#thank you for breathing new life into star wars

[bartxnhood]

escort at the oscars | a.b

austin butler x fem!actress!reader

summary: getting lost at the oscar’s wasn’t on your roster. neither was getting austin butlers attention.

warnings: definitely poor representation of the oscars but idc this is just for funsies !

w/c: 3.1k

a/n: omg hi everyone !!! long time no see i know, life has been insane. i know no one will read this but ive had some HUGE life changes. i graduated cosmetology school, officially a nail tech now, yay me !! also, unfortunately, ill be having a hand surgery soon. so, im hoping i can write more before i can’t 😭. thank you to everyone who still supports me even though im not ac active as i used to be. one day i promise ill update regularly !!

a/n2: also, austin in the new bikeriders movie had me in a chokehold. the austin butler renaissance is upon us, people !!! (he’s also my bday twin WOO) and i know austin didn’t win an oscar for elvis but for the sake of the fic he did in this !!

not proofread

requests open

Copyright © 2024 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

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since the red carpets were only carpets, you could have sworn they were easy to manage. the theater was only accessible by walking through a line, but that wasn't the case. after only thirty minutes, you had to make a big mistake by trying to use the restroom and ending up opening a broom closet.

“hey,” you heard a voice, and you quickly turned around only to find yourself facing austin. “the ceremony isn’t in the closet, darling.”

“right..” you whisper under your breath and close the door. you smile awkwardly turning on your heels and holding your clutch tightly.

“i was just uh..looking for the restroom but i couldn’t find it” you laugh, looking down and shaking your head, and begin walking away from the boom closet.

austin couldn’t help but chuckle, following behind you while holding his hand behind his back as he walked slowly for you to match his stride.

he could tell that you were an up-and-coming actress, something about the way you carried yourself gave it away, and he could also tell that this was your first time on a red carpet by the way you were clutching your clutch bag so firmly like your life depended on it.

“you look nervous,” he said softly, “it’s your first time on a red carpet, isn’t it?”

you smile sheepishly. “that obvious, huh?” you trail behind austin assuming he is taking you to the restrooms.

“never knew how big these places are” you laugh, holding up the end of your dress so it doesn’t drag.

austin could see how nervous you were by the way you were holding your dress up while you were walking, and he thought that it was adorable, honestly.

he chuckled as you mentioned how big the venue is because you weren’t wrong, it is pretty damn big. “ive been to a few oscars now and i still think the venue is too big,” he said with a laugh, as he walked by your side with that perfect movie star strut.

“which movie are you nominated for?”

you had never been to something like this, and you didn’t even have a premiere for your movie. but somehow, critics loved the movie and now your movie was nominated.

it felt like it happened overnight.

“blue moon” you answer, not expecting him to know it.

the movie was set in the second world war and your character was the spouse of one of the soldiers. after he died, your character joined the war.

it was an underground film, your first lead and you didn’t expect anyone to pick up the movie. but someone did, ended up being shown at a film festival and the critics fell in love with your performance. and that’s how you landed a nomination for best lead actress.

austin’s eyes widened as you mentioned the movie you’re up for, blue moon; he enjoyed that movie, and as he thought about it more he really couldn’t deny that you were fantastic in it.

“no way,” he said in disbelief, “no wonder you’re nominated for best actress, you were incredible in that film.”

“thank you” you nod, noticing you have finally made it to the restrooms.

“and thank you for showing me the way” you chuckle, dropping the train of your dress then stuffing your clutch under your arm and sticking out your hand.

austin takes your hand with a gentle yet firm grip and smiles, nodding. “no problem, glad i could be of help.”

“i’m y/n l/n” you introduced. “it was nice to meet you, austin. thanks for this” you grin, retracting your hand.

“i guess ill catch you later..”

“it was a pleasure to meet you, y/n,” he replied with a smile before watching you walk into the restroom, and he couldn’t help but keep his eyes on the door as you disappeared behind it.

he thought you were pretty. very pretty, and he kind of regretted not asking you for your phone number before you disappeared.

so, austin stood there leaning against the wall deciding he would wait on you. just in case you got lost again.

no other reason.

after relieving yourself, you stand in front of the mirror taking in a couple of deep breaths to calm the pounding in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

you open your clutch, picking out a compact and a lipstick. you swipe the color on your lips to touch up the splotches, and quickly powder your face.

you put everything back in your clutch smoothed out your hair and admired your dress.

floor-length satin gown in your favorite color, a ribbed corset look.

“you can do this, y/n/n..” you whisper to yourself then pick up the train of your dress and exit the restroom, hoping you won’t miss the award ceremony.

austin was now pacing in front of the restroom, waiting for you to exit, his eyes fixated on the door, and he found himself running a hand through his styled hair, ruining the gelled look.

he wasn’t sure what had compelled him to wait for you, but here he was, still waiting outside the restroom, tapping his foot anxiously and checking his watch now and then.

austin leaned back against the wall as he waited, trying to look nonchalant as ever, and once the restroom door opened, a soft exhale left his lips.

you let the door shut behind you while smoothing out the front of your dress and began walking down the hallway until you stopped seeing a figure.

you look up from the floor and spot austin, assuming he is waiting for you.

“austin?” you ask softly, taking in a deep breath.

austin’s eyes softened at the sound of his name, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you once he saw you walking towards him, smoothing out the front of your dress and making sure it was wrinkle-free and free of any stains.

“hey,” he replied with a smile and nod, “i was just, uh, making sure you didn’t get lost, again.” austin laughed, looking at you through his eyebrows.

you couldn’t help but chuckle, “no worries, restrooms are pretty simple,” you reply with a toothy grin.

“but, if you wouldn’t mind showing me the way to the theater?” you ask, knowing if you didn’t have the guidance you’d definitely get lost and miss the entire ceremony.

and you didn’t need that kind of embarrassment.

though, deep down you know you wouldn’t win tonight, but still, you wanted to experience being at the freaking oscars!

austin smiled at how eager you were to not get lost again. he chuckled softly as you asked him to guide you to the theater, and he pushed himself off the wall, taking one last look at his watch before walking closer to you.

“and here i was, thinking you’d never ask,” he joked, before holding out his arm for you to grab and wrap your own around.

“don’t wanna risk you ending up in the broom closet again,” he teased.

you drop your head, smiling, and then laugh at his comment about getting lost in the broom closet.

“listen..” you say softly, covering your face with the clutch. “i would say it was one mistake, but with my luck, it’s bound to happen again.”

you carefully take his arm and begin walking towards the theater. you can feel your cheeks warming up.

here you are, lost at the oscar’s and now having the austin butler escort you into the theater.

when you attempted to cover your face with your clutch, he rolled his eyes and gently grabbed it, pulling it away from your face. “no hiding.” he teased.

as you walked side by side, down the halls and towards the theater, austin couldn’t help himself but glance over at you now and then.

he smiled when you laughed at his joke and chuckled even more as you attempted to defend yourself. “just one? you’re sure about that?”

you smile, looking ahead. not being able to look him in the eyes. “no..” you laugh.

“on my first day of filming, i got lost and accidentally locked myself in the hair and makeup trailer” you giggle, recalling one of the most embarrassing moments that’s happened to you. though, this one trumps that.

“no way..” you hear austin laugh wholeheartedly, a sound so beautiful it could turn your legs into jelly.

“yes way” you laugh back, nodding. you weren’t paying attention and almost tripped over the end of your dress.

“here, let me help you with that” austin offers, picking up the train of your dress so you can walk more comfortably.

“see? clumsy.”

austin grins, holding the satin fabric in his hands as you continue towards the theater. “we all have our quirks” he adds. “you’ll warm up to this life, it’ll become easier and if it doesn’t, i’ll help you navigate this journey.” austin spoke without really thinking.

you finally see the two large golden doors which lead into the theater. “ready?” austin grins, raising his eyebrows before opening the door.

when the door opens you’re hit with a soft wind of cool air, the sound of people chattering, and the camera crew getting ready to go live.

“well, let’s hope i can find my seat with ease..” you say walking down the aisle with him towards the seconds for the nominees. “i’ll help,” austin says and begins scanning the row of seats for your name.

y/n l/n

“here you are.” he points to your name plastered on the back of the seat. “right next to mine” he leads you to the two end aisle seats on the front row. your crew sat behind you and austin’s was right next to him.

you were shocked, walking to your seat and letting go of his arm. austin drops the end of your dress gracefully, making sure it doesn’t get dirty.

“what a coincidence, huh?” you take your seat, crossing your legs and placing your clutch in your lap.

austin had what you’d call a shit-eating grin on his face as he sat next to you. “coincidence? or the universe giving us a sign?”

he could tell you were feeling out of place, but he silently tried to make you feel more comfortable by flashing you a reassuring smile.

you shrug, smiling as the staff prepares to go on air. you take in a deep breath, calming your racing heart as you watch the host enter the stage.

“good luck tonight.” austin leans in, whispering. you turn to face him, “you too”. austin winks and then focuses his attention on the stage as the lights dim.

you follow suit, the ceremony officially begins.

a short video montage of all the movies nominated begins to play, and for a second you see yourself.

wow.

after the video, the lights come back on, and out steps the host.

“hello, and welcome to the ninety-sixth oscars, everyone! look at these beautiful faces!”

the room explodes into applause and cheers from the guests.

there’s more to the introduction, bad jokes, awkward laughter, and overall a very, very, long introduction before getting into the awards.

tonight was going to be very long.

“and the nominees for the best lead actor” the host announces, letting a brief video play of all the nominees and their movies.

some actors you knew well, others you didn’t.

“and the oscar goes to..” the host drawls, opening the envelope and a smile appears on her face.

“austin butler!”

the crowd erupts into a roar of cheers and applause, people standing up all around, yourself included. austin stands up hugging his team around him and his friends. he turns to you, smiling as if he won the lottery. “congrats!” you pat his shoulder as he walks past you on stage to accept the award.

“wow..” his deep voice rang through the microphone, looking at the audience and fellow nominees. “i’d uh..wow..all my words are leaving me…i’m standing in front of my heroes. i’m so incredibly grateful to be standing here, i just wanted to say thank you to my team, all the producers, writers, directors, costume, and makeup. everyone. and the presley family for guiding me through this whole process. thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart. and lastly, thank you to all the new people i’ve met” he looks towards you. “i’m so grateful to be standing here. thank you.” he blows a kiss to the crowd before disappearing backstage.

the rest of the male categories went on in between intermissions. many of your favorite actors won, and movies.

then, before you knew it, the female categories were beginning. you saw austin returning to his seat before the nominees were announced.

“now, let’s take a look at the nominees for best female lead role…” the host begins.

like the male category, there are videos of each nominee and then you’re face pops up in a small montage of your movie with your name announced.

austin looked over at you when your face appeared on the big screen, he saw that look in your eyes. he couldn’t describe it. awe? no, it was something more than that. something he had never seen from any of the people he worked with. he had been to many events like this, but you…something about you.

“and the oscar for best female lead role goes too..”

anticipation.

so many great and talented women in this category, that you feel honored to even be considered as good as them.

what if you didn’t win?

but what if you did win? you didn’t even think you prepare an acceptance speech because there is absolutely no way someone like you could-

“y/n l/n! congratulations!”

the world stopped, people around you standing up and applauding. you.

you sat there, mouth agape staring at the stage with your face on the screens like an idiot. your crew grabbing your shoulders to congratulate you as you stand up. hugging some of your crew, then looking at austin wide-eyed. he’s smiling at you, saying something like “i knew you’d win” but you couldn’t be sure, you were in shock.

you begin towards the stage, austin trailing behind you holding your dress so you won’t trip. if there’s one thing austin learned about you tonight, you were clumsy.

you look back, thanking austin with your eyes approach the host, and accept the award.

“oh man..” you begin, feeling tears prickling your eyes. a quiet laugh escapes your throat, looking down at the golden award and then back to the crowd. “i didn’t have a speech prepared, i didn’t expect to win at all. but i wanted to thank everyone who worked on the set of this movie. thank you to the director who saw my indie films and thought i had the talent to portray my character. thank you to my team who always supported me. thank you to my family who always believed in me..who pushed me to work harder..” you sniffle, lip quivering.

“thank you. thank you so much.” you cry. “and thank you to austin, who helped me when i got lost, otherwise i would’ve missed the best moment in my life”. you look towards austin, your teary eyes glittering underneath the lights. the crowd laughs at this, finding it humorous.

austin smiled as he listened to your heartfelt acceptance speech. he couldn’t help but feel proud of you, watching the way you held the award in your hands and thanked everyone who had helped you along the way.

his heart skipped a beat when you mentioned him in your speech. he chuckled softly as the crowd laughed when you joked about getting lost, and he felt a warmth spread through him as he heard you express your gratitude towards him.

“and to all my fellow nominees, i can’t believe im standing in front of you. i’m so honored to be here with you tonight. and i realize i am rambling so i will accept this and go” you laugh, waving to your crew and exiting the stage.

as you walked off the stage, austin stood up and applauded once again, clapping louder than ever before.

the rest of the night continued without fail, the whole thing continued for about three and a half hours. you knew it was going to be long, but you don’t think you’d ever get used to it.

the ceremony ended, leading you and the other winners backstage to get pictures and interviews.

you stand with your friends, who also are a part of your crew. you’re still absolutely shocked. crying on and off as they congratulate you on one of the biggest achievements of your career.

you weren’t aware of austin approaching you until you felt a hand on your lower back. you look over your shoulder and see his baby blues. “austin!” you grin, turning your body toward him. “hi, darling. congratulations.” he says, gesturing to the award in your hand.

“thank you” you bring the award up to your face, grinning like a proud parent. “and congrats to you”

austin nods, looking down at his award. “looks like we both got pretty lucky, huh?”

you nod, agreeing. “i guess so..” you say softly.

you see austin’s eyebrow raise, his eyes dancing over your figure against the wall. you couldn’t quite place what he was thinking. he could be thinking many things, but you wouldn’t know. he was too hard to read, for you at least.

“say, uh..” he smirks, biting his lip. “how would you feel if i asked for your number?” his extra arm came up to the wall beside your head, entrapping you.

oh boy.

you hold the award close to your chest, looking up at him. “well, i’d feel like i’d be dreaming but im not going to say no.” you answer.

“good because i don’t know what id do if you said no” he chuckles, his eyes not leaving yours.

“i’ll call you, we’ll go out sometime. i wanna know more of you. if it’s anything like i saw tonight, i think i might fall in love with you.”

you can feel your ears burning as he speaks, his raspy voice making your legs feel weak. his eyes looking down on you, god. he was driving you insane. his slightly gelled hair, his grey suit, his cologne.

he was so close.

“then i guess you should be ready for that,” you say, smirking.

you heard your name being called, your manager trying to get you for an interview.

you push yourself off the wall, but before you leave you pause. “call me.” you wink and then walk away, leaving austin’s world rocked. never had he met someone like you, never has he been this intrigued and captivated by someone.

thank god he found you when he did.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Pillow Talks

Fandom: Star Wars - The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x GN!Reader

Summary: Your master has sent you on a mission and Qimir, your supplier and guide, is accompanying you.

Qimir Masterlist

Your Master has tasked you with the mission of finding and killing a former Jedi that had previously wronged him. Per usual, he also assigned Qimir to be your guide and supplier, should you need him.

Although you were perfectly capable of doing things on your own, you had to admit it was nice to have company. For a long time, it had always just been you and your Master. Then when you were finally ready for your first mission, Qimir was assigned to you.

At first, you were annoyed, but then grew fond of the man. Sure, he can be a bumbling, fumbling idiot, but he’s also very knowledgeable, skilled, and can hold his own.

However, this particular mission, you’ve grown somewhat annoyed with him. Your search for the former Jedi led you to jungle planet of Eriaduan. The weather is hot and humid, causing you to sweat and feel sticky. It’s dampened your mood and motivation to fulfill this mission.

Doesn’t help that Qimir is being extra chatty as you trek through the jungle, “Can I ask you a question?” Some of his black strands of hair stick to his face due to sweat and humidity.

You sigh, “As long as you’re okay with possibly not getting an answer.” You reply as you step over branches and through shrubs.

“Why are you so adamant that your Master doesn’t care for you?”

Earlier, you tripped on a boulder and Qimir told you that you need to be more careful, “Your Master wouldn’t be happy with me if I brought you back injured.”

You had scoffed and told him, “Please, my Master doesn’t care about me, Qimir. Only cares about my ability to fulfill these missions.”

You shrug, “Because he doesn’t.”

“How do you know?” He asks with furrowed brows.

“The way he’s treated me isn’t how people treat those they care about, Qimir. He’s very…forceful. He never gives me a break, asks how I’m feeling. Honestly, it’s foolish of me to even want him to care about me, even just a little.” You pause at a fallen tree trunk and decide to sit for a little rest.

Qimir follows, sitting beside you, “It’s not foolish to want to be cared for. Besides, he always sends me to go with you. Surely, that must mean he cares for you right? Wants someone to have your back?”

You snort, “Or because he doesn’t trust me to do these things on my own.”

Qimir sighs and shakes his head, “I’m sure he knows you’re capable of doing this on your own. But…maybe he just wants you to have back up just to ease his mind?”

You shrug, “Guess we’ll never know because he doesn’t really talk to me unless he’s assigning me a new mission or berating me about not improving my skills.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I do care about you. Knowing you has brought some…excitement back into my life.”

You give him a grateful grin, “Thanks, Qi. I care about you too.” You two sit in a comfortable silence, catching your breaths and taking pause to finding this Jedi.

_______________

This definitely wasn’t how you expected things to go. You’d gotten injured during your fight with the Jedi. You were still able to kill him but not before get stabbed you in the side.

Qimir was freaking out, trying his best to keep you from bleeding out too much but you eventually succumbed to the pain, blacking out as Qimir pleaded with you to hold on.

When you finally wake up, you’re groggy. Your hand goes to your wound and you feel a bacta patch on it.

“You’re awake,” you hear the modulated voice of your Master.

You turn your head to see your Master standing at the end of your bed roll.

You try to sit up but you hiss in pain, “Don’t move. Lay still.” He approaches your side and kneels, he pulls back the bacta patch, “It needs to be changed.”

He grabs a new patch from the small pile beside your bed. Has he been taking care of you while you were out? Surely not, right? Had to be someone else. Maybe Qimir?

“Where’s Qimir?” You ask and your Master stills.

“I sent him away after he brought you here.”

“I hope you didn’t threaten or hurt him," you give your Master a threatening glare.

He questioningly tilts his head to you , “Why?”

“Because he’s my friend and I care about him.”

He stays silent for a few seconds before stating, “He left unscathed.”

“Good.”

Your Master cleans your wound and dresses it with a new bacta patch. It was weird, having him care for you in such a way. Usually when you got hurt or injured, you took care of yourself.

“You need to be more careful," he practically whispers.

“The former Jedi was a lot more skilled than I anticipated, but I fulfilled my mission.” The sentence comes off as factual, unfeeling.

“You got hurt.”

“It’s nothing new,” you say nonchalantly with a little shrug.

Your Master’s clenches his fists, “You need to be more careful,” he repeats.

"I'm fine. I'll do better. I know I'm not useful to you when I'm hurt."

"That's not why I want you to be careful," he says before standing and exiting the hut you made as your home on the secluded island.

_______________________

On your next mission, your Master has sent you to go undercover as a merchant on the planet of Batuu. Qimir, per usual, will be aiding you on the mission. You meet him at a cantina where an RX pilot droid was reprogrammed to play music throughout the place.

It seems like Qimir had been waiting for you a long time since his body was swaying, seemingly five drinks in already.

You sit on the stool beside him, causing him to turn to you and he gives you a drunken smile, "Heeeey! You're here!" he hiccups a bit and you can't help but chuckle, "How're you already this drunk?"

He shrugs, "Had to do something while I waited for you." He offers his cup to you and you push it back towards him, "I'm good," you say.

He shrugs again and downs the rest of the drink, "So, what's the plan?" A strand of his hair falls onto his face.

You giggle, moving the strand away, "I don't think we should discuss plans while you're in this state," your fingers linger on his face. Suddenly realizing what you did, you pull your hand away and clear your throat, "Um, we should discuss plans tomorrow while you're sober. So, drink some water and I'll meet you in the morning," you stand to leave but Qimir stops you.

"Wait, wait. Can I stay with you?" You look at him confused and he continues, "I, uh, lost my ship so I had to hitch a ride here. Don't have much credits left."

You give him a cocked brow and a hand on your hip, "And how did you expect to pay for your bar tab?"

He gives you a sheepish look, "I was kinda hoping you'd pay for it?"

You sigh, pulling out enough to pay for Qimir's drinks. The bartender thanks you and you have Qimir follow you out of the cantina.

"You're lucky I like you," you murmur, a hint of a smirk on your lips.

Qimir gulps and nods, "Yeah...lucky."

You two make it to the dingy hotel where you plan to stay for the next few days. As soon as Qimir enters, he plops onto your bed with a content sigh. Looking at him and then the room, you now realize that there's only one bed, which means you have to share.

It'll be fine. You can be professional about this situation.

You clear your throat, grabbing Qimir's attention, "So there's only one bed-"

Qimir immediately sits up, "I can sleep on the floor-"

"It's fine, Qi. We can be mature adults about this. We're not strangers or anything."

He gives you nonchalant shrug, "If you're sure."

