became more rough and intense. Switching from nipping Porchay’s lips to sucking it eagerly, then biting it none too gently only to swipe his tongue over it to lick the sting away.

Porchay feels like the bones in his body have all turned jelly in the pleasure that Kimhan is providing him. Kimhan’s lips on him are hot and relentless; he can only succumb into the kiss. Kimhan’s tug on his hair stings; though it is the kind of delicious sting that spreads goosebumps all over his body. And then there is Kimhan’s other hand– God help Porchay, he is on the very edge of his sanity at this point. Kimhan’s other hand has untangled from Porchay’s waist in favor of crawling lower towards his clothed ass. Porchay’s entire system burns with want and need when Kimhan grabs his perky flesh and kneads it roughly in his hand, making him mewl helplessly into the kiss.

All he can think of right now is just Phi Kim, Phi Kim, Phi Kim.

The wet sound of their lips smacking on each other and Porchay’s pleased moans echoed in the car. So loud and lewd in their ears as their minds tune out all the howling and thrumming of nature outside, completely absorbed in each other. Unfortunately it does not take too long before they have to pull away again from the lack of air. It is only now that Porchay registers how lightheaded he is.

Panting heavily to regain his breath, Porchay leans his forehead to rest on Kimhan’s. His chest heaves up and down to generate as much oxygen as he needs. He does not need to look into the mirror to know his lips are so red and swollen right now, and his hair askew from Kimhan’s rough fingers. Though when he peeks at Kimhan, he sees that the man is in no better shape than him. Kimhan’s lips are left parted as he inhales deeply. Just as raw and glistening as Porchay’s are. His dark, lustful gaze remains on Porchay, making the younger squirm in his lap.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Kimhan leans in to bury his face into the juncture of Porchay’s neck, in which the latter tilts his head to the side to grant him more access. Porchay emits a contented sigh as Kimhan rubs the tip of his nose against his skin up along the span of his neck, leaving a trail of tingles on his skin.

And then he bursts into soft laughter when Kimhan mouths at the back of his ear, purposely tickling him with the warm puffs of air he blows onto his skin. He tries to push at Kimhan’s chest and lean away from him, but evidently Kimhan’s years of mafia training and workout do not go in vain. Porchay’s lanky frame can never win against Kimhan’s when it comes to strength.

“Phi Kim!” Porchay manages to shriek out in between his uncontrollable laughter and he brings a hand up to cover his ear. “Quit it, that tickles!”

Kimhan, being a menace that he is, instead tugs at Porchay’s hand and continues to blow warm air onto the back of his ear, switching from one side to the other with a mischievous grin on his face. Porchay’s high pitched laughter and giggles filled up the entire car, echoing through Kimhan’s ears like the best piece of melody he has ever heard in his life. One of these days, he might just try to compose a whole song about the younger’s melodious laugh.

Kimhan only stops tickling when the poor boy begs with tears pooling in his eyes from laughing too much. A fond smile gracing his face as he watches the boy in his lap. His cheeks have turned so red from being teased earlier.

Unable to suppress his urge, KImhan cups Porchay’s cheeks in his palms and smooches him square on the lips.

“Let’s go back now, Phi Kim? It’s stopped raining already,” Porchay tips his chin towards the window and both of them look through it to see that it has, in fact, stopped raining. It is still dark outside, considering it is already late in the evening. But at least it is not pouring cats and dogs anymore.

“Do you want me to drop you off at your family’s house, or are you staying at the mansion tonight?”

Kimhan gives Porchay one last peck on the lips before he finally detaches his hands from the boy, letting him crawl back over to the passenger seat. Now that they are separated, they realize just how unkempt they look right now. Both of their neatly ironed shirts have turned into crinkled mess with the hems untucked from their jeans. Their hairs tousled, sticking across all directions - especially Porchay’s. They pat themselves around, fixing their clothes and hairs as much as they could to look presentable again.

“The mansion,” He answers as he pulls the seatbelt over himself, buckling it. Kimhan mirrors the action.

“Hia and Phi Khun made me promise to join them tomorrow. We’re hanging out at Phi Yok’s club,” He explains further as Kimhan starts to drive out of the car park and onto the main road.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow when you guys are done partying.”

“You don’t have to do that, Phi Kim. The bodyguards will be there and they’ll drive us back to the mansion afterwards. You don’t have to worry.”

“I know, but I want to anyway.”

Kimhan takes Porchay’s hand into his, intertwining their fingers and resting their connected hands on his lap.

“Who else am I supposed to take care of, if not my boyfriend, right?”

A chuckle escaped from Porchay’s mouth at that. Since when does Kimhan know how to sweet talk?

“So cheesy. Where did you learn that line from, hm?”

“One of Phi Khun’s shitty dramas.”

Both of them burst out into an amused laugh at Kimhan’s answer. Of course it is. Where else can Kimhan learn such a sappy line?

“But I mean it though. I really care about you,” Kimhan mutters with a soft voice, hand squeezing Porchay’s reassuringly. Kimhan might not be good at expressing his love with words and showering Porchay with sweet talks, but one thing he is good at is taking care and protecting him.

“I know that, Phi Kim.” Porchay turns his face to look at Kimhan with fond eyes. His heart flutters in his chest knowing he has Kimhan’s whole affection all for himself.

“And yes, you can pick me up tomorrow.”

It is almost comical the way Kimhan’s face instantly lights up at that – Porchay thinks. Something as simple as picking him up from a night out has made Kimhan so excited just because that means he gets to take care of him. Porchay finds himself falling harder and harder in love with Kimhan.

[highviewsmoved]

You were just trying to work off steam from a recent bad break-up. What you didn't need was some guy at the gym telling you your form sucked. Even if he is ridiculously good-looking and right about it. So you use his expertise to help train you. You have something to prove to your ex and to him. 

Attraction is a force to be reckoned with. 

WORD COUNT: 13.1K TAGS: Personal Trainer!Waka, Romantic Comedy, Meet Ugly, Female Reader, Sexual Tension, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Language, Gyms, Alcohol, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sparring, Boxing (in like the loosest terms), Post-Break Up, Mutual Pining, Banter, Power Dynamics (Sort Of)

The words still echo in your brain. “I think you’re weak. We should break-up.”

That phrasing has become a broken recorder, spinning the words into a continuous chant. At first, when Jun told you his feelings and left you there at the café you had cried. You called up your best friend Mei and told her everything about it. Mei had cussed him out for you, had comforted you while you were in the bathroom sobbing on the phone.

You didn’t know how to move forward from that moment. I think you’re weak; he had said. What could that even mean? Is that even an appropriate thing to dump someone over? He had thought you were weak? When he was the one who clung to you, who seemed to never let you have a moment's peace on your own.

No, he was the weak one. He was projecting onto you. The next moment you were crying and then suddenly there’s a certain determination stirring within you.

You’ll just have to show Jun, your old, awful ex, just how not weak you are.

“Boxing?!” Mei asks in disbelief. Her voice rose so loud that people in the nearby vicinity were glancing at the two of you.

You pick at your food. “Yeah,” you mutter. I think you’re weak, springs back into mind. You say it again, much more confident. “Yeah, I’ve decided. I’m going to do it.”

Mei shifts in her seat, sipping at her drink. “I mean, good for you, but also is what Jun said really that important to you?”

You swallow, not wanting to admit that his words had wounded something inside you. Sure, you had your moments. You were emotional, sometimes irrational, but you had thought he had understood. It’s like two years of being together were out the window. Which remains. How long did he feel this way? Maybe he just couldn’t ever grapple with you? In the grand scheme of things, you’re glad it’s done.

Another, more scorned portion of you is angry. Pissed, even. You’ll have to prove it. It’s a new motivation for you, to figure out who you are and maybe go through a grandiose change. Just to get back at him.

Mei sighs, knowing you’re dead set on it. “There is a gym in the area, I’ve never been, but I heard the guy is a skilled fighter. Maybe he can–”

You stand up, interrupting her before she can continue. “Genius, Mei! I’m going right now.”

“Right now?”

You grab your purse, needing to head into your house to gather clothes. “Yup, I’m doing this! I’ll call you later, okay?” You holler, running out of the café. You had to grab the next train to head over there. The day was just beginning.

First, you had some studying to do.

