#and after the war when they all sit for a brief moment and hold hands 😭😭😭a brief escape to the past 😭😭

[barryhbo]

AUUGGJJFNFNDNNFNFNF YEAH IVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT ALL DAY……… just. the fact that literally everyone except nezha dies. the way i knew there was no way rin could survive there was no other way this story could be told. how she spend a the whole trilogy under someone’s thumb and being controlled and then once she BECOMES the one on the other end how the power corrupts her…….the way she’s SUCHHH an unreliable narrator at the end and can’t trust anyone NOT EVEN KITAY. THE WAY KITAY DIES WITH HER ANYWAY. the way she’s changed so much but can’t see it so she thinks kitay and venka are the ones who changed. the way rin and nezha surrender to each other when it matters. like i’m just auuiuiicucucgjbvgghfdhjdjdjdjdjhdhhj. fucking hell.

real!! the last section of the book was so painful to read, seeing rin without a clear enemy to fight and how her paranoia leads her to distrust those closest to her.... without a war to fight, rin collapses inwards. she turns against venka and kitay, and oh kitay😭. when rin realises she's hurting kitay, when she realises she's lost everything and none of it matters, that her story was written before she was even born, history moves in circles, when she realises she has to die. absolutely broke me. rin is haunted by ghosts of the past, she banished tearzas ghost in the first book, she couldn't understand why tearza did what she did. but finally, here in the same place where tearza put the blade in her heart, rin understands. she knows there is no way forward, the war will never end.

and it's like. rin also dies with kitay hating her. the only person who has always been by her side, the person she loves more than anyone, and she turns on him at the very end. and their fight is painful because rin could so easily overpower him but realising she's hurting kitay makes her pull back and suddenly everything hits her - everything she's done, the horror of it all exhausts her. and she realises that she's seen this scene play out before - kitay is jiang, rin is riga, nezha is daji - daji and jiang were terrified of and loved riga, and riga would've burned down the world. rin realises there's only one way to end this, to break the cycle. 'i'll hate you for it but i'll love you forever. i can't help but love you. ruin me. ruin us. i'll let you' and rin does. there was no world where kitay lived and rin didn't.

and nezha 😭 it's the cruelest thing she could've done. she made him hold the blade, made him take responsibility for her death. nezha is left alone, he'll be remembered by history as the one who gave the country away, a hesperian puppet. nezha is left, just like daji was and he will be hated just like her. he's the only one left alive after spending his whole life trying to kill himself.

[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. 

[saintmuses]

❝𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙨, 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙨 𝙝𝙪𝙢 𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙣 𝙜𝙪𝙣 𝙡𝙪𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙗𝙮❞

Pairing:

Thomas Shelby x Advisor!Reader

Summary:

When Oswald Mosley flirted with Thomas’s political advisor, he could not hold back the green monster thus crossing the boundaries he had sworn was set in place between themselves for her sake.

Warning(s): Soft SMUT. Age gap (Reader in her mid-20s and Thomas in his early 40s). Spanking. Fingering. Major power imbalance. Thomas being sweet on Reader. Possessive!Thomas. Implied misogynistic only because of her job and obviously Oswald Mosley. Infidelity. Minors, dni! Note: I’m not well-versed in English politics in 1930s, and women during that time rarely had positions in politics especially as a career.

Word Count: 1.9k

Thomas Shelby’s gaze caught the figure sitting by the fireplace, his breath was caught in his lungs at the sight of her pretty presence in the armchair. However, he could tell she had her neck craning backwards laughing with a small smile painted on her face as she was speaking to someone in front of her.

He frowned, curiosity creeping through his veins as he wondered who was talking to her, making her laugh like that.

His teeth grounded as his jaw clamped together, the color of green rushed through his veins as the creature rattled in its cage of his mind when the figure stood up, stepping out of Y/N’s way as she stood up from the furniture as well.

Oswald fucking Mosley. 

He stood under the alcove, waiting for her to make her way down the hallway. His ears prickled at the sounds of heels tapping against the granite floors, every footstep were increasingly louder as she neared the alcove.

He was mentally praising his luck for the separation of offices due to his position as a member of parliament. He could pretend to put a front in public; the one where he was not a backstreet gangster who grew up poor, a soldier who had to do things no one should ever have to do in the name of the war, the one where he was a politician, but he dropped all pretense once the door was close temporarily.

When she walked past him, unaware that he was waiting for her, his hand snapped forward, fingers enclosing her bicep gently before hauling her behind him as he stormed down the hallway. Barely paying any mind toward bystanders who were still lingering in the hallways.

He wanted to punish her, for breathing in Mosley’s direction, for giving him a very brief but sweet laugh, for even entertaining him despite the fact she did not like sleazy men like Mosley.

He just wanted to punish her for giving her time to someone else when her time belonged to him.

Even though they had not crossed the line other than innocent stolen moments, longing stares and little sweetheart comments that were not made to be condescending. To her he was Mister Shelby the member of parliament, but to him, she had become his everything.

Oswald made a mistake in bringing in a powerful force to improve the Labour Party campaign in order to gain votes, someone who would make him fall in love with her instantaneously.

She had left once after her goal was completed. He had tried to do the right thing by keeping her at distance, but he ended up offering her a position as his advisor in that hallway to hire her due to his selfish desire of keeping her close again. The emotions he felt at the idea of not seeing her again held a threat against his conscience.

Oswald was right that she could help save the political party, but she ended up more than saving it, she saved him by giving him air to breathe, to make him feel alive since Grace’s death

She saved him.

And he was not going to let someone like Oswald Mosley or anyone else take her away from him.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Mister Shelby?” She asked, nearly icily as she was trying to keep up with his pace as he stormed down the hallway towards his office.

He knew what she was doing when she called him by the government name along with the position in the rank, reminding him of their circumstances, despite being nearly unprofessional with her words.

“You,” his voice deeper than usual and harsh against the quiet hall. “You are my problem.”

She huffed impassionedly. “Mister-“

He interrupted, not allowing her to form a reprimand against him. “I have been very patient with you, Y/N-,” he spoke, abruptly turning to face her once they neared the door that led to his office. His icy eyes glinting with feral before it retreated. “You say I’m your superior, right?” He waited for her to nod at him. “You do what I say in terms of what I want, correct?” He asked with his gritted teeth. His eyes were blazing with fury, not thinking straight in his head as his emotions threatened to boil over.

Despite his inner turmoil, he pushed her gently to his office, turning to her after closing the ornate door, locking it with the key.

“Yes, but-“

He interrupted her grabbing her wrists with gentle strength, “then bend over the desk.” He maneuvered her towards the wooden furniture, clear of documents and little knick knacks.

A look of surprise flashed across her facial features. “Mis-” she started, but he did not let her finish.

“Bend. Over. The. Desk.” A growl rumbled in his throat as he glared down at her since he towered over her.

She stared at him, eyes wide.

He was going to make her acknowledge the connection between them. However, he will back off if she truly did not want this.

And Y/N would not do anything if she did not want to.

He swore on his father’s makeshift grave that he could see her lips trembling slightly as her eyes dilated in soft desire before turning away from him to face the desk. He inhaled slowly when she slowly bent her upper body over his desk, pressing her chest into the furniture with her palms placed flat on the dark wood above her, curling her fingers around the edge.

He breathed heavily as he looked at her, bent over the desk and obediently exposed, like a prize. As if he was in a trance, he reached out and dragged the hem of her skirt upwards until the sight of the curves of her flesh were revealed peeking out in her light-colored underwear, not without gliding his fingers across her smooth skin, making her tremble. He tucked the hem of the fabric into the waistband.

Fuck.

He could feel himself hardening in his trousers at the sight of her bare skin. His eyes flickered to her face. She was looking forward now, though he could still see the side of her face from his position. Her cheeks were flushed prettily.

He lifted his right hand, and he hit the right cheek with a loud crack in the silent of his office. Y/N’s body jolted forward beneath him at the contact with an unexpected, guttural moan.

Something inside of him snapped.

He was like a man possessed - he couldn’t stop, addicted to the way her soft, pliant flesh felt underneath his calloused palm. It was truly the first time he had touched her skin other than shaking her hand in Mosley’s office when she was introduced to him.

One coming right after the other, causing the flesh of her ass to reverberate from his palm.

After the last one was landed with a sharp heavy smack, he heard her letting out a grunt as her thighs shafted together in response to his aggressive ministrations.

Breathing heavily, “is that it?” She asked, turning her head back toward him with defiance glinting in her gaze. 

Oh, she was challenging him. She looked delicious, all bent over with her skirt flipped over her waist.

His eyes narrowed at her, flicked his wrist to slap her fabric covered cunt, not too hard but still nice and sharp. His lips curled into a smirk when she whimpered in surprise, thighs clamping together.

It didn’t deter him as he eased her thighs apart slightly, pushing her underwear to the side, revealing her pretty cunt to his hungry gaze before sliding his index and middle fingers into her warmth. Roughly dragging his fingers back and forth in response to her own breathing patterns as moans and little whines emitted from her throat. “If I ever catch you allowing even so far as encouraging Mosley to flirt with you, I will kill him.” He did not give a fuck if Mosley was an important politician or not, he will find a way to put a bullet through Mosley’s body and bury him with some believable cover story about his unfortunate death.

Thomas removed his fingers, towering over her body slightly grinding his hardened cock into the curve of her ass, reaching around to her face and shoved his fingers into her pliant mouth. “You’re mine,” he growled, the words sounding more of a threat.

His other hand gripped her flesh when he felt her lips closing around his fingers and sucked them to clean her arousal off his skin.

She moved, pushing back at him while flipping her skirt back over her ass until he stood a step back to give her space when she turned to face him with a defiant expression on her face.

“Fuck off, Mister Shelby. I am not yours. I am not one of the whores you like to fuck.” She hissed, eyes flashing with anger.

He chuckled coldly, looking at her with disbelief in his eyes. “Sweetheart, you let me lay hands on your arse, but it’s crossing the line when I want to bend you over, fill you up with me cock while making you mine? Eh? Got that bit twisted.”

She glared at him with hostility in her pretty eyes. The ones he would see in his mind whenever he could sleep without the sounds of bloodshed from the Great War.

He sighed, raising his hands to cup her jaw, brushing the pad of his thumb against her cheek. “Trust me, I haven’t fucked anyone since I’ve first laid eyes on you. My only companion is my hand.”

“Not even your wife?” 

He gazed down at her, sliding his thumb from her cheek to her lips, brushing against them softly.

“Not even her,” he said throatily after pulling his thumb away from her soft pliant lips. “I have been patient with you, willing for you to come to terms with your feelings that you and I fucking well know you have for me.” He said lowly, his fingers gripped her jaw slightly as a reflection of his statement. “You wanted to come back after shaping up the political party, accepting my job offer, despite knowing that I crave you in that hallway. You still walked back into this godforsaken place, and this is the consequences of our own actions.,” he whispered before using his hand, he grabbed her face, pulling her into a filthy kiss and she reciprocated in return with a whine, lips biting tongues tangling, battling for dominance.

He listened to every word she said to him, ignoring the harsh words from Arthur, his brother. Lizzie, his wife at this point in the name only. Michael and Polly who berated him every chance he got. Arthur. Polly. Lizzie. Linda. Michael. He ignored the words spewing from everyone filled with contempt despite following his words as if they were the law. Except her, her words were soft and firm if needed to be.

He did not care about anyone else, about what they want. Not while he was feeling this way for her. 

He cared about what she wanted because her wants became his wants, and he knew that his wants were somewhat becoming her wants too

His wants were consuming his thoughts in the moment, his jealousy destroyed the control he had over his desires which brought them to the moment in his office.

“Say my name,” he murmured, a command etched in his words after he released her lips from his.

He heard her exhaling softly, her eyes were gazing into his. “Tommy.”

[undercoverpena]

isn't it

din djarin x f!reader

summary: at first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at. but, at some point between your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

warnings: mentions of smut/alludes to smut. bad star wars writing (probs, i'm new forgive me). no use of y/n. brief mention/allusion of hand necklace (thanks @rhoorl for the term), m!oral, p in v. loosely season one/two, although likely au. wordcount: 1.7k an: a huge massive thank you to @saradika for firstly convincing me i could do this, and then letting me show her this so i could be assured i didn't butcher him. ily so much 🤍

It’s beautiful.

The sound of wind rustling through it, how it waves in spots up and down the hill—moving side to side like a cosmic wave.

You thought you’d known green until now; thought you had known silver too, assumed you understood the way reflections worked and how quick movements could be. But that was before him.

Before you’d known the feel of his solid body lay on top of yours.

Then, you discovered a lot of things. Like how easy it was to spread your thighs on either side of him. For your fingers to seek in the dark—how they effortlessly hunt and find the parts he’ll expose to the night, but never to the light.

You even found you don’t hate the sound of your name when he says it. Somehow makes it longer, more impactful—like it has meaning when it comes from his mouth.

All of which were things you’d never known before you convinced him to bring you.

A promise, a barter—an exchange. Your hand clutching his blaster slugs, tears clutching to your lashes, flowing from your eyes—aware of what you look like, aware of the desperation you reek of.

Just take me to a different planet. A suitable one. Please.

At first, it had been you who had found a problem with each one he’d landed at.

A bogus reason, a ploy—all stemmed from a rising infatuation with the man under beskar. But, at some point between your cheek against the wall of his ship and your clothing being around your ankles, you’re sure he’d begun to find problems with you leaving too.

But, this place is a gift—it’s a slice of heaven.

It had been a stop gap you’d almost pleaded at him not to make, a pause in the travel plan. Now you’re not sure you want to leave it.

Because here is a sea of greens, a variety, a never-ending display of every shade between the letters which make up the name. Some are more saturated, some are deeper; some are tinged with yellows and others are blotted with dark spots that aim to discolour, but just make them more unique.

There’s no bounty here—no collection to be made.

Just a sight for your eyes and a moment for him. And, you think you could sit here for hours and bask in it. Take it in. Allow the air of this planet to fill your lungs and carve a space inside of you that no one will ever be able to rip from you.

Stroking your fingers through the ground, you feel how your tunic presses to your spine—how it’s held there by the perspiration on your spine. The fabric desperate to blow, to whip around your ribs and the sleeves to float around your arms.

You don’t care that it’s warm—don’t mind that you can feel your skin prickling under it.

Because you’re lost in it, the limitlessness of this place. How surreal it is that each blade points north to the sky, all upright, anchored pleasingly to the ground it came from.

Things had been beautiful earlier too, you remind yourself.

When you had been enveloped by darkness, not a slither of light—not that there’d be the space for it in the small cot. His hands, forever a staple, an anchor, to your hips, determined to pin you there.

He’s a man who chases after those who run, and you suppose it’s ingrained in him. This belief that everyone, at some point, will leave—will go. You think it’s why he holds you tightly when you’re nothing but bare; you suppose it’s why after, when he unsheathes himself, he always traces his thumb over the places his fingers have been, reminding your skin he’s kind, just in case you need another reminder not to leave.

“We should go.”

You hum because you should. Yet, your mind rationalises that the baby is still asleep and there are more minutes to sit in the silence, to not dwell—you suppose it’s why your hand reaches up, and brushes over the gloved fingers instead.

Action is easier than words when it comes to him.

A game the two of you play, one of silence and strategy—wondering who’d be the first to crack and speak more words than necessary. You suspect it’ll be you in time, likely soon enough.

It’s why you clutch, cling. Weaving and working until you’re holding his fingers at an odd angle, a silent plea there, a wishful hope spoken without using syllables or your lips and mouth.

“One more minute.”

“Okay,” you respond.

Watching the strands move again, swaying, dancing.

A content sigh rolls from you, and briefly—in the back of your mind, you wonder if you’re really awake. Whether this is some form of peace your brain has concocted after the sight of him stained in crimson; his palms flat in the air, modulator expelling he’s fine, it isn’t his, he’s okay, it’s okay—

For a while, you’d believed him, until you felt the bruises—all pulsing and colouring in shades you can’t imagine. An image being drawn, shaded in—forever in black and white, just outlines and half-concocted feelings you have on what lives under his armour.

He sighs next to you, it rattling out through his helmet.

And you wait to hear it, the confirmation he normally hands you. Deep, even through his modulator that this “isn’t it” either.

It’s been a routine ever since the two of you began this dalliance. Ever since you’d smuggled yourself aboard his ship with the promise that you’d never ask him for anything else.

Neither realising how false that would be.

You beg for a lot. For more, for his lips, his fingers and his cock. You wait for the darkness, count down to it—thrum with excitement for it when he steps down the ladder and his helmet is aimed in your direction.

Somehow, no words are said, just mutual acknowledgement, acceptance. Or that's what you call it. It being seemingly better than admitting that you crave it—him. That you care, that the sight of him smeared in ruby still haunts you—lingers there, bleeds into good days and casts shadows while you wait in the hull. The child in your arms, soothing him—telling yourself you’re giving him comfort, when you suppose you gain more from the small being than you could ever provide.

“This isn’t it,” he eventually says from above.

His helmet turned, and you imagine the eyes that live under it. Question if they’re almond-shaped or hooded, whether they’re brown, green or blue. You also wonder if he looks at you with curiosity or want, whether it’s with a thousand thoughts running or none at all.

“No?”

“No. Not this one.”

That’s when you close your eyes. Let your ears do the seeing.

Allow your other senses to kick in, to swallow the lack of sight and make do. You end up lingering on the gloved hand in yours—the one which sometimes slides around your neck, lightly pinches either side as you moan at the feel of him. The same hand which slides down your spine to aid your motion, or lingers there when the terrain isn't trouble-free.

It's the remembering which makes you let go of it, of him.

Quickly managing to pretend your hand doesn’t feel cold when you do. Stuff down the emptiness that begins to drown you in the space you put between you, as you stand up. A part of you admitting defeat, silently saying goodbye to tall stands of green and the rolling hills adorned with shades.

“Thought you’d be sick of me by now.”

It rumbles from you. All heavy, laced in its own metal—ready to slam into him and take him down.

It doesn’t. You’re not sure any words ever could.

You suppose it’s why he says nothing, silently following, not too far so that you’re alone, but not close enough that you can feel the ghost of his touch. The distance measured, all purposeful. It remains so until you’re back aboard, until the door closes behind you and you’re once again surrounded by metal.

A part of you knows you shouldn’t grow used to him, shouldn’t be waiting for him to flood your spine with his chest. But you do—you really fucking do.

It’s why you don’t move, don’t take a step closer to check on the baby or even unclench your hand from around the strands of green you’d stolen. The ones you’d ripped up from the ground, roots tickling your wrist—the rest remaining tucked closely between curled fingers and a sweaty palm.

Yours. The smallest piece of a place you’ll likely never see.

“You should sleep.”

It’s an order. Direct—practically thrown at you. Followed by a tight grip on your waist, fingers finding the same place they always do. His place. The one not needing a mark, but he leaves them all the same, ownership, a possession.