You nod and head to the refresher to change. When you come back out, Qimir is already under the covers, having shed some of his outer robes.

You can't help the snort you let out when you see how close to the edge of the bed he is.

You slip under the covers, "Qimir, you're hanging off the edge, come closer. It's fine."

"I don't wanna make you uncomfortable or-"

You use the Force to pull him closer.

He rolls over to face you, "Uncalled for."

You roll onto your side to face him, "You were being stubborn."

You two stare at each other, letting some moments of silence pass. The air shifts but you're not sure if it's just you that feels so. You feel a pull, a need to lean in and press your lips to Qimir. You've always found him attractive, but have pushed those thoughts down because you know you can't have him. Your priority is your training and your loyalty is first and foremost to your Master. Before you do anything drastic, you sigh, rolling over to face away, "Good night, Qimir."

"Good night," he murmurs. You hear the rustle of the sheets as he gets comfortable.

You close your eyes, trying to push away the feelings that began to bubble up in your chest and stomach.

"Do you still think your Master doesn't care for you?"

Your eyes shoot open and you immediately roll over, "Qimir...what?"

He sighs and rolls back over to face you, "Do you still think that your Master doesn't care about you?"

You shrug, "Kinda."

"Kinda?" he looks at you with creased brows and a frown.

You shrug and move your attention to a loose thread on the pillow Qimir lays on, "After the last mission, he said he immediately sent you away?"

"...yes."

You turn to lay on your back and look at the ceiling, "I guess the entire time I was out, he was taking care of me. When I woke up, he changed my bacta patch. He told me I had to be more careful." You pause to recollect more of that day, "I figured this was all because I wouldn't be useful to him, but then he said that wasn't why."

"So he does care," Qimir simply states

"I'm still apprehensive about saying that with certainty, but the small gesture appears that way."

You glance at Qimir as he moves to mimic your position, "And how does that make you feel?"

You run your hands down your face and you give a deep breath, "It's nice to be cared for and to care for someone. But...it's scary. Doing the things we do, you never know when someone can take that away from you. Or if that someone takes advantage of that care and betrays you."

You suddenly feel Qimir's hand take hold of yours, "I understand," he murmurs, "Your Master is still a person too. Maybe he struggles with the idea of caring for someone because it's been so long since he's done so."

"Maybe," you reply, not pulling your hand from Qimir's. It felt nice, having his hand in yours.

"Y/N?"

"Hm?"

"...can I hold you?"

You turn your head, looking at Qimir, you can see he's slightly embarrassed, but he's also being vulnerable...and you're feeling a little vulnerable too.

"Okay," you whisper and you move closer as Qimir wraps an arm around you, holding you close to him.

You let out a shaky breath. It's been so long since you've been held like this, cared for in such a gentle way. It's a complete opposite of how you've spent your time training under your Master.

You hope you can have more moments like these with Qimir.

Your body feels more at ease the more time you spend in his arms. Your eyes slowly flutter close and you're off to a restful sleep.

Meanwhile, Qimir remains awake a little bit longer. He stares at you, his apprentice, his acolyte.

"I'll do better," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your head and pulling you closer to him as he listens to your breathing, leading him to sleep.

[littlemisspascal]

Creature Comfort

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Female Reader/OFC

Word Count: 7.6k

Summary: 

Waiting out there is General Marcus Acacius. A real man of flesh and blood, strength and power. The legendary Atlas Lion himself.

Your husband-to-be.

Rating: M / 18+ only

Warnings: Language, at least a million historical inaccuracies, referenced smut, references of blood + war + death, weapons, too many lion/animal references and metaphors to count, reader has self-esteem issues, arranged marriage, domestic life, cameo of reader's parents, switching povs,

- Reader has no name and no physical traits described in detail. Reader wears clothes such as a toga + wedding outfit

Author Note: This started as me simply wanting to write a fic where Acacius is compared to a lion and Reader's his wife and then it quickly led to me having a complete emotional breakdown that caused me to quit writing entirely for several months. Not one of my finest moments, but 🤷‍♀️ that's life I guess. It's nice to finally toss this fic out here, hopefully someone somewhere enjoys it 🧡

Special thanks to @wheresarizona for putting up with my emotional highs and lows and answering some questions about Rome for me and for just being an overall too-nice-for-this-world person I'm lucky to have met on here 💗

The morning of your wedding you can barely stomach your breakfast. Nerves are natural, your mother assures you, watching with a critical eye as the female servants of the house help dress you.

Your impending ceremony has severed your protection of your family’s household gods, leaving you spiritually defenseless until you’re officially wed to your husband. Maybe that is the true source of your worries, dark spirits playing wicked games with your heartstrings. Or maybe it’s your mother’s looming presence coupled with her stubborn determination to see you safely married off, analyzing every inch of your bridal outfit to root out the tiniest of imperfections, that has your stomach tied up in knots. 

The wreath atop your head is thick with summer blooms, their scent potent and almost sickly sweet, tickling the inside of your nose. You’d sneeze if not for the veil covering your face, attached to a headband beneath the tangled greenery, its deep yellow color identical to the slippers donning your feet. 

You’d personally woven your tunic on your family’s loom, a task expected of every new bride, intertwining every fiber into tangible proof to show your husband you were ready for the responsibilities of managing his household. Linen had been your initial choice, but your mother insisted wool was the better material to repel the forces of evil. The garment is heavy beneath your matching white stola, but rather than irritating there’s something oddly comforting about the weight. Almost like a warm embrace.

It’s tradition for weddings to take place in the home of the bride’s father. You can hear the arrival of guests now outside your room. Friends and relatives and other miscellaneous people here to witness and celebrate the union. Every minute brings you closer to a new stage of your life, and if not for the servants’ steadying hands, your weak knees might send you crashing to the floor. Fainting would surely be interpreted as a bad omen, derailing the whole ceremony before it even truly began.

You suck in a quiet breath, shoving down the worst of your anxieties. This day–your wedding–has been on your mind practically your whole life. You’d learned from a young age the importance of marriages arranged between families for political and financial purposes. You’d also learned you wouldn’t be the one choosing your future husband, that decision would be made by your father alone. 

Of course, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t imagine marrying someone who was your own choice. Someone kind and handsome and as loyal as your household’s guard dogs. Someone who loved you above all others.

But waiting for you out there isn’t the imaginary stranger who's starred in your most intimate dreams. Waiting out there is General Marcus Acacius. A real man of flesh and blood, strength and power. The legendary Atlas Lion himself.

Your husband-to-be.

When the pronuba arrives to accompany you to the ceremony, the servants disperse but your mother lingers a beat longer, running her fingers over your shoulders to smoothen out non-existent creases. Neither of you mention the shiny gleam of her eyes or the trembling of your hands. 

Then, with a firm nod of her head, your mother declares, “She’s ready,” and leaves without another look to join your father’s side.

Your mother is not prone to lying. If she says you’re ready, then ready you must be.

You take another deep breath before linking your arm through the elder matron’s, but it’s the gentle patting of her hand on yours which calms you most. A reassurance of good things to come.

Stepping out into the atrium, you’re met with a packed crowd, locals and soldiers mixed as one, craning their necks for a glimpse of you. Their clothes resemble yours and the groom’s, another tactic to confuse evil spirits, but human eyes only need to spot your yellow veil to recognize you as the bride. And as for Acacius…

Well. To mistake the Atlas Lion for another would be as foolish as mistaking fire for water. He is unique in all the world.

You see him standing at the altar with the high priest, clad in a purple toga embroidered with a lion’s head in golden thread. A reward in honor of the general’s triumphs in warfare. The placement of the lion above his heart is deliberate, you suspect. A warning of what lies beneath the surface. A guarantee all the tales of his savagery and blood lust passed from mouth to mouth from the battlefields to the city streets are true.

Is it terrible that a part of you–an inane, minuscule scrap of a thing you’ll never verbally acknowledge, not even under oath–is fervently captivated by the notion? You should be listening to the high priest’s prayers to Juno, paying attention to the omens he reads in the entrails of the sacrificed ram upon the altar. But Acacius’ brown eyes, burning with the radiant June sunshine and something else distinctly dangerous, put a flame to your focus and narrow your vision to one central, all-encompassing point.

Is it terrible that you can meet a lion’s stare without a modicum of fear? You wonder how many have been able to say the same, if anyone else at all.

The priest deems the relationship blessed by the gods, carrying on with the proceedings, oblivious to your state of mind. He asks Acacius to make certain his intentions, if you are an acceptable wife. 

Acacius draws himself up to full height, an immovable mountain firm in his convictions. “She is mine to me,” the timbre of his gravelly voice drags over you, eliciting a shudder down your spine you pray the elder matron does not notice. “I will want no other.” 

Then it is your turn, and your voice is only a little hoarse when you confirm, “He will be my husband. My only choice.”

The slightest quirk of a smile curls the corner of Acacius’ lips. Instinctively, you return it with a small grin of your own. And even though he can’t physically see your face behind the veil, you think, somehow, he does see you.

It’s only after signing the marriage contract with crimson seals that the pronuba places your right hand in Acacius’, officially uniting you as one. The general’s palm is callused, fingers thick and gnarled from past wounds, but you can’t find it in yourself to hate them, or recoil, or do anything else than keep holding on.

“Raise the veil,” the priest says.

You swallow, the fingers of your left hand spasming against your side, then slowly reach for a fistful of the yellow fabric. Pulling it up over your head, you carefully watch the lines of Acacius’ expression, heartbeat fluttering at the way those brown eyes widen, taking you in for the first time. Absorbing everything like it might be his only chance. Like you’re something wondrous worth memorizing.

Acacius starts leaning forward, sending every last thought in your head scattering with his nearness. He’s massive, radiating such intense warmth, thumb stroking a line of heat along your wrist. There’s a fire igniting in your chest, lungs choking on the smoke, yet you’re trembling when he cups your face, the quietest of whines escaping your parted lips.

Please, you start to beg, the whooshing of blood thundering in your eardrums, plea–

Acacius swallows the silent plea with his own mouth, kissing you like a starving man. This isn’t love–no, it’s too soon for such sentiment–this is carnal passion, roaming tongues and clashing teeth like you’re no better than animals committed to the hunt of this new territory, this new taste. 

The eruption of applause yanks you back to reality. You tear yourself away with a choked gasp, and it’s satisfying seeing the heave of Acacius’ broad chest with each ragged inhale as you both struggle to catch your breaths. You did that. You’re the reason for the flare of lust in his eyes and smear of spit across his bottom lip. 

You’ve heard people say no man’s looks can compete with Adonis’ striking beauty. A fallacy, you realize in that moment upon seeing General Marcus Acacius in purple and gold, dark curls caressed by the gentle breeze, a constellation of freckles along the tendons of his neck, hardened by violence yet holding your hand so heartachingly sweet.

The rest of the world can have Adonis. 

And as for you–boldly and selfishly, you’ll keep this man. The legendary Atlas Lion himself.

Your husband.

~~

The wedding feast afterwards is a blur of lavish food and wine, the jovial notes of flutes accompanying fescennine songs with interjections of salutations shouted from inebriated lips. Every touch of Acacius’ hand against your arm, your waist, everywhere sends sparks skittering along your nerves. It’s as bewildering as it is thrilling, like you’re balancing on the edge of a precipice, and you wonder if this is what Icarus felt moments before he flew too close to the sun. Falling, falling, falling…

You can only hope you meet a different, kinder fate.

When the sky begins to change and darken with the promise of encroaching evening time, you find yourself standing in the middle of your childhood home, trying to etch into memory everything from the slope of the roof to the tiny cracks in the stone floor. All the noises and voices seem to fade away, granting you this moment to yourself.

Once you step outside, there will be no familiarity to cling to. You’ll be escorted by the crowd of guests to Acacius’ secondary home—smaller, but no less grand than his main domus in Cosa. A port city to the south you’ll have to learn to navigate from square one—and then, once alone with the general, taken to his bed. His body will be another, far more intricate labyrinth you’ll need to learn and recognize the details of.

A new city, a new spouse, a new chapter of life with new expectations…

It’s overwhelming to say the least.

Your eyes cut to Acacius across the room, widening when you catch him already watching you. Something in your chest aches upon realizing you don’t know him well enough to read his face. If he’s angry, pleased, or just totally indifferent. But you can’t look away. Caught and cornered.

Like prey, you think, loathing the thought as soon as it forms. A lion cannot have a mouse for a wife. Imagine the shame of being an unworthy partner of one of Rome’s highest-ranking generals. Your name dragged through the mud, an embarrassment to your family and a blight on Acacius’ esteemed reputation—to say nothing of how the gods would react to your ruining of a blessed union. You’d be as insignificant as the fleas on a dog’s pelt in their eyes.

You must be stronger. Braver. Better.

Where Icarus fell, you must fly. 

Maybe Acacius senses this change stirring within you, or maybe he grows impatient with this lengthy staring contest, either way he suddenly draws closer, weaving between bodies until he comes to a stop in front of you. Purposefully within grabbing reach. The ache in your chest lessens at that, replaced by a spike of adrenaline as awareness dawns.

“Is it time to leave?” you ask.

“It is,” he answers. Then, quick as lightning and just as unexpected, he pinches your waist. 

You jerk away at the teasing touch, gaping like a fish. “Do you touch all women in that manner?”

“No.” A smug smirk spreads across his handsome face. Relishing his next words. “Only the woman who belongs to me.”

Possessive brute. Your eyes narrow even as heat envelops your body, toes curling in your shoes. 

“You haven’t taken me yet. My body has no claim.”

Acacius’ jaw clenches at that. Like he’s holding onto his restraint by a mere thread. It’s practically tangible, a siren song tempting you to flex your claws.

“Answer me this, general, because it remains unclear to me.” Tilting your head, exposing the column of your neck for his hungry gaze to feast upon, your tone is deliberately provoking. “Are you a passionate man of action? Or merely a man of empty words?”

“Bite your tongue,” his tone is low, closer to a snarl than actual speech. You almost believe he’s angry, if not for the glint in his brown eyes, aroused and impressed by your antics in equal measure.

“I’d rather you bite it.”

The fragile thread snaps.

Acacius is on you at once, his large hands seizing hold of your arms. You wrestle against his grip, delivering a solid kick to his shin that draws an irritated hiss. He puts up with your struggling for a bit longer, unaffected by your inexpert blows to his torso, then ends it with a harsh tug, pulling you flush against his brick wall of a body. He sticks his face in your neck, breath hot and ticklish, mouthing at your thrumming pulse with blunt teeth. Oh gods. You slump against him, letting his thick muscles take the brunt of your weight, mind sinking like a stone in the overflowing well of new and overwhelming sensations. Desperate for more, more, more.

The deep rumbling of his chuckling vibrates through your bones, and you have the deliriously greedy thought of cutting out a piece of yourself to store the sound there. 

“You’ve caused quite a scene,” he murmurs into the underside of your jaw, sounding just as wrecked as you feel. But beneath the raspiness, you detect the unmistakable lilt of amusement. 

“It’s tradition,” you breathe, conscious of the numerous stares watching your every move, including your mother’s. Your pretending of resistance must have been satisfactory enough for her to not intervene.

Acacius leans back just enough to look at you, cradling you in the cage of his arms and chest. You place your hands upon his waist, absently clutching the purple-dyed wool between your fingers.

“Tell me how to call you.” It’s not a request.

“What?” Yet another tradition to appease household gods is meant to happen later after you had arrived at the threshold of Acacius’ home and smeared the doorway in oil and fat. He would ask you your name, to which you answer, taking your husband’s and modifying it: where you are Marcus, I am Marcia. And at last, excluding the event of a bad omen occurring, he would carry you inside. Your brow furrows, not understanding why he’s changing the order of things. “Shouldn’t we��”

“Not the name tradition wants, nor the one your parents and the gods assigned you,” he interrupts. “Tell me how I will call you when we’re alone.” 

Oh.

You bow your head to hide your smile, pleased to have a choice. Your eyes fall upon the golden lion head.

Oh.

“Where and when you are Leo,” you tell him, trailing a finger along the perfectly stitched mane before tapping the spot where his heart resides. “There and then I am Leaena.”

~~

{His bride is too innocent, too unaware of the ruthless nature of the Empire’s politics to endure what is expected of her as a general’s wife. This marriage should never have been blessed by the gods.

Still, Acacius can’t stop his gaze from following her every movement, intrigued to know the thoughts running through her head. Can’t stop himself from touching her either, drawn to her warmth, the rightness of her body in his hold. The ceremony was mere hours ago, yet seeing her in his bed, flesh bare and soft and trembling beneath him, the woman has already become the most important treasure of his life. His to worship and protect for the rest of his days.

“Gods, you really are massive all over,” she blurts out, seemingly without thinking, feeling the press of his hard cock against her. Then immediately averts her eyes with a nervous giggle, insecure of her own inexperience. “Could–could we take it slow?”

“That’s fine, my leaena,” he assures her, kissing the corner of her mouth, addicted to her taste dangerously fast. She won’t last, he thinks, scraping his teeth along her neck. They’ll swallow her whole. “I’ll make you feel good. I’ll take care of you.” And he sees it, the exact moment the apprehension slips aside and trust rises to take its place in those big, expressive eyes. She wants this—wants him.

It’s an impulsive, raw need that has him leaning down to kiss her, licking deep into her mouth, craving something he doesn’t know the name of. Repentance, maybe, for the hell coming her way in the coming months. Or maybe he’s just a selfish man who wants this, wants her, more than he deserves. 

She rips him out of his thoughts by grabbing fistfulls of his curls, tugging until they’re even closer pressed together, opening up for him impossibly wider. 

Maybe he’s wrong in his initial assumptions of his bride.

Maybe she’ll be the one to take care of him.}

~~

Cosa matters a great deal to the Empire. A strategically defendable port with close connections to sources of timber and other supplies necessary for maintaining a vast army of fleets. The city itself was built upon a hill, high enough that on a clear day one could see miles of the Tyrrhenian Sea’s coastline. The crashes of the blue-green waves against the limestone cliffs.

Accompanying Acacius into the forum provides you with opportunities to observe the city’s layout. Enclosed within an imposing circuit of walls, the community has put careful thought into every corner of limited space, separating private houses from the sacred temples and civic buildings. Necessary architecture only, no spare room for the entertainment of a theatre. 

Cosa is significantly smaller than the size of your birthplace, drenched in the scents of sea salt and fish, yet there are elements of opulence if one looks close enough. Pearl necklaces adorning necks and solid gold bracelets fastened around wrists. Chairs carved from precious woods, embellished with touches of silver or bronze. Acacius’ curule seat in his tablinum is made out of pure ivory, its legs resembling a lion’s paws. A gift from the Senate after a successful military campaign.

The majority of Acacius’ hours in the public square is split between the basilica, the curia, and the comitium speaking with the aediles and magistrates. Offices of elected officials which exclude women from entry–not that you have much interest in politics anyways. 

The marketplace quickly becomes your favorite place outside of your domus. A variety of stalls clustered together bustling with activity. Haggling becomes second nature to you, and when you can’t get the price you want you make trades with your weavings. 

Still. Cosa is a small enough city where you’re easily recognized as someone new by the locals. More than once you’ve experienced lingering glances, examining everything from your clothes to your hair. More than once those eyes have made your shoulder blades curl with the instinct to somehow fold into yourself like the little crabs that occasionally wash up on the sandy coastline.

A week after settling in, a man in the bathhouse grabs at your palla before you can enter the women’s section, pulling harsh enough to send your mother’s brooch clattering to the ground. You press a hand over your pounding heart, scrambling backwards a few steps, all too aware of the heavy veil of silence that has fallen over the room. 

Acacius calmly appears at your side, soundless in his approach, filling the whole place with his commanding presence. 

A blink. That’s all it takes.

One blink and suddenly the man’s blood spatters the stucco wall as Acacius slams his skull against it repeatedly until he no longer resembles anything human. Just a gruesome muddle of scarlet and bone, life thread severed by the jaws of death. 

Acacius releases his hold, then points a bloodstained finger at you. “She is mine. Anyone who touches her will face my retribution. And I won’t hesitate to add another soul to Dis Pater’s realm.”

~~

Living under the roof of your parents, you’d thought of home as a physical structure. A place to stay in a world full of constantly moving parts. 

Marriage has taught you home is so much more. It’s the soft notes you hum as you spin and weave wool. A kiss pressed to your temple as Acacius moves past. The scent of fresh citrus each morning for breakfast and the sweet taste of fine wines. Plans to visit the coast. A bowl of seashells. Gazing up at constellations when the moon is high. Feelings bubbling up, spilling out, casting shadows on the walls and slipping beneath the bed sheets. It’s the warmth of another body, touching, feeling, familiarizing, until two halves become an inseverable one whole.

Home is learning to be loved and to be in love. 

~~

Acacius doesn’t receive many guests in his tablinum, preferring to settle his business affairs in the public offices, yet he still keeps a cushioned stool in front of his desk. You sit there, elbow propped on his desk and chin resting upon your fist, watching your husband search through his shelf of scrolls. The mosaic floors have been recently cleaned, colors popping vividly in the patches of sunlight sneaking in, and the painted scenes of nature adorning the walls are masterfully done, but you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere else except him.

“Where did your name come from?” you ask, breaking up the quiet.

