#military cadence

[babyscilence]

Questions I have about clones from someone who has family members in military active duty:

Do they have PT (physical training) when they're not in a combat zone? Like, does the Corrie Guard go for runs around base at oh five hundred every morning?

Do the ground troops have Company PT when they're back on Coruscant for a while? Sure they maybe get shore leave (is that even canon?) But that can't last forever.

Okay and say they do have PT or at the very least they did when they were in training still on Kamino. Do they sing cadence? Did their training sergents teach them songs like

"I don't need no teenage queen

I just want my Deece-15" (slight modification to an actual cadence)

We know in Legends they know Dha Wherda Verda and Vode An but those aren't cadence they're motivation songs.

So what would a clone cadence sound like?

[vassalor]

Dbd headcanon

Bill singing this while Leon and Mc make sit ups.

Both of them join to him for sing at the same time.

[goodjohnjr]

Thought I Was Dead

Thought I Was Dead What Is It? The YouTube video Thought I Was Dead by the YouTube channel Tyler, The Creator: Thought I Was Dead Continue reading Thought I Was Dead

[eat-my-cake-records]

Press Release: Jade Ann Byrne of Eat My Cake Records Unveils New Military Cadence in Solidarity with Ukraine

Press Release: Jade Ann Byrne of Eat My Cake Records Unveils New Military Cadence in Solidarity with Ukraine For Immediate ReleaseDate: [August 24th 2024]Contact: Jade Ann Byrne, Pop Star, Sound Maker, & FounderWebsite: [Eat My Cake Records – Jade Ann Byrne] What Makes the Sunflowers Grow? Eat My Cake Records & Jade Ann Byrne Release a Powerful New Military Cadence for the Ukrainian Armed…

[dwuerch-blog]

Being In-Sync with my Commander

Yesterday, Memorial Day, I embraced living in a country where freedom still reigns! I expressed my gratitude for living in this great land of the free and home of the brave. All was calm and all was bright after a very busy week and weekend with my family. I’ll admit my “solitary confinement” felt wonderful! That confinement lasted long enough and, even after I had been on the elliptical…

[malachia-il-bibliotecario]

this vocative is giving me major brainrot what are you doing aeneas you're calling ruins to testimony. you're a little speck of life that managed to escape and you're calling fucking ruins to testimony. you're talking with the ruins. alright

[unfair-water-plane]

So one thing that has always made me chuckle in ME2 is the fact that Kal’Reegar is a marine in a Quarian suit. And he fits in with Shepard easily, the same attitude and headspace and cadence (for mShep at least). And I’m sitting here at work and the thought just hit me.

What if that’s because he is a marine in a Quarian suit?

Hear me out. Kal is older than Tali, or at least gives off those vibes, and so he would have been on his pilgrimage a while ago. Like maybe right after first contact. And here are these brand new people who came out of nowhere and had apparently enough fire power and attitude to give the Turians a very brief pause. The whole galaxy wants to know more. And humanity has no idea who is out there, but surely they can’t all be like the creepy bird people?

Cue one very curious Quarian in Shanxi, just as curious an out humanity as humanity is about everything. Meeting with early alliance brass, giving them information common palace to any kid with an extranet feed but wholly new to humanity. He explains that the Quarian don’t have ground forces because they don’t have a ground, and is honest about the geth, and is like ‘so how did you make the Turian Hierarchy freak out?’

And somehow ends up observing basic training, and falls in love with it. To the point where he actively asks to go through marine boot camp in Hanshan, and is just earnest and endearing enough to be allowed. So he goes through it, puts in the work and the blood and sweat and tears and makes the kinds of friends that you sort of have on the Flotilla, but everyone also knows you are all going to separate ships eventually and getting attached is hard.

But the humans will pack bond with a robot vacuum without issue, and when they meet a Quarian who wants to learn and thinks it’s amazing that they stood up to the biggest military in the galaxy running on old fashioned rocketry and spite? The marines adopt him as one of their own. They are brothers, something most single child Quarians have no experience with, and Kal gives it back in spades. He talks like them, fights like them, jokes and learns and is like them.

And when it is over and they graduate, it’s hard to turn down the offer to stay. But humanity respects the loyalty to his people that takes him back to the fleet, and it almost brings him to tears when his graduating class passes a cap for his passage back to the fleet in more comfort than sitting on a box in a volus cargo ship.

It actually brings him to tears when his drill instructor informs him that while it might not be in great shape, Arcturus has authorized them to gift Kal’Reegar with a battered but space worthy corsair and an official greeting from the Systems Alliance to the Migrant Fleet.

The SSV Jarhead is perhaps the best gift anyone is his age range can give to a future captain, though his practical military experience is a gift to the whole fleet. It catapults him through the Quarian military, from for soldier to instructor to commander, and somewhere he hopes that his brothers and sisters are as proud of them as he is of every transmission that makes it back to him.

On Haestrom, that training keeps him alive long enough to watch his squad die, and that cuts like nothing else. But he can’t stop, because the principle is still depending on him, and until his suit gives out he has to fight to her.

But then the voice cuts through the chatter of his own mind, and he *knows it*. Knows the cadence and the phrasing, knows how a human mouth forms the phrases that he has spent years trying to teach. Commander Shepard might not be a marine, but they are a human combat specialist and the fraternity is there.

Maybe it’s just three more people who are going to die for this fools errand, but somehow Kal doesn’t think so. There are two bone deep beliefs that he will carry it’s him to either the home world or the afterlife, and it has always felt appropriate to him that they rhyme. That they sound similar, when he breathes them into the air.

Keelah Salai. Semper Fi.

[zangtangimpersonator]

this was just an excuse to post the terrible suno results of the prompt "gangster rap call and response chant cadence men shouting beatboxing snare monotone" because i thought it was extremely funny. the bit at the 2:40 mark where it tries to get even moodier is glorious. i was really trying to get a military training cadence going but wow that didn't happen

[tenderleavesbob]

“I was raised by a tree,” Mask said. The others scoffed and told Mask to stop joking, but Link knew it had to be true. Mask was like Proxi. Mask didn’t lie. Not knowingly. Not deliberately.

“I don’t have parents,” Mask said, and Link knew that was true, too. Mask didn’t seem to understand what parents were.

“I’m okay on my own,” Mask said, and Link knew that was bullshit. The only time Mask could lie to Link was when he lied to himself.

Before the war, before the attack by Volga, before Link realized how many fantastic stories his grandma told him were actually true, Link had few expectations in life. He joined the military because they offered food and a safe place to sleep. He discovered that he liked it and decided it was something he could not only do but make a life out of doing. He never expected to gain any real rank or be recognized. Even as the other soldiers talked about their dreams about a wedding and a spouse and children with their eyes and eyes, Link couldn’t imagine anything like that for himself. His path seemed clear enough. Live by the sword, die by the sword, fight well enough for a good grave.

The moment Link saw Mask and Tune, his plans changed.

“I don’t need tucked in,” Mask complained as Link smoothed the blanket over him.

Not a lie. Mask didn’t need it. It didn’t change the fact that he liked it and wanted it. It didn’t change how he relaxed under the blanket and settled under Link’s hands.

“Maybe I need it,” Link retorted. Not a lie. “I like knowing you’re in one piece at the end of the day.”

While Mask stuck his tongue out at him, Link turned to Tune on his cot. Tune wasn’t like Mask. He could lie and merrily did, often with dramatic flair. Link tried to keep him away from Ravio as much as he could, with limited success. Tune didn’t have parents, either, and admitted that he couldn’t really remember them. He did have a loving grandmother, though, and a little sister he adored. He didn’t fuss when Link smoothed the blankets over him. He even tilted toward Link with a hopeful smile, and Link laughed when he kissed his forehead.

“What I need,” Tune declared with a bright grin, “is a bedtime story. We haven’t had one of those in a while.”

“You had one last night!” Link ruffled Tune’s hair and walked back to his small desk. Mask was on the way with a pout he didn’t have mere moments before. 

Mask didn’t need kisses, he claimed, and it was technically true. It didn’t stop Link from pausing long enough to kiss his forehead. He watched the tension drain from Mask’s small shoulders before continuing to his desk.

“Last night was a while ago,” Tune argued. “Hours ago, even! C’mon. A small story?”

Mask had also made it clear, multiple times, that he didn’t need stories. Link thought that was another instance where he lied to himself and to Link. Everyone needed stories, after all. Even as the stories of past heroes threatened to break Link, the stories with happy endings kept him moving forward day after day.

“Well, what story would you like?” Link asked. He shuffled through some letters on his desk, lit by a small lamp. Darkness had fallen hours ago. “About a Zora princess?”

“No!” Mask snapped, so quickly that both Link and Tune stared at him.

Link coughed and went back to his papers. His hands paused on a rough draft of a letter. The final draft was better. Sincere and apologetic without his own selfish grief pouring through. Link quietly crumpled it. “All right then. Hmmm. What about an ancient knight? One who flew in the skies?”

Something he once believed no more than a fantastic story, woven beautifully by his grandmother and painted by odd dreams. Now...

Mask mused on it, and Link and Tune waited for him to decide. Tune was happy with anything. Link thought he just liked oral stories. The cadence of them, the feeling of the words uniting everyone. 

There was a letter from Linkle. Link brushed his fingers over it. He received it yesterday but hadn’t had a chance to respond yet. She laughed at him and teased him. Whoever would have believed that Link would be the first one from their group to have children? her letter read.

Certainly not Link. That hole had always been inside of him, but Link thought it was small, mostly filled in by duty and his fellow soldiers. After Cia? After the Triforce appeared on his hand? After the sudden rise in rank and the terror of the weight on his shoulders and after old friends began drifting away, looking at him like they had never seen him before? That hole had seemed endless, threatening to swallow him.

Yet Tune and Mask had patched it so easily.

“All right,” Mask decided at last. “That’ll do.”

Tune didn’t need Link. Link knew that. Link took him into his care and protected him as much as he could from the horrors of war and ensured that he always had a safe harbor in this storm, but despite being young, Tune was steady. Tune was able to take what he needed and offered his own care in return. When this war was over, home waited for Tune with warm, loving arms.

“That’ll do,” Tune repeated with relish. Mask eyed him suspiciously, but Link noted he didn’t move from the warm cocoon of his blankets. He rarely did after Link tucked him in.

Link prayed to all of the Goddesses he knew that Mask had someone waiting for him in his era. Mask swore he didn’t need anyone, but Link recognized the shadows in Mask’s eyes. He knew what that awful, gnawing darkness felt like.

He hoped that being with Link alleviated some of that darkness for Mask like being with Mask did for Link.

“That’ll do,” LInk parroted with a grin. He turned away from Linkle’s letter. It could wait until after storytime. “Maybe years ago, before there was a Hyrule…”

[eldrai]

Autistic Dogma headcanons

Used to (and does, but is used to it) find eye contact uncomfortable and was frequently reprimanded for disrespectful conduct as a cadet for not holding eye contact

As a result he can force himself to make eye contact and often does, to an abnormal degree, out of habit even when he's not talking to COs.

Has the sometimes unnerving side effect that he can get lost in thought while still staring, pretty unblinkingly, at someone. This also got him in trouble as a cadet but with other cadets who took offense to it

(Attempts to rope him into a staring contest fail though; intensely looking into someone else's eyes with no other purpose? No thank you.)

Very much wore his heart on his sleeve as a cadet and was a frustrated cryer

He's also managed to train most of that out of himself and his expressions tend to fall either very blunted (most emotions) or very expressive (anger, irritation; the "permitted" emotions.)

