#insert reader

[creaturesmechture]

thief of the heart

cliche titles, gotta love em

requested-yes

charcters- Gale, Astarion, Karlach, Shadowheart

Gale-

Gale realizes very early on that you’re incapable of resisting the urge to steal things purely for your own amusement. Not expensive things, either —which somehow makes it worse. Over the course of the journey, he loses a singular glove, two fountain pens, an earring he swears he left beside his bedroll, and, most mysteriously of all, an entire wheel of cheese. He spends days trying to solve the mystery with the same intensity he’d apply to deciphering ancient magic. You let him suffer through it right up until he dramatically announces to camp that “an intellectual battle is clearly underway.” That night, you sneak into his tent intending to return the missing earring before he loses his mind completely, only to freeze when Gale speaks from the darkness. “You know,” he says calmly, “most.. thieves try not to get caught.”-

whipping around so fast you nearly stab him out of reflex. Gale- unfortunately for you....finds this hilarious.

Instead of being angry, he becomes curious. Very curious. Suddenly he’s asking questions about lockpicking techniques while you’re picking through whatever breakfast you've scrounged up. He watches your hands, so closely your sure he's about to burn holes into them whenever you shuffle cards or flip a dagger between your fingers. One evening, he even insists you teach him “the fundamentals of subtle theft,” despite the fact he has absolutely no natural talent for it whatsoever. You sit cross-legged beside him for over an hour trying to teach him how to palm a coin without dropping it. His fingers brush yours constantly as you reposition his hands, and every failure earns another deeply offended sigh from him.

“This is absurd-” Gale mutters after the coin clatters onto the ground once again. “I can manipulate the Weave itself- yet this tiny silver disc...defeats me.”

Your laugh sputters out of you so hard you nearly tip backward off the log you’re sitting on. Gale catches your wrist automatically before you can fall, steadying you with a hand warm against your skin. The laughter fades slower than it should. His thumb brushes lightly against the inside of your wrist before he seems to realize he’s still holding it.

The two of you stare at each other for one dangerously quiet second.

Then you grin. “Want me to teach you how to pick pockets next?”

He lets out a soft, helpless laugh and shakes his head. “Gods help me, I think you already have.”

Astarion-

The rivalry between you and Astarion becomes the single most annoying thing in camp according to literally everyone else. It starts small— little contests over who can unlock doors faster or swipe supplies without getting caught. Then it escalates. Suddenly you’re stealing each other’s belongings just to prove a point. Astarion wakes up one morning to find every buckle missing from his armor. In retaliation, he steals your favorite dagger and spends the entire day twirling it smugly between his fingers whenever you look at him.

Shadowheart threatens bodily harm within the week.

The worst part is how much fun the two of you are having. There’s an easy understanding between you whenever you work together — the kind built on quick reflexes and mutual bad decisions. During jobs, you move around each other effortlessly, covering blind spots without speaking, exchanging knowing looks across crowded rooms. The flirting slips naturally into it all, sharp and playful and constant.

One evening in Baldur’s Gate, the two of you end up cornered in a narrow alley after a theft goes slightly sideways. Astarion has one hand braced against the wall beside your head while both of you try not to laugh loudly enough to give yourselves away. “Well,” he whispers, breathless with amusement, “that could have gone better.”

“You were the one who insulted the guard.”

“I was being...charming.”

“You called him ‘architecturally unfortunate.’”

Astarion snorts softly, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Gods, he’s close. Close enough for you to feel the cold brush of his rings when his fingers briefly catch your wrist. The teasing slowly quiets after that, slipping into something softer without either of you acknowledging it. His gaze flicks toward your mouth for half a second too long.

Then, because neither of you can handle sincerity for more than three consecutive seconds, you smoothly pull his stolen dagger from inside your sleeve.

Astarion stares at it in betrayal. “You absolute menace.”

You grin. “Too slow.”

He laughs then— genuine, bright, beautiful, before leaning in just enough for his forehead to briefly rest against yours. “I’m going to kiss you eventually,” he murmurs. “Possibly just to stop you talking.”

