#like i love his style now and i love his old style

[tarotbyjam24]

Pick a card : Lemme describe your bf\gf\fs :

Pile 1 pile 2

pile 3 pile 4

Likes , reblogs and feedbacks are very much appreciated 💗 Thankyou for stopping by let's dive in ☄️ Choose the pile you feel most drawn to 🧸

Masterlist \ pick a piles feedbacks piggy bank

Disclaimer: this is general reading . It may or may not resonate . If reading doesn't resonate let it fly and choose another pile or simply there were no messages for you through this reading 😊 Take the reading lightly as nothing's set in stone until you believe so 🕊️

Exchanges : open , collabs for paps : open

If you like my work you can now tip me on kofi too ,leave 🖤 emoji while tipping me because @winisayswhat and I both share same accounts and it'll help us distinguish our tips and leave 💗 if you tip for @winisayswhat ♡

I also offer paid readings you can book one as it'll help me a lot and don't forget to check the free readings offer ✨

Pile 1

funny without trying

doesn't hide you from their friends

sometimes boastful

extremely popular

knows everything about you

extremely smart

sometimes sassy

loves to look after you

usually hungry

sometimes rude without knowing it

loves listening to rap

never at home

doesn't realise they're very hardworking

sometimes feels underrated

remembers everything about you

sometimes pessimistic

get your personalised readings

Pile 2

18+ read at your own consent

Reckless

very indecisive

always eating

a bit of a fattie :D

party boy

gives the best advice

yolo mindset

best outfit/music taste

Doesn't care what other think

JEALOUS AF

Loud af

Dom

"ooh, sexy"

"Babe"

"How do you feel?"

*SPANKS*

Horny 24/7

Your friends like his look but hates his personality

"Send Nu*es"

"Nice Ass"

BUYS EXPENSIVE SHITS TO EXPRESS HIS LOVE OR APOLOGIZE

LOYAL BUT HARDLY SAY NO FOR A GOOD ASS

huge book reader

obsessed with one girl

quiet but loud

comfort > style

with the right people

best secret keeper

get your personalised readings

Pile 3

ALWAYS looking at you

acts goofier around you

warm hugs

sends "this reminded me of you" texts

remembers every single word you've ever said

princess gf - bf who does anything to see her happy "baby"

"that's cute"

"hmmm?"

falling asleep on call

You've good taste in music

gm and gn texts

holds hands with you

"i can't wait for our future together"

big hands

"doll"

"go ahead... what "speak up. "were you saying?"

"don't be shy"

-grabs inner thigh-

holds your chin up w/Index finger and rubs lower lip w/thumb while making eye contact

"when they smirk and lick their lips"

"eye contact"

madly needs your attention

always ready to fight for you

impulsive and stubborn

seems terrifying but he's a warm bean

"duuude"

doesn't like horror movies

gives and wants kissies all the time

moms love him

high pitched scream

always fails when he tries to intimidate you

does everything to make you feel safe

"yooo"

enjoys causing chaos

pretty good at video game

feels a lil insecure sometimes

has some chad energy

can be hella sassy

afraid of being put aside

get your personalised readings

Pile 4

super clingy

wants forehead kisses

loves to sit on ur lap

spoiled brat

cuddles

short

"call me your angel, anon!"

caring & sweet

veryyy emotional

always sleepy

"yes please"

will cry if yelled at

sub

"i love you, anon :("

apologizes 24/7

tall straight ADHD bf who loves games - 5'3 mentally ill gf who loves astrology

actually a huge nerd

protective af

secretly gay

super duper nice

very pretty eyes

insecure

music

lowkey clingy

og sk8r boy

loves 2 cuddle

likes plants a lot

old soul

probably the coolest person u will ever meet

loves cartoons

handsome af but also pretty af

baggy clothes

get your personalised readings

I hope you liked the reading . Thank you so much for letting me read for you . Wishing you best ahead . 🎀Bless you and have a nice day🌸🐰 I'd love to hear which pile you chose

Loads of love , jam\gem🩷

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

always first. l Harry Castillo

Harry Castillo [The Materialists] x Reader

summary: this evening was just perfect

warnings: fluff, angst, chocolate soufflé, some champagne, one broken heart

a/n: i don't know what you'll think about this. or what you'll think about me.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[my masterlist] [Harry Castillo masterlist]

This restaurant was probably the most elegant and exclusive you had ever been to. You felt like you didn’t belong there, but you were there with him. Porcelain plates and delicate glasses of iced white wine sat on a crisp white tablecloth, candles flickered softly, their light reflecting off the eyes of the man in front of you.

Harry Castillo. In a perfectly tailored suit, with well-styled hair and a wonderful smile, he looked at you with his brown eyes. He was handsome and at that moment he looked simply stunning.

“Does everything taste good?” he asked in a soft voice that made every nerve in your body vibrate.

"Mhm." you mumbled, taking a sip of wine. "Delicious."

He tilted his head, smiling at you. A pleasant warmth crept up to your neck. Maybe it was the wine... Or maybe Harry.

When you put down the cutlery, he nodded to the waiter standing by the wall, who quickly approached you and cleared the plates.

“Dessert will be served soon. May I recommend the chocolate soufflé?”

Harry looked at you, and you raised your eyebrows in approval. "The lady accepted. Thank you."

The boy walked away, leaving you alone.

“I have another surprise for you,” Harry said, gently running his fingers over the glass on the table. “I hope you enjoy it as much as you enjoyed dinner tonight.”

"I'm sure of it." you replied. "Are you going to tell me what it is or do I have to guess?"

Harry straightened up and reached into the pocket of his jacket. A small velvet box flashed in his hand. Before you could say a word, or at least take a breath, he knelt down next to you and gently took your hand.

"Darling..." he began, and your heart began to pound in your chest. "The day I met you, I knew I had been waiting for you my whole life. You're everything I need and want."

"Harry..." you sighed, but he just smiled, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“I’ve never met a woman as beautiful, smart, brilliant, and funny as you. You’re perfect for me, and I can’t imagine my life without you.” He carefully opened the box, and your eyes met the ring, which was a small work of art in itself. An elegant diamond surrounded by several smaller ones, exactly the same as the one you’d seen at one of the most expensive jewelers in town. Harry continued, his gaze never leaving your face. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to grow old with you, have children with you, and watch them grow up. I want to support you and love you for the rest of my life. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Your throat was so tight that you weren't sure if you'd be able to utter a single word. Harry must have noticed, because he didn't rush you, but only looked at you with the same tenderness as before. 

You finally managed to take a breath, and a quiet "Yes, I'd love to" escaped your lips.

If Harry was happy, now you saw true joy in his eyes. A diamond ring was slid onto your finger, and warm lips kissed your hand.

"You've made me the happiest man on earth, baby." he said.

"And you've made me the happiest woman."

He got up from the ground and sat down on a chair, finished his wine and looked at you with happiness written all over his face. Your heart was still pounding in your chest, but you managed to glance at your hand. You almost didn't recognize it. The diamond reflected the dim glow of the candles, it looked even more beautiful than in the box.

"How much does it cost?" you asked quietly, gently turning your hand to look at it closely.

“Does it matter?” Harry burst out laughing, but you looked at him expectantly, so he quickly added, “Over two hundred thousand.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and you quickly reached out to him. “Take this before someone cuts off my finger!” you said and he laughed.

The ring quickly returned to the box, and Harry put it in his jacket pocket. He watched as you finished your wine and shifted in your chair. He waited.

"And what do you think? Will she like it?" he asked.

You looked at him and sighed quietly. "If Meredith isn't thrilled after all this, I don't know what could make her happier." You answered honestly. "That's all..." You made a hand motion encompassing the entire restaurant and Harry. "That's perfect. No director could have come up with this better, Harry."

The man smiled, clearly pleased with your answer. You knew he had been planning this for a while. Of course, he told you because you were his friend. The best friend he had, who knew him like the back of her hand.

He and Meredith had been dating for almost half a year, and Harry was completely committed to it. He really wanted this relationship to be long-term. Every outing, every gift, every time spent with Meredith, he consulted with you first. You didn't want to do it, but he begged you so hard that you gave in.

Every restaurant he took her to, he was there with you first.

Every dessert she ate, you had to taste it first.

Every bouquet of flowers, you had to see first.

Every gift had to be accepted by you.

And now even their engagement had to pass the test in your presence.

You didn't want this. Every time you felt like it was slowly killing you. Harry had been your friend for a few years and you didn't even know when you had fallen in love with him. The most charming, caring, loving man you had ever met in your life was about to propose to another woman.

No, she wasn't a bad woman. Meredith was beautiful and smart. Or at least that's what Harry said about her, because you'd only met her once. You didn't hate her, but you were incredibly sad that such a man had come your way only for you to help him marry another woman.

“You seem sad about something.”

His warm voice pulled you out of your thoughts for a moment. You plastered an innocent smile on your lips. “I was lost in thought, sorry. Everything will be so beautiful... Maredith will be thrilled for sure.”

“I hope so,” he sighed. “Of course, I’ll let you know when she makes a decision.”

"Of course. Thank you."

“Your dessert, chocolate soufflé.” You almost jumped as the waiter appeared right behind you and placed your order on the table.

An ironic thought flashed through your mind like lightning. The chocolate soufflé was your last meal before your execution. Soon, the man you loved would marry another woman, and you would congratulate him with a smile on your lips.

"It looks wonderful, doesn't it?"

“Yes, it does.” You replied, looking at Harry, even as your eyes stung with the tears that were slowly forming. “You thought of everything, Harry.”

How many more smiles could you make? You didn't want to convince yourself of that. His happiness was the most important thing, and you were glad you could help him achieve that.

Because that's what friends do, right? They help, not love.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[caffeinated-moogle]

No-ish, and no... ish?

Aeryn is very exceptionally terrible at knowing what it is she wants, let alone expressing it once she figures out whatever it might be. The notion of binding partnerships was another one of those confusing things she both did and didn't comprehend when she awoke on the Source with no memories, so she never really considered it for herself. I also don't think she's the type to confine herself or her myriad thoughts/feelings with labels or titles, and I like to think of Urianger as a bit of a free-spirit in the label department, as well. Aeryn is grateful for the comfortable, reserved affection they come to share, and she doesn't really concern herself with trying to iron out what exactly they are to each other.