Strong sense of justice, though until Umbara his concept of justice was essentially synonymous with following the rules

If there's anything Dogma would get in trouble for as a cadet, it's for protesting unfair treatment. Mostly for his batchmates and classmates, less often for himself.

(This did not always end well for them or for him – there's a reason it was so engrained in him the chain of command stands above everything else)

Feels perceived injustice incredibly strongly, more than anything else.

That said, he does like having rules and clear boundaries and examples. It helps things make sense and gives him a metric to compare himself against, a standard to hold himself to.

Before he began to stifle the habit, Dogma had a tendency to stim especially by chewing. As a tubie, it was often the collar or sleeves of his shirt; in blues, he bit his fingernails; throughout intermediates, his stylus was distinct because it was the one with the tooth marks. By the final stage of training in his reds, he'd mostly managed to make himself stop but the habit crept up on him around stressful times. It wasn't uncommon to see Dogma studying for an exam slapping his stylus down on the table determined not to bite it, only for it to end up between his teeth in five minutes' time

(This despite his worry about "damaging GAR property")

Rhythm is a consistent stim for him since he can do it internally: repeating words in his head in a certain cadence, the left-right-left of a march, anything he can run in his head because they can't tell he's doing it. Consequently he was/is among the best at drills in his training group

Routine, routine, routine. Absolutely thrives in the routine of military life—not uncommon for clones, given their entire upbringing, but similar to rules the structure of it all is actively soothing where others just are used to it

Alexithymia

Seriously, other than "pissed off because something is unfair" or "that's breaking the rules, that's Wrong" which are two very straightforward feelings, he is not good at identifying his emotions. Let alone recognising that he's actively really experiencing them.

Not much better at reading other people's emotions. A common complaint during training was that he didn't see why it mattered, because someone's stance in a fight both gave away more AND was more important to be able to interpret than their face (and one he still stands by, thank you very much)

Difficulty reading faces means he finds it difficult to distinguish between someone being subtly mean or just teasing. Errs on the side of assuming they are, which means he enters a lot of conversations as defensive if not mildly hostile.

Low empathy, finds it very difficult to put himself in someone else's shoes

Therefore is – unfortunately, in some circumstances – largely trusting of people and especially authority figures; in their position, he would not have bad intentions so he does not assume it for them. This, paired with the strict following the rules... Umbara. Umbara happens.

With the exception of in training/battlefields, often does not respond to intuited questions—sometimes he fails to recognise them entirely, sometimes he doesn't answer because they might not want him to. Makes small talk difficult and he comes off as a lot more disinterested and blunt than usually intended.

(As a cadet, frequently found his full answers being cut off or laughed at and began to pre-empt this by waiting on someone to ask him to clarify)

On the battlefield, however, information is key so he can and will answer every question to the fullest extent required.

Seeks out and requires a lot more time alone than most clones do

Struggles with grey areas, prone to black or white thinking. Something is right, or wrong. Bad or good. Binary.

Struggles with changing his mental framework even for minor things. Has a very rigid thought pattern

Interested in linguistics, and often searches up new words/slang to understand it, particularly new idioms as they are the hardest to understand. Genuinely just interested in language though!

Hyposensitive to pain, due to bad interoception (internal sense of the body - different to proprioception, which is about the body's position relative to things); this was frequently a positive during training simulations, though it meant he also tended to aggravate still-healing injuries

He does not avoid the medbay, but he does loathe it. His blunted affect and propensity to answer only the precise question he's asked have left Kaminoans, primarily, but also some past medics doubting whether he's in the pain he claims to be when hurt

(Kix does not doubt him. This is possibly even more unsettling.)

If a hug doesn't make it hard to breathe, it's not tight enough for him. Used to sleep under multiple blankets in Kamino's warmer season when his brothers discarded them. Deep pressure is very soothing.

(He'd rather die than actually ask for a hug, though. Or a blanket.)

Doesn't understand why people find inventory boring. He'll agree it's hardly the most intellectually stimulating duty but there's something nice about organisation (but don't ask about it unless you want to hear his full, lengthy thoughts on the subject)

When possible, he separates the food on his plate to ensure he gets some of every element in each bite, and he's learnt to do it pretty quickly too. Can finish a meal this way as fast as his brothers who just shovel it down regardless.

Their field rations don't bother him as much as they seem to bother everyone else. They're always consistent in texture and taste. That's a good thing, as far as Dogma is concerned.

The best way to find out what's on Dogma's mind is to give him a task that requires minimal concentration and no eye contact—he's much more likely to relax and accidentally talk more freely when he's distracted. Conversely, while being upfront with words helps, a face-to-face confrontation about anything even slightly emotional—barring an argument—is the best way to find out how stubborn and closed off he can be.

Struggles to categorise his relationships with people and to judge their level of closeness. Most of the time, someone outright calling him a friend is the first time he will let himself consider that they are a friend of his, too.

(There are not many people he knows on more than a passing acquaintance, and fewer still as friends)

Loyalty to people he's close to, primarily his batchmates, often presents as being overbearing and/or domineering in an attempt to protect them—well-intentioned but maladaptive. Less so since he was a cadet, but it runs deep.

[agentmarvel]

Hiiii! Could I please request 🖤 for Keegan with “marriage of convenience!” Thank you!!! <3

i had a lot of fun with this one! thank you for sending one, nonnie!🖤

keegan russ x fem!reader

cw: obsessive!keegan

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

Hesh doesn’t ask favors lightly, so when he asked Keegan for a solid, he was happy to oblige. He didn’t get much in terms of specifics from the elder Walker brother, just that a really sweet thing needed some help, and Kee was the man for the job.

Marriage wasn’t quite what he had in mind when he agreed. He understood that you needed insurance, but there had to be a better way to find it. It’s quite a commitment, even if it’s hollow, and his conspicuous absences would definitely be glaring. You know nothing about him and vice versa. Would you hinder him from getting his dick wet under the guise of emotional trauma from infidelity? The military would rule in your favor in a divorce, especially if you weren’t fucking someone else. Would you whine and nag about the length of his mission? Would he bitch and moan about the way you decorate or your cooking when he’s home? There are too many variables. Enough that he almost considers turning Hesh down.

But then he met you, and all those thoughts went out the window.

Keegan isn’t one for love at first sight, but the second you walk into that coffee shop, he’s hooked on you. He takes his time memorizing every detail of your gorgeous face, each curve of your body in that pretty dress, the cadence of your voice, the sound of your cute giggles. Your little habits don’t go unnoticed; the way you cover your mouth when you eat, the way your nose scrunches when you’re talking about something that you think is gross (Keegan notes that you don’t like tomatoes, that precious little scrunch deepening as your mouth turns downward in disgust).

You seem to be equally taken with him, listening with rapt attention as he answers all your questions. When he walks you back to your car, you loop your hand through his arm. He must look startled, because you immediately retract and apologize. No, no, that’s not what he meant! He was just surprised that you felt the same. To comfort you, he casually slips an arm around your waist, settling on your hip to pull you closer.

It all goes quickly. Within a week, he finds himself at the courthouse, signing a marriage license with his free hand tucked into yours. Days later, he’s in the base admin office, adding you as his next of kin and beneficiary and adding you to his insurance policy. Over the weekend, he moves you into his off-base home. All standard to make the marriage look real, he tells you, no one will question it.

No one will question if your marriage is real because it is. No longer is this simply “doing Hesh a favor”. No, you’re his wife now. You’re his. His to hold, to kiss, to absolutely ruin, to love. And Keegan does love you. Everything about you. You’ll warm up to it pretty soon. While you’re still a little skittish about how real this has become overnight, hiding from his affection and trying to remind him this isn't real, he knows you’ll come around. Before long, he’ll be coming home to your bright smile, smothering him in kisses. You’ll be begging him for a baby when he fucks you stupid after not getting to touch you for weeks or months at a time to keep you company while he’s away. He can’t wait to come home to your big, round belly, swollen with his child, bouncing a chubby little baby on your hip while you prepare for another. You’ll be such a good wife and mother; you just have to come around to the idea.

pick your prompt here!💌

[silkendress]

Bitten Bullet

Previous Chapter First Chapter Next Chapter

-ˋˏ➛ Chapter 3: Missing You

-ˋˏ➛ Call of Duty

-ˋˏ➛ Suggestive

-ˋˏ➛ Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

-ˋˏ➛ Strangers to Lovers, Civilian Reader, Slow Build

-ˋˏ➛ 11k Words

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Simon nudges that line between acquaintances and friends ever closer.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Read on AO3

Simon nudges that line between acquaintances and friends ever closer.

Ever since he took you out on his bike it was like a bridge had been drawn, a light turned green.

It starts with calling you. It’s random and sporadic, only once every other day, but he calls. He calls and he prompts you to tell him about your day. You do. He listens.

You think he figures out from trial and error the days and hours you work, because when he does call it’s almost consistently when you are about to leave work or at home.

You take what you’re given like you always have. You cherish your occasional phone calls, you even begin to look forward to them. Simon doesn’t get deterred if you can’t talk for long or at all, he still sounds the same when you eventually do get the chance to return his call. Unbothered and persistent.

You haven’t spent time with him in person since the bike ride, but he makes up for it by taking a genuine interest in your day-to-day. You can’t remember the last time anyone aside from your mother did.

“Have you been up to anything lately?” Speaking of your mother, she checked in as always with her daily calls—or texts—sometimes you called her, sometimes she called you; she was the one person you spoke to consistently.

And soon enough Simon would be a part of that category.

And speaking of Simon… “Uh, well…”

You’re not sure if the bike ride with Simon was something you should tell your mother or not. Not because you thought she would judge you but because you truly weren’t sure how to explain you found yourself becoming well acquainted with a six foot-something man from the military that you also just so happened to meet at a bar one time.

There was also another, deeper worry, one you couldn’t quite place but was eating away at you now that you thought about it. You didn’t want your mother to become happy for you over something that didn’t exist.

It helped to expect nothing and hope for very little, it kept your heart safe. Even if that safety could sometimes be agonizing.

“I had a nice breakfast at a place I haven’t tried before.” Is what you settle on.

“I have to go grocery shopping.” You open the cabinet to get tea, and breathe out in relief when you see there’s one tea bag left in the box.

Simon doesn’t say anything for a moment. Your conversations were like that. Simon never stuttered or tripped over his words like you did; he would wait, mull them over, then talk. And that was assuming he had anything he wanted to say at all.

He never pressured you to talk either. You still got worked up from time to time and convinced yourself you needed to fill the silence lest you were labeled as ‘abnormal’at best, a reflex you developed from multiple failed social interactions and ridicule. You thought that the more you familiarized yourself with Simon the less this feeling would crop up, but oddly enough it’s been the reverse thus far.

It wasn’t that Simon made you feel uneasy, it was rather that he had this strange penchant of making your heart lurch and stomach swoop. A penchant he was completely oblivious to. You went great lengths to ensure it remained that way.

“Did you ever get that bloody cereal?” This was a part of Simon that you were still getting acquainted with, yet cherished all the same.

He definitely had his own sense of humor. Dry wit and deadpan sarcasm. You find yourself suppressing laughter, you are certain Simon can still hear the grin in your voice.

“No,” you carefully pour the steaming water into your mug. “But I hope I will when I go to the store.” You place the tea bag in.