Shadowheart-

Shadowheart pretends your rogue habits are deeply irritating, but she’s suspiciously tolerant of them compared to everyone else. She complains every time you vanish mid-conversation only to reappear directly behind her five minutes later, yet she’s stopped reaching for her weapon when you do it....Mostly.

One night at camp, you sneak up behind her while she’s reading beside the fire and whisper dramatically, “Hand over your valuables and nobody gets hurt.”

Without even glancing up from her book, Shadowheart drops a small pouch of coins into your lap. “There. Buy yourself better hobbies.”

You stare at her, scandalized. “You prepared for this?”

“I’ve been traveling with you long enough to adapt.”

The smug little smile she gives you afterward nearly kills you on the spot.

Despite the teasing, there’s something strangely comforting about being around her. Shadowheart understands guarded people better than most, even if neither of you says it aloud. She notices the way your hands always hover near your weapons when strangers get too close. Notices how lightly you sleep. Notices the moments you instinctively reach for exits in crowded spaces. She never pushes too hard about it, though. Just stays near.

Later that same evening, after everyone else has gone to sleep, the two of you remain by the dying fire trading quiet insults back and forth. At some point you end up shoulder-to-shoulder beneath a shared blanket because the night air turned colder without either of you acknowledging it.

“You know,” Shadowheart murmurs eventually, gaze fixed on the stars overhead, “for someone so good at stealing things, you’re remarkably obvious sometimes.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

Her eyes flick toward you briefly, softer now than they usually are. “You look at people like you’re waiting for them to leave.”

The comment hits far too close to home. You go quiet. For once, Shadowheart doesn’t tease you about it. Instead, her hand slowly brushes against yours beneath the blanket, hesitant enough to give you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Her fingers curl carefully with yours, and the tiny smile she hides against your shoulder afterward feels more precious than anything you’ve ever stolen.

Karlach-

Karlach loves your stealth skills with the enthusiasm of someone discovering a very cool magic trick for the first time. Unfortunately, she has absolutely no ability to participate in stealth herself. None. You spend an entire afternoon trying to teach her how to move quietly before an infiltration mission. Karlach listens with complete seriousness too, nodding along while crouched behind a tree like she’s preparing for the world’s loudest assassination.

“Step lightly,” you whisper. “Careful foot placement. Controlled breathing.”

Karlach nods solemnly. “Got it.”

Five minutes later she accidentally shoulder-checks a suit of armor hard enough to send it crashing down an entire staircase.

The mission devolves immediately after that. Guards start shouting, Karlach yells “SHIT!,” and suddenly the two of you are sprinting through corridors trying not to laugh yourselves sick. At one point she grabs you around the waist and throws you over her shoulder so she can run faster while you protest loudly the entire time.

“This is kidnapping!”

“This is teamwork!”

By the time you finally escape onto a rooftop overlooking the city, both of you are completely breathless. Karlach collapses beside you, laughing so hard tears gather in the corners of her eyes. You can’t help laughing too, even while shoving weakly at her shoulder for ruining the plan within seconds.

“Hey,” Karlach says eventually, grin softening as she looks at you. “You still brought me with you, though.”

There’s something quieter beneath the teasing now. Something warm.

You glance over at her. “You make terrible decisions.”

“Yeah,” Karlach replies easily, nudging her knee against yours. “But I make them with confidence.”

You snort. She beams at you like that was the funniest thing anyone’s ever said. Then, after a small pause, Karlach’s expression softens further. Carefully— almost shy despite her size, she reaches over and hooks a finger through yours.

The gesture is so gentle compared to everything else about her that it catches you completely off guard.

Karlach notices your expression immediately and laughs under her breath. “Aw, look at you,” she murmurs fondly. “Got all flustered. Cute.”

You immediately try to pull your hand away out of sheer embarrassment. Karlach only laughs harder and refuses to let go.