That said, I do have a very silly headcanon about archaic elezen courtship rituals involving hair braiding, which I've quietly written into Aeryn's fic. It leads to them forming a quiet sort of bond with each other—though I haven't decided if it's part of her canon... or just fluff fic for me to kick my feet over.

Heaps of rambling about Aeryn's hair lore behind the cut!

(Just gonna drop this here and run away quietly screeching because I feel so extremely awkward talking about these two even though I love them and the silly little ship I built for them so hecking much so aaaahhhhhhh okay have some wolship rambling and hair braiding lore, it's trite, okay bye for days.)

Aeryn instinctively keeps her hands occupied, especially when thinking or discontent. She has a habit in ARR/HW/early StB of regularly unbraiding and rebraiding her pigtails.

Though she's not cognizant of it until much later, she feels her appearance is her only potential link to her lost identity. She endeavors to "look" the same, pigtail braids and all, in hopes that someone from her past might recognize her.

In HW, during the Extended Camping Trip, Aeryn starts braiding Ysayle's hair. (i haven't yet written this, so I haven't ironed out how it starts. Regardless, it becomes part of their nightly routine while journeying.)

After parting with Ysayle, Estinien notes Aeryn's discontent with The Everything. He offers to take Ysayle's place, claiming every warrior has their vices. He jokes that Aeryn's, at least, will help keep his vision clear in battle.

Emmanellain later learns of this and, knowing the old custom, gushes to all the world that the Warrior of Light has been courting the Azure Dragoon. (I just assume it went viral via the Alphinaud > Tataru > Emmanellain > Everyone chain.)

Emmanellain eventually explains to Aeryn that, in more archaic times, braiding each others' hair was an elezen sign of courtship. The more serious a couple's relationship became, the finer and more intricate the braided styles grew. If the couple chose to promise themselves to one another, they symbolized it by twining a special bead or charm into their braids. The more magically inclined forged these of their own aether.

Aeryn is mortified, and even more so after learning Estinien knew of the old custom. (He didn't care, calling it old-fashioned nonsense; he was simply glad to offer some moments of peace to a fellow dragoon and respected friend.)

In StB, Zenos cuts off one of Aeryn's braids in their first battle, triggering her underlying identity crisis; and Tataru gives Aeryn her first haircut to even it out en route to Kugane. Aeryn struggles with the loss, still instinctively reaching to braid hair that is no longer there, haunted by the now-all-too-real possibility that she is never going to be recognized—that she can no longer be "found."

In ShB, Feo Ul regularly plays with Aeryn's hair, twining flowers, ribbons, shells, and other pretty things into it. Since they have a unique insight into things Aeryn often keeps to herself, they know this is special to her. When they prompt her, Aeryn opens up about how it felt to lose her braids.

Aeryn has a little fall in Pla Enni. She and Urianger share a quiet moment while he "heals" her (a ruse he regularly entertains in efforts to ascertain how she's adapting to her light absorption). She's slowly becoming more tactile, and because this is her first time in close proximity to him without his hood, she touches his hair. (It sounds silly, but it's such a pivotal moment of growth for her.)

While the Scions recover back on the Source, Aeryn spends a great deal of time resting with them. She's growing less repressed with her own emotional needs and, seeking comfort, asks if she can braid Urianger's hair.

Urianger is a giant dork, so of course he knows of the old customs—but he assumes Aeryn doesn't. In spite of this, he offers to braid her hair in return. It becomes a very sweet little routine for them. Urianger assumes nothing of it, though it's special to him nonetheless.

Thancred quietly teases Urianger about his "courtship." Urianger maintains it has no deeper meaning, particularly not for Aeryn. Thancred calls him out, though, suggesting that, given the opportunity to make an educated choice, Aeryn might still continue the practice, deeper meaning and all.

Urianger is a Very Awkward Fellow when he finds out Aeryn knew. She doesn't quite manage to express herself clearly, but in her own roundabout way, she explains that changing her hair as it regrew helped her become someone new, and she's grateful that he was part of that change.

After reuniting with Moenbryda's parents, at some point before they find Hydaelyn, Urianger forges a bead of aether and asks to twine it into Aeryn's hair. She is upset she can't do this in return (magic block crisis), but she instead takes the bead from her necklace and twines that into his hair.

Nothing changes, because they don't consider the act truly binding in any way—it's more a quiet expression of love, the idea that no matter where they go, they will always have a part of each other close.

Anyway, that's it. I'm a Ridiculous Sap, and they're possibly married? Ish?

I just love them a lot, okay.

Is your WoL married, or is that something they want in life?

[kiis1k]

LOTR Legolas VS. The Hobbit Legolas

Ok. so. I know i wasn't the only person who, when watching the hobbit, was very put off by Legolas' appearance. Elves are supposed to be eternally youthful and beautiful! So how, and why, does Legolas look so much different than he does in the original trilogy?

To me, it's not a matter of Orlando Bloom being 10 years older, because he still looks amazing (and always will that man is gorgeous), but it is infact a matter of COSTUME DESIGN.

Now you may be wondering, “Costume design? But the same people worked on both trilogies, it can't possibly be that different.” and you’d be right. The big details are consistent, with all the races of middle earth, across the Peter Jackson films. But it is the little details that sell something, and they were kind of botched in the Hobbit, specifically with the return of Orlando Bloom's Legolas

Lets start with a quick spot the difference:

whats stands out to the viewer immediately? the hair, for one, and then the eyes.

In the LOTR trilogy, the hair is much looser, and therefore, more free. it creates a sense of youth in a character that, because though he has a fair face, he is probably 2,000+ years old. There are multiple instances in which Legolas, and his compatriots, are in battle, and his hair gets fussy and frizzy and tangles. it's not perfectly done. He hasn't combed it 500 times until there aren't any bumps left. Because that's not realistic, and it's not his character.

The flyaways are what sell his youth, the messy little ear braids, random hairs flung over his shoulder, knots and waves from movement. Even when little baby hairs around the face fall down, all of this makes a character seem younger. and all of this was removed from the Hobbit version of Legolas.

His hair is combed back perfectly. It looks like he's put hairspray in it. His braids are tight, perfect, and lack any of the original fluidity. His hair doesn't have a single knot, even once he's done flipping and killing spiders and jumping over dwarves. This makes his character seem years, decades, or centuries older and more experienced than he was in the Lord of the Rings, which takes place like 80 years later!

The wigs, though they were beautiful, were not properly styled in order to retain the familiarity of the character we all know and love from the original trilogy. That's not the worst offense though. that goes to the eyes.

BECAUSE WTF IS THAT.

The costume department really failed here. In comparison with Lee Pace (Thranduil), Orlando Bloom's contacts were abysmal. I'm not sure what the aim was, but if it was to launch Legolas 10 miles behind the enemy lines of the Uncanny Valley, they succeeded.

I'm truly not sure why they didn't just keep his original brown eyes, since it is very difficult to get contacts to look right on such dark eyes, but I would have paid to be in the room when they made the decision to put this image out into the universe. The eyes are just so piercing that every time his character came on screen, it was one of the inly things i could focus on. its especially jarring because THRANDUIL'S CONTACTS LOOK FINE.

It just makes the character seem so plastic, and so much older and less kind than he was. but honestly, the hobbit kind of served as a character assassination for Legolas anyways. I have opinions on how he should have been portrayed, but that's a separate post.

Honestly, I'm just not sure what there is left to say here. everything that could be said about the eyes has been said, and we were universally creeped out by it, me thinks. so that's my excuse to move on the the actual OUTFIIIIIIITTTTSSSSSS but only quickly.

So technically, I'm nitpicking, but these things are important in my opinion! So I'll just make a little list to make it easier to explain and quicker because everyones exhausted at this point.

the clothes are too tight, and too restricting for a "warrior"

the cut in unflattering and cuts him straight across the body, which does nothing for him and makes him look frumpy? somehow?

they're also too clean. He's a warrior, not a councilman.

The collar of most of the clothing in the hobbit is too high and mature, and also restricts movement.

all of the restricted movement makes the character seem stockier and less agile than we know, and see, him to be.

Basically, he looks like he's wearing a costume. (P.S. it shouldn't look like that)

and also, NONE OF THE AFOREMENTIONED PROBLEMS are helped by the fact that the editing and quality of these movies makes even phenomenal costume designs, like that of the dwarves and of bilbo, look so, soooooo costumey. And also the makeup department is its own can of worms, mostly with everyone having zero flush, but oh well.

anyways. That's just me.

feel free to add anything i missed, or disagree, by all means! to me, i just found not only the character's demolished personality and strange appearance a little too much to be able to look past it and truly enjoy his presence in the movies, but i still love the movies.

[blushweddinggowns]

“Hey, Eddie?” Steve asked, his voice muffled behind his arms.

Eddie hummed, his eyes still focused on the stove, “Yes, my love?” 

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

That caught his attention. Eddie turned to smile at him, twirling the spatula he had between his fingers, “I thought I had been going on dates with you?”

“But you’ve planned them all,” Steve said, his lips curling down into a pout, “I wanna romance you too.”

Eddie shut off the stove with a laugh before walking over, eggs forgotten. He stopped in front of him, reaching out to grip Steve’s chin to gently force his head up for a kiss.

 “I feel pretty romanced, Stevie,” Eddie sighed against his lips, “Don’t know how much better you can do there."

“But this is what I’m talking about!” Steve whined, pouting despite the blush crawling up his neck. He stood up, fast enough for Eddie to be reminded who the athlete was between them. Suddenly, Eddie found himself backed up into the counter, trapped between Steve’s arms as he braced them on the marble. He looked determined, “It’s your turn to deal with the butterflies. I already got a plan. Next Friday.”

“And what would that plan be?” Eddie asked, reaching out to settle his hands onto Steve’s hips. 

“It’s a surprise,” Steve grinned, leaning in to nuzzle his face against Eddie’s neck, “Am I hearing a yes?”

Eddie swallowed, flushing when the contact started to turn to small nibbles, “How could I say no?”

“Good,” Steve said, his smile burning pleasantly against Eddie’s skin. He stepped back, dripping with the same Harrington charm that perfectly hid his sexuality throughout all of high school, “I’m gonna treat you real nice.”

The sudden confidence had Eddie’s head spinning, bad enough for him to only be able to dumbly nod. Friday couldn’t come soon enough. 