“I hope it’s on a lower shelf.” You say in the same cadence as your previous sentence. You hear Simon quietly huff through his nose on the other end, it’s as close as you’ve been able to get to a chuckle out of him so far.

“Could just reach it for you.” And your heart lurches and your stomach swoops.

It’s that. When he says things like that.

He’s just making conversation, he’s just talking and you’re just being you. Overly-emotional, sentimental, tender hearted you.

You have to physically brush it off with a shrug of your shoulders.

“Yes. You could reach a lot of things.” You agree.

You want to stop thinking about how Simon dwarfs you, so you keep talking. “Hopefully the store has it. I could give you a review of the cereal and everything.”

“I’ll be lookin’ forward to it.” He replies dryly. “Had it the last time you were there, should still have it.” He almost sounds conversational, it’s a bit of a rarity.

“I’ll be going to a different store to get groceries.” The convenience store was closer, but it didn’t have all the necessities you needed. It would be a long walk to and from the actual grocery store, but you’ve done it before.

Simon’s quiet for a while. You walk over to a different cabinet and retrieve some sugar.

“Where?” He eventually asks.

You tell him.

“And you walk there?” He sounds incredulous.

“Yes.”

There’s a pause, then you hear him exhale heavily. “Fuckin’ hell.” He mutters quietly under his breath, too quiet for it to be intended for you to hear. You discern the words only barely.

You expect him to chastise you, or maybe admonish you for your lack of license—and car.

He does neither.

“When are you going?” It’s a question but it’s said so flatly that it sounds like a statement.

Your answer glides off your tongue easily and without thought. “Tomorrow morning.” You pour some sugar into your tea.

You reach out your hand to open a drawer, retrieving a small spoon to stir the granules into your drink.

“I can drive you there.”

Your spoon comes to a screeching halt on the bottom of your mug.

You sputter. “Oh, you don’t have to—“ Your anxiety flares, you didn’t want him to feel like he had to, you didn’t want him to pity you, you didn’t want to push him away—

“Don’t want me to?” It’s sharp and clear-cut, sharp in a way that comes from the need to know in no uncertain terms if he’s crossed a line. He’s demanding clarification.

You breathe in, then out.

“You can.”

“I will, then.”

You fuss over your appearance more than usual the next day.

You haven’t seen Simon in person since he let you sit on the back of his bike.

You’re not sure why it matters to you so much that you can feel your heart pounding in the very pit of your stomach, but it does. Maybe it was because you were half-expecting him to drift away, not flow back to you. You were just waiting for that inevitable day when he stopped calling.

Perhaps it wasn’t as inevitable as you initially thought.

Either way, your nerves were alight and you were pacing around incessantly while you tried to settle down. ‘It’s just groceries, there’s no need to get worked up over it.’

But that was the problem; you weren’t getting worked up over groceries, you were getting worked up over the idea of being in close proximity to Simon again.

Of course, sitting in the passenger’s seat in his car wasn’t nearly as close as you were on his bike, but that didn’t matter. What mattered is that you’d be sitting with him in the car to and from the store and this time you could easily talk to one another while doing so. What mattered is that you haven’t seen him since you’ve been on the back of his bike.

What mattered is that you couldn’t ignore that despite talking over the phone with him every other day, you missed him.

It left a lump in your throat and a pang in your heart. All dangerous territory for someone like you. It was becoming increasingly troublesome to corral your thoughts and feelings, to keep them all in check; no thanks to Simon.

Of course, just when you were beginning to reach a bitter acquiescence to the idea of dying alone and childless, he had to drift into your life like a phantom.

Perhaps it was precisely the effortless nature of his presence that made you—

You still refused to use the word. It was stubborn, maybe childish, but you weren’t going to say the word. You feel the uncomfortable itch of heat on your cheeks, embarrassment bubbling up in your chest.

You couldn’t help but bury your face in your hands in shame. ‘I’m making a big deal out of nothing.’

You make yourself take a deep breath, then another.

A ping from your phone frees you from your thoughts for a moment. On wobbly legs you retrieve it from where it was charging on the nightstand next to your bed.

It is from Simon.

‘On my way.’

You’re hovering by your front door, peeking out one of the nearby windows to see when Simon arrives.

Your nerves haven’t settled one bit, your twitching hands remind you.

Every time a car drives by your breath hitches in anticipation for the one that will turn in to park. Eventually, one does exactly that. After a moment you receive a notification on your phone.

‘Here.’

You breathe in and out, then do so again. You were determined to behave normally.

You step out your house and fumble with your keys to lock the door behind you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that Simon’s eyes were already on you. It made warmth creep up your spine.

When you turn around to walk over to his car you make an active effort to keep your gaze slanted so as to not lock eyes with him. The distance between your front door and where he parked wasn’t far at all, but it felt like miles.

You’re still thinking of what to say when Simon gets out of the car as you approach.

“Thank you again for this.” You blurt out.

“Anytime.” He murmurs.

Not ‘don’t mention it’ or ‘no problem’ but anytime.

Your heart clenches almost painfully.

You’re staring at your feet as you skittishly pad over to the passengers side of the car. You don’t realize Simon is right behind you until his hand darts out to open the door for you.

The suddenness makes you jump but you recover quickly. You nod at him all while avoiding eye contact, hastily murmuring a small ‘thank you’ before hopping into his car.

It is then you recall Simon got out of the car in the first place—he was going to open the door for you. Your mind was in such disarray you hardly realized it, let alone put two and two together. Your heartbeat is a dull ache in your chest.

The door closes with a soft thud. You’re given a very short moment to yourself in the vehicle while Simon walks around to the driver’s side.

You exhale heavily, clicking your seatbelt into place and running your hands across your face with a shaky exhale.

‘I’m getting in my own head again.’ You run your hand over your mouth, resting your chin in the heel of your thumb, your digits curled around your mouth pensively. Your other hand was resting on your knee, tapping fingers nervously on your leg.

Despite the rationality your mind offered you still were nervous.

You just were never good with talking with people, especially not men, and now here you were about to be driven to the grocery store by one. It was remarkable how effortlessly Simon eased his way into the periphery of your life. And if you were being presumptuous—and a little reckless—you got the inkling he wanted to slot himself even further into your day-to-day. Assuming you were interpreting his consistent calls correctly.

Part of your turmoil was compounded by the small insistence that a man such as Simon didn’t seem the type to make friends just for the sake of it, especially not friends like you. You always tuned that thought out namely because of the conclusion that followed, you didn’t have a good history with getting your hopes up.

You couldn’t get a good read on Simon either. There was no reality in which you were asking him—there was always a possibility that you were wrong.

You could just enjoy the time spent with him. It didn’t have to be anything more than that—

but you wanted it to be—

He would take you there, you’d get what you needed, he would take you home. Simple as that.

Just as you reached that resolution you hear the driver’s side door open. You straighten yourself up and fold your hands neatly in your lap. The car itself shifts just a little, almost imperceptibly, as your towering travel companion takes a seat. He shuts his door and starts the car without any preamble.

His movements are no-nonsense and efficient, there was an ease to his shoulders though. Then with one hand on the steering he places his hand over the back of your seat to pull the car out.

You don’t know why, but your face is ablaze.

Before you know it you’re on the road, your home getting smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror.

It’s only been about a few minutes, nothing has been said yet.

You think you can hear rock music playing almost inaudibly on the speakers—you’re not certain of its exact genre, just that there are guitars, drums and raw vocals.

Normally you wouldn’t mind it, especially not with Simon, but for you feel like you need to fill in the quiet—it’s something to do with how it’s been a little while since you’ve seen him face-to-face.

You had already thanked him twice now. So you end up saying; “Have you been up to anything lately?”

“The same.” Simon gruffly responds.

You gathered bits and pieces of Simon's daily routine from talking to him over the phone. Fragments of his day-to-day. It was never anything specific, you had to be rather observant and piece it together yourself.

You gathered he had a rather strict personal schedule. And he preferred to be solitary more often than not.

Except with you, it seemed.

You were resigned to let the conversation end there until Simon spoke again.

“Have you got a list?” He sounds indifferent, but you knew it was uncommon for Simon to make idle small talk—he was the type to simply sit in silence after a conversation had reached its natural conclusion.

It takes you a blink to fully understand him. A grocery list. “Oh! Yes, I do. I won’t take long.”

There's a beat of silence.

You spare a glance over to him. His eyes are firmly on the road, one of his hands on the steering wheel. 

‘He has such large hands.’ You remember how said hand wrapped so effortlessly around your wrist, readjusting your hand to lay over his abdomen, the width of his shoulders filling up your view on the back of his bike—

You shake your head slightly as if to physically fling the thoughts out your head, looking away.

"I'm not in a rush." Came his gruff response.

You’re not sure what to say in response to that. You find a soft smile on your lips and warmth blooming in your chest regardless.

The silence that comes over in the car isn’t an unwelcome one this time. Another song begins to quietly start up on the speakers.

You’re looking out the window watching the scenery go by. At a red light Simon spares you a glance out the corner of his eye. He spends the rest of the drive with his eyes on the road.

You unbuckle your seatbelt as soon as Simon turns the engine off. The large building of the grocery store now right in front of you.

“I won’t take long.” You assure him once again.

Simon drifts his eyes over to you. You’ve just tugged the strap of the seat belt off your shoulder.

You momentarily pause in your action when you hear Simon’s car door open, then see him get out the car entirely.

Your brain still hadn’t caught up all the way by the time he comes around and opens the passenger door for you.

“Thank you.” It comes out as a quiet whisper under your breath. Your eyes are pointedly avoiding his gaze lest your heart beats out of your chest. You expect him to move when you get out the car. He doesn’t.

By consequence of him remaining still you brush against him. Once you’re out the car he shuts the door closed behind you. You feel his eyes burning into you.

“I won’t take long.” You find yourself repeating, it drifts off into a mumble and you begin to scamper off in the direction of the store.

You hear the telltale thud of Simon’s boots amble behind you.

Your neck twitches, you resist the urge to shoot a glance over your shoulder. You weren’t expecting him to come in the store with you.

On the chance you were being presumptuous, you slow to a stop and spare him a look over your shoulder. You almost sputter, flustered, when you see his obsidian eyes are already staring at you intently.

“Did you need something?” Your voice almost cracks, you mentally kick yourself for it.

Simon stares at you. His expression impassive but his irises intense. You watch his jaw shift almost imperceptibly under the black cloth of his mask, his eyes narrow, thinking.

“No.” He replies, the word sounding incomplete.

“Ah,” it looks like your presumption was correct. Your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. “Let’s go, then.” You somehow manage to say.

Before you turn back around to continue onward you catch Simon’s posture easing, the tension previously in his shoulders only becoming noticeable once he relaxed.

His heavy footfalls come up next to you. Arms brush over one another incidentally as you walk together. The chilly breeze does little to cool down your face.

You stand somewhat aimlessly as Simon grabs a cart.

People come in and out the store, the sounds of footsteps, chatter, rustling of groceries and whatever else all become a mosaic of noise in the background of your mind.

Some people spare glances at Simon as they go, more of a reflex due to seeing black cloth where most expect a mouth and nose. Simon is utterly unbothered by it.

Simon tugs the cart along with one hand, only stopping briefly to let a woman and her small child walk past.

“Thanks.” You mumble sheepishly, perhaps for the umpteenth time today.

Simon gives a single hum in lieu of a verbal answer.

He falls into step next to you, his eyes sharp and his presence close. You didn’t get the feeling crowds were his preferred setting, but you also didn’t get the impression that Simon was a man easily rattled.