Sometimes in the throes of it, you hear him hiss mine, jus’ mine—your head nodding in the dark, because you are, you know you are, the same as you suspect he knows he’s yours. It’s another thing which festers behind your teeth, keeping lips clamped shut, knowing it requires no confirmation, no words in exchange for the momentary slip-up he lets escape. But then, you offer nothing when you trace mine against him with your tongue, when you muffle the words around his shaft as your mouth widens to take more of him.

It’s just pleasure, an easy-to-choose solution to another body being in proximity—a lie you tell yourself.

One you bargain with when he sleeps and you’re coated in the dark, convincing yourself until sleep carries you away and you wake to find yourself either alone or the very opposite.

Because it’s easier, simpler. Far better than admitting your heart does a double take when he returns, that you yearn for him in the days that pass when he leaves you on the ship.

It’s less complicated than asking him if you’ll ever be worthy of seeing him.

And you’re not the type of person to question. So you don’t.

And so the routine continues.

an: you don't know how long this has been burning in my head.

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 4 ✿:+ Candle Flames

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, -, 5

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: SMUT, MINORS DNI, afab reader, thigh fucking, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, alcohol consumption, mention of death, mention of arranged marriage, LOTS OF VIOLENCE, blood, implied threat of non-con, 

Word Count: 4738

After you’d spoken to Loras, you’d felt even more alone than before. The talk offered no comfort other than the fact he didn’t want you dead. Sansa was fine company but she was something you felt the strong urge to protect. You put yourself in harm's way constantly just to prevent her from facing any pain.

Specifically one incident when you and her were walking with the Royal Party after watching the Princess sail away to Dorne to be wed off. It was hard to watch the crying girl sail away, especially when you’d been in her very place. 

It was easy to keep your eyes averted to such a sight when The Hound was there to accompany Joffrey. You kept your head low but your eyes stayed on him. You’d still had so many questions about the night you both shared, but now was not the time to ask. 

Later making your way back through the capital city you were sickened by the sights you saw. The Lannisters and Baretheons were supposed to be the wealthiest and most powerful houses. And yet the people of their cities sit in filth and starve. Starving over a war they did not want nor started. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to be even the least bit angry when the crowd began to shout vile things. However you found yourself slightly confused once you heard the words ‘bastard’, ‘incest monster’, and ‘brother-fucker’ being sworn towards the royal party.

However your confusion only occupied your mind for a brief moment before someone within the crowd hurled cow manure at the King's face. You felt a brief sense of enjoyment when you saw it hit his face, but it was soon replaced by fear when the King ordered for the execution of the entire crowd,

“Find the man who did that and bring him to me! Kill them, Kill them all!” The King shouted.

Foolish it was, he’d only a few gold cloaks, some kingsguard, and even less knights. Outnumbered by the hundreds of rioting starving people.

Sandor grabbed hold of Joffrey protecting him.

“What are you doing? I want these people executed!” Joffrey whined loudly

“And they want the same for you!” He shouted back

The city watch was quickly overpowered. And the High Septon that you and the royal party was traveling with was pulled into the crowd. You were horrified to witness him being pulled limb from limb, never seen such a thing in your life.

“Move, Move!” Tyrion shouted at you

As the Kingsgaurd were able to eventually carve somewhat of a path towards the entrance of the Red Keep, Joffrey, Cersei, and Tyrion were all rushed inside quickly. 

Before you could make your way inside you noticed your cousin Sansa being derailed and separated from the rest. 

You grabbed ahold of her quickly and pushed her into a Kingsguard who brought her inside. However once she was in, without seeing you they closed the doors. 

Alone.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆

Inside the keep 

“You blind bloody fool!” Tyrion scolded Joffrey’s moronic behavior by hitting and cursing at him. “We’ve had vicious kings, we’ve had idiot kings, but I don’t know if we’ve ever had an idiot king!”

“You’re talking to a King!” Joffrey shouted back like an embarrassed child.

Tyrion raised his hand and slapped him “And now I’ve struck a King, did my hand fall from my wrist?” He shouted back, he turned around and noticed you were not there, “Where is the Arryn girl?” He shouted at the men. 

“Let them have her!” Joffrey retorted 

“If she dies her relatives in the North won't forget it! She’s cared for in the vale and might I remind you she shares blood with the Starks! You need her alive!” He shouted back before frantically calling upon all the king's men to return to save you. 

“Gather your men and find her!” He shouted to Ser Meryn 

“I only take orders from my king, imp.” Meryn responded coldy. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ 

Meanwhile as you attempted to hide in a dark hall, winding up in some kind of stable. You thought for a moment you’d made it there unnoticed and alone. However four men soon walked in behind you as you backed yourself against a wall. Your hand found his way around the handle of a small sharp shovel of some kind. The blade of it was sharp and flat. 

You’d not said a word, you knew if you shouted for them to get back or to fuck off it would be of no use. 

“Look at this little bird's eyes, she’s furious.” One of the men with short hair was mocked. 

“I’ve no gold, no silver, no bread.” You said in a low tone, firm voice. 

“Aye, but you’ve got something.” The taller man said with a crooked grin.

As that man began to take a step towards you, you grasped the handle of the shovel firmly and stabbed it into him. Between his neck and his collarbone. 

As the other men began to shuffle towards you, you pulled the shovel back out and pointed it at them as their friend fell to the ground holding his bleeding wound. 

The man with short hair managed to grab ahold of you whilst his other friend grabbed ahold of your wrist, yanking the shovel out of your hand. The man with short hair placed his hand over your mouth, in response you bit down onto his fingers so hard you were afraid your teeth would shatter. You could taste the blood rush into your mouth. 

In response to your bite, with his other hand he hit you creating a cut over your eyebrow. It threw you off just enough to make you fall back and into the other man's arms. 

The three men began to pin you down shouting vulgar remarks, as they did you kicking at them and scratching at them. Just as the one with short hair began to undo his pants, he was stopped. 

Picked up by the back of his neck like a puppy, practically lifted off of the ground. His guts were cut out of him. As his body fell to the ground you saw him, it wasn’t Sandor, it was The Hound. This is what everyone spoke of. 

The men who held your wrists were next. He cut with precision. His swords swung and took off the man's head. The next he grabbed before he could escape. Slamming his fist into his head, and shoving his blade deep into his stomach. Once he was done he put away his sword. He turned back towards you, and it was him again, Sandor. 

He bent his knee to you and spoke softly “You’re alright now, little bird, you're alright.” He said as he picked you up in both arms and carried you back to safety. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧

As the two of you entered the keep Tyrion was shocked. 

Once Sandor placed you down gently, a few ladies including Sansa rushed to your side pawing at your bloody face. 

“My Lady are you hurt?” Tyrion asked as he tried to assess whether the blood on your mouth and hands were yours or not. 

“Little birds hurt, get her back to her cage. See that cut on her head.” Sandor commanded the women as he walked away, 

as he did Tyrion shouted back to him. “Well done, Clegane.”

To which Sandor responded, 

“I didn’t do it for you.” 

Tyrion, confused by his words, went back to your side and asked again before your ladies could take you away. “My lady, are you hurt? There’s blood- your hands and-“ he said reaching his to touch your chin where the blood from your mouth dropped. 

“I bit one.” You said plainly, exhaustion in your eyes, unwilling to attempt that you’d murdered a man. 

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

As you laid in your bed that night, you looked at the one candle you had burning beside your bed. Contemplating whether or not to blow it out. Watching the flame kept your mind away from the memories you’d made today. You’d never seen such horrid things before, and much less partook in them. You’d killed a man. And yet, felt no remorse, which made you feel terrible, but maybe that alone counted for something. But soon even that left as your memories shifted to the feeling of being in Sandor's arms. 

Before you could blow it out, 

you began to hear the sounds of metal clanking up the hall. Sandor thought you’d never notice, but he often walked up and down your halls more than he was meant to. Simply to make sure you were alright. 

Every time you heard the metal clanking pass you’d smile to yourself. Only this time it stopped, in front of your door. You sat up slightly on your elbows and peered towards the door. Without knocking, he came inside your chamber. 

“What’re you doing here?” You asked in a whisper. 

He didn’t respond, but made his way to that same golden pitcher in the corner of your room. 

“It’s water, remember?” You said. He huffed and put it back down without taking a swig of it. 

“What are you-” You began before he spoke in a low deep husky voice. 

“You could’ve been killed.” He said without looking at you. 

“But I didn’t.” You said in a sweet whisper.

He began to walk towards your bed. “The fucking cunts would ‘ave taken you bloody every which way, that pretty throat would’ve been slit open. You’d been left for the fucking rats.” 

You took his hand and pulled him onto the bed, his metal scrapping the delicate sheets as he sat on it. 

“You saved me, you’re the bravest man I’ve ever seen.” You said with a strange kind of adornment, one he’d never heard before. 

“Brave?” He dryly scoffed, “Dogs don't need courage to chase rats.” 

“You’re no dog.” You say with that same sweet whisper, it’s as if you’d realized you’d began to fall deeper into whatever emotional trap you two had created here. 

“You killed that man?” He asked in a low whisper. 

“I did.”

“How’d that feel.” 

“Necessary.” 

He stared at you for a moment, not in judgment or disgust but in understanding and some other emotion you couldn’t quite understand just yet. 

“You can’t do that again.” 

“Kill?” 

“No.” His eyebrows furrowed, he couldn’t give less of a shit who you killed or why, “You risked your life for that Stark girl.” 

“You saw that?” 

“She kept yapping about it.” His tone husky 

“I needed her safe first.”

“Too bad.” He said not giving you any room to argue as his thumb ran over the cut on your eyebrow, you winced slightly. “I’d kill those cock sucking rats a million times again if I could. Died too quickly. I should have cut their arms off, their hands, taken their eyes for even looking at you.” 

Your hand came to his jaw, pulling yourself to his lips but he pulled away. with a sigh he came close again. He rested his forehead on yours. 

“I don’t know how to- do this- gently.” He let out a small rumble, “fuck” he hissed “i want to do this gently. I want to be gentle with you.”

He was like a dog given a bone that he so badly wanted to preserve. 

His hand came to your lap, and fisted the fabric of your nightgown. You placed your hands on top of his, you smoothed out his hand to lay flat on your lap. 

“Like this..” you whispered as you guided his hand up, making the fabric ride up. As your thighs became more and more visible he stopped and backed away, 

“No, no this isn’t right.” He grumbled as he walked over towards a large chair in the corner of your room. His face was illuminated by that single candle light. You could see his frustration and desperation in a battle with one another. 

You stood, and walked towards him. He slumped forwards. Resting his forearms against his strong thighs. 

“I can’t be what you wan- what you need.” He corrected. His voice was low and deep. 

You pushed him back by his shoulders, making him lean against the back of the chair. His deep scowl was ever present but it didn’t stop you from running your fingers through his coarse hair. 

“I shouldn’t have come back here. Should’ve stayed the fuck away. Left you be,” 

“I don’t think either of us have much a choice.” You said as you moved yourself between his large thighs. Standing in front of him still running your hands through his hair. “Do you think of that night?” You asked in a whisper. 

“Fuck do you think-“ He barked back before you stopped him, 

“Gentle.” You corrected him 

“Aye.” He conceded painfully, his hands coming to your sides holding you by your waist. His large hands engulfed your ribs. 

“What part of it do you think of?” You whispered sweetly as you began to move on top of him. Your thighs spread across his as you straddled him. His eyes never leave yours. 

He grumbled something low, you couldn’t make it out, but it sounded like “Your eyes.” 

You didn’t want to push him, to make him repeat it. 

Your hand cupped his chin, as you slowly pressed your lips against his. You pecked at his lips for a moment. Then pulling away, looking into his eyes waiting for his response. His eyes filled with shame, he looked away. 

You pressed a kiss into the scarred tissue on his cheek, he flinched at the feelings and his eyes darted back to you, 

“My face, why did you-“ He rasped suddenly 

“Don’t you want me?” 

“Course’ I do but I-“ he cut himself off as his lips hit yours once again, he sucked on your lips as hardly audible groans escaped his throat. 

You pressed your thinly clothed cunt against his hardening bulge. However as soon as he felt it he grabbed you by your hips and lifted you up. You whined, and his forehead slumped forward and rested on your chest. “Fuck-“ he said breathlessly, “Can’t do that shit to me.” he panted. 

“Why?” you whined a little too loudly, his grip on you tightened. 

“Told you, stubborn fucking girl.” He finally caught his breathe, “Ye poke at me too much and i’ll fuck you bloody.” His eyes leaving yours in what looked like guilt.

“That’s what I want-“ 

“Don’t matter.” He snipped back quickly, his eyes snapping back to yours. “Once you're wed that imp will stick his cock in ya’ and know you’re not his.” He said, his words harsh, sharp and cold 

“I’m not.” you said, his eyes went a little wide, with what? adornment? 

You slowly lowered your hips onto his once again. Waiting for his push back but were met with none. You let out a small gasp as the bulge separated your lips through the thin fabric that covered your cunt. Another moan left your lips once you felt the hardened mound poke at your entrance. You grinded against it, your cunt began to clench around nothing. 

“At’s it” He groaned into your neck, “Grin’ yerself on my cock.” He grumbled low and deep. 

His face contorted, his muscles tensed, and his groans became more and more primal. His grip on your hips began to sting a little how tightly he held you. Your cheeks began to heat up, and that knot in your stomach tightened. 

He picked you up abruptly, kissing your neck. 

“On your back, now.” He commanded as he placed you onto the fur rug on your bed chambers floor. 

He untied his breeches that clearly had a wet spot on it, unclear if it was your doing or his. He was still fully covered in his armor, as he pulled out his cock. Harder than you’d seen it before. 

You rode up your night gown to your hips and slipped out of the thin underclothes you’d had on. 

He was on his knees before you, you on your back, legs bent and spread, ready and inviting. 

He stared at you, admiring you. 

He placed his heavy aching member between your folds. Rubbing up and down, his tip hitting your clit in the most perfect way. 

He pressed your thighs together, and he let out a long drawn out groan. 

“Fuck!” He hissed as he began to buck himself against your cunt. “So fuckin’ wet” He growled as his bucking continued in a more erratic pace. 

You arched your back and squeezed your thighs together as his fat tip kept hitting your clit

“Don’t- Don’t stop.” You whimpered looking up at his hair falling into his face, his eyes trailing all over you, from your wet thighs to your breasts that bounced with every thrust to your pouting lips all the way back to your eyes. 

“Not fuckin’ stopping.” He said through gritted teeth. “But,” He was stopped by a deep guttural moan, “Don’t look at me like that.” He said panting, “You’ll make me finish too quickly.” He said once more through gritted teeth. 

You took it as a challenge, stubborn as you were. You gave him a smile, and a giggle. 

“Fuckin' stubborn girl.” He said through gritted teeth, then picking you up and turning you around. Your back flesh with his armored chest. 

He pressed your thighs together again, and pushed his cock back in between them, but slightly missing and catching your entrance. Even though he graced it only slightly you moaned so beautifully it almost made him cum right then. That's when you realized how truly lovely it would feel to have him inside of you. 

“I want it inside” You moaned as one of your arms reached over and behind you to wrap around his broad shoulders. While your other hand held his large forearm that draped over your stomach holding you in place. 

“Can’t do that to you.” He said breathlessly, as his other hand removed the straps of your gown. As it fell to your waist, he cupped your breasts, his large hand completely engulfing it. 

You whined again. You didn’t care if you were ruined, you wanted to be. But you couldn’t force him. 

His tongue and teeth danced along your neck, you begged in your mind that he’d bite down or suck on your skin but no, never. Never to burden you with evidence that this ever happened. 

You felt that heat rise and the knot in your belly begin to snap. He could feel you clenching and it produced a vulgar moan from him, 

“That’s alright, you can cum,” He grunted, as he said that you moved your head back and faced him. “MH-” He gave you a sloppy and passionate kiss to mute your moan as you came over his cock. As your high was ridden out, he continued to thrust, he separated the kiss and looked deeply into your now exhausted and satisfied eyes, “Sandor” You whispered, sweetly, “Sandor,” 

He didn’t break your eye contact, his teeth gritted as he tried to hold back his moans as he began to spill out and over your thighs, “(Y/N)” He growled with a final deep and long thrust. 

As you laid there, on the fur rug of your room catching your breath. He laid with you. 

You peered over to him, “I meant what I said.” He peered over to you, raising one eyebrow. “I’m not his.” You said softly. 

“Aye.” He looked away, “But for your sake he’d better think you are.” He said in a low husky voice. 

You raised your hand to his scarred cheek, you began to run your fingers over it when he pulled away. 

“I don’t mind it, really,” You whispered. 

“Every one fucking minds it.” He hissed 

“I don’t.” You said back defiantly 

He huffed, and laid there in silence, he looked over at you, feelings somewhat bad he’d snapped at you. ‘Gentle’ he remembered. 

“When I was a boy, my brother caught me with one of his toys. Thought I stole it. I didn’t, just playing with it. Pressed my head to the fire. All like Baelish told you.” He let out another sigh, “But the worst part was that it was my brother who did it. And my father who protected him. Told everyone my bedding caught fire.” 

You moved closer to him and rested your head on his chest. You tried to listen to his heart beating through the armor, only making out a few muffled thumps. Your eyes heavy, closed soon enough. 

When you woke in the middle of the night you were in your alone bed, your legs were cleaned and you were dressed. 

And 

Your candle was out.

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚

Every Morning since the riots you were awoken by a handmaiden, sometimes two. They’d dress you in red or gold. Braiding your hair, being sure to put lots of intricate, and no doubt expensive hair pins in it. You were beginning to feel more like the ornate decor that was scattered around kings landing than you felt like an actual woman anymore. 

As you walked the halls your handmaidens were like guards, guards of a prisoner. 

You passed a mirror as you walked and caught a glimpse of yourself, hardly recognizable. “As high as honour” what a joke you thought. Look at you now, looking more and more like a Lannister with each passing day. The red and gold you were forced to wear was a stark contrast from the blues and silvers you’d grown to love. But now you’d really had no home. You didn’t align yourself with the rest of your house anymore either. Lysa and Robin felt like intruders in your home, and they treated you the same. And now, Baelish was a true intruder in it. Being allowed in by your stepmother who’d no right to allow him entrance. Entrance to your home and now your titles. Rightfully yours. 

To gain your titles the Lannister's were your only hope now, so for now you’d be Cersei’s doll and Tyrion's wife. For now, you’d play along. 

But where did that leave Sandor?

You knew that first night he was angry, not at you. He was angry you were the one thing he couldn’t protect. You were his master's thing and couldn’t stop them from toying with you. He was angry you were the only thing he’d ever wanted, and just like everything he couldn’t have. He was angry he couldn’t tell you how much he wanted you. 

And the second night, he was scared, and vulnerable. 

You’d stopped eating since the riot. Normally, that would have gone unnoticed. However your now doting husband has made sure to keep eyes on you at all times. Your handmaidens are unwilling to engage in an argument with you knowing you aren’t the person to pick a fight with, told Tyrion. 

