Heya! I'm Not Sure If Your Requests Are Closed, And By No Means Do I Hope To Overwhelm You Further With

heya! I'm not sure if your requests are closed, and by no means do I hope to overwhelm you further with more requests :'D feel free to ignore this especially bc it's more of a negative request aaa

so as context: sometimes I zone out and due to my childhood I will flinch if I see a movement coming at me which at the time I thought was understandable/normal but my bf has already expressed his disappointment every time I flinched or denied physical affection and left me being the one who apologizes for a reflex and I was wondering how the batch (platonically) would react to the reader (preferably female) telling them that story if the reader was the batch's bffs or smth? :'D (plus Cody if that's okay!) I'd be curious to know if they would just try to calm me down or if they would try to encourage me to get that specific thing fixed maybe?

argh I'm so sorry for the long ass text cRIES

again no pressure whatsoever with this waaah

Aloha! 😊

Interesting question. Personally, I think personal space should always be respected, no matter how close we are with someone. In a relationship, most people tend to loving physical contact in many different forms, and I see how this reaction can be surprising or off-putting for some. But with a little empathy and patience, that really shouldn't be a problem for a partner to get used to and accept. If my partner is jumpy with such reflex reactions, I should be able to adjust. There is a reason for this reaction and I think you shouldn't be, or feel pressured to apologize for it. All in all, communication (and an understanding, open mind) is key, as it almost always is. Then there is also the option to try and get that out of your system, so to speak. Therapy might help, it's worth a try or two. After all, it would possibly make things easier for you as well, giving you more comfort in everyday life. Easier said than done, I know. But that's just my two cents. Either way, I'm wishing you all the best 😊 Let's see...

The Bad Batch/Cody x Reader HCs - The Flinch

Warnings: Implied Trauma / Traumatic Reflex Reaction

_________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

_________

>Masterlist<

Hunter

It can happen casually, maybe he doesn't really think about it, just wants your attention for a moment, but you are busy, and your mind is elsewhere. A brief touch on the shoulder, innocent, gentle, without ulterior motives. Still, you flinch and turn around so quickly, startled, that he flinches briefly himself.

Hunter in no way intended to scare you or offend you, he would never do that consciously. Of course, he apologizes, you are close friends, he knows your past that you confided in him.

"I should have known better, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

He is patient, gentle and forgiving. Hunter tries his best to be sensitive to you and respect your boundaries. He is careful in his interactions with you, considerate.

Echo

The first time it happens, he is so startled by your reaction that he backs away and looks at his hand as if he expects to see it red-hot, or spiked. He blinks a few times, then says, "Sorry, did I scare you?"

Whether you confide in him or not, Echo will never hold it against you. He can understand that your reaction has a background, and he can respect that you don't want to share it with him. This does not change the fact that he will take it into consideration.

He sometimes seems strict and so serious, but he has an antenna for the sensitivities of others. It is in his nature to be considerate.

Wrecker

He is a bit impetuous and very affectionate. Scaring you or triggering a reaction is never his intention, but it can still happen quite a few times. You can speak openly with Wrecker, he is happy to listen to you, he is understanding even if you don't tell him everything.

He will always apologize if it still happens accidentally, and he will never blame you for these reactions. He will rather make sure that others around you respect your personal space as well.

Tech

He is not a particularly physical guy. On the contrary, Tech values his personal space and usually respects that of others around him. In combat, this may not be possible at times, but in general everyday life, Tech tends to keep a polite distance.

If he does trigger that automatic flight or defensive reaction, he apologizes immediately, and you can assume it won't happen again. He himself is not a fan of surprising touches, which is why he doesn't like Wreckers' little nudges at all and usually lets them pass with rolling eyes or critically furrowed brows.

Crosshair

As almost always, his first reaction is a bit grumpy. He doesn't immediately understand what's going on, but he's a good observer and a bright guy. Of course, he notices that you have these reactions more often, even with other people.