Eddie spent the rest of the week nervously excited, which he did realize was stupid as fuck. Steve was his boyfriend. They did everything together. Their relationship was well established. There was nothing to be nervous about. But that didn’t stop Eddie from changing his outfit three times when the day finally came. 

The window between Steve meeting him at home after work gave him ample time to fret, but it still didn’t feel like enough when he heard a knock at the door. Eddie groaned at the sound, already annoyed at the interruption. 

He was already halfway through his excuse for whoever it was when he opened it, “Look, whatever it is I don’t have time right now- Steve?”

There Steve was, grinning ear to ear as he leaned against the porch railing. He looked good. Tight jeans, hair styled, and that fucking smile that could made Eddie’s knees weak. He also had something in his hands, wrapped in dark blue cellophane. It took Eddie a second to realize that it was a flower, a blackwater iris that he recognized from his grandma’s old gardening books. 

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked fondly, “You have a key.”

“I’m here to pick you up,” Steve said, passing the flower into his hands, “And to do a pre-little wooing. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” Eddie said, taking a second to admire it. He’d never gotten flowers before in his life, the thought had never even crossed his mind. Let alone one tailor made for his taste.

But now he definitely was a flower guy. Steve made a mistake with this one. Now that he got a taste for it, Eddie could get used to being spoiled. He rushed back inside to put it in water, trying and failing to tamper down his heartbeat before they left. He needed some composure here.

Despite the fact that it was Steve’s date, Eddie couldn’t help but insist on taking the van. For the purely selfish reason that he wanted space if things… escalated. He passed Steve the keys, spending the long ride trying and failing to guess where they were going. He didn’t fully connect the dots until they were pulling into the parking lot.

“The state fair?” Eddie asked as Steve parked in the back of the lot. 

from the latest chapter of this fic

[bbykento]

AITA?

nonchalant bf! x gn! reader

themes: yandere, light angst, locking up, idk

nonchalant bf! who finds the reddit post you made about you losing feelings due to his nonchalance

“AITA for wanting to break up with my boyfriend? I 22GN, my boyfriend 25M. I always try to understand that its my fault and im too clingy that it bothers him. Every time I ask a conversation with him he just ignores me. It has happened so many times and I love him, I used to. Now everyday I lose the feelings in my stomach and heart when seeing him. And Im guilty. Because now I feel like I am developing feelings for someone else who is my coworker.I havent cheated on him but it feels wrong.”

nonchalant bf! who reads the post with that same blank expression he wears when youre crying in front of him. his lips tug downward in mild amusement—not at the content, but at the fact that you thought blocking him would be enough to keep him from stumbling onto it. he knows you too well, your style of writing, the way you punctuate your thoughts with hesitation totally not bc he observes ur every move… its all you.

nonchalant bf! who lets you think hes fine when you break up with him, lets you walk out the door with your things, all while carefully measuring his response. but as soon as the door closes, the mask begins to slip. his fingers twitch, and his gaze hardens. you mightve thought you were free, but he knows better. in his mind, youre his, and no one else has the right to you—not even your coworker.

nonchalant bf! who starts appearing where you least expect him: at the coffee shop you frequent, outside your workplace. always calm, always casual, as though ita just a coincidence. "Oh, hey," hes say, with that familiar, placid smile. "Funny running into you here."

nonchalant bf! who never raises his voice but makes his intentions clear in the quietest, most chilling ways. like the time you found your favorite photo with your coworker mysteriously missing from your desk, or the cryptic message left on your phone:

"Don’t forget who understands you best."

nonchalant bf! who still carries your belongings—an old scarf, a forgotten book—like talismans. theyre not yours anymore; they’re his. and so are you.

yan nonchalant bf! who finally corners you one day, his eyes devoid of the aloofness you once knew. theres an intensity now, a possessiveness that makes your breath hitch. "You can’t leave me," he murmurs, his voice calm, too calm. "Not when I’m the only one who knows how to love you properly."

full fic maybbb?

JJK: Gojo, Toji, Sukuna, Dark Nanami😈

AOT: Eren, Levi, Erwin(?)

HAIKYUU: Kenma, Kageyama, Ushijima

n whoever applies tbh

A/N: yall survery check, does it piss u off when words arent properly punctuated or capitalized?

©bbykento. please don’t copy, translate, repost my works.

[yvesssssssss]

Ajnwwkwijw, I'VE BEEN LOVING YOUR WRITING! And I wanted request a

Nagumo x reader, where the reader has been in a coma for some years and nagumo would always visit her, then during one of his visits the reader woke up, and didn't remember him

He made it his mission to make her remember him by going to their favorite places and meeting old friends

Until the reader finally remembers him and they kiss at the last.

(diko na kaya mag English😭)

That's my request thank you!!!

(⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠)

Remember me

(nagumo x reader)

Thank you so much for loving my writing—it really means a lot to me! I’m sorry if this feels rushed or took a while, but I truly appreciate you and your support. Your requests are always amazing, and I love bringing them to life. Let me know if you ever want more—I’m always happy to write for you!

Nagumo Yoichi had never been one to stay in one place. His life was a whirlwind of disguises, fights, and narrow escapes.

But for you, he stayed.

Every week, without fail, he came to your hospital room. He talked to you, brought your favorite flowers, left small trinkets on your bedside table—little things that reminded him of you.

Years passed, but he never stopped.

Then, one day, when he was least expecting it, you woke up.

And you didn’t remember him.

Nagumo Yoichi had survived gunfights, assassins, and death traps, but nothing had ever hurt quite like that.

Still, he only grinned at you, as if you hadn’t just shattered his heart.

“Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Didn’t think I was that easy to forget.”

You blinked at him, confusion in your eyes. “I… do I know you?”

He could have told you everything right then and there—how he loved you, how he had waited for you, how he had never once given up hope.

But that wasn’t his style.

Instead, he smirked, tilting his head.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to make you fall for me all over again.”

And so, he did.

The Journey Back to You

Day One: The Café of Memories

Nagumo showed up the next morning with a box of pastries, setting them on your lap with a cocky grin.

“You used to love these,” he said, popping one into his mouth. “Always made me buy extras, even though you could never finish them.”

You stared at the delicate pastry, hesitant. But when you finally took a bite, your lips parted slightly. Something about the taste—sweet, warm, comforting—stirred something deep in your chest.

“You okay?” Nagumo asked, watching you closely.

You frowned. “I… I don’t know. It feels familiar, but—”

Nagumo only smiled, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Don’t worry,” he said, tapping the tip of your nose. “We’re just getting started.”

Day Five: The Rooftop Under the Stars

The rooftop was quiet, the city lights twinkling below.

“You used to drag me up here all the time,” Nagumo said, leaning against the railing. “Said it was the only place you could hear yourself think.”

You gazed out at the skyline, fingers absentmindedly gripping the railing. A breeze swept past, and for a second—just a second—you felt like you’d been here before, standing right where you were now.

“…It’s nice,” you murmured.

Nagumo hummed in agreement. “Yeah. But you used to say it was even better when I shut up.”

You let out a soft laugh, surprising yourself. He chuckled too, nudging your shoulder playfully.

Maybe you didn’t remember everything yet, but this—this felt good.

Day Ten: The Dance in the Rain

It started with a drizzle. Then, in seconds, the sky opened up, drenching you both.

Nagumo laughed as he grabbed your hand, pulling you under the awning of a small shop. “Guess I should’ve checked the forecast.”

You laughed too, breathless, water dripping from your hair.

He stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his gaze.

“You know,” he murmured, brushing a wet strand of hair from your face, “you once told me you liked the rain because it washed everything away. Made you feel new.”

Your heart clenched. The words sounded right, like something you might have said.

Slowly, hesitantly, you reached out, fingers grazing his cheek. “Did I?”

Nagumo’s breath hitched slightly, but he didn’t move away.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “You did.”

Your hand lingered against his skin, warmth despite the cold rain. Something was there—a whisper of memory, a feeling you couldn’t quite name.

And for the first time since waking up, you wanted to remember.

Day Fifteen: The Touch of Familiar Hands

The moon was high as you sat beside him on a park bench, a comfortable silence settling between you.

Nagumo had been patient—far more patient than you imagined a man like him could be. He never pushed, never asked too much. He simply stayed, always smiling, always teasing, but never letting you feel alone.

You glanced at him, your chest tightening with something you couldn’t quite place.

He caught your gaze and smirked. “What? Finally realizing how handsome I am?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “You really never change, do you?”

His smirk softened. “Not when it comes to you.”

Your breath caught.

And then—

Flashes of memories.

His laughter. His voice calling your name. His hands, warm against your skin. Nights spent talking until dawn. The feel of his lips on yours.

You gasped, hands flying to your head. The memories came rushing in so fast it made you dizzy.

Nagumo’s arms were around you in an instant. “Hey—hey, take it easy.”

Your fingers curled into his shirt, clutching onto him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you stared up at him.

“I remember,” you whispered.

Nagumo stilled, his hands tightening on your waist.

You let out a soft, tearful laugh. “I remember you.”

For the first time, his composure cracked. His smile trembled, his eyes dark with emotions too big to name.

“Yeah?” His voice was barely a breath.

You nodded. “You stayed all this time?”

Nagumo exhaled sharply, like he had been holding his breath for years.

“Of course I did,” he said. “How could I ever leave you?”

A tear slipped down your cheek. Without hesitation, he reached out, brushing it away with his thumb.

And then, slowly, he leaned in.

His lips hovered over yours, waiting—always waiting.

But this time, you closed the distance.

The moment your lips met, everything fell into place.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was slow, deep, filled with years of unspoken words. His hands cradled your face, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

And to him, you were.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the cool night air.

Nagumo let out a shaky laugh. “Took you long enough, sweetheart.”

You smiled, pressing another soft kiss to the corner of his lips. “I guess I just wanted you to prove you really loved me.”

His laughter rumbled against your skin as he pulled you into his arms. “I would’ve waited forever.”

And somehow, you knew he meant it.

Because even in the time you had forgotten him, Nagumo Yoichi had never once forgotten you.

And now, neither of you would ever have to wait again.

[literaryavenger]

WORTH IT

Summary: When a case doesn't go as planned, you can't help but question if your job is worth it.

Pairing: Dad!Figure!Rossi x Reader.