Acacius pauses, glancing back with a raised eyebrow. “It was my father’s name. And his father’s name. And his father’s father’s name and–”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Your scolding is softened by the smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. Acacius keeps looking at you, smirking like he finds the whole thing amusing. “The Atlas Lion. A moniker as frightful as that, it must have an origin.”

He chuckles that deep, rumbling laugh of his. “Wondered when you’d finally ask.”

His tone is light, still smirking, but you see through the cracks of the facade. See the hesitation in the lowering of his eyes to the floor, see the slight furrow in his brow that only appears when he’s worried he’s upset you. He’s nervous—it’s so obvious and so dearly human that it aches. It looks absolutely wrong on the face of a man known throughout the Empire for his larger-than-life confidence.

You watch him warily, unsure what to do, what to say beyond his name. “Acacius.”

Your husband faces the scrolls again, and for a moment you’re afraid the fragile moment’s broken, but then he tells you the story behind his name. ‘Story’ is too soft a word though. Stories are for parties and entertainment, full of humor and unfolding drama and moral lessons. Acacius doesn’t tell you a story. No, he tells you his truth. 

Acacius doesn’t mince words, describing the hellish months of military training in grueling detail. He tells you, in an almost detached manner, how he’d been a different man back then. Scrawnier, unused to bloodshed, restless, but above all else, near feral with the need to prove his own worth. 

“It was General Meridius’ idea for soldiers to train as bestiarii.” There’s something about the way he says the name—full of respect. Admiration for a superior. But you think you detect a note of something else laced within the syllables too. Something almost…sad sounding. Grieving, perhaps. It’s gone in the next breath. “Face to face with wild beasts, you either become an expert with your weapon fast or you die an unglorified death in the arena.”

For all the nights you’ve traced meaningless patterns along the large scars gouged into Acacius’ shoulders, you didn’t ask about them. Assumed they were the result of a too-close enemy with a too-sharp weapon. A blade or spear, something man-made. Never occurred to you to think of fangs and claws as weapons too.

Blinking sharply, you sit up straighter, stuttering, “W-wait, are you…is that where…” There’s a swarm of questions buzzing in your head, stinging the back of your throat when you try to voice them. Finally, you manage to choke out, “So, that’s how you got your name? You actually fought lions?”

Acacius finally turns around at that, only to surprise you by shaking his head. “I did fight lions—and bears, boars, even a pair of hyenas once. But that’s not why they call me the Atlas Lion.”

He trails off, tension in the wrinkled lines of his expression your hands itch to smoothen out. You hesitate to rise from your seat, unable to tell if drawing closer would lighten your husband’s mood or worsen it. Moments like this–where he’s loosened the reins of his tightly controlled emotions, offering a glimpse of an ordinary, flesh and blood mortal man who’s been chewed up and spit out a dozen times over– are few and far between. Delicate like fine glass, requiring just the right handling.

“To prove I was ready for the army, I had to pass a test,” he explains. “I fought everything that attacked me. I stopped thinking, stopped feeling. Nothing mattered except the next stab of my gladius. And when they started throwing men into the arena, I didn’t even notice.” Acacius exhales a ragged breath. “I stopped seeing people as people.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, voice barely above a murmur. 

There’s another pause, time seeming to slow down, seconds stretching lazily like a plump housecat, and then Acacius crosses the distance, close enough your knees graze each other, head tilted back to peer up at him. He says nothing, even as his thumb brushes over your chapped lips.

“Acacius.” Your body trembles, edges of your vision starting to blur. You lean into his touch. The center of your universe.

“I mean,” Acacius says, eyes on your mouth. Your lips part unthinkingly, letting his thumb slip inside, pressing lightly against your bottom teeth. “We’re all just animals, my leaena. Red tongues and hands.”

~~

The air is cool this time of night, seems to press against your skin like a damp washcloth. Cleansing you from the inside out with each deep inhale. 

Acacius stands in the courtyard, bronze skin painted in streaks of moonbeams and starlight, hair tousled by fitful hands. His absence from bed had stirred you awake, and a part of you wonders if these midnight musings are a regular occurrence you’ve only just now become aware of. Not all dreams are sweet after all, especially for soldiers. 

“A nightmare?” you ask, a hushed inquiry disrupting the still of night.

“A memory,” is all he offers. 

“Oh.” 

He hasn’t looked at you yet, brown eyes boring holes into the distant moon. Maybe you should return to bed, give him space and privacy to sort himself out. But your bare feet stick to the floor and you can’t pull your eyes away. Noting the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his hands, the rising and falling of his chest with each breath.

You try to ignore the disappointment gnawing at your heart, hurt that Acacius won’t share his internal burden with you, even in the cover of darkness where it’s just you and him. 

He’s revealed the truth of his name with you. Encouraged you to lick and bite and mark every inch of his flesh as your own. But tonight he’s put up a wall you can’t climb over. 

Maybe that’s why you stay. You’re a glutton for punishment.

Somewhere else in the city, a dog begins to bark. It’s a harsh sound, all teeth, defending its territory from a threat, and you flinch despite the distance. Unsurprisingly, Acacius doesn’t so much as even twitch. 

What is surprising though, is that he chooses then to finally speak.

“There are victories yet still to come,” he mutters, a tremor to his voice you’ve never heard before, like he’s standing on unsteady ground. And there’s this look in his eyes that unsettles you, haunted by something only he can see. “That’s what they always say.”

They?

Stepping closer, you gently bump your hand against his. A knot unravels in your chest when he blinks back to himself, pinky hooking onto yours. A tether securing him home with you.

“Who says that?”

“The Emperors.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Don’t know what words will build his wall higher or what ones will knock it down–if that’s even possible. 

“What are they like?” Your mouth makes the choice for you. “Geta and Caracalla?”

You’ve never been to Rome, never seen the ruling brothers in person. All you really know about them are the stories and rumors from the mouths of travelers gossiping in the marketplace. Sometimes nice things are said, sometimes…not so nice things. 

“They’re…” Dark brows draw together, mouth pulling downward in a frown. Acacius finally looks at you, the brown of his eyes lost in the dark, but not the sharp glint of fear. Tumultuous and excruciating, you feel it cut deep. “They’re fire and water. Two opposing forces unfit to inhabit the same space. It’s only a matter of time before one prevails over the other.”

You swallow, nervousness swelling in the pit of your stomach at the flat, doomed sound of certainty he speaks with. “And then what happens?”

“The Empire will either burn or drown." 

“And us?” you ask tentatively. “What will happen to us?”

Acacius doesn’t have an answer.

~~

A Roman naval ship is spotted just as dawn breaks, drawing a sizable crowd by the time it docks in the harbor. There’s a sense of wrongness associated with the lack of an official fleet, and that unsettling feeling is multiplied tenfold when it’s announced there are numerous injured soldiers aboard.

Acacius attends to them, ensuring each gets medical attention while also gathering information from the head officer in charge. You stand at the back of the crowd, heart in your throat, seeing but not truly processing. Blood, so much red. Expressions of young men scrunched in pain. The grim, motionless bodies of those who didn’t last the final hours of the journey.

“Steel yourself.” A feminine voice warns, and you turn with a blink of surprise upon seeing the high priestess at your side, unused to encountering her outside her temple walls. The sea breeze ruffles the red and white ribbons in her braided hair as she holds your gaze, calm in an almost preternatural way compared to the surrounding commotion. “You are a general’s wife. To express your fear in public is to express doubt of the Empire’s dominance and your husband’s own prowess.”

Her words sink like a stone in your stomach. “I’ll be better,” you promise, the acidic taste of shame burning the back of your throat.

“Stronger,” she corrects, fierce blue eyes rivaling an ocean storm. “You must be stronger than your greatest fear.”

You can only nod, imagining one of the corpses wearing your husband’s face. 

~~

{With every inch of territory the Empire gains, its list of bitter enemies grows exponentially longer. Not every threat rising up in defiance stems from foreign soil though, Acacius was forced to learn that the hard way. He’s seen the effects Rome’s constant warfare and rotting politics have had on its subjects, witnessed people turn against their masters’ hands like rabid dogs hell-bent on stripping flesh from bone.

Rebels are dealt with just like rabid dogs, too. Caught and decapitated in a public spectacle. Crimson rivulets flow from their remains, discoloring the city’s streets reminiscent of a spilled wine stain, seeping into the very foundation itself. 

Then come the speeches in the comitium from Cosa’s magistrates. Addressing the huddled masses with sickly sweet, empty promises of better times to come. Lying through their teeth, scared the next outburst of internal strife will end with their own severed heads tossed into the sea.

Acacius’ attendance is mandatory, yet he only pretends to listen while standing on the stone steps behind the speakers. His wife’s shoulder presses against his, their hands firmly locked together, unbothered by the harsh ridges of his battle-hardened palm grazing against her smooth skin. A simple comfort he’d long believed himself unworthy of ever indulging in.

“It tears you up inside, doesn’t it?” His wife’s voice is just a faint murmur, so quiet there isn’t a chance anyone else hears her, but the knowing note in it has his chest tightening with a stiff exhale. “Like a thorn in your soul. Even from Rome, Geta and Caracalla control your tongue.”

“There is a time for a general to speak his mind and there is a time for him to keep his head,” he reminds her frankly, careful to maintain his facade of blank detachment. “It’d do you good to remember your place.”

Her sharp inhale is torturous to his ears. She reacts to his blunt discipline like a physical blow, shoulders sagging, lips pressed together in a thin line, practically rolling over and exposing her vulnerable underbelly. Acacius hates that look. Hates even more he’s the cause of it. He thinks impaling himself with his own blade would hurt less. 

Nudging her shoulder drags her gaze reluctantly back to him. And this is not the appropriate setting for levity, Acacius should bite back the smile curling at the corners of his mouth—but for his wife, his divine leaena, he’s a sinner on his knees desperate to be in the warmth of her good graces again. “You are fond of this general’s face, yes?”

It’s not the offering this goddess deserves, but it’s enough to begin mending what he’d torn, soothing the worst of the sting. She smiles, an amused, uneven little twist of her mouth she once confessed being insecure about before he kissed away all worries from her mind. There’s something undeniably perfect about it, like the first rays of sunlight after a bleak winter. 

“Of course I am. But…” She bites her lip, caught on something. He squeezes her hand, and it seems to be the needed boost to force the words out from the cage in her throat. “Even the Atlas Lion must want to roar sometimes.”

Acacius should be annoyed with her ability to read him–it’s a weakness, and any weakness in his personal experience is a promise of death’s swift arrival. It isn’t safe, for either of them. But she’s done the unthinkable, worming her way into his ugly, greedy heart, treating it like something tender, something lovable. And it was too damn easy how quickly she filled up every vacant space in his head. From the moment she lifted her veil he’s been enraptured by her essence. Starving for every scrap of attention she’s willing to give. His wife has become a critical piece of his life, as vitally essential as the breath in his lungs and the sword hanging at his hip.

It’s dangerous, what she’s done to him.

But it’s far, far more dangerous, what he’d do for her.

Her eyes widen with surprise when he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, but he feels the way she relaxes against him with easy acceptance. Believing she’s safe with him, ignorant of the threats closing in on all sides. Every day drawing nearer and nearer still. 

That will have to change, he swears to himself. Her survival depends upon it.

“Yes,” he says at last, and it’s the most honest he’s been with himself in years. “Sometimes he does.”}

~~

Acacius places one hand on your shoulder, the other settles on your hip. There is nothing delicate about his touch, no hesitation about maneuvering your body into a proper defensive stance. Feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, pugio held in a strong grasp.

“Lower your arm, always aim the blade at your opponent,” Acacius instructs, slipping into his alternate persona as a leader on the battlefield like a second skin, his critical eyes zeroing in on all the mistakes that will get you killed in a moment of danger. “When you hold that dagger, you must hold it with the intent to spill blood, my leaena. Words alone aren’t enough to protect you.”

You swallow, fingers flexing around the hilt. It’s a daunting experience, learning to sever someone’s life thread from an expert on the subject. You’re grateful for the privacy of your domus’ courtyard, concealing your clumsy movements from outsiders who’d undoubtedly laugh at each ungraceful slash and lunge. You resemble a fool, sweaty and fledgling, undeserving of your husband’s calling. The only women you’d seen fight with weapons were gladiatrices at festivals, an exotic and unusual form of entertainment which never failed to attract large crowds. Your mother claimed they brought shame upon womankind, yet when Acacius had asked you to learn, you’d accepted without delay.

She’d disown you immediately if she could see you now. The thought has your stomach churning, a sour taste on the back of your tongue.

“We’re wasting time,” you say, voice hoarse. “I’ll never be strong enough to pose a threat to anyone.”

Acacius clicks his tongue at you. “Never say never, my leaena. You’ll tempt the Fates.”

The courtyard is quiet besides your breathing, and the streets beyond the domus’ walls are empty this time of day. You’re keenly aware of Acacius’ nearness, the slight frown pulling at his lips, like he’s trying to understand your thoughts, and you want to fight him. Howl and claw and lash out like the beast he seeks to bring to light from your depths. But there is nothing there. 

“I’m not like you. I can’t be.” His head tilts, still uncomprehending. You gesture at him with your empty hand, the rippling muscles straining the fabric of his sleeveless tunic. “The Atlas Lion. Devourer of the Emperors’ enemies. Ferocity unmatched amongst Rome’s army of warriors.” You then gesture at yourself, forcing the ugly words past your teeth if only so he’ll give up this futile endeavor. “I’m just me.”

The air shifts between you and him, a thick, cloying tension weighing heavily upon your shoulders. It’s only the knowledge that there’s nowhere in all of Cosa you could hide from your husband that keeps you anchored in place even as your heartbeat gallops away. Acacius’ brown eyes darken, thunder clouds blocking out the sun.

And then his callused hands are on your face, palms rough along the underside of your jaw, fingers pressing into the skin, squeezing. Claiming. An inescapable hold. 

“Do not,” he starts, voice low and gravelly, a snarling darkness you’ve never heard before and never want to again, “ever speak so poorly of yourself again. How can you think of yourself as anything less than magnificent? How can you not know of the power you wield over me? You’ve made me live again. My heart, long cold and numbed by the trials of war, beats again only for you. There is nothing more valuable to me than your wellbeing–not wealth nor fame, nothing. Is it clear to you yet? You have tamed the Atlas Lion body and soul. This general heeds your every call.”

You shudder, dazed and captivated by his close proximity, his devotion. Intoxicated, that’s what you feel. So caught up in a fog of mindless pleasure you fail to notice him guiding your hand up, up, up until the pugio’s blade is put to his throat. 

“All that I am is yours,” Acacius says, hushed now, a secret between lovers. The dagger pierces skin, a thin trickle of blood oozing. You flinch, eyes widening, but his hold remains firm. “Which makes you the most dangerous creature of all. And for that reason, my leaena, you will and you must learn to fight.”

He shoves you backwards a step. It’s not his full strength, more surprising than hurtful, but something inside you uncoils, teeth gnashing. A feeling sparks in your bloodstream, erupting into a wildfire at the look of pride in Acacius’ eye when you reflexively point your pugio at his heart. 

You swipe at him, again and again, driven by this new source of power. And through it all he holds your gaze, the brown of his eyes as sharp as the blade in your hand. Neither one says I love you, I’d take a bite out of the world for you but neither one needs to. 

Actions have always been louder than words.

~~

“Do you ever think about what’s out there?” you ask one night in bed together. Acacius reclines against the headboard, staring at you through half-lidded eyes as you drag your fingertips over his bare, scarred skin in meaningless patterns. 

Would anyone believe this man was the Atlas Lion? A wild, virulent beast compliant and disarmed beneath the gentle stroke of your touch? 

No. You think not.

“Out where?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, thumb catching on a particularly rough patch of damaged skin left of his hip bone. Every battle he fought, every combatant he faced—Mars laid fresh claims to his body with each fresh cicatrix.  

Claims you challenge the only way you know how. Scrapes of your nails breaking skin and tender presses of your mouth licking up the crimson pearls of blood.

“Beyond the Empire’s borders. Somewhere without war.”

Acacius’ brow creases, gaze alert now, looking at you as if you’ve spoken a different language. “Without war…” he repeats slowly. “My leaena, there is no place such as that. Discordia’s reach is far, farther than the Emperors could ever conquer in their combined lifetimes, stirring up strife deep in the hearts of even the mildest of men, and it will always find an outlet one way or another.”

“Oh.” You clear your throat. It’s not the response you had hoped for, but it’s the one you should have expected. Acacius isn’t the type of man to indulge in far-fetched fantasies of softer living. Can’t be, not with all the horrors he’s witnessed and played a part in crafting. 

“But,” Acacius pauses, and his hand covers yours. Not holding or moving it, just staying there. Feeling. “If somewhere without war did exist…” he smiles, a soft and little thing reserved just for these quiet moments. “I’d do whatever it took to get us there.”

~~

The wool for your new palla has been carded and spun into yarn. It stretches and winds around the teeth of your wooden loom, weighed down by terracotta scales. 

You’re alone in the domus. Acacius had been summoned by the magistrates for an urgent meeting, and you try not to let fear interfere with your work, an aggressive wasp buzzing at the back of your mind. Your touch remains light when pulling at uneven sections, its intended shape coming together bit by bit. The whooshing of a racing heartbeat echoes in your ears.

So long as there is land outside the Empire’s borders, the Emperors will expect Acacius to conquer it in their names. His time in Cosa is trapped in an hourglass, never quite knowing when the last grain of sand will slip away, summoned back to the front lines for another campaign. Another brush with death. Another chapter added to his legacy.  

You feel the sand’s effects sometimes, a sinking sensation threatening to drag you down when you walk with him through the market. Coarse and gritty, scratching your skin as you fall asleep in his arms. Piling so high it chokes you, the cursed inevitability of it all.

Another loop of wool around teeth. Tension taut and held firm. The muscles of your arms burn with effort, left foot tingling uncomfortably from sitting too long with little movement. Cosa’s awake and thriving in the warm weather, echoes of voices drifting in with the breeze, but you’ve never felt more alone. A feeling you dread becoming intimately familiar with sooner or later.

Later, you pray selfishly, desperately, achingly to the Fates. Make it later. 

So long as Acacius breathes he will always walk two paths—the path of a general and the path of a husband. And it’s a priority of yours–a requirement as his wife–to find a way to be okay when those paths split and you’re truly left all alone. You must then nurture the tiniest flame of hope one step, one trial, one lonely night at a time. Burning fiercely until every last shadow of doubt is purged from your mind, and the only thing that remains is the steadfast belief he’ll return to your side.

Then you must prepare yourself to do it all over again and again and again…too incapable of challenging the Emperors’ insatiable greed, too mortal to stop the sands of time.

You roll your shoulders once finished, scrutinizing the piece for errors. Later you’ll detach the palla from the loom to cut and tie off the loose end-threads of dangling wool, and later still you’ll take it to the fuller to be washed then to the dyer to be colored. You wonder if Acacius will like the shade of golden yellow you have in mind. If he’ll even be in Cosa to see the finished product or a thousand miles away in the heat of battle. A tremor racks your spine at the thought.

But then the front door opens with a quiet groan, and the cheerfully hummed notes of Acacius’ favorite song float through the house. You smile, heartbeat settling into its natural rhythm with the knowledge he’s here with you. The war has not stolen him away just yet.

“Come, my leaena,” he calls out, and you can hear the grin in his voice without having to see it. “It’s a beautiful day. Should we spend it by the coast?”

There’s an urge to close your eyes, to sink into this moment for all its worth, but sand is rising around your ankles. A reminder of all temporary things. 

Your legs can’t move fast enough, drawn to your husband’s side. 

Just a little bit longer. Another hour, another day. 

You reach for Acacius’ hand, tangling them together, pulling him closer. Always closer.

Another call of my name.

“Let’s not waste a single second.”

[anakin-skywalker-always]

padawan/atoc era anakin x reader, they're in love with each other (both jedi) but obviously can't come forward. Anakin confides in Padmé, reader becomes convinced/jealous that anakin is with padme

(bonus points if you can make it angsty and fluffy)

As Easy As Breathing

Hi nonnie! Thank you so, so, so much for this rec! It’s my first one on this account and it’s really quite the christening. Hope its okay, I’m not the best at angst! 

Pairing: Padawan!Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Reader (Star Wars) 

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: none!! Should be all good, let me know if you caught anything I may have missed. Not beta read! 

Words: 1.8k

Author’s Notes: Anakin is canonically 19 in AOTC, reader is the same, maybe a year younger. Clone Wars have not yet started in this fic, I’m just assuming Padmé and Anakin stayed besties after the whole nonsense in Phantom Menace.

The warm sun filtering through the windows fell upon Anakin’s face, in a soft moment of solitude, the sounds of the Coruscant cityscape provided him with a brief reprieve to Padmé’s chastising. He often thought that his ability to talk to Padmé about anything was his strength, but in this moment he couldn’t help to think of it as a weakness. Anakin cringed as Padmé continued to berate him; On a rare afternoon off the nineteen-year-old padawan found himself lounging on the senator’s couch. 

“Seriously Anakin, you should just-” Padmé stilled, her slender hands finding her hips, huffing, she continued, “Are you even listening to me, Ani?” The forceful tone on his nickname got Anakin’s attention once again. 

“I am!” Anakin raised his eyebrows in addition to his hands, in mock surrender. “I swear Padmé!” 