You arrive at the outskirts of the building. It looked dingy on the outside; the gym being in a shady part of town tucked into a corner. You could see a few people coming and leaving, experienced grown men and even some women. It’s a little daunting, but you’re not weak, you chant. You can do this. You will.

This is paramount to you and your worth. A reminder of the strength you hold within yourself. Courage can shine beautifully in these times. So, you take a deep breath, looking both ways to cross the street.

You had the night before looked up information about boxing at the bookstore. It was filled to the brim with instructional books and information for beginners. The stances, what each move was called, the proper gear to gather for it. You had to go out and buy some used boxing gloves. You spent a bit, but that was alright. This is going to be life changing. And for the better.

When you walk into the gym, it is exhaustingly hot. The huge fans above you are coming through. It was all steel. The place was some old warehouse turned facility. You look around. There’s a boxing ring in the center, with a few punching bags next to it. There are metal shelves near the ring with different sizes of gloves. Now, you feel ridiculous for buying some.

Someone comes up behind you, startling you. “You new?” He asks.

You whirl around to meet face to face with a good-looking man, who looks to be your age. He has a blase expression, lazy eyes, and is chewing on what looks to be a yakitori stick.

You grapple with your thoughts. “Uh, yes, do I need a membership for this place?”

His eyes slide away, looking ahead. You turn to see the list of prices above you in the corner. 1,000 yen for a day and 20,000 yen for a year membership. You frown. “Are there, uh, discounts?”

“No,” he states.

You sigh. “Where do I pay? Is cash okay?” He gestures over to the counter while you follow him there. He walks around to it, popping open a register. You dig into your bag, pulling out the three bills of 1000.

The man slides the money to him, counting it.

He will not explain the details of the gym, you realize suddenly. “Um, so do I just come in? Are there showers? Any amenities?”

He glances up at you with piercing eyes. “We have showers in the back, locker rooms included, and the weight room is next to the ring.” He gives you your change, then. You take it from him, nodding.

“But do I need an ID for this place?”

“No. I remember everyone who comes through here,” he replies simply.

You huff. “Okay, thanks.” You walk away from the counter, heading into the back area of the locker rooms. They were a little terrifying. There was no other person in sight. So, you quickly change into your basic shorts and tank top. You feel a weird ball in the pit of your stomach. Could you do this? Every day by yourself? Mei already has a gym membership elsewhere, but it didn’t have boxing lessons.

If this is the only place, then so be it.

You step out, focusing on the weight area. You glance around, seeing the guy away from the counter doing something by the shelving.

You swallow, feeling a little too exposed.

The weight room had an entire mirror set up. Looking at yourself made you feel weird. To warm up, you decide to start off with some simple stretches. In doing so, maybe that will loosen everything up.

Soon, you’re all warmed up, feeling motivated. You decide to do some weight lifting, hopefully to build up some muscle overtime while doing the boxing practice. You do squats, simple enough right?

You grab some dumbbells, starting off with simple ten pounders.

What you don’t realize is the guy from the counter following your every move. He sneaks glances when you’re focusing. He knows. She’s never done this before.

He leans forward on the counter, watching.

You continue doing some kind of thing. You’re timid about how to do this. You were never the athletic type. In school, during sport festival days, you typically opted out of those by pretending to be sick. So you knew nothing of what you were supposed to be doing. You were absolutely certain that this is what you read, though. From afar, he could tell you were struggling.

Wakasa has to say something. It’s almost unbearable not to. “Hey, Rookie,” he calls out.

You turn then, frowning. “What?”

“You’re doing that incorrectly,” he inclines his head to the weights and your arms.

You raise an eyebrow. “I am perfectly fine.” You tap your foot a bit, trying to do your workout in peace. You turn away from him, trying to do this set. When the guy once again speaks up, it’s almost like a necessity to him.

“You’re doing that incorrectly. You could seriously pull something like that.”

You swivel around, dropping your arms and the weights. “I am doing fine,” you say through gritted teeth. “Listen, I am learning, alright.”

“Well, wherever you learned that from taught you incorrectly, so.”

You scowl at him. “I learned it from a book, specifically on this subject.”

His grin forms then, and it is mocking. “Maybe you should get your eyes checked. That’s not what you’re supposed to do.”

You size the man up. How dare he talk like he knows everything? Who gave up their throne to make him king? “Excuse you, but I don’t take unsolicited advice,” you scoff, turning back to your mat. The man doesn’t move from his spot and obviously he’s not even that phased by it. He just stares at you. “Alright then,” he shrugs. “If you say you know what you’re doing, I won’t stop you.”

“Thank you,” you say primly. You brush the tendrils out of your face and squat, doing the leg workout instead. You had read something about lunges. You just started here. He was the one that didn’t give you any details on this gym until you had to wheedle it out of him. Now he’s trying to train you? Suddenly he’s interested in what you’re doing. Seriously, what an ass.

“You’re going to pull a muscle if you do it that way,” he calls out, like a reminder. You stop what you’re doing. He flicks the newspaper without even looking up.

“Okay, since you know everything, let me talk to your owner. I have a few words about their employee harassing patrons.” You cross your arms, irritated. You have a lot of pent up frustration and this guy is not making it any easier.

Wakasa turns the page, glancing up at you lazily. “You’re lookin’ at’em.”

You grimace. “What?”

Wakasa sets the paper aside. “I am the owner of this facility.”  

You squint as if unsure of that. “Well, my point still stands.” you would not give him this imaginary point going forward. You won’t back down from this.

“About?” He drawls, he looks the least bit amused by your stubbornness on the situation.

You bend forward, lifting the dumbbell to set it back on the rack. You don’t sense his eyes following your every move or the way they seem to burn holes into the back of your head. You reassure yourself that it’s because he’s glaring. He is, but he’s also interested.

“You just want to be right. I know your types.”

“My type is to be a good owner and not have people like you injure yourselves in my building to sue me or something.”

You give him an affronted expression. “I would never, but now that you mention it, I might now.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, chewing on his stick. “Oh, really?”

You put your hands on your hips. “For the emotional toil you’re causing me. And harassment.”

He gives you a dead eyed look. “That’s low, even for someone like you.”

You sniff haughtily. “Well, that’ll teach you to mind your own. So, when do you work? Are you always here?”

“Why do you wanna know? To accuse me some more?”

“No, so I can know what days to avoid, so I don’t have to see you,” you add petulantly. You cross your arms.

He smirks at that. “Oh?”

You nod. “I’m serious.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, I’m here 24/7. My home is this gym.”

You huff, defeated. You can’t keep going to do this back and forth. It’ll just be a waste of time.

You decide to ignore him, doing the best you can with what knowledge you know. He can just write all his grievances down for all you care. If he has so much of an issue, maybe he could teach you.

The idea crosses you at that very moment. If this guy knew everything there is to what you’re trying to do and is the owner, it must mean he’s the skilled fighter Mei had mentioned.

You sneak a glance at him, the guy not even looking up from you. He doesn’t look to be the type to be like that. He looks regular, just lean.

But you knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

You march over to him, full of purpose. “Hey—”

“Wakasa. Wakasa Imaushi,” he says, still not giving you the time of day.

Alright, you can take that. “Wakasa,” you smile. “Look, I know we had a bit of a cheeky start, but do you have any expertise in boxing?”

Wakasa looks up at you, a keen interest in his eye. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, I need someone with the knowledge to help me train for it.”

He doesn’t seem to believe that. “You’re asking me? The same guy you threatened just a little while ago?”

You wrinkle your nose. “It’s bad, I know. Listen, I apologize, really. I just would like some help? A guidance, if you will.”

He assesses you with a careful distance, almost as if he’s worried about you reaching in. Maybe he’s the person who needs space to think about these things. You didn’t think it was that serious.

“Why?” He inquires. It’s a simple question, one that you have a real answer to, but not the one you’re willing to give. That sort of honesty will take you a while.

So, you lie, it’s half of one, but it’s not the reason. “To get stronger.”

Wakasa seems to contemplate it for a moment. He weighs the pros and cons. You’d be here a lot and he didn’t really particularly like the way you spoke to him; but he can’t help being a tad curious.

He hasn’t trained someone since Senju, and that was simply because she’s a prodigy all her own. This is someone new, who looks to know nothing of the sort. It’d give him something to do. It couldn’t hurt. “Alright,” he nods. “I’ll take you up on that.”

You release a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you!”

“When do you want to start?”

“Pardon?”

“We can start now.”