Warnings: Descriptions of violence. Descriptions of death. Slight teasing. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 1.3K

A/N: Yes, I know. I suck at following self-imposed deadlines, don't @ me, I hate myself enough for all of us. This is my first time writing for anything other than Marvel, but I love Criminal minds and I had this dream that I couldn't get out of my head. So I took a couple of hours to write it down in a way that makes sense instead of being a borderline fever dream and I hope it finds the right people and someone likes it. More to come, I promise.

Masterlist

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. A gun pointed to your temple while you kneel down, about to be executed in an underground tunnel somewhere in the middle of Idaho while a frightened mother and her innocent son watch from the corner, their whimpers filling the air.

It was supposed to be a simple case, there were already good leads on the UnSub before JJ even got the request for help, but local police felt overwhelmed by the rapid escalation of the executions and were worried they’d soon have a spree killer on the loose, then the Unsub escalated to abducting a ten year old from his house where he lived with his mother and brother.

So the team flew to the small town in Idaho to lend a hand, doing what you do best and coming up with a profile for the UnSub based on every detail you could gather.

What you didn’t profile, however, was that the UnSub would show up at the scene of the abduction while you and Rossi were checking it out, and you’d end up witnessing the masked man executing the child. A goddamn ten year old. 

You’d been in shock, not even sure if you were breathing as you saw the little body hit the floor until Rossi rushed in but the UnSub was already gone. Rossi had to literally shake you, his hands on your shoulders, to even just get you to look away from the lifeless kid and acknowledge your teammate’s presence, but even as you looked up at Rossi, he could tell you were basically looking through him as if he was made of glass.

The team could see it hit you hard, so Hotch ordered a police officer to take you, along with the now deceased kid’s mother and little brother, somewhere safe.

But you didn’t profile the UnSub being a police officer, did you?

So now here you are, taking your last breaths. 

One. Why are you counting them?

Two. Why not count them, you have nothing to lose.

Three. Wonder how high you can get.

Four. The barrel of the gun presses against your forehead, your eyes closed.

Five. It doesn’t matter, you’re going to die either way.

Six. Is this the end you imagined for yourself? Seven. Shot execution style by a lunatic?

Eight. Definitely not. Nine. You hear him cock the gun. This is it. Ten– Your eyes snap open as the door is kicked down and, suddenly, the UnSub’s attention is on the man launching at him, tackling him to the ground as the two of them fight it out once the gun is knocked out of the UnSub’s hand.

Rossi. Wait– Gun. Yes, gun first. Gun first, then Rossi.

You reach for the gun and grab it, standing up and pointing it at the UnSub just as he lands a punch on Rossi’s face that sends him tumbling to the corner where the whimpering mother and child still are. “Hands up!” 

The man stops, facing you now with his hands up. He looks like he’s surrendering, but you don’t move, your gut telling you to stay still and not let him out of your sight. It’s the most subtle of feelings churning in your stomach and screaming at you that he’s not about to give up so easily. There’s no remorse, no redeemable quality in a man like him.

It happens in seconds, he takes half a step before you’re pulling the trigger and the sound of the bullet flying and hitting its target mixed with the mother and child’s screams deafens you.

The silence that follows is unnatural as you look down at the man now on the ground, a bullet hole on the wall next to where the UnSub’s head just was.

The bullet hitting the plaster distracted the UnSub long enough for Rossi to knock him out.

Unconscious, not dead. 

“Everything okay, kid?” Rossi asks you as he sits in front of you on the jet as you make your way back home, placing a glass of what’s probably scotch in front of you.

You stay silent for a moment, just looking out of the window. “How do you do it?” You finally say quietly.

“Do what?” Rossi frowns a little as he looks at you so intently you’d think he could keep you together only with his gaze.

“You’ve been doing this for a long time.” You start as you pick up the glass in front of you with a sigh but just look at it, still not drinking from it. “Since before I was born, probably since before most of us could even walk or talk yet... You’ve seen the worst humanity has to offer, people who kill men, women and children and have no remorse…” You scoff and shake your head. “And you know how many more like him there still are out there, so… How do you still have faith? How do you keep believing there’s good in people?”

The entire jet seems to have gotten quiet as everybody waits with bated breath for Rossi’s response, while the older gentleman just looks at you.

“You really wanna know?” He asks softly after what feels like forever and you finally look up at him since he sat down, simply nodding. You can tell the rest of the team is listening intently, but your attention is fully on Rossi. “It’s because of people like you.”

It’s a short, matter of fact answer and yet the way you frown makes it seem like he’s just posed a math problem to you in ancient Greek. “Me?”

“Yes. You.” Rossi nods and sips his own booze. “You, Morgan, Hotch. Penelope, Prentiss, JJ… Wonder boy over there…” He nods towards Reid, who scoffs while Morgan chuckles and you almost smile. Almost.

“People who risk their lives everyday to help someone else survive theirs.” Rossi continues. “People who drop everything to fly across the country to help someone in need. People who have a perfect shooting record and still miss their target because they don’t take the life of someone that’s unarmed, no matter how bad you want to.” He gives you a knowing look that you avoid by sipping your scotch. Damn old man.

“We all know there are many deviants out there. And sometimes it feels like every time we catch one, ten more pop out.” Rossi leans in on the table. “Believe it or not, sometimes I feel like it’s hopeless too.”

You look up at him again when he says that. “You do?” You ask quietly. “You always seem so… Sure of yourself.”

“I’m not, that’s why I retired. But I also came back.” He smiles at you. “Because this, what we do, this fight… It’s more important than doubt. We save lives, we make a difference, even if sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. You want to know why I keep believing there’s still good out in the world? Because I see it. Everyday, in this team.”

You manage a small smile and look around at the team, everybody still listening intently and you can tell they can all relate to your hopeless feeling and, to some degree, they  all needed to hear Rossi’s words too.

You sigh and look back at Rossi, raising your glass. “To the good we do.”

Rossi’s smile widens and clicks the glass with yours. “Salud.” 

You sip the scotch and look back out the window, the usual chatter of the jet slowly returning. Rossi put things into perspective, but it doesn’t erase the image of that little kid’s life being cut short in front of you because of one sick man’s game.

You’re not okay, far from it, but through all the doubt there’s one thing that you keep reminding yourself now, a little voice in the back of your head that’s deep and raspy and has a bit of a Long Island accent: We save lives, we make a difference, even if sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.

[pankowcrumbs]

Love in every corner X Harry Styles

The house smelled like dust and old books.

Moving boxes were scattered around the living room, some neatly taped shut, others still waiting to be filled. The walls looked bare without the pictures and little trinkets that had made this place ours for so long.

I knew we were doing the right thing moving forward, starting a new chapter but that didn’t make it any easier.

I sighed, wiping my hands on my old hoodie before reaching up to open one of the kitchen cupboards. A little cloud of dust floated down, making me cough.

"You alright over there, love?"

Harry’s voice drifted from behind me, amused and affectionate.

I turned to see him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, looking entirely too relaxed considering the mess surrounding us.

"Fine," I muttered, stepping onto my tiptoes to reach the back of the shelf. My fingers brushed against something small and wooden. Frowning, I pulled it out.

Harry’s eyes lit up the moment he saw it. "No way."

I turned the little carving over in my hands. It was a tiny, lopsided heart, the initials H & Y carved into the centre in scratchy, uneven lines.

"You kept this?" I asked softly.

Harry pushed off the doorframe and came closer, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Course I did."

I looked up at him. "You made this for me in Year Nine."

"That I did," he said proudly, wrapping an arm around my waist. "We had Design & Technology together, and I spent the whole lesson trying not to lose a finger while carving that for you."

I snorted. "It was a terrible carving."

He gasped in mock offence. "Excuse me! That’s a priceless work of art, that is."

I turned the heart over, running my thumb over the familiar grooves. "It’s sweet, though. You gave it to me right before you asked me out for the first time."

Harry hummed, his chin resting on my shoulder now. "And you said no."

I grinned. "I did not!"

"You did!" he insisted, laughing. "You said, and I quote, ‘I’ll think about it.’"

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh. "I was just playing hard to get."

"Well, it worked," he murmured, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "I was smitten, remember?"

My heart melted, like it always did when he spoke like that like he was still the same curly-haired, lovesick boy from school, looking at me like I’d hung the stars just for him.

I sighed, leaning back into him. "We were just kids."

"Yeah," he murmured, squeezing my waist. "And now we’ve got kids."

I turned my head slightly, looking up at him. "When did that happen?"

He chuckled, kissing my temple. "No idea. Feels like just yesterday we were sneaking out to that field behind your house and lying under the stars."

I smiled at the memory. "You played me that song you wrote for me. You were so nervous."

"Was not."

"Harry, your voice cracked on the first line."

He groaned, hiding his face in my shoulder. "Let’s not relive that part, yeah?"

I laughed, patting his arm. "Come on, let’s see what else we can find."

We spent the next hour digging through cupboards, reminiscing over every little thing we found.

An old school photo of us Harry with his wild curls and dimples, me with a shy smile and braces.

A crumpled note he’d passed me in class that simply read, You’re beautiful. Don’t argue with me.

A mix CD he made for me when we were sixteen, titled Songs That Remind Me of You (featuring an embarrassing amount of early 2000s love songs).

We found our old wedding invitation, the edges slightly yellowed with time.

"Best day of my life," Harry murmured, tracing the date with his finger.

I glanced up at him, feeling my chest tighten with emotion. "Yeah?"

He looked down at me, eyes warm. "Yeah."

I swallowed, reaching up to brush a curl away from his forehead. "Mine too."

We kept going, and soon we were finding things from when our children were little finger paintings, old birthday cards, a tiny shoe that neither of us could figure out why we still had.

"Look at this," I said, pulling out a crayon drawing.

Harry peered over my shoulder. "Oh, this one’s a classic. That’s me, isn’t it?"

I grinned. "Obviously. See? You’ve got the massive green scribble on your head that’s your hair."

He laughed. "Brilliant. And what’s this?" He pointed to a small blob beside him.

"That’s our daughter. She told me once she drew you as a giant because you were her hero."

Harry’s breath caught slightly, and when I turned to look at him, he was gazing at the picture with something so tender in his eyes it nearly made me cry.

"She really said that?" he murmured.

I nodded, resting my head against his shoulder. "She adores you."

Harry exhaled softly, setting the picture down carefully, like it was the most precious thing in the world.

