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saradika · 1 year

Text

— if you send for me, you know I'll come

[series masterlist]

din djarin x f!reader

rated E - 4.5k

Tags: protective!neighbor!din, canon-typical violence, Nevarro is attacked, pirate invasion, death of pirates, angst, brief hostage situation, established relationship, outercourse, multiple orgasms, PiV

A/N: mini-sequel to only if for a night (but also can be read as a one-shot!) Spoilers for 03.05 - absolutely cheering over “I decided to take you up on your offer for a tract of land” and wanted to explore that

The blasts rain down. Turning parts of your beloved city into crumbling stone and smoking ash. A cry of distress sent to the New Republic. A whisper throughout the crowd saying that help isn't coming. That this time, Nevarro is on it's own.

But you're sure of one thing. Hang onto that hope like a lifeline, as you send out a small message of you own.

Knowing that Din Djarin will come for you.

That he will find a way.

The Corsair hangs heavy, overhead.

Appearing suddenly, a dark splash against the sunny, blue skies. A weight in your limbs, an uneasiness creeping up your spine as the hail comes in.

Stuck frozen in place, as you watch the face of the Pirate King - Gorian Shard - appear on the holo. Filling the room with his dripping visage.

Ushered quickly off to the side, as the two engineers make a hasty exit - though you don't remember moving. Listening to the sharp back-and-forth.

“Believe your ears then, and don't mistake my hospitality for weakness."

“The Spinward patrol passes through here regularly."

Karga holds his ground against the threats that fire down. Shard coming back for his revenge, for the pirates killed in the streets of Nevarro all those weeks before.

A day you remember well. The day he had come back into your life.

And for a second you feel safe - until you see that confident veneer chip. That hesitance in Karga's voice, in his words, as Shard calls his bluff.

The blasts that start to rain down, after.

That uneasiness morphing into pure dread. A matching fear that flashes in both your eyes, as the call ends, and the droid enters the room.

"High Magistrate, the escape pod is ready." It chirps. Voice friendly, in spite of the dire situation, "I will lead you to the launch site."

"I won't abandon my city," Karga shakes his head, turning your way, "You take it. Get to safety."

And in spite of your complaints before - those told in confidence to Din, about how your boss was too much, too extravagant, too Karga - you can't bear it. Not when you see how he puts the people first, instead of running.

You shake your own head. Words coming shakily, but you mean every one, "I'm with you. What can I do?"

"We have to get the people to safety. Send out a directive immediately." He barks out, and you're nodding. The command giving you something to do - unsticking your feet.

Raising the alarm.

Following him into the streets.

———

Your fingers key in the codes for the message - the cry for help. The recording Karga quickly made in his office after the evacuation had begin - his one shot before the building began to shake with the force of the blasts.

A message for Captain Teva, of the New Republic.

You had wanted to protest. Had tried to - arguing that there were others that could help.

"He's one man. He might not even come." Karga had snapped back. His patience thin - each second that passed meant another part of the city crumbled, "We'll have a better shot at surviving this if we reach out to someone with numbers."

You flinched at his tone, at the insinuation. The words from the message replaying in your head.

"The situation is dire."

"I'm afraid that our planet will fall."

His voice softened when he saw your expression, "We don't have time for another message. Send it."

Part of you had wanted to argue.

That Din would come, for you. If he knew you were in danger.

He'd save all of you.

He'd find a way.

Instead, you bit the words back. Focusing on the comm code that Karga had rattled off. The crushing bands still wrapped tightly around your chest as the message is sent, firing off with a sharp click.

Sending your own after, with a small wish - breathed out into the stars. These numbers long-since memorized, fingers flying over the keys. The briefest of messages, but you hope he'll understand.

Din. It’s the Pirates. If you get this, we could really use your help.

Please.

There's the boom of another blast, the floor rattling beneath your feet.

And then, you're running.

Retreating to the lava flats, with the rest of the city.

———

Dirt clings to your tunic. Clay dusting your side, your shoulder - from when you shielded a neighbor from a blast, tugging them down the alley.

No time to do anything more than get out. Following the waves out people out of the city limits. Watching as months and years of growth and progress and green crumble. Sending you into the wastes, once more.

Feet aching by the time you stop - shivering now, in the evening chill. The dark sky above illuminated with the golden and red flickering of a fire, tearing through the western edge of town. Sending up billowing smoke, blocking out the stars.

A grief that surrounds you, in the dark. A selfish ache in the way that you mourn for you home. The happiness you had built. Promising to look after his, after that night you spent together.

Having to face that you weren't able to. That there might be nothing left.

The thought follows you, seeping into your bones. Weighing you down, as you huddle in small groups. Fires dotting the lava flats, flickering in the wind. Shifting against the ground as you try to get comfortable - finding it near impossible.

Drifting off, when your eyes get too heavy to stay open. Even with the ridges of rock digging into your side, an arm tucked under your head.

You call to him in your sleep. Drifting off to the memories, on repeat for comfort. Replaying the messages you've exchanged, since he left.

Hoping you'll get the chance to see him. Even if it's just one last time.

Even if it's just in your dreams.

———

The Corsair lingers. Pirates deployed in waves, pillaging and looting. Those who stayed inside, those who refused to leave, were at their mercy. Turned into captives or pushed around. Forced to smile and serve food and drink as a blaster points at their guts.

Not daring to refuse.

There's not enough weapons left among you to fight back. Not thinking to arm yourself - all thought focused on getting out. Leaving you vulnerable - stranded on the dark field of igneous rock.

There's whispers of surrender. Looks thrown Karga's way, as he stands firm.

Still a beacon, in spite of the hardship.

But you stay firm, as well. You know hope will come.

You believe in him.

The hours pass and the pit in your stomach grows. A man breaks away, a hurried plan to sneak into the town. To try to gather those inside, to see if he can grab weapons.

He doesn't come back.

Instead of gunfire there's shouting now. Harsh laughter that filters through the whipping wind. Trails of smoke still rising up to the sky, where the ship still hangs - waiting.

Waiting for Karga's hail of surrender.

Waiting for the city to fall.

———

A cry breaks through the stilted silence. Everyone muted with worry - no longer speculating.

The pointing of fingers, as something streaks against the sky.

A glint of silver, shining like Beskar.

You know that ship. Have seen it, in the space between your house and his.

A leaping in your heart and a wetness on your cheeks that you don't even realize - as your shouts are among the first to rise.

Cheering, for the help that has come.

Watching as a larger ship joins his - as it opens, spilling figures with jetpacks into the air.

Karga smiles, as he meets your eyes. Relief in them, as he raises his comm.

"Thanks for your help, Mando." There's fondness in his tone.

You can't stop grinning, as the voice you know so well crackles back, "Heard you might need a hand."

"Be careful, my friend." He smiles, before growing serious, "They've got you outnumbered ten to one."

There's an edge to Din's voice then, the words low and smooth, “I like those odds."

Karga chuckles, reminiscing, "I bet you do."

There's a beat of silence, and then a final request.

“Karga. Keep her safe, for me."

His eyes find yours. Knowing who Din means - your heart flipping at the words.

A knowing smile, as he answers.

"You know I will."

The comm clicks off, but the heat that rises in your chest and face lingers. Hiding the smile as your face turns towards the sun.

Watching with the others as the two ships dart around in the sky. The sounds of blasters layering over each other from within the city.

The bright flash of red and gold as a hit is landed on the Corsair, the handful of snubfighters in the sky quickly dwindling.

Whispers of hope race through the groups of people around you. Steps as they start to head towards the city, as the pirates are picked off.

A groan, as the turrets above shift. A spray landing a kilometer away, but each round moving closer. Spending up dirt and rock and the dread is flooding though you again as it quickly approaches.

“They’re targeting us!” A cry goes up, as that bit of hope wavers.

The groups scattering, splitting apart as they back up.

Your eyes stay on the sky. Watching as the two smaller ships team up - and fire.

The blaze of fire and smoke as the Corsair tilts, and then plummets. An achingly slow descent, as the front tips down, colliding loudly with the rocky ground. Crumpling into broken metal, and the explosion that fills the sky is so bright that it hurts your eyes.

The Pirate King, defeated.

The cries around you change. Fear turning swiftly into joy. Voices blending and mixing until it’s just a drawn out, repeated chant.

“It's gonna be okay!”

———

You’re among the first to breach the far border of the city. The remaining pirates gathered in surrender, weapons thrown upon the ground.

The Mandalorians chasing them from the bowels of the city, intent on seeing things through.

But not everyone among the remaining decide to go so easily. Something moves at the corner of your vision, as you pass by the crumbling house.

Something tall and broad - turning just in time to see the mottled yellow skin of the Quarren as he lunges your way.

Fingers twist around you, hard and cold. Your breath in your throat as the barrel presses against your chin - using you like a human shield.

Another pair, their skin in matching shades of crimson, grab the older woman and the young man next to you. Mimicking their leader, guns clicking in their hands.

A forced negotiation.

Ice creeps into your veins - fearing that this is the end, when you were so close to salvation. Eyes wide as you look towards Din.

How he turns at the gasp that skitters through the crowd. The briefest second - when he sees you.

The twitch of his hand, as he stalks forward. A blaster raised so quickly you can barely blink before something hot and bright is shooting past your cheek.

Downing the pirate that’s holding you captive with a single shot.

Whistling birds from the Mandalorian at his side taking out the other two in an instant.

You’re in his arms a moment later. The beskar cool against your cheek as he pulls you to him. Crushing you against his chest, before he’s pulling back.

The swivel of his helmet as he looks - paying an abandoned storefront just off to the side. Hauling you with him as the Mandalorians round up the rest of the Pirates, as they finally surrender.

You can feel the few eyes that follow you - the weight of their gaze. But in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care.

He’s ripping the gloves off - bare hands coming to cup your face the moment you’re inside. As if unable to help touching you himself, not wanting any layers as he tilts your face up to his so he can see you.

A slow drift of his helmet as he checks you over.

“Are you hurt?” Din rasps, “Are you alright, cyar’ika?”

The meaning of that word is still unknown, but there’s such an affection in the way he says it. Carefully, earnestly, and it has you nodding.

“I’m fine.” You croak, your hand coming to rest on his. Pressing it against your cheek, leaning into it.

Some of the stiffness in his posture wanes. Your back pressing against the wall as he crowds you, as relief crashes through him.

Staring up at him - feeling the rush of emotion. Making your words soft, no more than a whisper.

“You came.”

His own voice rough, “Of course I did. I always will.”

You smile then, at that.

Sweet and soft, just for him.

“I knew you would. I just knew.”

At your words - the adoring look you give him - his hand is raising. Traveling to his helmet. Lifting the edge, where you can just see the briefest glimpse of tan skin, the scruff of his beard.

Before your eyes are snapping shut, and his lips are pressing to yours.

And oh, how you remember them.

Your fingers curling in his cowl as you cling to him. The moan sliding from your throat as he leans into you, his other hand gripping almost painfully at your waist.

Desperate.

That’s how you feel. Like you can’t get enough, as you curve yourself against his chest. Lips parting when his tongue brushes against the seam, letting him deepen it.

Leaving you panting and breathless when he finally pulls back. Fingers searching for more, tangling in the belt around his waist as his hips rock against yours.

“You’re safe now.”

You hum in distracted agreement, something much more welcome than panic thrumming in your veins.

He’s there with you, hand roaming - fingers dipping under the hem of your tunic. Bunching it up until he can brush the bare skin at your waist. A thigh nudging between yours, your own face reflected back in the shining visor.

Eyes half-lidden, with kiss-swollen lips.

“Din.” You whine, and he groans.

Hips rolling slowly against yours, just as the sound of his name echos.

Lower, this time. Modulated, like his.

The fingers slide from your shirt, but he stays close - twisting so he’s half-blocking you from sight.

From the sight of the Mandalorian that fills the doorway - tall and broad in his painted, blue armor. A cock of his head, as his arms cross over a thick chest.

“You did not tell us you took a riduur during your stay,” Amusement tinging his words, even through the helmet, “No wonder you were in such a rush to return.”

Another word to figure out - as Din’s posture stiffens, shifting closer to you. His hands on the wall, keeping you tucked carefully between them.

“What do you want?” He asks, not bothering to hide his own annoyance.

“Your friend, the Grand Magistrate, is requesting our presence.” There’s the low rumble of a laugh, “Or should I tell him you’re too busy?”

“We’ll be right there, Vizsla.”

It’s a dismissal, and the other Mandalorian takes it. Leaving the two of alone for a moment to make some swift adjustments.

The heat lingering in your cheeks, at getting caught. Grateful that the visitor wasn’t a few minutes later - certain that sight would have been a lot more than he bargained for.

A gloved hand is wrapped in yours, as you head back into the light.

Where Karga is waiting, ready to thank them. A generous gift offered - the land from the western lava flats to Bulloch Canyon, ceded to the Mandalorians.

His smile bright, as he tells them, “You may no longer have a home planet, but you do now have a home.”

———

That edge is tempered, now that Din knows you’re alright. But there’s a part that still lingers as he’s surrounded by his kin, his words clipped and short.

Stuck helping with negotiations - getting the ships moved to the landing pads, instead of hastily exited.

Unhappily separated, as you’re pulled into your own work. The city littered with debris and broken buildings. Bodies and smoldering fires.

Better to stay outside for one more night - to begin together, at dawn.

The best warriors sent in just to grab supplies. Coming back with materials to set up small camps, tents.

You work on your own, cozy enough for two. Not needing much more space, after hearing that Grogu would be staying safe with the other foundlings. Finding a spot to the edge of the camp of the Mandalorians, hoping Din will be able to find you.