Either way, you appreciated this favor he was doing for you. ‘How many favors would that be, now?’ You pondered.

As that thought crossed your mind, so too did the urge to repay him somehow.

Your attention is drawn out of your thoughts when Simon speaks. “What’re we gettin’ first?” He grumbles, he made an effort to keep his tone neutral, but the slightest hint of exasperation laced his voice.

He mentioned earlier that he was in no rush, but you could deduce that he would rather not be here longer than necessary. ‘The least I can do is be quick about this.’

“The produce.” You reply, now determined to get this errand done with.

You were nearly done with your shopping. Your list got whittled down bit by bit, and now you were in yet another aisle with Simon lingering somewhere nearby out of your immediate view.

The aisle faintly smelled of coffee, it almost made your head hurt—it certainly agitated your nose. Your eyes were scanning the wide array of instant coffee and powdered tea blends, determined to find the specific brand of green tea you liked.

“Coffee drinker?” Simon piped up behind you, a hint of genuine curiosity in his rough voice.

“Oh, I like tea more. Coffee makes me jittery.” You answer offhandedly, finally finding the brand you wanted—your joy was swiftly dashed when you couldn’t immediately see the plain green tea flavor from said brand, however.

You began your search again. ‘Surely they have it plain…’

“A woman after my own heart.” He replies flatly.

Your entire body goes as still as a statue, your train of thought derailed entirely. It takes about two pulses of your frantic heart for you to spin your head around to look at him.

He’s busying himself checking the options available. His back was to you, a small box of lavender-infused tea leaves in his large hand, his eyes narrowed with scrutiny. Completely unaware of how he was fraying your thoughts. Unintentional in the ruffling of your feathers.

You look away and take a breath. ‘I need to get out of my own head.’

It is at that moment your eyes land on the box you were so determined in searching for. You grab a box of decaffeinated green tea and toss it in the cart.

Simon places the box he was holding back into the shelf, following you out the aisle. You get a few more steps ahead until he calls your name, his voice only just loud enough to catch your attention.

You look over to him curiously. “Oh! You found it!” You cheerfully exclaim. It was a welcome distraction from your incessant thoughts following his offhanded remark; in his large hand was the now infamous cereal.

You couldn’t wait to eat it—and subsequently tell Simon how it tasted.

The cart rattles somewhat as he drops the box inside. Then he sidesteps around you to walk by your side again. You don’t move, he doesn’t step further away to account for that. The sleeve of his jacket gliding over your back is no surprise—you expected it. Hoped for it, if you were being honest. 

Your face felt hot when for a fraction of a second you could feel his large, relaxed bicep against the layers of material.

Your eyes darted up to him. He looked as impassive as ever, perhaps a little more relaxed since you very first stepped into the store, but still hyperaware of his surroundings.

You suppose that’s why every brush of contact sent a whirlwind of butterflies in your stomach, for someone as conscious of the environment around him he made a habit of incidentally brushing past you. Incidental being the keyword, like Simon subconsciously included you into his bubble of personal space and therefore didn’t feel the need to give you as wide of a berth.

You wondered if he sought your touch the same way you were beginning to yearn for his. Your face grew ever hotter with that question in your mind.

You conclude maybe, because neither of you ever jerked away.

As you make your way to the final aisle you can’t shake the growing feeling of disenchantment; soon the day would be over, and who knows when next you would see Simon in person again. The fear of overstepping some bound that was clear for all to see but invisible to the likes of you was strong enough to prevent you from asking Simon outright to spend time with you. You just answered his calls and spoke with him that way, all while daydreaming for more.

Despite the moments you got flustered, you enjoyed this—it felt silly to admit to yourself but it was true. The simple mundanity of just existing with another person, with Simon, was something you enjoyed. Terribly so. Terribly.

Your thoughts become preoccupied with finding the last item when you sharply turn into the next, and final, aisle.

Fortunately your eyes catch what you’re looking for almost immediately. Unfortunately it was on the top shelf. You huff through your nostrils, exasperated. You leave the cart momentarily as you approach the shelf.

You stand on the very tips of your toes, it’s a song and dance you’ve done before—sometimes you get lucky, sometimes you don’t. Your fingers brush over the box of brownie mix you were hoping to get, but every attempt to grasp it only pushes it further back. It was looking like it wasn’t going to be a lucky day for you.

It’s fortunate then, that another hand grabs it.

You sputter and flinch, just barely catching yourself before you smacked yourself against the shelf in surprise. By the time you steady yourself and turn around you see Simon dropping the box into the shopping cart.

You don’t know how someone so big could be so quiet.

You feel your face flash with heat. You of course had the passing thought to ask him, but you didn’t want to impose on him more than you already felt you were. Even though Simon showed no signs of doing this for you bothering him.

He tugs the cart along with one hand, moving out the aisle as he calls to you. “That’s it?”

You swallow thickly. “Yes. That’s it.”

‘I’m going to miss him.’ You realize defeatedly as you both go to the checkout together, the day nearing its end faster than you wanted. Again.

The line on most of the checkouts were too long for Simon’s liking, it seemed. He sharply drifts to the far less congested self-checkout.

You find yourself fighting a snicker at it; seeing small glimpses of Simon that weren’tblunt indifference was always a joy.

Simon wordlessly began helping you with scanning the items and placing them in bags, he was rather efficient at it. Before you know it the last item is scanned and put away.

You fumble for your wallet to pull out your credit card and turn to pay for it.

Simon is already at the screen and tapping something on it with his large thumb.

You hastily ramble. “Oh, goodness, Simon you really don’t—“

“I want to.” It isn’t harsh but it is swift and final. He isn’t going to argue with you about this.

You stare at your feet as the transaction completes, your hands clammy and your chest feeling as though it could burst.

“C’mon.” Simon mumbles to you, walking past you to take some of the bags in his hands. He then nudges you with a gentle tap of his forearm to get the rest of the bags. You sputter and pick them up, you realize belatedly that he took the heavier bags, leaving you with the lightest ones.

He waits patiently while you fumble with your fingers to get them all. Once you do he doesn’t give you the chance to thank him before he comes back around to softly bump you forwards again to urge you to walk with him.

You have to walk faster than normal to match his longer strides, you don’t have the mental capacity at this very moment to dwell on the casual contact nor how he, unprompted, paid for your groceries.

The air was cold enough to almost make you shiver, even through the layers of your clothing, but it was welcome; it gave you a sensation to focus on instead of the flutters in your stomach.

He opens the trunk of his car for you without preamble. You’re careful with placing the bags in. Simon puts his down inside as well. You and Simon’s limbs hover over one another as you both go about it, he looms over next to you.

With the final bag put away you both stand, with Simon closing the trunk with an audible thud.

“I really appreciate all of this, you know. Really.” You don’t think the words through, but it was the truth. A wary vulnerability etched in your voice.

“And…Talking to me on the phone too, I—“ ‘Rein it in a little.’ “Thank you.” You stare at your feet, your hands fixed in a nervous fiddle.

Simon doesn’t say anything. He shifts his weight on his feet once, a silence begging to be filled grows between you. You take the small risk and look up at him.

The light hits him just right, and there in the depths of his blackened iris you see gold and warmth, amber glinting where the sun shines on one side of his face.

It makes a honeyed crescent, his pupil stark and deep against the syrupy flecks. His pale lashes flash like sparks in the sunshine. His lids are low and his brows are smoothed out, the muscles in his face as relaxed as they could be.

He shifts his weight once more, and just like that his other eye falls back into shadow.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, sweetheart.”

You're cognizant of your heartbeat. You try desperately to not dwell on how the low register of his voice curl so delightfully over that honeyed word, how there still was a masculine gruffness to his voice even when he made it soft. A frisson goes up your spine.

“That all for errands?” He then says, fluidly shifting the subject. You can't determine if he would mind if there was more or not, if he would spend the whole day with you if you wanted.

You don’t find out. “That's all.”

The car ride back was strangely tranquil.

You had thought with your emotions running amok that you would have been a jittery mess, especially with how you could pick apart a few moments in the day where you failed your initial goal of ‘behave normally,’ yet you found yourself oddly at peace.

Simon looked relaxed too—when you last spared a glance at him. Every now and then you’d see his eyes flick over to you in your peripheral.

Your head is leaning against the passenger window, your eyes staring at the road ahead through the windshield but not quite observing anything.

It was peaceful.

“What song is this?” The question sort of comes out, there isn’t any ulterior motive or deeper thought behind it. You realized at some point you liked the song playing so quietly on the speakers, that was all.

“Hometown.” Simon replies without skipping a beat, sure in his answer.

“I like it.” So much so that you’re looking it up on your phone to save it for later, you then ask Simon the artist which he supplies with the same level of confidence.

A moment passes before Simon speaks again. “Didn’t think you’d like this sort of music.” He sounds intrigued, a thought spoken aloud, a branch for you to keep the conversation going.

You then ask him softly, “What did you think I would like?”

You would be lying if you said you weren’t curious if Simon thought of you nearly as often as you did him, if he wondered about you too.

Simon hums, the sound low and thoughtful. “Not this.” He eventually responds. Your lips quirk up in a smile.

You were about to prod him to tell you more, but you don’t have to. “Somethin’ more gentle.”

A beat, then muttered under his breath; “Somethin’ like you.”

Your heart lurches and your stomach swoops, monarch butterflies have migrated into the pit of your stomach—it’s pandemonium.

You swallow, and it’s difficult to with the lump in your throat, you chew the inside of your cheek to give that oversentimental heart of yours time to settle down. ‘Stop getting worked up. Stop getting worked up—‘

“I like those songs too.” It’s the best you can think of for a response, so it’s what you go with.

“Yeah?” Simon shifts his dark irises over to you, lingering for half a second too long before focusing his attention back on the road.

All you can manage is a soft ‘mhm’ and a nod of your head.

“Like a bit of everything, then?”

“Yes, you could say that.” You agree.

You mull over whether or not to continue on briefly before speaking again. “I thought you’d like this sort of sound.” You gesture noncommittally towards the speakers with your pointer finger.

Simon seems amused by this, you can almost hear the smirk in his voice. “What gave it away?”

You bite back a smile. “Oh, you know.” You mumble sheepishly, waving your hand.

You expect him to say something teasing in that dry tone of his, that’s how these sorts of conversations play out over the phone. The car slows to a temporary stop as you come up to a red light.

“What else have you thought about me?”

Your tongue weighs just as much as mercury if not more in your mouth.

You can’t even look at him in surprise, because you can see in the corner of your eye that he’s already looking at you and maintaining eye contact while you were flustered was a recipe for disaster.

You never had Simon say or ask you such a thing before. You had a decent enough idea of Simon to know that he was not the sort of man to place too much stock in what errant thoughts others had of him, so this threw you for a bit of a loop.

He sounded as though he couldn’t care less about the answer yet the intensity in his eyes told a different story. He was observing you, eyes honed in to any reaction or lack thereof.

“I’ve thought about when I’d see you in person again.” You blurt out.

His eyes shift back to the road when the light turns green. The car starts moving once more.

“Missed me, did you?”

Your mouth opens and closes, by the third time you realize you’re gaping like a fish and keep your mouth clamped shut. You run through your typical reassurances that you were making a fuss out of nothing to calm your heart.

In the time it takes you to think of what to say, Simon’s eyes dart over to you, in a blink his gaze is forward again.

You weren’t sure what you saw in that momentary look, either way, you found your voice was lost at the moment.