We fell into a comfortable silence as we kept sorting through memories. Every now and then, I’d feel Harry’s lips press against my hair or his arms tighten around me as we unearthed another cherished moment from our past.

Finally, as the sun began to set, I sighed, stretching my arms. "Well. That was emotionally exhausting."

Harry chuckled. "Think we did more reminiscing than packing."

"Maybe," I admitted. "But I’m glad we found all of this. Makes it a bit easier to leave, knowing we’re taking the best bits with us."

He hummed in agreement, pulling me back against his chest, his arms wrapping around my waist.

"You know," he murmured against my ear, "it doesn’t really matter where we go."

I turned my head slightly. "No?"

He shook his head, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. "Nah. Because as long as I’ve got you, I’m home."

My breath hitched, warmth flooding my chest.

I tilted my head up, meeting his gaze. "You always say the perfect thing, you know that?"

He grinned. "That’s because I mean it."

I turned in his arms then, winding mine around his neck. "I love you, you soppy idiot."

Harry’s dimples appeared as he leaned in, brushing his nose against mine. "Love you more, sweetheart."

And as he kissed me, surrounded by boxes and memories, I knew no matter where we went, no matter how much time passed he would always be my home.

[trstalks]

I think about your vampire au moonwater on the regular, I'm OBSESSED

You are in luck I have ALSO been thinking about them a lot

They first met at the bookstore Remus works at because Regulus buys new books whenever he’s stressed out (it’s a bad habit,) so the first the time he walks in the bookstore he’s in a pretty awful mood (probably something to do with the black family) Remus welcomes him into the store, and is immediately struck by how pretty he is. He also notices that he seems to be upset, so when Regulus comes up to the register he talks to him and tries to cheer him up with stupid literature jokes. (it works)

Regulus didn’t look up when Remus greeted him, probably just sort of gave a quiet ‘good morning’ in response, but when he went up to the register to pay he was literally awestruck at this awkward and lanky and BEAUTIFUL boy. Remus is definitely wearing an old grandpa sweater and is disheveled looking but Regulus is into that. 

They’re both immediately attracted to each other. Remus assumes that this very pretty and obviously rich man would never go for him (he’s a mess) so he doesn’t go to make a move. Regulus on the other hand is absolutely enamoured with Remus and keeps coming back. They get to know each other over their love of literature and Remus’ bad jokes. Regulus knows that he’s hot, and he recognizes that Remus blushes a lot around him, so he does end up asking him out after a couple weeks of this. 

Remus comes out as trans to Regulus in a very premeditated and not at all casual way that he presents as very nonchalant. He worries about it for weeks because he really likes Regulus- but he hates going through the whole “coming out to a potential partner thing.” They often recommend books for one another, so one day when Regulus comes to visit him in the store he picks up a book on trans experiences and very casually is like yeah this helped me a lot when I was questioning my gender before I transitioned *side eye*. Regulus doesn’t even blink, he’s like “wow that sounds interesting- I’ll definitely have to give it a read.” 

Remus was scared that this would change their dynamic, but Regulus is like “so about our next date-” HELP 

Regulus is definitely having his own struggles with coming out as a vampire, and they’ve been going out for a couple months, so he knows he needs to do it soon because they’re getting pretty serious. He went to Sirius for advice and then promptly remembered why he doesn’t do that (Sirius tells him that he came out to James by watching twilight with him to gauge his reaction and then asking “lowkey what if that was me”) 

Regulus ends up texting Remus like "We need to talk" which has Remus freaking the fuck out for an entire day until after his shift is over. Regulus picks him up and they go to a park close to Remus' apartment because Regulus wants him to be able to escape if he feels unsafe (considerate king?)

Regulus starts rambling and during the beginning Remus isn't sure if he's about to break up with him or propose or admit to cheating on him because he keeps saying things like "you know I really care about you but there's something you don't know about me-" "I want to spend the rest of my life with you if you'll let me." "It's okay if you want nothing to do with me after this-"

Remus eventually has to be like "spit it out PLEASE" and Regulus DOES. just comes out with it.

Remus is now freaking out for OTHER reasons because if you'll remember- he reads A LOT of vampire smut. it's like his favorite trope.

Anyway Remus accepts him obviously and they go to Remus' house afterwards to make out on his couch, and that's when Regulus finds one of Remus' smut books. Y'all know what happens next (they fuck nasty style about it and Regulus feeds into Remus vampire kink) (they have a healthy discussion about it before Regulus agrees to feed on him) (of course they do)

Anyway now I'm feeling inspired to actually write this fic HELP (just another excuse to write about Remus in lingerie tbh)

[jetii]

Good Graces

Chapter Two

Tags/Warnings: Fives being goofy, good old fashioned brotherly teasing, uh oh there's plot in this fic??

Chapter WC: 7,199

A/N: Tysm for the love on chapter one! I did a major restructuring on my taglist so if you're tagged in something you don't want to be, feel free to fill out the form, and I'll fix it next time.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Join the Taglist | Masterlist

Senator Amidala's apartments are located in one of Theed's tallest buildings, on the highest floor available. The building is well-kept and decorated in the style that Naboo prefers, all ornate and gilded and luxurious. They're on the main floor of the apartment now, the Senator having excused herself with General Skywalker in tow for a brief meeting upstairs, leaving Fives, Rex, and the rest of the squad on the main floor. 

Jesse and Kix have taken up residence on the couches, and the others are scattered about the room, either seated or pacing, their attention on the windows. Fives leans against the wall near the stairwell, watching as the sun sinks low, bathing the sky in hues of gold, red, and orange.

It's been an uneventful day. The peace talks won’t begin for until tomorrow, and Senator Amidala had spent most of the afternoon engaged in meetings with the Queen and the senior leadership of Naboo’s parliament. General Skywalker had accompanied her. Fives has been at her side all day, with Rex and the others on patrol, and nothing's happened. It's been quiet.

Esmé had barely spared him a glance. She'd seemed content to keep her distance, sticking to the Senator's side, and Fives hadn't wanted to push his luck. So, he'd stayed away. The most he'd gotten was a second of eye contact when the Senator had excused herself to her meeting.

He's still reeling a bit from their earlier interaction. He'd been half-convinced he'd ruined any chance he had with Esmé until she'd opened her mouth and made that little comment. Now that he knows there's a sense of humor beneath all that indifference, he can't wait to see what other things he can coax out of her.

And it's only a matter of time, really. There's not much she can do to avoid him, and the longer they're forced to be together, the harder it will be for her to keep up the act. All he needs is an opening. One slip-up. A crack in her mask. That's all it will take.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking forward to tonight. Maybe he could talk her into having a drink with him, get her to loosen up a little. He may have stumbled over his words like a complete idiot this morning, but he’s been working on his material all afternoon. Fives has a couple of good ones he can pull out, and they should get her laughing. If he can manage that, then it'll be smooth sailing from there.

"I'm bored," Jesse complains loudly, dropping his head onto the back of the couch and letting his limbs go limp. He stretches his legs out and kicks his boots up onto the coffee table.

"What else is new," Fives replies absently, his eyes still on the window. He can just make out a ship in the distance, a tiny black speck in the sky. One of the senators arriving late? A civilian? It's too far away to make out any details. He watches it for a moment longer and then looks away. Probably nothing. "You're always bored."

"Because there's never anything to do," Jesse grumbles.

"That's because we're on guard duty," Kix tells him.

"Guard duty is boring."

"Boring is good,” Tup says. He sits on the other end of the couch, his helmet resting in his lap, a cloth in his hand. "Boring means nothing's going wrong."

"And when nothing’s going wrong, everyone stays alive." Kix shrugs. "I'm not complaining."

Jesse groans dramatically. He lets his head roll to the side and stares at Fives, his brows furrowed. "Please tell me you're not going to spend all week moping because Esmé hates you."

"She doesn't hate me," Fives says, bristling a little. He's not moping. He's...planning. There's a difference. "She's just—"

"Unimpressed," Jesse cuts in.

"Disinterested," Kix offers.

"Indifferent," Tup suggests.

Fives' frown deepens. He looks between them and folds his arms across his chest. "Are you done?"

They're all silent for a moment.

Then Kix speaks up again.

"Icy."

Tup gasps, a delighted smile stretching across his face. "Icy is good."

Jesse points a finger at him and grins. "It is."

"She's not icy," Fives snaps.

They're laughing now, and the rest of the squad has started to join in. Even Rex has cracked a smile, though he seems to be trying to hide it as he looks over his datapad. Fives glares at all of them and turns away, his cheeks hot. He can't help the indignation that wells up inside of him, even though he knows they're just teasing.

"What?" Jesse asks, holding his hands up in surrender. "We’re just saying, if you're gonna spend the week trying to get her to like you, you're going to have a hard time warming her up."

"I hate you," Fives sighs. "All of you. I should've volunteered for the perimeter shift instead."

There's a noise from the stairwell, and Fives' head snaps around. Esmé stands at the top of the stairs, her gaze flicking over the gathered men before landing on him. Her expression is unreadable, her hands folded in front of her.

He straightens immediately, his spine going stiff, his mouth going dry.

Shit. How long has she been there? How much had she heard?

Esmé looks away from him and makes her way down the staircase, her steps measured and sure. The long flowing dress she was wearing before has been replaced with a set of form-fitting civilian clothes, the dark fabric clinging to her waist and legs. The vest she wears is long enough to reach her mid-thighs, but he can clearly see the blaster hanging from the holster on her belt. Her dark hair is pulled back, a few strands falling over her forehead, and her eyes are hard and alert as she sweeps the room, taking in the squad. She doesn't say a word.

The men watch her, all of them falling quiet as she walks into the center of the room, her boots barely making a sound against the polished stone. Her eyes are sharp and clear as she meets each trooper's gaze in turn.

She doesn't seem impressed, her gaze narrowing on the few that aren't in full kit, and her frown deepens as she takes note of Jesse's feet propped up on the coffee table. He quickly puts his feet down and sits up straight. She watches him a moment longer before moving on.

She's not happy. Not that he really expected her to be. If there's one thing Fives knows about Esmé, it's that she's protective of Senator Amidala, almost to the point of paranoia. He supposes he would be too, if he were in her position. Being responsible for someone's life isn't easy, especially when that someone has a habit of attracting trouble.