You take a minute, your brain short circuiting. “I mean–”

“Or not, your choice.”

You hate having to decide. Why does it have to be on your shoulders? You asked for it. You remind yourself that this is all you're doing and not anyone else's. You begrudgingly make the call.

“Fine, let’s do this.”

It’s simple: Wakasa goes over every single term. It’s become a lesson. He pulls out old magazines, guidebooks and lays out all the equipment in front of you. All the stuff you’ve seen and sifted through, but didn’t have anyone there to explain it.

You go through memorizing each thing. He breaks down the concept of boxing down to its core. “Fighting is an art,” he explains. “Think of it like dancing or making music. There’s a passion that gives it life. Boxing is in that realm. It is someone matching you to a rhythm. It can be a breathless waltz or all the times you’ve had a bad dance partner step on your toes.”

You nod, understanding that boxing for some is a way of life. It is a third lung, an extra crutch. It’s a brutally gorgeous sport split into different categories by weight. You’re matched to someone in likeness and ability. That has to mean something to so many. Wakasa seems very knowledgeable about it.

He talks about fighting like it’s a lover. It seems to be where his heart is.

You thank him. There’s an odd kindness that you see in him. Not that it wasn’t present before, but you had thought him to be more of a smart-ass. You feel you know him a little better. You’ve seemed to come to an understanding with him.

“I appreciate it, I do,” you tell him. The two of you walk out to lock up the Gym while he heads out to lunch.

“It’s no problem. Hey, make sure you go over those tapes. There are good references there.” Wakasa was kind enough to hand them to you in a nice tote.

You laugh a little. “Sure, sure.”

The two of you depart ways, but you can’t help but feel a little better. Wakasa seems to have that sort of presence. A calming, reassuring aura.

In a matter of a week, you head into the Gym every morning. It’s a ritual at this point. Mei called you the other night to see how it was going.

“It’s going,” you had told her.

She sings in excitement. “Oh, I’m just so happy for you! You already seem more perky. Who’s teaching you, anyway?”

You explain all of it to her, how you mistook the Gym Owner as some bad-tempered guy who kept commenting on your ability. How he is actually a pretty decent guy to work with.

Mei seems to have taken that as great news. Her resulting in telling you not to form a crush on the new trainer.

You had felt yourself grow warm at that. It’s not like he’s not handsome, but he’s your trainer. That has to count against any sort of feelings being dredged up.

You don’t really know him, nor have you been acquainted with him for much longer than a couple of hours. Unless something of the sort does blossom, god forbid. You just don’t want to think of that.

A part of you, though, is almost curious. Certainly it couldn’t happen. He’s definitely not interested. Right?

You come in the next day. Wakasa welcomes you to the front.

“Rookie, we’re going to do something different today,” he informs you. You look at him questioning. “What do you mean?”

He leans over the counter. “We’re going to try doing some move practices in the ring.”

You gape at him. “Already? I thought we were going to do more drills?”

“I need to see something. You’re going to have to get used to some sparring.”

When he says this, you don’t know exactly what you’re in for.

Wakasa explains the general gist of it to you. He shows you the form and you mirror him the best you can. “This is for practice. I want to know if you’ve been watching those tapes.”

You have been. The fighters make it look incredibly easy. The swift movements, the footwork, all of it.

“I want you to swing at me. If we fumble around, it’s okay,” he says. So you do, you take a gander. You throw your fist back and he dodges it. He does the same, but you’re not quite good at blocking yet, so it nearly catches onto your shoulder.

You both continue like this for what feels like sometime. The videos had seemed clear cut, but maybe there were things you were missing. It also feels like Wakasa is toying with you. The way he seems to inch closer to you, the proximity almost dizzying.

You two go about this in an odd dance, a tangle of arms coming through and messy blocking. Wakasa somehow has completely blindsided you. He’s right behind you now, so when you swivel around he is entirely too close, his fist coming to a stop at your chin. He doesn’t move, remaining there for sometime.

The way he presses himself near you, knowing he shouldn’t be. He has a full strength advantage against you. Maybe sparring wasn’t the wise choice for you to start with today. Especially since you only think emotionally and not tactically.

Wakasa Imaushi is dangerous, lethal, in every capacity. He’s got years of experience and you’re just now learning. You know better than to move from this position. You asked for it; you made your grave. His lips come close to your ear, tickling against the bit of your loose hair. Curse him, curse his pretty face and that smile. “I win,” he murmurs, his voice causing goosebumps to crawl over your arms. He releases you then, fist coming down, and you take a few steps away from him. You’re frustrated.

The freaking tease. He did it on purpose. There’s a daring look in his eye directed at you. Your move.

When you go in for a right hook, he stops it with his hand easily. He seems to hold on a little tighter.

“This makes you vulnerable,” he moves a fist towards your stomach area. “See, right there, I could’ve taken you down. You’re open.”

He lets go, and you wipe the sweat from your face.

“We can go over some more fundamentals tomorrow,” he informs you. “At this rate, it’ll take you longer than six months to get the initial stuff down.”

You nearly choke on your water. “That much?! It takes that long to learn?”

Wakasa wraps his towel around his shoulder. “Yeah, did you not read that in one of your books?”

You sniff. “No, I just thought it was a few punches and kicks,” you gesture. You try to imitate the stances of cage fighters you’ve seen on television before. Wakasa takes up a relaxed posture, leaning against the ropes of the boxing ring.

“There’s training that goes into it, a lot of mental and strength building. So, if you want me to still help you, then—”

“That’s fine, I’ll be ready for it,” you say. You bounce already, eager for the next day. You feel the soreness, but not as bad as it was during the first week. Doing the drills Wakasa sets up for you has been much easier now, it's showing that your conditioning is working.

“We can start some core building tomorrow morning,” he states.

Your neck snaps up. “Tomorrow morning?”

You remembered then that Jun had called you the other night, drunk and lonely. He had begged you to come and see him. The dependent part of you had wanted to. He had asked you to meet at the café where you both used to go.

Wakasa nods slowly. “That’s what I said. Your work is in the afternoons, right? So why not?”

There’s an obvious choice here. You would have to pick the training time every week with Wakasa, it would diminish a lot of your social time. You think of Jun, alone and waiting for you. That feels much better than just lingering for him to notice you. Also, he can suffer for all that he’s done.

You smile, bright and happy. “Sounds good to me.”

The next few weeks, Wakasa has you on a rigorous schedule. You rise at five in the morning, and you’re done by eight before the gym opens up for public access. You do various drills, running through the fundamentals after. He teaches you the poses for each stance in boxing. “There’s The Orthodox Stance,” he makes the pose, pushing his left foot forward, gently. His fists raise to act as both shield and weapon.

He stands up straight, gesturing to a buddy. “Here with me today is Benkei. He’ll be my example.”

Benkei, a rather large man, comes into the ring, putting on his gloves. You watch the two of them carefully. “First, we will show you the offensive moves.” He calls out, introducing each one.

The jab, a short handed left punch he throws Benkei dodges easily. The hook and cross, his arm bending to form the crook as he throws another hit. The uppercut, a punch thrown upward with as much force as your torso can do. “The uppercut takes a lot of tension in the lower half, it helps propel it,” he explains.

The two of them relax their stances. You nod, trying to remember how to do each of those. “We won’t show you the defensive moves just yet, but if you want to try those out right now you can.”

“Right now?” You parrot out in shock.

“It’s practice,” Wakasa waves you up into the center. Benkei takes a seat on the side where the chair is.

You head back into the arena. You remember his words, doing the stance, pushing that left foot forward. Wakasa intently watches you, his gaze not looking away from your form. You feel really self-conscious between him and Benkei.

He hums, approaching you. “This arm needs to be moved here.” He grabs your wrist gently, moving it to the correct position. His thumb slides away then, you watch his fingers curiously, and he is close.

A lot closer than he should be. “Look up,” he lifts your face up. “Don’t lower your chin down. That can cause harm.”

His hand lingers for too long, unless you were imagining it. Benkei coughs off to your side. Wakasa’s eyes slide over to his pal there, giving him a harsh look.

You blink, confused by the reaction.