Exhaustion tugging at you as you curl in the bedding, determined to wait up for him. That dull thrumming persisting between your thighs, even now.

Anticipating his return.

But the soft glow that the fire casts on the canvas starts to tug you under. Hazy with sleep when his voice finally comes, the sky an inky indigo above.

The soft call of your name.

A body lowering next to yours. Curling behind you, and you’re so relieved and content that you don’t mind the cold bite of the beskar against the thin fabric of your top.

A stiffness lingers in the way he holds you. As you’re unable to help arching back, his breath crackling harshly through the vocoder as your ass presses against him.

An arm, wrapping around you - his hand splaying across your stomach when you do it again. The thrust of his hips as he meets you this time, grinding himself against you.

“I need you.”

His words - low and rough - make you clench.

Rocking against him with more intent, as his bare hands begin to roam, like before. Rucking up your shirt so he can touch bare skin.

“I thought I would be too late.”

He can say it now, when it’s dark.

When it’s just the two of you.

Those worries finally breaking through the armor, spilling out from the cracks. Extracted, by the feeling of your body against his.

Letting himself breath for the first time in hours. An urge to feel every inch of you, to make sure you are truly okay. Wanting to make you forget, with the only way he knows how.

“You have me.” You tell him, catching his hand - dragging it up to your mouth. Pressing a kiss against the calloused knuckles, fingers warm in yours, “I believed in you.”

It feels silly now, that you ever doubted. Even for the brief second.

His groan is low, the edge of the helmet biting into your shoulder. Hand pulling free so he can grasp at the edge of your leggings - your hips rising so he can push them down.

Leaving them twisted around your thighs as his hand follows, dipping between them. Cupping you, where you’re molten. Aching, from that moment when he kissed you - replaying it over and over in the tent while you waited.

The tips of his fingers finding where you’re slick - rubbing tight circles, like he did in the springs. Each pass sends a little jolt down your spine, a flicker of pleasure in your brain.

Your breath short and sharp as you flex into his touch - a low whine when he pulls away to free himself. Feeling the heavy, velvety curve as it nudges against your ass. Damp fingers smearing your slick across a thigh as he lifts it.

Fitting his length between them, pressing it snug against your wet pussy. Petting at your clit again, as he thrusts.

Fingers focused - no teasing tonight. Gliding over the senstive bud as he grinds against you, fucking your thighs with his swollen cock. The ridge pressing against your folds as his hips roll, adding to your mounting pleasure.

Each pass brings you higher.

Each slide of his hips coming easier, as your arousal slicks up his cock. Dragging against you - making you want to just tilt your hips, so during the next pass, he’ll nudge inside.

Instead, your fingers drift beneath your shirt. Teasing your breast as the other hand makes a fist around the tip of his cock, a gentle pressure when his hips press flush against yours.

His groan joins yours, his pace stuttering.

That low voice coming out ragged, as your thighs tighten around him, “Come on my fingers, and you can have it.”

It has you clenching around nothing, a jerk of your hips into his touch.

“Please,” you moan, the familiar heat pooling in your belly. Winding with each swipe, as he presses just a little bit harder.

“Know you can,” He breathes, “Know you’re close.”

And you are - muscles tight as your focus narrows down to just his fingers. The heavy drag of his cock, so wet as it drags across sensitive skin.

The arm he has tucked under his head shoves beneath you, pressing between your breasts as he holds you tightly against him.

His breath ragged, loud through his helmet - only adding to the sensations that flood you. You own breath trapped in your chest, as everything strings tight.

Each gasping “oh” sending you higher. So close that your eyes screw shut - and when his cock catches against your entrance again, your fingers move.

A hitch of your hips as you guide the tip inside - Din’s moan filthy in your ear.

You come, as he’s pressing into you. Each shallow snap of his hips sinks him deeper, giving you something to clench around as you cry out his name.

A low groan that sounds close to a snarl, as he feels you. Hears your voice break on his name, pride flooding through him.

Not caring that someone else might hear.

Not this time.

Not when you’re pulsing around him, hot and wet and warm. Stiff in his arms as the spark flickers down your limbs, as you senselessly grind back against him.

Riding out the waves - until the fire that floods through you cools down to an ember, warm and low in your belly.

He pulls back, then - your moan pitiful as he leaves you empty. Urging you onto your stomach, as his weight presses against your back.

A sloppy thrust of his hips sends his cock against the curve of your ass, your thighs, before he finds you again.

Entering you with a long, slow thrust - punching the air from your lungs. His chest pressed against your back, braced on his forearms as his shoulder curl around yours.

Helmet biting into your shoulder as he pulls half-out, only to bury himself again.

“Fuck, mesh’la,” He groans, the words drawn out. You can only moan in response, as he splits you open, “So fucking perfect. My sweet girl.”

It’s needy, desperate. Clothes pushed to the side as needed, your legs pressed between his knees. His armor solid when it presses against you, the tent filling with the creak of the leather straps, the smack of skin on skin as he fills you.

Laid out, underneath him, fingers curling into the blankets as he pulls each soft sound from you.

Your thighs still bound by your leggings, making him feel even bigger, deeper, than last time. A little wiggle of your hips as you try to meet his thrusts, moaning against the bedding.

Half-finding your voice, panting the words out, “Feels so good. Gods, I missed you-“

His response a rough hum of agreement - nearly past words with his need. Managing a gritted out, “missed you, too” as his hips snap against yours.

Grinding himself deep, his cock dragging against your walls. Bumping that spongey spot that makes you see stars, over and over.

Until you can’t resist - until you’re shoving an arm between your stomach and the bedding. Reaching desperately between your thighs.

Fingers touching down on soaked skin, splitting around where he’s buried in you. Feeling the slide of his shaft, as his weight presses into just a little more.

It’s bliss, as your fingertips circle your clit. The heavy weight of him - the deep, pounding thrusts.

Din’s voice, so low in your ear. An edge that drives you wild, “I’m, fuck-”

He shifts, just barely slowing, “Want you to come with me. Can you do that?”

If he keeps it up, you know you can. Sending his cock against that spot, paired with the stroke of your fingers.

“Yes,” You manage, “So close-”

His reply is groaned out, a tremor in the way he holds himself. Losing that steady rhythm as your hips tilt, as he sinks just a tiny bit deeper. Listening to the way your breath changes - faster, higher.

Until his arm is shifting, the twist of his wrist as he reaches for your free one. Fingers entwining in yours, as your own vision starts to go hazy.

“Cyare, I can’t-” The words sound frustrated, but he can stop the rutting of his hips - so close to his own release. Trying to draw it out for you. Unable to hold back, as he feels you spread out beneath him.

“Wanna feel you,” You beg him, “Please, Din-”

Fingers circling quickly, feeling yourself tighten up again. His thrusts rough now, breath loud as he falls to the sound of your begging.

A pretty, drawn-out groan as he presses himself deep. Your name, mixed in with his breath as his cock throbs. Shallow thrusts with each pulse that ripples through him, as he empties himself.

It sends you over. Full of him as you come, milking him dry as your thighs clench. Shattering with white-hot pleasure, as he holds you - everything else seeming to fade, to grow soft and hazy.

Taking you a second to realize the strangled moans are yours, mixing with his soft, soothing praises.

Staying pressed together until your breathing returns to normal. Until he’s carefully sliding from you, and you’re doing your best to clean up, dripping and sticky with him.

Finding each other again after, in the darkness of the tent. Not wanting to be apart - not after today.

It feels like a weight been carved out of you. Leaving you hollow, in the darkness. Pressed up against him, though for the first time in days - you can breathe.

A comfort in the tents that surround you. The warmth of the fires, the city now silent.

“I don’t know what waits for us inside.” Your words are whispered out into the night. Guilt still gnaws at you, as you remember your promise, “I am so sorry that I couldn’t protect our home.”

“You did the right thing. That man’s cruelty is not your fault.” A palm strokes down your arm, your cheek pressed against his bare chest. Feeling the rumble of his words as they comfort you.

“If anything, it is mine.”

It has your head tilting up, chin pressing into this skin. Frowning, as you repeat his words back to him, “His cruelty is not your fault either. I heard what Karga said. They shot first. They chose to return.”

He makes a sound of uncertainty, as silence settles. A long moment passing, before you’re unable to help asking. Clarifying.

"Are you really going to stay, this time?"

The hand moves to your back then, pulling you closer. Tucking you further against him, until your nose is brushing the warm skin of his neck. Filling your senses with him - his voice, the warm, familiar scent of leather and metal and him.

"Yes, cyare." He soothes, "We'll stay. And if anything has happened to our home… we'll rebuild."

And you can hear the smile in his voice then, the word home. Because it was before, and it still is, now.

A finality in the way he says it. His own comfort in knowing that you're safe. In knowing that his culture will flourish here - that the children of the covert will feel what it is to play in the sunlight, once again.

“Together."

But if you send for me, you know I'll come

And if you call for me, you know I'll run

I'll run to you, I'll run to you

I'll run, run, run

(Mando’a: mesh’la - beautiful / cyare & cyar’ika - sweetheart / riduur - spouse)

#gif by the lovely salome-c!#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #mando s3 spoilers

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cowgurrrl · 1 year

Text

She’s A Gun

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author’s note: *John Mulaney voice* My wife is a bitch and I love her SO much (gif by @salome-c) I also didn’t know how to end this so sorry

Summary: Somebody didn’t give the new guy a heads up about talking about Joel Miller’s family [1.6k]

Warnings: idiots in love, a quick mention of a queer slur, I can’t think of anything else!!

You catch him looking at you across the room as you sip some new whiskey Tommy traded for. He looks young and fresh-faced without many scars or littering the surface of his skin. His eyes are bright when they meet yours, and you give him a polite smile before returning to your drink. Unsurprisingly, he bellies up to the bar a few minutes later. You glance at the door, and the man follows your gaze.

"You meeting someone?" He asks. The bartender, a kind man named Nick, flashes you a look, but you wave him off, turning to the younger man, who is dead set on making his presence known.

"You must be new." You say, and he laughs as he holds out his hand.

"You got me. I'm Luke," He says. You meet him halfway and shake his hand, giving him your name. "Where are you from?"

"I came here from Boston."

"You're a long way from home. What brought you here?"

"Long story."

"Is it longer than the time it would take to get you another drink?"

"I can get my own drink, but thank you."

"'Course," he says but doesn't move from his place next to you. "What do you do here in Jackson?" He asks, and you open your mouth to say something, but he cuts you off. "Let me guess. School teacher. No, a nurse."

"I work patrols, but good guess."

"Oh, I'm going to work patrols, too. I actually just signed up for my first shift tomorrow. Speaking of which, do you know anything about this guy… Miller, I think, is his name. I heard he's a hard ass."

"Joel or Tommy?"

"There's multiple?" He asks, and you smirk as you sip your drink.

"There's a few of 'em hanging around, yeah. What did they say? Maybe I can," you shrug and try to hide the amusement in your voice. "Help you figure it out."

"Well, this guy, Seth, said Miller shouldn't even be in Jackson. Something about him killing people to get by before coming here, but he gets to stay because he's buddies with Maria. Apparently, he's a hell of a shot, though. I heard a rumor that he once shot an Infected from a mile away, but I'll believe it when I see it." He says, and you nod.

You remember that day well. Tommy had been bragging about his marksmanship, mostly telling big fish stories, and you finally got sick of it. Joel told you to leave it, but you had to see. When you went on patrol the next day, you and Tommy had a competition to see how far he could actually shoot. You passed the gun back and forth to see who could hit accurately and how far. You were the one holding the gun when the Infected bound his way up the hill and quickly went down as the bullet buried in his skull. You didn't think that story would've made the rounds, though.

"What else did Seth say?" You ask, and he puffs his cheeks out as he shakes his head.

"He told me to stay away from him. Something about not fucking with people like that because he's ruthless, especially when it comes to his kid. He said Miller yelled at him last week because he said something to her. Just... totally lost his mind like a crazy person." It wasn't just something. He called my daughter a dyke, you think to yourself. Joel may have pushed him and made him leave, but you threatened to ruin his fucking life. If you ever hear him say something like that to Ellie again, you'll make Joel look like the poster child for forgiveness. You bite the inside of your cheek and save that information for later.

Seth wasn't warning Luke about Joel. He was warning him about you.

"And you're sure he was talking about a man?"

"Pretty sure. I mean, I know people do lots of shitty things to stay alive, but I can't imagine a woman instilling that much fear in a man like Seth," He says, and you hum. "No offense."

"None taken." You smile and watch his guard come down just enough for him to feel comfortable reaching for your arm.

"I wish I had known they let women as beautiful as you out on patrol. I would've signed up with you instead of Miller." He says, and you almost gag. Joel's hand skims your lower back almost as if on cue, and you turn to face him. He kisses you a second too long before looking over your shoulder to face the stranger who looks embarrassed. His arm wraps protectively around your middle, and he's close enough that you can smell his shampoo over the bar’s stench of stale beer.

"Great timing. This is Luke. He's starting patrols tomorrow," You say. Joel reaches across the space to shake his hand, and Luke winces at his too-tight grip. "Luke, this is my husband, Joel Miller," you wish you had a camera to take a picture of the stunned look on his face when he hears the last name. "Joel, we were just talking about the last time I was on patrol with Tommy."

"You're Miller?" Luke asks, suddenly looking pale. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh, I thought I mentioned it. I'm sorry, I'm probably losing my mind." You echo Seth's words and smack yourself on the forehead dramatically. Luke drains his drink before glancing around the room.