[creaturesmechture]

Cute..?

requested- yes

characters- Legolas, Haldir, Elrond

Legolas-

Legolas genuinely thinks you are making fun of him the first time you call him cute. He’s sitting across from you near the campfire, carefully restringing his bow with the sort of effortless grace that makes people stare without meaning to, and you —entirely distracted by the way his tongue briefly peeks out in concentration you take a breath in and before you can stop yourself you let out your first thought, “You’re actually really cute.” His hands stop mid-motion. Slowly, very slowly, he lifts his head. “Cute,” he repeats, like the word itself has personally offended him. You nod without a trace of shame. “Very.” He stares at you for a long moment, clearly waiting for the punchline that never comes. Legolas has been admired his entire life; praised for beauty, skill, elegance, nobility. Entire courts have probably composed poetry about him. But this? This warm, terribly human sort of affection that makes you smile at him like he’s something lovable instead of untouchable? He has absolutely no defense against it.

The worst part, for him, is that you keep doing it. Every time he shows softness without realizing it, the word slips out before you can help yourself. When he kneels to comfort a frightened horse after battle, gently smoothing its mane while murmuring in Elvish, you nearly melt. “That’s adorable.” Legolas closes his eyes briefly as if summoning patience from the Valar themselves. “I am attempting to calm the animal.” “And you’re being precious about it.” He gives you a look that should probably feel intimidating, but the faint pink beginning to creep across the tips of his ears ruins the effect entirely. After that, you start noticing the signs every time he gets flustered, the way he suddenly becomes very interested in adjusting his knives, or how his voice goes quieter whenever you smile too fondly at him.

One night, long after the others have fallen asleep, you find him sitting beneath the trees watching the stars through the canopy. The silver moonlight catches in his hair, making him look almost unreal. You settle beside him quietly, shoulder brushing his. “You know,” you murmur, “you act all serious, but you’re secretly the cutest person I’ve ever met.” Legolas lets out a soft breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “You continue to use that word as though you wish to torment me.” “Maybe I just like seeing you blush.” He turns his head then, pale eyes catching yours, and the fondness in them is so open it nearly steals your breath away. “Cruel creature,” he murmurs, though there’s no heat behind it at all. Then, after the smallest hesitation, he leans closer until his temple rests lightly against yours. “Though I confess,” he says quietly, “I find... I do not dislike hearing it from you.”

Haldir-

Haldir reacts to being called adorable like you’ve just deeply insulted generations of Elven dignity. The first time it happens, he’s escorting you through the woods of Lórien with his usual stern composure, sharp-eyed and graceful as moonlight through trees. He looks untouchable —right up until he pauses mid-sentence to carefully move a spiderweb out of your path so you won’t walk into it. The gesture is so gentle, so quietly thoughtful, that you stare at him for a second before smiling helplessly. “You’re kind of adorable; you know that?” Haldir stops walking entirely. Slowly, he turns to look at you with the expression of a man who has just suffered a psychic attack. “Adorable,” he repeats flatly. “Mhm.” “I am a March warden of Lórien.” a beat before you respond with a sentence that acts as a flag on top of a hill “.....And a very cute one.” The silence afterward is so profound that even the birds seem uncomfortable.

From then on, you accidentally make his life impossible. The problem is that once you notice how soft he actually is beneath all that intimidating composure, you cannot stop noticing it. The way he automatically reaches to steady you when the path gets uneven. How he quietly gives you the warmer blanket during cold nights without acknowledging it afterward. The tiny, almost embarrassed smile he gets whenever you laugh particularly hard at one of his dry comments. Every single time you point these things out, he looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. “You're smiling again,” you tell him one evening while sitting together near the talan ladder. Haldir immediately smooths his expression into neutrality. “No, I am not.” “There! You just did it again. That little smile.” “I do not have a ‘little smile.’” “You do when you’re flustered.” He folds his arms tightly, gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “I have survived Orc attacks with greater ease than these conversations.”