It goes like this in a back and forth. Where you repeat the motions of the offensive moves. He either stops you where you are, frozen in the spot, to adjust your hands to the right position. Waka reminds you of the dos and don’ts, the risks if you tuck your thumb into your fist. How one can even damage many bones at once with the impact of a single hit. You feel yourself paling at the thought. You didn’t want to fight professionally by any means, but you feel like this is something that would build your confidence. It’d give you reassurance and a push. It’s one of those things that is a great conversation starter. Oh, you do boxing, that’s so cool.

You just wanted to seem more interesting, and this is a start. Wakasa nods once, seeming happy with it. You feel you've been doing this for an eternity.

“Alright, we can begin with the defensive.”

You gulp. Wakasa does the usual of signaling Benkei over once more.

“For the defensive, you have the slip, where you move your head to the side,” he presents it. Benkei goes in for a strike and Wakasa avoids it with ease. He shows the block and finally the duck. All words that are easy to understand exactly what you’re supposed to do.

What shocks you the most is Wakasa asking for you to be on the defensive while he is on offense.

“Wait, shouldn’t it happen naturally?” You ask, the nerves hiking up.

“We’re getting you used to the feeling of them. We’ll do more set drills over these.”

You sigh, heading to where he is to do a repeat, except this time you have to defend yourself from Wakasa. “Relax,” he says. “I’ll go slow.” You worry a bit about that.

When he throws the jab at you, you panic, blocking it. Pure luck. Benkei makes a grunt of approval off to the side. You relax a little, feeling a little more confident. Wakasa throws another cross and you duck under it.

He does one more, the uppercut, which you successfully stop. Wakasa cracks his neck, relaxing his posture. “Good work,” he tells you. “I think we’re done for the day.”

You loosen up, removing your gloves. Benkei approaches, offering you water. “You’re doing good for a rookie. Congrats,” he gives you an affirmative nod and a small smile. You thank him, appreciating his gesture. To have someone like him acknowledge your strength. It makes you feel better about doing all of this.

You gather the rest of your things, ready to hit the showers. You turn to wave at the two of them, but you notice they seem deep in conversation. Wakasa looks bored as usual, but there’s a certain tenacity to his stance. You bite your lip, curious, but you know better than to eavesdrop.

So you decide to just tell them on your way out.

You take a warm shower, feeling your muscles ease from all the worked up energy and tension. You’ve been learning so much these last few weeks. It feels fantastic to gather that confidence. Jun hasn’t crossed your mind at all and Wakasa is a great teacher.

You’re glad you got over the hurdle of insulting him the first time you met. You value his companionship and his expertise. He’s becoming someone you can rely on. You trust him. Although you know nothing about him. You wonder, outside of the gym, what he does for his own entertainment.

You get out, dry yourself off and get dressed. Today was an off day for you from work, so you had the afternoon to sleep. Wakasa suddenly steps into the vicinity, right when you pull down your t-shirt. You startle after seeing him in the corner of your eye. “Oh my– Wakasa! You scared me!” You hold a hand over your heart.

He doesn’t bat an eye. Does he just always silently walk into the locker rooms like that? “What’re you doing after this?”

You blink at him. “It’s my day off, so I was just going home.”

“Let me treat you to some food,” he offers, his hands suddenly in his pockets. He has that crouched sort of posture. The yakitori stick in his mouth, rolling from side to side. You wonder if that’s an oral fixation that he has. You shoo that thought away, though.

“I mean, that sounds good to me, okay?” How kind of him, you think. You would’ve never thought he would do something like that.

He motions for you to hurry, exiting out of the room. You smile, you're feeling that familiar thrum. You decide to ignore that, tucking it comfortably away. Not now, you think. You must get stronger first.

The two of you walk down the path to a chain restaurant down the way. The bright yellow insignia of the place is welcoming. “It’s on me,” he says once you order. You shove your money away, stuffing it safely into the confines of your wallet.

“Oh, thank you!” You chirp.

He shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

The two of you sit across from one another, waiting on the order to be called. You are very aware now that you’re right across from Wakasa. The same irritatingly cocky man who’s been training you. You’re uncertain if you should be the first to speak. Perhaps he likes quiet lunches.

“Where do you work?” He asks, breaking that thought down immediately.

“I work at my family's office just doing the paperwork. We own a dental place. My dad and mom are the heads,” you tell him. He nods, seeming to take that in.

“Cool,” he murmurs. The server appears then, delivering your orders. He sips on his drink, not saying anything else.

You realize maybe it’s your turn to ask something. It’s how real conversations go.

“And you? Do you do anything outside of gym stuff?” You take a bite of your sandwich.

He leans back against his seat. “I train, go to meetings, and hang with my friends.”

You perk up at that. “Oh, are you a business major?”

Wakasa gives you a wry smile. “Something like that,” he covers his mouth, suppressing a grin. You’re not sure what the joke is.

You want to ask more, but you feel silly prodding him for an explanation. After it all, you both go your separate ways. Maybe it’s best to keep it that way, yet there’s that curious itch in you. You want to get to know him better. He’s an enigma in every way, but he’s been a reliable mentor to you. You want to at least give him the right to tell you himself.

“Why’d you want to pick up boxing?” He asks then. You’re surprised he didn’t ask you that previously. Back then, maybe he wanted to, but you just had given him the excuse of wanting to get stronger. Maybe he didn’t fully believe the reason.

You mull over the question more than you’d like. Wakasa waits, though, his presence comforting in a strange way. “I had a bad break-up,” you admit. You duck your head a little in shame. You don’t know why you feel guilty telling him the truth. “My ex told me I was weak, so I wanted to change myself. To prove him wrong. I wanted to do something for myself, for once.”

You wait, nervous about his response. What does he think of you? Would he think that’s a pathetic excuse? Something only pitiable people would do by taking those words to heart?

Wakasa leans forward then, his eyes searching your face. They’re the shade of the lilacs your mother used to grow out in the yard. “I think you’re changed,” he says. You look at him, wide eyed. “You’re stronger than you know.”

The familiar thrum returns, making your neck warm and your mood lighten.

After your time together, Wakasa heads off in a different direction from you.

You think about his words, how they juxtapose what Jun had told you. ‘I think you’re weak’ replaces itself with ‘you’re stronger than you know’ . You feel the familiar hum, your heart-warming itself. You think of Wakasa and his mysterious confidence, the way he speaks to you with conviction. He treats you not as someone less than but someone who is worth teaching. He is a fantastic pep talker, if that’s what you can call it.

You walk home feeling lighter than ever.

Benkei greets Wakasa back at the gym. The former eyeing him warily. “How did it go?”

Wakasa throws his keys on the table, sitting down on his cot. The silence stretches for a long period. “Fine,” he mumbles.

Benkei shakes his head, walking away. “I came to check on you, but it looks like you need more time to think.”

Wakasa pulls out one of his sticks from the back of his pocket. Benkei sighs, casually striding over. “You need to figure it out. There’s only so much I can say.”

Benkei leaves then, without another glance. Wakasa sits there, unmoving. He thinks of what he said to you today. He thinks of the way you were right there, across from him. At any point, he could’ve asked you properly. Instead, he can’t make the words come out. He had to do it in gestures or lingering touches. He’d hope you would catch on, but it’s going to be a lot harder than that. You were dense, unsurprising, though. You two had a work relationship, with some boundary treading on his part. He needed to not do that any longer. He can’t compromise this for you.

He can tell that relationships were off limits. He had to grapple with that. It’s odd to be on the receiving end of things for Wakasa. Typically, people of all kinds would leer at him. He’d usually beat them senseless if they got too close or he would ignore them. He’s never been the one with the one-sided feelings. Is this how Shinichiro used to feel? He exhales. Man, he misses him, especially in times like these.

He lays back, his arm over his face. “It’s like I’m fucking fifteen again,” he grouses.

You arrive at the usual time for training. When Wakasa welcomes you, there’s a certain tension in him. Something was off about him. Usually, Wakasa would come in with a light tease, maybe a little “Hey, Rookie.” There was none of those greetings. Something about today was different.

He seems to be dead set on not recognizing your presence in its entirety. He is supposed to be training you. So he would have to either way be in his line of sight. Whether or not he likes it.

When you finish up your drills, Wakasa seems to rush through the lessons. Not the familiar quickening of pace, but a hurried snap of the fingers. Almost as if he’s trying to get rid of you. What is his deal? He’s not usually like this. It’s unexpected, even for him.

“Hey, Wakasa,” you approach him during the water break. “Is everything okay?”

He looks at you, his mouth pressed in a firm line. “Yeah.”