"It was great to meet you, man. Um, I'm gonna run to the bathroom really fast." He says and takes several steps away from the bar.

"Oh, so soon? I was hoping you and Joel could talk about routes."

"Maybe later." He says, and with that, he's gone. You smile and turn in Joel's arms to face him.

"Jesus, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. What did you say to him?"

"Seth was warning him about the mercenary who's buddies with Maria and shot an Infected from a mile away, asked if I knew anything about the guy."

"Seth should learn to keep his fuckin' mouth shut." He grumbles, and you nod.

"It didn't help his case that he tried flirting with me. Even asked if I was a school teacher." You say, and he gives you a look. His warm fingers reach under your shirt collar to pull out the chain with your wedding band on it.

"Maybe if you actually wore this, that wouldn't happen so often."

"C'mon, everybody knows I'm yours. It's not my fault no one gave him the run down," you say, and he tugs on the chain to kiss you, his big hands moving to hold your jaw. He swallows your gasp when he licks into your mouth, sending a zing of electricity down your spine. He's a touch too handsy for a public space, but you're not complaining. "I don't see you wearing yours out on patrol either." You say, pulling away before he can start something he can't finish, at least not in public. Still, his hand slips into your back pocket, squeezing your ass through the denim.

"Don't want to lose a finger. Besides, everybody knows I'm yours," he parrots, and you smile. A familiar, old country song plays over the speakers, and Joel lights up at the first few chords. "Will you dance with me?" He asks, pressing light kisses to your jaw to butter you up. You lock your arms around his shoulders and let yourself forget about everyone else in the bar.

"And to think there was a time when you hated PDA."

"That was before someone tried hittin' on my wife," he says, and you feel like your face will get stuck from smiling so much. It's been three months since the small backyard wedding officiated by Tommy and Maria. Ellie walked you down the aisle— more of a patch of grass than anything else— and acted as your maid of honor. When Tommy asked if she agreed to give you to Joel, she said, "it's not like she's fucking property, but sure." She beamed so brightly when she realized you each included her in your vows, promising to love and protect her as much as you love and protect each other. It wasn't planned, but the unexpected matching further proved that you three are a family. Still, you don't know if you'll ever get used to hearing Joel call you his wife. "Dance with me, please." He pouts into your neck, and you finally give in, grabbing his hand and leading him to the dance floor.

He pulls you close, and you bury your face in his neck as you slowly dance to Tanya Tucker's voice. He sings along for only you to hear, his accent getting stronger as he does. You could stay like this forever, wrapped up in him and listening to him sing the same song you used to sing along to while driving on backroads. You would marry him again if you could. You think you would marry him in every lifetime.

Scary rumors of mercenaries and blood on your hands fade from your mind. To men like Seth and Luke, you are a subversion of their holy mother. You are bloody and broken, a monster beyond saving. You are a warzone with a heartbeat.

But to Joel, you are the most sacred thing he's ever held. It's not enough to erase the rumors and nightmares about you, but it's enough to knock the wind out of you and make you love your husband that much more. That has to count for something.

🍓

Tag list: @evyiione

#joel and ellie #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff #i wrote this for me but you can read it too i guess