He can't even count the number of times Senator Amidala's been targeted by enemies both foreign and domestic. She's managed to evade capture nearly every time, with the help of the Jedi, but he can see how it would wear on a person after years of it. No wonder Esmé seems to have developed a stick up her ass. He's pretty sure it's the only thing holding her together.

Esmé stops beside him and folds her hands behind her back.

"Is the perimeter secure?" she asks.

"Yes, ma’am," Rex replies. If he looks uncomfortable under her scrutiny, he doesn't show it, his voice as professional and polite as ever. "My men have done a sweep of the building and surrounding area. No signs of hostiles, and no indication that anyone has been here besides the cleaning crew.”

Her shoulders relax slightly at the reassurance, her expression easing. She doesn't look pleased, per se, but she seems less likely to strangle someone. 

Her eyes flick back over to Fives and linger on him for a long moment. He straightens instinctively, his chest puffing out a little. Her brows rise slightly, her lips pursing, and then she's looking away.

"Good," Esmé says, nodding. "There are rooms upstairs if you wish to retire for the evening. They've already been prepared."

The men don't move. They exchange a few glances, and a few of them shift in place, but no one takes her up on the offer.

Esmé's gaze flicks over to Rex. She waits, her eyes searching his, and then tilts her head towards the staircase, her lips pursed. Rex seems to understand. He nods.

“Dinner will be served in three hours,” she continues, as if nothing happened. "The dining hall is through that door. There are bathrooms off the hallway to the left of the stairs. Do not enter the third floor. If you require anything, I or one of the other handmaidens will attend to you.”

Her voice is hard, commanding, and the men are quick to obey. A few of them nod, and the others murmur their agreements. Esmé doesn't waste another breath. She turns on her heel and heads towards the entryway, her boots clicking against the floor. She's halfway across the room when Fives speaks.

"Hey, wait," Fives calls after her.

It's impulsive. A spur-of-the-moment decision, one he regrets the second the words leave his mouth.

Esmé pauses, her entire body tensing, and he can feel his brothers around him freeze. They all stare at him, their mouths agape, eyes wide. He sees Rex out of the corner of his eye, his head shaking furiously, and Jesse has a wide, manic grin stretched across his face.

"Yes?"

"I... Uh..." Fives clears his throat. He can't seem to remember the line he'd practiced in the mirror a hundred times before. Or the other dozen lines he'd planned for if that didn't work. He swallows. "Where are you headed?”

She tilts her head. "Why do you care?"

"I'm... charged with the safety of everyone in this building, ma'am," he says. It's a lie, technically. His job is only to keep the Senator safe, not the others, but it's close enough. He hopes she'll accept it. "It's my job."

She glances at him over her shoulder, her lips pursed. He's expecting her to call him out on his lie, to tell him to shove it, but she doesn't. Instead, she studies him for a moment, her eyes narrowed. Her gaze flickers briefly to his brothers and then back again.

"And?" Esmé asks.

"And," Fives says, lifting his chin, "I don't mean to be rude, ma'am, but if you're going outside, I'm going to have to come with you. Security protocol."

It's a bold move, and he can tell the others think so too. Rex gives him a warning glare, and Kix opens his mouth, likely to say something to shut him up. Fives ignores them. He just holds Esmé's gaze, waiting for an answer.

She turns around fully and stares at him, her jaw working. Her eyes are fixed on his, and for the first time he can see the flecks of color among the hazel. He's so caught up in the details that he nearly misses the moment she decides, her expression going from carefully blank to irritated.

Then she sighs.

He feels his brothers collectively sigh along with her.

"Fine.”

Fives blinks.

"Really?" he asks. He glances over at Rex, who's got a hand covering his face. When Rex notices his stare, he shakes his head, his eyes wide, and Fives looks away.

"I suppose," she says, and he's almost certain there's a trace of amusement in her voice. "But be warned. I'm not one for idle conversation."

"Oh. Well, uh... That's alright.” He's quick to straighten, adjusting his belt and tugging at the collar of his blacks. "Me neither."

Another lie. Fives can talk for days if he wants to, and he knows she probably knows that, too. But as it is, she's agreeing to go outside with him, and he's not about to give her a reason to back out now. So if she wants silence, he can give her silence. Probably.

"If you insist," Esmé says. She inclines her head, beckoning him closer, and his legs move without his input. "Come on. I have places to be."

She gives him a once over, and then turns away, walking towards the entrance. Fives tears his eyes away from the sway of her hips and glances back towards the others. He shrugs helplessly. Rex shakes his head again. Tup gives him a thumbs up.

He can't resist a grin.

This was easier than he'd thought.

She's going to eat her words. By the end of the night, he'll have her laughing and chatting with him like they're old friends. Or, well. He's not expecting miracles. But a friendly conversation wouldn't be so bad, would it? Maybe some banter. A tease. Something. He's not picky.

"Don’t wait up,” he whispers, his hand cupping the side of his mouth. He gives the room a two-fingered salute and turns away, jogging after Esmé.

He can feel his brothers watching him, can practically hear the whispers and jokes they'll be making as soon as he's out of earshot, but he can't bring himself to care. It's not every day he gets a shot at a girl like this. And now that she's decided he's worth her time, he's not about to give up.

Esmé grabs a canvas bag from a hook on the wall and activates the door panel, stepping out into the hallway beyond. He follows her without a word, and she doesn't so much as look at him as the doors slide closed.

They don't speak as she leads him down the hall and into the turbolift, both of them standing as far away from each other as possible. Fives tries not to fidget, his fingers tapping against his thigh, his gaze fixed on the numbers slowly decreasing above the door. She doesn't look at him, and it's all he can do to not look at her.

She's still as pretty as the first time he'd seen her, though she looks a little more human in the dull light of the elevator, less like the goddess he'd been imagining. But that just makes her real, and that, in turn, makes him want her all the more.

He sneaks a glance at her, his eyes trailing down her body. The black pants cling to her legs and hips, the long-sleeve shirt underneath her vest doing the same. Her hair's messy, but it suits her, framing her face and drawing his attention to the curve of her neck. She's beautiful, and it's all he can do not to stare.

Fives tears his gaze away and fixes it on the wall, and his heart jumps to his throat as he sees the reflection of her watching him closely. She looks him up and down, her brow raised, and then looks away, her arms folded over her chest.

He forces himself to look away, his palms going sweaty. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

He'd been expecting the silence. Had thought it might even be nice.

He hadn't counted on being so hyper aware of her.

He'd wanted to impress her. Show her that he's more than just some clone trooper. And he'd thought the best way to do that was by being as casual and confident as possible. Now he's starting to think that was a mistake. She might not mind the silence, but he's going to lose his mind.

He has to say something, though he’s not sure what. He knows what he wants to say, what he's dying to say, but he also knows that it would be a terrible idea. He could ask her questions about herself, but he doubts she would be forthcoming. He could make a joke, or tell her a funny story, but he's not sure she would appreciate it. He could just stay silent, but that's a little too much like giving up, and Fives has never been good at that.

It’s the longest turbo lift ride of his life.

He's still trying to figure out what to say when the doors finally open. The lobby is empty, save for a lone security droid stationed near the main entrance. Esmé nods at it as she steps off the lift, and it waves back, its photoreceptors fixed on her and ignoring Fives completely. She heads towards the exit, her steps sure and confident, and Fives is quick to follow.

The air is cool as they step outside, moving past the troopers on either side of the doorway and into the courtyard beyond. It's a pleasant evening, the sky clear and darkening rapidly, the moon already visible overhead. It's a little colder than usual, a light breeze ruffling his hair, and he takes a deep breath, savoring the fresh air.

As soon as they pass the gate, Esmé turns left and walks briskly towards the city center, not even sparing him a second glance, and he’s forced to jog to catch up with her. 

By the time he reaches her side, she's already made her way halfway down the block, and the crowds of people milling about part for her like she's the Queen of Naboo herself. He's half-surprised they don't salute.

"I can defend myself," she announces, her voice firm.

Fives jumps. He turns to face her, surprised, and sees her eyes dart toward him before looking forward again. She doesn't slow down.

"Excuse me?" he asks, baffled.

She sighs.

"I said, I can defend myself," she repeats, enunciating every word as if speaking to a child. Her tone is sharp, impatient, and it's a clear reminder of just how much she resents having him tag along. "I don't need you."

"That's not the—"

"Don't insult my intelligence, please."

Fives bites back a snide remark and swallows hard, his throat bobbing. He can't help but be a bit offended, though. He hadn't even had the chance to finish his sentence. What is it about him that makes her so angry? What is it that he's doing wrong? He hasn't even said anything.

He has to remind himself that this isn't a personal attack. That she's just being cautious and defensive. It's not his fault she's so prickly.

Probably.

It's not a good look for him, regardless. He has to work harder to get her to warm up to him, or else this week is going to be torture.

"I have no doubt that you can, ma'am," he says. He keeps his voice light, careful not to show his irritation. He can play the nice guy. If that's what it takes. "You seem very capable."

"Then why did you follow me?"

"I..."

He stops. He hadn't actually thought about why. Not beyond his desire to spend time with her. But now that she's asking him, he can't figure out what to say. 

She’s right; it isn’t his job to look after her. His job is to stay in the apartment and keep an eye on things, not go on strolls around the city center. If General Skywalker had caught him, he would have had his head, and that was putting it lightly.

He has his moments of impulsivity and recklessness, but this isn't the same as jumping out of a moving speeder or challenging a fellow clone to a drinking contest. This is...stupid. There's no excuse, and no real explanation other than the fact that he's drawn to her, and that he just doesn't want to let her go.

But she's still watching him, waiting for an answer, and he can't tell her that. So he shrugs.

"It’s my job, ma’am. And it's not just yourself that you need to worry about," he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop himself. "People are desperate these days, and the city is packed with the peace talks. The last thing you need is a bounty hunter or some lowlife thug recognizing you as Senator Amidala's handmaiden. They'll do anything to get their hands on her, and they'll take anyone hostage to achieve that."

He's not exaggerating, not really. The GAR has a list of bounty hunters, mercenaries, and criminals who have taken an interest in Senator Amidala. Most of them are dead or incarcerated, but the few who remain have a long history of violence. There's a reason they assigned a whole squad to the Senator's security detail on top of the NSFG.

It’s also a very convenient excuse.