You swallow, feeling odd. He’s lying to you. There’s something obviously bothering him. Could he not entrust you with it? How did the Wakasa from the other day who told you those encouraging words go from that to this? Right now, he’s showing a much more callous side of him. It causes your frustration to break through. “How about this?” you offer. “We spar, we go slow, and if I can dodge your hits, at least three. You tell me what’s wrong.”

Wakasa licks his lips. “Alright, I can work with that.”

You’re happy he agrees. At least it’s a start somewhere.

The two of you take your stances, Wakasa goes for an uppercut and you block it. The frustration builds again when he throws a few hooks and jabs. You dodge each of those, surprised by how fast he’s going. He seems irritated. It couldn’t have been something you did, right? It should’ve stopped, but he keeps going; disregarding your agreement entirely.

Maybe you had said something off? “Wakasa, you’re not going slow,” you tell him, barely missing a strike to the face.

He’s really going for blood, it seems. You do your best to evade the onslaught. Wakasa seems intently focused, like he’s no longer there. It’s just pure instinct leading him. It felt like guarding against a feline. The way he moves, agile and swift. Fine , if he’s going to get lost in this, then so will you.

You move backward, the side-to-side motions he matches with. The training you’ve endured shining through this. All of your movements have become second nature.

“Wakasa,” you call out again. You’re determined to understand what’s happening. “What’s going on? Please talk to me!”

Wakasa moves then, suddenly close, his uppercut coming for your chin. You stop it just in time, but a hook comes right to your side. He stops then, not at all hitting you. You feel the glove against your waist. His breathing is heavy, his eyes holding yours. You felt caged in. Just you and him.

“You’re open,” he rumbles. You look up at him in awe. The way he’s looking at you, his eyes are so bright. They seem to say something, luring you close. They’re like the way a feline catches their prey, getting low and slinking towards them to attack. You’re drawn in. You feel you could drown in the depths of him.

His head dips low, you can feel his breath much closer now, his lips nearly brushing against yours. Your heart pounds in your ear. He might not be in the right frame of mind. You want to, but you also need to bring him back. “Wakasa?”

He breaks away then, creating a distance that was not there before. Wakasa Imaushi has always been a puzzle. There is almost a simplicity to how he is. You like to think you figured it out. He holds himself to constant diligence. It’s all in the way he carries himself. Today, this was not one of those days for you. He has become unreadable in your eyes.

He swallows, not saying a single word now. What was that? Your mind supplies. That couldn’t have been.

“Let’s take a break from this,” he begins. He trails off, not sure where to elaborate. Your mood tanks then. Is he serious? Wakasa Imaushi being the one to call it quits. He has some nerve.

“What are you implying?”

“I’m saying we should stop this. We should stop this training. We take a break,” he suggests.

You do the best thing you can do. You argue with him. “No! What, we were just getting started! It’s only been a month!”

Wakasa cannot even spare you a single glance. He avoids your opposition and the way you look at him like you can’t believe what he’s doing.

“I’m the trainer, so I get the say. If I call it off, it’s off.”

You shake your head, hurrying to take your gloves off so you can actually hit him across the face. “You asshole! You can’t just do that. I paid you money for this.”

“I’m doing it now. I’ll refund you. Every bit.”

Your breath comes out as a shaky exhale. You can’t believe the words he’s forming right now. He sounds so much like a coward. “You’re running away,” you declare. He looks at you now, a fire that was not there before. It’s different from the passion he exhibited earlier.

“I’m not. I think we just need some time.”

“You need time,” you push. “You’re the only one who wants this.”

Wakasa has never once looked angry. He may have expressed a general detachedness, or an air of indifference, but there is one thing you can be sure of. He never looked at you with such contempt. As if you were the last person on earth he’d ever want to be with.

You won’t back down, even if he’s pissed at you, for whatever reason. You’re telling him the truth. The least he could do was do the same.

Wakasa does not yield, though. He climbs out of the arena, heading over to the counter. You jog after him. He pulls out every bit of money you had paid him, slapping it on the counter. “Take it and go.”

“I told you I won’t!” You shout. You’re trying your best to keep it cool, but this is maddening. Why won’t he just talk to you? “You have been nothing but helpful, so why?” You demand. “Why are you just throwing this all away?”

“This is the last time I say this, Rookie,” he spits out your nickname. “Get the hell out of my gym.” His voice lowering, incredibly even.

You shatter at that. He has no reason to treat you so coldly. You feel the overwhelming, crushing weight of rejection. He’s going to stop training you, you won’t get to see him anymore.

The utter disdain on his face is a grim reminder of what happens when you fully open up. This is the exact reason. Everything Wakasa has done for you disappears. He’s gone too far. You throw the money onto the ground, stalking off. You feel weak and you tremble. You will not cry in front of him. You won’t let him see that.

You grab all your things, walking quickly towards the front when Benkei and another man come in.

“Oh, hey, Rookie!” You push past them, apologizing and leaving as fast as you can.

You run out into the street. You don’t know how long you go, sprinting down the alleys. You’re gasping by the time you're done, the pain in your side making you forget what happened, for just a moment.

You slide against the wall; the crying begins. That horrible, disgusting heaviness coming back in full force. You hiccup, folding into yourself. Once again left in shambles.

Nothing hurt more than this. Not Jun’s breakup, not anything like this. Wakasa wounded you, and all you can do is cry.

You’re worried it won’t ever be the same.

There’s a beat of silence until Benkei’s face contorts into anger. “Hey, what the hell was that?”

Wakasa ignores him, gripping the sides of the counter harshly. He feels the immediate regret overwhelming him. Why the fuck did I do that? He wants to break windows, smash someone’s face in.

“What did you do, Waka?” Benkei asks again, much more resolutely. Takeomi watches them warily, sighing.

“Something you won’t be proud of,” Wakasa mutters darkly.

Benkei stalks over to the counters, reaching over and grabs him by the collar. “What’s not stopping me from beating that shit attitude out of you?” Those two haven’t fought since they were teens. They’ve never laid hands on each other, not since Shinichiro was there. Not since he made them become good companions, a team.

Takeomi stomps on his cigarette, needing to intervene. If Shinichiro had been here, he would’ve already had this mediated. “Hey, now–”

“I think I made a mistake,” Wakasa murmurs softly. The two of them look at him, their friends’ eyes glazed over. They’ve never seen him look like this.

Benkei releases him. “I’m asking you one more time, what happened?”

Wakasa licks his lips, lowering his head. He starts from the beginning.

Mei comes over immediately the following week, staying with you to comfort you. “I can’t believe this. You were doing so much already.”

You sniffle lightly into the bedding. “I’m just tired. I don’t want to talk or even think about it anymore.”

Mei nods, rubbing your back gently. “I’m super sorry. It just seemed like it was working out so well.”

You nod. You had done your work mutely, your parents worrying about why you seemed so down. You needed space, time to think. It hurt, remembering how Wakasa had looked at you. How he had viewed you as something to be thrown aside.

He was the one, a part of you battles with that thought. He’s the one who started it.

You think back at the proximity, the downwards tilt of his chin, his eyes drawing you in. He was alluring, having held this gravitational pull to reel you in. You almost kissed him. You wanted to. Your heart felt it in that moment that it meant so much more.

He pushed you away, but maybe it’s more of an issue with him than it is with you. It’s something he’s grappling with. Maybe he’s the same, not letting anyone too close. He closes himself off because it’s easier to do so.

That makes you more upset at the thought. What you really want to do is fight him. This time where he actually spars with you. He had not gone the pace you asked of him. He had pushed it. He tread a line. How much of this mentor-mentee relationship had been passing through boundaries?

You grumble, burying your head into a pillow. Mei rubs your back in soothing circles.

“Did you maybe want to go see a movie? Go out to Harajuku or we might eat somewhere nice.”

You have a great idea. It’s been a while since you’ve been out on the town. “How about we go clubbing?”

“Where?” Mei asks.

You smile, a mischievous grin. “Kantou area, they have some good bars over there.”

Mei nods. “Let’s do it!”

You find that it’s relaxing getting yourself together. There’s something peaceful in presenting your best side–appearance wise to the rest of the world. It really shows through that you’re not letting whatever knocks you down win.

It’s rejuvenating and being with Mei helps that.