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linnienin · 11 months

Text

🌛A s t e r o i d ⁕ S a l o m è🌜 ( 5 6 2 ) and the Dance of the Seven Veils

~~~~~~~~~~~ Y o u r ⁕ e n c h a n t i n g ⁕ e n e r g y ~~~~~~~~~~~

An astro walkthrough post following Salomè's steps in the Dance of the Seven Veils through the lens of the Seven Deadly Sins.

⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕⁓⁕

The gifs in this post (excluded the last one) were created by me and are from the movie "Salomè" (1953) with Rita Hayworth

"Look at the moon! How strange the moon seems! She is like a woman rising from the tomb. She is like a dead woman. You would fancy she was looking for dead things."

"Salomè", Oscar Wilde

W h o ⁕ i s ⁕ S a l o m è (quick summary of her story):

⁕ Salomè, the princess of Judaea, falls in love with the prophet John The Baptist (i'll refer to him as 'the prophet' to avoid repeating his name too much) and orders to free him from the prison he was held in (for condemning the marriage of Salome's parents, King Herod and his wife Herodias as unlawful)

⁕ The prophet rejects her, but she assures him she will kiss his mouth sooner or later, no matter what.

⁕ Salome's mother in the meantime convinces her daughter to view the prophet as an evil person that deserves to die (alimenting her fresh feeling from the rejection)

⁕ When Salomè is asked by her stepfather king Herod (who lusts over her) to dance she agrees only if she can asks anything in return.

⁕ Once the dance's over, Salomè requests the decapitated head of John the Baptist on a silver plate.

⁕ To the horror of all the partecipants, she finally kisses the mouth of the prophet consumed by her lustful desires.

⁕ King Herod, sickened and shocked, orders her execution.

(this is the William Shakespeare opera version based on the biblical one)

M y ⁕ i n t e r p r e t a t i o n :

In a birth chart Asteroid Salomè represents:

⁕ Your enchanting power

⁕ How people target your naivety to use your talent

⁕ The extremes you're ready to face in order to get what you want.

⁕ What you want but can't have

⁕ What desires consumes you

I also want to make a quick clarification between asteroid Salomè and Sirene because both are seducing and mesmerizing energies, but imo: Sirene : conscious type of seduction, aim for what they want, in control of their actions , calculated Salomè: unconscious type of seduction, influenced by others in their choices, controlled by their desires, not in control of themselves

P o s t ⁕ g u i d e:

I'll go through the steps of the whole Dance and make them into little sections:

⁕ Every section is about one of the Seven Deadly Sins ⁕ Within every section there will be interpretations of different Salomè signs/degrees, depending on which Sins they fall into (in my personal opinion)

Disclaimer: every single sign could fall into every single sin since they're all part of human nature, but one would always prevail on others imo, and this is just my personal take on them.

Enjoy ✨

1 s t ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : P R I D E

⁕ Leo Salomè/Salomè at 5°-17°-29° : You enchant with your confidence and talent. Your creativity allows you to shine from within and make a strong impression on people.

⁕ You draw attention to yourself easily, and others envy this, so they target your individuality to trigger the worst out of you. They want to robb you of your 'Main character' type of energy, using your exposition and will to take up space, to their own interest. They feed your ego only to break your mirror into several pieces later, leaving you not recognizing yourself anymore. You'll find yourself becoming riddiculous just to gain that attention again, blending with the masses for validation, but feeling extremely guilty and shameful about it. This is how they trigger your pride. ⁕ You have a great desire to be able to show yourself without getting judged. You want to dive deep into your creative mind and feel accepted and appreciated for your dramatic and showy persona. When people don't understand your needs, you can get arrogant, narcissistic and selfish .

⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓⁓

⁕ Aquarius Salomè/Salomè at 11°-23°: You enchant with your uniqueness and innovation. Your mindblowing perspectives draws people in and out of curiosity, and you release them with more confusion and even more questions, to trap them in getting back to you.

⁕ You know this is your strategy to create multiple connections and dodge your way to the top, but envious people want to stop you from climbing up that ladder. They'll use you and your network for their own interests, but turning their back to you once they get what they want. This is how they trigger your pride. ⁕ When no one truly deeply understand you, your different view and quirky personality, you start to doubt your identity, facing the negative effects of feeling like the black sheep. You lose the courage to stand up for yourself as you isolate from the world with no track of time and completely dissociating from reality. You become inexistent, cause you won't merge with the masses. A great desire to instill change and put reality in discussion burns in you, but if people keep overlooking your ideas, you just explode and can become rebellious, distant and unpredictable.

2 n d ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : G R E E D

⁕ Capricorn Salomè/Salomè at 10°-22° : You enchant with your loyalty and perseverance. Your disciplined and committed persona inspire people, but they also get envious of all the accomplishments you've achieved with such resiliency.

⁕ You view life simply and clearly, this is what allows you to be so precise with no hesitation when making important choices. And because this is such a rare quality, people want to robb you of it and use it for themselves and their interests. However, you base your self worth on materialism and achievements and when people don't validate them, you only want to get more to prove yourself. This is how others target your weeknesses and trigger your greed. ⁕ They show you the best of everything to make you feel inferior and in consequence wanting it all. But the truth is you don't need it all to feel complete within. You have a great desire to feel the best and most powerful of all, but because you attach your emotions to the outside and not accept them inside of you out of fear of showing your vulnerabilities, you are therefore not in tune with yourself and you are controlled by the world. You want to become the best version of yourself, but if you don't truly accept your imperfections, you can get dissatisfied, demanding and cold with no way of enjoying life like you envisioned you'd have.

3 r d ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : L U S T

⁕ Scorpio Salomè/Salomè at 8°-20° : You enchant with your mystery and intensity. Your enigmatic and independent spirit makes you an extremely interesting character everyone wants to get to know.

⁕ You attract unwanted attention, and you are the center topic of everyone's gossipy chitchat. You are people's dream, and everyone envy your subtle popularity, they all want to get a little sip of you. People view you as a prize they want to conquer to make themselves appear bigger. You have a great desire to form deep and meaningful connections, so you give a chance to others in exploring your hidden and vulnerable side, but all they do is take advantage of your thoughtfulness to feed their curiosity and ego, and once they get what they want, they only come back to you when they need a little refresh. This is how they trigger your lust. ⁕ You hide your emotional side because of past wounds, but your intense feelings still need an outlet or else they'd consume you. You need someone that cherish and care for your complexity and is willing to explore the dark without judgements otherwise you'll become insatiable, unfulfilled and uncontrollable, confusing the real profund emotional depth with a toxic emotionless bond based on superficial desires.

4 t h ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : E N V Y

⁕ Virgo Salomè/Salomè at 6°-18° : You enchant with your skills and intelligence. Your analytical mind and organized approach give you the ability to grasp details and process them in an incredible clear and systematic way.

⁕ People envy your critical thinking and your kind, hardworking nature, so they take advantage of your modesty to use your talents for their interests. You take pride in giving yourself to others to help them out, but when this gets to an extreme and hinders you from developing your own identity, you get stuck in a limbo of constant crave for validation and endless comparisons. This is how your envy gets triggered. ⁕ You look at others' freedom and accomplishments, and you feel guilty you haven't reached that level yet, so you blame yourself for your inability and incompetence, believing you'll never get better and so remain stuck in your delusions. You have a great desire to master your talents and get genuine recognition from yourself and others, but when you don't take on this path, you become fussy, critical and judgemental.

⁕ Gemini Salomè/Salomè at 3°-15°-27°: You enchant with your wit and sarcasm. Your exceptionally curious mind make you jump on every kind of topic with no shame, letting you explore anything and expanding your horizons making you very clever and articulated.

⁕ You excel in debates and are such a social butterfly, you know how to grasp people's attentions with your words. And well, who wouldn't be envious of such a skill? People use your talents by making you feel like you're guiding them and you have the control over the situation, but then you focus too much on the details that you forget the bigger picture, and this includes you forging your own path and understanding what you truly want from life. Those distractions that people throws at you trigger your envy. ⁕ You look up at the people that make decisions and have a clear idea of what they want to do and you feel jealous of their resolution in walking only one path. You overthink so much you'd love to know how to find peace even for just a second, but you get absorbed in the envy, and at your worst you get gossipy, superficial and inconsistent. You have a great desire of knowing yourself fully, being flexible while also find stability within your flexibility. But if you can't look within and stop comparing with others, you'll never know your truth.

5 t h ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : G L U T T O N Y

⁕ Libra Salomè/Salomè 7°-19° : You enchant with your charisma and tactfulness. Your cooperative nature and romantic aura enhance your already stunning natural beauty, and people envy this hard core because it appears as you have been blessed with everything by life.

⁕ They take advantage of your agreeable temperament to use you for their interests. So you live your life as a secondary character, always trying to please others but never taking into account your own will. People use this indecisiveness of yours to trigger your gluttony. ⁕ You never feel satisfied because you don't even know what you want. So you only "eat" more because you crave that instant moment of pleasure constantly. As you base your worth from outside sources, you feel empty inside, hence why you keep feeling the need to put things inside you to fill that void. You have a great desire to make the world fair for everyone and form genuine connections between people, but if you can't complete this purpose, you become unbalanced, overly-indulgent and insecure.

⁕ Taurus Salomè/Salomè at 2°-14°-26° : You enchant with your steadiness and sensuality. Your driven and kind hearted nature allows you to always put your best in everything you focus on, and you're not one to lose your focus easily.

⁕ People envy how firm and determined you are, despite looking very gracious outwardly, you never give up, and this beautiful combo of extremes make you look like a person that possess everything. Others are gonna want to break your peaceful and unshakable nature, taking advantage of your kindness, they're gonna try to use your resiliency for their interests and letting you see how much there is of the world by shifting your focus on the pleasures of life. Soon you're gonna enter the sensual world and you'd never want to go back. This is how they trigger your gluttony. ⁕ Your body craves intimacy and contact, but you've been living in your head, only focusing on possessions denying your sensual side. Now after realizing how food can fill you and make you enjoy the experience, you become addicted to it. The idea of something that doesn't take up space like everything in materialism, but can instead grow you to take up space (eating) makes you feel important and not tie your self worth to outward successes. But it's still making up for your lack of love coming from within, and if you can't feel it you can get stubborn, possessive and self-absorbed.

6 t h ⁕ v e i l ⁕ o f f : W R A T H

⁕ Aries Salomè/Salomè at 1°-13°-25° : You enchant with your assertivity and bravery. Your optimistic and dynamic spirit combined with your dominant demeanor allow you to be a great leader.

⁕ You fearlessness and ease in overcoming challenges make people envious of the power you hold. They use your spontaneous and competitive nature to their interests, trying to make fun of you, to slowly make you lose the confidence in yourself and step down the throne you deserve, but you can't stand the view of this injustice (both if made to you or to others).This is how they trigger your wrath. ⁕ You are not afraid to speak up, but after you lose your confidence, your words are spilled out with impulsiveness and aggressiveness, making people afraid of how quick you can lose your temper. You have a great desire to help others realize their potential, and you want to guide them on the tortuous path of life, but if people ignore you and make you feel small, then you become impatient, insensitive and reckless.

⁕ Sagittarius Salomè/Salomè at 9°-21° : You enchant with your wisdom and open-mindedness. Your free spirit allows you to experience life humbly giving you the ability to transform your mistakes in insightful life lessons.

⁕ You change people's perspectives by elaborating a wide range of informations and putting them in a clear view thanks to your capability of grasping patterns, and others envy this. They want to robb your wisdom, to feel like wise Gods themselves, so they use your knowledge to shut your voice down, triggering your wrath. ⁕ Once you raise your voice and let everyone see this impulsive side of yourself, you can witness people losing interest and trust in you, making you insecure and small, full of existential crisis. You have a great desire to change the world for the best, and to let people see different point of view with your philosophy, but when you are not understood you can turn into a close-minded, highly opinionated and skeptical person.

7 t h ⁕ v e i l ⁕ r e v e a l : S L O T H

⁕ Pisces Salomè/Salomè at 12°-24° : You enchant with your vulnerability and spirituality. Your imagination allows you to put yourself in other people's shoes and understand their point of view in an empathetic way.

⁕ Your easygoing and adaptable nature make others envious of you. They take advantage of your compassion by treating you as their personal punching bag, their shoulder to cry on, their victim to sacrifce. They suck all your energy into their personal interests, leaving you completely numb and not giving you space to display your creativity. This is how they trigger your sloth. ⁕ You have a great desire to feel emotions and share them with people that truly understand you, but if people neglect this aspect of yourself, you become lazy, unmotivated and hopeless. The world holds no meaning to you and you'd rather spend time feeling delusional than open up in fear of not being accepted.

⁕ Cancer Salomè/Salomè at 4°-16°-28° : You enchant with your softness and compassion. Your nurturing and maternal energy makes others feel at home and safe.

⁕ Your incredible intuition knows everyone's needs and your affectionate nature make you want to help everyone just to see a smile on their faces. Unfortunately others can misuse this gift of yours to their interest since they're envious of how perfectly in tune you are with your emotions. When you can sense that all you see are fake smiles, you start to question your ability to heal others and your sensitive side is hightened. This is the perfect moment for those people to strike some offensive words that will make you insecure and want to just disappear from the world. This is how they trigger your sloth. ⁕ You isolate and close yourself in your shell to protect you from further damage. You feel you are unworthy and that you don't bring any value to the world, so you dwell in your sense of guilt and fear, unable to do anything. You have a great desire to make the world a better place, to share your love and emotions with others, to protect those in needs, but if you can't express this side of youself you become pessimistic, moody and manipulative.

And you've reached the end! Congrats! And thanks for staying with me ✨

I hope you enjoyed this post and find it helpful in understanding your own Salomè placement 😊

Hope the dance steps were easy to follow too 💃

It took me some time to make cause i wanted to truly dive deep in the meaning of it and not only talk about the magnetizing part, but remember, this is only my interpretation, i'd love to peacefully discuss with you if you disagree with me 👍

I'm kinda tempted to make a post on Salomè through the houses, let me know if you'd love to know more on this asteroid

as always,

I wish you a wonderful day ahead (or night) 😘 and i'll see you in the next post! Yours Linnie 🌛

#astro notes #astro observations #asteroid salomè #salomè through the signs #salomè astrology #asteroid astrology #astro community

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jobean12-blog · 1 year

Text

The Farmer’s Fancy

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Word Count: 478

Summary: Joel finally has his farm...now all he needs is you.

Author’s Note: So I decided to really challenge myself with this one and write something for Lisa’s @cockslutpadalecki 15 sentence challenge and prompt #11 (”you look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat”) and Navy and Roo’s week 3 Slumber Party ‘Something New’ challenge @the-slumberparty I did something soft!dark here which is not something I do much and lightly used (k)idnapping- I’m giving the illusion here and as I continue to experiment I hope to get more into it all! Thank you to my sweet friend Navy💕 @navybrat817 for her extra encouragement and overall awesomeness and support! Love you! HUGS! Thank you so much to Lisa, Navy and Roo💕 for hosting these great writing challenges and celebrations, it’s so great and I really appreciate it! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Thank you bunches to lovely Daisy @firefly-graphics for the divider! 🥰

Warnings: binds, some language, (c)hoking, smexyines, soft!dark themes: (k)idnapping hints

GIF NOT MINE: Credit goes to @salome-c thank you lovely 🥰

Joel Miller Masterlist

You struggle against the binds at your wrists, your curses and cries lost in the vast openness of the farm while you watch him stride over to you, his hands on his hips as his eyes sweep down your body and flash with heat before he murmurs, “I’d untie you if you didn’t try to run every god damn time, think you’re ready to be good for me darlin’?”

You sag against the wooden pole of the small stable and hang your head with a nod, your body deflating even more when he releases you from the binds and you find yourself weak and falling into his arms.

“There now,” he whispers, taking your chin between his fingers and lifting your eyes to his, “I knew you could do it.”

Your menacing glare is met with a smirk as he backs you toward the wall, hay catching in your shoes and the smell of horse surrounding you, your body hitting the wood before he crowds you against it, the hardness between his legs pressing into your stomach.

With a gasp of his name you grab his broad shoulders, unable to hide the way your body succumbs to the simple fact that he’s touching you, and you swallow hard, licking your lips.

“Promise me, darlin’,” he drawls, “promise me you’ll do as I say and you won’t try and run anymore, you know I’ll keep you safe.”

His lips skim the shell of your ear, more of a whispered warning than anything else, and you cling to him, your breathing heavy as he places a kiss just underneath your ear before his mouth trails softly down the column of your neck.

“Lemme hear you say it,” he growls as his large and calloused fingers trace your collarbone, sliding higher until they close around the base of your throat and he pulls back to look into your eyes.

“I promise,” you choke out, your nails digging into his back.

“Repeat it,” he whispers against your lips, his fingers putting more pressure on your neck.

“I promise,” you say again, whimpering when he shoves one thick thigh between your legs and his fingers squeeze even harder, “I won’t run and I’ll do as you say.”

“There’s a good girl,” he croons then abruptly removes his thigh and replaces it with his free hand, making you clench around nothingness.

His fingers tease along the edge of your pants, his motions unhurried when he slides them lower and purrs, “you look so good with my hand wrapped around your throat.”

“Joel,” you find yourself pleading when his fingers brush over your panties, the material soaked and stuck to your skin.

He hums appreciatively, his words warm against your lips and his tone smug when he whispers, “fuck’ darlin,’ I knew you’d be easy to break but this is too good to be true.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #soft!dark joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #look ma i did it - fifteen sentences #navy and roo's sleepover

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1800-fight-me · 1 year

Text

Little moments

Aemond Targaryen x Female!reader

Rating: T

Warnings: Pregnant reader, no others - this is pure fluff

Word count: Almost 600- it’s a lil one

Synopsis: Aemond takes pleasure in the little moments with his little family.

Author’s note: This came to me before I fell asleep last night and I wrote it in between sets at the gym this morning lmao

P.S. Here’s a link to my masterlist if you’d like to check out my other writing! My askbox and taglist are always open! Come interact with me! Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Aemond Masterlist

Aemond sighed as he strode into his chambers.

Another lengthy small council meeting that he wished he could’ve resolved with force rather than listen to the squabbling of power hungry old men.

Of course Aegon would do his best to sluff off this responsibility to Aemond.

His head and scar were beginning to ache from stress and exhaustion.

He shut the door quietly behind him and his lips already began to curve into a smile as he thought of what would be awaiting him.

The candles were extinguished, the only light provided by the quickly dying fire in the hearth.

He unlaced his boots and left them along with his outer coat and weapons by the door.

He strode over to his massive bed and smiled softly at the sight of you sleeping soundly.

What he didn’t expect, however, was his son also sleeping in the bed, curled into your side.

His tiny hand rested on your rounded stomach. He must’ve been eagerly waiting to feel his sibling move within your belly before he fell asleep.

Though he often chided you for being too soft on the boy, he loved the bond you shared with your son.

He leaned over and scooped up the little four year old in his arms.

He blinked his eyes open and looked up at Aemond.

“Kepa,” he murmured before he snuggled into Aemond’s chest.

Aemond hugged him tighter as he walked to the adjourning room that was his son’s.

He laid him down in his bed and knelt down next to it.

He ruffled his white hair and kissed him on the forehead.

“I thought we discussed you sleeping in your own bed,” he chided softly.

The boy yawned as he looked at his father.

“But I like sleeping with you and muña,” the child whined.

Aemond chuckled softly.

“I also like sleeping with her, alone, without a child in my bed,” he teased and the boy sighed.

He kissed him on the forehead once more.

“We are only in the next room if you truly feel like you need us,” he whispered.

The boy nodded, a smile on his lips that were the same shape as his father, and his eyes fluttered closed.

“Sleep, little dragon,” Aemond murmured as he rose to his feet once again.

He was fast asleep once again before Aemond even finished crossing the room.

He closed the door softly and made his way towards you, once again relishing in your beauty as you slept.

He tugged off the remainder of his clothes, leaving him shirtless and only in his underclothes before he climbed into bed with you.

You immediately, as if on instinct, rolled over and curled into him.

He wrapped his arms around you and led you to rest your head on his chest.

“‘mond,” you mumbled, “missed you.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head as his hand rubbed your swollen stomach where his child grew.

“I’m here now, my love,” he replied.

You pressed a sleepy kiss to his chest.

You quickly fell back asleep in the safety of his embrace.

He took a deep breath and felt calm and relaxed, at home, with your scent around him and your warmth against him.

As sleep took him too, he couldn’t help but ponder on the joy that you brought to his life. Happiness he never thought he could experience, that he was sure he didn’t deserve, filled him, and a soft smile remained on his lips as he slept.

Everything taglist:

@spideysimpossiblegirl @dinandgone @ohpedromypedro @littlemisspascal @tombraider42017 @kirsteng42 @just-here-for-the-moment @salome-c @hb8301

Aemond taglist:

@fultimefangirl @dumpsterfirecee @adderess @flowerpotmage @theold-ultraviolence @lady-phasma @aemonds-war-crime @schniiipsel @mommyslittlewarcriminal @batsyforyou @signyvenetia @sirenofavalon @ellathefriendlyalpacaaa @padfooteyes @percyjacksonspeen @aemonds-sapphire @wrendermeuseless @mllemarianne @slutforaemond @a-beaverhausen

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the-little-ewok · 2 years

Text

Knead

Marc Spector/Steven Grant X G!N reader

Rating : T+

Wordcount : 2300 (ish)

Warnings : Fluff, mild angst, mention of blood, mention of canon style violence, mention of food, some innuendos and spice

Summary : You offer to help Marc and Steven relax a little after a long night

Prompts - “Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.” + "Your back is so tense. Would you like a massage?"

Gif by salome-c

~~~~~~~

The night drags out in the winter, long and dark as you toss and turn in a cold empty bed. It's not the first night you've been alone, and you know it won't be the last, but every night they are gone ends this way — restless and sleepless. You know eventually the sun will rise, the moon will disappear again for another night, and you hope that then, they will come home to you.

Sitting up, you run your hands over your face, the movement stirring up the lingering familiar scent of them from their sweater. You'd thrown it on as the wind had rattled the window panes, the cold breeze sneaking through the gaps to bite at your skin. The smell brings a soft familiar warmth to you, as though you could imagine them here, their arms wrapped around you.

Technically it's Marc's sweater, a point Steven likes to make continually since he hates it, preferring his patterned shirts to Marc's usual wardrobe of darker colours, but it's still a comfort that reminds you of them both.

Swinging your legs out of bed, you let the cold wood floor ground you for a moment, pulling you from dark and depressing thoughts. They always came home to you, there's no reason tonight should be any different, and yet the restlessness won't cease.

Giving up on sleep, you make your way into the kitchen. A drink and a snack would help pass the time and distract you a little while you wait. The wind howls again, rattling the windowpane, and you bite your lip in worry that they are somewhere out there, in the cold night, getting into who knows what trouble.

Grabbing a packet of crisps, you reach up to grab a glass from the cupboard when a noise at the door stops you in your tracks. Lowering your arm, slowly you step quietly back into the middle of the flat, giving you more space to run if you need it as there’s another rattle of the lock. Your heart beats wildly as the door suddenly swings open.

"Oh! Hello, love. Why are you up so late?" Steven asks, wide eyed with surprise the moment he sees you standing frozen in the middle of the flat. It takes a second for your heartbeat to slow and for your nerves to calm down in order to answer. Of course, it was them, who else would be letting themselves in.

"I couldn't sleep," you answer distractedly, taking in his dishevelled appearance as the remainder of his white suit disappears. His curls are damp with sweat, hanging messily over his forehead which is smeared in blood, there's a rapidly healing cut on his lip and a bruise on his chin.