Crosshair reads your body language and realizes that this is a learned, habitual reflex reaction. He understands that there is a real, possibly deep-seated reason behind it. Of course, he adapts, even if he doesn't like to admit it, he can be considerate and very understanding.

So you don't have to worry about him. He certainly doesn't respect or appreciate you less than before because of that. In fact, it awakens a certain protective instinct in him.

Cody

At first, he is surprised, but he is neither offended nor annoyed. But he is attentive. As a soldier, he's learned to read body language, to interpret reactions, and even though you might not say anything about it, Cody understands pretty quickly what makes you tick.

You can count on him to pay attention to that in the future. You don't have to apologize to him, you can just be yourself and relax. Cody is always a safe haven.

He also won't let other people maybe cause you problems because of it. Anyone who teases you about it or makes fun of you should be prepared to get in trouble.

Y'all miss these two? Yea me too 😭

During her survival in Las Almas from the Shadows, Jade bumped with Ghost on the way to the church. (idk man)

It's not much, but it's all that I can muster up after coming home from work. Anyway hope y'all love this little sketch! (❁´◡`❁)

Everyone says how Mando looks so threatening but if ominous flute music played every time I got mildly pissed, I'm sure people would take me seriously too

— stolen glances.

 ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌«she smiled and looked at me»  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ «i was surprised to see»  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌  ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌«that a woman like that was really into me»

summary: awkward glimpses at the bar and mutual interest in each other's person turned into a rather pleasant walk home. content: chris redfield x gn reader tags: pure fluff, comfort, mentions of alcohol, not much plot. author's note: wanted to write something new with chris but in the middle of the work i feeled a little bit insecure, so maybe i will even take this work down, but still, hope you'll enjoy! enjoy your reading) 🥃

The bar exuded a warm, inviting atmosphere that beckoned tired souls seeking solace, dimmed light illuminating the polished wood surfaces with soft light, creating an atmosphere of calm and seclusion from the outside world, the low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses and quiet music harmoniously combined to form a soothing backdrop for Chris's Redfield visits.

Chris entered through the worn wooden door, his heavy boots muting the plush carpet beneath him, his broad shoulders visibly relaxed as he entered the hideout, the burden of past missions and horrors he had witnessed slowly dissipating, the smell of aged wood and worn leather greeted his senses, recalling the familiar comfort he found in this place.

He took his usual seat at the far end of the bar from where he could watch the room without being the center of attention, the bartenders knew him well and served him his favorite drink without question, a simple glass of bourbon, he sipped it slowly, enjoying the copious warmth that seeped through him, offering respite from the chilling memories that often haunted his thoughts.

But one fateful day, as if the universe conspired to give him a short respite, he saw you, you were a flash of color and life in a dimly lit room, your hair fell like silk, framing your face that seemed to radiate a gentle radiance, lurking in your eyes a depth that is both mysterious and alluring, like uncharted territory that he yearned to explore.

The moment your gaze met his for a moment, time seemed to stop, your soft, bright smile was like a beacon cutting through the shadows and warming the corners of his heart, his cheeks flushed as he turned away, feeling as if went into a trance, for a man who has faced monsters and survived battles, the mere act of meeting your eyes made him feel vulnerable, like a schoolboy enchanted by his first love.

He glanced when he could, his attention was drawn to you like a moth to a flame, every time your eyes met his heart fluttered in his chest and he quickly looked away, feigning casualness, although his thoughts were consumed by you, the way you were chatting with the bartender, the laughter that graced your lips was like a symphony playing in tune with his own desires.

Your fleeting presence became his secret refuge within this haven, he found solace not only in the cozy atmosphere of the bar, but also in your glances, although he never got the courage to approach, he found a strange satisfaction, just sharing space with you, bathed in your unearthly glow in the distance.

True, despite the cozy familiarity of the bar, whenever Chris thought about approaching you, there was an atmosphere of unease around Chris, he sat in his usual place day after day, the smooth wooden surface of the counter was worn away under his fingertips, his unfinished drink stood before him, forgotten as he wrestled with his thoughts and insecurities.