The senator found it easy to roll her eyes at his antics, like always. But she could see the change in Anakin, could see how his emotions for his fellow padawan learner have caused conflict in him. Her friend wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t eating. Padmé knew Anakin was an intense person, a strong personality, everyone knew that about him. But this, this was different. He seemed lost, like he was missing something he needed to operate. Padmé found her way to the couch, sitting beside Anakin, grabbing his tanned, calloused hands in her own. 

“Anakin, if you do truely care this strongly for her, you must tell her.” Anakin’s eyes found Padmé’s own. “It would be cruel, to withhold this love.” There was a time in Anakin’s life where this is all he wanted, being with Padmé and he knew his nine-year-old self would be so excited by innocent hand holding. But his nineteen-year-old self was happier to have such a strong, nonjudgemental friend. 

“How did you know that you loved Sabé?” Anakin asked gently, knowing how the senator safeguarded her relationship with her handmaiden fiercely. 

Anakin noted how Padmé seemed to glow at the mention of her lover. A warm smile graced her pink lips, eyes crinkling at the sides, a faraway glaze coated her sparkling eyes. Her signature in the force felt warm, it wrapped around Anakin’s brain, made him feel safe. Padmé’s love for Sabé was so tangible it extended outside herself, adjusting her force signature. 

“I realised I loved Sabé when being around her became a necessity, an honesty, a truth that I did not know I was constantly seeking out.” Padmé gushed, a light trail of pink lit itself over her high cheekbones and freckled nose. “I felt as if Sabé had breathed new life into me everytime I saw her, it was natural, it was right.” 

Anakin was quiet for a moment, Padmé became worried that she had overstepped somehow, projected to far onto Anakin’s feelings. 

“Loving y/n is as natural as breathing.” He replied. 

Anakin rolled over on his hard, standard issue, Jedi temple bed. A sleepless night was not uncommon for him, but this felt inherently different. Padmé’s words from earlier in the day rattled around his brain, demanding to be dealt with. Anakin never saw love as a weakness, never saw attachment as weakness. How could he? Love was the basis of the light, the well of Jedi power that Anakin drew from was a labour of love, was purity, was peace, was built with empathy and centered by knowing himself. His love for you did not make him a bad person. 

But he knew it would make him seem like a bad Jedi. 

Not knowing your stance on him, on the rule of attachment was slowly eating away at Anakin’s peace. 

Groaning aloud, Anakin ran his hands down his face. 

Your head whipped around, anxiously. You knew it was embarrassing that you always looked for him in a crowded room, but you could not help it, you felt as if the force was electric until he calmed it. His signature singlehandedly smothering anything else it came in contact with. Being around Anakin, to you, felt as natural as breathing. 

“Looking for young Skywalker, are you?” Your master, Mace Windu asks, a small smirk whispers across his face, lightly nudging you in the shoulder. The two of you stood in one of the reception rooms of the Republic building. The Senate was hosting a charity gala with the invite extending to the Jedi temple. So, there you stood, in your best robes, breaking your neck to catch a glimpse of The Chosen One. 

“No Master.” You said, quietly. Turning your head away from the powerful Jedi Master to not embarrass yourself further with the luxury of him catching your furious blush. Your master excused himself, laughing, finding Master Plo Kloon. 

So, you stood there, alone, foolishly searching the room for your fellow padawan, the one that consumed your mind and soul. 

It wasn’t completely unlikely, you reasoned with yourself. You and Anakin were friends, were very well matched, sparring partners. But, Anakin was a good Jedi. A strong Jedi. Following orders wasn’t Anakin’s strongest suit, you’d admit. Pondering whether he would disregard the rules of attachment for you, however, was different. 

Nonetheless, like a junkie craving death sticks, you craved Anakin’s presence, his force signature was all you needed to feel right. The anxiety of the gala was too much. Closing your eyes, tightly, you reached out into the force to find him. Anakin’s signature, golden like it always was flocked to your senses, like always. 

Opening your eyes, you began to weave through the bustling crowd as quickly as one could who was masquerading as casual. 

“I’m not going to say anything to her now, Padmé.” Anakin huffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms across his chest, defensively. “Not in front of all these people, you’ve got to be joking.” He scoffed. 

Sabé giggled quietly, the two women joined their arms at the elbow. Padmé just rolled her eyes at Anakin’s supposed insoclence. 

Your frame weaving through the crowd in his direction caught Anakin’s eye. He smiled, quikly raised a hand, and was delighted when your devastating smile echoed back. 

“Anakin.” You greeted him, with a small bow of the head. His name sounded heavenly whenever you deigned to let it fall from your lips. Anakin was convinced he could breathe easier with you around, like he had been purged of something suffocating him. 

“Y/N, this is Sen-” You quickly cut him off, not wanting to hear the name of your rival come from his beautiful mouth. Your jealousy that you held for Padmé reared its ugly head, and you couldn’t help to feel shame burn deep inside the space between ribs. 

“Senator Amidala, a pleasure it is to finally meet you,” You stuck your hand out, awkwardly hoping for a handshake. “Anakin has told me so much.” Cordial. It was a good tactic. You were a good person, a good jedi. You would not succumb to jealousy. Besides, Padmé had other qualities you were far more jealous of than just her nonexistent romantic relationship that you deludedly conjured up in your mind when you tried to sleep at night. 

“All good things I should hope.” She smiled, her soft hand finding your own, a small shake. You could empathise with Anakin for falling in love with someone like her. Someone so intelligent, powerful, beautiful. 

It was not lost on you, the way the senator’s hand quickly found the one of the woman she stood beside. 

“This is Sabé.” Anakin started, introducing Padmé’s guest. “Padmé’s hand-” For the second time tonight, but surely not the last, Anakin was cut off. 

“My partner.” Senitor Amidala said firmly, though her eyes twinkled with pride. Sabé’s own shock manifested itself into a wide smile. The two looked eachother in the eyes and you couldn’t help but feel silly. Of course. Of course. 

For whatever reason, the words you thought you had died swiftly in your mouth,  “Oh.” was all you managed to get out. “A pleasure to meet you too, Sabé.” You tried quickly to save the situation, to save embarrassment. But Padmé’s slight smile, Sabé’s coy smirk. You felt like the two Naboo women knew you, saw you. They somehow, in this embarrassing blunder of a meeting had already clocked that you harboured feelings for Anakin Skywalker. It made you feel foolish, moreso than what you already did. 

“If you’d excuse us, Jedi, we have futher business to attend to.” Sabé quipped strongly, leading her senator lover to the next group of politicians. The art of smalltalk was something else you could add to the list of Padmé’s items you were jealous of. 

Anakin turned to you, chuckling. His standard-issue Jedi robes moving effortlessly with his chest. Running a hand through his cropped hair, you felt his eyes scanning your face. You knew your blood would betray you, like it so often did around your friend, rising to the surface of your cheeks, splattering down your neck and chest. Embarrassment clung to you like a rash. 

“Don’t mind them, they like setting me up.” Anakin scoffed, shaking his head. 

“Setting you up for what?” You asked, eyeing him micheviously. Chatting with Anakin felt natural; He was quick witted and liked challenging you, he was a tease. 

And, more often than not, a flirt. 

This was different though, Anakin had an air of nervousness about him. You noticed as your fellow padawan’s large, veiny hands found the way to the back of his neck, rubbing sheepishly. 

“Oh you know…” He trailed off, looking everywhere except for your eyes, his own blue ones scanning the ornate ceiling of the reception room. “Setting us up to be alone together.” He admitted, squinting as if the words bought him some kind of physical pain. 

You quirked a brow, your arms quickly crossing your chest - a defensive stance. “Would that be so bad? Being alone together?” The words meant to be teasing, non-serious. But it was too late, the seed was planted in Anakin’s brain. 

To him, that felt like an admission of sorts, an admission that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. Well, if he squinted it seemed like that. 

In a tender moment, something rare for Anakin, he reached out. Tucking stray hairs behind your ear, gently following your padawan braid around the cusp of it. 

“You know, y/n, that I want nothing more,” He smiled. It was pure, and real. You felt the sincerity in the force, the truth within him. Moreso, you felt your ear burn from the brief contact, felt your heart swell in your chest at the mere thought of being alone in close quarters with him. “I want nothing more than to be alone with you.” 

He retracted his hand, but you still felt alight with his closeness. His force signature felt palpable, you were enraptured in his warmth. He was golden. Your golden boy. 

“Why don’t we go get lost then?” You whispered, scared anything too loud would betray your eagerness. Anakin’s smile split across his face, eyes crinkling and dimples showing. Smirking he placed a strategic hand at the low of your back. He was so incredibly tall, bending over you to whisper back, 

“After you, my lady.”

—--

AN: Hehe all done! Left it open for more if you wanted, but teasing enough to be left as it is! Hope it’s alright and I hope you could enjoy at least some of it <3 

P.S This is a side account, my main is @mayhemories, so I will be answering any comments with that account but rest assured it is still me :) <3

Much love, El. 

[throneofsapphics]

finding you again, part one

Azriel x f!Reader

summary: after he ended your relationship, you didn’t expect Azriel to pop into your life again - and you’re not happy about it

warnings: references to utm, war, disease

a/n: sorry for the delay! part two coming in the next few days, if anyone wants to be added to a taglist, you can comment under here or send me an ask/message!

series masterlist

Shockwaves of magic swept through Prythian and the surrounding islands at once. It felt like the ground beneath your feet shifted. Once, twice, three times - and you heard shouts from around you. You took a brief moment to thank the mother that it wasn’t just in your head. 

You picked up the basket, sprinting back towards your home. Herbs flew out of the sides, but you’d go back to collect later. Whatever this was now, it was huge. You felt it in your bones, something in your world was changing, everything seemed to come to a standstill - the rest could wait. 

The entire island was tense for the next few days, everyone waiting to see what did happen. Whispered murmurs of the possibilities, of the could-be’s, of the tentative hope blossoming - a hope nobody let show publicly. 

Secluded by yourselves, the wards you’d collectively put together at the beginning of Amarantha’s reign, near impenetrable, made news difficult to come by. 

Three days later, a tingling sensation on the back of your neck woke you. It was gone by the time you’d rushed into your kitchen, fingers white-knuckled around a dagger. 

Two letters. One addressed to the inhabitants of the town, wax sealed with the stamp of the Night Court. Next to it, one with just your name. 

Shaking hands, unsteady breaths, you ripped it open, ignoring the sting of a small cut on your index finger.

Your eyes flew over the words. The paper began to fold under your tight grip, edges wrinkling. 

Unsteady breaths, a lone tear dripping down your cheek, it took minutes of pacing and intentional breathing to collect yourself. 

Bringing it back to your room, you climbed half under your bed, sliding a loose board aside and shoved the letter inside, sliding a box over it. That couldn’t fall into the wrong hands. 

Grabbing the other envelope, swinging your door open, a cool spring breeze hitting your face, reddening your cheeks and nose, before heading to share the news. 

You ignored the other implication of the situation. The particular scent lingering on the envelope. You hadn’t thought of him in years, and now wasn’t the time to start. 

-

“The High Lord wants to visit,” the older female breathed, eyes wide as she turned her gaze to you, before frowning. “Why would he ask?”

“He could be having difficulty getting through the wards,” her mate said, covering the female’s hand with his own, mouth curving at the corners, a twinkle of pride. Well deserved, he had painstakingly designed them. 

“Or he’s sending this as a courtesy, they got the letter to us after all,” she snorted, but returned his smile. 

You knew who’d sent the letter. The hint of night chilled mist and cedar so unique you couldn’t have imagined it. 

With Madja’s help, you’d gotten permission from Rhysand to leave Velaris sixty years ago, for a while able to visit every few months until…

You subconsciously rubbed the bargain tattoo on your ribcage. Three stars surrounded by a circle, your promise to never reveal the location of Velaris. 

-

Azriel knew his brother needed a distraction, and frankly - he needed to leave the damn city. The once safe haven that had become a necessary prison. He was too self-aware to discount the other reason, the need to lay eyes on you and see that you were safe, at least somewhat. 

Rhys shot him a curious look when he volunteered too quickly - when Azriel had raised the idea. 

“There’s wards surrounding the island,” he schooled his face neutral - the spymaster, doing his job, “are near impenetrable.” Except perhaps by you or me, he didn’t need to say aloud. Yes, he’d sent shadows to scout the area soon after the curse broke, and they’d brought interesting reports in turn. 

Rhys nodded, and Azriel sat across from him as he wrote out two letters, sealing and sliding them across the table. 

One was addressed to … you. His blink of surprise gave him away.

“You know her?” Rhys’s eyes glimmered. He’d been discreet with his lovers, and of course he was aware Rhys knew, but just because he’d thought of you didn’t mean he wanted to share with others. But … the amused expression in Rhys’s eyes wavered, revealing some of the strain beneath. 

A distraction, that’s what his brother and High Lord needed, and perhaps he could do with a touch of vulnerability. 

“We were involved … before she left.” 

“I know,” Rhys smirked. For fucks sake. “Why do you think I let her leave and keep knowledge of Velaris? It was obvious she could keep a secret - she never said a word about your … involvement, to anyone else.”

Again, something he knew, but he had the decency to show a touch of surprise. 

Azriel raised a brow, a gentle nudge against the shields barricading his mind, and he lowered them slightly. 

“You’re willing to make a bargain?” Rhys leaned back in his chair, you seated before him, fidgeting and brimming with energy. 

“Yes,” your voice was strong and firm. 

“Very well,” his mouth turned up at the corners, a smile designed to put people at ease - it worked on you. 

The bargain was fair and concise. You could leave Velaris, and return as you wish as long as you never revealed or hinted to the name, location, or existence of Velaris. 

Azriel pushed Rhys out, slamming walls back in place. “Why are you showing me this?”

“You want to investigate the island, don’t you?” He wanted to slap the smirk off the other male's face. “She’s one person you know intimately,” Azriel rolled his eyes, “who lives there.” 

“I doubt she would speak to me,” he retorted dryly. 

“You’d be surprised what time and distance can do,” he countered. Az shook his head, he wouldn’t let false hope sink in, hope of regaining your … friendship. Maybe seeing you, even if it was just once, would be enough. 

-

A day later, Azriel stood on a cliff, wards pulsing with magic in front of them. Rhys to his left, Mor flanking his other side, they waited for … well, he wasn’t entirely what. For someone who would let them in. Rhys had sent a charmed parchment, designed to deliver their answer immediately, and everything in the letter sounded perfectly enthusiastic. 

Magic parted enough to reveal an older female and male - centuries older than themselves given the wrinkles starting to line their faces, appearing as if they were close to fading. Both carried themselves with confidence, but a warm and open demeanor as they bowed deeply. 

“Thank you for coming to see us,” the male rasped. 

He took brief notes of their names, the introduction, while sending discreet shadows to poke around the rest of the wards and small community. Due diligence and routine instinct now. They eyed him just a touch of caution, but it didn’t phase him, it never had. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “we’ve prepared lunch.” 

“Not at all,” Rhys smiled, the warmth in his tone almost matching the one he used with the citizen’s of Velaris, still laced with subtle authority. 

Less than a quarter of a mile, and they approached a quaint looking town. Stone houses, slightly corroded by salty air, but built sturdily - ready to weather any type of storm. Sure, he’d heard all of this through his shadows but seeing had a different effect. Paved pathways, a few different shops and a tavern. 

“Not much of an economy now,” she was telling Mor, “we trade what we can, all help each other out. Kept to ourselves the last few decades.” Kept to ourselves. 

‘They locked themselves away,’ Rhys’s voice flooded through his mind. “The community is small enough that Amarantha didn’t bother looking.” But they’d been a vital trading port for the Night Court before. He was surprised she’d ignored it. “I was too,” Rhys said. 

Ignored, but she’d considered them anyway. A sickening feeling coiled in his gut. If Amarantha had gotten to you … 

“The healer you recommended,” the male spoke to Rhys, pulling him from his mind, ''saved all our lives when a disease swept through, ‘bout thirty years ago. A great female.” 

“One of the best healers I know,” Rhys replied. It was the truth. As far as healers went, you were one of the best available. He wondered if you knew the other reason you were sent here; If Hybern were to attack the Night Court, they all suspected this Island would be the first target, and a skilled and trustworthy healer was needed on the ground. On the front lines. That sickening feeling returned, and Azriel knew he needed to set his own eyes, not just shadows, on you before he left. 

-

You couldn’t avoid the lunch, not without raising suspicion. Maybe he wouldn’t be there. He was the spymaster, after all, not usually sent to do courtesy visits. Still, this had been the talk of the town for the last two weeks. 

‘The High Lord,’

‘Do you think he’s as handsome as they say?’ 

‘He isn’t mated or married, is he?’ 

Mother above. You had to try and match their excitement, to blend in. They couldn’t know you grew up seeing him frequently in Velaris. All they’d known is you apprenticed with one of the Inner Circle’s preferred healers - and even that was a rumor you’d never confirmed or denied. 

Hand braced on your doorframe, three conscious breaths, and you pushed it open, forcing your hands to relax at your sides, keeping your strides even and steps paced. 

A small crowd had gathered outside of the largest tavern, and you weaved yourself into the fray, balancing on your toes to catch a glimpse through the open doors. 

Hazel eyes connected with yours, and your stomach dropped. 

Just your luck. You couldn’t bring yourself to break the gaze, the way his eyes searched you, the brief hint of relief in them. Why the hell was he relieved? He’d made it perfectly clear you meant little to him, and now he meant nothing to you. 

Slipping backwards, you tore your gaze away and slipped down the street. 

-

“Go ask her some questions,” Rhys had thrown a hint of command into his tone. He wanted Azriel to gain some kind of information from you. It made sense. He wanted, needed, to see you anyway. “I’ll keep everyone distracted.” 

Easy enough for him, Azriel took the next chance to melt into the shadows, to follow you. You led him right to a secluded cliff, sitting a few safe paces back, arms wrapped around your knees, squeezing tighter and he approached from the side - in your line of sight. 

“What do you need?” He wasn’t surprised by the harshness. Pausing a good few paces to your left, he sat, legs kicked out in front of him, bracing his palms on the cold stone. 

“To ask a few questions.” 

“Go ahead,” you muttered, still keeping your eyes off him. 

“How did you remain hidden all of these years?” 

“Magic. Wards. Things Fae more skilled than I created.” 

Truth, a shadow sung in his ear. 

“Who?” 

“You probably already met them,” you groused. He fought back a smirk, he’d forgotten how cute you could be when you were grumpy, and promptly wiped that idea from his mind. 

“Tell me anyway.” 

You listed the two who’d greeted them. Not surprising. It also told him it wasn’t quite a secret, especially with the brief pride flashed in your eyes. 

“Did you have to … give anything to it?”

“Ask them.” 

“I’m asking you,” he countered mildly. You wouldn’t get away with evading his questions. 

“A bit of blood and a bit of magic.” 

He hummed. Rhys would probably ask similar questions, but it was good to hear from another source. 

“Why did you need to come here?” Venom filled your tone. 

“By our High Lord's request,” Azriel said dryly. 

-

By our High Lord’s request. Of course there was no interest in seeing you. You were merely a bonus, a person he could easily ask questions to. You hated yourself for letting the thought cross your mind. 

“I wanted to see you, as well,” you almost missed the softly spoken words. 

“What made you think I want to see you?” You shot at him, finally turning to face him.

“I didn’t say that,” a brief flash in his eyes. “I said I wanted to see you.” 

“You’ve seen me,” you waved a hand. “Any more questions?” Brief silence. “Good. Leave me the fuck alone.” Forever, the narrowing of your eyes said. 

“You should know,” he tilted his head back, this time escaping your gaze. “I didn’t forget about you - I” 

“Just stop,” you hissed. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

The implication struck you - others had forgotten, and he knew that. Azriel leaned forward, eyes on the ocean, knees raising and forearms bracing on them.

“Amarantha may be gone,” a shiver ran down your spine - at the name, and the low and deadly tone, “but Hybern will still cause issues.” War. “Rhys will give the same warning to your town today. Velaris and here may be the safest places in the Night Court.”

“Is he asking us to open the wards?” Because they’d do it in a heartbeat, and you knew that. 

“Perhaps,” Azriel said, and turned back to you, hazel eyes searching for something. “You’d be safe here.”  

“If there’s going to be a fucking war, i’ll be there. Healing.” 

“I know,” an unrecognizable set of emotions flashed in his eyes. “I’d see you there.” 

“I hope not,” you countered, keeping your eyes fixed on the waves, on the white foam topping them. A current so violent only the strongest swimmers braved it. “I might not like you, but I don’t want to see anyone,” you emphasized, “hurt.”

Azriel nodded, and rocked forward, rising to his feet. He offered a hand to you, you ignored it, pushing yourself up and facing the path back to town. 

“Stay safe, spymaster,” you looked over your shoulder, “and do it far away from me, won’t you?” 

A grin crossed your face at the brief ire reflecting on his and you strode off.

taglist: @mellowarcadefun @acourtofbatboydreams @sheblogs @macimads  @sirens-and-moonflowers @tele86 @kalulakunundrum @anxious-study @mika-no-sekai-blog @judig92  @randomperson1234sblog @fightmedraco @caraaaaugh @thelov3lybookworm @tothestarsandwhateverend @fxckmiup @scatteredstardustt @tooweirdtolive-toorareto-die @redcap3girl @boygeniuses10 @anuttellaa @aunicornmademedoit

[generalsmemories]

Hello author! Can I request from angst prompt the angst sentence #2 and angst scenario #4 with Jing yuan? This is my first time doing stuff like this. I don't know if I'm doing it right😅 if not feel free to delete! May you have a wonderful day!