"Are you ok?" You breathe, dropping the packet of crisps onto the counter and making your way over to him. You lift your fingers to softly trace the bruise, but even as you do, it disappears under your touch.

"Yeah," Steven assures you softly, reaching out to rub your upper arms in comfort, sensing your distress. "We are always ok. Marc just got into a bit of trouble. Didn't mean to scare you coming in.”

You nod, your fingers softly gliding over the patches of dried blood where cuts and scrapes would have been, trying not to let your fears get the best of you. It was still hard to adjust to everything about the situation, and the very real dangers that they faced during the night. Even though they always seemed to come back safe, sometimes a little worse for wear but safe, it still sent your stomach twisting.

"Love?" Steven repeats gently, blinking you out of your fear fed daze.

"Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you are ok?" He asks again gently, reaching up to stroke your hair as he looks you over. Typical Steven — the man who just stumbled home from a fight, probably still having the lingering pain from the bruises and cuts, asking if you, who have been safe at home curled up in bed, are alright.

"I'm just glad you're home," you smile, leaning into his touch as he cups your cheek gently. "Let me go get you some water and clean your face up."

He nods, letting you go so that you can pad back into the kitchen. The switch happens in seconds, silently Steven steps back and your only alert to it is Marc's accent when he asks his next question.

"Why are you wearing my sweater?"

"Because it smells like you. Both of you," you clarify with a shrug, grabbing a glass out of the cupboard. You probably should be embarrassed about your constant need to feel close to them, but judging by the glint in his eyes when you look over, Marc enjoys seeing you wearing his clothes just as much as you enjoy wearing them.

"Smell that good, do we?" Marc grins, folding his arms and leaning against the bookshelf, watching you as you pour the water and grab a damp cloth.

Walking back over, you hand Marc the glass of water before you carefully start to wipe the blood from his head.

"Occasionally you do. Maybe not right now, though," you tease.

Marc placing down the glass on the table should have been your first warning of what was about to happen, but it still takes you by surprise when he wraps his arms around you and hugs you tightly, rubbing his damp curls across the side of your face. He smells of sweat and aftershave, of desert sand and blood. It shouldn't be as arousing to your senses as it is.

Laughing, you try to scramble out of his arms, if only to save yourself the embarrassment of becoming a panting mess just from the damn way he smells.

"Thought you wanted to smell like us?" He teases. "I'm just helping. I'm scenting you."

"Marc!" You giggle, giving up and going limp in his arms. He squeezes you hard before he finally lets you go, picking up the glass of water to sip it innocently while you straighten yourself out.

"You want a snack, Spector? Food!" You clarify quickly as Marc raises his eyebrows, the beginning of a smirk curling his lips. He always seemed to be riled up after a fight, and more than once you'd let him have whatever he wanted from you. But tonight you can see the tiredness in the way he holds himself, the dark circles under his eyes more prominent than ever. Tonight, you had to let him rest, even if he thought that wasn't the best for him right now.

"No, thank you, baby. I'm gonna take a shower then we can go to bed," he winks, finishing the water before he kisses your temple and disappears into the bathroom.

You don't try to follow him. You've learned after long nights like this they need some time alone, to process the events and to discuss between themselves. You leave them to it and sit down on the edge of the bed, relieved to have them home safe.

"Feeling better?" You ask, jumping up and opening your arms as they leave the bathroom, dressed in Steven’s oversized pyjamas.

"Much better," Steven smiles, wrapping his arms around you and cuddling you tightly. You lean into his embrace, letting your head fall to his shoulder as you hold him tightly.

"Your back is so tense," you frown, letting your fingers trace the stiff muscles gently. It can't be easy what they do, and with all the power that Khonshu gives them their body still seems to always pay the price. "Would you like a massage? Might help a little?"

"Oh, you really don't have to do that! We’ll be alright by the morning," Steven protests, giving you a gentle squeeze. Smiling, you brush your fingers through his wet curls, pulling away from him just far enough to give him a soft kiss, enjoying the way he smiles against your mouth.

"Or, you know, we could give you a massage?" Steven whispers softly, his fingers ghosting up your ribs as he leans forward to kiss you again. You roll your eyes, reminded once more that Marc and Steven can sometimes be very much the same.

“Later,” you smile, nudging your nose against his as his fingers creep under the hem of Marc’s sweater to brush against your bare skin. “Let me do this one thing for you. It’ll make me feel like I'm doing something useful,” you admit.

“You’re always doing useful things, and you don't have to do anything for us,” he kisses your hair softly as he cuddles you.

“I know, but it still makes me feel like I can help a little bit.” You press another lingering kiss to his lips before you gently push him towards the bed. "Come on, shirt off."

"You really don't have to," Steven protests again.

"I know, and I still want to. Now get on the bed before I'm forced to put you down on it myself.” You fold your arms stubbornly, watching his expression change as Marc fronts.

“Oh, yeah? How you gonna go about that? Because I’d love to see it,” he grins. When you open your mouth to bite a response at him that in the state he’s in you could absolutely take him down, he jumps in, no doubt knowing what you are about to say.

"No, you couldn’t. Don't even try. You’ll just hurt yourself, baby," he laughs, pulling his shirt up over his head and throwing it to the floor. Rolling your eyes, you point to the bed, watching as he climbs on it and lays down on his stomach, wrapping his arms around the pillow.

Grabbing some lotion off the side, the one that always makes Steven nuzzle your skin with the most contented inhales of breath, you carefully straddle his waist. Warming the lotion on your hands first, you carefully start to rub it into his back, feeling the tension of his stiff muscles under your fingers. Starting with his shoulders, you carefully work your way down, pressing your thumbs against his spine as he hums contentedly under your fingers. Ever so slowly you feel him start to relax, the tension he’s been carrying dropping out of him as he starts to breathe slowly and evenly.

"Mmm smells amazing. You're too good to us," Steven mumbles softly, clearly already half asleep, boneless, and relaxed under your hands.

"Yeah, probably," you tease with a laugh, leaning down to press a soft kiss between their shoulder blades. "You deserve it, though. You look after so many people with no thanks, this is the least I can do.”

Steven falls silent for a long moment, and you feel the shift this time. It's the slightest stiffen of his posture under your fingers that alerts you to Marc.

"He’s right, you know? You are far too good to us, to me,” Marc mumbles into the pillow, his voice taking on an edge of sadness, “You deserve better than having to sit awake all night waiting for us to come home, worrying the way you do.”

Pausing in your massage, you climb off him to sit on the bed, gently pressing against his bicep to force him to turn on his side. When he finally does, you lay down beside him, pressing your hand to his cheek, so you can meet his eyes at his level.

“Marc Spector, I would wait up a thousand nights for you without a single regret. My worrying is not your fault. Remember, I chose you just as much as you chose me. I knew what I was getting into, and it was my choice, it still is.” You gently stroke his cheek with your thumb as you talk, your eyes imploring him not to go down this route of self-hate again. "I love you, and all the nights and worry in the world won't change that."

At that, he gives you the ghost of a smile, turning his head to kiss your palm, changing the subject before your conversation gets too deep into serious territory, the same way he always does.

“Just wait until you let me return the favour. Gonna massage you everywhere.” Even though he’s clearly trying to distract you from questions of his own self worth, you can't help the bolt of desire that runs through you at the thought of his hands caressing your skin. Your thoughts are not helped in any way when he slides his hand across your thigh, licking his lips.

"Could start now, baby?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. With a giggle and a lot more willpower than you thought possible, you gently remove his hand and shuffle back.

“Later, let me finish your massage first. Please,” you add as he looks like he's about to argue. His expression softens and he presses a quick lingering kiss to your lips before he lays back down on his stomach.

Climbing back over him, you press soft kisses down the back of his neck before you resume the massage he’d interrupted, rubbing the remainder of the lotion in.

“Thank you,” Marc mumbles quietly. “Honestly, you’re far too -”

“Stop talking and just enjoy being taken care of,” you cut in and scold him gently. He mumbles something about taking care of you later, but thankfully quietens down.

He’s so quiet after a while that you can't help but become suspicious of the silence. It’s not that you’re exactly expecting him to throw you over and return the favour, but….it wouldn't be the first time silence spelled that sort of trouble.

"Marc? Steven?" You question softly, leaning over to look at them. Their eyes are closed, mouth half open as they breathe deeply, completely fast asleep. Smiling, you carefully climb off them and snuggle down beside them. You do your best to keep your movements as small as possible to not disturb them, but both of them are light sleepers after everything they’ve been through, and even the slightest movement makes them stir.

"Come here, please." Steven sighs sleepily, his voice gravelled and only half awake, reaching over for you and pulling you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you to secure you in place. "I’m sorry. We’ll return the favour in the morning when we are more awake, I promise."

“I’m sure you will,” you smile, reaching down and tugging the covers up over you both. Steven hums a mumbled "we love you," into your hair and within seconds he's snoring peacefully, just as the sun starts to stream in through the window, and the countdown to the night begins again.

------

Please do comment and reblog if you liked this :)

Taglist reblog to follow. You can join my taglist via my Masterlist on my blog!

Thanks for reading!

#steven grant x reader #steven grant x gender neutral reader #steven grant x gn!reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector x gender neutral reader #marc spector x gn!reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x you #steven grant imagine #marc spector imagine #steven grant fluff #marc spector fluff #marc spector #steven grant #moon knight #moon knight x reader #moon knight request

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heythere-mel · 1 year

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The music, the dramatics, it’s all undeniably spaghetti Western with a ✨twist✨ and my little heart is screaming with joy rn

Gif by the lovely @salome-c 🤍

#pedro pascal #extraña forma de vida

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spiderrrling · 2 years

Text

Thigh Riding - Eddie Munson Headcanon 18+ Smut

Request by Anon - ok but please can we have riding eddie's thigh with some praise kink?

A/N - Ask and you shall receive is all I say, headcanon form!

Masterlist - Taglist - 18+ Taglist - Requests are open

All parties are 18+ and consenting, minors do not engage!

Comments, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

This would happen more than you really thought it would

Because Eddie absolutely loved it, ate up every second of it

It was the perfect position where he could lose some semblance of his control, and also seeing you lose yours

The two of you could just be making out, and Eddie would drag you onto his thigh, with his lips below your ear

“Move for me will you sweetheart?” Eddie would ask in his really soft, almost pleading voice

And god would he love this if you were wearing a skirt

However he would love it just as much if you were just in your panties or in nothing at all

Eddie’s hands would be at your waist, or gripping your thighs to help control your movements and hold you steady

It was the perfect position for him to be doting on you without you being able to protest

But his lips wouldn’t really be on yours too much

Because it would be the best opportunity for histo be all over your neck and collarbones

Or buried between your boobs

And he would be leaving so many hickeys and love bites

Painting your skin various shades of red and purple with his lips and teeth

The biggest reason Eddie absolutely adored it when you rode his thigh is seeing how much pleasure you got out of it

And he would be praising you the entire time, his lips pressed up against your ear whispering to you the whole time

Eddie never stops talking, especially not during sex

“You’re doing so good for me sweetheart, just like that-”

“Yeah does that feel good?”

“You know you’re so pretty when you sit on my lap like this…”

He’d whisper those things to you just to see you squirm and try to grind yourself harder and faster on his thigh

And he would groan if he could feel you getting wet from getting off on his thigh

“So perfect sweetheart, even when you’re soaking my thigh like this”

And Eddie would live for any sound that came from your lips

But especially his name

It would make him weak

If he could make you cum on his thigh, he absolutely would

His fingers would slip into whatever you are (or aren’t) wearing to rub quick and hard circles against your clit

“So fucking good for me, my good girl using me to get herself off, c’mon sweetheart cum for me, come on…”

Eddie loved it when your hands were on him, pressed against his chest, or tugging at his hair

Especially when you came he loved to feel your hands buried in his hair and tugging at it frantically as you continue to ride his thigh through your orgasm

And you can bet that Eddie would be absolutely rock hard by the end of it

A complete mess whose only thoughts is about you in all the various positions he could come up with in his mind

And when you finally pull away to look at him, he would have just that little smirk on his face like he was up to no good, because he really was

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acourtofsnakes · 2 years

Text

Dream A Little Dream Of Me - Morpheus x F!Reader

Summary: To others, the world of dreams is something only to be explored at night. To enjoy and wonder at but then to forget about when you wake up. But for you, it's quite literally an escape. The Dreaming is your home, your reality whereas the Waking world is that which feels false. When you're walking with your Lord of Dreams at your side, how could you possibly go back to normal life?

Warnings: None; some food and drink mentions, fluff, so much fluff, pining, declarations that I would personally pay to hear, Morpheus being head over heels for his Dream, some faint spoilers for the series?

Words: 5.3k+

A/N: So this was originally gonna be a oneshot... But now it might be a little mini series 😌

Permanent Taglist: @greeneyedblondie44 @mamacitapascal @mypedrom @undiscovered-misunderstood @kaylee-krystal @theshireisburning-so-mordoritis @queenofthefaceless @gallowsjoker @kirsteng42 @rosiefridayrogersunday @salome-c @amywritesthings @meganlpie @sgt-morgan @kodakoalabear

Masterlist | Sandman Masterlist

You know me.

We have met before, here, in this realm of wonder and light, imagination and extravagance.

In the place where no wish is too big, no thought too small. There is happiness here, but there is also darkness.

Scales, perfectly balanced, perfectly weighted for one side cannot live without the other.

Dreamers need the Dark just as the Sun needs the Moon.

Just as you need me and I, you.

You know me.

I have many names… I am the King of Dreams, and Nightmares.

I am Morpheus, Dream of the Endless.

And I am yours.