Esmé looks unconvinced, her mouth twisting slightly. She seems to know exactly what he's trying to do, and he can't help but feel a bit embarrassed at being caught.

But then, just when he's certain she's going to turn around and walk away, she sighs. Her pace slows until she's walking alongside him instead of two feet ahead. She doesn't look happy about it, but at least she's not storming away anymore. He'll take it.

"Is it that hard to believe?" he asks finally, unable to hold his tongue any longer.

Esmé glances at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips pursed. She takes a breath and looks away.

"No," she says, and then, quietly, "I know the lengths people will go to."

He's not sure what to make of her response, so he decides not to ask. They continue on in silence, this one much less tense than before, the sun sinking lower and lower, the sky shifting to the colors of a bruise. He can hear the sound of music growing louder the closer they get to the center of the city, and then a cacophony of noise.

They enter the market district, a large section of the city devoted to small shops and open stalls, the vendors calling out to passersby and hawking their wares. It's crowded, the streets packed with people, and Esmé weaves between them with practiced ease, leading the way.

He's not really sure what he's meant to do here. He can't exactly keep an eye on her and the crowd at the same time, and so he settles for following after her, keeping his gaze fixed on her figure, his body angled towards her and his hand resting on his blaster. 

The noise of the crowd is almost overwhelming, the conversations, the laughter, and the music drowning out everything else, and his focus narrows in on Esmé. He can't lose sight of her, not in a place like this, where a person could disappear within seconds.

Esmé stops, and he almost bumps into her again, but he manages to stop himself in time.

"What is it, ma'am?" he asks, peering over her shoulder, his eyes scanning the crowd for any threats. There are none, at least that he can see, but he keeps his hand on his blaster anyway.

"I'm just browsing," she says with a huff. She gestures to the stall in front of her. "You don't have to hover over me."

"I'm not hovering," he tells her, but when he shifts, his pauldron bumps against her shoulder. He flushes. "Okay, maybe I am. But—"

"I know," she sighs. "I heard you the first time."

"Right."

He watches her mouth twist into a frown, and he bites his tongue. This isn't how he wanted things to go. He should be charming, he should be funny, he should be making her laugh and smile, not making her more annoyed. She's not interested, and it's clear that his attempts are falling flat. His shoulders slump, his chin dipping towards his chest, and he takes a step back.

Maybe this is a lost cause. Maybe it's a mistake.

He's not going to stop trying, not yet, but...

Maybe Jesse was right. Maybe this is a hopeless endeavor.

"If you're going to stay, at least make yourself useful," she says. "Help me carry things."

"Oh," he says, a little startled. He hadn't expected her to actually ask for his help. "I mean, yes, of course."

He reaches out and takes the canvas bag from her. Their fingers brush against each other for the second time today, and it’s just as electric as the first. His heart leaps in his chest, his cheeks warming, and he can't help the smile that comes to his face. But then the moment is gone, and Esmé is pulling her hand away, moving from one stall to the next, leaving him to trail after her like a lost puppy.

The crowd shifts, the music changes, and Esmé stops every once in a while, inspecting the wares laid out in front of her. She's a quiet shopper, never stopping long enough for the vendor to engage her, finding what she needs efficiently and paying quickly. It's methodical. Practiced. And yet, Fives can see her eyes light up with interest whenever she finds something that catches her eye. There's a certain sort of appreciation to the way she runs her fingers over the fabrics, her lips parting slightly, her expression softening. It's the same look she had when she was cleaning his helmet.

She doesn't ask his opinion. He's not even sure if she's noticed that he's still with her, but she doesn't tell him to leave, so he stays, the canvas bag getting heavier and heavier with each new purchase.

Esmé's purchases seem endless, but practical. Meat, vegetables, a comically large loaf of bread, herbs, and even some sweets. She buys enough food for a whole squad, and he can't help but wonder why she would need so much. Is she shopping for the Senator's entourage? It's certainly possible, and yet... he's not sure. Esmé doesn't strike him as the type of person to waste time shopping for someone else.

He watches her reach out and touch a basket full of produce, her fingers tracing the edge of a plump, orange-skinned fruit. Her mouth is twisted into a slight frown, her brow furrowed, and he can see the cogs turning in her head as she stares down at the fruit.

"Look for the ones with the most color," she instructs him, leaning forward and grabbing one from the pile. She holds it up to the light of the lantern beside them and squints. "If you press on them with your thumb, they should be firm, but not hard. If it's too soft, it's gone bad."

Fives doesn't know what to say, so he just nods and mimics her, testing a few fruit for firmness. He doesn't have the slightest clue what he's doing, or how to tell which fruits are good and which aren't. He can tell that the ones he's picked are a little bit soft, and a lot green, and so he puts them back and tries again.

"Do you do this often, ma'am?" he asks. His hands move automatically, his eyes on the fruit and not her. "Coming down here, shopping for yourself."

"Call me Esmé," she mutters as she picks another fruit. He blinks in surprise, and he can’t hide the grin that spreads across his face. That’s progress. "And not since before Padmé was elected, no. We have staff who handle the household needs."

"Right."

He finds a good fruit, and he holds it up to the light, squinting at it. It seems fine, but he's not really sure what he's doing. Esmé plucks it from his hand and inspects it, her eyes narrowed, and she puts it into the bag.

"Why'd you want to come down here, then?" he asks. "Seems like a lot of work."

"Padmé wanted something special for tonight. Something Naboo. I offered to cook," Esmé explains, her voice a little softer. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. "I'm not usually in charge of cooking, but the chef is ill, and there wasn't anyone else I trust to do it right.”

Fives snorts. "Can't be that hard, can it? It's just food."

She shoots him an irritated look that would’ve made him shrink back in the past. But now, after everything, it only makes him smile wider. He's getting under her skin, and she's starting to talk to him. He'll take the small victories.

"Don't underestimate food," she warns him, and she shakes the fruit at him like a weapon, punctuating her words. "Good food is an art. Bad food is a travesty."

"Alright, alright," he concedes, holding his hands up in surrender. A chuckle escapes him, and he has to bite his lip to keep it in. "I get it. You know what you're doing. I won't question you again, Esmé. I swear.”

She huffs, but the corner of her mouth lifts in the beginnings of a smile. She turns away, hiding her face from him, and continues to inspect the fruit. She moves on from the orange ones and starts testing the blue ones.

He can't seem to wipe the grin off his face. It's not perfect. In fact, it's nowhere near the smooth, suave approach he's always imagined, and she's still mostly ignoring him, but it's...something. He can see it now, the little signs that let him know that she's not entirely opposed to him, even if she's a little irritated by his presence. And, well, he can deal with a little irritation if it means getting a smile out of her.

He can work with this.

Fives reaches for one of the blue fruits, and she smacks his hand away.

"Don't pick anymore," she grumbles. "You clearly don't know what you're doing."

"Oh, ouch," he laughs, shaking his hand out. It doesn't hurt, not really, but she hit him hard enough to sting. "You could be a little nicer, you know."

"You could be a little more useful," she retorts, and this time, her lip does curl up, and he knows, without a doubt, that she's teasing him.

"I'm carrying your stuff!"

"Yes, you are," she agrees, her tone mocking. She doesn't look at him, and instead moves down the line, inspecting the wares.

"Hey, now," Fives calls, following her, his steps quick. "I'm carrying your bag and doing my job, and I'm letting you hit me. I deserve some gratitude, don't I?"

“Gratitude,” she scoffs. She looks over her shoulder at him, her brows raised. "How about this: you be a good little trooper and go find some cheese, and I won't hit you again."

Fives gapes at her, his mouth dropping open, his brows rising high on his forehead. The audacity. The absolute gall. He's never met a woman like her, not in his entire life. He's not even sure he's ever heard a woman speak like that.

He should probably be angry, and a part of him is, but it's quickly eclipsed by the sheer delight he feels, the giddy, fluttery sensation that fills his chest. He can't help the breathless laugh that bubbles out of him.

Fives grins, slow and wide, and takes a step closer to her.

"Ma'am," he says as he leans forward to meet her gaze, "it would be my honor."

Esmé stares at him a moment longer, and then, just when he thinks he's done it, she rolls her eyes.

"I thought I told you not to call me ma'am," she mutters, the amusement shining through despite her best efforts to hide it. She gives him a shove with two palms pressed against his pauldron, and he stumbles back a step. “Go. Try not to fall on your face again while you're looking."

"Yes, ma'am," he says cheerfully. Fives ignores the glare she sends him, his smile growing, and he steps out of her reach before she can hit him again. He can't remember the last time he felt this...good. Happy. "I'll be back soon, then."

He heads in the direction she'd pointed and leaves her standing among the vendors. The crowd parts for him as he makes his way through the marketplace, and he can't quite manage to wipe the smile off his face, despite the looks he gets from a few civilians. He's still riding high, his chest warm and tight with anticipation, the fluttery sensation in his gut refusing to go away.

He can't believe it. She's actually talking to him. Even more than that, she's teasing him. Flirting with him, a little, if he's not imagining it. And he's pretty sure he isn't.

He can't wait to tell the others. They're not going to believe it.

The sun is starting to set, and the sky is a deep purple-red, the clouds painted with hues of pink. The music is getting louder, and the street lamps are beginning to flicker on, casting long shadows and warm light over the square. He can smell roasting meat, and his stomach growls. He hasn't eaten anything all day, and the scents around him are almost overwhelming. Maybe Esmé will let him try whatever she's making.

She's nowhere in sight. He can't even see her distinctive bun in the sea of people. He scans the crowd for a few moments before turning back to the shops. She's probably not going to let him try her cooking anyway.

He's not sure how long he spends looking for the cheese. Esmé didn't give him any details on what kind she wants or where he's meant to get it. For all he knows, there could be fifty different kinds of cheese on this planet. He wanders the market for a while, peeking into the stalls and storefronts, hoping to catch a glimpse of some.

He finally manages to locate the cheese stall, and he’s just holding up a block of some kind of sharp, white cheese when Esmé approaches him. She's walking quickly, her head down, and her hands are curled into tight fists.

The smile slips off his face when he notices the grim look on hers. Her hand wraps around his elbow without stopping, and he's forced to abandon his prize as she pulls him into a nearby alleyway and out of sight.