A shoulder to lean on

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ prompts: breaking down mid-hug, "can you call me that again?" and "you haven't changed" "...do you mean that in a good way or a bad way?" || 1k event

✧ contents: hurt/comfort, a miniscule of high cloud quintet lore, my personal hc that jing yuan was a tiny bit of a crybaby when he was younger (it's mentioned briefly you could barely notice it)

✧ a/n: after jingliu's companion quest the need to give this man a hug just increased by tenfold. but you did everything correct dear anon, thank you for participating in the event! not beta-read cause the idea kicked me in the face at like 1 AM so i had to hurry before i lost it. though i did struggle trying to incorporate the last sentence LMFAO.

"Do you accept this new position as the general of the Luofu, Jing Yuan?"

Sometimes he wonders if things would've gone differently if he said no that day, had politely declined the offer. He had dreams after all, dreams that wasn't limited to the Luofu - a dream that was to reach the stars, and further than that.

"It would be my honor."

But as fast as those worries came, it quickly faded away with time. Forgotten amidst the chaos that immediately happened the moment he took the mantle of the General.

"General, there's another meeting with the Six Charioteers."

"General, the Marshal is requesting your presence."

"Even if you've became the general, we would still need a strategic mind and another sword out on the battlefield, what do you say?"

He didn't mind at first.

"General! The high elder has...!"

"General, we have succesfully captured Imbibitor Lunae, what are the High Preceptors orders for him?"

"General! The swordmaster has succumbed to mara!"

If he could serve the Luofu to the best of his abilities then he would. He loved Luofu after all. It would be no greater honor than to be able to govern it and protect it.

"General! There's an urgent message from the Xianzhou Yaoqing and Xianzhou Fanghu!"

"General, we will keep losing more men to the Denizens of Abundance at this rate, the only way to stop this war once and for all is through the Reignbow Arbiter!"

But after centuries of the same title being called out, of the same courtesy and respect given to him at every corner and at every second of his life, he starts to wonder.

"General!"

When was the last time he heard someone call out his name?"

"Jing Yuan."

He sucks in a deep breath, eyes snapping open upon hearing his name. There's a warm hand cradling his cheek with a thumb stroking his skin patiently - but no words have been said after someone had uttered his name.

It's quiet - the noise inside his head had seemed to morph back into the same mild headache he's gotten used to ignoring every day. A pain that makes him realize he's no longer forced to witness what had happened in the past, the warmth from the hand on his cheek confirming the fact he's back in the present.

Back in today's Luofu - a peaceful Luofu not plagued by any war, a Luofu he had managed to keep in peace for centuries.

He let's out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, his eyes finally adjusting to the room around him. His vision is a bit hazy, but he can still make out the interior of your shared house.

There's a bed underneath him, a blanket covering half of his body and the sound of the breeze blowing through the wind chimes which makes them make a clear sound. And when he averts his gaze from the ceiling to the presence beside him, he finds himself locking eyes with your own - a gentle smile painting your lips.

"Good morning, I take it that you didn't sleep that well tonight?" you ask, and Jing Yuan opens his mouth to say something, whispering something so quietly that you couldn't even hear it even when you're this close to him, "I won't be able to hear you at all if you continue to whisper like that, you know?"

"... Can you call me that again?" he finally manages to utter after a beat of silence, the requst making you cock your head to the side in confusion - but it doesn't take long before your eyes widen slightly in realization, before immediately softening.

"You haven't changed at all, have you? Jing Yuan."

And that's all he needed to hear before he finally breaks. You can hear a low whimper come from him before you flinch away in surprise when he suddenly rises to an upright position. But you're not able to move back fast enough before an arm hurriedly wraps around your waist to force you closer to him.

"... Do you mean that in a good way or a bad way?" he breathes out, voice finally returning to him after hearing you call out his name again.

His free hand cradles the back of your head, pressing you closer to his neck while he almost shrinks into you, trying to press you closer than you already are.

Almost as if wants to protect you - from what you don't know.

But he's shaking, the arms enveloping you in his embrace are trembling slightly and you can feel his voice shake whenever he breathes in and out, his own face pressed against your head.

"A good way, what else? Because even after everything you've gone through, standing tall as the general of the Luofu-"

You ignore how he physically flinches upon hearing you say that title.

"You're still the same crybaby of a Jing Yuan that I fell in love with way before you even got your infamous nickname."

He doesn't say anything, freely letting you cup his cheeks to pull him away from your head, giving him a smile and a quick peck onto his cheek before you readjust him to rest his head on your shoulders - to which he quickly buries his face into your neck. And it's only when you wrap your own arms around his shoulders tightly that you feel tiniest of tears dampen your clothes.

You can only squeeze back, bending your head down to press your lips onto whatever part of Jing Yuan you can reach.

"It's okay to cry, Jing Yuan."

another similar ask that got incorporated

[criticallyinneedofadar]

Hello! I am quite enjoying your writing!

May I please request some Adar fluff? Maybe Yule is approaching in Middle Earth and Reader has organized some small treat for the Uruk children. As the end of the evening Adar offers to escort Reader back to their quarters, when it starts to snow. Reader is delighted, and Adar uses this as pretext to wrap his arm and cloak around them. Then perhaps a goodnight kiss?

Thanks!

This was so sweet I almost cried!! Sweet Adar and his poor Uruks!

Yuletide Joy

The cold in the air signals the turn of the season, crisp and biting, yet it feels softer here among the mountains. The world outside the fortress is blanketed in frost, the ground hard underfoot, but you’ve come to find a kind of peace in the harshness. The Uruks move through the camp with the same steady determination as always, indifferent to the encroaching chill. They are practical creatures, efficient and blunt, and their lives are not built around the sentimentality you once knew in other places.

Still, the approaching season stirs something in you. Yule draws near—a time of warmth, of light in the dark, of remembering what is good even when the world feels cold and unyielding. You have lived through many Yules, some filled with joy, others with sorrow, but never without the sense of something shared, something meaningful.

As you walk through the camp, your breath clouding in the frigid air, you pass a cluster of Uruk children gathered around a low fire. They speak in rough voices, exchanging half-teasing jabs, and though their bodies are young, their faces bear the same hard lines of survival you see in their elders. The fire’s light dances in their eyes, but there is no laughter, no sense of anticipation for the season to come. Something feels… empty.

Later, in the quiet of the hall, you bring your curiosity to one who might answer. Adar sits near the great hearth, his dark eyes reflecting the fire’s glow, his presence both commanding and oddly still. He looks up as you approach, and though his expression remains unreadable, there is a flicker of acknowledgment in his gaze.

“May I ask you something?” you begin, hesitant yet determined.

He inclines his head slightly, inviting you to continue.

“Do the Uruks celebrate Yule?” The question feels strange on your tongue, an echo of the life you once knew—before this. “Or… anything like it?”

For a moment, Adar says nothing. The fire crackles between you, filling the silence. Then he leans back, his gaze thoughtful, distant. “No,” he says at last, his voice low and measured. “They have never known such things. Their lives have been forged in darkness, in hardship. There has been little room for celebration.”

The words strike you harder than you expected. You knew, of course, of their suffering—how they were shaped by cruelty, by war—but to imagine a life devoid of even the smallest joy, even the brief warmth of a shared moment, is something else entirely.

“They have known no kindness,” he continues, his tone softening slightly. “And kindness was never taught to them.”

A silence stretches between you, heavy with understanding. You glance toward the fire, watching the embers pulse like faint, dying stars. “Then… perhaps it is time they learned,” you say quietly, the idea taking root in your mind before you can question it.

Adar watches you for a long moment, his dark gaze unreadable. Then, without a word, he turns back to the fire, as if to say he will not stop you—but he will not help, either.

It is a challenge, unspoken but clear. If you wish to teach them Yule, you must do so yourself.

You leave the hall with a strange warmth blooming in your chest, despite the cold outside. For the first time in years, you feel the season stirring in you—not as a memory, but as a possibility. And as you step into the chill night, you find yourself smiling.

This Yule, the Uruks will know something different. Something new.

. The decision you made the night before settles firmly in your mind: this Yule, the Uruks will feel something other than the weight of survival. There will be warmth, gifts, and something resembling joy.

The first step is understanding what they might appreciate—and that means asking questions.

You find Rakha near the camp’s edge, her shoulders broad and scarred, her expression as always, sharp and skeptical. She is one of the few who does not outright avoid conversation with you. Perhaps she even tolerates it. Her eyes narrow slightly as you approach, her hands busy sharpening a blade that has seen years of battle.

“Elf,” she greets with a rough voice, the name more observation than insult.

“Rakha,” you reply, your tone light. “I need your advice.”

She gives a short, barking laugh. “Advice? From me?” She raises a brow, clearly amused. “What mischief are you up to?”

You smile, undeterred. “Not mischief—something more… festive. If you were a child,” you say carefully, “what would make you happy? What do the young ones enjoy?”

Her sharpening pauses, and she frowns in thought. “The children enjoy games, though they play rough. Not like your kind.”

“I’m not asking for my kind,” you reply softly, watching her face. “I want to know what would bring them joy.”

She considers this, her dark eyes narrowing. “A good hunt. A game of strength, something with competition.” She taps the blade thoughtfully. “And perhaps food. Something sweet—if you can manage it.”

Sweet. That will be a challenge, but not impossible. You thank Rakha and make your way through the camp, gathering scraps of knowledge from the Uruks willing to speak. You hear suggestions for rough-hewn games, tales of contests they enjoyed as whelps, and ideas for food that might please even their hardened palates.

By mid-afternoon, your mind is full of plans. You’ll need supplies for a feast—perhaps roasted meat, root vegetables, and something sweet, even if it’s simple. You will craft small gifts from what little is available, carving trinkets from wood, perhaps stitching small pouches of dried herbs and spices. It’s not much, but it will be something.

You throw yourself into the preparations with a quiet determination, keeping your work discreet. The Uruks eye you curiously, though few ask questions. They’ve learned not to expect answers from you unless you offer them willingly.

But Adar is not so easily deterred.

He finds you late in the evening, standing near the great hearth, sorting through a pile of worn fabrics and dried herbs. His steps are soft, his presence unmistakable. You don’t look up as he approaches, focusing instead on your work.

“You’ve been busy,” he says, his voice calm, but with a hint of curiosity. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing important,” you reply too quickly, too lightly. “Just something to pass the time.”

Adar tilts his head, and you can feel his gaze on you, sharp and knowing. “You are lying.”

You glance up, meeting his eyes briefly, trying to muster an air of nonchalance. “It’s nothing,” you insist with a faint smile. “I have everything under control.”

He watches you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before finally giving the smallest of nods. “Very well,” he says, though his tone betrays that he knows more than he lets on. “I will leave you to your… nothing.”

As he turns to leave, you exhale a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. He knows. Of course he knows. But for some reason, he is letting you have this—letting you work in secret, pretending he does not see.

A small, pleased smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. Whatever he thinks, the Uruks will have their Yule, and you will make sure of it.

Even if Adar lets you think it is all your idea.

The halls are alive with the smell of roasting meat and spices, the rich aroma blending with the faint, sharp scent of evergreens you’ve woven through the space. The fire roars high in the great hearth, casting flickering light across the worn stone walls. For the first time since you arrived, the fortress feels less like a bastion of war and more like a home—at least for one night.

You step back to survey the scene. The long tables, usually bare and utilitarian, are lined with simple but hearty food: roasted meats dripping with juices, stewed roots seasoned with herbs, and in the center, a collection of small, honeyed pastries you worked tirelessly to prepare. It was no easy feat to find the ingredients, let alone bake them without notice, but you managed—and the golden treats gleam temptingly in the firelight.

The Uruk children are the first to arrive, creeping in hesitantly, their wary gazes darting around the room. They eye the decorations with suspicion, unused to such offerings, but the warmth of the fire and the enticing scent of the feast lure them closer.

One small Uruk, barely more than a whelp, edges toward the table, his eyes wide as he stares at the pastries. He glances back at you, suspicion still lingering in his gaze. “What is this?” he asks, his voice rough but curious.

You crouch to his level, smiling. “They’re sweets,” you explain gently, picking up one of the small pastries and holding it out to him. “Try it.”

He sniffs the treat, his distrust warring with curiosity, but eventually, hunger wins. He takes a tentative bite, and his eyes widen in shock and delight. He chews slowly, savoring the unexpected sweetness, before letting out a low grunt of approval.

Soon, the other children follow, cautiously at first, then with more confidence. They dart toward the table, grabbing treats and food, their faces lighting up with something that might almost be joy.

The room fills with noise—laughter, the clatter of plates, the delighted cries of the children as they realize that this night is theirs to enjoy. One of the older Uruks, Rakha, appears in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a bemused expression. She steps forward, grabs a sweet pastry, and takes a large bite.

Her eyes narrow, as if trying to maintain her usual gruff demeanor, but the way she devours the rest of the treat gives her away. “Sweet,” she mutters, chewing thoughtfully. “Didn’t think I’d like it.”

You grin, leaning against the edge of the table. “Seems you have a sweet tooth after all.”

She snorts but doesn’t deny it, reaching for another. Around the room, other Uruks begin to filter in—adults drawn by the warmth and scent of the feast. They take their seats hesitantly at first, watching the children with quiet curiosity, but it doesn’t take long for the tension to melt. Soon, the room is filled with the sound of conversation and laughter, rough and unfamiliar, but genuine.

The children play games near the fire, shouting and chasing each other through the hall, their sharp-edged voices echoing with unexpected joy. One of the younger ones topples, only to be scooped up by an older Uruk, who chuckles as he sets the child back on his feet.

You watch it all unfold, the sight filling your heart with warmth. They are fierce, scarred, and hardened by life, but tonight, they are something else: a family, if only for a moment.

At the center of it all, the fire crackles and roars, casting golden light over the gathered Uruks. Some sit close together, sharing food and stories, while others lounge near the edges, their expressions relaxed, their usual wariness softened. The sound of laughter, rough and raw, fills the room like music.

As the night deepens, you feel a presence behind you, and you don’t need to turn to know it’s Adar. His footsteps are soft, but the air seems to change when he enters, a stillness settling over the moment.

“You’ve done well,” he says quietly, his voice low and steady, just loud enough for you to hear.

You glance at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “It’s not nothing,” you reply, teasing, recalling your earlier evasion.

Adar’s dark eyes glimmer in the firelight, and though his expression remains unreadable, there is a softness there, a hint of approval. “No,” he agrees. “It is not nothing.”

Together, you watch the Uruks—your Uruks now, in some small way—as they revel in this unexpected celebration. For once, there is no war, no fear, no pain. Only warmth, joy, and the fleeting magic of Yule.

The hall is finally quiet, save for the crackling of the fire, its embers glowing faintly in the hearth. The Uruks, full and content, have begun to drift away—some lingering near the warmth, others guiding the children back to their sleeping quarters. The scattered remnants of the feast remain: half-empty plates, crumbs from the pastries, and overturned wooden cups.

You sit at the edge of one of the long tables, exhaustion settling into your bones like a deep ache. Yet, despite your weariness, there is a glow in your chest, a kind of satisfaction that makes the fatigue feel lighter. You move to gather a few plates, intent on helping with the cleanup.

“You’ve done enough.”

Adar’s voice, smooth and low, cuts through the quiet, and you turn to see him standing at the edge of the hall, his dark eyes unreadable but soft in the firelight. He crosses the room, his steps slow and deliberate. “Let the others take care of it,” he says, his gaze locking with yours. “You deserve rest.”

You hesitate, glancing at the mess still left to be cleaned, but the warmth in his voice and the weight of your own exhaustion finally convince you. “Perhaps,” you admit with a small smile, “I could use some rest.”

“Come,” Adar offers, extending his arm in a subtle but unmistakable gesture. “I will walk you back.”

Surprised but grateful, you nod and rise, taking his offer. His presence is steady beside you, and as you step out into the cold night air, the sharp chill is softened by the nearness of his warmth.

The snow has started to fall, soft flakes drifting down like stars shaken loose from the sky. The quiet is profound, the sounds of the camp fading behind you as you walk together, boots crunching in the fresh powder.

“You’ve done something remarkable tonight,” Adar says after a moment of silence. His voice is quiet, but there is something weighty in it, a rare gentleness. “They laughed. Truly laughed. It has been many years since I heard such a sound.”

You smile, watching the snow gather in the dark locks of his hair. “It wasn’t just me,” you reply. “They were ready for joy, even if they didn’t know it.”

He glances at you, the faintest curve of his lips betraying something like amusement. “You underestimate what you’ve done.”

You walk a little farther, the night air crisp and still. The conversation turns to the night’s success, and as you speak, a thought strikes you like a sharp pang. You halt mid-step, realization blooming in your mind.

“I forgot something.”

Adar stops, his brow furrowing slightly. “What is it?”

You exhale, a soft puff of white in the cold air, and laugh at yourself. “I forgot to make you a gift. With everything else, I… I didn’t prepare anything for you.”

He tilts his head, studying you with that patient, enigmatic expression. “You think I require a gift?”

You shift on your feet, suddenly feeling foolish. “It’s Yule. I should have made something, given something—”

Adar steps closer, close enough that the cold air seems to vanish between you. His hand reaches out, barely brushing your arm. “You gave me something,” he says softly, his voice like the distant roll of thunder, “something no gift could surpass.”

You blink, caught by the intensity in his gaze. “What?”

He smiles, a small, rare thing, and the firelight from the hall catches in his eyes. “The sound of my children laughing,” he says. “Of them living, not merely surviving.” He pauses, and the weight of his words lingers in the air like the falling snow. “That is more than I could have asked for.”

At his words, warmth blooms in your chest, fierce and unexpected, and you realize there is nothing else you could have given him that would mean more.

As you stand at the threshold of your chambers, the snow falling in gentle silence around you, Adar steps forward, his gaze heavy with unspoken meaning.

Adar leans in slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. His hand moves from your arm to cup your cheek, his palm rough but his touch achingly gentle.

“If there is one gift I desire,” he murmurs, his voice low, “it is this moment.”

Before you can speak, his lips brush yours, soft and deliberate. The kiss is warm, unhurried, and tender, his confidence steady where yours trembles. For a heartbeat, you freeze, uncertainty swirling in your chest—but then the warmth of him draws you in, and you melt into it, your hands rising to rest lightly against his chest.

The kiss lingers, sweet and fragile, until he pulls back just enough to look at you, his breath mingling with yours in the cold air. His thumb brushes your cheek, a soft, lingering touch.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, his voice a soft caress.

You manage a shaky smile, your heart still fluttering. “Goodnight, Adar.”

He steps back, his cloak brushing the snow as he turns and walks away, the snow falling around him in a silent curtain. You stand at your door, the warmth of the kiss lingering long after he is gone, your heart full in a way it hasn’t been in a long time.

[xoxobuckybarnes]

November 2024 Reading List

Complete

Not In The Answer But The Question (Rated: T, Words: 27K) by aimmyarrowshigh / @aimmyarrowshigh

Summary: It rankles that his drink was made before he even got a chance to order it. What if he wanted a change? What if he were adventurous and bold? What if he tried something new? --- Or, Steve Rogers shakes up his gray daily routine in 2014 by going back home to Vinegar Hill. To his surprise, the Jewish deli he used to frequent with Arnie is still standing. And Steve's whole life changes again.

Little House In The Suburbs (series)

Good Grief (Rated: G, Words 23K) Summary: All Bucky wants is to be the best he can be for Becca. It gets harder when his feelings start getting in the way. Birds and the Bees (and a thing called Love) (Rated: G, Words: 2K) Summary: Becca starts to ask the hard questions.

The Tortoise and the Hare (Rated: G, Words: 10K)

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Boy, Where Do You Think You're Going (Rated: E, Words: 20K) by Jibbly

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Love Will Make a Home Inside You (Rated: M, Words: 18K) by moshiznik & art by @koreanrage

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The Happy Days (Rated: G, Words: 1K) by Ranger616

Summary: Steve and Bucky, being domestic dads during a quiet, cold evening in December. Fluffier than fairy floss.

Family Matters (Series) by attackofthezee (noxlunate)

Captain America And The Accidental Baby Acquisition (Rated: G, Words: 2K) Summary: The baby looks up at Steve with big brown eyes and pulls it’s fists from it’s slobbery mouth to hold them out to Steve. Right. Right. There’s a baby on Steve’s doorstep. Steve can handle this. Aka Steve Rogers And The Accidental Baby Acquisition. Aka sometimes assholes on twitter say "Captain America would never wear a papoose" and you gotta write a fic just to spite them. Nature's Masterpieces (Rated: G, Words: 2K) Summary: “Snow.” Ella says solemnly, pointing towards the window and the white fluff drifting down to gather in piles outside. “Yep. That’d be the fluffy cold white stuff out there.” Steve agrees, “We can go play in it when Pops comes home.” Ella sighs in a way that Steve is 110% sure she’s gotten from Bucky, presses a hand to Steve’s face and says, “Daddy, listen.” In which Steve has a precocious as hell three year old, snow ball fights are had, snow angels are made, and the future is talked about.