As your ladies ceaselessly brought you trays of food whilst you attempted to lounge on your balcony while you read you simply waved your hand at each tray, now not even bothering with a “No, thank you.” As it didn’t seem to stop them. 

Tyrion stepped onto the balcony, your eyes went towards him but snapped back onto your book as soon as you knew who was joining your handmaidens in disturbing your peace. 

“Lord Tyrion.” You said in greeting, hardly exerting any energy into it. You would have felt badly about discarding your virtue once more for another man if he’d hadn’t made you feel even more like a prisoner. 

“Lady (Y/N)” He said back, sitting across from you, “What are you reading?”

“Something of little consequence,” You said, closing the book and looking over your shoulder at the women who surrounded you “May we be left alone?” You asked, the women didn’t budge but looked to Tyrion who nodded at them, once at his command they left. 

“They don’t listen to me.” You said with harsh eyes. 

“I told them not to.” He said with a huff as he repositioned himself in his seat and putting on a half hearted smile. 

“Did you tell them to dress me like this too?” You said tossing the closed book to the side table next to you. 

“I asked them to help you fit in,” He said, leaning closer to you, his eyes filled with some kind of concern. “Joffrey has a tendency to single you out I wanted to see if I could correct that... Aesthetically.. Cersei had some dresses made for you and-”

“If you wish for me to continue to view you favorably, you are failing.” You said stoically, "Was I inadequate before?"

"No- no I-" He stopped himself, “I just want to do all I can to ensure your safety.” He conceded. You did appreciate it, but your need for freedom overweighed that appreciation heavily.

You sighed and looked away, off towards the near distant ocean of blue. You fidgeted with your new golden rings on your fingers. “And, you’re not eating.” He said in a lower tone, 

“And, you’re spying on me?” You said now focusing back on him. 

“Your ladies told me-” 

“Your ladies.” You corrected. 

“I am concerned. Ever since the riots you’ve not eaten a meal.” He huffed, “You need to eat. Name any food you want and I wish to have it made.” 

“I don’t want to eat.” You responded bluntly.  

“I am your husband to be, It is my duty-”

“Your duty? Your duty to imprison me in this place, in this engagement?” Your angry scowl dropped soon as you realized how cutting your words were. To him he was keeping you from further harm, and you knew that. You sighed and looked back to the sea, “It is hard for me to eat, it is hard for me to sleep.”

“Tell me how to help and I will.” He said almost pleading as he leaned forward and held his hands out palms up. "I’d do anything for my lady wife.” The words ‘lady wife’ made you want to vomit, especially after the previous night. 

“I want to go home. I want to claim my titles.” 

“You and I both.” He said with a dry chuckle. “I have wanted to claim my own birthrights long enough to know the feeling.”

“Were they stolen from under your grieving feet by Petyr Baelish?” 

“No-”

“Mine were. And I am powerless to stop it, because I sit here in this castle in these red gowns and Lannister gold. I am presenting myself as indifferent to my own birthright being stolen from me.” You sighed, “I understand what you are trying to do. I do, I may be angry but I do understand. But you need to understand this, in doing what you feel is protecting me, whether it is or is not, you have taken whatever independence I had left.”

“I understand.” He said sitting back into his seat, “And I will do all I can to help you proclaim your titles. But, it would seem Stannis aims to attack this city.” 

“Stannis Baretheon?” You asked in some confusion, no one ever told you anything.

“It seems we are not the only ones who wish to claim titles.” He said in an attempt to jest, “So we're not the men to fight for you yet, however we aim to win this war. Once it is, I will see to it that your titles are restored.” 

You smiled, “Thank you, Tyrion.” Although not in the slightest comforted by the idea of war approaching your doorstep

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆

As you walked down the halls of the castle you were hit with a brick wall, Sandor. 

“you’re not eating.” Sandor said in a hushed but deep and husky tone

“How’d you-” You began before he interrupted you. 

“All those fucking handmaidens tell the royals.” He said in annoyance

“I eat when I'm hungry. haven’t been in a while.” 

“you don’t eat, you’ll starve.” His voice was like he was warning you.

“unlikely. That takes time. Stannis aims to attack the city. I'm sure I'll be dead then.” You responded stoically.

“You won’t die.” He said as if it were fact,

“How can you be certain?” You retorted defiantly 

“Cause I fucking said so.” He said stomping off, his cape flowing behind him.

NOTE: Hey all you cool cats and kittens I hope you like this one!!! The next two are going to be a wittle cwazy just a warning... ALSO yall I wrote the smut part during jury duty LMAO... anyways

Also the last few chapters have gotten so much love and I am so very grateful thank you!!! <3

[callsign-rogueone]

a brief history of Navarre - x.r.

Xaden Riorson x marked!partner!reader (gn) Midterm week at Basgiath has you wanting to pull an all-nighter to study, but Xaden won’t let you. requested as part of my Valentine’s day celly 💕 (gonna be posting these well into March, oops) words: 745 🏷: no book spoilers and no triggers, just X taking care of his partner. established relationship between reader and Xaden. the reader wears one of Xaden’s shirts, but there is no description of how it fits on them (we bigger / taller girls are tired of reading that [character]’s clothes are soo oversized and long on us!) shoutout to the people who put a full timeline of the continent’s history online bc I was too lazy to find it all in my copy lol

“I’m calling it a night,” Xaden announces, closing his textbook. “Gonna go shower.”

You hum in acknowledgement, pen between your teeth as you read the same page for the fifth time tonight, still trying to cram six hundred years of history into your brain. You’ve been sitting on his floor for hours, and the lines of text are starting to blur together, words starting to look misspelled and foreign, losing their meaning with repetition.

You spent too much time reviewing the first fifty decades. You still have nearly another hundred years to cover, from 530 to present. 

It has not escaped your notice that the book reduces the Tyrrish revolution to an afterthought, at the end of the text. The belittling words they’d chosen to describe your parents’ valiant effort had nearly been enough for Xaden to light the entire volume on fire, but he’d settled for ripping that page out of his copy and letting Sgaeyl torch it.

You’d left it in yours as a reminder that these people are not on your side, nor will they ever be. 

The running water stops, Xaden stepping back into the room a moment later. “You’re still studying?” He asks, rubbing at his hair with a towel. “You must be really into that book if you aren’t checking me out right now. I’m literally dripping.” 

He’s a little offended that you don’t even look up as you answer. 

“This is important, Xay. It’s a third of our final grade.”

He dries his hands on his pants, taking the book from your hands easily -- your grip on it has loosened with your exhaustion.

You protest, but he shushes you. “Why did Poromiel not unite with Navarre after the great war?”

It takes you a moment to respond, pushing through the sleepy fog to find the answer. “Religious differences”, you reply tiredly. “And their king did not want to share his throne with Navarre’s.”

“Good. When was the second Cygni Incursion?”

“328.”

“And the second Krovlan uprising?”

“434.”

He shuts the book, gathering your notes into a neat stack. “You know this stuff, darling. You’re going to pass this exam with flying colors and set the curve for the whole class, but only if you get some sleep.”

Materials now confiscated, you have nowhere to look except up at him, and your resolve immediately starts to crumble.

He’s ready for bed, dressed only in a pair of black sweatpants that drape across his hips and cover the muscle of his legs, but every other inch of skin is exposed; the relic swirling up his muscled arm, the definition of his chest and stomach, the broad expanse of his shoulders…

You’re too tired to jump his bones right now, but it would be nice to stop, to cuddle up with him, to fall asleep in his arms. Your schedules are packed with classes, studying, training, his wingleader duties, and your responsibility for the younger marked ones. It’s been nearly a week since you’ve been able to hold him for more than five minutes. His skin is always so warm against yours, and his mattress is certainly more comfortable than the hardwood floor… 

You hesitate, still eyeing the book in his hands. “I don’t know…”

“Yes, you do. C’mere.”

You sigh, letting him pull you up from the floor. Your muscles sing in relief as you stand, your back aching from being hunched over for hours. You relax into him, resting your eyes for a minute.

“Go brush your teeth,” he encourages.

You don’t want to move from his arms, but three years of dating the boy has taught you that he won’t yield on matters of your health. You sigh, heading to the bathroom.

When you get back, he’s packing everything into your bag for tomorrow — or today, rather. You’d started studying after dinner, and now it’s well after midnight. 

He helps you out of the day-old clothes and into one of his shirts and a clean pair of underwear -- you keep a few days of necessities here for moments like these. 

You curl into his side, pulling the blankets overtop of you, and the swirling thoughts are replaced with the easy contentment that comes with being held by your partner.

“You’re going to do great,” he whispers, smoothing a hand over your back. “Just get some rest, okay?”

You don’t respond, already lulled to sleep by the steadiness of his heartbeat and the warmth of his arms around you.

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

What is Broken II (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader) Sneak Peek

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, maybe smut in the future idk

Author's note: So, this may take a little longer than I anticipated, because I got a job offer today! A start date hasn't been set, since Thankgiving is kind of in the way, but I am employed! After 11 months of job searching! I'm still gonna be writing, but I'll no longer be able to sit on the couch and write all day lol.

What is Broken II Sneak Peek

Aemond held out his hand to help her in.

Reluctantly, she took it. The brief touch was marginally more tolerable than the possibility of her stumbling and him having to catch her by the arm, or gods forbid, her waist. That would be far too much of a touch, and she was not sure she was ready for it if she would ever be ready for it.

He stepped in just behind her, the two of them standing there for a moment, wondering where to sit. In the past, they’d always sat next to each other at the rear of the wheelhouse, with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist. But now, the thought of doing so again made her nauseous. So, she turned to the seat in the front.

“Wait,” Aemond grabbed her shoulder, then immediately released it when he saw her wince. He cleared his throat, then motioned to the opposite seat with his hand. “Please, sit here. I don’t want you getting sick riding backward.”

She looked from the seat to his wary smile. Surely he didn’t expect her to still sit with him, did he?

“I’ll take the other seat,” he added after a prolonged moment of silence.

“Thank you,” she whispered with a nod of her head. But when she began walking to the rear seat, Aemond again stopped her.

“Before you sit, let me just…” he trailed off, stepping to the front seat and gathering most of the pillows and cushions that lay atop it into his arms. Then, he deposited them on the other side. He spent several minutes arranging them until they were arranged to his liking. “There.”

He reached out his hand again to help her sit. This time, she did not take it. She was more than capable of sitting down on her own, and she was well aware that Aemond knew that too. He was just trying to touch her again, and that, she would not allow.

Once she sat, Aemond began fussing again. “Please stop,” she sighed when he began crossing the wheelhouse to fetch even more pillows. “You don’t need to do this.”

“I do need to do this,” he insisted. She could have sworn his eye shone for a moment before he turned back to the pillows and blankets. “I want you to be comfortable. You deserve it.”

“A few pillows will not make me forgive you.” For a moment, as Aemond’s shoulders tightened, she almost regretted the words. She had spoken in haste and with cruelty. It was not something she was accustomed to. Somehow, his misdeeds were turning her into a mean and petty woman.

She was just about to apologize when Aemond spoke again, his voice more timid than it had been. “I know that, but I want to do it anyway. I want to show you how much I love you. Please.”

He looked at her pleadingly, desperately. It had been many years since he looked at her like that. When she was a girl and she fell gravely ill, he stayed by her bedside against the instructions of the Maesters, holding her hand and begging her not to die. She had to look away from him to avoid falling into that memory.

“I am perfectly comfortable,” she said. “So you needn’t do anything more.”

With a sigh, Aemond threw the pillows in his arms carelessly on his seat, except for one – a small round cushion with the Targaryen three-headed dragon embroidered upon it. “Just this one more, please.”

She looked at the cushion suspiciously, some instinct in the back of her mind telling her not to allow it. But his voice was so weak, so desperate. And if it could help her be more comfortable on the long journey, what harm would it do? She nodded. “Very well.”

Aemond beamed and crossed the wheelhouse. With the pillow in hand, he knelt in front of her and brought a hand to hover over her belly. Before he made contact, he looked up to her, a hopeful smile still on his lips.

But that smile was no longer reassuring to her. Instead, it brought on a wave of mistrust and fear. “What are you doing?”

Finally, he laid his hand on her. “I…” His cheeks flushed, and he suddenly could not meet her eye. “This is to cradle your belly while we ride, so the babes are not rattled around so much.”

Her hand flew out and latched onto his wrist, her hold so hard the skin around her hand quickly grew red. She did not want to see him, so she narrowed her eyes so her coming tears fully blurred her vision. It took several tries for her to speak through her rapid breathing. “Did Alys teach you that, too?”

[atzfilm]

APRICITY - c. jongho (m)

➼ pairing/wc; jongho/f.reader, 3.6k ➼ genre; enemies to lovers, fantasy (faeries), angst ➼ warnings; explicit smut, murder mentions, cursing

with your kingdoms having been at war for centuries, it's only fitting that you would be kidnapped and locked in the room with your sworn enemy – choi jongho.

part of the ...and it's snowing collab

-------------------------

“Being locked in a room with you isn’t exactly what I’ve planned,” you murmur, back against the corner as you stare at Choi Jongho. It is all you can do, the room tiny enough for you to only stretch out your arms and legs, a small crack for ventilation, a toilet in the corner. He has grown since you’ve last seen him as a teenager – height a bit taller than yourself, wary shoulders now solid. Brown locks grown out and over his eyes, though still holding a slightly joyous expression on his face as if he finds amusement in the situation. It only makes you grow more irritated. Out of everyone from his kingdom, he’s the last person you would want to see.

“Nor did I plan for my week to turn out this way, y/n. Wait, do you smell that?” His nose wrinkles. “Ah, it is just the odor coming from your side of the room.”

Stone-faced, you scoff, “How childish. We are barely a couple of yards apart.”

He shrugs, snickering, “You used to find me hilarious.”

“Fifteen years have passed since we were confidants, Jongho. I’m no longer a child that laughs at mediocre jokes.”

“That you are not,” he agrees, sliding down to sit on the floor.

The oppressive atmosphere in the room only seems to amplify the weight of your shared history. Jongho and yourself, heirs to the neverending feuding faerie kingdoms, trapped together in this small room. It is not something either of you chose, a rebel group forcing the two of you to occupy this space. Their end-goal is unknown, but your thoughts could only linger on one possibility - your demise. Being the heir to a kingdom has its drawbacks, including attempts of kidnapping. This time they’ve bested you, and Jongho as well.

From the moment you both drew your first breaths, you two were inseparable. It wasn't until you reached puberty that the truth was told to you by your parents, stripping away the semblance of childhood that you once had. It made sense, once you’ve thought it through. No wonder Jongho only sought you out at night, hidden in the underbrush of the thickened forest that separated your two kingdoms. No wonder his face would twist everytime you discussed your duties with him. He knew, and you never did. Jongho and you had been inseparable. Roaming the forests hand in hand, yourself unaware of the hatred that would soon grow in your own heart. The revelation was disastrous, to say the least. You broke off your friendship soon after confronting him about it.

Your thoughts linger on how the man sitting in front of you was once a scrawny teen, barely able to stand about without stumbling on something hidden in tall grass. How you two laughed together in the dark, shared secrets you’d never tell another soul. Yourself, still harboring the remnants of a childish crush, forcing your frown to deepen. You don’t know him like before, and you’re sure as Hell not willing to try now. He is meaningless to you, despite the pang of your heart each time he meets your eyes.

Jongho is an enemy, nothing more.

“Cold as usual,” Jongho looks at you, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Care to share those thoughts of yours?”

“There’s nothing for me to say to you,” you murmur. “So I’d rather remain in silence.”

“When we were young, you were talkative. You spoke more than me.”

You meet his gaze for a brief moment. How could you forget? You rarely ever stopped speaking around him, your laughter echoing around the nights you spent together. There was true happiness, back then. You wouldn’t admit that to him now, but you do miss it. "Yes, Jongho. Those days are long gone. I was naive."

Jongho grunts, frustration manifesting in the roll of his eyes, “You’re acting as if you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t! My parents told me when I was of age about what your people have done to mine. This isn’t something simple like Romeo and Juliet, Jongho. This runs deeper than that silly play.”

“Your kingdom—your people—started all of this. We were the ones that were blindsided by your deceit."

"Blindsided? This started long before any of us were born. Our friendship was doomed from the beginning. And I don’t understand why we’re talking about this when we’ll just go in circles placing blame on the other."

You stop speaking, giving him your back. Your eyes, unbeknownst to him, softened momentarily. You can remember when your heart grew seeing him, the days when you were, unburdened by the weight of your responsibility. You are to become the next royal to sit on the throne. To take on this yourself. But still, you can’t help that small feeling in yourself. What if… what if things were different? What if Jongho and you lived in the same kingdom? What if you weren’t in line for the throne?

"Remember the secret meadow? It was quite pretty when it snowed. I wonder if it's still snowing now." he asks after an hour or so has passed.

“There’s no use in thinking of those things.”

He ignores you, continuing. "The one we’ve hidden from our parents, the one we’ve met often to speak about our problems, to vent about our responsibilities? Or have you forgotten?”

Your shoulders tense for a moment. You can remember. How you’ve cried on his shoulder, sobbed even, at the words your parents told you, the people who have passed because of this war. Unable to do anything but watch.

"I remember," you admit, the crack of your voice betraying you. “You would tell me how your brothers bullied you, how your sister left you to deal with it on your own.”

“Remember when we told each other, no, promised, that despite it all, we would still be friends. We would fight for us?”

“That was before I knew.”

“y/n,” he sighs after a moment. “You told me you hated your parents, you hated the bloodshed. And I believed you. I still believe you think the same way. I didn’t tell you who I was and what kingdom I belonged to because you would have hated me.”

“I do hate you.”

“No, no you don’t.”

You turn around, meeting his eyes. He looks exhausted, eyes riddled with tiredness. More than just due to the current circumstances. Though you haven’t seen him in years, only through photographs or word of mouth, you still hurt for him. Wish that somehow, you’d be able to wipe his fatigue away. You eye the wound on his leg, before looking away.

“I do.”

He doesn’t try to correct you now, both of you knowing the truth. He adjusts himself against the wall, whispering expletives underneath his breath as his wound touches the cold, cement floor. Your eyes flick down to it, blood pooling beneath him. It will collate soon, sure, but right now it must be painful. You slip a finger into your jacket, a small wrapping of gauze and healing potion sewn into the fabric. He watches you carefully as you slide, tensing once you scoot closer to him. You hesitate, scooting closer to him. His eyes flicker with a mixture of pain and worry. You extend a hand toward his leg, watching his own grip his pants tightly.

"Let me help you," you say. You can sense his hesitation as you examine the wound, glancing at him for a brief moment. “Stay still.” You rip off a piece of your own clothing, dipping it into the potion.

Jongho watches you silently, hissing when it touches his skin. As you continue, his rigid posture begins to relax. Despite you two being enemies, despite the animosity that still hangs in the air, for this moment in time, you two silently agree to a momentary truce. The potion glows as you bound his leg with the small wrapping of gauze, your fingers light against his skin. He seems to hold his breath as he stares at you.