You also weren’t sure as to what to even say to that. It was possible he was joking—it had happened before, mortifyingly enough, where you mistook one of his dry and witty remarks for sincerity. In the event he wasn’t joking—

You still don’t know what to say or do.

You throw in the metaphorical towel. A huff of air escapes your throat, a sound that could pass for laugh, but there’s no genuine humor in it; this was as much of a response as you could manage. You rest your head against the window once more, the glass cool was welcoming against the rising temperature of your skin.

The only thing you could think of was to simply let the conversation simmer out. It wouldn’t be anything new for you and him, sometimes your conversations just did that.

Seconds tick by. Simon doesn’t press it, he doesn’t say anything at all. You’re grateful for it.

And gone as it came, your body cools down to a normal temperature.  The quiet serenity from before envelops the car.

Your eyes shift over to spare one last look at Simon, a myriad of thoughts in your head.

‘I did miss you.’ Was one of them.

Simon is a gentleman in his own right. He opens the car door for you again once he parks the car in front of your home, he helps you carry the bags inside—taking the heaviest ones like before.

It is when you’re fumbling with your keys to unlock your door that you realize Simon has never been inside your home before. You didn’t think he’d help you put the groceries in, let alone pick you up to drive you to get said groceries or pay for them—

So you weren’t sure if the inside looked presentable. You kept everything clean, of course, but you couldn’t shake the incessant paranoia that you could have cleaned more.

You weren’t expecting anyone to come inside.

And yet, here Simon was, looming behind you while you finally twisted the key and opened the door.

You shuffled inside awkwardly, Simon right behind you on your heels. You take off your shoes at the door and Simon observes this before silently following suit.

Hearing the door shut makes your head whirl around. Simon stands in the short hallway,  his stature was so wide that it made the hall appear narrower.

“Where do I put these?” He asks gruffly.

You blink, then sheepishly smile up at him. “The kitchen, over here.”

He trails behind you as you lead him. He places the bags next to where you put down the ones you were holding.

Then you hear the bags rustle. Your eyes go increasingly wide as Simon pulls out vegetables, one in each hand. Presumably to help you put the groceries away.

You open your mouth to insist he didn’t have to, but close it when it dawns upon you that this was an opportunity to remain in one another’s presence for longer.

You didn’t want him to leave just yet.

“Those go in the fridge, in the bottom shelf.” You say softly.

He gets to work immediately.

Simon made your kitchen feel smaller.

It’s strange, being so skittish around him that you go out of your way to avoid accidentally brushing him when you had already clung onto him while on the back of his bike, when you already brushed against one another in the store. Your mind convinced you that these were different circumstances, however.

You try not to think about how simply domestic this all feels.

Putting things away is much faster with someone else to help you, which came as no surprise. It wasn’t long before the last item was put away.

You hover in your kitchen awkwardly. Simon’s presence made you feel like a stranger in your own home.

“Thank you.” You mumble, staring at your feet. You can feel Simon’s eyes on you. He merely grunts in response.

Your eyes flick up to him, then dart off away from him. Your arms hang limply at your sides.

“Do you want any brownies?” You sputter out suddenly. His eyes go half-lidded, it almost makes him look soft. Soft felt like a word that was contradictory to everything you knew and assumed about Simon thus far, but that was what that look made him become—even if it was only on a minuscule level.

You feel your stomach swoop.

“As thanks.” You hastily tack on when Simon doesn’t immediately answer.

“You already thanked me.” He murmurs slowly, the careful tone in his voice makes you hesitantly look up at him. He’s still looking down at you past blond lashes.

Whatever was there in his eyes is there no longer the next time he blinks. “Won’t say no to dessert, though.”

The brownies are put in the oven. A timer is set on your phone.

Simon had gotten himself comfortable in one of the dining room chairs. You can’t help but think he looks endearingly out of place in your home. You never had many, if any, visitors.

Now that you thought of it, the only people that visited you so far was your immediate family.

And now Simon.

When you look up from your phone you find that he was already observing you. He had made a move to help you with the brownies, but you insisted you had it covered. Besides, he paid for your groceries—you thought this was the least you could do.

And goodness, did you have to insist. He wasn’t a man that would back down easily once his mind was set on something. It wasn’t until you stuttered out that you just wanted to gift him something for once that his mind was finally changed.

Admitting such a thing was embarrassing for you, but it worked. The only downside was that you once again felt like a fish out of water.

Simon leans back a bit in his chair, his eyes never leaving you. Heat creeps up your neck.

He had taken off his jacket earlier—took off his gloves and stuffed them into the pocket—it was draped over the back of the chair he was in. He was wearing a plain, short-sleeved black shirt. It exposed even more of his sturdy arms, and also the tattoos he had.

“You have a lot of tattoos.” It’s an observation impulsively said aloud.

He blinks slowly, his eyes shifting down to his inked arm, then back to you. “Just the ones here.”

You softly hum in reply. You can’t help but stare at the swirling ink, you think it’s flames. The designs of whatever else is on his skin is too clustered together for you to make out at this distance.

“You can take a closer look.” It’s said so casually that you think you misheard him for a moment.

All you know is that you were in the kitchen, and now you were seated next to him in the dining room. You track the motion of his thick arm outstretching to lay on the table, you notice the corded muscle flexing under his skin, the pale wisps of hair decorating his arms—just as blond as the hairs on his head, the veins in his arms.

And his hands. He had such large hands.

His fingernails are blunt, short enough that you barely saw any white on the tips. There’s some old nicks there, so faded that it looked more like a blemishes now. You could tell just by looking that his palms were calloused.

You lean forward a bit in your seat now that you’ve been given permission to closely examine the art etched onto his skin. You notice Simon’s eyes are tracking you in your peripheral.

You start at his wrist and work your way up.

The one there is the first tattoo of his you ever saw; the jawless skull with the crown. What is directly above it is more difficult for you to make out, the art is all bunched together and interwoven with black ink.

After squinting and tracing the lines carefully with your eyes, you make out the shape of a tank, looming over it is a helicopter. Behind that is larger piece of a solider holding a sniper rifle.

You think you see what looks to be the edge of another rifle—the silhouette of one in pure black—on the side of his forearm, but with the way his arm is laying on the table you can’t see the whole of it.

Further up his arm the images become more clearer, they aren’t as cramped together, but they still are rather close.

There’s another skull—he must really like the motif—and to the upper left of it is an anthropomorphized cartoon missile with its teeth bared. The backdrop of flames are increasingly comprehensible the further you go up his arm.

The final tattoo you can see is—

“Wait, what is that?” Your normally soft voice is raised somewhat in surprise, it makes Simon look at you curiously.

You point at the upper edge of his bicep, not at his shoulder but close. The artwork flows over the curvature there, so it’s somewhat warped, but not by much.

“Is that a knight holding an axe?” It was. One surrounded by flames and with skeletal hands—it was just a bust, only the shoulders up.

His eyes crinkle, you try to imagine what his smile looks like. You bet it’s teasing.

“Like that one, do you?” He rumbles, you could hear the grin in his voice. He had a sort of nonchalant confidence about him, completely at ease with himself.

You suppress the urge to shiver. You sputter a bit. “Well, I like them all.” You reply amicably. His eyes feel like they’re burrowing into you.

“Do you have one you really like?” You ask him in one quick exhale, your hand coming up to rest your chin in your palm to give yourself something to do. You feel the heat on your face from your fingertips.

Simon settles back in his seat a bit, he’s somewhere else while he thinks. He’s staring almost blankly ahead.

Then he tilts his arm, showing the inside of his elbow.

“This one.” He taps at it with two fingers.

It’s a pair of dog tags, barbed wire is looped through them where you think a chain should be.

He removes his arm from the table before you get the chance to read the text on them—the ink much too faded and blurry to be able to discern the letters with a quick glance. The hope of one day being able to know the story behind each tattoo is an unbidden one.

The quiet that comes over the two of you is familiar at this point, pleasant.

You spare a quick glance at your phone. Time is moving slower than you expected.

“Do you want any tea?”

There’s a good-natured scoff on his lips when he answers. “Always.”

You are scrunched up in on yourself on the far end of the couch.

Tea soon became ‘do you want to watch anything while we wait for the brownies?’

And thusly you found yourselves doing exactly that.

It wasn’t like your couch was comically small, just that you didn’t want to intrude on Simon’s personal space by mistake—personal space which encompassed a wider area than most. He took up a good portion of the couch, the furniture dipping a little under his weight when he sat down.

Sure, you held onto him like your life depended on it on the back of his bike, but that was different. He gave you the green light to do so and it was an appropriate response given the circumstances.

Simon’s legs were spread, but only just enough to be comfortable. You could sit up, but then your leg would be against his the entire movie.

When you asked Simon if he had any preference for what to watch he simply shrugged, so you picked. The brownies would probably be done before it concluded, but that was fine; this was just so you could have a sort of social buffer.

The title flashes on the screen and you see Simon’s eyes squint.

“Have you watched this before?”

“No.” He replies, deadpan.

The two of you quiet back down as the movie begins in earnest.

Simon is just as relaxed as he was at the restaurant. He’s leaned back lazily, his long and wide legs stretched out in front of him, there’s a mug of tea in his hand.

Every now and then he lifts his mask up from under his chin to take a sip, you catch glimpses of his jaw, a sight that you’ve seen before but still were intrigued over. You find yourself wondering what his entire face looked like. His nose, his cheekbones, if he had freckles or scars you couldn’t see.

‘I need to get it together.’ Your face scalds with embarrassment, bringing your mug up to your lips to take a small sip.

The most reaction you got out of Simon during the movie was quiet huffs and the occasional roll of his eyes when appropriate. You didn’t mind; it was a movie neither of you have seen before so you didn’t begrudge him for his silence during it.

It wasn’t a bad movie at all. At least, from what you could tell before you had to pause it to take the brownies out the oven lest they burn.

Shortly after you placed the pan out on the counter to cool you heard the soft shifting of the couch as Simon rose from it. He rolled his shoulder and tilted his neck to stretch out the muscles there. You made yourself look away.

“They’ll need to cool a little.” You mumble.

You hear Simon’s footsteps come closer into the kitchen. His head slants slightly to get a look at the desert, then his eyes drift to you.

After a beat, he slinks out the kitchen to return to his seat at the dining table. Simon was willing to wait.

Silence with him was easy. Talking to him was easy, too.

When you weren’t getting in your own head, that is.

You had asked him how he thought of your place, he made a show of flicking his eyes around the space at that moment, but you got the feeling he already observed your living space as soon as he stepped through the door.

“It suits you.” He eventually says with a slight shrug.

You give him a smile from over your shoulder before getting two small plates to place the brownies on. They had cooled down enough to not immediately burn the tongue once bitten into, which meant it was time to eat them.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you notice Simon standing next to you in your peripheral.

It was remarkable how quickly and how quietly a man as large as him could move. All the reasons you came up with for how he learned to move so stealthily all involved the military and the macabre, so you let it go.

He took one of the plates from you and waited while you cut him a piece, you couldn’t fight the small smile on your lips while doing so. Simon, objectively, was still an imposing man; something about him waiting so patiently with one of your delicate plates with pastel floral detail wrapped around the edges held in his calloused paw of a hand was endearing.

You gently place the piece you cut for him onto the plate, you may have subconsciously given him a larger slice than usual. Simon doesn’t seem to mind either way.