When people called you a dreamer, you don’t think they realised just how true that is.

Because you spent every minute of your waking life in a world of your own, mind whirring as it crafted endless worlds of imagination and escape.

It wasn’t that you struggled in the waking world, that you were in pain as such. It was just… You were bored. And you were lost.

Bored with seeing the greed and viciousness in strangers.

Bored of the rules of magic only being real on pages or on screens. Because you knew that just wasn’t true.

You knew it was out there because you’d seen it.

You’d seen it in the way the moon rose high in the night sky, setting slight tone the stars scattered across the inky black like diamonds on velvet.

In the way the little birds dipped and dunked their heads in the bird table in your small garden.

You’d seen it in the way your eyes hungrily devoured the words in your book and your mind painted it so vibrantly, so clearly that you only had to lower your lashes and you were there.

Quite literally.

As soon as the sun went down and you fell asleep, you no longer walked the pavements of London’s streets.

No, you walked the endless, drifting paths of the Dreaming, with its swirling sky and its grand, beautiful gates.

You dipped into the reflective waters and swam through the depths to breath-taking worlds where dragons flew through the sky, where magic dropped from the fingertips of heroes and villains alike.

In this space, you were the leader of a revolution, the queen of a fallen kingdom, the explorer of lost relics and the powerful sorcerer of another universe.

The pages of your books became real, the characters rose up around you and welcomed you into their worlds, ran through their paths of fate at your side, guided you through their adventures like best friends.

And you loved it.

It all felt so real, so solid and detailed that it couldn’t just be fantasy.

He couldn’t just be a dream.

Because you didn’t walk these paths alone.

You had a partner.

A guide.

A kindred soul that filled your head with his endless blue eyes, his rumpled inky black hair that looked as soft as a bird’s wings, but most especially his voice.

His voice was like… the darkest chocolate, rich and smooth, sprinkled with the faint rasp of sea salt just to give it an edge that felt like fingertips dancing down your spine.

It was hypnotic, like velvet, leading you through your dreamscapes and echoing in your ears long after you’d woken up.

For years now, you’d walked arm in arm through the Dreaming with the Lord himself.

Lord Morpheus. Dream of the Endless. King of Dreams and Nightmares alike.

“Hey, are you coming out with us tonight?” The sound of your friend’s voice filtered through the images of stormy-blue eyes, of gently lapping water and elegant castles reaching toward and endless canopy of stars.

You blinked yourself back to the present, focusing on the figure of Sam, your friend, standing before you at the counter. “Hm?” It took you a moment to process what he’d asked, and then you shook your head, “Oh, no, I can’t tonight I’m afraid, I’ve got way too much work to do and not enough time to do it in.” You laughed, turning to the counter behind you to put away the clean mugs.

Sam owned a coffee shop bakery, and you’d helped him build it up from the derelict space it had been, to the cosy, familiar place it was now. There was a certain dark academia vibe to it, with dark wood, lots of throws and cushions, a million and one books scattered around and a lot of tarot and dream inspired décor. It was a gorgeous place, and popular with the regular customers but it was never overcrowded. The place was Sam’s baby, and you were so proud of what he had achieved.

Your two other best friends worked here too, which equally made working here a breeze.

Sam raised an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms and leaning on the counter, “Your deadline isn’t for another month yet, surely you can spare a night off. You deserve it, you work so hard here and, on your course too.” You felt something small and plump donk you on the back of the head, “Come onnnnn.”

You peered over your shoulder, lifting your own brows in response to him, “Did you just throw a marshmallow at me again? You do realise you’re going to make Arc have a sugar addiction, don’t you?”

Arc, or rather Arcane, was a fluffy teddy bear of a black German Shepherd, who spent most days in the shop with you all, or at one of your homes. You all collectively owned him since you’d found him abandoned on the side of the road as a puppy after a night out three years ago.

After a trip to the vets, some minor treatment, and the assurance he didn’t belong to anyone, the four of you had adopted him and he rotated between homes throughout the week.

Spoiled baby.

Sam rolled his eyes, “He already has a sugar addiction and don’t change the subject.” He paused, his eyes softening, “You can’t spend all your life dreaming, babe.”

True to form, Arc came shooting from his bed, chasing the marshmallow across the floor before inhaling it.

You turned away, shooting a frown at the assortment of mugs in front of you. Sam knew about the drams you had, how vivid they were, how you woke up with a phantom feeling on your hands and that silken voice lingering in your ear.

He also knew how much you valued and cherished that escape… But what he didn’t know is that you believed it to be real.

He didn’t know that although you adored your life here, your friends and the coffee shop… You felt out of place. Like you had one foot somewhere else and everything was ever so slightly blurred. This reality felt like the world of dreams, and you sleeping life felt real.

You cleared your throat, shaking your head softly and moving to the till, “I’m not, Sammy, really. But I do have too much work to finish, I need to research for the final chapter of my assignment, and I have that meeting tomorrow I need to prepare for. I’m sorry, I really am.” You flashed him a smile, kissing his cheek as you brushed past, “Maybe next time.”

Arc followed after you, hunting for more treats and you laughed, handing the sweet boy another marshmallow.

Sam watched you go, a soft sigh in his throat but he loved you regardless of your head being somewhere else 98% of the time, “Yeah, okay.”

“Welcome back, my lady.” The familiar, even voice of the Dreaming’s librarian greeted you when you opened your eyes again that night. “You know, you don’t have to come through the gates every night. You could come to the palace instead if you preferred.”

Lucienne stood at the gates, her hands clasped in front of her and a soft smile playing about her lips as she waited for you.

A mirroring smile curled your own and you gave a little playful curtsey, “Good evening, Lucienne. It’s good to be back.” You cast an upward glance to the gates that never failed to take your breath away. You’d spent a solid two hours walking back and forth along them once, drinking in every single detail. “I know… But I love seeing them. And I like walking through the Dreaming and saying hello to everyone.”

Lucienne began to lead you back through, a near silent creak resounding behind you as the gates closed again, “Of course. They love to see you too, my lady. They always ask about you on the nights you aren’t here.” She chuckled a little, her eyes glimmering as she shot you a sideways glance, “Of course, they’re not the only ones.”

A delicate colour swept along your cheekbones at her words, the blood in your veins tingling and you feigned a look of complete innocence, “I have absolutely no idea what you mean, Lucienne. You must be mistaken.” The fact you were fighting a smile definitely didn’t help your pretend innocence.

The librarian laughed, bumping her shoulder into yours in a casual display of friendship you’d come to cherish, “Oh, come now. You know exactly who I mean.” She looked across the sweeping, endless landscape of the Dreaming, “I suppose the library doubling in size to contain your favourite fictional books, the gardens that now thrive with new flowers for every season, and the whole new astronomy tower on the palace, they are all just simply there, hm? Not that they appeared only when your visits became frequent? Or when you mentioned how much you loved the stars and wished you could see them more clearly?” She was on a roll now, “Or the fact I’ve seen him smile more since your first visit than I have the entire time I’ve known him?”

Well.

What could you say to that, exactly?

You looked across the Dreaming as you followed the path toward the palace, a warmth growing in your chest with every step closer to the place you were desperately wanting to call your home, “He’s an Endless, Lucienne. I’m a human. This is…” You shook your head, a little sigh catching in your throat, “This time together is a mere blink in his life.”

A noise of dissent rose from Lucienne, and she pulled you to a gentle stop, “My lady, I don’t think you realise what impact you’ve had here. On our Lord, too.” She looked over your face, a little frown forming on her own as her knowledgeable eyes read something you were hiding, “They said that you can’t live here again, didn’t they? That you need to live in the real world and stop dreaming so much.”

You gave her a faint smile, shrugging gently, “They’re only looking out for me. They think that all this…” You gestured to the landscape that people quite literally only dreamed of seeing, “It’s all in my head. They don’t believe it to be real. Just a fairy-tale.” A frown tugged at your face, and you looked away, the thought sneaking through your head despite how real this all felt, despite knowing in your heart this wasn’t a fantasy.

Lucienne lifted a hand to your shoulder, trying to catch your gaze, “Do you believe this to be real, my lady?” She tilted your chin up carefully, with her other hand, “Do you believe the creatures and the Dreams, the landscape, and the realm… me? Do you believe Lord Morpheus to be real?”

Her eyes were steady on you, brows slightly lifted as she watched you through her glasses, and you had the feeling she could read you far better than you could ever read yourself. You gave a little huff because she was right. “Yes, I do believe you all to be real. I know you are.”

She nodded once, taking her hand from your chin but keeping the other gently on your shoulder, “Then that is all that matters. As long as you believe, as long as you are happy here, it doesn’t matter what anyone else things.” She paused for a moment, “Though, I must say that we are very much real… but I suppose I would say that either way, wouldn’t I?”

You laughed softly, that heavy feeling in your chest lifting immediately, “I suppose you would, yes...’ You trailed off, looking across the impossibly surreal, gorgeous landscape, “I know you’re real, because I could never dream up anything like this. Ever. I couldn’t even write anything like this so…”

Lucienne hummed slightly, taking her hand from your shoulder, and beginning to lead you down the path, “I don’t know about that, my lady. I’ve read the tales of your dreams and life so far and... It’s extraordinary, the images and worlds you came up with. Even before you came here, there was always something special about you. The way your imagination worked. I always knew that one day -” She caught herself, stopping her sentence mid-flow like she’d spoken something she shouldn’t have.

Curiosity sung through you, her words prickling in your mind, “You always knew what?” You tilted your head, looking at her with that pressing interest burning in your eyes now, “You knew I’d come here?”

The librarian shook her head, opening her mouth to perhaps throw you off the scent but then she didn’t need to. She was saved by something else.

Or rather, someone else.

The pair of you had reached the sprawling bridge that crossed the span of the clear, flowing river, held up by two great, stone hands.

And standing in the centre, hands in the pockets of his elegant coat, was Lord Morpheus.

He cut a striking figure as always, not just from the sleek black clothes, but from his mere presence and height. The world seemed to bend around him, every living thing holding their breath and keeping their eyes on him in anticipation of what he might create next, what wonderful figments would come from the hands buried in his deep pockets.

The raven-black locks of his hair ruffled gently in the breeze, dancing over his forehead in such a way that even here, still on the path, you ached to brush it back from his alabaster skin.

Lucienne looked between the pair of you, noting how neither of you looked away and she aimed a small bow toward Dream before disappearing off somewhere, a grin crossing her lips as she turned away.

In all the magnificent, impossible beauty of this realm, both Dream King and Dreamer had eyes only for each other.

For you, he represented every single thing you craved. Adventure, imagination, the possibility of not “What if?” but “Why not?” He was steady and secure; he was fiercely loyal and determined and he made you feel like… You were something more. He made you want to embrace every single aspect of yourself, whether people in the living world would judge you or not. He was irrevocably his own person and you wanted to have that same self-assured confidence, even in your faults.

For Morpheus… You were ethereal. You were something even he couldn’t have ever created, for you superseded whatever his mind could fathom into existence. You burned with a flame of life so bright that you dimmed those around you. It was as if one of the stars from the skies above him had fallen and settled within you. The way you saw magic in every corner of the world, both living and Dreaming, and were determined to not only see it but keep it there. You belonged somewhere where that imagination could grow, where your beguiling, incredible personality could thrive and fill those up around you.

Even your shadows, the threads of pain and past that you carried with you were beautiful. He wanted to learn them, with your permission, to see how they made you strong, even on your weakest days. He wanted everything. He wanted your love, your happiness, and your joy. He wanted your anger and your anguish. He wanted the Dreams in your head and the words from your lips.

Simply put, he was enraptured by you, in such a way that he didn’t believe he could feel again.

His imprisonment at the hands of mortals had shown him how cruel the world still was, just in different ways now. There was such greed and darkness in the world, a stain that was heavier than the Nightmares he created, and he believed that his faith would never be restored in those who once walked the planes of love and fascination.

And yet, you were starting to make him see different. If such wonder and light could reside in you, maybe all was not lost after all.

Dream smiled, that perpetual pouty expression melting into a soft smile that was yours, and yours alone, “Hello, my little Dream.” His voice slid over the words like silk, deep and slow, magnetic in its cadence and alluring in tone.

His voice, his presence, it all called to you until you walked forward, stopping before him and giving a playful little curtesy, dipping your head before lifting it to look up at him, “Hello, Mor.” Your own voice was soft, at peace as you gazed up at your Dream Lord.

Dream’s eyes carefully roamed your face and body, like they always did to check you were okay. They returned to your own eyes, lingering on them as if he could see into your soul and your heart.

Those endless cerulean eyes flickered, narrowing a little, “They told you to stop dreaming again, didn’t they?” His voice had deepened, turning harder round the edges, a lick of ancient, all-encompassing danger dancing along the edges as his expression darkened.

Funny how both him and Lucienne read it so clearly in your face. Were you that obvious? Or did they just know you that well?

You shrugged gently, giving him a smaller smile, “They’re just worried about me, Mor, that’s all.” You thought back to Lucienne’s words, “They don’t understand that I feel more at home and at peace here than I do in the waking world.” You reached out, gently tugging the lapel of his soft, flowing coat, “Don’t worry about it, I’m okay. I promise.”

One of his hands came up to circle your wrist gently, his long fingers warm on your skin as they kept your hand to his chest. The other lifted higher, the crook of his knuckle resting just beneath your chin, and he tilted your head up, “You feel at home here?” The softness was back to his voice, but this tone was different. You were learning what they meant, and this one was as if… As if he was hanging on your every word, that what you said next meant more to him than you could ever comprehend.