You don't dare look up from your ministrations. It is tough enough being this close to him, even worse, knowing that your small crush you harbored has not lessened despite the years. It is so silly, humorous even. How easily your heart is swayed being in the same room with him. You finish securing the bandage, eyes resting on his. The hardened gaze that you expect to see is anything but.

Brown eyes wide, an array of emotions displayed within them. For that brief moment, it feels as if there is nothing there between you but raw emotions. The bitter exchange you just endured, sure, but other things as well. The wonder of finally seeing your childhood friend over a decade later, the unspoken regrets. You can only imagine what your eyes are revealing to him.

"Thank you," he whispers, words carrying much more than just gratitude.

You nod, swallowing slowly. “It’s nothing.” You slide away, this time still within arm's reach.

“We’re going to die here anyway. There was no use in healing me,” he looks down, watching his skin sew itself slowly. “You could have kept that for yourself.”

“I’d rather not hear you moan and groan in pain. And I don’t want to be stuck in here with a body.” You lean back, head resting against the wall. Your body aches, your own wounds still not healed. It’s stupid to help him before yourself, but perhaps, in that fondness of his, between the anger and resentment, he’ll be able to get out of here and tell your people what happened. He was always so much braver than you, stronger. The cut on your stomach throbs as you think of it.

“Have you not outgrown your stubbornness?” he murmurs, shooting a glance at you. “Pitiful.”

“Fuck you, Jongho,” you hiss. “I heal you and you only complain.”

“I thanked you. Then I told you what a vacuous choice you’ve made when you’re sitting there pretending that you’re not hurt at all.”

“Please stop talking,” you merely sigh, pushing strands away from your face. “I cannot believe I’m going to die next to you of all people.”

“I’ve seen worse fates.”

You draw your leg back, intending to deliver a swift kick to stop. him. from. talking. But Jongho, ever perceptive, catches it with his left hand. Your eyes locked in a silent struggle, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. He does not let go when you attempt to wiggle out of his hold. “Jongho, if you don’t-”

Breaking the silence, Jongho releases your foot, a wry smile playing on his lips. "I guess some things never change. I've always been faster than you."

You snort. “In your dreams.”

“Oh?” Without another word, he hovers above you, hands resting on the wall behind you. Surely, you didn’t expect for him to do anything, especially with that leg of his. Barely a few inches apart, you look up at him, mildly shocked.

Your chest tightens, heart quickening at the lack of personal space. His knees slowly drop to the floor, body still not touching yours as his knees entrap you on either side of your body. Eyes remaining on yours. You try looking away, but he moves a hand, reaching up to your face, stilling you. His thumb is rough, years of hurt and war etched into the lines. His hold is delicate enough for you to push away.

But something makes you stay.

“You-”

He leans forward, lips a breath away from yours. "We were always more than just friends, y/n."

Your fists tighten at his words, closing your eyes for a moment. “We were only just friends.”

“You have forgotten how well my hearing is. I can hear that heart of yours beating. I know you’re lying to me. Should I let you lie this time?” he tilts his head slightly to the side, lips dragging across the curve of your chin.

You reach out, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. How easily you crumble in his presence. “You are delusional.”

“I am, aren’t I?” his laugh is heavy against your neck, lips pressing against the corner of your mouth. An invitation, a pause. Your hand pulls him closer, and he takes that as encouragement, mouth on yours in an instant. You can barely breathe with him against you, him nipping and sucking your lower lip between his teeth, sliding his tongue into your mouth. Hands pulling you back as he sits on the floor. You straddle him, hovering above his body. Careful not to sit on his leg. His hands wrapped around your hips force you down against him, a groan escaping him when your calf hits his wound.

You pull back, worried, “Jongho–”

“Fuck,” he curses, pupils back. “I want you so bad.”

“Your leg–”

“y/n, if I gave a shit about my leg I wouldn’t have let you sit on me,” he grins, lips pressing against your wrist. “Ride me.”

Your legs tighten at the prospect, waves of pleasure pulsing through you. You almost ask him to repeat what he’s just said, but he’s already nudged down his pants. You glance back at the door behind you. “Should we?”

“They come around every evening just before supper. We have time.” His fingers tug at the top of your jeans, “Please.” He breathes heavily. “Please my pretty girl.”

“Okay, okay, let’s be quick,” you slip off your pants down to your knees. Jongho waits no time, fingers sinking into you with ease. Your cunt tightens against them, hands wrapped around him piercing the skin off his back. His lips move back to yours, tongue entering your mouth the same time he pulls his fingers out. The wet sound of your arousal echoes around the small room, hips thrusting into his hand each time he enters you. “Ah, Jong–”

“You’re so wet for me, fuck,” he pulls away from your mouth, fingers leaving you. You moan, a huff escaping your lips when you feel him leave. He’s quick, spitting into his hand and stroking his length. He rubs his tip against your folds, rubbing against your clit. You press your forehead into his shoulder. A small laugh escapes him, before he presses his cock into you. His hands wrap around your hips, pushing you down fully against him. You gasp, the sudden intrusion only tightening your grip on his cock.

“Feel so good, you’re so good for me. Come on baby, bounce on my cock. Do it for me pretty.”

You slowly rise up before pressing down on him, a long moan falling from his lips, head thrown back. The pace is slow in the beginning , the feeling of him almost consuming you entirely. Jongho’s hand reaches down, thumb rubbing against your clit. You tremble, immediately sitting on his cock. After a moment of adjustment, you move up and down much quicker, moving your head off his neck to look at him. His eyes meet yours with ease, a slight smirk on his lips.

“Fuck you,” you utter, and he laughs.

“Surely you know we’re already in the middle of it?”

He grabs your body, moving swiftly. Soon, you’re against the floor, his jacket beneath you as he roughly grips your body, slamming his cock into you. You lock your legs around his hips as he pounds on you with reckless abandon. Ramming into your cunt, fingers digging deep into your flesh, surely to leave bruises. Your arms are stretched above you, resting against the wall as he drags his tip against your walls mercilessly.

“Jongho,” you whimper, his gaze moving back to yours. The look is intense, enough so that you move your gaze back to his cock pressing into you. The sound of skin on skin becoming slick as you moan against him, body moving in sync with his as his thrusts echo around you. If anyone were close, they’d hear you two now. Panting as he fucks you roughly, each look and touch of his pushing you closer to the edge. Tears slipping down your cheeks as spit pools in the corners of your mouth. He leans forward, sliding his palms down your clothed body as it rocks beneath his thrusts.

“Wish I could see all of you,” he admits after a moment, lips pressing against your cheeks, wiping away the tears with the gesture. “Wish I can do this to you every fortnight.” The sound of sex echoes throughout the room, your synced moans loud with need and desperation. Neither of you speak, wordless gasps. He presses his forehead against yours, breaths loud. His pace increases until only one or two words slip through gasp, “Come with me pretty girl, come on.” Fingers reaching between the two of you, he presses his thumb against your aching clit and moves in tight, small circles. It doesn't take much for you to fall over the edge, your body quivering and spasming beneath his fingers. He follows you promptly, cum sliding back down his now softening length still buried deep within you. You're both looking one another over, taking in the sight of him after their intense moment together.

Jongho pulls you into his chest, arms wrapped around your body. There’s not much to say to him, the arousal of the moment dwindling by each passing moment, reality slowly coming back to you. Thoughts cross your mind in an instant - your family, your kingdom. How you betrayed them in a weak moment of being in the same room as the person you shouldn’t have been with. It is not his fault, you fell for him in an instant. His body trembles against yours, breaths shuddered.

“You will go back to them even after this?” his voice is low, hesitant. “You would leave my side?”

“We have duties, Jongho-”

“Do you not love me, y/n?” He pulls away from you, sorrow filling his eyes. You can feel your heart breaking. “This was not me just fucking you, y/n. This was me making love to you. I love you. How could you not see that I always have?”

“We cannot be together. You know this. We are heirs to the throne in our respective kingdoms-”

“What if we weren’t any longer? What if… what if we abandoned our posts?”

Your skin grows cold, “What?”

“We leave our positions. We run. They have others to take our place, and we live far away from here. We enjoy each other for the first time in our lives without hesitation. We no longer have to follow silly rules or the whims of our parents. We love the way we are meant to. The way faeries are meant to, y/n. Without any troubles. We just live.”

He looks at you with hope, with adoration. With pure, unrivaled love. It would be foolish of you to deny his words, no? Nothing else is said, your hands reaching up, cupping his cheeks as you press your lips lightly against his. His laughter echoes in the small room, unbeknownst if you two will survive the next few days. Or if you’ll even live after tonight. All you two know is that you’re together, finally. And nothing, no one, would prevent that.

[skepsiss]

Tooth and Nail pt2

Part 2 of this mini-series. I guess I'm writing like 4 mini-series right now. This story is about Eddie being the one to question his sexuality after Steve comes out first. Read the first part to get the full details.

This part is pretty darn sad with a lot of introspection. I put up a mini-poll asking people what they wanted to read the most and Eddie being introspective was winning when I started writing this. I'm likely to write all the options on that poll still, so don't fret. I want to say clearly too that I do not agree with Eddie's thoughts. Sharing your emotions is never selfish and I think the fact that he feels like a burden is something he needs to work through. He is unwell. I'll admit I made myself cry writing this so if you're emotionally fragile like I am (lol) read at your own risk.

TW: Internalized homophobia (he's working through it), self-hatred, brief thoughts on death, mention of war (Vietnam and Korea).

PT1 PT2 PT3

---

"I kissed Steve."

"What?" Gareth said, startled as he stared at Eddie. 

Eddie was sitting on a beaten-up old armchair in Jeff’s garage; it was night and they’d opened the garage door to let in the summer air. The whole block was having a party and despite the time of night, the street was still alight with lamps and Christmas lights as people mingled in the street. Eddie had taken refuge in the garage (slightly paranoid that someone was going to touch the band equipment) after the first hour of forcing himself to be social. He had a beer in hand, even though he was underage, but it didn’t seem like any of the adults cared as long as they behaved. Hell, Eddie didn’t even live on this block but he was here enough that the neighbours didn’t seem to mind.

“A week and a half ago,” Eddie answered. He was slouching badly with one leg up on the seat, looking as if he was trying to lounge on a satee instead of a corduroy, La-Z-Boy from the 60s.

“Wait–sorry, what?” Gareth asked again, holding his own beer between his knees as he stared at Eddie. He had come to join him a few moments ago since Eddie had been moping by himself, and then they had proceeded to sit in silence until now.

Eddie flicked his gaze over to the younger boy before taking a long sip of his beer as if to say, yeah, you heard right without the willingness to repeat himself. He was quietly pissed, actually, but was chomping at the bit to talk to someone about it.

“So, are you like…” Gareth started, waving one of his hands as if that would fill in the blank.

“I’m fucking straight,” Eddie muttered, looking away and taking another long drink from his beer.

“Then why–” Gareth wasn’t going to get a word in edgewise and anyone who came to talk to Eddie when he was in a mood like this knew that coming in.

“I don’t fucking know!” Eddie grumbled, crossing his other arm over his chest and slouching all the way down in his seat so only his neck was being supported by the back of the chair.

Gareth frowned at him and looked away, no doubt wondering what he should say to all of that. It gave Eddie a moment to calm down and he eventually sat back up.

“I just…” he muttered, speaking into his drink, “I don’t know; it’d be easy if he was a girl. I just wish he was a girl.”

“Eddie…” Gareth mumbled a bit incredulously as he pinched his brows in. His expression was pitying and Eddie hated that it looked like he felt sorry for him. That was annoying and he scowled before looking away. 

Eddie’s logic was sound, it didn’t make sense why Gareth would be questioning it. Things would be easier if Steve was just a girl, that way if he had kissed him it wouldn’t be a big deal. Just an oops, sorry, that was uncool, well, anyways, and then they’d move on. He wouldn’t have to be dealing with this crisis of conscience and saying that he was just joking around wouldn’t have blown up in his face–maybe, he wasn’t sure. If Steve was a girl saying that he was joking actually might have blown up in his face more now that he was thinking about it… probably wasn’t cool to yank a girl’s chain like that.

“We were high and I don’t know, I wanted to talk to him about it being fine that he’s gay or whatever and I wasn’t thinking at all and I just…” Eddie sighed heavily and chugged the remainder of his beer. He twisted the pull-tab off and flicked it across the room, aiming for the bin and missing.

“You always want to kiss people when you’re high?” Gareth asked an edge of humour to his voice. He was teasing lightly, but Eddie didn’t have the patience for that kind of crap right now. 

“Fuck no,” Eddie grouched, crossing his arms and resuming his earlier position where one of his legs was up and he was slouched into the corner of the seat. “I wouldn’t kiss your ugly mug for money.”

Gareth snorted lightly and took a swig of his beer, letting the moment simmer.

“So…” he continued, glancing at Eddie before looking away sharply, “he get mad or something?”

Eddie groaned as he covered his eyes with the side of his hand, cupping his forehead as he tipped his head back. Why had he brought this up? He didn’t want to talk about this. It had been eating his insides alive, but he didn’t actually want to talk about it. What was Gareth going to do? Tell him the magic words to make Steve like him again?

“I told him I was joking,” Eddie mumbled, “and that I didn’t mean it–I even apologized, and I don’t fucking apologize to anyone.”

“Tell me about it,” Gareth muttered under his breath and Eddie hucked his empty beer can at his head, forcing Gareth to duck.

“Jesus–” he half laughed, the can knocking against him harmlessly and clattering to the ground, “just saying.”

Eddie flicked him off and motioned to get up. He didn’t need to be here for this, he didn’t want to be around people. This sucked. He could tell that Gareth was trying to be helpful–trying to be a friend–but he didn’t have the patience for it and he didn’t want to have another fight with another friend over something stupid.

Eddie stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled over to Gareth before picking up the empty can and chucking it into the garbage. He wasn’t about to leave trash in Jeff’s garage, his parents let them practice there and store their gear most of the time and Eddie wasn’t going to burn this location. 

“Say bye to Jeff for me,” Eddie muttered, grouching out of the garage, “and thanks for the food.”

“You going home?” Gareth asked, leaning over the side of his chair to watch Eddie.

“No, this is an illusion,” Eddie mocked, turning and waving his hand in front of his face and giving a manic smile, “the Eddie you know died a long time ago.”

Gareth half laughed, but his brows pinched in at the same time. Eddie didn’t stick around to see if that meant he wanted to say something. He just continued to walk away, turning and hunching his shoulders as he walked past energetic little kids chasing one another and people starting to pack up their dishware. He didn’t feel like unpacking what he had told Gareth or why stating that he had died twisted his guts up into knots. He also didn’t like that he could tell that his upset wasn’t due to the fact that he was lying, but rather that it felt too close to the truth. 

Eddie lit a cigarette and started the long walk home. He lost the last of the dusk light halfway through his walk, already two cigarettes down as he got closer to Cherry Street. He wanted to say he ended up there by accident, but that would have been a lie. He walked this way often, actually, and it had been convenient once upon a time. Steve lived on Cherry Street… and Cherry Street backed up onto the forest that connected to the trailer park. A funny coincidence, he had said once to Steve, makes it easier to bother you. That was all too true now though. He was more than a bother.

Eddie stood looming at the end of the street as he stared off towards Steve’s house, the large, stark white structure easy to spot even in the dark. The lawn was lit up by small pot lights and the street lamp across the road shone brightly down onto the sidewalk. Eddie was out of view of any of the windows from his vantage, but he could see the side of the garage and the front of Steve’s house still.

He grumbled miserably and flicked the butt of his cigarette, not bothering to stamp it out before rerouting and taking the long way home. He didn’t want to walk past Steve’s place and risk seeing him, he didn’t know what he’d say if he saw him… he still didn’t really know what had happened. The whole thing felt jumbled in his mind and then crystal clear all at once. He could remember everything so vividly, but it was as if they had been speaking a foreign language to each other: none of it made sense.

Why did he kiss Steve?

Why had that led to Steve getting so angry he nearly got hit?

Why was he such a jackass that seemed to ruin any good thing that happened to him?

It was pitch black by the time Eddie made it home, but he knew the route well enough. The trailer park didn’t have any lights other than the rinky-dink porch lights that some of the homesteads had. It wasn’t that late, but things got dark this far away from town. He came home late like this all the time though, so it wasn’t a surprise when the flyscreen slapped open and Wayne was lounging on the couch. Wayne wasn’t working right now, which was a problem, but they had a small nest egg from the government to live off of for at least a few more weeks. It was amazing how far you could stretch a dollar when you’d been doing it for 20 years. 

“That you, Eddie?” Wayne asked, sparing a glance towards the door as a commercial popped onto the screen.

“Yeah…” Eddie mumbled, standing by the front door with his hands in his pockets still. He was looking at the ground, and Eddie wasn’t sure why he felt paralyzed. He didn’t want to move, but he didn’t want to be standing there either… stuck in some kind of limbo.

“You’re home early,” Wayne commented, his tone sounding cautious as if he wasn’t sure if a conversation was going to come out of this, “everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Eddie answered, again, not really sure what he was expecting.

Silence drew out between them as Eddie shifted from foot to foot, just wanting to… be around someone. He wasn’t sure if that was right, but he wanted to be invited in or something. He selfishly wanted to be comforted even though he was the problem.

“What’re you watching?” He mumbled, still not looking at Wayne.

“Mash,” Wayne answered easily, “reruns.”

Eddie nodded and sniffed, feeling like a stranger in his own home. Though he supposed that wasn’t right, this was Wayne’s home, he was a guest. He was a guest that had worn out his invitation by years and years. The deal had been until he graduated, but he still hadn’t done that and it was starting to feel like an impossibility. He didn’t want to be a burden though and he knew that getting a job was the next best thing… but he hadn’t been able to force himself to do that yet either.

Slowly, Eddie shuffled over to the couch and sat down a cushion width away from his uncle, looking up at the TV. The commercials were ending and Eddie felt his throat tighten as he tried to push himself into small talk.

“Is it a good episode?” He asked, having seen most of MASH living here with Wayne. He liked the show, and Eddie could understand why. All the characters questioned why they were at war and the ethics of it all. Made sense for someone like Wayne to get some kind of catharsis from the show after coming home from ‘Nam all those years ago.

“It’s the one where Hawkeye tries to get ribs sent from Chicago to Korea,” Wayne explained, sipping the drink he had in his hand and looking back at the TV.

Eddie snorted slightly, remembering the episode. He toed his shoes off and tucked up onto the couch so he could rest his chin on his knees, the room falling into silence except for the murmur of the TV and the tell-tale M*A*S*H song in the background. It was easy to watch and Eddie stared at the grainy images on the screen as Wayne and him shared the living room. He always liked that he could be quiet with Wayne, but it felt a bit forced on his part tonight.

A commercial broke up the episode and Eddie sighed, not looking at Wayne as he tipped his head to the side before chewing his lip and finally speaking.

“You ever… had a fight with a friend?” Eddie asked quietly, not liking the sound of his own voice right now. It was quiet for a beat before Wayne responded, his tone calm.