“Thanks,” he murmurs before ambling back off to the dining table. You nod to him, giving a soft ‘uh-huh’ in response before turning to give yourself a slice.

When you turn back around to go take a seat at the table yourself you nearly gasp aloud.

Simon’s mask was crumpled and discarded on the table beside his plate.

It takes your brain longer than usual to recognize it all. You didn’t even stop to think that Simon would have to remove the thing to eat.

Perhaps some part of you didn’t expect it to be so…Simple. Unceremonious wasn’t quite the right word—just being able to see his entire face unobstructed was an occasion in of itself. But it was uncomplicated. His mask was on and now it was off.

His eyes are, of course, the same. Darker than the earth, more ink than cocoa, framed by pale lashes and eyebrows. His lids are lowered, disinterested, yet the whites of his sclera are stark and aware.

He wears the gaze of a man woken from the dead, it wouldn't have looked handsome on anyone else but him.

But in context of his whole face, his eyes look different—different in a sense that they aren’t just isolated features anymore, but a part of an entire, storied picture. You recall the crinkle in his eye when he smiles. You wonder what his smile looks like.

You’ve wondered what he looked like many times by now, all different variations; now you realized some were close to the mark, some not. None resembled how he truly looked.

He looked like himself; perhaps he inherited more facial features from paternal or maternal line—you wouldn’t know. It didn’t matter. He looked like Simon.

Light stubble decorated a strong jaw. You see the entirety of the scar there now, it nearly grazes the edge of his earlobe. It had healed long, long ago; but you could tell just by looking at it that it hurt when he got it. His the bridge of his nose didn’t look completely straight, there was a slight tilt that suggested it was once broken.

You could also see the whole of scar on his lip, how it trailed up and further into his nostril. On the same side the scar was located his vermilion border was ever so slightly higher than the other.

“Cleft lip.” He says, simple and devoid of any strong feelings—positive or negative. He brings the baked good up to his mouth to take a bite out of it.

He wasn’t looking at you, his eyes were far off and away, yet he still noticed you enough in his peripheral to tell you were staring.

“Ah,” there’s no point in pretending you weren’t looking at his scars. “I was wondering what that was.” You sheepishly admit. Corrective surgery, you fill in the blanks yourself.

“Well, now you know.” He says with no small amount of exaggerated dry sarcasm. For a mortifying breath you think you’ve offended him somehow, but then the corner of his mouth twitches up in a phantom smirk.

You’ve seen his mouth before, but you’ve never seen him full-on smile yet; the twitch of his lip reminds you.

Your face feels warmer. You force yourself to stop looking at his lips.

You are quick to cross the room and seat yourself down across from him. Once seated you take a bite out of your desert far more hastily than necessary just to give your hands something to do other than fidget.

It was embarrassing to admit to yourself, but you struggled to not pay attention to him in your peripheral; to his jaw and how the tip of his tongue would occasionally dart past his lips to lick a stray crumb.

He was handsome. Perhaps not in the standard magazine cover sense, but there was a sort of ruggedness to him that plenty could find appealing. You were also a member of said plenty. Scars, broken nose and all.

It was unbidden; the hairs that rose on the back of your neck, the warmth pooling in your stomach—all just from seeing his face.

You considered mentally reprimanding yourself as you have countless times before throughout your life, but decide to give yourself a bit of a break and just enjoy what you could of his presence—which was no easy task since it was almost second nature by now, but you managed.

You opt to eat in silence. The brownie mix from stores practically never tasted bad, so it felt pointless to ask him even just for conversation.

You try your very best to commit his face to memory, cherishing it.

You half expect Simon to put his mask back on as soon as he's done with his brownie. He doesn't.

He gets up and balls the cloth up in his big hand and shoves it in his pocket.

Simon brings his thumb to his mouth, getting a bit of chocolate that had melted there. “Can I have another?” He asks, his accent thick.

It was new to see him talk, how his mouth curled around vowels, how his jaw shifted along with what was spoken. You clear your throat and keep your gaze away from the sight determinedly.

“Have as many as you like.” You answer with a self-conscious smile, simply pleased to have Simon stay for longer, no matter how arbitrary the reasoning.

You’re about to get up to get a second brownie yourself until Simon grabs your plate in his free hand. “I’ll get it.” He rumbles before going into the kitchen, not giving you a chance to respond.

Once he gets you both another slice you fully expect Simon to return to the dining table.

Instead he keeps going into the living room. He only gives you a firm nod in the direction of the couch to motion you to follow him.

You get up from your seat, the chair screeching against the floor with the suddenness of your movement and skittishly follow him.

He had already returned to his spot on the couch, your plate was on the coffee table waiting for you.

His spot. To think that he's only been here for a short while and you were already labeling that part of the sofa as his. You gingerly sit down in your self-designated corner, and take your plate in your fidgety hands.

In the corner of your eye Simon glances at you expectantly. You waste no time in resuming the movie.

Simon gets a bit more talkative this time around. Little snide remarks here and there, deadpan quips that never failed to make you smile or laugh.

You see his lips twitch on occasion, a huff of breath that you knew was a scoff, but no full smiles just yet from him. While you did want to see his smile and hear his laugh, you didn’t mind. You got a feeling that was just how he was. He was human, he’d do one of those two things eventually.

He would shift every now and then, a roll of his shoulder or a flexing of his fingers. Little movements that would indicate his presence. Eventually he put his arm over the back of the couch, relaxing. It would be too easy to sit up and have his arm—You felt pinpricks of heat lick at your cheeks.

You keep your attention on the TV from then on.

One movie turned into two, then three. You were still only a couple minutes into the third when you noticed the sky growing ever so slightly peach. You swallow thickly, as much as you wanted him to stay all day, you didn’t want to keep Simon, nor did you want to risk the potential of coming off as overbearing.

You pause the movie, causing Simon to lazily shift his eyes over to you.

“It’s getting late, I’m sorry for keeping you—“

“Want me to go?”

‘No.’ You clamp your mouth shut, your tongue pokes the inside of your cheek.

Your expression must have said it all, because Simon continues.

The gruffness of his voice contrasts with the reassurance in his words. “Trust me, if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t.”

He sounded as soft as he could be with a voice like his.

You suddenly speak. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

You’re taking small bites out of your everything bagel, your eyes are staring at your plate, directionless.

Simon did, in fact, want to stay for dinner. Except he insisted you didn’t have to make anything for him—the brownies were enough. You insisted that he should still eat something. So now he was sitting with you at the dining table yet again; this time with a plate of eggs.

You had eggs too, but yours had cherry tomatoes diced in them—Simon just wanted his plain—and a bagel.

Simon gave you a somewhat amused look from the fact you were eating breakfast for dinner—a look that made your face burn—but otherwise said nothing aside from thanking you.

At this point Simon was done eating his, and soon you would be done with yours.

A glass of juice is in the middle of the table, right by your plate the other is situated next to it. Neither of you have drank out of them yet, so he can pick whichever one he wants.

He leans forward in his seat, his large hand reaching out languidly—

And his thumb, calloused and rough as you thought they would be, gentler than you ever could have imagined, presses against the corner of your mouth.

Everything stops. The only thing moving is your heart, sending a tender ache throughout your chest and into your throat with every pulse.

His thumb swipes across a single time, it doesn’t linger—you wish it did—it pulls away, gone as it came. The only evidence of its presence being the heat on your face and the flutters in your belly. On it is a sesame seed, he presses it down and away on his napkin.

He says nothing. You say nothing. It’s almost dizzying.

You want to say something, you want to tell him that it was okay for him to do such a thing—in hopes that he would do so again, that you would share meals together again, that this feeling behind your ribs wouldn’t be the first and only time.

Your head is still tilted down when you flick your eyes up at him. He is looking at you intensely, gauging your reaction.

You want to speak but all that you manage is a small, misshapen smile.

He leans back in his chair, at ease.

You continue to eat in a soft, gentle silence.

He still hasn’t put his mask back on yet.

As the sun dipped lower Simon told you that after this last movie he’d be going home. It was when he said that you realized he had spent practically the entire day with you.

He slotted into your day like he was always meant to be there.

You barely are able to comprehend the finer details of the movie at this point, your mind replaying the events of today like a vinyl.

There was a shift in the air after he touched you. Not a bad change, but it was a change. You couldn’t put your finger on it. Simon was as unreadable as ever, so you couldn’t discern if it was just you or not.

Some kind of electricity just barely contained.

You and Simon were far more talkative during this movie due to the fact it’d be the final one for the day. Yet no matter how many words were passed between the two of you that electricity never fully dissipated.

Before you knew it the movie had reached its end. Simon’s cue to leave.

You felt a dimness come over your mood, but you weren’t as disappointed this time considering you had spent most of the day with him.

Simon, unexpectedly, utters your name.

You look over to him, brows raised in curiosity.

He holds your gaze, his expression placid. It was strange seeing it on him now that his face was exposed, so familiar yet unfamiliar.

His lips thin out, you only notice it due to the crease in the corner of his mouth deepening as a consequence. It’s subtle, but it was there. Simon has never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but you truly can’t tell what he’s thinking about in this moment.

You’re not sure how, but he made brown eyes piercing.

Then his eyes flutter in a blink, and his gaze drifts off and away from you.

“Today was nice.” You can’t shake the feeling that wasn’t what he initially was going to say.

“It was.” You agree. The feeling is still nagging at you.

Simon gets up, the couch shifts from the absence of his weight. You linger where you are for a moment longer.

He exhales from his nose, long and heavy. His shoulders set straight in a tenseness you couldn’t place. His jaw shifts.

He looks down and over to you. Simon already towered over you—and most people—while standing, being curled up on the couch as you were only exaggerated that gap. You swallow thickly, waiting. You’re not sure for what, if anything.

The connection gets severed when Simon looks away walks past the couch to go to the dining room to retrieve his jacket, his footsteps heavy.

You get up and off the couch slowly, your arms wrapping around yourself in a subconscious self-soothing gesture. Your heart was pounding and anticipation had sunk its claws into you.

Simon’s back is to you when you walk in to the dining room. He’s in the middle of putting his other arm into the sleeve.

You stare at his broad back while he zips the jacket up, the sound of it so loud in the silence.

“Thanks for spending the day with me.” Your voice is almost a whisper, anything more felt too harsh.

This makes him turn around. He nods in acknowledgment, then stills afterwards. Inky eyes consider you. His breathing measured.

There’s a long pause before he actually speaks. “I’m just a call away, you know.”

Your heart is racing, yet there’s no good reason for it to. “So am I,” you try to keep your voice even, giving him a barely-there smile. “I just didn’t want to bother you—“

“You never do.”

You feel your skin prickle with pleasant goosebumps. There’s something in the way he said it. You blink rapidly. You set your sights a little off to the side of him, not trusting yourself to look him in the eye right now. The energy is frenetic despite the slowness and quietness of the conversation itself.

The two of you stand listlessly in the dining room for a moment longer before Simon marches out towards the direction of the front door, though not before beckoning you to follow with a nod of his head.

You trail behind him.

He’s quick about putting his boots back on. Tying them without fumbling even once. Utilitarian, efficient. Your eyes go downwards then upwards when he rises to his full height after securing the boots in place.

He still hasn’t put his mask back on yet.

He says your name. You expect him to say his goodbyes but instead he shifts his weight on his feet. You can almost see the thoughts cycling through his head, but you’re not privy to any of them. His jaw clicks, a decision made.

He takes a step forward. It’s tentative. Tentative in an aware sense, not from lack of confidence.