Your dress is a tight fit, one that hugs your body in a way that gives you an enticing look. You’re nervous about wearing something like this, but it’s a cleanse. It's a part of the healing process of rejection , or so says Mei.

The two of you head into a place called Snake’s Den, with a huge, massive dance floor in the center, and a long island bar floating at the back. The booths and tables are at the ends of the area, away from the center, where the massive amounts of people are already jiving to a pounding bass.

You and Mei head to the side, avoiding the dancing bodies and the leering men.

Once you get to the bar, you already begin a tab with the bartender. You needed a drink; you needed to get out. To mingle or something. The bartender slides over the yuzushu², a citrus beverage with alcohol. You down the drink without hesitation. Mei gives you a serious look.

“That was fast? Hey, make sure you don’t drink too much,” she warns.

You wave a hand dismissively. “We’re celebrating a night of farewells.” The thought of Wakasa creeps in your mind, you grimace. He needs to go away. You wave the bartender over, asking for a few other drinks.

You continue like this, going to dance a bit with Mei and getting more drinks, alternating between water and alcohol.

“We should order something to eat,” Mei suggests. When the food comes around, you eat the edamame and the tsukune². Hopefully to weigh down the lightheadedness kicking in.

You order more drinks, chatting and laughing with Mei. Its good being around people again, especially a great friend.

What you don’t realize, in the back corner of the booth area, there is the one person you didn’t want to see. Takeomi, Benkei and Wakasa had just arrived at Snake’s Den.

The three of them keep an eye out for someone to do a deal with. Takeomi assures them the guy is good. Wakasa rarely does things like this, leaving it up to Takeomi. A part of him is sure it’s because his friend is trying to cheer him up. In the worst way possible.

“So,” Takeomi says. It’s been some time since they've relaxed like this. Just the three of them. “How’s the stuff going along?” He makes a wince, realizing the error in the question.

Wakasa narrows his eyes. “What do you think?”

Benkei gives him a warning glance. “Takeomi is just trying to help, even if it’s incorrect.”

He shakes his head, already exhausted.

Wakasa’s glare is deadly. “You know I don’t drink or smoke, right? I don’t enjoy these areas like you do, Takeomi.”

He shrugs, draping his arm over the booth. “I know. You needed some fresh air. You punching your knuckles raw will not help either.”

Wakasa moves his jaw. Sometimes, he wishes his friends could just let him be at peace with his own mistakes, but he knew better. Shinichiro wouldn’t have wanted him to be alone, he knows this. They all do.

He tries to relax, trying not to think of you. The way you had been so malleable moments before and then in tears the next. Him being the cause. It made a pit form in his stomach. He was never supposed to get close. He only meant for this to stay strictly professional. Wakasa felt damned the minute you challenged him. It felt continuous. The way he had left clues for you. His hands brushing against skin, against your hair, seeing you sweat. You struggled your way through it all. He felt proud of those moments. Thankful you wouldn’t see the way he looks at you. He had toyed with you too much, the unabating sensation of you. Wakasa didn’t realize how much he hungered for it. How much of that was stagnant inside of him?

Takeomi orders drinks for the three of them, specifying that Wakasa only gets water. The server leaves. He understands now that he won’t be able to leave until he looks like he’s at least going to get some enjoyment out of this.

He crosses his arms, glancing around the dance floor, the amount of people here invasive.

Wakasa, really to put it delicately, hates his friend sometimes.

You had gotten done with one of too many shots. For whatever reason, something catches your eye. You look around the table areas, all of them full to the brim with people chatting, drinking and laughing. You like to watch people, but then a specific table of three stops you in your tracks. The glass of liquor is not even touching your mouth.

Over by the booth area, sitting there amongst the flashing lights and various people parting away from dancing. You see him . Wakasa Imaushi is right there. You squint, trying to set your glass down, nearly knocking it over.

It couldn’t be. There’s no way. He looked to be talking with Benkei in the middle and Takeomi on the other side. He doesn’t seem like someone who enjoys this sort of scene, so why is he here?

You feel the warmth again, of seeing him looking okay, but the anger that you had stored up within you resurfaces. It lashes out. You smack Mei beside you, who is in a deep talk with an investor. “Mei,” you say. You shake her shoulder. “Mei!”

She says goodbye to the man, who throws an uneasy look your way, leaving her. Mei swivels around, frowning. “Are you kidding me?! He was cute! What do you want?”

“It’s him,” you say.

Mei raises an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Who? Is it Jun?” She stretches her neck, looking for him. You shake your head, getting her attention.

“No, worse. It’s him,” you repeat with a stronger emphasis.

Mei gasps. “Where?! The guy from the gym? He’s here?”

“He’s at one of the back tables with his friends. What’s he doing here?” You whine, the ache in your heart wedging itself into your ribs. You can’t do this again. You can’t face him.

“Him?!” Mei yells over the music, spotting the general direction you pointed in. “Oh my gosh, he is hot.”

“No!” You shout. Mei looks hard at the table, trying to see him better. “No, he isn’t. Don’t give him that. Also, don’t stare!”

Mei looks at you like you’re insane. “But you also think he’s hot?”

You puff out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, he is, but he’s so–”. Your mind conjures up the incident, a horrible reminder of why you’re here. To forget about that. To forget about how he talked to you. How he told you to leave. He’s the one who should drink himself in regret. Wakasa should drown in guilt. Why is it always you left to suffer?

Mei gives you a sly look, all too knowing. “I mean, he seems willing if he tried to kiss you–”

“Don’t say it,” you groan.

“Sex!” Mei shouts, giddy. “You two could just have sex. Why not! It’d be fun. You have done nothing since your ex. You need to get out there.”

“Need I remind you why we’re here,” you say through clenched teeth. “It’s because he told me to leave. He kicked me to the curb!”

Mei grimaces. “I mean, that’ll just make it sexier, I think.”

“No, Mei!”

This is getting you nowhere.

You shake your head, slapping your cheeks. This time, people looked in your general direction. “He can’t stand me, and I can’t stand him. I’m going over there,” you say. You stand up straight, but your feet ache. You down the rest of your drink.

Mei tries to stop you, worried. “No, you should not. You’re going to get laughed at!”

You remove her hand away from you. “I have something to prove. He won’t one up me this time!”

“He’s not picking a fight with you!” Mei hollers, making a face. “There’s no stopping that one,” she narrates to herself, sipping her martini. Mei plucks out the olive to eat while eyeing you from afar in interest. “Might as well buckle in for this.”

You groan. “Stupid fucking shoes!” You snap, you remove the heels, flinging them somewhere away from you on the dance floor. There are shouts in the direction you flung them in. “Hey! Who the hell threw shoes?!” You hear.

You ignore it, with a one track mind. You take note offhandedly that Wakasa has his hair down³. It’s gorgeous. He really is a handsome man. You sneer. This isn’t the time to be smitten by him. You remind yourself to focus.

You will get him back. You nearly fall over, but you slam your hands down onto the table; alerting the surrounding men.

Wakasa looks up, not reacting, but you can see the way his jaw ticks. Huh, that is attractive. No! Your mind screams. Focus.  

“Excuse me, gentleman,” you don’t realize it, but you’re slurring. You feel heavy and warm. All three of them look up at you. Wakasa’s expression remains unchanging. The lights of the club give him a stunning glow.

“What’re you doing?” Wakasa has the audacity to ask. He sounds irate. What reason does he have to sound that way?

You pull your dress down, you can feel it riding up your thighs. “You,” you point directly at him. “I have a bone to pick with you?”

Wakasa eyes you intently. He’s unsure of what you’re playing at. “Why?”

“We need to finish what we started–back at the gym. Or here, I don’t care. I’m going to win this time at our spar.”

His two friends next to him watch the interaction. Benkei coughs. “I think she needs you to confirm some things.”

Takeomi’s smoke rises away from the table, puffing in interest. Wakasa gives them each a chilling glare, then his bored eyes meet yours.

“Let’s go outside,” he offers, getting up. You huff, once again pulling at the hem of your silly dress. You were going to kill Mei over this. “Well excuse me, men.”

You follow him, the way he doesn’t look back to even see if you’re there, firing you up more. He’s such an ass. Once you thought that. In some weird moment, as if he could hear your thoughts. Wakasa stops to check on you, probably realizing his mistake. Huh? You think. “Here, grab my hand,” he offers.

There’s a sudden push right then. “Move, bitch!” A burly man grunts out. The sheer force of him throwing you off balance.