“Sure,” he said easily, obviously waiting for Eddie to continue, “you… have a fight with the band?”

“Steve,” Eddie mumbled, shaking his head no to Wayne’s assumption as he picked off the black polish on his nails.

“What did you do… to fix it?” Eddie asked, still not looking up.

“Apologized… talked, bought them a beer,” Wayne offered loosely, “depends on what the fight was about.”

Eddie nodded solemnly, not liking that there wasn’t some magic answer to his query. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he didn’t feel like elaborating his problem either. So he just nodded and picked at his nails, waffling for a long time before more words tumbled out of him.

“Do you think… people just… dislike me?” Eddie asked, his lip quivering a bit before he got control of it, swallowing hard to hide his emotions. Wayne didn’t say anything right away which forced a bitter laugh from Eddie’s lungs.

“Like, I’m difficult, I know it, people don’t like difficult but sometimes…” Eddie smiled sadly as he held back his emotions, hiding his face between his knees again, “something even when I’m around people that are… like me, I’m just… different.”

Eddie didn’t like the words that were slipping out of him, why he felt like this was related to what had happened with Steve, or why he was saying it to begin with. He didn’t want to talk about this and he didn’t want to put this on Wayne to think about, that wasn’t fair. Wayne dealt with enough of his bullshit, more than any Uncle should have to, but sometimes Eddie couldn’t help that his uncle felt like the only safe person to talk to.

“It feels like it’s just so easy for me to–” he laughed quietly again, having a harder time holding back the wavering tone of his voice, “--to just–fuck things up with people.”

His body betrayed him and Eddie felt tears slipping down his face and he rushed to push them away so they wouldn’t be seen, still shielded by his knees as he hunched like a gargoyle.

“Eddie–” Wayne started, too much sympathy in his voice.

“Sorry,” Eddie muttered, trying to put levity into his tone, “I know you don’t like it when I drop the f-bomb.”

That was partly true, but Eddie also knew that Wayne didn’t care that much. They swore all the time, he just didn’t like being sworn at.

Wayne went quiet for a moment and Eddie squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of any lingering tears that might be holed up in there.

“What’s going on, boy?” Wayne asked, his voice incredibly gentle.

Eddie felt his bottom lip bunch up, hating that any time Wayne sounded like that Eddie was doomed to start breaking down. It was like a superpower or something–he didn’t know, but Wayne had made him cry dozens of times when he felt on the verge of tears. He always felt selfish seeking out comfort from his uncle when he had already saddled him with so many problems.

“I hate people–” Eddie blubbered, not sure if that was what he really wanted to say but that felt like the strongest phrasing he could find to describe how he felt. He felt so small and so selfish, reverting back to some kind of scared kid who didn’t know how to deal with his own emotions. 

Eddie finally looked up, his face wet and his chest tight, and he crawled across the seat cushioned and collapsed onto his side, pressing his face into Wayne’s thigh. He was so pathetic… he was twenty years old and he was crying into his uncle's lap? Eddie the demon, the freak, the devil, metal head, satanic worshipper – yeah right.

“Sometimes it feels like–people just–I’m just–-I’m made to be hated,” he blubbered, hiding his face and gasping through his words. He felt miserable and like he wasn’t really saying what he meant, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say or even why he was doing this right now. It was like hundreds of emotions were trying to fight their way out of his chest and he couldn’t do anything about it. He hated it.

Wayne touched the top of his head and Eddie felt himself choke.

Wayne’s touch was gentle and Eddie couldn’t help but sob as he started to stroke the back of his head. It was a subdued affection, but one that Eddie knew was genuine. Wayne wasn’t a man of many words, so sometimes a touch was the best he was going to get. There was a reason why Wayne sometimes felt like the only safe person–even if Eddie still felt like he was a burden to his uncle.

“Everything about me just—” Eddie sobbed, gritting his teeth as he just let his thoughts and feelings freefall from him. “Why am–I—I–why do I like everything people can–can just hate–about me? I don’t like anything normal—I’m just–nothing about me is normal.”

Usually, Eddie was the first one to proclaim that he was different and scream it loudly for people to hear. He’d shout and point and own it and draw all the other weirdos towards him. He was the king of all the freaks, but it felt like he was still an island amongst them. He was always somehow different. Like there was this wall he bumped up against far too easily that would crop up out of nowhere. How he’d say or do something and just fuck everything up in one fell swoop. 

Why did he keep giving people new reasons to call him a freak?

“I hate being like this–I hate–I hate that I can’t just–be normal for—for five minutes,” he gasped, feeling that swell of self-hatred rising in his chest, “it’s always my fault–it’s–I’m always… so… difficult. I just—I can’t—...I don’t know why–I don’t—I hate it, I hate it so much.”

He was feeling sorry for himself again and that felt unfair. It didn’t feel like this was something he got to be upset about or something that Wayne or anyone else cared about. It felt unfair to complain to a man who had probably watched dozens of friends die right in front of him during the war; to complain to a man who had taken him in when no one else would and had to bear this kind of responsibility when he hadn’t asked for it. To have a snot-nosed-brat sobbing in his lap because people didn’t like him. But Eddie was nothing if not selfish.

“I’m so tired of being different–I don’t… I don’t want it anymore–why does it matter so much to people? I just–I don’t want it anymore–It’s–like—I know, I know people hate me—everyone in this goddamn town–people–pe—everyone hates me. Wayne–” he was heaving now as he rambled, everything just spilling out of him in these waves of emotions as each ugly sound crashed into the next. “It’s not fair—I don’t—I don’t want to be the freak–I don’t what—I don’t want to be a loser–to be a drop out–I don’t want—I don’t want to like men–”

The last of his confessions slipped out and Eddie felt his body tighten; his throat felt like it was being ripped apart and his lungs couldn’t pull in enough breath to satiate him. It hurt so badly. It hurt and he hated it and he didn’t know why he said it.

Eddie felt Wayne’s pets pause briefly before picking back up again. That more than anything made Eddie feel ashamed. It made his jaw shake and his shoulders tighten. How fear and sorrow rattled around inside of him at the consequences of his words. He didn’t know what saying them would do–he didn’t mean them. He knew he didn’t mean them–he couldn’t have meant them. Those words were a death sentence.

“It’ll be alright,” Wayne mumbled, the words not sounding as hollow as Eddie thought they would, “I like you plenty.”

Eddie tucked in at the compliment, feeling weak and small as his sobs quieted a bit. His tears didn’t stop, but his chest heaves changed into fluttering gasps as he slowly regained his composure.

“Freaks run in the Munson blood,” Wayne continued and Eddie blubbered a small laugh shifting to press into Wayne’s hip. He was such a child, but he couldn’t help but soak in the comfort.

It was quiet again for some time as Eddie’s crying turned into hiccups and then sniffles, the TV quietly rambling in the background. It took a long while for Eddie to calm down, but Wayne never stopped stroking his hair. He felt wrung out and hollow now, his emotions dull and his body aching from how hard he had cried. Still, it did feel better than when he walked in here.

“I kissed him…” Eddie said quietly. He felt Wayne shift to look down at him, a question in his movement.

“Steve,” Eddie explained, mumbling, “I kissed Steve the other week.”

“I see,” Wayne answered back, obvious awkwardness in his delivery. He had never been good at talking about stuff like this–anything really–but it was obvious that he was trying. “And he doesn’t like that you’re a guy?”

Eddie shook his head, and closed his eyes, tucking in closer still as he pressed his forehead against Wayne’s stomach.

“Steve likes guys,” Eddie sighed, breathing heavily as he wrangled his emotions.

“Alright…” Wayne replied slowly, obviously puzzling through everything. Eddie frowned and tucked in again, hiding as he felt shame wash over him.

“I kissed him…” he explained, sniffing, “and then I told him it was a joke, that I didn’t mean it…”

“Ah…” Wayne answered, sighing a knowing breath. “Did you mean it?”

Eddie swallowed thickly, taking a long time to answer as he pressed hard into Wayne as if he could disappear this way.

“I don’t know…” Eddie replied, his voice muffled. Wayne stroked his head again and Eddie breathed deeply through his mouth, feeling bad for crying all over Wayne’s lap.

“Alright,” Wayne answered simply, not pushing the subject at all. He was good at listening and Eddie quietly appreciated that Wayne always seemed to have time to listen to him ramble. Slowly, Eddie sat back up, his back to Wayne as he hugged his knees and rallied.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbled, feeling like he had to apologize for the way he had acted. 

Wayne just patted his shoulder and Eddie felt a few tears slip down his cheek as if they had been knocked out of him by his uncle’s kindness. He sniffed hard again before getting off the couch and stumbling into the kitchen to splash water into his face and clean off the snot and tears. Eddie lifted the hem of his shirt to dry his face and then leaned against the kitchen counter, going quiet once more.

“Eddie?” Wayne spoke up and Eddie peered over at him through the cabinet shelf, “try telling your friend the truth.”

Eddie frowned at the suggestion, but he didn’t have it in him to be angry. Still, he didn’t think that was a great idea. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t even sure if he knew what the truth was. How did he feel? Did he like Steve? That felt stupid and the idea made his stomach turn over. What good would a confession do anyway?

“And what’s that?” Eddie asked a bit flippantly, wiping wet strands of hair out of his face. 

“That you’re figuring it out and you want to stay friends,” Wayne offered, looking over at Eddie for a moment before turning to look at the TV again.

Eddie stared at the back of his uncle’s head, not sure what to say to that. Was it that simple? It felt like he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone that he didn’t know how he felt about something. That he was unsure and vulnerable and scared—it didn’t feel like things were allowed to be that simple.

He didn’t answer Wayne as the TV flicked from image to image painting the dark little trailer in different colours each time. It felt comforting and Eddie appreciated that his Uncle wasn’t smothering him. He was more grateful that Wayne had just… accepted him. He had accepted him like he always did. He hadn’t said anything when Eddie started to grow his hair out or when he got a tattoo, when he flunked school, and now when he had said… he liked men. It had been a surprise to hear himself say those words and there was still deep-rooted shame attached to all of that, but that felt like something he had to unpack on his own. Still, Wayne’s reaction had been the same as it was for all of Eddie’s past transgressions. He’d quietly support him or sigh with worry, but it never seemed to change anything between them.

Eddie shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and went to the fridge. He pulled out a can of beer and walked it over to his uncle, touching the cold metal to Wayne’s forearm so he’d look up.

“Thanks,” he muttered gruffly, looking at Eddie briefly before redirecting his attention to the TV.

“Yeah,” Eddie replied quietly, wiping his nose and touching his uncle’s shoulder before stepping away, “thanks.”

PT3

[teamhappyme]

it's time to go

josh lyman x female!reader

word count: 4.4k

warnings: my condensed rant at how the women are treated in the west wing, what is a timeline/plot