But eventually, beneath all the embarrassment and long-suffering sighs, you begin catching moments where he almost seems to crave it. One afternoon you find him repairing a tear in your cloak with surprising care, long fingers moving delicately through the fabric. You watch quietly for a moment before your chest aches with affection. “You’re precious,” you say softly. Haldir stills instantly. This time, though, he does not argue. His eyes lift slowly to yours, and something vulnerable flickers there so briefly you almost miss it. “No one has ever spoken to me this way before,” he admits, voice quieter than usual. Your expression softens immediately. “That’s a shame.” For a moment he simply looks at you, all that practiced composure slipping just enough for you to see the tenderness underneath. Then he exhales softly through his nose, shaking his head as though you are an impossible thing he no longer wishes to resist. “You are troublesome,” he murmurs, but his hand slides over yours and stays there long after the conversation ends.

Elrond-

Elrond discovers quite suddenly that he is entirely unequipped to handle affectionate teasing from someone he loves. Flirtation, yes — he can manage that effortlessly. He’s elegant, composed, devastatingly charming when he chooses to be. But one sincere little “you’re adorable” and centuries of dignity begin collapsing immediately. It happens late one evening in his library after you find him asleep in his chair, a book half-open against his chest and his spectacles sliding precariously down his nose. For a long moment you simply stand there staring because there is something unbearably endearing about seeing someone so wise and revered look so human in exhaustion. Before you can stop yourself, the words slip out in a whisper. “Oh, that’s precious.” Elrond’s eyes open instantly. You jump in surprise while he blinks up at you with sleepy confusion that only makes things worse. “Did you just call me precious?” he asks carefully. You try very hard not to laugh. “Maybe.” “I am Lord of Rivendell.” “And currently very adorable.”

The deep sigh he lets out afterward is one of quiet resignation. Still, you notice the faint color rising along his cheeks as he removes his glasses and sets them aside with deliberate dignity. “This is not generally how I am described,” he informs you. “Well, everyone else is wrong.” Elrond gives you a look that is clearly meant to regain control of the conversation, but it fails completely when you smile at him with open fondness. Because that is the real problem: you do not look at him with reverence. You look at him gently. Like he is someone safe to love instead of someone ancient and distant. And Elrond, who has spent so long being wise and composed for everyone else, finds himself quietly unraveling under the warmth of it.

After that, it becomes almost unfair how easily you fluster him. You call him cute when he gets excited explaining ancient histories and starts gesturing with his hands. You call him adorable when he forgets where he left a book despite insisting he has an excellent memory. Once, after catching him carefully tending a small injury on your hand with absurd concentration, you smile so fondly he immediately becomes suspicious. “What?” he asks. “Nothing.” “You are thinking something.” “Just that you’re very sweet.” Elrond narrows his eyes slightly. “That expression is always followed by emotional devastation for me.” You burst into laughter while he tries unsuccessfully to remain stern. But eventually he reaches for your hand anyway, thumb brushing gently across your knuckles as his expression softens into something helplessly affectionate. “You have made me unbearably indulgent,” he murmurs. “Good,” you whisper back. “You deserve to be adored a little.” And the look he gives you afterward is so tender it nearly hurts.

y'all I powered through. don't say I never did anything for y'all

also don't yell at me for Elrond's gif I'm running out of options

[littlenephilim999uriel]

The Walls around you, Part 1

For over a year now the Havoc Marauder had been their home.

Not Kamino, with its endless rain and sterile white corridors that echoed with the sound of marching boots and distant machinery. Not the Republic that had crumbled almost overnight into something colder and crueler. Just this ship, patched together from constant repairs, carrying a handful of fugitives through a galaxy that no longer had a place for them.

She had adapted quicker than she expected.

The Batch made surviving strangely easy.

Hunter had accepted her presence almost immediately, trusting his instincts enough to know she would never betray them. Wrecker adored her within days and loudly declared anyone capable of beating him at dejarik deserved permanent residence aboard the Marauder. Echo appreciated having someone else around who understood structure and routine, while Tech eventually settled into long conversations with her during hyperspace jumps, discussing strategy, navigation, or whatever scientific topic happened to occupy his mind that day.

Crosshair however remained impassive.

Not cruel. Not openly distant in the way he had once been on Kamino before Order 66 shattered everything they knew. He protected her during missions without hesitation, covered her blind spots instinctively, and always seemed to notice when she was exhausted before anyone else did. When supplies ran low, a ration somehow always ended up beside her first. When danger appeared, he was already watching it before she sensed it through the Force.