A shiver ran through your bones at his touch, a sense of belonging sinking into your blood, but at the same time his caress untethered you. It was like starlight; ethereal, powerful, glorious, and dangerous. Dangerous because you knew that you would do anything for this contact, for him, for Lucienne and for the Dreaming. His touch exploded on your skin like the skies above, and you were more than willing to fall headfirst into it and everything that came after.

You nodded faintly, not wanting to dislodge his touch and you breathed, “Yes.” With your eyes on his, your voice strengthened, desperate for him to believe it, “I do, Mor. I feel safe here. Loved. Like I can be whoever I want, dream whatever I want… No thought is too small or unimportant.” There was a brief hesitation before continued, “I don’t feel like I fit in amongst the waking world. It feels as though everything is a step ahead, like I’m trying to play catch up and I’m not quite there in body and mind. But here… with you…” You pressed your hand flat to his chest, feeling the steady beat of a heart that had pumped for eons, “This is home. I feel alive here, awake, like everything is crystal clear and mine to explore. I can breathe deeper here than I can back there.”

Dream noted how you didn’t call it home. How you called your mortal life “back there’ or ‘the waking world.” These two places were separate for you, one you cherished and one you felt lost in. You felt safe in this world, in his world. With him.

He cocked his head, brushing his thumb along your chin and jaw, relishing in the softness of your skin, the press of your hands into his chest that felt like they were pressing into his very bones and heart, cradling it as carefully as he was cradling you, because you were irrevocably precious to him. “You know you can be whoever you want to be here, my muse. You can be every aspect of yourself, and I will never shy away from you. Any part of you.” He looked between your eyes whilst his own blazed with a fierce intensity, a longing and something there you couldn’t quite work out. His words stole your breath away, coaxing it from your chest and replacing the space with a swirl of fluttering butterflies that promised great and beautiful things with each pulse of their wings.

You looked over his features again, leaning forward, with his hands still on your face and you pressed your forehead up against his gently, even though you had to stand on tiptoe. “Thank you, Mor… Thank you for looking at me and seeing everything.” You slid your arms from his chest to wind around his shoulders, even though the action sent soft shivers and fluttering’s of anticipation through your body… and his own.

Dream shuddered softly as though your touch awoke something in him, and his arms immediately came to wrap around your waist, holding you close to his body. You felt his nose press against the top of your head, felt him breathe you in and his arm tighten like he didn’t want to let you go.

He smelt incredible, like your favourite night-blooming jasmine and bergamot, like open night skies and stars, notes of rain and wind and something distinctly masculine, woodsy and comforting. His hand slipped up to cup the back of your head, his eyes closing as he breathed in your own scent again, felt your warmth and softness and the even beat of your heart. “This will always be your home, little dream. I promise you that.”

You stayed wrapped up in Dream’s embrace for… what could have been hours. Until you both eventually pulled back from each other, and he caressed your face once more before holding out his arm to you, and leading you toward the grand, majestic palace in which the dragons lifted their heads in greeting to, in their eyes, the Lady of the Dreaming.

If only you knew.

“How have things been? Are your siblings still causing you trouble?” You were sitting outside on the bank of soft grass at the edge of the lake surrounding Morpheus’ castle.

The Lord of Dreams was cross-legged next to you, his long cloak spread out behind him like a spill of ink. He looked over at you from the water, something softening in his eyes like always when his gaze was resting on his Dream, “Surprisingly not. Desire has instead taken to leaving me alone, which I admit concerns me more than if they were interfering.” His lips pulled into a thoughtful pout, “I’m sure I’ll find out the reason for their silence, soon enough.”

You chuckled a little, running a blade of grass through your fingers, “It’s always fascinated me how… human you are. You’re all the anthropomorphic personifications of such powerful emotions, you’ve been alive for millennia and yet you still have the typical siblings’ dynamics that mortals have.”

That pout melted into a little wry grin and he shrugged softly, “Even the Endless argue and bicker over who the better sibling is.” He gazed at you for a moment longer, then shook his head, hair ruffling in the breeze, “Enough about me. I want to hear about you.”

You cocked your head, raising a brow teasingly at him, “You already know everything there is to know about me, Mor.” It was true. You felt as though he knew you better than anyone did… Which you supposed was true. You’d told him things that no one in the mortal world knew about you, hopes and dreams that you’d never voice aloud.

Morpheus turned to face you properly, reaching out to take your hand in his own, sliding his long fingers through yours, “I want to hear it all again… Please. I want to hear about the dreams you had as a child, your favourite colour and the season you like best. I want to hear what food makes you feel alive and which genre of music makes your heart glow like the stars I see in your eyes.” He looked over your face, brushing his thumb against yours, “I want to hear every little thing that makes my Dream who she is.”

Your heart began to quicken at his words, that fluttering feeling humming in your blood and making it feel as though your chest was going to burst. He was looking at you like you were the only thing in this realm and all the others, the only spot of awe and beauty in a place where anything was possible.

There was a shift happening, something altering in the air as soon as you saw him on that bridge and something like anticipation caressed down your spine. You took a breath, feeling the tremor there and instead, you asked him, “Why?”

Dream blinked, as if surprised you could be wondering such a thing, “Why?” He held your hands to his chest, leaning forward over his crossed legs so he could be closer, “Because you are… extraordinary. You are unlike anyone I have ever met, both mortal and otherwise. You dream and imagine in such a way that even I cannot fathom, and it’s… incredible.” His eyes shone, lined with silver, and implored you to believe him, to see yourself how he saw you.

Your throat tightened at his words, you own eyes beginning to burn and grow glossy as you watched this man, this god, try to convince you that you were something he was inspired by, that he was in awe of you when he was responsible for the creation of such unbelievable things, “Mor…” You could manage no more than a whisper, for fear of your voice breaking.

He shook his head gently, lifting one of his hands to cup your jaw. His long fingers traced your jawline, carefully, as if you were the most precious thing he had ever set eyes on, before letting his fingers curl behind your ear. His thumb skated along your cheekbone, those cerulean eyes drifting down to your lips for a moment, “The thought of you being in the mortal realm, amongst those who try and suffocate your dreams… I can’t stand it. You belong in a place where you can be free, where you can be whoever you want.” He looked up at you through his dark lashes, his inky hair tumbling over his forehead, “You should be here.” He looked between your eyes, his throat bobbing on a swallow, “You should be here with me.”

And there it was.

The words that you had been longing to hear from the moment you stepped foot in this realm and walked side-by-side with Dream of the Endless. The words you couldn’t figure out how to ask on your own, finally spilling from his lips and wrapping you in their embrace.

A soft little laugh left your lips, breathy and light and you opened them to respond, to let all of your own feelings come free… But then a shudder ran down your body.

You felt simultaneously too heavy and too light at the same time, and you could no longer feel the soft ground beneath you, but instead the squishiness of a mattress.

“No...” Dream’s voice broke on that single syllable, the hope in his eyes dying and he pulled you closer, like holding you to his body would prevent you from slipping away. Even the thought of you being gone for another day was torture, especially after he had revealed the desperate desire to have you with him, a desire he’d had since he first laid eyes on you.

You clung to his arms, curling your fingers in the soft fabric of his coat as your peripheral vision began to blur, the structures of the Dreaming bleeding away like watercolour on a canvas. “Don’t let me go, Mor. Please. I don’t want to go back.” You shook your head, this time feeling even more painful than all the other nights, because your words were on your lips, you wanted to speak them, to hold him, to say yes…

But time was a cruel thief.

Morpheus kept his eyes steady on yours, even though those lines of silver were spilling down his cheeks now, “Come back to me, my Dream. Come back to me and stay.” He brushed his thumb over your cheek again, ducking his head to press his forehead to your own, but you couldn’t feel it, only the ghost of a touch. “Please…”

His final whispered word was the last thing you heard as oblivion rained down, and a second later your eyes opened to the familiar sight of your bedroom, his words ringing in your ears.

The sounds of the milk steamer, the whirring grind of the coffee beans and the soft music in the background were a symphony that lulled you into your usual state of dissociation. It had gotten worse. Your daydreams tiptoed along the gates of the Dreaming, begging for him, and more than once you’d caught yourself nodding off, like your subconscious was yearning to get back to its home.

You felt, rather than saw Sam’s somewhat concerned eyes on you multiple times throughout the day, watching you on autopilot as you imagined the cosy coffee shop was nestled in a world of imagination and endless, swirling sky.

Realistically, you knew you couldn’t sleep forever, that you’d have to actually live your real life but… With each day, each second it didn’t feel right. Everything in you cried out to be elsewhere, to be with him. Especially after that declaration the fell from his lips like stardust, surrounding you with everything you’d longed to hear the Lord of Dreams say, and it only served to spur your own emotions even more.

You wished with a fierce desire that you’d been able to tell Morpheus everything you felt. That you mirrored his admissions last night, and ask him… Ask him if you could indeed stay with him. In a realm where you could be yourself, with those you loved rather than having to hide the aspects of your personality from those who might judge you for it. Tell him that you felt more in place at his side than anywhere else here.

The tingling of the bell echoed in the back of your mind, barely making a dent in your thoughts as you cleaned the coffee machine from the previous customers drinks. Sam would probably pick the order up anyway since he was closest.

And yet, the next voice you heard wasn’t your best friends calling for you to get your head out of the clouds and make a latte.

It cut straight through the fog in your head, reaching for your heart and encasing it in a warm, star dusted touch. It ran against your skin like velvet, coaxing you to a place you belonged.

For a second, you thought you’d fallen asleep standing up, because when you finally lifted your head to the counter… There he was. Standing before you with the magnetic allure of imagination and dreaming desires, pulling the attention of the room like the king he was.

Ruffled raven-black hair, his long velvet coat hiding the night sky within, and a little smile, your smile playing about his plush lips. Morpheus.

“Hello, my little dream.”

#the sandman #the sandman x reader #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #female reader #tom sturridge #acourtofsnakes

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salome-c · 1 year

Photo

Don’t worry, he is fine.

Pedro Pascal breaking character hosting SNL (February 4, 2023)

#i am so in love #pedro pascal #pedro pascal edit #pedropascal #pedropascaledit #ppascal #ppascal edit #ppascaledit #snl #pedro pascal snl #snl pedro pascal #the mandalorian #the last of us #salome-c gifset #salome c gifset

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writefightandflightclub · 2 years

Note

I know you’re working hard on lots of things rn, but if you have the time for a few words about Duke Leto giving reader a hug (like your Nathan Bateman fic) I’d be so appreciative. I’m really touch-starved. It sounds so pathetic 😭 but you’re my fave author. And I totally understand if you don’t have time for it. Much love to you Luna ❤️

The sun on your skin (Duke Leto Atreides x GN!reader)

Summary: touch-starved reader. A little angst. Comfort, fluff, happy ending.

Author’s note: thank you for this request, Anon! I don’t often get Leto requests but he’s SO much fun to write and I really enjoyed this one! This is quite different to the Nathan one, but I hope you still like it all the same (no worries if you don’t - wrote it super fast so sorry if it’s clunky in parts!). Please enjoy this big cuddle from our fave Dukey boy and his nice strong arms, okay? You deserve it! Also, I’m sending you a Luna hug too (if you want it, but feel free to bin that one if you don’t 🤣!) 🧡☺️ ILY byeeeee

Warnings: touch-starved reader; few brief mentions of grief (Lady Jessica passed away some years ago in this one). Cuddles! Written very quickly, poorly proofed.

Rating: nothing explicit but blog is 18+ minors DNI.

GIF: @salome-c 🧡

You skin sings for touch.

But touch does not heed your song.

It has been too long.

Since arriving on Arrakis, there has been a drought of it. Sensations have grown ever more sparse and flattened without your favoured Caladan rains and grasses to kiss your bare skin - let alone a human touch. Everything here is sand and grit and stone and metal, and at times even the people around you are indistinguishable from machinery. Not only because their bodies are boxed in by stillsuits, but also because their own demeanours are often every bit as closed off and restrained as their confining apparatus.

Everything is so entirely muted - so much so that at times you wonder if you fingers have simply fallen numb.

And still, your skin sings its song.

Sings for contact.

It is a long time since rains and grasses have kissed your skin, but it is longer still since you were touched by another. Touched with desire. With affection. With care. With reverence. Since you touched; felt; traced contours. Since you languished under the gentle pad of fingertips or warm press or claw of a hand sinking into your flesh.

It is not lust, per se, which moves you to crave such intimacy. It is not a hunger, necessarily, that opens in the pit of you. Indeed, it is not a ravenous or barrelling want. On the contrary; it is a thirst, you think. A thirst so pronounced that you need touch to be poured into you before you can even think. You could not possibly devour or pounce - would not be capable of sinking your teeth. Not when your need is even more basic still. Not when you feel so entirely empty in the absence of being quenched.

A thirst. A need so intense it hollows you.

How apt, you think, for one dwelling in this desiccated, water-forsaken, desert world.

And still, your skin sings for it. Sings like the sun - from its molten rise to slinking dusk.

As an emissary of House Atreides, your days are entirely absent of this contact. Everyone around you is stiff, courteous, and stand off-ish. Eminently cautious and on-guard. Either indifferent to you, intimidated by you, or a threat. Sometimes all of these at once.

On diplomatic missions there may be handshakes - or other such customs - but they take place through leather gloves so thick you can barely even feel the warmth of your counterpart’s palm. And yet, you have come to crave even this. This morsel.