a/n: logging on to post a fic and then fall off into the abyss where there is no motivation or inspiration flowing! this has been sitting in my drafts for two years, folks. finally got the inspo to finish this generalized west wing fic-turned josh lyman reader core done! i hopee you all can indulge in this as much as i did :) (yes another taylor swift inspired title you can take them from my cold dead hands-)

~~~

There is a constant buzz that lives in the west wing. 

If it’s not the white house staff and all the varying levels of personnel making noise, it’s the conference room meetings that hold everyone in D.C. trying to influence the white house and the American people. 

Normally, the buzz is comforting to you. In the middle of the communications department, you all thrive on it. But the last twenty four hours had reached a level of mayhem that not even you guys could spin into a positive narrative.

You accompanied Toby to CJ’s second brief of the night, trying to inform the press on the situation in Haiti while attempting to dodge any questions about the MS shock and reelection campaign.

CJ was losing control of the group. She was shuffling papers, removing sticky notes, adjusting her glasses, all in an attempt to keep herself somewhat grounded from the chaos at hand. You sensed Toby tense up as a member of the press pushed and pushed, asking his third follow up question. 

And that’s when it all came crashing down.

CJ flew off the podium and you and Toby followed after her.

“Did she just say the President is relieved to send troops into Haiti?” Sam asked as he joined you in the hallway, waiting outside of CJ’s office. “Relieved to put American lives and Haitian civilians at risk?”

“I was standing right there!” Toby shouted back and you flinched. This certainly was not the good buzz you wanted.

Before they could continue yelling at each other, the door to the briefing room slammed against the wall, CJ rubbing her hands over her face and turned to find the three of you standing there.

“CJ,” Toby started, but was quickly interrupted.

“Just don’t say anything! Just… don’t say anything.” You all gave her a moment to regroup before she began walking back to her office. 

Your two bosses stood in the middle of the hallway, not knowing what on earth to do next, other than duck and cover from Leo once he heard what happened. 

“They’re gonna need extra hands for damage control.” Sam turned to you, and you nodded.

“I’m on it. I started drafting notes for an apology statement,”

“Apology?” Toby asked, voice still an octave louder than you liked, directed to you.

“I told her to.” Sam added, and you watched the look the two of them shared. They sure had some things to discuss. “We’ll talk about them later. Just, make sure they are clear about what CJ meant. Redirect as much as you can without stepping on any toes.”

“Got it.”

You pushed your stack of papers into Sam’s hands and made your way to the press offices. Phones were ringing off the hook, aides scrambling from desk to desk, as Josh stepped in beside you.

Before either of you could reach CJ’s office, she slammed the door, rattling a few frames on the wall.

“Well, we’re just getting started aren’t we.” 

“Happy Thursday.” you added as he walked back toward his office. You looked out over the war room and locked eyes with Carol. She let out a breath before meeting you at her desk.

“Heard there’s a bit of a situation going on. Where do you need me?”

- 

You’re not sure if it’s still Thursday by the time you leave the press office. It’s still dark out; you haven’t eaten anything besides Carol’s desk mints and you need a nap. Desperately. 

You walked through the bullpen to Josh’s office, your final memo delivered before you could put the events of the last day and a half to rest - at least for the next six hours. You checked in with Sam one final time, making sure your absence today didn’t put him any further behind. (Of course it did, but he’d never tell.)

Donna wasn’t at her desk, and the rest of the bullpen was empty save for Josh pacing around his office while reading over a document. You waited until he stopped moving, scribbled something on the paper, and stuck the pen back in his mouth to knock on the opened door.

His eyes shot up, meeting yours for a quick second before he began pacing once again. 

You’ll take that as a ‘come in.’

“7:00 a.m. briefing notes, CJ wanted you all to take a look at them before morning.” You handed him the paper, skimming it before he went back to his thick document. “Carol says all they are waiting on is an update on Haiti from the situation room. They assume they won’t get that information until-”

“Nancy is doing the morning brief tomorrow.” He interrupted, not looking up from his papers.

“I’m sorry?” you questioned.

“Nancy is doing the morning brief tomorrow. She has the information and will get the Haiti update by 5:00.”

Taking a second to recover your thoughts and do a double take at your own copy of the memo, you couldn’t help but question the man in front of you. 

“Why are you benching CJ?”

“No one’s benching CJ. Leo made the decision to have Nancy give the brief on Haiti. I mean, she seems pretty qualified to give the brief being the President’s National Security Advisor, but I could be wrong. She just bribed me with some bagels to give her the opportunity.”

“Don’t you think CJ deserves to do her job?”

“She said the President was relieved to send troops into Haiti.”

“She made a mistake,” You argued, and you could feel the anger starting to spew out of you.

“Yeah, and unfortunately she made it in front of the press and during broadcasted briefing.”

“CJ used one wrong word and she’s getting hanged for it.” You dropped the stack of memos onto Josh’s desk, his full attention now on you.

“CJ is the press secretary, she is the line of communication from the President to the public.”

“And you’re the Deputy Chief of Staff, and Toby is the Communications Director, and Sam is the Deputy Communications Director, and-”

“What’s your point?” He interrupted, running a hand through his annoying, unkempt hair.

You scoffed. “What’s my point? As the Deputy Chief of Staff, you went on Capitol Beat and slammed Mary Marsh while simultaneously ridiculing every person of faith in the United States. You also went in front of the same White House Press Corps and stated that the President had a secret plan to fight inflation when he obviously did not. As the Communications Director, Toby was accused of insider trading. Finally, as the Deputy Communications Director, Sam slept with a prostitute, and instead of staying away from her like all of the senior staff advised, including Leo, he was photographed with her, which could have caused a major PR crisis for us to fix.”

“I thought you were in favor of Laurie and Sam’s relationship, prostitutes shouldn’t be discriminated against.” He added with a smirk.

“Do you think this is funny?”

“You listing all of the mistakes we’ve made as we work in the most powerful building in the world? Yes, I do.”

You crossed your arms in defiance, fighting back frustrated tears. He wouldn’t get it.

“CJ has stood at that podium over the last twenty six hours taking shit from the press on the President’s diagnosis. She chooses the wrong language once, and Toby is yelling at her while Leo shoves her in the corner.”

He let out a sigh, trying to choose his next words carefully. 

“It’s her job to get the language right-”

“For fucks sake Josh, this isn’t about her damn job! It’s about every single woman in this building working their ass off, taking the hits for their bosses, for the men in this administration without as much as a thank you. How many times has Donna been on the receiving end of phone calls from angry senators, stayed late to make sure she proofread your memos, sacrificed her free nights to lobby and push your policy on people? And how many times have you thanked her for it? I sit in the communications bullpen and hear Toby shout for Ginger, Bonnie, and me dozens of times a day. I see, first hand, the scrutiny that CJ is under every time she has to defend policy to the press. And don’t think I don’t understand that we all signed up for these roles. We all knew what we were getting into, we all knew the hierarchy of the west wing. We knew we weren’t going to be praised for our contributions, no matter how big or small. But none of us expected to be benched for doing our job, for telling the truth of a man that is too scared to say it himself.”

Josh’s eyes widened at your casual tone and bold statement. You knew you were crossing the line. 

“You’re talking about the President, keep your voice down.”

“Why? Everyone is thinking the same thing. He’s hiding behind Haiti, he’s hiding behind CJ, and he’s hiding behind this damn white house!”

Josh moved around you, going to shut the door in hopes that no one heard you. But a foot propped the door open, and in walked a still irritable Toby.

“I sure as hell hope that wasn’t the President you were having a public outburst about in his goddamn west wing,” Toby exclaimed, only causing you to roll your eyes.

“Toby,” Josh tried to interject, but you were ready to finally give everyone a piece of your mind.

“It sure as hell was. And I’ll repeat it for anyone that wants to hear it, in fact, why don’t we all just march down to the Oval office and tell the man causing all these problems himself how we really feel. Or am I the only one with the balls to say it?”

Josh had to physically stop you from leaving his office, holding onto your shoulder as you could practically see the smoke leaving Toby’s ears.

“You sure as hell don’t have enough seniority to command a meeting in the Oval!” Toby yelled out, landing another low blow to your ego. Josh’s hand tightened on your shoulder as you fought back the tears desperately trying to form in your eyes. But you wouldn’t give Toby the satisfaction. “So suck it up, and wait for us to tell you what the hell to write to get us out of this situation.”

You shook Josh’s hand off your shoulder as you took another step closer to Toby.

“I’m not writing a single word until I get to talk to the President.”

“Get the hell out of my bullpen, you’re done tonight.” Toby seethed, clearing the way for you to leave.

You didn’t think twice. You walked past the two of them, not a care in the world at the fact you just told off two of the most powerful people in the White House, potentially risking your job in the process.

The buzz followed you through the halls to the communications bullpen, walking past Ginger and Bonnie who were wrapping up phone calls at their desks. Sam yelled out to you from his office, but you kept your head down and kept walking. 

It wasn’t until you walked past the Roosevelt room, locking eyes with Donna as she sat with papers spread out in front of her, red markings all across the pages, that it hit you. She gave you a small smile, her eyes quickly turning to concern as you felt the tears threaten to fall.

You quickly walked to the exit, brushing past the security guards and stepping into the spitting night rain. The air was cold, and it felt like a shock to your system. 

What the hell have you done.

You barely made it fifty feet before you heard someone calling your name, heavy footsteps running toward you.

You turned to find Josh, coat in hand, approaching you outside the White House.

“Wait a second,” Josh said as he finally stood in front of you, draping your coat around your shoulders. You didn’t even realize you were shivering.

“I need to go,” you said, embarrassment and anger still seeping through you.

“We need to talk about what just happened. It’s been a long, hectic night-”

“Josh, you’re not going to talk me out of my own words.” You interrupted him. “I meant everything I said in there, and I’ve been feeling that way for a while. No amount of talking is going to change what I think, or what Toby thinks. It’s done.”

“We can fix it, please-”

“Nothing is going to change!” You exclaimed as your arms raised in frustration. “The only way this goes away is if I go back in there with my tail tucked between my legs and suck up to Toby. I’m not going to kiss the ring and pretend I’m okay with what’s going on in there. And if that’s the job now, I don’t want it.”

“It’s always been the job, the President's policies and opinions are our policies and opinions.”

“That’s easy for you to say when you’re in the room where it happens. And quite frankly, I’m sick of taking the hit for men who can’t help themselves.” you said and continued walking further away from the White House.

“It must be lonely up there on your high horse, pointing your finger at everyone who has what you want!”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about!” you whipped around to face him, finding him closer than he was before. You hated that he was looking down at you, both in height and pity. “And of all the people in that fucking building, it should have been you to understand why I feel this way.”

The two of you stood incredibly still, waiting for someone to make the next move. It had been like this between the two of you for months; push and pull, give and take, waiting for someone to crack and push the boundary wide open. No one knew how to get you to open up like Josh, and no one made him as flustered as you. And still, it all ended like this.

He looked down at your hands, clenched into fists at your sides, and he slowly reached out to grab them. But you couldn't let it happen this time. You took a step back, and both of you tensed up again.

“It’s time for me to go.” Physically, mentally, all of it. It was time for you to leave the white house.

Josh nodded, fighting the urge to continue to try and get you to stay. Instead, he rested his hands on the lapel of your jacket, pulling it tighter around you for the final time. You refused to look up at him, knowing you would give in just like all those times before.

He gave you a small nod once he was ready to finally let you go.

“I’ll see you around.”

*****

It’s been three days since the MS scandal completely shook the nation.

You haven’t left your apartment since that day, avoiding phone calls from everyone in the west wing.

Sam had left voicemail after voicemail, begging you to tell him why you haven’t been to work. Toby refused to tell him what happened, but he knew it had something to do with that night. Not even endless compliments on your prose and speeches from Sam could get you to crawl back there. He gave up after his sixth message.

There was a pile of unopened mail sitting on your kitchen table, along with empty take out containers and a bottle of wine - there may even be a copy of your law school application in the mix, a pity read or two occurring in a drunken haze. 

Later that night, after dodging another phone call from Donna and attempting to get as much of your life together as you could, you gave in and sat down to watch CJ’s nine o’clock press brief. You were glad to see that she was off the bench again, and seemed to be back to her usual self. 

There was a knock at your door as she opened up for questions, and you hated to think you missed the sound of the press gaggle.

You swung your door open, expecting a large pizza to be shoved into your face, but instead an exhausted Josh Lyman was standing at your door.

“Hi,” he said and began cracking his knuckles. “I would’ve called, but you seem to forget how the phone works.”

“I know how the phone works.” you replied. “What are you doing here?”

“Can I come in?” you sighed. “I walked all the way here, please take pity on me.”

“Fine.” You opened up your door, mostly to shut him up, and ushered him into your home.

“Glad to see you cut yourself off from us completely.” He jeered and pointed to the press briefing on the TV. “You know I’m the one that suggested she make the joke about Hungary, so they should be laughing for me.”

“What did you come here for, Josh?” you asked, again, trying to redraw the boundary between you two.

“Ginger and Bonnie kept saying you were sick, and since no one else heard from you, thought I would check in to see if you were alive. You look pretty not sick to me.”

“Josh-“

“We need you back in the west wing. Toby and Sam are at each other's throats and we need a speech for our first campaign stop. If you don’t get back to the bullpen I’m afraid we’ll never see the written word again.”

“I don’t-”

“I’m not beyond begging or bribing to get you back in there tomorrow morning.” He couldn’t help but smile at himself as he shrugged off his coat and sat down at the kitchen table. You tried not to notice how soft he looked in jeans and a sweater. “But you’re not getting my office, or my secretary, or my season tickets to the capitals. I will however put up Sam’s season tickets to-“

“I wrote my letter of resignation, Josh. I’m not coming back.”

You sat down next to him as you watched him freeze, eyes widening the slightest bit. Rendering Josh speechless never gets old, even under these circumstances.

“Toby’s not going to fire you, he was just pissed off the other night. C’mon, if we head down there now I’m sure he’s still there slaving away over this speech-“

“I didn’t write this because I was afraid of getting fired. This is my choice, Josh. I’m choosing to leave the White House.” 

You handed him the letter, and he took it with some hesitation. He spent a few minutes reading it, and then rereading it, shaking his head before throwing it back on the table.

“Why?” Was all he asked as he pulled his chair closer to you. You shook your head, not wanting to get into it. He leaned back in his chair, staring at your letter on the table.

“Josh, I’ve spent too much time helping people, specifically men, climb up the political totem pole. I’m tired of writing speeches and bills for someone else to say. I’ve been burned by too many men in my life to be naive enough to be comfortable in one place.”

He moved to pick up the letter, or so you thought, but instead he picked up your law school application.

“Since when have you been interested in law school?” He asked, flipping through the pages of the Georgetown Law School application. 

“Since forever,” you said, suddenly growing quiet under the scrutiny of his eyes on your application; your essay was practically a diary about your time working in the west wing. “I couldn’t afford to go after I graduated from UVA, and my parents weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea of having a girl lawyer in the family. So, I settled and started working on the campaign trails. I think you know the rest from there.”

Josh didn’t say a word in response, you’re not entirely sure he even heard a word you just said. Instead his eyes were darting across the page, flipping page after page to finish reading your essay. Josh had never read your personal work; sure you’ve written dozens of memos and speeches that he had proofed and listened to, but nothing with your voice. Nothing that showcased your intelligence, your compassion, and dedication to learning to improve not only yourself, but the world around you.

It was making you anxious the more he read and the less he spoke. Was it bad? Did he think you were absolutely insane for thinking you could go to law school? You need to get it out of his hands before it completely changes the way he sees you.

“I know it’s a long shot that they would accept me, I haven’t even decided if I’m actually going to apply or not, so-” you tried to take it out of his hands, but he grabbed your wrist before you could reach it.

“They would be absolute fools not to accept you.” he said, slowly lowering your arm back to your lap, not letting go of you yet. “The west wing is going to fall apart without you.”

“You guys will be just fine without me.” you started and rolled your eyes. “Toby has an ego, and a vocabulary, big enough for ten speechwriters. And, I haven’t gotten in yet.” 

“You will. And Toby’s ego, no matter how large, will never fill the hole you’re leaving.”

He maneuvered his hand away from his wrist down to your hand, and watched as he laced his fingers with yours. You let out a breath as he rested them on his knee, slowly bringing you closer together.

“So, will you accept my letter of resignation now that you know the full story?”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

“Josh-”

“I have a stipulation to the letter.” he interrupted, the smirk returning to his face. “You stay on until we win re-election, and take on a very part-time consulting position once school starts. You deserve to see this through, and we can’t part with you any sooner.”

How the hell does anyone say no to Josh Lyman? Between his annoyingly handsome signature smirk, his warm brown eyes, and his messy hair, he’s a total heartthrob. But you seemed to have some effect on him too, seeing as he hasn’t let go of you just yet.

“That sounds like a plan, only if you and Toby agree to write me the best recommendations Georgetown has ever seen.”

“I can deliver on Toby, but I’m not so sure I can give you what you’re looking for. I may have a conflict of interest,” he said and squeezed your hand, causing you to laugh. “But I have the next best thing, the President of the United States on speed dial.”

“Then you’ve got yourself a deal.” His smile spread over his entire face now. “And thank you, for believing in me. And not firing me last night.”

“Well, you were right. A little outspoken, but nothing worse than what Toby has said to the President himself. There’s going to be some change in the west wing now, thanks to you.”

“Who knew all it took to get something done in this city is to have a temper tantrum?”

“Almost every politician in Congress,” Josh added before being interrupted by his pager. His face fell the slightest bit as he let out a sigh. “It’s Leo.”

“Back to work?”

“A crisis awaits,” he said, letting go of your hand as he shrugged his coat back on. Your fingers flexed against your side, already missing the warmth of Josh’s hand in yours. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow morning?” 

“Bright and early,”  You replied as you walked him to the door. “With a desk full of notes from Sam, I’m sure.”

“Oh if only we could all be so lucky.” He joked, as the two of you lingered in the doorway to your apartment. You really didn’t want him to go. “I’ll brief you in the morning, hopefully nothing too serious.”

“Okay. Um, drive safe.” You stumbled over your words, and you didn’t miss the way his dimple jumped out at your expense. 

“I will. Have a good night.”

“Night,” you mumbled back, watching as his eyes flickered down to your lips for a split second before taking his first step back from you. 

“Josh,” you choked out, and he turned back to face you in seconds. He waited for you to say something, but for once in your life, nothing came to mind.

“Cat got your tongue?” He jeered. You hated that he had this effect on you. And he was reveling in it.

“It’s all your fault, you know. Dropping the whole ‘conflict of interest’ bit, and then leaving without any explanation.”

“I’m sorry, let me be a little more clear.” he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as butterflies erupted in your stomach. 

“Such a charmer,” you whispered as he dipped his head down, and finally kissed you.

His lips were softer than you imagined, slowly moving against your own. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this moment before, but it was surpassing everything you thought it would be. Josh was always gentle with you, and he kissed you just the same. He took his time with you, and you could feel yourself getting lost in the feel of his body against yours.

He was the first to pull away, resting his forehead on yours as you caught your breath. 

“I think that made it very clear how much I like you.”

You smiled as you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

“I like you too.” You replied, placing a light kiss on his jaw before pulling back to get another look at him, dimples on display. 

“If you keep looking at me like that I’m never going to make it back to the White House,” he joked, and you shoved his chest.

“Then get out of here, Josh. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You smiled as he leaned in to kiss you once more, teasing you as he pulled away, leaving you chasing his lips. You placed one more chaste kiss on his lips before letting go of him.

“Goodnight,” he said, gently squeezing your hand before finally walking down the hall. “I’ll be sure to tell Sam I cured you back to health.”

“In your dreams, Lyman.”

*****

[mandos-mind-trick]

Carry Me Home

Summary: You live a quiet life, away from stress and danger. So of course Fate had to drop you right in the middle of an active battle to meet your soulmate.

Pairing: Commander Cody x reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: NSFW, smut, unprotected sex, no foreplay, Soulmate AU, brief violence and description of a battle, as usual reader has a bit of a backstory just so the story flows better.

A/N: This one I think is my least favorite so far. I've fought with it all week and just decided to go with it. I love Cody, but goddamn is he hard for me to write.

MASTERLIST

Getting dropped right in the middle of a battlefield was not how you planned to spend your weekend. 

You were sitting down to enjoy your favorite book when you had the sudden uncomfortable sensation of being pulled through a thin tube and instead of your comfortable chair, your butt hits dirt. 

It takes a second for you to fully comprehend what’s happening. Your apartment has disappeared, and instead you’re outside. It’s very loud where you are as the ringing in your ears begins to fade. Your vision aso clears, and you find yourself staring up at...a helmet? 

There’s a figure directly in front of you, just inches from your feet. He’s kneeling behind a rock, blaster in hand. He’s dressed in armor, armor that’s familiar to you. You’d seen it countless times in the news, and a few times on your own home planet. 

This is not good. 

It’s only a matter of seconds, but it feels like a lifetime that you stare at him in shock. You don’t have much time to think it over as he reaches for you, tugging you behind the rock far too easily. He covers your body with his just moments before an explosion rains debris right on you. 

“Stay down!” He orders, pressing a hand into the back of your head. 

You’re compacted into a rather uncomfortable crouched position, but you’re not about to move as he goes back to firing. Your hands cover your ears as explosions rain from both sides. Your heart is pounding, feeling like it might beat right out of your chest. You close your eyes, praying this is some cruel dream your brain has thought up. You’re panicking, but you have every right to. 