But emotionally?

The man built walls faster than the Empire.

At first she assumed it was mistrust lingering from the early days after Kamino. Then annoyance. Then perhaps simply Crosshair being Crosshair — sharp-edged, solitary, difficult by nature.

But after a year of lingering looks, subtle tension, and the undeniable way his eyes always searched for her first in every room, she realized the truth was somehow even more frustrating.

Crosshair genuinely did not understand she was flirting with him.

Not when she deliberately sat beside him during long flights. Not when she touched his arm in passing or sought him out during missions for no reason other than wanting to be near him. Not when she consistently volunteered to accompany him on supply runs despite the fact he barely spoke half the time.

Either Crosshair was catastrophically oblivious… Or he simply could not fathom why someone would want him.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure which explanation irritated her more.

The idea for the blaster lessons came to her two nights earlier while cleaning her lightsaber alone in the cargo bay.

The weapon rested across her lap beneath the dim overhead lights, polished metal reflecting softly. Once, the saber had represented certainty. Duty. The Jedi Order.

Now it felt like a beacon waiting to expose her.

Every ignition carried risk. Every glimpse of the blade invited Imperial attention. Surviving as a Jedi no longer meant standing proudly in the open. It meant hiding.

She hated that.

Not the lightsaber itself. Never that.

But what it had become.

A blaster, however, was ordinary. Anonymous. Practical. At least that was the excuse she gave herself. The truth was considerably less noble.

She simply wanted an excuse to spend time alone with Crosshair.

The opportunity arrived the following afternoon.

Hunter and Echo had traveled into a nearby settlement for supplies while Tech disappeared into the cockpit with Omega to repair yet another issue with the ship’s systems. Wrecker had wandered off somewhere in search of something to do, leaving the clearing around the Marauder unusually quiet.

Crosshair sat outside beneath the fading sunlight, methodically cleaning his rifle as though the entire galaxy ceased to exist whenever he worked on it.

The jungle around them hummed softly with life. Warm air drifted lazily through the clearing, carrying the scent of damp earth and greenery. Crosshair appeared perfectly at ease within it despite the perpetual sharpness of his expression, one long leg stretched out beneath him while rifle components rested neatly atop a nearby crate.

She lingered at the base of the ship’s ramp for a moment before walking toward him.

“You ever do anything besides clean that thing?”

Without even glancing up, he answered immediately.

“You ever do anything besides complain?”

A smile tugged at her mouth despite herself.

“I need a favor.”

That finally earned his attention. Crosshair’s sharp gold brown eyes lifted toward her slowly, suspicion immediately settling across his face as though favors from her historically ended in disaster.

“Of course you do.”

“I want you to teach me how to shoot.”

For a moment he simply stared at her in complete silence and then one brow lifted slightly.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“You’re a Jedi.”

“A former Jedi.”

“You carry a lightsaber.”

“Not openly anymore.”

Crosshair leaned back a fraction, studying her carefully as though trying to determine whether this entire conversation was some elaborate joke.

“You’re telling me after years in a war you never learned how to use a blaster?”

She folded her arms defensively. “I know how to use one. Technically.”

“That sounds concerning.”

“It means I can hit a target eventually.”

A faint twitch touched the corner of his mouth, the closest she ever got to a smile from him.

“So not at all, then.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The amusement lingering in his eyes deepened slightly, subtle enough most people would have missed it entirely but she certainly didn’t.

Maker, she loved seeing that look on him. Rare. Fleeting. But real.

She stepped closer, lowering her voice dramatically. “Come on, Crosshair. Surely the galaxy’s greatest marksman can spare some wisdom for the helpless Jedi.”

“Sweet talking me won’t help.”

“But it does.”

His eyes narrowed immediately, though not with irritation.

For a brief second something shifted in his expression, something dangerously close to awareness before he abruptly looked away again.

“Fine,” he finally muttered as he rose smoothly to his feet, reaching for a smaller blaster resting beside the crate already starting to walk.

Meanwhile she grinned triumphantly before following him into the jungle.