Wakasa catches you in his arms, the two of you glaring at the respected man.

“Hey!” You holler before Wakasa can say anything.

The man turns to the two of you, unimpressed. “You don’t fucking push a lady, asshole!” You say, getting into his face.

The man’s about to say something, but whatever is going on around you goes unnoticed. You don’t realize the way Wakasa looks viciously at the man or the fact that he realizes Takeomi and Benkei both rise from their seats at seeing the altercation. The man looks around, not even concerned with you, now.

“Whatever, watch your girl, man. Or someone else will.” He threatens before stalking off. Wakasa watches him leave. He throws a glance at Benkei and Takeomi, then grabs you by the arm. “Hey!” You gripe at him, resisting.

When you both reach out into the back alley, he releases you. “What is your problem?!” You snap at him.

Wakasa looks at you. He runs a hand through his hair. “No, I should ask you that?”

“What?” You hiss. “You can’t beat me to that. You’re the one with the problem? What is going on with you?”

He scowls then. “What’re you doing here?”

How dare he keep asking over your own questions! “I told you,” you grit your teeth. “I’m here to finish what we started back at the gym. You didn’t finish your lesson, and you called it quits before we even got the chance.”

His eyes search you, you’ve never seen him gauge you like this before. Unless he’s just been really good at hiding it this time. “We called it quits that day because we needed a break.”

“No!” You retort. “You were the one who needed a break. You said it.”

Wakasa’s frown deepens. “It was, for both of our sakes. I went too far. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You were going to kiss me,” you slur. In your drunken haze, the puzzle pieces clicked together. You knew then, kind of, but now you definitely know. “I have a lot to say about that.”

“That—” He breaks off, not looking at you. “I knew it wasn’t a good time, but you keep–.”

He’s so wrong. “Are you accusing me now?” You interrupt, losing a bit of your balance, already dizzy. The drinks you chugged catching up to you. Wakasa eyes you, his brows furrowing.

“You’re inebriated. We can’t have this conversation right now.”

Your hand presses against his chest. He holds onto your wrist, making sure you don’t fall over. “Oh, we are and we can have this conversation now,” the words don’t come out. They’re in a mumbled mess. Wakasa doesn’t smile at all. He looks serious, in the way he always does. Though in the dim lighting of the alley, he looks at you with questioning eyes. He seems uncertain, trying to hold you at arm’s length in the metaphorical sense.

“You were going to kiss me! And that’s not fair, cause you know why? I wanted to kiss you too!” You jab a finger into his chest then, nearly losing your footing, but you grab onto him.

Wakasa’s gaze softens considerably, that look in his eye no longer accusatory.

“Yup,” you say. “I did, and you know why! Because I think you’re incredibly attractive and I think about all the times you would touch me, which also you should be careful about,” you warn. You lean to the side a little and Wakasa grabs you by the waist.  

“Okay, hey, that's enough,” he tries to stop you.

You move too much in his hold. “No! Listen to me, it’s my turn! I like you and you’re weak to not have kissed me. So I’m going to do it first–” you purse your lips, attempting to stand on your tiptoes. Wakasa is at a loss for what to do, but grabs you by the shoulders to not let you get any closer.

“Hey, we can’t do this right now,” he murmurs. You suddenly hiccup, pressing your forehead against his chest. You hide there for a moment. You can hear his heartbeat, a residual thud that is constant and soothing. You want to stay like this. You know better, though. You knew exactly the route this would go down. You’re tired of tucking away your feelings, keeping them for safety. If he takes it, it shouldn’t be your problem. But it is. The thought of him not feeling the same way. Your lower lip trembles.

“I hope you like me back,” you whisper more to yourself than him. You feel the prickle of tears. Wakasa wraps his arms around you; a gentle squeeze. He’s warm. He smells good. That sort of refreshing mint scent that lingers with him. It’s calming. You snuggle your face close to him. “I like you a lot, even when I shouldn’t, because of my past relationship and the fact that you’re my trainer,” you confess.

Wakasa rubs your back, trying not to touch your skin too much. Your cursed dress had an open back. He can hear you start to snore. Seriously?

He pulls you back and your head lolls to the front. “Hey, wake up, you got to go back–”

You moan, pushing on his chest. “My stomach.” You try to move backward, but he stops you from it. You don’t have the words to tell him you felt ill.

“Wait–”

You pull away, leaning over, the sounds of vomiting coming from you. Wakasa sighs, feeling entirely unsurprised, just accepting it. He can sense the bile on his shoes. Shit.

You collapse back into his arms, snoring.

“I can take her home,” Wakasa says to Mei.

Mei eyes you worriedly, then back at him. “Alright, but take good care of her. Don’t tell her she puked on you. She will die from embarrassment.”

Wakasa waves her off. “It’s fine,” he glances towards his friends, waving them over. “Can you two get Mei home?” Benkei nods to that, glancing at you being carried.

“And this one?” He gestures.

“I’ll take care of her. We got some stuff to talk about.” The three people around him notice the way he holds you; as if you were something special. Something he wouldn’t want to let go of.

Takeomi raises a brow, a cheeky grin on him. “Finally.”

Wakasa gazes at you while you’re asleep in his cot. He’s unsure of what to do, since that time before he’s been trying to banish every single thought of you.

All of the lessons and the planning. Every single thought of you since the beginning has distracted him. Just you . It grew frustrating. No one has ever been on his mind that much. The way you would come in and just flip his world around. There’s not many people who he finds amusing, so you existing, and being around really turned everything outward.

All the times he’s felt being near you. It’s odd, for someone like him, to feel those certain emotions. He thinks of Shinichiro who was so desperate to have a relationship, getting shot down every single time. It was admirable. He never really put himself out there that much. So being in this situation, where his friend once was, is just off.

Benkei had realized it before him. There were times he’d be there, observing the two of you. Benkei noticed how often Wakasa looked at you. He had pointed it out, it made him feel exposed.

It’s like an open wound he carries; a massive lesion that no matter how many times he patches up, it never fully heals. Wakasa liking you, felt exactly like being punched in the face, but the thrill of that after never leaving. It’s all the times he’s faced off against titans and won. When he would freely maneuver in the air, having these emotions, strong and heady felt exactly like flying. It made his blood thrum through his veins. The same way he would walk away from fights bloodied, grinning, and alive.

It’s both exhilarating and a heavy weight he carries. He stares at your sleeping form and he walks over to you. Wakasa watches the way your chest rises and falls, curled into yourself. His hand brushes against your cheek, gently moving hair away from your face. He leans close to whisper in your ear. “I’m sorry for everything.”

When you wake up in the morning, there are three things that are obvious.

You are not in your apartment, your head is pounding horribly, and there are insistent sounds of something being struck.

You try to think, but you wince. “Ouch, it feels like I got shat out,” you mumble, rubbing your temples.

Your memory is blurry as you try to remember the events that led you to here. You remember you were with Mei; you had been drinking; you saw Wakasa, and then you followed him.

Then it hits you all at once. You had told him things that night. You had laid your heart bare to him. It was there, out in the open, for him to examine. You just can’t remember the after. Why are you here? You recognize it looks an awful lot like the gym.

Wakasa’s words from a while returning to you. “My home is this gym.” You gasp. You’re in Wakasa’s room. You look around then.

A simple bed, a desk, a bookshelf, some appliances. Oh god. You’re here with Wakasa. You went home with Wakasa.

The panic sets in and you feel dizzy. A mixture of both the headache and the feeling of seeing him again.

You had hugged him; you had told him everything. You slap your forehead. He must really think you’re horrible. A wretched person. Someone foolish enough to fall for their trainer.

Idiot.

You continue hearing that specific noise of chains rattling. You gather your bearings; you try to breathe calmly. Could you face him like this? How you look must be a serious mess.

You wish you could at least call Mei or conjure up some mirror to fix your appearance.

When you finally muster up the courage, you feel your nerves take over. You would have to see him. The conversation wasn’t over that night. He hasn’t even apologized to you about kicking you out. He completely cut it off.

You do some breathing exercises to relax. You do not know what he’s going to say. How does he view you now after all that has been done? You cannot bear to be on the receiving end of that look.

You shake your head. You need to go out there. You need to end this. Even though you don’t want it to. You want to cling desperately to those feelings. You never want to let go of all the good you had with Wakasa. Being with him, whether it was as acquaintances or a trainer giving advice, he had made you feel better.