Don't Hate the Player (Rated: M, Words: 60K) by LoserOnTheInternet

Summary: Steve breathes heavily as he processes what he just did. The Gamemakers are staring down at Steve with gaping mouths and wide eyes. Shoving his panic down, Steve shoots them a cocky smirk and says, “Thank you for your consideration.” He gives them a lazy salute before dropping the shield and exiting the room. Steve Rogers and James Barnes are this year's tributes for the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games. Being from District 12, their chances of survival are next to none. In order to gain sponsors, the two create a fake star-crossed lovers scenario that quickly goes south once Steve starts to fall for the other boy. In a game where all but one are destined to die, who will be announced victor?

Where Everybody Knows Your Name (Rated: E, Words, 22K) by romanticalgirl & art by kittyandmulder

Summary: Bucky Barnes came back from the war short one arm and pissed off about it. His luck went downhill from there, and now he's listening to Clint, of all people, for life advice. He sends him to a bar that only hires vets and, despite a rough start, Bucky ends up working for Steve Rogers. Which he regrets instantly. Things get better. Bucky gets better. Steve's still an asshole, but maybe that's not so bad.

On The Other Side of a Downward Spiral (Rated: E, Words: 31K) by torakowalski

Summary: Bucky Barnes is barely functioning, let alone living, but when the Avengers find an abandoned baby girl, Bucky has to learn to look after himself, and keep the baby out of Hydra's hands. All while trying to work out exactly what kind of relationship he and Steve want from each other.

[sweet-s0rr0w]

Happy Valentine's Day to you all! To celebrate, I'm back with another collaborative Drarry reclist, featuring a new lovely bunch of Drarry writers, artists, reccers, and fans!

Once again, the question was: ‘what one or two fics, or scenes, or quotes, represent peak Drarry romance to you?’ and (in what is rapidly becoming a nightmare for me), no duplicates from previous years were allowed. Thank you so much to everyone who took part, I hope you enjoy the results!

You can find part 1 (2022) here, and part 2 (2023) here!

This year's list features answers from: apricitydays-lazynights, arminaa8, drarrymyheart, drarryspecificrecs, hoko-onchi-writes, jtimu, littlewinnow, mallstars, myrtlefics, oflights, peachydreamxx, pl0tty, rainstormradish, romaine2424, squintclover, starquestingfordrarry, thecouchsofa, thedrarrylibrarian, and themiddleofwonderland!

***

@apricitydays-lazynights

💗who will receive you in love's offices by jtimu (E, 30k)

It was a wonder, Draco thought, watching Potter tip back the last remnants of his drink, that the man had survived to adulthood. Not because of the war, or the constant attempts on his life, or surviving two separate killing curses, despite his insistence that he had at some point died, but because there was not a single ounce of self-preservation in his entire body. There couldn’t be. …He glanced over at the potion on the table, and considered, for a fraction of a moment, getting up and pouring those same drops of veritaserum into his own glass. He looked away just as fast, back at Potter, grinning in his chair like they were queuing up for a Quidditch game and not at all like he had just handed his childhood nemesis the keys to his thoughts. “All right,” he said, “first of all. What the ever loving fuck is wrong with you?

@arminaa8

💗My Beautiful Boy by alexmeg (unrated, 69k, sequel to Alucinatio)

"You don't even like boys."

"I didn't know I did. But you," Harry trails off, laughs with his gaze trying to meet the grey of Draco's eyes, a little tremulous with nerves and fear and the way his breath sticks high in his throat like an ache. Draco does look at him, then. "God, you."

💗Seagulls Cause Storms, or the Essence of Chaos by @writandromance (M, 312k)

The stars above them were bright white. It made him think again of the black universe between the constellations, the way he thought people like him held the space for people like Harry to burn hot.

@drarrymyheart

💗The Rewards of Being Loved by @lou-isfake (E, 161k, sequel to The Ordeal of Being Known)

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to make you stop thinking so hard,” Harry replied, grinning mischievously. He placed Draco’s hand on his bare waist, his own hand on Draco’s shoulder. Draco’s lips twitched in a hesitant grin.

“This song is too fast for you to dance to.”

“Only if I’m thinking about it,” Harry retorted, stepping in close. “Is my kitchen too difficult for you to dance in, your highness?”

“Don’t underestimate me, Potter,” Draco murmured, his grin widening as he pulled Harry flush against him, taking his hand. Harry chuckled, waiting for him to lead.”

💗I Do Not Love You by @writandromance (M, 228k)

“The thing is,” Harry said, voice low like all they’d said was public knowledge and this was the secret. “If you’re interested in this, if we pursue this, I’ll be a goner.”

“A goner?” he echoed.

Harry took a lung-filling breath. “Yeah, Draco,” he sighed. “That’ll be it for me. Tony… well, Tony I ended up happy to see go. Miles, I—that was hard in the moment but I was fine. But you… we’re so connected, our lives are so connected, our friends. I don’t want to fuck around, it would be serious, to me. You’re serious to me.”

@drarryspecificrecs

(cause 'Hogwarts 8th year' & 'creature' are among my fave tropes and I really really adore fics where Draco is in trouble but not weak & Harry is already smitten with him)

💗Draco Malfoy, It's Your Lucky Day by @faith2wood (E, 37k)

💗The Arc of the Pendulum by brummell (E, 30k)

@hoko-onchi-writes

💗Half Sick of Shadows by StarQuesting (E, 40k)

(I have a hard time containing myself about dragon tamer Draco, and everyone knows it. I’m about as subtle as a brick when something pings a sweet spot in my brain. But this fic is so much more than a hot, aloof, sex king dragon tamer Draco who has weaver Harry weak in the knees. It is also so very bright and clear in my mind; the visuals are so affecting, just like the creations that Harry weaves. Favorite scene: Harry casually chatting with dragons. 12/10 would be unhinged again.)

💗A pulled down shade by fast_brother (M, 43k)

(I’m not a big crier over fics. Maybe three or four have made me cry this year. This one made me lose it. I think the thing that stands out to me is the visceral capture of emotion. You can feel Draco’s broken heart, and then you can feel Harry’s. I could probably get worked up about it right now. Favorite scene: Draco crying over the broken tea cup. I literally can’t function when I think about it. 12/10 would cry again.)

💗The Brightest Constellations of Our Souls by thecouchsofa (E, 256k)

(I might be cheating since I’m still savoring The Brightest Constellation of Our Souls but I’m including it because it is Peak Drarry Romance. TheCouchSofa always has this intensely brilliant characterization. Harry is heartbreakingly oblivious. Draco is prickly and about as subtle as a brick over pining for Harry. This also features depression!Harry, which has gotta be one of my favorite Harrys. She writes depressed Harry with such delicacy, handling the ins and outs of mental illness and trauma with care, but also making it fucking funny. Favorite scene so far: Harry very casually slipping into conversation that he’s bisexual after he’s been traveling with Draco for an absurd amount of time without mentioning it. And Draco’s ensuing reaction. 12/10 will continue swooning.)

@jtimu

💗Designate / your love as fate by @elskanellis (E, 17k)

💗Lover, Where Do You Live? by @dodgerkedavra (E, 39k)

💗Seven Days in June by @fourth-rose (E, 47k)

@littlewinnow

💗1000 Kisses: #27 First Thing in the Morning, Just After Moving in Together by @deliciouslystickypersona (E, 3k)

Draco trails his fingertips over the flat plane of Harry’s belly, tracing the line of hair up to where it widens over his pectorals. He nuzzles his nose into the curve of Harry’s shoulder, inhaling the sweet, musky, sleepy scent of his skin.

💗Little Love by @ladderofyears (M, 34k)

Harry – who still held Draco’s hand – was gazing at the baby, spellbound by the sight. His whole appearance couldn’t have been prouder, or more loving, had he been Snidget’s natural father. When Harry caught Draco looking at him, he beamed, unashamed of his response.

@mallstars

💗Elaborate, Correct, and Assiduously Observed by peu_a_peu (T, 4k)

Some things were still the same, he thought. Draco was the perfect height for Harry to put his head on his shoulder and rest. That had been secretly true all along, and they’d only had to figure it out.

💗Us, In Lieu by Tepre (E, 30k)

“I . . .” The words jumble in his mouth. His hair is still mostly wet in his neck. He should’ve shaved. He should’ve cleaned his glasses. He should’ve— “I do want you.” And, “Enough,” he adds, then decides no , decides, “Not just enough. More than. More than that.” He licks his lips. “So much more than that.”

💗The Pure and Simple Truth by @letteredlettered (E, 14k)

Malfoy’s eyelashes were visible just above his cheeks, golden and some might have said they should have been darker, but Harry thought that they were perfect. The curve of Malfoy’s jaw, the slant of Malfoy’s throat, that was perfect, too. Malfoy looked up, licked his lips. “I thought you weren’t interested,” he said.

💗The Isle of Ogygia by @citrusses (E, 13k)

The days pass slower, after Potter leaves. Draco tries to fish again, and manages to actually levitate a fish out of the water, but then he Stuns it and it sinks back beneath the waves like a rock, and he doesn’t have any luck retrieving it again. Every day he walks to the top of the lighthouse, casts the right spells, and walks back down. He looks around his room and thinks about where Potter sat.

@myrtlefics

💗Going Postal by dustmouth (125 page comic)

(I am a complete and utter sucker for Dustmouth’s comics and the correspondence and longing and softness of this one make me really happy)

@oflights

💗Yours is the Earth (Hold On, Hold On) by chickenlivesinpumpkin (E, 127k)

(Chapter 11: it's one of my fave proposals in any fic ever/a beautiful love confession/a lovely romantic moment that fits with how the rest of the fic builds up their relationship and all the poor communication and ways they've hurt each other and love each other)

@peachydreamxx

💗to be a bit of warmth (for you) by @softlystarstruck (M, 9k)

Draco stirs in Harry’s arms, mumbling something soft and incoherent, and Harry whispers a wandless spell to completely dim the room lights. If Draco is just seeking comfort, so what? Harry has more than enough to give– it may be the only thing he has left to give– and Draco grounds him, too. Whatever happened on the other side of a war they both went through no longer matters. They’re here, now, and Draco is cold.So Harry will keep him warm.

@pl0tty

💗Tandem by fast_brother (M, 93k)

The handle clicked and the door cracked open, allowing the sound of rain to come into the car. 

“I… thanks,” Harry said. His heart was beating faster. His hands were sweaty.

Draco didn’t back away completely, just enough to be able to look Harry in the eyes. 

“You have to stop that, Harry. Really," he said gravely, as if speaking about a very serious issue. 

“Stop what?” Harry asked stupidly, still holding his breath. 

“You have to stop looking at me like that.”

Harry’s heart traveled all the way up to his throat. 

“I– I can’t,” he blurted out, feeling himself flush with the enormity of what he’d just said.

Draco let out a shocked chortle. He looked away at the street covered in rain, his left hand still resting on Harry’s chair. When he turned back towards Harry, he wasn’t laughing anymore.

He leaned in and kissed Harry on the lips.

💗Matters of the heart by nerakrose (G, 5k)

Today’s breakfast: eggs, toast, tea. I’ve left the sink a mess this week but I’ll do the dishes later. In a way taking these moments to write to you every morning feels like a little quiet refuge or a secret space that nobody else knows about but you. It feels safe here. I miss you. These days I’m missing you more than I’ve ever missed you before and I can’t explain it. Have I reached a breaking point? I don’t know.

Yours,

Harry

💗More Than That by joosetta (E, 11k)

“He was going to kill you,” Potter said, “He said he was going to kill you.”

“He was never going to kill me,” Draco mumbled, “He was up against you for Merlin’s sake. He tried to play quick-curse with Harry fucking Potter.”

Potter was silent for a bit at that, raising a hand up and stroking the back of Draco's head.

“He thought I would help him,” Potter said finally. Draco felt the strangest thing, like a spasm in his face, that left his eyes hot, and his lips shaking. He had to gather himself together again before he could reply.

“Well, he’s never had me suck his cock, so there was no way he could know,” Draco said, instead of he didn’t realise that you loved me. Potter got it anyway, because he laughed, just a little bit. He drew back, and his face was the most frightening and beautiful thing Draco had ever seen.

“You always talk like you give me blow jobs all the time,” he said. “You almost never give me blow jobs, Draco.”

💗Sparks from the Fox’s Tail by khalulu (T, 17k)

And then it was just natural to turn in his arms so they were face to face. Eye to eye, lip to lip, mouth to mouth. Natural to fall into bed together, hands and mouths moving over warm skin, stroking and kissing til they were breathless.

Harry broke off. “Should we think this through?”

“No,” said Draco. “Why did you pull away in the shower?”

“You were so weak then, I didn’t want to take advantage.”

“I was throwing myself at you with what little strength I had. Next time, catch me.”

“I’ve got you,” Harry said, winding himself around Draco. “I’ve got you.”

@rainstormradish

💗Where I see things right by InnerLilith (E, 15k)

(just... absolutely gorgeous handling of a sensitive subject, and I love how the preparation and thoughtfulness is such a big part of the romance. I don't bookmark InnerLilith's fics so much as intermittently go and reread half their back catalogue again. I've loved everything I've read from them.)

💗Help! I'm a Hopeless Romantic by peachydreamxx (M, 15k)

(we watch Harry fall in love with Draco and come to terms with lots of aspects of his life. The little Google searches are just so sweet and tender and I loved, loved loved it. And the ending is so perfect.)

@romaine2424

💗keep driving by @babooshkart (art)

(The romance portrayed in Keep Driving is palpable. Draco is so cool, but from every look, you can see the adoration she has for Harry. And Harry thrives off of the touches between them but also has a confident sense of her own worth. I will never tire of this calming, soft piece depicting a happy, confident, and joyful Drarry. The world is theirs to explore. They'll keep driving.)

💗Never Mind the Bollocks by @the-sinking-ship (E, 119k)

(Never Mind the Bollocks is a new fic from Erised 2023. I loved every moment of it, and Harry having so much fun and feeling like he belonged was everything. However, his drive to right and save all was still there. Chapter 18 brought it all together. I won't say how as the fic is so new, but, for me, it was so romantic with BAMF Harry showing up and Draco trying to be mad. Complete chef's kiss.)

@squintclover

💗 A Secondary Education by Thunderbird587 (E, 235k)

(I remember so vividly the falling in love and the moment when it changed for both of them.)

@starquestingfordrarry

💗The Potter Malfoy bathroom war of 2007 by @andithiel (E, 9k)

(it is peak bathing-comfort)

@thecouchsofa

💗Cut From the Sky by mallstars (E, 150k)

(“Rainy romance’ describes this perfectly. I love how Harry grows to love Draco and never stops going after him once he realises that’s what he wants. This kind of love necessitates an endless amount of patience, but I can’t think of anything more romantic than that – someone coming back time and time again and showing you more grace than you would ever show yourself.)

💗Everything is Relative to You by @thehoneybeet (E, 43k)

(Harry and Draco being each other’s Great Loves in every life going back hundreds of years? I am feral. I cannot be contained. A demonstration of them being perfect for each other in every timeline, through good and bad. This is peak romance at its best.)

@thedrarrylibrarian

💗O Come, All Ye Faithful by @toomuchplor (E, 20k)

(Told through jumps between the past and the present, I adore the way toomuchplor depicts the everyday romance of an established relationship. Too often romance is delegated to big displays of affection, when I think much of romance is in the mundane, routine moments. Listening to your partner share about their day is romantic. Making routine breakfast and coffee is romantic. The intimacy of having an ongoing inside joke about a cat name is unbearably romantic to me. These are the small, everyday moments that the foundations of grand romances are built upon, and this fic was a love note to those moments.)

@themiddleofwonderland (amazuppai)

💗Heal Thyself by astolat (T, 16k)

(it's a classic H/D fic that preserves Draco's prickly personality while still showing him reforming in a very realistic way. It's a slow-burn—Harry isn't really in the first half at all, and when he does show up he's still very suspicious of Draco—but as Draco shows his (new) true colors, Harry can't help that his suspicions turn to curiosity (one of my favorite tropes with reformed Draco fics) especially with the somewhat forced proximity they find themselves in that slowly turns into voluntary and frequent proximity. To me, maybe because of the slow burn, it seems like a very realistic depiction of how Draco could reform himself and how Harry can turn his suspicions into curiosity and eventually more to form a healthy relationship together.)

[nowritingonthewall]

Hi! Can I ask for some random and domestic Poe HC? 🤧

Hello Nonnie, thank you so much for your request! I am sorry that my hcs always appear to escalate into mini-essays, I hope that you enjoy them anyway 🥰

!Content warning for allusions to past trauma (because it’s Poe) but it’s mostly fluffy!

Domestic headcanons with Poe (x gn!reader)

- If you were honest, you would never have expected Poe to actually settle down after the Battle of Exegol and the fall of the First Order. After all, he had been on the run since he had been 16 years old, his family a bunch of rebels, his home scattered across the stars. You had fully expected him to make his new job as a flying instructor his whole new life, filling every second with something exciting to do, always chasing the next thrill, never slowing down and let himself think for even a minute.

Instead, after helping the New Republic to get back on its feet, he had put most of his energy and devotion into making a home with you.

Even though he loves his job teaching students (and spending a lot of time in his x-wing while doing so), he always makes sure to finish on time so that he can spend as much of the remainder of the day with you as possible. It has become one of your daily little rituals for you to wait for him, sitting on your porch, two mugs of freshly brewed caf in your hands. It never stops warming your heart to see that gorgeous crinkly-eyed smile lighting up his face as soon as he sees you waiting for him. Giving you an adorable little wave, he always quickens his pace before pulling you into a long and heartfelt hug.

Watching the suns painting the sky with the most beautiful colours imaginable, you’ll sit snuggled up against each other, listening to each other's daily adventures.

It usually doesn’t take long before Poe’s head grows heavy against your shoulders. The first few times he tried to fight it and wouldn’t stop apologizing, no matter how often you tried to assure him that you didn’t mind at all. But soon these late afternoon or early evening naps become just another part of your daily routine.

Poe spent more than half his life making sure that everyone around him felt safe. Now, with the war becoming a more and more distant memory each day, it’s like his mind finally allows his body to catch up on all the rest that he has been denied during all those years – finally feeling safe in your arms.

And there really aren’t a lot of things that you enjoy more than holding your sleepy boy with his head resting in your lap, one hand intertwined with his, as the other one plays with his hair. You smile at every patch of grey that you find among his inky curls, more than grateful to be given the precious gift of being allowed to watch him grow old with you. It makes the warmest and fuzziest feelings bloom inside your heart to see his worry lines relax under the soft touch of your hand as you listen to his content mumbling and cutest little sighs.

- He still can’t sleep without you around, though. Whenever he is in dire need of a nap, and the weather has gone too cold to sit outside, even under a heap of cuddly blankets, he’ll sit down on the couch, look at you with the most irresistible baby ewok eyes and his softest smile and tap on his chest to ask for his favourite human blanket.

Sometimes he falls asleep within seconds as soon as you snuggle up to him. Sometimes he finds that it wasn’t sleep that he craved after all but simply the comforting presence of you right next to him, listening to the soothing rhythm of your breathing as you drift into peaceful slumber until his breath synchronizes with yours in perfect harmony. And sometimes your planned naps turn into Poe and you talking nonsense for hours, exchanging forehead kisses and nose rubs between giggles.

Poe used to think that the only way to escape the constantly reoccurring ringing in his ears was to drown it out with something even louder. Now he realizes that all he needs to find relief is the soft warmth of you lying on top of him, the shape of your bodies fitting together as perfectly as if they had been custom made for each other.

- And he allows himself to take his time with everything that he does. No more bone crushing hugs that aren’t allowed to last longer than a second and that he’d hoped would convey everything that he hadn’t time for to tell you in case he wouldn’t make it back from a mission. No more quick and chaste kisses to whatever body part they would land on before hurrying off into the next briefing or meeting.

Now he makes sure to pour all of his undying love for you into every single hug until you feel nothing but warm and safe and cared for. Every kiss of him shows you that you are the centre of his universe, from the very first kiss in the morning to the last kiss goodnight. They have become so much more tender and gentler, yet they never leave a single trace of doubt about his feelings for you.

Quick shared showers that used to be a practical necessity turn into long shared baths that last until the water turns cold. Sometimes when you aren’t ready to step out of your cocoon of warmth just yet, you wrap each other in fluffy towels and make yourself comfortable on the heating unit waiting until you’re dried off.

As you cuddle up to each other, enjoying the closeness, you find a new softness and gentleness to your relationship that you had never thought possible. You are no longer clinging to each other for dear life, always scared that you might lose each other the next minute, constantly feeling like loving on borrowed time.

And Poe takes his time rediscovering and getting to know you all over again. Gently scrubbing your back in the bath or giving you a long tension-relieving massage. Learning everything there is to know about how you take care of your hair, while committing every single detail about you to memory. Not because he fears that every time might be the very last chance to do so but because he decided to commit every single fibre of his heart and soul to loving you. Because he chooses you. Over and over again.