The narrow trail twisted between enormous roots and dense undergrowth, beams of golden sunlight breaking through the canopy overhead. Crosshair walked ahead of her in silence, rifle slung easily across his shoulder as though it were merely another extension of himself.

The quiet between them today didn’t feel awkward this time.

That was the strange thing about Crosshair. Most people filled silence because they feared it. Crosshair used silence deliberately, like another weapon in his arsenal. Another layer of armor between himself and everyone else.

But she had learned how to read the spaces between his words.

The way he slowed his pace slightly whenever the terrain became uneven without drawing attention to it. The instinctive way he always positioned himself between her and potential danger. The subtle tilt of his head whenever she spoke, even when pretending not to listen.

He cared far more than he allowed himself to admit.

Eventually they reached a small clearing littered with broken crates and rusted scraps of metal left behind long ago.

Crosshair nudged one of the crates upright with his boot before motioning toward it.

“Targets.”

She accepted the blaster he handed her, testing the unfamiliar weight carefully in her grip.

It felt wrong compared to a lightsaber.

Heavier. Cruder. Disconnected from the Force humming quietly beneath her skin.

“Show me your stance,” Crosshair instructed.

Confidently, she raised the weapon and Crosshair- he looked genuinely offended.

“That’s terrible.”

She glanced at him innocently. “I’m trying.”

“You’re holding it like it insulted you personally.”

“It might have.”

With an exhausted sigh he stepped behind her before she could react.

Instantly she became aware of everything.

His body close behind her. The warmth radiating through the fabric. The faint scent of gun oil, smoke, and the jungle air clinging to him. His gloved hands settled firmly against her arms as he adjusted her posture with careful precision.

“Feet apart,” he instructed quietly near her ear. “Steady your balance.”

His voice had lowered yet he didn’t seem to notice it. How very Unfair of him.

And then her heartbeat stumbled traitorously against her ribs. Crosshair shifted her grip next, his fingers briefly covering hers around the blaster.

“Relax your shoulders.”

“That’s difficult currently.”

“I noticed.”

There it was again, that faint trace of amusement hidden beneath his dry tone.

She tilted her head slightly toward him. “You stand awfully close for someone who spends half the time avoiding me.”

His hands stilled for the briefest moment.

Around them the jungle noise suddenly felt distant, swallowed by the tension tightening silently between them.

Crosshair’s gaze flickered toward her profile, unreadable and sharp all at once.

“I don’t avoid you.”

“You absolutely do.”

“No,” he said quietly after a pause. “I avoid complications.”

Something about the honesty in his voice stole the breath from her lungs.

Slowly she turned within his hold until she could look at him somehow despite the awkward position.

“And I’m a complication?”

Crosshair met her gaze fully now, his expression unreadable beneath the fading sunlight filtering through the trees above them.

But his eyes… His eyes gave him away.

“You make it difficult to think.”

The words settled heavily between them and (y/n) genuinely forgot how to breathe for a second.

Because there it was at last.

After a year of tension, lingering glances, accidental touches, and emotional warfare disguised as banter finally proof.

Crosshair seemed to realize what he had admitted a second too late.

His jaw tightened almost immediately and he stepped back, restoring distance between them like a reflex.

“Focus on the target,” he said flatly, though his voice sounded noticeably rougher now.

She stared at him for a long moment before the slowest smile spread across her face.

This- this she could work with in the Future.

[00lunect]

Ta-da! (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧ So, my TMNT Bayverse fanfic is officially finished and published on AO3! If you've been reading it so far, I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for reading! Feel free to leave your comments or questions here or there; I'll always be checking. (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

Enjoy!involucrados en sus distintas versiones)

[where-dreamers-go]

General Armitage Hux Masterlist

A masterlist of all things Hux.

Last Updated: April 17, 2026

~~~

"Space And Interest" General Hux x Reader

- Reader is an officer of the First Order who hides away in General Hux’s office to get some distance away from Supreme Leader Kylo Ren.

"Useful Frustrations" General Hux x Reader

- Starkiller Base could have many frustrations for Reader, the cold and whatever passive aggressive conversation Ren and Hux were up to. Reader and Hux agree to work through their shared frustrations with intimate activities. I did my best to make this gender neutral. Smut.

. . .