His gaze inevitably darted to you, gracefully sitting at the far end of the room from him behind the bar, you were like a shining star in a dimly lit atmosphere, captivating not only his eyes but also his heart, trying to talk to you, bridge the gap between your two worlds constantly pulled him, nevertheless, he was held captive by nervousness and fear of going beyond his borders.

He squeezed his glass, feeling the cool condensation on its surface with his fingers, watching you talk to the bartender or share a laugh with other patrons, the thought swirled in his head to buy you a drink, a simple gesture that could potentially open the door to conversation, but as soon as an idea formed, doubts crept into him, causing him to hesitate.

Instead, he opted for subtlety, his gaze turning to you from time to time, furtively darting glances when he thought you weren't looking, hoping to remember every detail of your presence, the soft curve of your smile, the way your hair reflected light and how your eyes shined when you laughed — every moment crashed into his memory like a treasured photograph.

There were times when you turned your gaze in his direction and his heart skipped a beat, your eyes met, a fleeting connection from which a shiver ran down his spine, in those short seconds his thoughts raced, his mind desperately searched for something to say, but before he mustered up the courage act, you will turn away, once again immersed in your own world.

It was a dance of missed opportunities, Chris was a man of action on the battlefield, but in matters of the heart he was trapped by the inertia of uncertainty, he would watch you, his feelings build like a crescendo until the weight of his own hesitation made him retreat, there were nights when he finished his drink and, without saying a word, slipped out of the bar, leaving behind only the memories of his stolen looks.

The atmosphere of the bar was a quiet symphony of glances and unspoken desires, but he wasn't the only one to glance, your eyes were drawn to him with an almost magnetic attraction in return, every time he looked away you allowed yourself to cast fleeting glances in his direction, your heart fluttered with anticipation and shyness.

Talk and laughter filled the air, but your attention was often drawn to the corners where he sat, the ambient light seemed to create a halo around his body, bathing him in a soft and inviting light, and as you sipped your drink, you couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to recognize him if not counting stolen glances is a mixture of excitement and vulnerability that has you biting your lip in awkward contemplation.

Your thoughts were a whirlwind of possibilities, dreams that danced like fireflies in the night, there was a longing in the atmosphere, a longing for connection beyond stolen moments, every time he looked away you let your eyes follow his movement, capturing him on your periphery, as if you were stealing a glimpse of a world you weren't sure you could enter.

But just as quickly as those thoughts came, you brushed them aside, the reality of the situation and its uncertainty clouding your vision was a reminder that sometimes dreams are best left as dreams, the taste of the drink and the laughter of friends provided an anchor in the present, plunging you into a world that was both familiar and safe.

Biting the lip became a reflex, a gesture reflecting the internal conflict you felt, the desire to know it, to break the barrier of stolen glances fought against the apprehension that often accompanies the unknown, the atmosphere was a dance between what could have been and what was, each stolen a look and a fleeting thought was a step in the choreography of emotions.

Little by little the atmosphere in the bar changed slightly — the days turned into weeks, and there was not even a hint of his presence around, the dim light that once glowed with a warm and inviting light now casts longer shadows, creating an atmosphere of uncertainty, conversations always continued around you and laughter, but a hidden unease began to be felt as your eyes searched involuntarily for his familiar figure.

There seemed to be an air of melancholy in the air, as if the very walls of the bar reflected the absence that engulfed your heart, each visit to the bar became a mixture of hopes and disappointments, your gaze lingered on the empty place where he usually sat, conversations that once attracted your attention seemed to fade into the background while your thoughts were consumed by the question of where he might have gone.

The bar, once a place of socializing and stealthy glances, now had an atmosphere of uncertainty, the bartenders smiling sympathetically, perhaps realizing that the silent search had become a routine, and the surroundings seemed to hold a quiet longing, as if the very air was waiting for his return to restore disturbed balance.

The introduction to the bar became a place where memories of stolen glances and shared moments flourished, but also a reminder of his absence, the emptiness of his usual place seeming to cast a shadow over all that had previously been able to brighten the space.