This is not what you had pictured when you had thought up your weekend plans. 

You’ve always preferred a quiet life. You weren’t adventurous or impulsive. If you were going to do something, lots of planning went into it first. You were perfectly happy spending your weekends relaxing at home with a holonovel or a film. 

Not in the middle of a major battle. 

How did you come to be here? 

Or better yet, why were you here? 

You’re stuck far too long in that position, tucked into a ball behind the rock as blaster and cannon fire flies over your head. You’re stressed beyond belief, adrenaline pumping through your body. Your home planet, Alderaan, was involved in the war heading the relief effort and taking in refugees. You had heard countless stories about what it was like, but none of them could compare to actually being in it. 

How the clones do this time and time again is beyond you. 

You’re shaking, joints protesting as you’re helped to your feet. The blaster fire has stopped, the world seeming far too quiet after that absolute nightmare. His grip around your arm is tight. He’s not holding you to keep you steady. 

He practically drags you through the battlefield, past dead and injured troopers. He doesn’t seem affected at all, your weak legs trying to keep pace with his determined stride. You try not to look, your stomach churning at the thought of all of those people dead, and for what? 

It doesn’t take you long to figure out where he’s leading you as you approach who you assume is the Jedi General in charge, judging by the look of him. 

“Who is this?” He asks as you come to stand in front of him. 

“Unsure, sir. She appeared in the middle of the battle.” The clone says. 

“Appeared?” He asks in disbelief. 

“Out of thin air.” The clone answers. “Right in front of me.” 

“Strange.” The Jedi mumbles, stroking his chin as he stares at you for a moment. He turns to another clone. “Escort her back to the ship. Keep her in a holding cell until we return.” 

The clone holding you releases your arm, the other taking his place. You’re led to a gunship, your eyes drifting back to where the first clone and the Jedi are standing for just a moment. 

“What are you thinking, sir?” Cody asks, looking at Obi-Wan. 

“I don’t think she’s dangerous. Nor is she a spy.” Obi-Wan answers. 

“Then why do you think she appeared here?” 

Obi-Wan smiles at Cody, a familiar glint in his eye. “The Force works in mysterious ways. Perhaps she was sent here to help.” 

***

You sit in the holding cell, fingers tapping on the table anxiously. You’re still shaking a bit from the adrenaline rush, your body very unused to such high levels of stress. You tried to avoid it for that very reason. The trooper that had brought you to the cruiser is standing in the corner behind you, watching you carefully. His unwavering stare is also making you nervous, even though you haven’t done anything wrong. 

You grab the cup that’s sitting on the table, taking a sip of the cool water. He had at least been decent enough to get you some water. You’re terribly thirsty after sitting in the middle of a battle for what was probably close to an hour. You’re also starting to get hungry, or perhaps that’s just the nerves twisting away in your stomach. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been, not that having a window would have told you much. The eternal darkness of space wasn’t a good indicator of time. 

“Apologies for the wait,” The Jedi says. “There was still much to be done after the battle.” 

“No apologies necessary.” You say. “I would expect as such after a battle like that. Not that I’ve been in many battles.” 

“I am Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’ve already met Marshall Commander Cody.” He introduces them. 

You tell him your name as he takes the seat across from you. 

“Cody’s already told me his side of the story. I’m interested to hear yours.” 

So you tell him. “I had just gotten home from my job at an art museum on Alderaan, and I was getting ready to settle down and read some of the new holonovel I’d picked up when all of a sudden I felt like I was being pulled through a tube and then I’m sitting in the middle of a battlefield.” 

Master Kenobi stares at her for a few moments, stroking his beard. “That is very odd indeed. I do believe you. Though, unfortunately, with no way to verify your identity, we have to remain suspicious of you and your motivations.” 

You understand, you really do. No doubt Separatist spies constantly tried to infiltrate the Republic. You were very far from a spy, however there was no way to prove that. Unless...

“Senator Organa.” You blurt out before he can stand. “Senator Organa knows me. He and his wife often attend charity galas at the museum. He can vouch for my identity.” 

A small smile tugs at Master Kenobi’s lips. “Of course. I will get in contact with the Senator as soon as possible. Until then, I am afraid you will have to remain here.” 

You nod. “I understand.” 

He nods to the clone in the corner. “Nova will remain with you. If you need anything, he can get it for you.” 

***

Obi-Wan and Cody make their way up to the bridge, Cody replaying the conversation in his mind. It’s very odd, this situation. He’d never heard of anyone teleporting before, much less straight into the middle of a battle from halfway across the galaxy. 

“What do you think, sir?” Cody asks. “Do you believe her?” 

“I do.” Obi-Wan says. “I cannot sense any danger in her presence here, though we cannot be too certain.” 

“What do you think it means, her arrival? I’ve never heard of anything like this.” 

Obi-Wan smiles. “I believe congratulations are in order, Commander. I think you’ve just met your soulmate.” 

Cody stops walking, blinking in shock. His soulmate? She can’t really be...can she? He hadn’t put much thought into his soulmate, like most of his brothers. There were far bigger things to worry about, and considering they were forbidden from initiating their bonds, most of them tried to ignore the existence of soulmates. 

Of course, he knows most refuse to follow the rules regarding their soulmates. Many clones have met and keep contact with their mates. Many, not just clones, view the rule as being just another way to dehumanize them. 

So many don’t listen. 

Cody hadn’t put much thought into what he’d do. It’s easy to pretend you can follow the rules when you’re not facing it yourself. He figured he’d deal with it when the time came. He’d hoped perhaps that time wouldn’t come, or the war would be over before it came. He didn’t think it would happen right in the middle of a battle. 

He doesn’t think his General is wrong, either. 

He can feel it, the stirring in his chest that he’d overheard his brothers whispering about. The tugging, begging him to go back and just be in the presence of this mysterious teleporting girl once more. 

“Sorry, sir?” Cody asks, quickening his steps to catch up to the General once more. 

“It’s a rare soulmate link, though I’ve heard of it happening twice now since the start of the war. One soulmate teleporting to the other’s location.” 

Cody’s heart clenches in his chest. If the girl is telling the truth, if Senator Organa does verify her identity, then this must be the answer for her strange appearance. But why now? Why did she have to show up now? 

Why couldn’t fate have waited for the war to be over?

***

You look up as the energy shield of your cell drops. The time feels like it’s gone by faster this time, possibly because it hasn’t been as long. It’s impossible to tell, without knowing the time. 

Commander Cody enters your cell, his helmet tucked under his arm. He’s handsome, well, all the clones are handsome, you think. You take a better look at him now that you’re not so nervous. He wears his hair in regulation cut, and his face is clean shaven. He has a scar on the left side of his face, what looks like a crescent moon at his temple and a line trailing down his temple and across his cheekbone. You wonder how he got it, what had caused such a cruel looking injury. 

“The General spoke with Senator Organa. He verified your identity and backed up your story.” Cody says. 

You breathe a sigh of relief. You knew you had nothing to worry about, but yet you had still been nervous. What if they hadn’t been able to reach Senator Organa? What would have happened to her then? 

“If you’ll follow me, we’ll get you somewhere more comfortable.” 

You push yourself up from the table, your legs wobbling a bit. You feel unsteady from sitting for so long so soon after your extreme adrenaline rush. You grip onto the table, keeping yourself steady while your legs wake up. 

“Are you alright?” Commander Cody asks. 

“Yeah.” You laugh. “Just not used to teleporting, being on a battlefield mid battle, being interrogated, you know. Like everything that’s happened today.” 

A smile tugs at the side of Cody’s mouth. “I guess that would be rather jarring. Well, where you’re going there’s a real bed.” 

You nod. “Okay. I think I can manage to get there.” You let go of the table, forcing your legs to be steady. You turn to Nova, still dutifully standing in the corner. “Thank you for watching over me, Nova.” 

He shifts slightly, almost like he wasn’t expecting it. “Y-You’re welcome, ma’am.” 

You turn back to Cody, taking a couple test steps to make sure your legs will hold you. He’s got a smile on his face, a small one, but still a smile. You follow him from your cell, glad you’ll never have to see it again. You hadn’t been treated badly, but sitting at that table in the blank, windowless room for hours hadn’t exactly been the best experience of your life. 

“We’re heading to a GAR resupply station. There will be a ship there that will drop you off back on Alderaan.” Cody says as you walk beside him, his pace slower than you really need. 

“It will be nice to be back home again.” You say. “Not that you’ve been unwelcoming. It’s just...this life isn’t really for me. I prefer something slow and low-stress.” 

“I don’t blame you.” He says. “This life is easy for us because we were designed to handle constant, high levels of stress. It’s...not for everyone though.” 

“That’s for sure.” It falls silent for a few moments as you walk through the huge cruiser. “Did your Jedi General figure out why I teleported right to you?” You ask out of curiosity. You’d thought through every explanation you could think of and none of them made sense. 

“He had an idea why.” Cody says, clearing his throat. “It’s...it’s complicated.” 

“I mean, I did teleport halfway across the galaxy. If that has a simple answer, I’ll be floored.” 

Cody glances around, slowing his pace even more. He speaks quietly, like he doesn’t want anyone to overhear. “He thinks it may be our soulmate link.” 

Your steps slow to a stop, Cody pausing as well. You stare ahead of you in shock. You hadn’t thought of that possibility. You’d never heard of that being a link, but then again, you’d never looked much into soulmates. Like many, you simply knew you’d find them eventually. You had no distinguishing marks or any of the more common links that were obvious. You’d considered perhaps you didn’t have a soulmate at all, and though that thought made you a bit sad, you’d accepted it. If it was meant to happen, it would. 

And apparently, it had. 

“I...didn’t even know that was a possibility.” You say. 

“Neither did I.” Cody says. “Apparently this is the third time it’s happened since the war started.” 

“Well, that’s reassuring.” You say. “We’re not the only ones.” You stare at him for a moment, an unreadable expression on his face. “Why do I feel like there’s more?” 

“Well, there is.” He says, and you begin walking once more. “Us clones, we’re not allowed to initiate our bonds. If we find our soulmate, we’re supposed to reject them like the Jedi.” 

“Oh.” Your shoulders fall a bit. Of course it makes sense. They’re supposed to be loyal, unshakeable soldiers free of distractions. There’s nothing quite as distracting as a soulmate bond. 

You feel a bit disappointed. You’ve just found your soulmate and now he’s telling you he has to reject you. You know how painful it is, how debilitating it can be to go through it. Most don’t come out the other side the same. How can you when you’ve just lost half your soul? Half of your very being? 

“That’s...” You swallow the lump forming in your throat. “I-I understand...why...” 

A gloved hand touches your face, sliding along your skin. You look up, that hand cupping your chin. You look up into those dark eyes, getting lost in the deep brown of them. They’re so soft as they stare at you, wide with emotion. You’d read once that eyes are the window to the soul. You can tell a lot about someone by their eyes. 

“Luckily, most of us don’t agree with that rule.” He says quietly, like he’s afraid someone might walk by and hear. From what he’s saying, it could be dangerous if the wrong person walked by and heard. “It’s not fair to us or to our mates. Most of you have waited long enough.” 

“Too long.” You whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. 

“I can’t promise a life, or a future. Any of us could die at any moment. But when the war ends, I will do everything I can to find you.” 

***

Your time with the 212th is short. You spend a suspicious amount of time with Cody. For being a Marshall Commander, he certainly has a lot of free time. You meet many, many clones, and do your best to memorize each and every one of their names. 

All too soon you’re landing at the GAR station, your time with them at its end. Cody escorts you off the cruiser, leading you through the bustling station to where the shuttle is waiting to take you back to Alderaan. 

“I hope the war doesn’t bring us to Alderaan.” Cody says. “As much as I’d like to see you again.” 

You smile. “I do hope to see you again soon, but preferably not on a battlefield again.”

Cody smiles down at you. “I’ll keep in contact as much as I can.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” You say, looking up at him. Oh how you want to kiss him, but you know you can’t. “You know where to find me.” 

Cody lets his fingers brush yours just for a moment. “I’ll never forget.” 

You look back as you board the shuttle, your chest already aching. The thought of being apart at all is nearly unbearable, and you can’t even say how long it will be until you see him again. 

If you see him again. 

No. You refuse to think that way. 

You will see him again. 

***

The war is over. 

It ended rather abruptly, and came with the restructuring of the Republic into the Galactic Empire. Nothing about it feels right to you, mostly because you haven’t heard from Cody since the war ended. 

He had sent you a quick message before he left on a mission, and then the war had ended. 

That had been a year ago. 

You haven’t heard from him since. 

You refuse to believe he’s dead. You would have known. Even without initiating your bond, you would have felt it. The pain of half of your soul fading away to nothing. The discomfort, the never-ceasing chill of half of you being gone. You haven’t felt that, which means Cody is alive somewhere. 

It’s been a long year. 

You’ve been going through the motions, checking every chance you can for a message, some sign from him, but you’ve heard nothing. It hurts, but you know he wouldn’t do that. Not without reason. You hope he’s safe, wherever he is. You hope he’s safe and healthy and whole. 

You don’t want to lose him. You barely know him, but the thought of losing him is driving you insane. Your thoughts have slowly been taken over by Cody. You know it’s the bond, the deep yearning to see him and be close to him again. You’re meant to be together, not a galaxy apart with no contact. 

You worry you may go insane if you have to keep on without him. 

Luckily for you, that doesn’t happen. 

It’s your day off and you had planned to spend it sitting on your couch relaxing. Your comm is sitting on the table, waiting for any sign from Cody that he’s alright. You’d give anything just to hear his voice again. You’d sell an organ to see him again. 

A knock on your door pulls you away from your thoughts. You’re not expecting anyone, but random visitors aren’t that unheard of. A neighbor or a coworker stopping by. You’re not really in the mood for company, but maybe that’s just what you need. 

Except you’re not expecting who’s behind the door. 

Your stomach twists painfully, your heart thudding in your chest. Your mouth drops open, the air in your lungs whooshing out in a gasp. 

He looks good. Or, at least, he looks uninjured. You know it’s him. Even without the scar, you would have known. He’s not in his armor, dressed down into civilian clothes instead. You want to yell at him, you want to slap him. How dare he leave you for a year without so much as a message. But as you look into his eyes, that idea melts from your mind. There’s dark circles under his eyes. He looks tired. His eyes are shining in the lights of your hallway and there’s a sadness to them, no, a guilty look to them. 

“Mesh’la.” He breathes, and you’re moving before you even realize it, practically throwing yourself into his arms. 

He wraps his arms around you tightly, almost painfully. You don’t care, relief flooding through you. All the horrible thoughts that had plagued you, all the anger and the fear and the anxiety melting away simply by being in his presence once more. 

He backs you into your apartment, the door sliding closed. He doesn’t loosen his hold on you, keeping you close to his chest. “I’m sorry.” He breathes, his breath fanning your ear. “I’m so kriffing sorry.” 

“Why?” You ask, your voice thick with tears. You’re not sure when they started, but they’re slowly soaking his shirt. “It’s been a year, Cody. A year since I’ve heard from you. The war ended and then...nothing.” 

“I know.” He pulls back slightly, looking down at your face. “I’ll tell you everything, just let me hold you for a moment.” 

And so you do. You stand there for the better part of an hour, just holding each other. Time and time again your hands run along his back, cheek pressing into his shoulder just to make sure he’s really here. 

Once you manage to separate yourselves, you move to the couch. He tells you everything, about the war ending, Order 66, the inhibitor chips, losing control of his mind, waking up after Kashyyk, the horrible things they’d been forced to do, deserting the Empire. He had wanted to contact you as soon as he left, but he knew it was too risky. He’d found Captain Rex who’d helped him, hiding him and once it was safe, getting him here to you. 

“Oh, Cody.” You say, tracing your fingers along his scar. It’s the first time you’ve touched him, really touched him. He’s so warm, the press of your skin against his sending little sparks through your body. “I’m so sorry.” You draw him in, his face pressing against your neck as you hold him. 

“Why did it have to happen this way?” He asks, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“We can’t change the past.” You say, running your fingers through his short curls. “We can only keep moving forward from here.” 

He breaths a long sigh out, relaxing completely into you. He’s heavy, your body slowly falling back onto the couch. He follows, his lips brushing against the skin of your neck. 

“I’m ready to live your boring life.” He murmurs. 

You can’t help but laugh at that. He had once remarked that your life was boring when you’d told him you intended to spend your time off at home reading. You knew he had meant it lightly, and he wasn’t wrong. Compared to his life at the time, yours was very boring. 

“Don’t let me go.” He says quietly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. 

A smile tugs at your lips as your back hits the cushions, Cody shifting slightly so he’s not crushing you under his weight. “You have a year to make up for, Cody. And I have some vacation time I’ve been meaning to use.” 

“Good.” He says, dragging his lips up your throat. “I don’t intend on letting you leave this couch for a while.” 

You pout a bit as he kisses the corner of your mouth. “The bed is more comfortable.” 

“We’ll get there eventually.” He murmurs before pressing his lips to yours. 

You sigh against his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck. The swirling chaos that had been driving you crazy for the last year is beginning to settle now that he’s here, in your arms, pressed against you. Most soulmates don’t last more than a few days once they meet. It’s been over a year since you met him and you hadn’t so much as touched him. 

“Cody,” You sigh against his lips, his body pressing closer to yours. You can feel him, hard against your thigh. “I need you.” 

“I’m right here.” He says, pulling away from your lips. He cups your face, calloused thumbs stroking your cheeks. 

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheeks. He really is real. He’s really right here. “You are.” 

He makes quick work of your clothes, dragging his fingers along your exposed skin. Every touch is like lightning, your body thrumming with energy. It reminds you of when you’d met, appearing on that battlefield, the adrenaline pumping through you. He had to have known, deep down. He’d saved your life without thought, keeping you safe until the battle was over. 

He’d saved you, stayed with you until he couldn’t. Now it’s your turn. 

Your fingers trail along his back, feeling every ridge of muscle, every raised scar. You want to kiss them all, but that’s for a later time. His teeth sink gently into the side of your breast, making you gasp. You’re already wet, probably leaving a wet spot on your couch. 

You’ll have it cleaned later. 

“Please, Cody.” You breathe, pressing your hips up against his. “It’s been too long.” 

“I know, mesh’la.” He says, kissing your sternum. “I’m so sorry.” 

You sink your fingers into his hair, drawing his lips to yours. “Don’t apologize with your words.” 

He smirks against your lips, shifting his hips slightly. “Yes, ma’am.” 

A shiver runs down your spine. You have the former Marshal Commander of the Grand Army of the Republic naked on your couch, and he had just called you ma’am. You feel a bit powerful, so unlike how you normally feel. 

You’ll have to explore that later. 

You slip a hand between your bodies, lining him up. He presses into you slowly, taking his time. The stretch burns, and you regret not prepping a little, but he’s slow, easing your tension with gentle kisses and the touch of his hands. 

He pauses once he’s seated inside you, giving you a moment. You’re overwhelmed with feeling, the bond between you two strengthening. You can practically feel the link, the cords tying you together multiplying and strengthening into something unbreakable. 

His lips press against yours, his hands taking yours, lacing your fingers together. You’re connected in every possible way. 

He begins to move, dragging his hips slowly against yours. You moan against his lips, squeezing his hands. He feels so good, you feel so good pressed up against him. It’s been a long year waiting for him, and this very moment has made up for most of it. 

You moan his name as he thrusts into you, fingers gripping his. He moans in your ear, whispering to you, speaking near nonsense as you lose yourselves in each other. 

You cum, clinging to him so tightly you’re worried you might bruise him. He offers no complaints, his body going lax over yours as he cums, emptying into you. You both stay there, uncaring of your sweaty skin or the fluids leaking between your legs. You’re both breathing heavily, holding onto each other like you might disappear if you let go. 

He goes to pull away after a few moments, but you wrap your arms around him tighter, keeping him still. 

“Stay?” You whisper, just needing to feel him. 

He smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

(P.S. Don’t worry, they do eventually move from Alderaan to some small farming planet where they live happily ever after.) 

Taglist:

@stressed-cherry

[sunnytarg]

Some ideas for the wedding night between Jace and his youngest aunt in a blacks win au?

I always get excited when I get Jace requests because I so rarely get them! Plus, writing for Jace gives me a chance to try my hand at fluff.

Before the war Jace definitely had his eye on her. Even going so far as to ask if his mother could find a way to betroth them. It didn’t work. Now that they’ve won, though. Jace is free to marry whoever he wants and who he wants is his aunt.

Other than his aunt, the only other greens that are alive are Alicent and little Jaehaera. Alicent is beyond angry that her only remaining child is about to marry Jace. It doesn’t matter her feeling on it though, because both her and her grandchild are invited to the wedding. For Jaehaera it’s for fun and Rhaenrya insisted that Alicent attend.

His aunt doesn’t know how to feel about it. She knows Jace wouldn’t marry her just to be malicious and they got along with each other when they were children. The problem is that she hasn’t actually talked with Jace since before the start of the war and that she is rather melancholic after losing all of her siblings.

When the wedding comes, she’s dressed in House Targaryen colors. Her mother is allowed to help her get ready but Alicent only mutters angrily and it’s nothing her daughter can make out. She will say that when she looks in the mirror she is stunning. People had always said she was beautiful but now, looking in the mirror before she’s to get married, she actually believes it.

Daemon walks her down the aisle and when she begins to cry it is not the way a bride usually would on her wedding day. She had always thought that perhaps Aegon or Aemond would walk her to her husband-to-be. When she makes it to Jace, the tears slowly stop and he smiles at her sweetly. He wipes the tears on her cheeks away before they say their vows and she’s reminded that he really is a good person.

After the ceremony and the feast, where she saw her little niece Jaehaera actually laugh as she spun around with Cregan Stark, Jace announces that they’ll be retiring for the evening. Before the ceremony he had made it clear that there wouldn’t be a bedding ceremony and she’s grateful for that. It’s just, on the other hand, this is the first time that she’ll be alone with Jace and if he was putting on a facade for the people, now would be a perfect time for it to drop.