It takes a while for him to get comfortable letting you take care of him the same way that he takes care of you. Yet every time it is your turn to hold him in the bathtub, he finds it a little easier to relax against your chest, melting into your embrace a little deeper. With every soft kiss pressed to his temple, he manages to let go a little further. As he rests his cheek against yours, while your hands are slowly caressing over his arms, he has never felt more vulnerable and at the same time more safe and protected than during those moments.

That’s when the tears tend to flow.

Those are the days when you make sure to take extra good care of him. Letting him rest his head against your shoulder as you carefully pat his back with a towel, gently kissing his tears away before placing a soft kiss on every single one of his scars, putting pain relieving lotion on his arm and massaging his tense shoulder. Only a few months ago this kind of special treatment would have made him feel more than uncomfortable. Seeing his own needs through your loving eyes, he slowly begins to accept that it is okay to take them seriously. And as he curls up against your chest, he doesn’t only allow it but he knows that he can completely trust you to take care of him.

- Poe has always loved to dance. Nearly as much as he loves to cuddle with you. Sadly, the days of the Resistance hadn’t exactly given you a lot of opportunity to do so and reasons to break into celebratory dances had been all too rare. So now he takes any chance he gets to hug you from behind, snuggle up as close to you as possible, rest his head on your shoulder and his cheek against yours while swaying the both of you to some music coming from your holopad or to a secret rhythm that only the two of you seem to be able to feel.

You dance in the morning while waiting for the first few cups of caf to brew, while waiting for something yummy baking in the oven, when you’re trying to dust the shelves, or while doing the dishes.

Doing the dishes never becomes a boring task with Poe. If he doesn’t turn it into a dance, there are bound to be lather battles that more often than not turn into tickle fights. And they always end with him using the dish cloth to draw you in for a long and wobbly-knees-inducing kiss.

This is also where most of your more serious conversations take place. It’s always been easier for Poe to talk about difficult topics while his hands have something to do. So whenever you feel like there’s something on his mind that he has trouble talking about, you’ll ask him “dish discussion?”, to which he answers with a relieved smile.

And, of course, should the topic require some serious hugging action, you can always continue your discussion on the kitchen floor, which proves over and over again to be the best place to solve any problem imaginable. And in case one of you should be in need of an even more comforting atmosphere, your kitchen cabinet features an extra compartment containing all the components required to build a blanket fort. It’s a habit that goes back to the early days of you joining the Resistance. And afterwards your blanket fort of safety can easily be converted into a blanket fort of romantic dinners and cuddle sessions.

- The two of you share a little garden with Rey, who doesn’t live too far away from you (I am sorry, LEGO, I refuse to believe that the trio would ever split up!). At least it was a little garden in the beginning. It all started when Poe noticed how Rey’s eyes would start to sparkle whenever she came across anything lush and green. So he began to present her with a special plant from every place that he visited. Pretty soon even her house was too small to accommodate her (not so) little personal jungle, so you helped her turning her backyard into a little garden. Which just kept on expanding. Because it never stopped warming Poe’s heart to see the way Rey’s face shining brighter than the suns whenever he found a new exotic plant for her.

He helped her create her special place of happiness both in her mind and in the physical world and you two are the only ones apart from Finn she trusts to take care of it. Even if your and Poe’s gardening sessions sometimes turn into several rounds of mud wrestling or splashy water fights.

Poe’s first very own gardening project featured the planting of a row of koyo trees. They weren’t even supposed to be able to grow in this climate but Poe Dameron has never been one to let logic or reason stand in the way of matters close to his heart. After all, he had managed to nurse a force tree back to health without any jedi tricks. And maybe Rey’s and Finn’s way with the force helped a little, too. Though he will always tell everyone willing (or maybe not too willing) to listen that it was your loving care that made the trees grow and flourish and bloom in the end.

His proud little face when he was able to harvest the very first fruit is another one of your many precious and treasured memories. Of course he let you have the first bite, almost a little nervous about your reaction.

The original plan was to turn the fruits into juice and jelly and lots of cakes. Which was a good plan. And it probably would have worked if the koyo fruits hadn’t been so damn tasty that you ate most of them before they ever had a chance to land in a basket. And what better way to spend the last days of summer than sitting lazily in the cool shadow of a koyo tree, taking turns to lie in each others lap while feeding each other freshly picked koyo fruits?

- During the nights when neither of you is able to sleep, you’ll climb onto the roof of your house, which offers a snug little platform that provides the perfect secluded retreat to lie on your back and gaze at all the stars in the galaxy. A galaxy that’s finally at peace.

Poe’s gaze keeps wandering back to you, though, and every time it does, he can’t stop smiling. As soon as you notice, you’ll snuggle a little closer to cradle his head and place the softest little kiss on his forehead, making him smile even wider. Softly stroking your cheek, he returns the kiss. On your nose, on your temple, across your jaw line, all over both of your cheeks, and everywhere he can reach.

You finally dare to make plans for the future again. Talking about all the stars and systems and planets you would like to explore together. Without rush, without being constantly on your guard, actually being able to look forward to visiting them.

The important thing is that Poe is no longer driven by the uncontrollable need to chase every single one of them. Because he has his own little galaxy lying right here by his side.

[lucozadehulahoop]

Star-crossed. Lo'ak x fem!human!reader

This was originally posted on my side blog @thankeywa. It's a brand new blog and tumblr thinks it's a bot so it's not giving it visibility. Please go give it some love, I want all my avatar!related stuff to be on there.

PART 2 HERE PART 3 HERE PART 4 HERE

I know that literally nobody asked for this, but I've noticed a disturbing lack of Lo'ak fics out there, so I've decided to give my input. I've had a story in mind for a while now, and I needed to get it out there. It will be a reader insert to make it more accessible, but it's somewhat based around an original f!character, so I apologize for that in advance if it gets too specific.

WARNINGS: Lo'ak is 20 years old in this and so is the reader, I do not write about minor characters. There will be eventual mature themes in this so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK.

For everyone else, if you like my writing, please let me know if you want to be on the tag list for future installments and SEND ME REQUESTS (head canons, imagines, sfw/nsfw, ecc.) ! I love that shit.

words: around 1.200

summary: reader is a human left behind on pandora, she grew up with the remaining humans who'd been aloud to stay on the planet after the war and has been friends with the Sully clan her entire life. She and Lo'ak were best friends until he began to pull away from her in their teen years for seemingly no reason. This story is about them reconnecting on the day of her twentieth birthday, and dealing with the feelings they have for each other and the obstacles that come with them being from two different worlds.

TW for this chapter: angst, smoking (don't do it, ever), brief mentions of alcohol, brief mention of war and death, brief mention of child birth, reader can breathe on pandora.

Y/n looked at the 'birthday cake' made out of cookie rations that Norm and Max had made for her. No matter how many years would pass, her dads always knew how to get creative.

"I'm twenty years old, you guys don't have to keep throwing me a birthday party." She reprimanded them softly, though her heart was filled with joy. Y/n was so thankful to have people in her life who cared enough to make her day special every single year.

"Considering you spent most of your early existence tied to test tubes to stay alive, we're merely celebrating the scientific marvel your continued survival has been." Norm joked, raising a beer, and y/n shoved him, before blowing out the single candle that had been meticulously re-used each year. It was a wonder how there was any wax still left on it.

"What did the birthday girl wish for?" Max asked, reaching for a dried-up cookie and cringing slightly at the taste as he chewed on it slowly. "The whole point of a birthday wish is to keep it to myself... or it won't come true. Honestly, I question your two's knowledge of Earth's traditions." y/n shook her head, before taking a celebratory sip of alcohol.

Norm and Max left eventually, back to the main base. They were more than capable of piloting a helicopter those days, and y/n was all grown up. More than capable of living by herself. What once had been an avatar lab, smack dab in the middle of the forests of Pandora, had been converted into her home. Pandora's rapidly repopulating fauna had surprisingly left her residence alone, well... mostly. There were still some creatures who couldn't help but keep themselves away. And by creatures, she meant Spider. Y/n was also friends with actual people like Neteyam, Kiri, Tuk, and... Lo'ak. Truth be told, she didn't know whether or not she and Lo'ak were even friends anymore. They'd been thick as thieves for as long as she could remember, always getting him out of trouble and fixing him up after a scuffle with his siblings. But then, around her sixteenth birthday, he'd started pulling away, and y/n had never understood why. They'd had a big fight about it, bottom line, he hadn't wanted to be around her anymore and y/n had to accept it.

"Open up! It's fucking freezing out here!" Came Spider's loud voice followed by an incessant banging on the door that immediately pulled y/n out of her reverie. "Alright, alright..." she laughed a little as she went to let them all inside. The Sullys were always insisting on spending birthdays together, even though some of them were now getting too big to even fit inside her 'home'. Neteyam had to walk around with his back bent forward, and Kiri knocked over quite a few things before they made it to y/n's main living space, which was more or less Na've-proof. "Happy birthday!" Tuk hugged her and y/n struggled not to feel crushed by the embrace. Even the littlest Sully was now nearly as tall as her.

Y/n let them all inside, already giving them dirty looks at the sight of gifts. "I told you guys not to..."

She stayed on the doorstep a little longer, gazing out into the night, desperately hoping one last uninvited guest would turn up. She felt Neteyam's hand on her shoulder. "He's not coming. I tried to talk to him but he was being a skxawng as usual..." Y/n blushed, not really wanting Neteyam to know she was pining for his younger brother. "Oh, right! I was—just checking you were all here..." she closed the door and they both went back to join the others.

___

"Alright come on, your mom is going to kill me if you get back late and I don't have enough space in here for all of you. Spider would have to sleep outside." Y/n teased, trying to let Tuk understand it was time to go. "Hey!" Spider protested at her lighthearted jab, but knew it was time for them to get going. Nobody wanted to get on Neytiri's bad side. Y/n hugged them all goodbye and thanked them for the presents: Tuk had made her a lovely drawing, and the others had collectively made her a rather beautiful necklace, which she immediately wore. Y/n waited on her doorstep till she could no longer hear the sounds of her friends chatting, and then proceeded to do two incredibly dangerous things: she sat outside of the protection of her bunker, all alone in the cold Pandora night air, and lit up a cigarette.

She'd discovered a terrifyingly endless supply of cigarette cartoons back at the base almost a year prior, and as soon as she'd tried her first one, she'd gotten addicted. Y/n hadn't told Norm or Max, of course, as it would have broken their hearts, especially because of how fragile she was. Y/n's mother had gone into labor in the aftermath of the battle for Pandora between the Na'vi and the Sky people. The soldier had lost her life giving birth, but her baby had survived, taking her first breath in the inhospitable Pandora air. Norm was convinced Eywa herself had kept her alive, had given her the ability to take in the air that hadn't previously failed to kill any other human. Sure, it had come at the price of being particularly fragile her entire life. And how was y/n repaying that gift? By cutting her miraculous existence short more and more each day. Thankfully, it was a while since she'd been used as a test rat, or had check ups of any sort. As far as the Sullys were concerned... they were way better off not even knowing what she was doing to herself.

A sudden rustling in the trees instantly made y/n alert and she didn't waste any time getting back inside. She showered, and shamefully hid her smokes somewhere her dads or the Sullys wouldn't look. When she had nothing else left to do, y/n forced herself to crawl into bed, placing a hand over her necklace. Her wish to see Lo'ak hadn't come true in the end, and while not surprising, it still hurt like hell.

"A pack of viperwolves? Seriously, Lo'ak?" Y/n groaned in frustration as she cleared her table for her best friend to lie on.

"I thought I could take them." He hissed as she doused him with disinfectant. "Yeah, well, you know human medical treatment hurts like a bitch, so it's either my way, or you're going to have to fess up to your parents about what you did." Y/n tried to sound cold, but she'd always been too soft on him.

When they were younger, and Lo'ak still hadn't grown to be double her size, they would often fall asleep together in her bed. "You don't have to keep doing this shit to prove something, you know?" She whispered to him one night, turning over to look at him and gently touch his face. "Your parents love you. And so do Neteyam, Kiri, Tuk and Spider. Lo'ak, I— we— don't want to lose you."

Y/n was almost asleep when a loud 'thud' coming from outside woke her. Something was moving on her roof, or rather, someone... Y/n didn't show whether she was dreaming or not as she looked out the window and locked eyes with Lo'ak, because the second she did, he seemed to slide off the top of her bucker, falling down into the grass below with a loud groan.

He'd probably just woken up half of the animals on Pandora.

[hotcheetogirlluver]

I was wondering if you can do a Levi x Reader where it's a calm romantic setting? fluff pls! (i'm new to your account) also it's post war Levi! after the war please, and give him his tea shop he's always wanted thank you :')

A/N: I really like this one it seems more romantic than the other ones I've made. i really enjoyed making this one. it made me appreciate life for a second. please requests more everybody, I love writing your guy's ideas. there you go new reader, enjoy 💗

Summary: You and Levi have always loved each other. Deeply. Now that the war is over and Titans no longer roam the Earth everyone is at peace. But not fully... Which one of you will confess their feelings first?

WARNINGS ⚠️: none

Romance++++++, Fluff+++++++

(y/n): your name

I also suggest going on Spotify and searching up the playlist, "liminal" for this story. its perfect for this one.

___________________________________________________________

The sky was filled with many colors all blending together perfectly making it look like art. Orange, pink, some red. Pink clouds all gathered, floating absentmindedly in the calm sky. The sun, making its way to hide behind a mountain, still outshined all the lights that were on in random homes.

Sometimes it was a question if humans lived in that reality. The now, peaceful reality. No Titans to be seen. One could finally live their life in a calmful manner. It felt almost unrealistic.

The streets were empty, making the scenery look even more beautiful without people passing through every second.

The cool breeze grazed Levi’s cheek and made his bangs swing. He stared at the sunset dying down with a cup of tea in his hand. It looked like he was stuck in a gaze the way he was staring out into the sun. His eye looked glassy, the sky’s rich deep colored beauty reflecting in his eye. He held his cup of tea up to his lips and drank some of his warm tea. When he lowered the cup, a small sigh escaped his lips.

Having to fight for everything he had currently, the simple word appreciation was not suitable for what he felt. He was glad to finally be relieved from Titans.

He could almost see his fallen comrades joining the sunset, smiling at him and nodding in respect. His heart suddenly felt heavy.

‘I will always remember each and every one of you.’

His eyes turned soft and he stared as they all waved a final goodbye and joined the sun, hiding behind the mountain fully.

Levi couldn't bring himself to look away, as the darkness seemed to take over the once colorful sky. He felt something sit on his shoulder, snapping him out of his trance as he looked to the side to see (Y/n) and her hand on his shoulder.

Her..

His soft look in his eye stayed still.

“That was truly beautiful wasn't it..” She breathed out, also starring where the sun used to be.

He looked back, seeing tiny little dots in the dark soothing sky. Their dim brightness replacing the sun's warmth.

“It still is.” Levi spoke. The corner of her lips turned up ever so slightly. A small smile on her calm features. The breeze brushing her smooth skin. Her hair moved side to side as the wind pushed it softly.

“Yeah… it still is.” She breathed out quietly.

They stayed still for a long moment just admiring the sky. Both lost in their own thoughts.

She was his everything.

(Y/n) (L/n). She served in the Survey Corps with him, and they didn't become friends right away but as time went on the friendship began slowly. Slowly, and slowly as time passed Levi started to think she was actually quite.. beautiful.

When the war started, Levi lost all of his closest friends. Except one. Her. She survived but the war seemed to haunt her in a way also. He now owns a tea shop. A popular one to be exact. She didn't work there but she still helped him clean up the shop every night.

Levi stared down at the ground now.

He was at true peace with his life.

But the only selfish thing he wished for was to be her's.His love for her had grown over the years, something that was not expected from him.

He didn't even know he was in love with her at first, until Hange pointed it out. Levi sometimes thought, ‘what if Hange survived the war?’ …. Where would she sit with her life? He knows if she were still alive he’d continue to go to Hange for advice on (Y/n).

He took a deep breath in. Cold air traveling to his lungs.

“Let's go inside Levi. It's going to get cold,” A quiet voice spoke behind him.

He didn't respond, only nodded.

He grabbed the wheels of his wheelchair and started pushing them forward. (Y/n) tore her eyes away from the sky as she walked inside the shop.

“Every table and counter is wiped down, the floors are swept and mopped, and the dishes are all clean.” She walked to her jacket she left on the counter.

“I..” Levi stared at the especially clean floors.

“I didn't ask you to do that (Y/n) and you know it.” It slightly irritated him that she always cleaned the shop at night. It's his shop, he should be the one doing the hard work.

She put on her jacket and stared at him.

He was simply… gorgeous. His war scars.. were something traumatic but beautiful. His blind eye was nothing to be ashamed of.. because she saw it as beauty he had to him. His bangs he had since his younger years framed his upper face and cheekbones made him stand out handsomely.

(Y/n) smiled softly at Levi. “I know.”

Her tired whisper made Levi look at her.

“Then why do you still clean? You come back everyday to just clean the shop at night. Why?” She shrugged half heartedly, and continued smiling tiredly at him.

“I like being near you,” Levi’s eye looked slightly more awake now. They both stared at each other. (Y/n) staring at Levi full of admiration and.. love. Levi staring at (Y/n) with shock.

“.. Why?” His voice went quiet. In the silence, repetitive small thumps were heard. Perhaps.. his heart.

“Because..” She started. Her eyes having a shadow in them yet some sort of light was twinkling in there.

“Your Levi Ackerman. I'll always want to be near you.” Levi felt warmth fill him. His gaze traveled to the ground.

“I'm Levi Ackerman. The exact reason why anyone should not want to be near me.” She stood still for the shortest second.

Then she walked up to him. (Y/n) crouched down and tilted her head slightly to meet with his pretty eye.

“That's not true. And you know it..” She wanted to reassure him. He knew but it felt like he was doubting himself once again. He just.. He could never forgive himself for letting his comrades die. Levi’s eye looked elsewhere after it met with hers.

“You have to stop pushing me away, Levi. I always stick with you, you know that.” She set her hand onto Levi’s. Heat crawled up onto Levi’s neck and the warm flow of blood rush filled his cheeks.

“I know.. and I hate it.” Her eyebrows scrunched up slightly in confusion and a little bit of hurt. Levi noticed this and continued to speak.

“It's hard to understand why you want to spend your life like this. Putting up with me and cleaning up after me and my mistakes. You could be traveling all around the world right now. I'm just holding you back.” Her hand slipped under his to hold. Levi looked up at her and then to his hand. He almost flinched as she interlocked their fingers together.

“Stop telling yourself these things. I know I can travel around the world. I know that. Stop acting as if you're a burden, and I ‘have’ to put up with you. Because I don't. Out of everywhere on this Earth I would rather be with you because there's no one like you. I adore and appreciate you Levi, and I’m glad we have each other.” (Y/n)’s cheeks turned a light pink and her warm hand held onto Levi’s with such gentleness.

“(Y/n)..”

“I should get going. It looks like it's about to snow.” (Y/n) stood up and pulled her hand away from Levi’s. Levi’s hand quickly held onto her wrist just as she was about to walk away from him.

“Stay here then. I have a room upstairs.” (Y/n) blinked and felt her cheeks warm up on their own.

“That's okay, you need your rest. I'll be back tomorrow,” She was about to walk away but the grip Levi had on her wrist was firm.

“What if I want you to stay?” Levi turned a light shade of crimson as he tried to speak with a clear voice.

“.. W-What?” (Y/n) gulped nervously, her lips parted and her eyes widened.

“What if I want you to stay with me? (Y/n) I…” Levi looked down as his firm grip slightly faltered. His eye looked up at her. His features had a soft look to them.

‘Here goes nothing..’

“(Y/n). I want you to stay with me because..” He shook his shyness away and looked at her again. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were staring at him, waiting for him to finish what he started. And she held this look of.. love?

Love? Did she love him too?

Levi said nothing more but let go of her wrist, and slid down to the palm of her hand, gently holding it in his. His rough hand held her soft hand up to his lips.

A shy kiss to her knuckle.

It felt like the only thing that could be heard was the pounding of both of their hearts. (Y/n) only watched as Levi interlocked their fingers together again.

“Marry me (Y/n).”

“Levi,” She quietly breathed out.

“Marry me.” He repeated and she couldn't speak. Her flusteredness made her breath halt.

Levi awaited her reply with a flushed face.

She snapped out of it once she realized Levi must’ve been waiting for a couple of minutes. Her heart beating as fast as a rabbits, filled with warmth.

“Yes,” She nodded slowly.

His eyes widened, not actually expecting her to say yes.

“Yes?” He questioned.

“Yes,” She smiled and her shaky hand held tighter onto Levi’s.

He pulled her into a tight hug. She sat on his lap, while he hugged her with all the passion he could manage. Her eyes filled with shiny tears and they rolled down her face as she hiccuped.

“(Y/n).” He pulled away but held onto her still.

“What's wrong?” She shook her head and used the heel of her hand to wipe away her tears. Her cheeks growing warm again, as she smiled.

“I’m just so happy. Ya know?” She hiccuped again and Levi couldn't stop himself as he leaned in and pushed a small kiss to her lips.

The saltiness of her tears mixed in with the sweet taste of her lips. She kissed him back and brought one of her shaky hands to wrap around his neck. He deepened the kiss as he tilted his head.

The happiness flowing through the both of them made them feel at peace.