Time dragged on and there was a sense of protracted anticipation in the atmosphere, a desire to see him again intertwined with growing uncertainty.

Did he move on? Did he just take a break?

Questions went unanswered and the bar became a canvas for a story that was shelved.

And then on a day marked by an unexpected change in the daily routine, fate intervened, you left the bar through the side entrance, your thoughts were focused on something other than your usual routine, and at exactly the same time Chris was about to enter, his steps carried him to the harbor, which became both his refuge and his torment.

The collision was as unexpected as it was awkward — your worlds collided in a moment of unforeseen connection, his strong body met your smaller one and the impact pierced both of you, the smell of cigarettes and inviting perfume enveloping the space between you, creating an atmosphere both intoxicating and familiar.

For a brief moment he took over your thoughts and questions and uncertainties were replaced by a mixture of surprise and curiosity, for a moment time seemed to stop as his presence engulfed your thoughts, his deep eyes, usually directed down or across the room, now met yours in the most unexpected circumstances.

— «I'm sorry for that» he muttered in a deep voice tinged with amusement, his eyes both apologetic and curious, as if he was seeing you for the first time even though you had been in his thoughts for weeks.

— «No harm done)» you managed to mutter, and there was nervousness in your voice, a blush flooded your cheeks, your heart beat wildly, the closeness of this person who used to be a distant figure suddenly became tangible and real, and the conversation between you went on its own.

The conversation flowed suddenly, like a river bursting its banks, awkward cheers turned into stories and shared laughter, as if your unspoken bond had finally found a voice, the atmosphere between you changed from vague to comfortable, the background of the bar became secondary, and our words danced in the air.

His laughter, warm and sincere, was like music in harmony with the rhythm of your heart, and the initial awkwardness was replaced by a sense of familiarity that seemed both natural and inspiring, as we talked, the world around him seemed to disappear, leaving only his presence and common moments.

Minutes turned into moments, and the air was filled with tension, promising something more, with a spark in his eyes, he offered — «You know, i could walk you home, that's the least i can do after i almost hit you»

The invitation hung in the air, a question shrouded in vulnerability and hope, you felt a warmth rise inside you, a mixture of surprise and delight at the prospect of expanding your newfound bond of acquaintance, so with a smile reflecting the moonlit night, you nodded — «I wouldn't mind»

His coat thrown abruptly around your shoulders was a physical manifestation of his presence, a symbol of the closeness that grew between you as you walked side by side, your steps echoed in harmony, there was almost no gap between you, everything around you was filled with unspoken electricity, a palpable connection that seemed to draw you closer with every step.

Conversations flowed easily, interspersed with general laughter and instinctive touches, the coat around you became a common shield from the cold night air, creating a cocoon of intimacy, enveloping the two of you, with every moment the distance between your bodies seemed to shrink until it felt like you were walking side by side. side by side, not just in space, but in the sphere of common emotions.

And when you came to your doorstep, tenderness played in his eyes, which reflected the emotions that were seething inside you — «I had a great time tonight» you confessed, your voice was a low whisper.

— «Me too» he replied, his voice a gentle whisper that resonated deep inside, the bond between you was undeniable — built through stolen glances and shared conversations.

— «Will I be able to see you again?» he asked, and the question hung in the air like a promise.

With a smile that contained all the hope and possibility of a new beginning, you nodded — «I would like to)»

When he said goodnight to you his fingers touched yours, a touch containing the promise of what was to come, everything was captured by the magic of the moment, and when he left, leaving you on the doorstep, you couldn't help but feel that the walls of the bar, when — then silent witnesses of stolen glances, now they keep echoes of a connection that has finally found its voice.

[ taglist: @roseglazedlens, @sporeghost, @daydreamrot ] dm me if you want to be tagged in my works.