Fives goes without protest, his eyes scanning the crowd. Esmé presses him against the wall, and her hand reaches for her blaster, her finger resting lightly on the trigger. He follows her lead, his own blaster slipping into his palm.

She waits, her gaze locked on the crowd, and he's forced to wait with her, his heart pounding in his chest. He takes in the clear tension in the set of her jaw and the tightness of her shoulders, and a cold dread washes over him.

There's something wrong.

Fives swallows.

They stand in silence for a long moment, the noise of the market washing over them. Esmé is preternaturally still, her breathing slow and steady. She's still holding his arm in a vice grip, and he can't seem to look away from her.

She doesn't look afraid. Her eyes are sharp and focused, her brows pulled low over her eyes, and her lips are pursed in a firm line. He can tell that she's searching the crowd, her gaze flicking from person to person, and he has to wonder how often she does this. How many times has she been chased, or cornered, or ambushed? How often does she put herself in danger for the Senator?

The answer comes to him, and it's not a comforting one.

Fives peers around her and scans the crowd himself. There's nothing immediately threatening, but that does little to reassure him. There are too many civilians, too many places for someone to hide, and a thousand possible threats. The hair on the back of his neck stands up, his fingers twitching on his blaster, and he tenses, preparing for a fight.

Her hand shifts from his elbow to his shoulder. She pushes him back, pressing him into the wall, and leans in close, her breath warm on his neck. His throat bobs as she steps between his legs, her chest almost touching his. She's a warm weight against him, solid and unmoving, and she smells like the flowers in the courtyard.

Fives can feel his heart rate pick up, and it's not just from the impending danger.

She's so close. Too close.

"Bounty hunter,” she murmurs. Her voice is a low rumble in his ear, and her lips brush his jaw as she speaks. He stiffens. "Three meters, black clothes, gray scarf. Been following me for half a block. No sign of an accomplice."

The words are like a bucket of ice water. His mind clears instantly, and his eyes flick up, searching the crowd for the figure matching her description.

There are rules when dealing with bounty hunters. They're dangerous, unpredictable, and most of them have a kill count that could rival a battalion of troopers. There are a few that the GAR actively works with, a handful that are tolerable, but the others are a danger to everyone and everything around them. If one is here, that means they're after the Senator, or the Queen, or both.

Rex had prepared them for this possibility, but Fives can't say he was expecting it to actually happen.

In the crowd, a figure moves, slow and cautious, a head swiveling side-to-side, looking for something. They're wearing a thick black cloak and a hood, a scarf obscuring their face, and it's impossible to tell if they're human or alien. A hand reaches up and adjusts the hood, and then the figure moves on. 

The hunter isn't looking for a fight. They're looking for a target.

They're looking for Esmé.

Fives doesn't hesitate. He grabs her arms and turns, covering her body with his as he presses her back against the wall, shielding her from view. She doesn't make a sound, but he can feel her tense against him, her fingers digging into his shoulder.

She's so warm, and the soft curves of her body mold to him easily, her cheek brushing against his, her hair tickling his nose. She's small compared to him, his bulk almost completely hiding her, and her chest rises and falls rapidly against his, her heart pounding under his palm.

"Do you have a weapon?" he whispers.

"Blaster," she murmurs back, her lips moving against his jaw. "And a few other things. But it's too crowded. Don't want to start a panic."

He feels his brows raise. "What kind of other things?"

Her fingers dig into the spot where his shoulder meets his neck, and he winces. "Shut up."

There's a long pause as the bounty hunter makes their way down the street. Fives listens closely to the sound of their footsteps, keeping his head turned towards the marketplace, his hand resting on his blaster. When he can't hear them anymore, he slowly lifts his head and peers over the crowd, searching for the figure. He finds them a few moments later, their hood pulled low, their head angled toward the ground.

He keeps his eyes fixed on them as they continue on their path, and Esmé shifts, her head tilting back to rest against the wall, her chin brushing his cheek. She's a lot calmer than he'd expected. Most civilians would be screaming by now, but not her.

"How did you notice him?"

"His steps," she replies. Her voice is a quiet rumble against his skin, and her breath ghosts across his neck, making him shiver. "They're too measured. Too quiet. Everyone else is in a hurry."

"Clever girl," he says softly.

"Are you always this annoying?"

"No. Usually I'm worse."

She sighs, her hand shifting on his shoulder. He can feel her eyes on him, but he refuses to look. If he does, he's going to lose his train of thought, and they're not safe yet. He needs to keep his head, and she's far too distracting.

Fives clears his throat and focuses on the hunter. He watches them walk the length of the market and then disappear into the crowd, lost from view. He keeps his eyes on the space they'd been, waiting to see if they'll come back.

He counts to ten. Then thirty. And when the hunter doesn't reappear, he finally lets out a breath and relaxes. Esmé moves immediately, shoving him away and ducking out from under his arm, her eyes fixed on the entrance. She's still got her blaster drawn, her finger ready to pull the trigger. He holsters his own weapon and reaches for her, placing his hand on her forearm.

"It's alright," he says quietly. He gives her a gentle nudge and steps forward. "We can go now."

She doesn't seem to hear him. Her focus is fixed on the crowd, her body coiled tight like a spring, and she's not blinking, her eyes narrowed. She's not even breathing, and her knuckles are white around her blaster.

He's seen this look before. Too many times.

She's not a soldier, but he can see the training in her stance, the way her eyes sweep the crowd, her muscles flexing beneath his fingers.

She's not a soldier, but she knows how to handle a blaster, and how to defend herself, and she knows exactly what to do when a bounty hunter is on her tail. She's not afraid, even if she should be. It's almost familiar.

It doesn't make sense. She's a handmaiden. The most she should have to do is serve the Senator a cup of tea or fix her hair. She shouldn't be able to tell a bounty hunter from the crowd. She shouldn't have any reason to draw her blaster. She shouldn't be so used to this.

Something doesn't add up.

Esmé's grip relaxes slightly, and she lowers her weapon, her shoulders slumping. She takes a deep breath and leans back, her head tilted towards him, but she doesn't turn around.

He lets his hand slip from her arm, and he doesn't miss the way she shivers when his fingers graze her wrist. Fives takes a step closer, his chest brushing against her back, and her shoulders rise with another inhale. Her head turns slightly, her ear close enough that he can lean down and whisper, his breath tickling the shell of her ear.

"Hey," he murmurs. "You alright?"

She doesn't answer him.

He sighs. He's not surprised. She's been ignoring him all day. He's not sure why he thought she would be any different now.

Fives takes a step back and puts some space between them, folding his arms over his chest. He waits for her to speak, or to move, or do anything, but she stays where she is, her eyes fixed on the crowd, her mouth pressed into a firm line.

He's not really sure what to say, and so he decides not to say anything at all. If she wants to talk to him, she will. And if not... well, then he'll just have to try again.

After a few more minutes, Esmé finally sighs and holsters her blaster. She turns around and looks at him. Her face is as blank as ever, but there's something in her eyes, a hint of unease that wasn't there before. She nods once.

“We need to get back,” she says quietly, her mouth set in a grim line. "Now."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @notslaybabes @ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @heavenseed76 @bunny7567 @lostqueenofegypt @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @maniacalbooper @burningnerdchild @julli-bee @moonychicky @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @cw80831 @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino @silly-starfish @floofyroro @veralii

[cloudpools]

"You could bake all this time and you never brought me anything?" Carter clicked his tongue, shaking his head, smirking. "What kinda neighbor are you?" He already knew about the Pilates and yoga. He'd caught her on a few occasions on her balcony in the early hours of the morning stretching and sweating. Carter avoided going out those days to smoke. Didn't want to ruin her... Zen or whatever the fuck.

Her questions were rapid fire, but he took them one at a time. At least she was smiling now. That was a good sign. "When I was young, my parents used to go to the local flea market to make a quick buck on whatever shit they had to sell. One man's trash is another man's treasure and all that. Sometimes they'd give me some pocket change and let me buy whatever I wanted." Talking about his parents had his hard features relaxing. It was obvious he loved them very much. "So one day I came across this cassette. Didn't have any idea what it was, but I bought it anyway. It was cheap, and the guy behind the stand said I'd love it. My dad saw what I bought and he was so stoked!" Carter laughed, memory of his dad's face lighting up at the sight of the his son with an old relic from back in his day flitting through his mind.

"He lent me his Walkman, showed me how to use it, and BAM! I slapped the tape in and some shitty punk band started playing through the headphones!" He took another drink. "Ever since then? I've been hooked. I still have that old thing. Still one of my favorite bands to this day! The look kinda came with it. Piercing's too."

"I mostly got 'them 'em in my ears. Ain't gunna lie. Hurt like hell." He shrugged, unashamed to admit it. He also didn't feel the need to explain everything on his face. His brow and lip piercing. They were obviously visible. "No tattoos for me though. I'm too picky when it comes to art. And I don't really want to commit to one style. So piercings it is. Easier to change."

The sight of her scrunched up face has him laughing. She was a very easy person to read, apparently. "If you don't like it, order something else. I said I owed you two anyway." The next question threw him off a bit. "Alright alright. Calm down now. I thought we were going back and forth here. Might be cheating, but why would you wanna know somethin' like that?"

Madison’s face turned pink at his obvious reaction to her story. “Sorry… don’t mean to upset you.”

Her colorful drink was placed in front of her & her big brown eyes lit up a bit. One manicured nail brushed her glass & it took a minute for her to answer. “Hobbies, ummm… I really like trying new cafes. I love people watching. I do Pilates & yoga on my free time.” She began listing off things she enjoyed, “oh! Baking. I love baking. If I want so happy w/ my job, I’d want to be a baker.”

She turned in her seat a bit more angling her knees toward him & leaning in a bit. It was a little gesture she did when she was very interested in the conversation at hand. “What about you? How’d you get into the punk look?” A sweet smile grew across her face & her eyes lit up clearly happy to talk about him. “Tell me about your piercings. Do you have any tattoos?”

The more she stared at Carter the more her eyes followed the detail of his face. He was actually rather handsome. She reached over to pick up her drink & taking a sip.

Immediately her face scrunched. It was sweet. But not sweet enough. She tried to play it off by looking away & ticking her hair behind her ears. “So… how often do you date?” Time for the nosy questions.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Something Old, Something New.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[fyllophobia]

[sysig]

I think the world is so wonderful... (Patreon)

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.