Love surely was a powerful thing. After being in love for many years and not doing anything about it (Y/n) was finally truly and genuinely happy.Snow fell from the sky outside, and hit against the shops windows which both of them didn't see to notice.Almost all of their friends died in the war. Before the war. The two of them missed them with heavy hearts sometimes but.. they had each other. And now, they will live together in peace, for all of their fallen comrades.

(Y/n) and Levi both were laying on his bed in the room above the shop. The fireplace upstairs heated both of them up as they were under the covers. (Y/n) rested her head on his chest as she stared into the fire blankly with almost hooded eyes. Levi stared at the ceiling as he breathed in softly. His chest would rise and fall every few seconds making (Y/n) calm.

“Can we stay like this forever?..” She whispered, the fire’s brightness reflecting in her eyes. Levi held onto her with a somewhat tight grip.

“No.. I have to open the teashop tomorrow, precious.” Her heart ignited at the nickname but she only began to smile small.

“Well then.. for tonight then? And every night after this?” It was quiet for a moment until he spoke in a quiet voice also.

“It would be hard not too once we’re married.” She closed her eyes.

“You were serious about that?” His eyes felt heavy for the first time in forever.

“How could I not be serious about that?.. I’ve always thought marriage is stupid. But.. I want you to be mine for the rest of my life. My love for you isn't a joke.”

(Y/n) opened her tired, now hooded eyes. Still staring into the fire..

“You can at least take me on a couple of dates before y’know.” He smiled small at her words and quietly chuckled.

“Okay.” She inhaled and softly exhaled.

"Does this mean I'm hired now?" She teased.

"I'll check with the manager tomorrow," Levi responded making both of them laugh quietly.

Then there was a moment of silence. Both of them getting sleepier the longer the seconds passed.

“I love you, Levi.”

Levi continued to stare at the ceiling. Feeling complete with her and her words.

“I love you too, (Y/n).” Her eyes shut and the crackling of the fire calmed her to sleep.

“Always..” He shut his eyes too and held her closer.

[lee-hakhyun]

「“Uriel. What were you thinking when you brought those 'lambs'?”」

Archangel Uriel still remembers that day.

「“Could it be that girl didn't know what the 'lambs' that the Scribe told her to bring meant?”」

The whispering voices of the Seraphim as she arrived with the lambs in tow. Uriel frowned at those guys and thought. Why try to understand what 'lambs' those 'lambs' meant? It's better to get another demon's head than waste time agonizing over something like that.

「“At any rate, I brought ten?”」

Her calling was to hunt demons and kill Demon Kings. Archangel Uriel was born solely for this. Countless beings of evil fell under her famed swordplay. Demon Kings. Demon Lords. Devils. Any star containing the character of 'evil' did not escape her blade. After hundreds or thousands of years passed, the light of the stars belonging to 'Absolute Evil' began to go out. During that unimaginable period of depravity, the universe she belonged to gradually darkened.

「“Why are you killing demons?”」

When was that question asked? Was it when she heard of rumors of a new Demon King at the border?

「“I've been ordered to.”」 「“Would you kill anyone if ordered to?”」 「“Mm.”」

As he said, Uriel had also killed the Demon King's lover. Because that was also an order she had received.

「“Archangel. You are like a demon.”」

Holding his lover who no longer breathed, the Demon King spoke a quiet curse.

「"Archangel who loves nothing. Someday you too will love something. When that time comes, the fire you have started will judge you.”」 「“Whatever.”」

Uriel jeered as she cut the Demon King's throat.

'demon-like judge of fire'.

her modifier, of which the archangels revered and absolute evil feared. she killed demon kings like her modifier. over and over and over, in so many ways. and after so long, she got a new order. "uriel. halt the 'demon hunt'."

too many demon kings had died. a ceasefire was signed, yet uriel thought it a joke. a year passed. a decade. after half a century, uriel finally realized.

this can't be right.

she was born to destroy evil. she didn't go so far just to end up with this 'peace'.

after going on a rampage and ending up restrained by jophiel, she's forced to swear on her name as an archangel to not touch another demon king without the scribe's permission. ■ck, what was she supposed to do now?

she's told to take care of the sheep.

seriously? an archangel who used to defeat demon kings, now forced to be a shepherd? as a sheep walks up to her, she reflexively hits it and as the sheep slumps over, a low rank angel runs up to her in shock. she no longer remembers the angel's name, but only their title— teacher yang.

(yang/양 = sheep)

there were so, so many sheep. the 10 lambs uriel had brought had multiplied, and at this point the lambs of eden are quite popular. those sheep that appear in dreams? they're from eden :) teacher yang says that this is all thanks to uriel. thanks to the peace she brought.

counting the innumerable sheep, uriel finally admitted that she had really been released from her mission 'temporarily'. what should an archangel who had dedicated her life to hunting demons do now? she can watch sheep for a while, but this can't go on forever—

it's then that she sees teacher yang watching someone on a portable device. later, she learns that teacher yang was a 'star stream broadcasting' addict. looking at the screen, a video was playing.

「“Calm down, Yoo Sangah-ssi.”」

and right after, she learned for the first time she learned of the 'lambs' metatron wanted were.

「“Think about it. We are in a game right now.”」

---

a lot had happened since then. the great war of saints and demons broke out, and <eden> fell. she watched metatron, the archangels, and the seraphim who had laughed at her die.

「“What about the sheep?”」

teacher yang's last words.

「“I was supposed to shear them today...”」

the low ranking angel died, leaving behind no story. uriel never learned their name.

after the scenarios ended, she spent a lot time in a small garden. she was left alone in <eden>, where not a single sheep was left. sometimes she descended to interact with the incarnations or gabriel, she danced and sang when she was in the mood, but most of the time she stayed in the garden. she slept in the garden, and sometimes she ate. and she watched a story.

「“Uriel, you know. This is just a story.”」

she watched as one star died once more. in this ruined world, this was the only story she managed to keep.

the main character of that story was gone. no one knew where he went. though she knew that— or maybe because she knew that, she continued to watch that story without doing anything.

and sometimes she thought about sheep.

she dreamed of a man who became a sheep, living somewhere unknown to her. in that world, that man will meet new companions, and gain a new history. a new family would have been formed, without her knowing.

someone starts speaking to her.

she recognizes the voice. but that can't be. the owner of that voice had found his ■■ and died. no, did he really die? she didn't know. she knew nothing of the last ■■ he had reached. and she didn't particularly care.

the voice continues to speak. commenting on how she was still interested in this story. asking if she was curious about the next chapter.

the next chapter?

there's a place she can see the next chapter. she couldn't intervene, only watch. and she'd new a new modifier.

but if she could see that star again.

and that was how uriel came to this 'scenario'.

with a temporary modifier of 'The One Who Brought Ten Lambs', under the role of 'teacher yang' in this academy scenario.

uriel was grateful for her history she was grateful she had brought ten lambs to eden at that time. she was grateful she met teacher yang. she was grateful that she was the 'demon-like judge of fire', that she was an archangel of eden.

"Thank you, Uriel."

as lee hakhyun spoke her name, the door to the teacher's office started to close. uriel stumbled toward the closing door.

"Dok..."

spraks fly. even if that name was allowed to be spoken in this worldview, the worldview had caught on. the name she had called was not just of this world's 'actor'.

it was the name of her favourite story. uriel shouted his name.

the door did not open.

[irondadfics]

Holiday Rec List.

Hi everyone, this is long overdue, but I promised so here's to starting off the New Year right with some fics for you to check out. I didn't add any descriptions, so check them out! Some are series, some require you to be logged into your ao3. These are in no particular order. You are sure to find something you will love. We've linked the authors where possible so be sure to check out their other works, encourage (not pressure) them to finish their in progress works please or even write new works! Trust me! Happy New Year!

So many awesome stories did not make this list because I didn't want to overwhelm anyone, but many are already in mind for another special rec list!.

I love you more than anything (bio dad au) - iron_spider

But Only Hope and Sorrows End - iron_spider

Lazarus, come forth - iron_spider

Four times peter cheated death (and one time he didn't) - iron_spider

A Life of Crime - intothestorm

Up Came the Sun - WhimsicalEthnographies

Hey Ragazzo - WhimsicalEthnographies

Becoming Belonging - sahiya

A Soft Place to Land - sahiya

The Third Option - Uncertainty_Principle

Men of Iron - Spdrmain

The Little Things - soupshep

First Wednesday of March - soupshep

You'll Always Get There First - soupshep

The Time Traveler's Mentor - Diaz_evan

Three Weeks, Two Days, Seven Hours - soupshep

Never Go Home Alone - Orphan Account

Here's to all New Beginnings - Gruoch Orphan Account

Even Children Get Older - LittleMissAgrafina

A Snapshot Moment - soupshep

Hold Your Breath While You're Safe - Gruoch Orphan Account

The Hearth - Sagemb

Everyday Superhero Verse - Stoneage_woman

College Applications: The Biggest Meme - Sagemb

The Long Way Back - Gruoch Orphan Account

Allston Christmas - Gruoch Orphan Account

Hard to Love - Groo_ock Orphan Account

Aperture - Gruoch Orphan Account

Holdfasts - Gruoch Orphan Account

I Am One of You Forever - Gruoch Orphan Account

Neon Liar (Hiding in Plain Sight) - isaDanCurtisproduction

Constant Internal [Spider] Screaming: Semi-Connected Scenes from a Graduating Senior’s Life - isaDanCurtisproduction

As Luck Would Have It - blondsak, whumphoarder

Poison Apple - whumphoarder

Inevitable - imgoingtocrash

Knowing (of everything she doesn't) - imgoingtocrash

287 Miles - imgoingtocrash

Out of Darkness - StarryKnight09

I Would Lay My Armour Down - losingmymindtonight

Webcams and Webshooters - losingmymindtonight

Call You Home - Madelinedear

The Guardian - Emily_F6

Survivor's Guide to The Galaxy - fanfic1892

A Little Late On the Blood Work - Pixiemage

With Kind Regards and Completely Serious Warning - jennylarner

The Chain - RayRox360

Was that a Star Wars reference, Dr. Stark? - Jen27ny

You Are My Sunshine - M4rmalade

I told you I had issues - Bergen

PS: If you make it here then awesome sauce! Send us your fave fics to read as well, you never know they may end up on a special rec list someday! No promises though! Thank you all! Have an awesome 2024 everyone!

[sanhwaism]

drunk!bf seonghwa headcanon

genre ⟡ established relationship, fluff, humor, a teensy bit suggestive if you squint your eyes

warnings ⟡ mentions of f .ᐟ reader, a bit of swearing, let me know if there is anything else!!

author's note ⟡ i was rewatching that one wanteez drunk ep. and i couldn't stop thinking of how endearing and funny seonghwa was in it how does he manage to make me fall in love with him over and over again help. it needs to be studied. HE needs to be studied okay ill shush ENJOY MY FIRST HC hehe

naturally, (and i mean when he's sober) i see him as someone that wouldn't mind PDA

he's keeping it pg13 though!! his typical gentle hand holding, hand kissing, his arm dropped over your shoulders, warm hugs and some soft kisses on your cheeks while he caresses them with his soft hands

MAYBE if he's feeling bolder than usual some light teasing

tickling your waist, leaning towards you and giving the corner of your lips a peck that makes you crave for an actual, real kiss while he just smirks

i don't want to mention the tongue, thank you very much.

i decide to remain sane! ^^ (help me please)

he just loves seeing you getting all flustered! and loves showering you with his love, that's it! he's innocent! trust him!

until he gets drunk

oh boy

i feel like the moment this man has had too many drinks, it's going to be SO HARD for him to fight those inner voices and impulsive thoughts once his eyes land on you

he wants to keep you in his arms the whole time, especially on his lap so he can hum as he nuzzles your hair with his nose, breathing in your perfume that drives him mad

his pretty hands subtly touching your waist, hips and thighs, which leaves you squirming in his lap as you try to shush him with the last remained part of rationality in you

you can't see him, but you can feel the proud smile in the way his lips curl against the hot skin of your neck

he's loving this. never enjoyed something more in his life actually

he's a pretty self controlled man, with a lot of patience and an usual calm aura surrounding him

but please. for the love of god. he's an aries man after all

and right now? very drunk with a hazy mind and very, very curious hands

you might find this time the perfect opportunity for you to tease him back

there might be a problem though

he.

doesn't.

shut up.

which isn't exactly what sober hwa would do! he's a listener more than anything; that, plus he adores your voice and you can always read the "please never shut up i love you and your voice and the way you speak and think oh my god i just love you" from his face expressions

but sober isn't in his vocabulary anymore

so technically speaking, you can't even open your mouth to say something because mr. "i'm just a bit tipsy– ohhh, since when do i have two beautiful girlfriends?" has something to say!

a lot to say.

from cutely humming some ballad you two have been listening to,

telling you about what he has been doing in animal crossing, showing you his island, what lego he is planning on buying next and how excited he is to be building some pieces with you,

asking you if you want to watch star wars and starting to tell you the lore for the fifth time and you just sit there in silence, watching him with a fond smile on your face and your chin resting in the palm of your hand,

him suddenly getting up and starting to show you some new dance moves the whole members have prepared for their comeback

you're doing great sweetie!!!!!!!!!!

let him cook!!!!!!!

he almost slips because he can't keep his balance

like six times.

but he blames the rug underneath his feet because he's CLEARLY noooooot drunk

sure love, whatever helps you sleep at night!

all of that to almost crying because he suddenly got way too emotional just from looking at you. you just mean the world to him

of course you're worried

even though you're fighting some cuteness aggression because his ears are a crimson shade of red and all you want is just to hug him very tightly.

when you come back with a glass full of water for him, he's almost half asleep

yet he still rambles to himself

all of the sudden he's showing off his poetry skills

we all know how good he is with his words and how beautifully and heart warmingly he talks about everything

like ugh ouch my heart just write a book i'm begging :(((

so i feel like when he's drunk and you're taking care of him, he looks at you with those drowsy, boba eyes of his and all of the sudden he's letting out all of the thoughts he normally keeps in his head when you're in his sight, but feels too shy to say them to you

"i was a lost star until you showed up... my moon... you're my moon. you know that, right? i feel like i shine the brightest when you're with me, aegiya." you let out a small chuckle, not being able to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat at his sudden tender confession. he looked extra kissable with his lazy smile and messy hair, cheeks slightly flushed. once he realizes what he's mumbling, he looks away from you. suddenly the wall is very nice to look at. "fuck, what has gotten into me– ah, sorry, i didn't mean to..."

did i mention that he swears when he's drunk?

haha... :D

eye twitches

(this isn't affecting me at all trust)

nOW HEAR ME OUT pleasepleaseplease okay, park seonghwa is a gentleman to you through and through, no matter if he's sober or drunk. when it comes to the rest of his members though, he lets out a few cusses if something doesn't go his way or he's frustrated or pissed, especially if there are no cameras around

i feel like he takes the "i'm the oldest" privilege VERY seriously

good for him, good for him!

but if it's you, all that escapes his mouth are honey covered words because he's totally infatuated with you and wants to treat you the way you deserve to be treated

when he's drunk though, he might accidentally let some swears slip through those pretty lips of his

not directed towards you ! of course not. just a few fuck's and shit's and damn's

but it turns you on

coughs RIGHT! where was i hahahahahdkfjcfuckhesdoingthingstome

he speaks in a cuter way for sure, sometimes almost baby voice or a gremlin kind of voice which makes you laugh

he just gets even sillier and laughs at himself A LOT and you can't help but find the scene before your eyes incredibly funny and endearing

if you show him a finger, be assured that he'll laugh his ass off like you said the best joke to ever exist

be prepared to see him copying everything you do and giggling at it because in that moment, you, my dear, can change your career path and become a comedian in seonghwa's eyes.

he's gonna ramble for like 10-15 whole minutes about what a funny girlfriend he has and how lovely and pretty and kind and absolutely stunning and caring and hot and

knowing the current situation is alcohol 1 - seonghwa 0, he can not control his voice or accent that much

conclusion? his deep, satoori accent will definitely come out and surprise you

that's when you start sweating and your heart starts beating like crazy like it's in fast & furious

how dare he.

"jagiya... ah, i kinda want to drink more, but i think i have drank enough already. did i? shit, i honestly don't remember."

seriously. how dare he.

you don't know if you want to punch him, kiss him, faint or bring him another glass of water.

you're going through a lot of emotions, that's for sure

but so does seonghwa.

all of the sudden he's approaching you, slow and a bit wobbly, but he manages to lock you in between his body and the wall behind you, getting closer and closer to your face

his body temperature is crazily hot, you would definitely get worried that he has a fever if you didn't know he's as drunk as a fiddler

his hot, soju infused breath hits your parted lips as he whispers to you and you feel your knees getting weak. so weak, that you wonder if seonghwa will be able to catch you on time if you fall

"damn, angel, have i... ever told you how fucking crazy you're driving me? hm?"

!?,:?/?-!!!!!;!?2/!

im sorry ria.exe has stopped working

your breath hitched and all you could do was whisper his name because you entered the panic mode

and oh why would you do such thing

now a very tipsy and lust driven seonghwa is staring at your lips as he savors the way your body practically melts in his arms

good luck!!!!!! or have fun!!!!!!! both work ;)

{💌ྀི} masterlist

[hippolotamus]

Happy (incredibly belated) Birthday to mi amor, @disasterbuckdiaz 💙 thank you for your patience

honey, when you call my name | 12.6k | E (Buddie)

“I was at the bar, Buck.” Eddie’s voice is quieter now, dripping with uncertainty. “I walked in- and I saw the team. Then I saw you. At the pool table. Kissing someone.” Eddie inhales sharply and it feels like the air is being ripped directly from Buck. “And when I saw that I- I had to leave.”

The words play back in Buck’s mind in slow motion as he tries to piece them together. None of it makes any kind of rational sense. Eddie was there? He saw Buck and then had to–

“Did you have sex with her?” Eddie blurts out. 

That is not at all what Buck was expecting. Ever since Shannon died there’s been an unspoken rule between them. A silent pact to never inquire about or interfere with the other’s romantic life. And sure, Buck broke that with Ana, but only because Eddie was having panic attacks. What else was he supposed to do? This is completely different in every way. Because his best friend, man he’s hopelessly in love with, and star of every filthy fantasy, wants to know if anything more happened with a stranger at a bar.

The implication clicks, allowing something bright and hopeful to flicker to life in his chest. A wish Buck never dared let himself believe would be fulfilled. “Would it matter if I did?” 

Buck doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s nostrils flare slightly before he attempts to cover it with a mask of indifference. How he seems to be struggling not to look away again. 

“It’s not like it’s really my business anyway.” Eddie shrugs and begins picking at the label on his drink with his thumbnail. 

The flickering ember of hope draws from Eddie’s reaction, daring to glow the tiniest bit brighter. “I didn’t, you know. Do anything with her, I mean.”

Eddie pauses his fidgeting, just long enough for Buck to notice before starting again. The casual silence that had been there before is anything but now. It feels weightier, the ease replaced with tension and doubt, and Buck starts to wonder if he’s completely misinterpreted the situation.

“Did you want to?”

“No!” If this is going where Buck hopes it’s going he wants to be as clear as he can. He quickly adds, “Not with her.”  

Eddie jerks his head up, staring at Buck with equal parts curiosity and disbelief. It pins him in place, leaving him helpless to do anything but stare back. He doesn’t risk moving, his breathing rapid and shallow, too afraid of severing this potential new thread weaving its way into their well established connection. Another anchor point in their root system, twining them together.

“And if it had been someone else?” Eddie asks.

Not that Buck is the most effective communicator, but he kinda wishes Eddie would just say what he means already. However, he supposes, two can play at that game. “I guess it would depend on who’s asking.”

Eddie hums, shifting to set his bottle down on the counter. It lands with a semi-hollow clink and a gentle slosh as he maintains his hold, tapping one finger on the neck. As if he’s contemplating, trying to sort out a complicated equation. He briefly squeezes his eyelids shut tight, pinching his lips together, something warring within him. With a loud exhale through his nose, his body finally relaxes again and releases his grip, letting both hands rest at his sides. 

There’s something else, too, when Eddie faces forward again. A new aura of confidence rolling off of him in waves. It’s vaguely reminiscent of a different night in this kitchen when their roles were reversed and Eddie stood down, unyielding to whatever the fuck Buck thought he was doing. 

Not now though. 

Now he looks intently at Buck. He sees him. He sees him in a way that makes Buck feel stripped down and exposed. A raw vulnerability that intensifies as Eddie steps towards him, his boots echoing with each heel strike. Another and another until he’s standing in Buck’s space, effectively caging him in. 

Eddie takes the beer from his hand, placing it off to the side. It seems like a hallucination, some sort of wild fever dream. But then Eddie’s fingers are tucked under Buck’s chin, his thumb sweeping across Buck’s bottom lip and making him shiver. Christ it feels so fucking real. Please let it be.  

This close, Buck can make out flecks of green interspersed with warm golden browns. He can smell the oud and lavender cologne Sophia gave him two Christmases ago. Eddie swears up and down it’s not really his style, but Buck knows better. He only had to be tortured by it every time Eddie came home from a date. Maybe it can be his now. A scent from his person. A type of claim letting everyone know he belongs to Eddie. Even if it’s just this one time. 

“And what if I’m asking?” Eddie inquires, low and husky in a way Buck’s never heard from his best friend before.

“Are you?” Buck responds, barely above a whisper.

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