You didn’t want that to change.

Ultimately, a decision needed to be made.

You find him over by the punching bags and he is tearing into one. He’s moving quickly, the bag seeming to bend every time he strikes it, doing more impressive kicks to it. Wakasa in action is truly dangerous.

You stand there for a moment in awe, unsure of what to say. You haven’t seen him since then, at least not sober. Wakasa stops then, landing one more harsh kick against the side causing the bag to jostle and the chain to rattle loudly. His shoulders slump, exhausted. He must’ve been doing that for a while.

Wakasa looks at you then, his eyes sharper than usual. You swallow, your heart thumping much more loudly. “Hey,” you say weakly. You want to wring yourself around the neck. Be confident.

“How’d you sleep?” He asks, walking over to one of the metal chairs. Beside it all of his things are there, including a water bottle.

When he removes his boxing gloves, you notice his knuckles are healing over. They looked to have been torn up from a fight. You try to look away, but he catches you staring.

He waits then. You need to give him a response to his question at some point. “Never better,” you say. You scowl. “No, that's not what I wanted to say. I want to talk to you.”

He sits on the chair then, leaning forward. “About?”

You realize he will not make this easy. Somehow that makes you more upset. “Don’t you have a few things to say to me first?”

You both stare at one another in a standstill. Wakasa looks away then, shaking his head.

“Wakasa, you owe me an explanation. You can at least give me that courtesy,” you say, crossing your arms. You feel barren. Entirely too open for your own good.

He juts his jaw forward stubbornly. “I struggle with this,” he says finally. He swallows. You can tell whatever he’s trying to voice is hard for him. “I did a lot of shit and you know this is one time I didn’t feel proud of it.”

You wrinkle your brows together, trying to parse together what he even means. “I hurt you. I pushed you away after everything. I didn’t explain an ounce of anything other than our training.” Wakasa looks down at his hands, his finger tracing against the calluses on his palm. “Being around you feels exactly like all the times I’ve gotten into fights. When I’m in the moment, I feel exactly what you make me feel.”

Your lips part, your neck growing warm. Is this a confession? It has to be right?

“Wakasa,” you say his name like it is a breath wedged between your ribs and lungs.

“I feel intense when I’m around you. I want to be in your space, in your hands and everywhere all at once.” He admits this out loud: it makes you feel alive . You’ve heard nothing like this before. It felt sentimental and secretive; and it’s being shared with you. This is what Wakasa has been hiding from you since you’ve known him. Those feelings are made clear now. Is this how he has been feeling for you this entire time?

He sits there for a moment, the silence the only thing between you two. You should say something to that. Anything. You just can’t. Your mouth finally moves.

“Wakasa, I didn’t know. I mean I thought I suspected, but I told myself I was imagining it.” The tears well up despite yourself. He’s been feeling these emotions the whole time. That’s painful, you think. To be alone with such thoughts of someone who may or may not want you back. You were only there to be under his instruction, he knew that better than anyone else, you leaving eventually is expected. You don’t want to leave, but you don’t know how to tell him.

“Did you mean everything you said last night?” Wakasa casts an attentive gaze towards you. That’s a question begging to be answered. Your stomach turns inside of you, the anxiety of admitting to him everything you feel. There it is. Your weakness. You don’t want to.

Your heart wants to say: yes, yes I did mean it. I liked you since the first time I caught eyes with you; but you’re terrified. You don’t want this to end up being something that ends almost immediately. Your heart cannot take that again. It cannot live with itself being broken, only to heal with crooked pieces in place.

Wakasa is still waiting for your response. His face betrays his inner feelings, but his eyes tell so much. It’s like a magnetic pull.

You hesitate, you don’t know what to say. You want to save yourself from the embarrassment of another confession and another broken heart. Pathetic. It’s a weakness. You realize all along Jun had a point in what he told you.

You had asked him for honesty and he did that for you. You cannot do the same for him. “I don’t remember,” you reveal, the hesitation loud and clear. You look away from him, down at his feet. You cannot bear the weight of that gaze any longer.

Wakasa is quiet for a moment. Then you can hear him inhale sharply, turning away from you. He gathers everything with him, packing it up. When he finally has everything ready, he’s going to walk out of that door and never turn to face you. You will no longer hear him give directions on your form or the way he looks at you with so much in those eyes. You will never get to be around him.

That is worse than the exposure of your embarrassment or vulnerability; losing him hurts so much more than any of that.

You follow him. He had given you exactly what you wanted. Wakasa laid his heart out for you to accept it, yet you spit it right back. You feel the crushing force of shame. How could you be so cowardly?

“Wait–Wakasa, please , wait!” You call out to him. Everything feels smothering. You don’t want to lose him.

He continues onward, shaking his head. You feel your chest tighten. The tears welling up. “Wait, goddammit! Let me explain, please!” Your voice rising to a panic.

Wakasa pauses, still not facing you, but you can tell his shoulders are tense. He’s breathing heavily. You swallow, gaining the courage. Since everything that has happened, you recognize now that you are not weak. His words from before coming back to you. You’re stronger than you know. It was Wakasa who had given you that word, and you will continue to show that he is right.

You always stopped yourself from moving forward, from letting others really get to know you deep down. You were the brakes, the glowing red light that caused people to leave you eventually and you would let them.

Not this time. You won’t be. You will tell him. Just how he told you so much without even a word. There was always a promise there. “I lied. I know what you’re thinking. How can you trust anything that comes out of my mouth?” You control your breathing, but you feel the nausea. “I like you so much. I think I did since I first met you when you gave me your unsolicited advice.” You laugh a little through tears. “Between the times you would tease me or encourage me. I think not being able to be around you anymore because of my mistake of letting you go would hurt so much more.” The tears fall then, unabashedly. You let them. He needs to know. “I am weak, that is correct, but I am strong in so many ways. I want to be strong in every capacity. So, I like you. I meant every word last night. Every single thing. I meant it.”

You let it out into the air. It is fully up to him now. Whether he will want to stay with you or let you go, not taking anything you said for certain. That will just be something you will have to live with. You feel the cracks beginning again, that shattering. This time, though, it hurts more. It is raw, and it is like the sensation of a gaping wound. The loss of something before it even began.

What you do not expect is Wakasa, a quiet, collected Wakasa Imaushi to take deliberate steps towards you, dropping his things.

He cups your face, his thumbs wiping your tears away. Wakasa moves close, his lips touching your forehead. You sigh, absolutely at peace with this. A simple action can mean so much. That is all he has ever done. Those hands were always the gentlest part about him.

“Go home,” he murmurs against your skin. Your heart sinks at that. Wakasa makes a face at your disheartened look, his eyes drawing you in. He has so much more to say. “I want you to get cleaned up, and then meet me here.”

“Oh,” you say shakily. “I thought I was going to be banished from here.”

Wakasa pulls away from you, studying your face. His eyes oozed with ardor. “I am going to do so many things to make it up to you. Just come back to me.”

You feel yourself grow warm. Oh. “I mean, there’s a convenience store nearby where I can get a toothbrush and bathe here,” you say in a daze.

Wakasa’s coquettish grin appears at your suggestion. “Works for me,” he says smoothly.

When you wake up, you’re close to him, covers draped over both of your bodies. His hair is messy, but his face is serene in the morning light. You look at him, memorizing every inch of him. The way he sleeps on his stomach and the gentle breathing you find comfort in. You touch his cheek, your fingers tenderly moving to trace his brow line.

Your heart flutters fondly. You adore him. It’s incredible how quickly the feelings developed. You’re drawn to him, absolutely infatuated. He had the arrogance of someone who had every right. A knowing presence with his quips and reassurance. He never once belittled you. He always took great care in reminding you how capable you really were. You kiss him lightly on the nose, moving closer to him.

His eyes open slowly, like hyacinths in spring. He hums. “Good morning,” you say, heart pounding.

Wakasa drapes an arm over you, his hand rubbing against your arm. He moves then to be on his side. His hand coming back to touch your face. Wakasa kisses you. His lips gently prodding yours open, you moan lightly against him. It’s unfair how gentle he is. He breaks away then to look at you. “Did you sleep alright?” He asks then.

You nod, bringing yourself close to kiss his shoulder. “I did, and you?”

He smiles, a genuine, not teasing grin. It is brilliant. “Never better.”