The anticipation that was gnawing at you makes itself known once more. Your tongue and mind are not cooperating enough to make a sentence, and even if they were, you wouldn’t want to break whatever spell you found yourself caught in by speaking.

The following steps are more sure, less slow but still languid. He stops right in front of you, well within what would be your personal space, stopping just short of your torsos touching.

You thought that your mind was pandemonium in the car ride back home; that was nothing compared to what you were feeling now, standing so close to him.

Simon murmurs your name again, barely above a whisper.

“Can I?” The word is forced out past his lips, like the very question itself was foreign on his tongue, stilted. His voice was so forcibly even that it barely sounded like a question at all.

You nod before you even know what you’re agreeing to. All you knew was that he was close and you wanted him to remain close.

You only realize the amount of tension in his shoulders once they relax. In your peripheral you see his arm shift, coming around you—

It isn't quite a hug.

He sort of cradles the back of your head, his touch wary and slow. The deliberate carefulness of it gave you more than enough clearance and time for you to back away. You don’t, you don’t think you ever would want to. His wide palm rests there.

Simon is soft when he pulls you to him, so cautious that it is you that leans forward and fills in the gap.

Your head nestles against his chest. A key fitting in a lock.

And just like that, the anticipation eases and fades away. Your heart is still pounding but it is more of a steady drumbeat. You are awash with relief, more than anything.

You feel more than hear Simon exhale heavily; like one would after finally dropping something heavy.

You feel small, coveted. Simon is all encompassing, you feel sheltered in the vastness of him. Something far older than you in the fabric of your subconscious shudders, pleased.

Your arms, which are more flimsy and shaky than they ever have been, reach up to clutch your equally trembling hands into his jacket. You hold on, squeezing. Then squeezing tighter.

His paw smooths down to the back of your neck, he rubs a slow circle on the atlas of your spine, each pass sending quakes in the pit of your fluttering stomach.

His head dips low, then lower.

His lips brush across your hairline when he murmurs. Not a kiss, but similar enough to be an approximation of one.

“I want to see you tomorrow.”

“I do too.”

Your voice is so quiet that you are anxious that he didn’t hear you.

He pulls back away, his hand shifting from cradling your neck to just barely cupping your cheek, his thumb by your ear. His eyes are half-lidded again.

“Good.” He heard you. You feel a rush of relief.

Hands fall away from one another, neither of you step away just yet.

Simon reaches in the pocket of his jeans to retrieve his mask to put it back in its rightful place, he’s done it countless of times and you can tell by the ease and efficiency of the movements.

He gives the bottom of the fabric a one last tug to settle it over the bridge of his nose.

“Tomorrow.” He ascertains.

“Tomorrow.” You affirm.

He stands there for another moment, almost contemplative, almost stalling, then he nods.

He turns and is out the door, a cool breeze snakes its way in as he does so, making you wrap your arms around yourself.

The door closes slowly with a resounding click. You’re still standing there in the hall, and if you allowed yourself to you would still feel the intoxicating goosebumps on your neck from where Simon held you close.

Eventually you pad away from the front door.

You don’t think friends held each other like that.

You turn off the TV, you turn off all the lights on the way to your bedroom, you turn on your night light and redress into pajamas.

You peek out of your window, the one by your bed, your fingers delicately slide between the blinds and slowly pull them apart. Where Simon’s car was parked is now empty.

His absence is now a presence in of itself.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Thank you so much for all of the continued support on this story, it makes me so happy to see people enjoy what I’ve written, you have no idea!!

I’m trying not to rush certain things with this story and letting things unfold at a pace that feels natural to me. I had to save a few scenes and ideas I had in mind for a later chapter because it felt awkward to try to shove it all in this one. ;;__;; (The slow build tag really applies here…)

The song that was playing in the car is Hometown by Cleopatrick if you were curious!

I didn’t make up Simon having an axe-wielding skeleton knight tattoo by the way, it’s actually one of his tattoos in the game! (As are all the other tattoos that were mentioned!)

Thank you so much for any and all likes or reblogs! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

[kiestrokes]

MASTERLIST

「 ATEEZ 」

Sexual Styles Headcanons NSFW MTL Breed Kinks NSFW Caring for You: Chronic Illness Edition SFW As Cringy Pick-Up Lines NSFW Stoned Sex NSFW MTL Virgin Kink NSFW Fave Lingerie Colors NSFW

Say My Name NSFW Featuring: College!Reader x Fratboy!Song Mingi

Selfish Waltz NSFW Featuring: Boyfriend!Park Seonghwa x Girlfriend!Reader x Third!Kang Yeosang

「 BTS 」

Drunk & Horny Headcanons NSFW BTS and their Secret Socials Headcanons SFW MTL Praise Kink NSFW

12 Lays of Kinkmas Masterlist SFW & NSFW

Will Scream for Soju SFW Featuring: Friend!Reader x OT7

Keeping the Cadence NSFW Featuring: Fellow Military!Reader x Jung Hoseok

Anti-Hero NSFW Featuring: Reader x Boyfriend!Kim Namjoon

Geonbae Pt.1 ✧ Geonbae Pt.2 NSFW Featuring: Reader x Fuckboy!Park Jimin ft. Kwon Soonyoung and OC!besties 🎧 the playlist 🖼️ the moodboard

Full Service NSFW Featuring: Noona!Reader x Idol!Jeon Jungguk

「 Seventeen 」

Autumnal This or That SFW Troop Seventeen: Badge Ceremony SFW

As Sex Workers NSFW

「 SHINee 」

Soft Kinks That Lead to Hard Hours NSFW

「 Stray Kids 」

MTL Aftercare Sandwich NSFW MTL House Husbands SFW SKZ in The Hunger Games NSFW SKZ Noona Kink NSFW Fave Lingerie Color NSFW

Eyes on Fire SFW Featuring: Werewolf!Han Jisung x Vampire!Lee Minho

astringe NSFW Featuring: Best Friend!Reader x Hwang Hyunjin

「 Multi 」

K-Pop Stan Q's (first edition)

Idols as The Goonies SFW BTS, ATEEZ & SKZ in a John Hughes Film SFW Bias List as Millennial Cult Book Series SFW EXO-L x atiny SFW

25 Hours: Hard, Soft & WIP-mas Masterlist

「 Soft Hours 」 SFW

Recovering from a minor surgery… Featuring: Kim Seokjin of BTS. Song Mingi of ATEEZ. Lee Taeyong of NCT. Lim Jaebeom of GOT7.

the autumnal special Featuring: Christian Yu aka DPR Ian. Jeong Yunho of ATEEZ. Byun Baekhyun of EXO.

tipsy kisses Featuring: Jeon Wonwoo of SVT. Yoo Kihyun of Monsta X.

「 Hard Hours 」 NSFW

Touch Starved Featuring: Jung Wooyoung of ATEEZ. Kim Mingyu of SVT. Lee Minhyuck of BTOB.

Partner Won't Let You Sleep SFW & NSFW Featuring: Vampire!Park Sunghoon of ENHYPEN. Kim Seungmin of SKZ. Liu Yangyang of NCT. Lee Taemin of SHINee.

© COPYRIGHT 2021 - 2024 by kiestrokes All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

These are works of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted above.

[little-de-vil]

As recompense for me taking forever to respond to @tumblingghosts, I offer you My Ficlet. This is my first time posting about my Silly OC Thoughts, I'm terrified so please be nice!

This takes place during the 73rd Hunger Games, the main characters in this fic are Cassia (Slip Name) "Harlow" (Home Name) Sophro, an 18 year old tribute reaped from District 2 and middle child to Vance (SN) "Hawk"(HN) Sophro, the Victor of the 44th Hunger Games and a historic one as the first of the Cutters, and Dardanius "Dani" Bollard, another 18 year old tribute from 2, but a Volunteer. He's originally from the south, but his family moved up north after a tragedy. He's what's called a Cutter by Blood, someone who still holds onto the Cutter traditions but works (or in this case, his father) as a Keeper. He's trained as a Career, whereas Cassia has been trained by various Victors, those from 2 and not. @thegreatmelodrama let me know if I did your baby Dani justice! She's also a Snow but that's a topic for another day!

Sand continues to trickle into the cave as the storm destroys the supplies at the nearby Cornucopia. What a rarity, for the whole lot of Career tributes to be cornered and beginning to starve. Starving softly, unlike the chronic harshness other district children are so used to. Like the pair from 3, who are tangled together in wires and sparks bleeding out from a corner most camera.

“Why can’t we just destroy each other?” Dardanius asks Harlow softly. 

The question throws her off and she’s been so focused on perfecting the nose of the stone version of her district partner that it takes a moment for his question to register. She is, however, certain that he’s broken his nose more than once.

Who is the “we”? The pair from 1? The lone boy tribute from 4? Certainly not the ones from 3, who no one can really tell why they’re still alive, let alone with the Pack.

Or does he mean himself and Harlow? Are they the “we”?

He must mean them. Because if the years of watching District 2 pairs reach victory has taught her anything, it’s that those from 2 are loyal to their community. Of masonry or military. And that it’s the worst part of watching The Games in District 2, how much the animosity grows amongst the crowd at even the slightest difference in trade or birthplace is put to question the chance of triumph as one tribute falls. 

But is the answer so simple? A mere difference in industry? In home? The Cutters: hewer and layer masons, quarry-folk, stone and crystal miners, blacksmiths. The Keepers: soldiers—the common grunt and almost unheard of 2 born general—, cadets in schools, Peacekeepers stationed throughout the country never to return for 20 years, the hundreds working in The Peak. The southern desert folk and their blunt nature, intrenched in tradition that mirrors what it was before. The northern mountain people and their river sweet ways, creating new rituals after living so close to their invaded neighbors. 

No, nothing as simple as that. Their mutual destruction is not an echo of past rivalries, but of present vows.

A small piece of granite crumbles under the light tap of her brother’s chisel, and she looks back to see that Dardanius’ stoney eyes match his own. “Because we both made promises that work against each other. You promised my brother that you’d protect me. And I promised my father that I wouldn’t become him. Those two don’t work well together.”

He nods, but his brow tightens in concentration, mind locked deep in thought. His voice is soft and filled with sadness or maybe remorse, unlike its usual deep, assured cadence, “So what will we do if it’s just us?”

She blinks, having not considered this point until this very moment. But something deep inside her quickly finds the answer, “I give you permission to kill me.” She says sternly, mirroring his typical tone.

That comment can’t be playing well with the audience. What sponsor would back a tribute so unwilling to see their own victory? Hasn’t the Capitol been so generous to give these poor tributes the opportunity to better their life? And her especially, who has grown up in the greatest Capitol family of them all her whole life? What joy comes from watching someone fight who will never want the crown?

But this must also be playing horrifically among the Cutters back home. Self-sacrifice isn’t a Keeper trait, but Cutters aren’t known to back down from a fight when it comes to dishonoring their people. By allowing even this possibility to happen, she’s just repeating the cycle of those loyal to the Capitol can claim victory, and those traitors are always bound to fall at their hands. 

But her father must be proud of her for lasting this long, for sticking with her partner, for still Saying her Stones? Was he proud of himself when he was in her position 29 years ago, or did that pride diminish once his partner crumbled in his arms and the trumpets of victory rang? She wonders if he will still be proud of his eldest daughter when she returns cold and lifeless, sprinkled with hard tact bread given to her by a joint sponsor of the Master Mason and Head Peacekeeper of 2, spread generously at the end by her partner. Or will he be filled with disdain and fury for defying his one wish to not become like him, like her cousin of the 66th, like her neighbors of the Village who practically raised her. Only time will tell, she supposes, to whose promise will be kept. Or if District 2 will have two tributes sprinkled with bread.