Servants help her undress and put on a beautiful nightgown. She sits and waits on the bed for her new husband and when he finally enters the room he smiles at her. He makes his way to her and just when she thinks he’ll push her to lay down and take what he wants, he grabs her face and kisses her lightly on the mouth. He pulls away for a brief moment and looks at her before kissing her more deeply this time. She can’t help but surrender herself to the kiss. Opening her mouth and letting him explore her mouth. When his hands begin to roam down her body and brush against her covered breast she doesn’t hold in her tiny gasp.

When he pulls away from the kiss she chases his lips with her own, earning her a chuckle. No words are exchanged as Jace strips down and then peels her nightgown off of her. She lays her head on the soft pillow and spreads her legs, expecting him to finally take her but instead, he just kneels down between her legs and licks her wet pussy. His hands knead her thighs as he delves in and starts to suck on her clit. She’s sure that her moans can definitely be heard from outside the door but she couldn’t care less. The feeling of his tongue lapping up her wetness is ecstasy and when she cums, she cums with a shudder and Jace’s name on her lips.

When he finally pulls away and leans over her to line himself up against her, she’s not as nervous as she once was. Jace pecks her once on the lips and she can catch a small taste of herself on him before he slides into her. She shuts her eyes in discomfort when he bottoms out in her. He can clearly see the discomfort on her face because he doesn’t move. He wants her to enjoy it and for that to happen he has to let her adjust to him inside of her. So while he’s waiting for her to tell him he can move he whispers into her ear, “I’ve always wanted this. Wanted you. Before the war and even during it. I remember badgering my mother to betroth us but it never happened, but here we are. I can finally call you my wife.”

Her heart warms at his words and she grips his arms and tells him to move. He’s slow at first and groans at her tightness but the discomfort slowly melts away into pleasure as he slowly thrusts into her. She begs for him to start going faster or harder or maybe both, she doesn’t really know. All she really knows is that she wants more.

Jace obliges and speeds up. He buries his face into her neck and grunge with every thrust. He’s already close to finishing and feeling her cunt clench around him is making it hard for him to hold out any longer. He brings his hand down to her clit and rubs it at the same pace as his thrusts and it doesn’t take long for his wife to clench hard around him and wrap herself around him and cum with a loud moan. It doesn’t take long for Jace to follow behind her and spill his seed inside of her.

When he rolls off of her and catches his breath, he murmurs tiredly how he loves her. Yes, she had been nervous about wedding Jace and how their marriage might go but as she drifts off in his arms she has a feeling it might actually turn out alright.

[softguarnere]

Passed Me a Note Saying, "Meet Me Tonight"

Floyd Talbert x reader

A/N: Hey there @typical-simplelove 😁I was the person chosen to write you a story for the HBO War Daily Short Story Exchange! It's my first time writing a fic with Tab, so I hope it turned out okay and that you like it! 💕 Word Count: 846 Warnings: brief mention of war

It’s smooth – just like him.

Passing you in one of the hallways, Talbert smiles at you as he approaches. To anyone watching, the gesture seems friendly enough. But somehow, even with Nixon – of all people – walking with you, Talbert manages to press the slip of paper into your hand without detection. When you feel the edge of the folded paper poke your palm, you can barely suppress your smile until you’re alone.

Meet me tonight, the note says in Tab’s handwriting.

The rest of the day can’t pass quickly enough. Still, you try to pace yourself. You attend meetings, diligently taking notes for Colonel Sink and typing up letters as you normally would. Maybe your foot taps a bit impatiently under the table – but if anyone notices, they have the decency not to point it out. Besides, you keep having to remind yourself, Talbert is just a friend.

“Is there a reason that you’re risking losing your pass over fraternizing with me, Floyd?”

At the sound of your voice, Talbert glances up, smiling at you. He smiles at a lot of girls. You can’t help but wonder if the smiles that he throws their way are this bright, though.

Talbert extends a hand to you. Without hesitation, you take it, and he leads you to the edge of the huge, sprawling camp. “Didn’t want you to miss this.”

Through the trees, dusk is setting in. Humidity rises from the day’s heat, turning the atmosphere a soft shade of blue. A few last golden rays of sunlight are softening now, fading into the clouds as the bright orb sinks below the horizon. After a moment, in the distance far above, a few twinkling lights emerge in the darkening sky. The scene, this transition from day to night, is beautiful. It probably looks just as pretty as this every evening, but you’re ashamed to realize that if that’s true, you’ve never noticed it before. But Talbert did.

Another realization hits you at the same time: he’s still holding your hand.

His skin is warm and soft against yours. Maybe you should say nothing, at the risk of ending this moment too soon.

“This is beautiful,” you whisper.

He turns to you, his smile as bright as the stars. “I thought you might like that.”

Hands still joined, you squeeze his. He looks down, eyes widening as he comes to the same conclusion that you did a few moments before. “I like this,” you say.

. . .

The war might be over, but its conclusion has brought you nothing but a flurry of time sensitive paperwork. Still, if one good thing has happened, it’s that the rules barely apply in Austria these days, and no one seems to have a problem with Talbert stopping in to visit you. The handsome paratrooper sitting on the corner of your desk, cracking jokes, flashing those striking smiles at anyone who passes by, becomes a common sight in the office. If you can’t be out there having a good time with everyone else, you’re grateful that you get to spend time with him in here.

It's getting late. Even the colonel has turned in for the night. Aside from the clacking of the keys on your typewriter as you diligently finish typing up a letter for him, the building that has been commandeered for these offices is quite – except for the sound of approaching footsteps.

Footsteps that you would recognize anywhere. You smile before you even glance up, even hear his voice call out to you in greeting.

“You’re brave, (Y/N),” Talbert says. “Being alone in here.”

You sit back in your chair, smiling. “I was just waiting for you.” It’s been so long ago now that you can’t be sure if he remembers that evening in Toccoa, but you do. You incline your head toward a door behind you that leads out to a balcony. “I want to show you something.”

Outside, the soft glow of the stars that light the sky are diminished by the lights of the city down below. Like stars fallen to earth, the buildings are lit up with soldiers staying up late, celebrating the day they’ve waited years for. You noticed the scene a few evenings before, on another day of industriously working late. It had reminded you of that evening, all that time ago. Not the same scene you once enjoyed together, but beautiful in its own way. But really, everything beautiful reminds you of Tab.

“Didn’t want you to miss this,” you say, a callback.

Floyd smiles, and you know then that he remembers, too. On cue, he squeezes your hand. “It’s beautiful. Like you.”

You smile, no longer having to hide affections like that; not after everything the two of you have been through in this war. “I thought you might like that.”

He leans in, close, so that even in the darkness you can make out his every feature. “I like this,” he says, then closes the gap between you.

This, you think as he kisses you, is more beautiful than even the stars.  

[sirenmoth]

Little Moments

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x GN!Reader

Synopsis: You have Gaz have a horribly thrown together date at a safe house

CW: Fluff, domestic fluff, military talk, war mention, hurt/comfort, kinda

AO3

19:00

Late evening light filled the sky in rays, casting hues of bright oranges, pinks and reds, all blending together as the sun started to set over the horizon. You would've stopped to admire the scenery and the beauty, stopped to take in the last of burning star's warmth and drink in the peace and tranquillity as it set below the treeline. But it wasn't time for that, walking in the middle of nowhere, you were given instructions to hold down a safe house while the other three dealt with other things elsewhere. Told to wait until the team reunited to set up the base of operation.

You have no idea how long you've been walking, the trees all look the same, your legs hurt from the excessive walking on the unstable terrain, nerves on fire from all the exercise, "God, it feels like I'm doing rucks again." You mutter, breaking the silence between the two of you, disturbing the late evening birds singing their final tunes before sleep, Gaz gives a brief chuckle at your attempt at humour and small talk, slowing his pace down for you to catch up, once you reach his side he picks up his pace again.

"It does, doesn't it? Would rather do a ruck march again than this." He adds once you met his pace, continuing the hike with you beside him. "You think Cap sent us alone for a reason? I know we're good at our job, he makes that clear, but I feel like he knows something."

The suspicaion that Price knew something was always present in the back of your mind, that he knew about you two and the relationship you both carefully nuilt and nurtured, was worrying. Having a relationship with a co-worker was one thing, but having a relationship were both are in the military, let alone one of the most elite task forces in the world, was a whole other thing neither you nor Gaz are ready to face.

"I don't know, he probaly would've said something by now is he did." You reply, looking at him in your periphel vision, reaching across to his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

The rest of the walk was completed in a deafening silence, as you enjoyed each other's company, with the previous conversation still fresh on your mind with worry. Listening to the songbird tweets fade into the croaks and chitters of the forest nightlife. Finally arriving at the location, a small cabin hidden between a few trees, you both decide to split up, with you securing the outside perimeter and Gaz securing the inside, mentally scanning and logging any advantage and disadvantage spots.

The inside of the cabin was nothing special, most safe houses weren't, with its sole purpose to keep its occupants safe and away from danger and supply them with the bare basics a human being would need to survive. Gaz places his weapon on safety mode, and leans it against a wall then removes his kevlar vest, making himself at home on the old ratty sofa in the living room, sighing heavily once his legs get to rest and the pressure is taken off them from walking so much, all too eager to relax after that hike. You follow suit and copy his actions, weapon on safety against the wall, kevlar vest off, sitting down on the sofa, side by side.

Silence once against filled the air, this time comforting, as you lay your head on Kyle's shoulder, his head leaning against yours, taking his hand against and lacing your fingers together once more, enjoying his warmth and company.

You two lived and cherished these moments, relished in the tiny pieces of domestic bliss, not knowing when it will end or be ripped from you. Romance on the Task Force was rare to come by outside the small hookups and meaningless flings, and even more rare for a chance for it to fully bloom and properly look after, being away for months on end and being busy all the time, with little room to attend dates and anniversaries, family and relationship alike, all members are estranged from their normal life in some way due to this, which is why anyone involved with the Task Force, both directly or indirectly, avoided it all together, expect Laswell. Everyone likes hearing Laswell mention the dates her and her wife go on, a small sense of normalcy they will never get.

"What's the status report?" You ask, toying and fiddling with his fingers, closing your eyes to drink in the calm.

"Standard MRE's, supplies, beddings. Y'know, the usual that's stashed in a place like this brings and offers." Kyle replied, moving closer towards you, his knee brushing against yours, "We do have ravioli MRE's though, beef, so I see that as a win."

His last remark earns a small laugh from you, causing the man to smile, beef ravioli was seen as the better choices of food out on the field, people sometimes traded things to a packet, and it was commonplace for tiny fights to happen over it. "Do I have to fight you for it?" You jest, lovingly squeezing his hand. These moments alone are something you both enjoy, just the two of you, alone and undisturbed, Kyle once mentioned he felt like he could live off these moments alone.

"If there's enough, we could have a date, a terrible makeshift romantic dinner." You laugh, the idea was outlandish right now, but not an overly bad idea. There's a time and a place and right isn't the time nor the place for such a thing, but that wasn't going to stop you from pressing forward with the idea," We can hide them from the rest of them, keep all the good food to ourselves. They won't know."

Kyle lets out a genuine, hearty laugh at your proposal, "If you want to deal with a grumpy Scotsman who won't shut up and an overly pissed off Captain, be my guest, I won't stop you."

You sign at his words, knowing he's right. Ghost is fine eating just about anything on the field, as long as it's edible, he doesn't care. Soap and Price on the other hand like having decent, or as decent as packet ration food can get, out on the field, Price says it's a 'rewards for dealing you lot of a bunch of muppets' and Soap jokes that he's 'a growing boy, I need a balanced diet' while flexing, only to get hit in the back of the head by Ghost, who tells him to shut up.

Getting up and stretching, you smile down at Kyle, "Well, you rest up pretty boy, I'm going to see if the radio works. Can't have a broken lien of communication now." Kissing him on his forehead you leave into one of the adjacent rooms, watching the sun finally set outside the window, slivers of light dance around the room as you change and check each radio frequency until you get in touch with either Price or Laswell. Once you do and state your positions and everything is accounted for and checked, you leave the radio on in case of an emergency and turn the volume up so you can hear it from the other room, and head back into the living room.

Entering the living room once against, you notice Kyle is no longer there, thinking he probably went upstairs to claim a room before the others show up, you head towards the stairs to do the same, the last thing you want is to share with anyone, unless it's Kyle. Walking by the open kitchen door, you fail to take note of what the British man has been doing in your absence.

Kyle clears his throat as you walk past, causing you to stop in your tracks and turn to him, now he has your full attention he smiles, takes your hand and states, "I have something to show you," before leading you into the rundown, and frankly probably safety hazard kitchen. There sat on the old, worn out wooden dinning table, were two neatly placed beef ravioli MRE's and the standard issue drink that came with them, laid out as best as possible, opposite each other, the scene mimicked one you would find at any fine-dinning restaurant.

Kyle stands behind you, still holding your hand, anxious but pleased with himself. "Do you like it?" He asks, looking at you with pleading eyes, trying to gauge your reaction, "We haven't had a proper date in a while your idea gave me some inspiration and I thought 'Why not'. We don't have to tell them we took them," he adds on, "I know it's not perfect."

Turning around to look at him, you place a gentle, loving hand on his check, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, "It's prefect. More than prefect, thank you." You reply, smiling as he practically melts in your hands when your words reach his ears. Kyle takes your hand and walk you over to the table, pulling out the chair facing the door out, like the 'true gentleman he is' as he says, before sitting in the chair opposite you, his facing lit up with a bright smile.

The both you talk and laugh as you eat your meal, treating this like any normal date you would have, already forgetting where you are and that you are currently on the job. Even after the food is gone as well as the drinks, you still talk, sitting at the table engrossed in your own world as you discuss recent events, work drama and where and when you should go on your next proper date once this mission is over, maybe a small corner café or a stay at home take out night. The radio screeching startles you both, Price's voice crackles from the other end of it, announcing they'll be arriving in around thirty minutes.

You get up from your seat, taking the empty food packets and bottles from the table to throw away. Gaz resorts the table to what it was and so there's no obvious signs of your little date, you share a look at the fact you both forgot you were in the middle of a mission, nonetheless you have a job to do. Gaz wraps his arms around your waist, you wrap yours around his neck, embracing in the final moments of solace and bliss before heading back into the fray.

[tamurilofrivendell]

Bad Dreams | Elrond x Reader

Pairing: Elrond/You Summary: You suffer from nightmares. Elrond is there to comfort you. A/N: I didn’t do this the justice I wanted to but enjoy anyway?! Haha.

The scream ripped itself from your throat long before you even became aware that you were making any noise at all. Long before you became aware that you were even awake. Jerking upright, your breathing heaved as you struggled to regain control.

I am safe, I am safe, I am safe.

The words repeated over and over in your mind like a mantra. I am here, I am safe.

Still, the panic rippled through you, fighting for control. You didn’t always remember your dreams but you were well aware of their content. The war. The battles. The killing. The losses. The blood. So much blood. So much death. The images twisting in your subconscious even long after your conscious mind had forgotten what had plagued your dreamscape.

The door to your room flew open, sending a fresh wave of fear flowing through your body. Looking up, your panicked eyes met Lord Elrond’s. You sucked in a breath, fighting for calm, a little shaken that you’d forced the Lord of Rivendell himself to come to your chambers, probably thinking there was real danger, only to find you unable to handle a simple dream.

“Oh, dear one.” His voice was gentle and calm as ever as he crossed the space between the doorway and your bed, coming to sit carefully upon the edge. There was a brief pause where he seemed to consider what his next move should be, wondering what you would allow, but the distress on your face made his decision for him as he wrapped his arm around you, drawing you closer. There is hesitation but you soon melt against him, pressing your face to the crook of his neck. Embarrassment floods you but he doesn’t seem to mind, only gives you a comforting squeeze. His lips find your head and he presses a gentle kiss to your hair, making you nearly forget how to breathe at all.

Eventually, you are able to draw air normally again, your panic subsiding as you relax in Elrond’s embrace. His gentle fingers are running up and down your arm as he holds you to him, calming you as best he can. His mere presence is calming in general but this is a little more intense.

In the time he has been there comforting you, you have both somehow found yourselves laying back upon your bed, both of his arms now holding you to him. You don’t remember how it happened but you are suddenly aware of it with a great intensity. With a sniff, you reluctantly pull back, feeling slight shame prickling at you. “I, uh... sorry, my lord. T-thank you.”

His smile is kind as he pulls himself back up to a sitting position and reaches out, placing a gentle hand upon your face, his fingers ghosting lightly across your cheek. “There is nothing to be sorry for.” He tells you. You don’t quite believe him but you don’t contradict him either, reaching up to wipe the remnants of your tears from your face, shifting a little.

In the silence that follows, the two of you sort of just look at each other. Your expression softens and you smile at him. He smiles back, seemingly pleased.

Without another word, he rises from the bed and takes a step back towards the door. Your panic rises as you watch him go but words are stuck in your throat. He sees though. He sees when he turns at the door to bid you a good night. His serene expression falls away, replaced with obvious worry.

“Elrond....” You begin but nothing else follows, nothing else comes.

He lingers, eyes fixed on you for a long moment, before it dawns on him. You won’t say it, you can’t say it, but you don’t want to be alone. Not after such a horrible dream, not with such thoughts still lingering in your mind.

He quickly paces back across the room to the bed and sits himself carefully on the edge. “I will stay with you.” He says it as though it is his idea, as though he hadn’t just read in your face that you wished for him not to leave you. “Until you fall asleep.”

Working up the tiniest smile, you nod gratefully, moving to lay your head down on the pillow. Silence follows but when you reopen your eyes you find him looking at you. He tries to be quick about glancing away but you catch him and can’t help but smile.

“Would...” You venture, hesitating just briefly before a moment of bravery. “Would you lay with me?”

His surprise is evident on his face but he is quick to agree, offering you another kind smile as he shifts closer, moving to lie down beside you slowly as though afraid to spook you. He wraps an arm around you and holds you to him, pulling the blankets back over you both. “Sleep, my dear.” He soothes, pressing another kiss to your forehead as he watches your eyes drift closed for the last time.

He does intend to leave as soon as you are asleep, truly he does, but he can’t bring himself to move and when you finally wake in the morning, the spot where he lay was still warm, telling you that he had not long since left. Smiling, you rise to greet the day, the memory of him giving you the strength to push your horrible memories away, hope filling you for the first time in a long time.

[thelordofgifs]

helloooo congrats once again on 600 followers!!!! could i prompt you with valacar/vidumavi + #9 (in public) from the kiss prompts? tyvm beloved <3

In the afternoons they liked, when they could, to spend time with the children as a family. Valacar had duties aplenty with which to occupy himself, and his household was not wanting for nurses and servants; but he would not give up these brief hours for anything. Today it was warm and clear, and they had decided to sit on the rooftop garden as the children played.

Vidumavi was dressed very lightly and simply, in a loose white dress: she was not yet accustomed to the heat of Osgiliath in the summer, which felt to her often oppressive, and this pregnancy had been harder on her than the two she had undergone in cool Rhovanion. Guilt twisted anew in Valacar’s heart to remember it – how carefree had been her smile, then, how light her footstep, how merry and unrestrained her golden laugh!

Yet she was cheerful even now, his gracious lady, bending down obligingly to examine the earthworm their son had found amid the flowers, and encouraging their small daughter when her clumsy little fingers struggled with the daisy-chain she was making.

“Eldacar,” Valacar called. “Come here – come to Ada.” He held out his arms.

Eldacar cast him an uncertain look. He was not yet fully accustomed to his new name – hard, to explain to a five-year-old that his very name would bring down suspicious eyes upon him, and that he must give it up if he had any hope of ever being beloved. Again Valacar wondered whether he had done the right thing.

His sister cast aside her daisies and burst into tears.

“Sweet!” Vidumavi exclaimed. She bent with some difficulty, and picked the child up, and then murmured to her in her own tongue, “I think it was very beautiful, even if it did break, darling.”

Valacar bit his lip. “Eldacar,” he said, in clear, enunciated Westron, “will you not show me your worm, too?”

His eldest was good-natured above all, and disinclined to hold a grudge. After a moment’s deliberation he toddled over to Valacar, and presented his treasure; and Valacar, his heart swelling with relief, crouched down to marvel over the earthworm clutched in Eldacar’s grubby little fist, and surreptitiously inhale the baby-sweet scent of his hair as he did so.

Of course they were not truly alone. You could never be alone, if you were the only son of the Prince-Regent of Gondor, and had married a foreign princess beside: there were eyes on Valacar and his small family everywhere they went. Even now passers-by in the street below were slowing their steps, eager to catch a glimpse of the unconventional little family, and murmur to each other about the slight swell of Vidumavi’s stomach (for true-blooded Númenoreans did not often bear children in such quick succession) and perhaps to learn for themselves whether the boy who would one day be their King was, in looks at least, one worthy of them.

“Look, Eldacar,” Valacar murmured in his ear. “Look over your city. Is it not fair in the sunlight? You will rule over it all, one day.”

If he said it enough times, he could make it true, breathe some of his own long life into his boy’s veins, make it so that he would endure long enough to inherit his due.

Vidumavi was watching him with very soft eyes. Balancing their daughter on her hip, she came to stand beside him, the afternoon sunlight on her fair hair crowning her with gold. She took his hand in her cool one. “Is all well?” she murmured.

“Yes,” said Valacar, needing it to be so; and, conscious of the many eyes below them, the city of his boyhood transformed suddenly into a watchful stranger, he dipped his head to kiss her warm sweet mouth, and the summer breeze lifted their hair, raven and gold, and sent it mingling behind them like a war-banner; and they stood like that until their daughter began to squirm and Eldacar, bored, wandered off to play in the dirt again.