© dmitriene - my masterlist please, don't copy my works as your own, and if you want to post them somewhere else - contact me. reblogs, likes and comments are very much appreciated, thank you for reading! ♡

Playing House || Miles Miller/F!Reader

Playing House Summary: A moment together with Miles.  518 words Female/AFAB reader (established relationship) Warning: canon non-compliance.  Notes:  For @hederasgarden​ who asked for “playing house with Miles” for my reverse birthday event. Comments and reblogs fuel the muses. Likes are appreciated. Thank you so much for reading, it’s so appreciated and means the most.  *** Tag list is no more. Please follow @wbslibrary​ ***

You watch the clock, anxious as the minutes tick by. The room was tidy, bed made with fresh sheets, the curtains drawn, lights off except for the ones on the bedside tables, Candles were placed in the middle of the wobbly table, along with a warm dinner. You had changed from your work uniform into a dress, stockings, the seams perfectly aligned along the back of your legs. You wander over to the small bookcase, pulling a record from the collection you’ve built, placing it on the record player, dropping the needle.

Keep reading

Commander Mayday illustration by @nika6q

A Match for Mayday: Chapter 1

Editor's note: This fic is a collaboration between @nika6q (artwork) and @dystopicjumpsuit (story)

Pairing: Mayday x Flower Farmer Reader 

Rating: T

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warnings and tags: fluff

A/N: dedicated to @nika6q ❤️‍🩹

Read Chapter 2 here!

Your sister has always had immaculate taste. From her gorgeous flat in a Coruscant high-rise, to the handsome trooper currently staring down at her with adoration in his soft brown eyes as she wraps her arm around his waist, to the selection of high-quality brews in the conservator which you are currently raiding, she has curated a beautiful life for herself. She’s been your best friend since the day she was born, and you couldn’t be happier for her. You didn’t have an easy childhood, and seeing your little sister settled and thriving is everything you had hoped for her during those difficult days. 

Her boyfriend—no, make that fiancé—practically worships her. As you watch them through the sliding glass door, you realize you’ve never seen her look as content as she does in that moment, smiling softly up at Hexx. Unbeknownst to you, an identical smile plays on your own lips as you close the conservator door. Just as you do, a latecomer enters the kitchen, and you turn automatically to greet him, your eyes widening as you take him in. 

He’s a clone, but damn, what a clone. He looks older than Hexx and most of his brothers, though that might be due to his beard and longer hair. He’s tall and solidly built, and even in civilian clothing, he looks imposing. His long sleeves are rolled up to reveal forearms corded with muscle, with a hint of tattoo ink peeking from the edge of the fabric.

“Hello,” you greet him, that soft smile still in place as you introduce yourself.

“Mayday,” he replies, and his voice is deeper and and more gravelly than you’ve heard from other clones. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

Up close, you can see faint lines around his eyes, and a sprinkle of silver in his hair. Definitely older than Hexx, then. 

“Can I get you a beer?” you offer. “Or are you a whiskey man?”

“A beer sounds great, thanks,” he says, and you hand him the cold bottle you just pulled out of the conservator. His fingers brush against yours, soft and warm, and his eyes follow you as you turn to pull another bottle out of the conservator. “How do you know Hexx and Sunni?”

“Sunni is my sister,” you reply.

“I thought I saw the resemblance,” he says. “Why aren’t you out partying with the others?”

“Just came in for a drink,” you reply. He arches an eyebrow, and you buckle immediately under his unspoken interrogation. “And to hide for a few minutes.”

“Now, why would you want to hide?” he asks, tapping his bottle against yours and taking a long sip.

You shrug. “Not a huge fan of crowds. They make me nervous.”

“You must hate living on Coruscant, then,” he says.

“I would if I lived here,” you reply.

“You’re not local?” he asks, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the hint of regret in his tone.

“No, I live on Nakadia,” you reply. “I’m only on Corrie for the engagement party.”

“Nakadia?” he asks. “Then you must be the farmer.”

“Yes, I own a flower farm there,” you reply. “How did you know?”

“Hexx told me they were having the wedding at your farm. You’re a brave woman to agree to host that many clones for a party,” he says with a charming smile.

“I’d do anything for Sunni,” you reply. “But I have to admit it’s weird to think that she’s getting married when I still see the adorable little girl with fluffy hair and a face covered in jelly when I look at her.”