[hiddenincommand]

The Authority of Voice: Commands That Demand Obedience

An Alpha’s voice is his most powerful weapon. It is through his voice that he commands respect, enforces discipline, and asserts his dominance over all who stand before him. Unlike subordinates, who may rely on volume or aggression to make themselves heard, the Alpha needs neither. His voice is calm, measured, and deliberate, yet it carries an unyielding authority that silences defiance and compels obedience.

This essay explores the nuances of vocal authority, the techniques an Alpha employs to master his tone and delivery, and the psychological impact of a voice that demands not just attention but total submission.

The Historical Importance of Vocal Command

Throughout history, leaders have used their voices to inspire, command, and dominate. From military generals addressing troops before battle to monarchs delivering decrees, the power of the spoken word has shaped the course of empires. For an Alpha, his voice carries the weight of tradition and hierarchy, embodying the authority of those who have led before him.

In military contexts, a commanding voice has always been essential. Officers were trained to project authority through their tone, ensuring their commands were understood and obeyed, even in the chaos of battle. A voice that could cut through the noise was a mark of leadership, discipline, and control.

The Symbolism of the Alpha’s Voice

An Alpha’s voice is not just a tool for communication—it is a projection of his inner strength and dominance. Every word he speaks reinforces his position at the top of the hierarchy.

Key Symbols of the Alpha’s Voice:

1. Authority: A controlled and deliberate tone leaves no doubt about who is in charge.

2. Discipline: The precision of the Alpha’s speech reflects his mastery over himself and his surroundings.

3. Confidence: A voice that is steady and unwavering commands respect and admiration.

4. Control: The Alpha’s voice compels obedience without the need for aggression or repetition.

The Alpha’s voice is a reflection of his character—strong, disciplined, and unapologetically dominant.

Mastering the Alpha’s Vocal Presence

The power of an Alpha’s voice lies in its delivery. It is not enough to have a deep or loud voice; the Alpha must cultivate a tone and cadence that communicate his authority in every situation.

Key Elements of the Alpha’s Voice:

1. Tone: The Alpha’s voice is deep and resonant, conveying strength and confidence. It is never shrill or uncertain.

2. Pace: He speaks slowly and deliberately, ensuring every word carries weight. Pausing strategically creates an air of thoughtfulness and control.

3. Volume: The Alpha never needs to shout. His voice is calm but firm, its authority felt even at a lower volume.

4. Clarity: Every word is enunciated with precision, leaving no room for misunderstanding or defiance.

The Alpha’s voice is as carefully honed as his physical appearance. It is a tool of dominance, wielded with intention and mastery.

The Psychological Impact of the Alpha’s Voice

The Alpha’s voice exerts a profound psychological influence on those who hear it. Its tone, cadence, and delivery create a sense of authority that is impossible to ignore.

Psychological Effects:

1. Intimidation: The controlled strength of the Alpha’s voice makes subordinates feel small and powerless, discouraging resistance.

2. Admiration: The precision and confidence of his speech inspire respect, reinforcing his position as a leader.

3. Submission: The Alpha’s voice compels obedience, conditioning those beneath him to respond to his commands without hesitation.

The Alpha’s voice is not just heard—it is felt, leaving a lasting impression on all who experience it.

The Role of Silence

Silence is as important as speech in the Alpha’s arsenal. Strategic pauses, deliberate silence, and a refusal to speak when unnecessary amplify the power of his voice.

Why Silence Matters:

• Builds Tension: Silence forces others to focus on the Alpha, waiting for his words.

• Asserts Control: By choosing when to speak, the Alpha maintains control of the conversation.

• Amplifies Impact: When the Alpha finally speaks, his words carry even greater weight.

The Alpha understands that his voice is most powerful when used sparingly and with purpose.

Using the Voice as a Tool of Discipline

The Alpha’s voice is not only a tool for commanding respect but also for enforcing discipline. Whether addressing a subordinate or delivering a reprimand, the Alpha uses his voice to maintain order and reinforce hierarchy.

Techniques for Disciplinary Speech:

1. Low, Controlled Tone: The Alpha speaks calmly but firmly, leaving no doubt about the consequences of disobedience.

2. Direct Language: Commands are clear and unambiguous, ensuring there is no room for interpretation.

3. Measured Reprimands: The Alpha never raises his voice in anger. Instead, his tone conveys disappointment and authority, making the punishment feel personal.

The Alpha’s voice is a weapon of discipline, wielded with precision and intent.

Sir Cedric’s Reflection

For me, my voice is my greatest tool of authority. Its deep resonance, deliberate pace, and controlled tone ensure that my commands are always obeyed without question. When I speak, I do so with purpose, knowing that every word carries the weight of my discipline and dominance.

Silence, too, is a part of my arsenal. I have learned that saying nothing can sometimes be more powerful than a thousand words. My silence creates an atmosphere of anticipation, forcing those beneath me to hang on my every word when I finally choose to speak.

Now, I ask you: Does your voice command the respect it deserves? If not, cultivate it. Refine your tone, master your delivery, and let your words become the tools of your dominance.

Speak with purpose, command with authority, and let your voice define your power.

[always-is-always]

Jimin-💜-Jungkook

This IS a LONG share, so have a seat, grab some coffee or tea, and bear with me....

Where to begin is a question... where to begin? My Heart is filled with so much right now that it is hard for my mind to translate it all.

The Heart Knows All.

When they went live the other day with Joonie and Tae, I could sense and feel(emapathically) that Jimin and Jungkookie were already in the energy of "companionship" in regards to the military. It was already in their field. This is in addition to their already established energetic connections that span all other aspects of their lives.

The energetic signature of the military is new and foreign. And, it is also distinct.

In that short time on the live, it was very clear to me that JK & JM would be okay. Everything was in place, energetically. That means that their bond, their commitment to one another to navigate the enlistment together was rock solid. It was palpable. And, there was the love that they share that clearly fuels this for them. However an observer "sees" that Love that flows between their hearts. Love is Love.

So, after watching that Vlive, I felt some peace. My Heart felt more settled, after that. I'm grateful for that peace, as I had been feeling some concern about them. My concern was not about them being bullied or something of that nature. It's been more of a concern about their emotional and mental wellbeing, while facing the challenges of going through the training and beyond.

This is where I get a little wobbly in my words.

I know without a doubt that Jimin and Jungkook will be each other's rocks, for the duration of the enlistment. They will have each other's backs. They will support each other in every way, on every level. That I have total confidence in.

Here is where concern creeps into my heart. Here is where I bear all in my own way, in putting into words what needs to be said.

When I watched the short video of their enlistment day what I saw, felt and sensed in both Jimin-ah and Jungkookie was VULNERABLILITY.

Yeah. Vulnerability.

Yeah.

Something that I had not seen in them, in quite this way. Or, at this level...

That broke my heart.

What we were seeing in both of them is vulnerability. An unease. Like they were stepping out to the precipice, and about to take a huge step off, into the unknown.

Seeing that reminded me that this experience is life-changing, beyond anything that a civilian can understand. Truly. Especially considering their choice of path, to enter the training for front line duty.

{{{A side story here- My bestie is a Veteran. She served in two wars, jumped out of airplanes, gave everything she had to serving the US. We have had many conversations about JK & JM enlisting. Some of what I know and understand comes directly from things that she has shared, her understandings (she's lbgtq), and such. I am not a Veteran, and have not had direct experience in the military.}}}

While watching the livestream waiting for Jimin and Jungkook to arrive, I noticed and felt some things about the military base, and I also realized some things about what JM & JK were stepping into.

.....that livestream was literally 4+ hours long.

As I sat with the volume on, I began to notice a man's voice shouting (it seemed) through a loud speaker (megaphone?), and then voices responding to him. There was a specific cadence to his words, and a specific crescendo in tone and volume, every time he spoke. He would get louder and louder, and the voices that responded would shout out the exact same words every time, and they repeated the response 3 times. What really caught my attention was the voice of a woman that was high-pitched, and louder than all of the others.

I began to listen to this, and after about 5 minutes I began to feel really uncomfortable. That kind of twisting in the solar plexus type of uncomfortable. I wound up turning the volume off, as it was really bothering me, and I began to feel anxious.

After several more minutes, I turned the volume back on and they were still going at it. Call and response. Over and over and over again... The same man shouting out and the same response back to him. That same woman's voice.....

Drill Sergeant. It finally dawned on me that the man was a Drill Sergeant. He was "drilling" instructions into the psyches of those soldiers , and who knows what else.... This type of repetition is designed to mold minds, to instill compliance, and to establish the foundation of training that follows.

That call and response lasted for an hour. They had a break for maybe 30 minutes, then it began again and continued. (It was still going on when JK & JM's vehicles arrived.) That same female voice calling out above the others...

So, my discomfort intensifed as my empathic and intuitive hits just made it hard to bear witness to what was happening. Even with it being something I was hearing and not seeing. So... I turned off the volume again, and then really looked at the base energetically. What dawned on me was the biggest awareness that brought me to tears, and it also sent me into prayer. (not religious prayer, just simply communicating with the Divine, and Benevolent Beings)

(What followed that prayer could be described in another post, but it will never be written. All I can say is that some big work was done, to clear that base of all nefarious energies, and to establish a clear Foundation of Light. To support everyone there.) (a tiny digression here!)

In those moments what I realized, is this: As soldiers they are taught how to take the life of another Human Being. Jimin and Jungkook would be learning this, in a way that also instills a commitment to do it, if they were to ever participate in an armed conflict.

Going back to my Bestie, I spoke with her about this. She said, "yeah, it's totally de-humanizing".

My thoughts then turned to what is and has been happening in this world for thousands of years. How and why we are still in a position on this planet where Human Beings have to be trained and prepared for war is something I just cannot understand. (Again, another rabbit hole!)

Jimin and Jungkook are enlisting because they have NO choice. Just like citizens of all 34 countries on Earth that have mandatory enlistment. This brings one more awareness into this.

There is a stark difference between a person enlisting by choice (like my Bestie), and a person enlisting because they do not have the right to choose otherwise. The experience is beyond difficult either way, but for those who are forced to go into the military it is another level.

Circle back to vulnerability. Circle back to Jimin and Jungkook, and their obvious state of being when they were enlisting. Especially in those last moments when we saw them marching off with the other enlistees.

What we have witnessed is beyond sad. There are no words that can adequately express this. That we live in a time where Human Beings are forced to enter into military service. That we live in a time where Human Beings are still being trained and taught to kill.

And, those beautiful Hearts that are Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook (and the others, too!) have to somehow get through their “training” and “service”, intact and unscathed. They have to make it through, maintaining their Innate Human Essence, and Heart.

Yeah.

All we can do on our end is continually send them clear energies of Love and Support. All we can do is hold Space, while they navigate through each day, each week, each month....

What will help them most is to Love them through this experience. In every moment. See them as being carried by Love and Grace, surrounded by Love and Grace, and held in Love and Grace. Every single moment of every single day.

What they are going to face is something that will impact them in ways that are yet to be known. I am just grateful beyond words that they have each other, to walk side by side, through this experience.

Bless their beautiful Hearts and give them Deep Strength, as they take each step along the way.

June 2025 cannot come soon enough. 💜