~~~

[where-dreamers-go]

"Protective" Anakin Skywalker x Reader

(A/N: This ones for you @ladyxskywalker I hope you have a good night/day.

Warnings: slight angst and comfort. I WROTE THIS INSTEAD OF SLEEPING. Woo!

Word Count: 625 words)

~~~

Clawing and writhing, your conscious mind fought for a way out. Every turn had given another figure a chance to speak vile words. Each reaction you made caused more people to appear no matter how many times you left a room. Nothing felt right. Consequences came faster than you could think to get away. Too much to handle. Too many expectations. Too many details changing before you could get them right.

It's not true! No!

Heat enveloped your skin as your bedroom came into focus. Late city lights pierced through the gaps of the blinds covering the large windows. Your heartbeat thudded in your eardrums and your chest as breaths shook out of your laying form.

Hand over your heart, you processed your dreams in rapid succession. So vivid it made you question whether or not the people had truly shared such callous words to you.

True or not, the words still hurt. Deep in a way only your subconsciousness could succeed.

Just breathe. You're awake now. You inhaled deeply.

And you immediately felt like you jumped out of your skin as a cold hand touched your arm.

"Hey." A sleepy voice came from beside you. "It's me." He did not retract his hand.

You dropped your head back onto a pillow with a relieved and heavy sigh at the sight of Anakin Skywalker. His brown hair appeared disheveled even in the dim light. Even with low light, you could feel his focused gaze.

"Bad dream?" Anakin rubbed your arm with his mechanical one, resting on his right side. The coolness of the metal, though shocking at first, eased your skin from its current state of uncomfortable clamminess.

"Terrible dream. And long." You groaned and Anakin intertwined his golden fingers with your soft ones. "Everything I had to do was constantly changing and before I could think to walk out -- someone I knew had something to say." You kicked your feet under the bedsheets. "It felt so real and... Maybe... I don't know. Nothing anyone said was nice. It was as if everyone decided to tell me they have secretly seen me as a joke or someone to use."

"That's a nightmare."

"It lacked the screaming."

"Still a nightmare." He leaned closer and pressed a kiss into your hairline. "But it's over. None of what they told you was true or even real."

"I know, but... It has that lingering feeling."

"It didn't happen. It won't happen."

Anakin slid his right arm underneath your pillow and tucked his firm body against your own. A familiar touch you instinctively curled into without a thought. His lips made their home on your forehead as yours let out a slow measured breath.

Everything is all right.

His right hand came up to cradle the back of your head, keeping you close and protected.

None of that was real.

Your fingers splayed across Anakin's toned skin, both his chest and back. An anchor to the planet, your home, and your chosen life with the Force sensitive. Everything that was truly real and brought you incredible joy. Every breath he took could be felt by your own skin. Another reminder of where you truly were.

They won't treat me that way.

Closing your eyes became easier in your dear one's hold.

"I can't keep the nightmares away, but I'll be here. Nothing in this galaxy will hurt you. I promise." Anakin whispered his vow. Tenderly and without any rush, he caressed your cheek with his golden hand. "I will remain here all night -- like this. As long as you know that I love you and nightmares are lies. The truth is here." He tilted your face upwards and pressed his lips to yours firmly. "We are here. This is real."

~~~

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.)

☕ Coffee/Tip Jar

Best wishes and happy reading.

~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Star Wars Tags: @sweetheartliz07 @

~~~

Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, Ask, or message.​

[where-dreamers-go]

Current WIP: Jedi + period comfort

("I Need You. Period." Ezra Bridger x fem! Reader)

. . .

"Where did you find this?" You excitedly took the tub of ice cream from his hands. "You wonderful, beautiful person, you." "I have my ways." He settled next to you on the small mattress and handed you a spoon. "Jedi skills, rebel ways, or an Ezra thing?" Leaning back, he sent you a smile that could melt the dessert in your grasp. "An Ezra thing." He answered with an air of satisfied confidence.

. . .