“I know the feeling,” Mayday says with an ironic twist of his mouth. “We do what we can for them, but in the end, we have to trust them to know what they’re doing.”

“Hexx seems like a good man,” you say tentatively. “And he makes her happy.”

“Have you known him long?” he asks.

“I’d only spoken to him on holocalls until I got to Corrie three days ago,” you reply. “What about you? Did you serve with him?”

Mayday nods. “I’m his commanding officer, at least for the moment. I can tell you that there’s not a more loyal soldier in the GAR. He’ll take good care of your sister.”

“When you say ‘for the moment,’ what does that mean? Is he being reassigned?” you ask curiously. Sunni hadn’t mentioned it.

“Not to my knowledge,” he replies. “But I am retiring.”

He seems too young to be retiring, but there is a weariness about his eyes that makes you think he’s earned it.

“What will you do then?” you ask, relaxing back against the countertop.

Mayday mimics your laid-back posture, leaning against the wall as he answers. “Haven’t decided yet. I might just spend some time enjoying being the only person in charge of my time.”

“You’re not going to rush down to RTL to find the love of your life?” you ask, a teasing light springing into your eyes.

“Nah, not for me,” he replies. “I’d prefer to meet somebody organically.”

“Understandable,” you reply. “Though it certainly worked out well for Sunni and Hexx.”

“And what about you?” he asks.

“What about me?” You take a sip of beer and enjoy its icy effervescence on your tongue.

“Any plans to visit the matchmaker?”

“I’m not really interested,” you admit.

Mayday nods slightly, his eyes unreadable. “So you’re taken, then?”

The door slides open abruptly, and Sunni bursts in like the force of nature that she truly is, tugging Hexx behind her.

“Are you hiding in here?” she demands with an infectious laugh. 

“Of course not!” you lie with dignity. “I was entertaining your guest.”

“Welcome, Commander,” Hexx says, subtly standing at attention.

“Relax, Hexx. You don’t need to salute me at your own engagement party,” Mayday says with that easy, charming smile.

Hexx and Sunni sweep you back outside to join the rest of the party goers before you get a chance to tell Mayday that you are very single.

Months pass before you see Mayday again. Sunni is swept up in wedding plans, and you head back to Nakadia to tend to your farm. There’s plenty to do, between your normal responsibilities and the additional work of getting the property ready to host a large wedding. If you think Sunni is a social butterfly, she pales in comparison to Hexx and his multitude of brothers. Sunni is going to have the largest family-in-law in the galaxy, and it seems like half the GAR will be attending the wedding, along with their plus-ones, most of whom had met through Right to Love Matchmaking. Several of the matchmakers are also invited, and you hope they aren’t so dedicated to their work that they will harass you to sign up for their services. 

A few weeks before the wedding, Sunni and Hexx arrive with a large contingent of clones to help with the labor of getting the farm ready for such a large gathering. Veetch is there, of course, along with numerous members of the 77th Heavy Brigade. 

And, of course, Mayday is there. 

It takes an unbelievable amount of work to get the farm ready, but given that Hexx has quite literally brought a small army to help, it goes faster than you expect. The entire first day is spent clearing brush to make space for the large pavilion where the reception will take place. It is dirty, sweaty, backbreaking work, even with the help of the droids. You are exhausted at the end of the day, and after taking a quick shower, you make your way out to the front porch to watch the sunset. It’s your favorite vantage point, and it’s a nightly ritual that you almost never miss.

Tonight, though, someone has already claimed your spot. His tall, broad form leans casually against the pillar as he surveys your lovely farm. In the golden light of early sunset, you pick up the glints of lighter brown and gold in his dark hair, and for an instant, you wonder what it would feel like to twine your fingers through it. On impulse, you stop in the kitchen and pull two bottles of ale out of your conservator. You join him and offer him a bottle wordlessly. He nods his thanks and goes back to staring out at the kaleidoscopic fields of flowers. 

You didn’t see much of him today. He has been busy working on a special project in the barn, and his sleeves are littered with a fine layer of wood shavings. Your knees creak a little as you lower yourself to sit on the porch step, and soon he joins you. 

“Nice place you have here,” he says at last, breaking the evening serenity. “Peaceful.”

“That’s what drew me here,” you reply.

He looks at you curiously. “Trying to avoid crowds?”

You nod, not wanting to spoil the tranquility of the moment by delving into your personal history. “It’s a good place to live a quiet life.”

“That sounds…” he begins, but he trails off. 

His eyes have a faraway expression, and you wonder what horrors he’s seen to make him look so karking tired. He doesn’t continue, and you don’t prod him. Instead, you quietly watch the sun paint the sky in a wash of pastel. As the light fades and the dusk creeps in, you exchange occasional desultory remarks, but mostly you sit in companionable silence, drinking slowly and simply enjoying each other’s nearness.

“It’s a good place for a wedding,” he observes.

“Yes, I always thought if I ever got married, it would be here.” You smile. “I wouldn’t want the big party, though. Just a few people. Sunni and Hexx, a few close friends. A simple ceremony, and then a cozy dinner party under those trees,” you say, gesturing at the nearby copse of acthorn trees.

“You’ve thought it out,” he observes.

You let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “Kind of hard not to with everything going on.”

“That’s fair,” he says. “I never thought much about weddings. Didn’t think it would be a possibility.”

“Is this the first you’ve been to?” you ask curiously.

He shakes his head. “The matchmakers have been busy. Half of the commanders have paired up, and the other half are just waiting for their turn.”

“But not you?”

He shrugs. “Can’t say I ever thought much about the war ending, until it did. By then, it seemed a little late to start planning a life I never thought I’d have.”

You frown. “It’s not too late. You’ve earned that life, Mayday.”

“Maybe,” he acknowledges. “But I won’t find it on a speed date.”

He’s waiting for you the next night, too, and the one after. Each evening, you open up more to him, and the two of you spend hours conversing in low voices late into the night.

“How many kinds of flowers do you grow?” he asks as he looks out across the vibrant patchwork of blossoms that stretches to the edge of your farm.

“Hundreds,” you reply. “Not all at once. I stagger the plantings to extend the growing season and keep the income a little more predictable.”

“Which ones are your favorite?”

“Fire lilies,” you reply. “They’re unpopular with buyers, but I still grow a patch of them just for myself.”

“I’ve never seen one,” he says.

“Would you like to?”

“Very much,” he replies.

You stand slowly. You’re accustomed to hard work, but the past few days have been a whole other level of manual labor. A tiny moan of relief escapes you as you stretch your tired muscles. When you turn to Mayday, he is watching you with an indecipherable expression. He’s very good at that, you’ve noticed. Sometimes he is very open and easy to read, and others he is incredibly guarded. He must be an excellent sabbac player, you reflect.

With a small smile at the thought, you lead him through the twilight into the garden. In the fading purple light, the lush perfume of the lilies surrounds you in a sweet, heady cloud.

“May I pick one?” he asks.

“Of course,” you reply. 

Most people don’t bother to ask, and you never realized how much it bothered you until Mayday’s courtesy reminds you that you have a right to say no. He plucks a blossom carefully, reverently, making sure not to damage the rest of the plant. 

“They’re beautiful,” he says quietly. “I can see why they’re your favorite. Why don’t buyers like them?”

“They don’t last long once they’re picked,” you reply. “It makes transporting them tricky.”

“Then I’m sorry I picked this one,” he says.

“Don’t be,” you reply. “There will be more tomorrow.”

The sun has fully set now, and his dark eyes reflect the pale light of the moons. He examines the blossom closely, taking in the graceful curves of the petals, the striations and speckles at the center, the delicate filaments of the stamens. His eyes rise to your face, and his hands follow nearly unconsciously. His knuckles brush subtly against your cheek as he tucks the flower into your hair. Your mouth suddenly feels very dry, and you swallow without meaning to.

“Beautiful,” he repeats.

---

Read Chapter 2 here!