It is so long since you felt something soft and warm, in fact, that you have taken to standing out in the sun for stints without your stillsuit, your flesh bare to the morning so that you can feel the liquid ripple of sun sluicing over your skin - as though the light itself has fingers.

Sometimes, you close your eyes and imagine that the rising sun cupping your cheek is him. Duke Leto. His warm, broad hand that you long to touch; skin-to-skin.

Sometimes, you imagine that the sun alone could sate you; but, of course… inevitably, it only makes your thirst all the more pronounced.

Isn’t that sad - in the truest sense- you think? How desperate you are to feel something? How lonely? How touch-starved?

It is this deficit which -mortifyingly- leads you to audibly whimper in the midst of a Council meeting.

As usual, Duke Leto is sat at the head of the table, and you are at his right hand. He sits, looking hard as stone. As official as a statue - erected to signal rule and conquest. The angles of his face as severe as the plane of a mason’s tools.

You have heard tell of the man’s coffee hearth warmth. That which could -no doubt- sway a warm body or a nation to kneel before him. Have even witnessed said warmth, from a distance; but you have never been close enough to feel the blaze of it yourself. Have never felt his eyes trace over you with any hint of sun in them. To you, he may as well be made of sand and grit and stone and metal too.

If he ever deigned to touch you, you wonder if he would be as cool as marble; and yet, at the same time, you ache knowing that he never shall touch you. Not with anything extending beyond formality or ceremony, in any case.

Perhaps this assumption is why it takes you by surprise when you do finally feel him; corporeal and warm and fleshy against your own skin. Warm as the Arrakis sun, but as quenching as the rains of Caladan. As electric as one of your blessed homeland’s storms, his touch buzzing like static against your skin.

He hadn’t meant to touch you, of course. He only ever meant the opposite. To refrain from it. To remain proper. Distant. Just like everyone else in this house of power.

However, on this occasion, you managed to get close. Council had been convened, and you were tasked with debriefing the Duke - and his generals and his diplomats and Mentats - on your latest diplomatic mission. You were relaying what you had learned about the customs of a clan dwelling deep in the interior of this land, using the prop of a ceremonial dagger to illustrate key aspects of their culture, values, language, and ceremonies.

Your gloves were slipped off to touch this antiquity -a thing so precious deserving to be held, you think- exhibiting the generously gifted token of this fledging allyship. You needed your hands bare to appreciate the weight and texture, craftsmanship and intricacy of it, your fingers riding over the swirls of the engraved hilt as tenderly as though it could love you back.

You had turned, to pass the dagger to your Duke for his closer inspection. Leto has always taken a keen interest in your briefings, ever since touching down on the shifting sands of this planet. In fact, he has often requested your private counsel in the days which follow - a fact which you take immense personal pride in. And so, delighted by the Duke’s interest on this occasion too, it was too late before you realised that he had followed your lead, his black gloves slipped off and discarded onto the slab of a table.

When his warm fingers brushed yours, you were not ready for it.

Yet it has happened, and now here you are.

Does that explain the sound which falls from your lips, then? A shocked and strangled thing, dripping with some starkly felt relief at knowing you can still feel after all.

You whip your hand away, clutching it sudden and tight to your chest as though the man has branded you, and Leto’s stony, carved brow draws down as he seeks to decipher your ailment. Has the blade nicked your skin, perhaps, in transit between your palm and his?

Indeed, for a moment, you wonder if it has. If the hot bloom across your skin is pain, skin singing and tingling. You even look down, expecting to see a flare of red seeping like embers in a stoked hearth through your palm.

But instead, you look down and there is nothing.

Nothing but the craving for more.

You are the only flare. Alight and seeking his attentions.

“Are you quite well?” Leto asks with poise after a moment of glaring silence, where you feel as though your strangled noise must without doubt be echoing in his mind - if not within the grand room in which you sit.

You attempt to ignore any murmuring or stares from within the party at large, lest you might feel your cheeks heat only further.

“Yes, my Duke,” you manage to wring out and he nods -good- his brow still burdened by that perpetual weight, but his hands now occupied with weighing the dagger in his palm. Tracing the thick pad of his finger along the engravings you touched mere moments ago.

You feel shame that the action of it sends a warm snake slipping down your spine, as though him touching something of yours could be akin to him touching you. Tracing all of your curves and contours and lines. Reading you. Treasuring you. A proxy for holding you close.

However, when Leto nods once more, signalling he has completed his study of the object, he replaces the dagger into its gilded housing and sets it down onto the cool slab of table. He slides it towards you; rather than daring to risk touching you again, you interpret.

Stars.

Do you repulse him so?

Somehow, and with great effort, you push that painful thought down - as ever - and you regain your flow. You do what you do best, engaging in exchanges with Leto’s best strategists and advisors, who are keen to find ways to exploit the burgeoning relationship you established during your weeks away. You serve Leto well and loyally, always seeking to strengthen the position of the House of Atreides. However, you are not afraid to check greed nor barbarousness in his Council chamber. The clan shoved you kindness after all, and you have honour. You learned that from the best.

Perhaps that is why you catch Leto’s eyes focussed pridefully on you as Council is concluded, the members gradually filtering out of the grand, lofty room. Or, perhaps you simply imagined it, as when you turn to him he immediately becomes stone, as though you have some power in your stare to petrify him.

You regard him as he rises to standing, thanking and dismissing his subjects. His arms are folded formally behind his back, and his chest puffed out - hard enough that his seams creak and strain against his muscles and the slight swell of his stomach.

“Stay behind,” he says coolly, his eyes fixed on the door.

You feel the bite of nerves in your stomach like a worm turning through the sands, but you answer Leto obediently. “Yes, my Duke.”

Leto nods subtly to his guards at the door, their attention attuned to him so closely - as everyone’s is - that he barely need move his head for them to intuit his wants. And, with that, the doors are being swung closed, and you are swallowed by the mouth of the long, worm stomach of a room.

Without the others to fill it it feels cavernous, and so you are grateful when Leto crosses to the cosier alcove, lined with carpets and arm chairs and a small coffee table.

“Sit,” he invites, and you oblige him, taking the least grand of the winged chairs so that, naturally, your highness may repose in greatest comfort. “Your delegation all performed their roles well on this occasion?”

“Yes. It was a successful mission. The juniors did well, your highness.”

He nods. “It seemed you were gone longer than usual.” His oaky voice takes on a wistful quality.

“Just three weeks, my Lord.” A short trip, all things considered.

He hums, and he finally takes his seat.

“If I may, my Lord. What is it you wish to discuss?” You study the niggle in his brow, thick parallel lines like the trunks of sturdy Caladan trees.

He reclines more deeply into his seat, folding his hands in his lap, and looking slightly down his nose at you. It is habit, more than it is superiority, you think. The Atreides line have proud chins and noses - a beauty hard to match. “Tell me,” Leto asks plainly, the timbre of his voice deepening. “Does my touch make you uncomfortable?”

His question makes you uncomfortable, but you seek to obscure that fact. You cannot help the swallow which trails down your throat, however - a dead giveaway.

Leto surveys you steadily, his lips parting so that he can swipe his tongue along the length of his lower lip.

You have only a moment before you must answer, and you know that you must. Leto is a Duke and expects it. It is no secret that any question he poses should be met in only one of two ways. By a lie or a truth, and never by silence. Well… To lie would be dangerous, and…to tell the truth? How could you possibly?

“I entreat you so that I may remedy it,” Leto offers generously, as you stumble over your words. “I only ever wish for you to be comfortable with me. So, if it troubles you, I can endeavour to take more care in future.”

“Thank you,” you state, sitting tense on the edge of your seat whilst the man before you appears entirely at ease - perhaps aside from the gentle rocking of his boot against the floor, the leather creaking with the motion. “That is certainly a kindness.”

You risk a glance up at him from beneath your lashes, awaiting his nod of finality, signalling this is settled; but, it does not come. Instead, he tilts his head, deepening his study of you. Perhaps sensing there are yet words which remain unspoken.

“Speak plainly,” Leto encourages softly, and you recognise that it is an order as much as it is a plea. “I want to understand.” Damn him and his scholarly intentions.

You tug in a deep breath, heart hammering as you face the choice before you. You can either lose face, or lose his trust; and you know which you would rather.

“My Duke…”

“Call me Leto,” he entreats you, though you’re not sure that you can. Instead then, you fix your gaze firmly on his boot.

“It is quite the opposite, in fact.” He leans forward in his chair and you watch his boot crease - before your view of it becomes obscured by his broad, veiny hands, his forearms atop his sturdy thighs and his fingers laced together in the space between. With this new proximity, and with the sight of his bare, ungloved skin, your voice comes out mere breath - enough to propel a sail ship across your home seas, perhaps. “I will admit... I -I have not been touched in so long that I…” You stop yourself, with effort attempting to quell your confession. Sewing your lips in a thin line. Alas, you are so thirsty that you feel like a parched wanderer - one unable to hold back their pleas for water when given that blessed hope for relief. To speak it feels imperative. As urgent as a matter of survival. Still, you are a diplomat. You know well when to hold your tongue, and when to give. You backpedal, just a little. Not a lie, but not the whole truth either. You simply opt to omit the specificity of whose touch your crave most. “Your touch happened upon a… craving.” You shake your head bashfully. “Forgive me, Leto.” The faintest of smiles is chiselled from his resolve you think, when you call him by his name. “Evidently I am undone with loneliness. It will not interfere with my duties again.”

Leto tilts his head again, shuffling forward to the edge of his chair, his knees almost bumping yours, and his hands almost close enough that you could reach out to him.

You see sympathy in his eyes, you think. “There are… plenty of warm bodies on base.”

His meaning is implied, but the mere thought causes a crease to notch in your brow. “No,” you say more abruptly than you intended, adamantly shaking your head.

“No?” Leto asks, his deep voice thrumming with a faint ring of amusement. “You want of none of them?”

You shake your head, a self-conscious smile tipping your mouth as Leto regards you levelly.

“Me neither,” your Duke admits. “Not since Lady Jessica…” He trails off. The tale of her passing and the Duke’s grief is well-trodden. His grief and her presence echoed in the halls of the palaces of Caladan long after she was gone. You look down at his hands, and you are almost overcome by the urge to hold his between your palms until the clouds in his eyes are passed. “For years, there was no warm body in the Kingdom who could tempt me.”

You look back to his eyes and see sunbeams there, settled in the creases around his eyes, and it is only then his true meaning dawns on you. Jessica’s passing was some time ago. Since then he has never… indulged?

That surprises you.

Though… Perhaps it shouldn’t.

“No-one else on base then,” Leto probes gently. “But my touch is… not unwelcome?”

Your skin sings so hard that it feels hoarse.

Leto shifts in his chair, as though priming to shift like a Dune. To pour himself onto you like a liquid dawn.

You see a glimmer in his eyes too; a want buried deep. Given time, you think, you could excavate this want, like a treasure dug out from deep beneath the Arrakis sands.

You look deep into his eyes, as brown as the tree trunks which line the damp Caladan lands. So rich and earthy you feel you could smell the waft petrichor on him, you think, if only he would move closer.

You want it.

You want contact.

Stars.

You wish you had savoured his touch more - savoured that fleeting brush of his hand instead of snatching yourself away. You feel your thirst had been so pronounced, that you poured water to your lips in so much haste that you had spilled it. Rare, precious drops wasted, evaporating in the desert heat.

“Your touch?” you ask, and he hums an affirmative. “Your touch would feel like water in a desert, my Lord, were it freely given. But, of course, I would not expect to be so blessed.” Flustered by your own outpouring, this confession, you stand, eager to make it clear to the Duke that you expect nothing of him. To convince him that you are not frail in the face of your needs. That you can bear it - this terrible need. “I must go, my Duke. I have taken up enough of your time.”

“No,” Leto protests, and his voice arrests you to the spot. Your traitorous feet are frozen in place even as your body has already begun to turn from him. Still, like a flower towards the sun, his voice calls you back. “You have not taken up nearly enough. I have missed you these weeks. Three! Three weeks.”

You feel you might choke on your own heartbeat as Leto slips his hand into your own, his touch warm against you. Your eyes shimmer with questions and emotions as you turn back to your Duke, your head shaking softly in confusion as you regard him. As his fingers nimbly traverse to the collar of his uniform. As he begins to unbutton himself.

“Leto? What are you-“

“-Hush,” he soothes. “Let me hold you.” He slips his uniform from his broad, dense shoulders, letting the crisp garment drop to the stone floor in a crumpled heap. But, he does not stop there. His eyes soft and careful - reassuring- he strips down until he is shirtless, and then? Then, he extends his brown, muscled arms out towards you. “Let me hold you. Please?”

All of a sudden, you think, the man looks just as parched as you, his face sunken into all its hollows.

And, although you stand agape, it takes little encouragement for you to collapse into his offer. His plea. Your body sags gratefully into his, and your arms wrap firmly around his shoulders as his own loop and extend around your middle. In disbelief, you bury your head into the crook of his shoulder, and you feel all of him - bare and warm against you. You feel his skin and his warmth and his hair and his beard beneath your greedy fingertips, drinking all of the textures of him in. He feels soft and smooth and so far from stone.

Meanwhile, with a whimper all his own - a huge sigh of relief like he’s a statue cracking open - Leto in turn holds you ever so close, pulling you in towards his shapely chest. He smooths his hands up and down your back in a slow, steady caress of a rhythm - splayed fingers searching every contour of you out. Repeating his path until he learns you. Sucking in a deep breath and letting it all go again, the gust of his hot breath sneaking below your collar and down your spine.

Reverently, carefully, Leto cups his hand to the back of your head and smooths over your hair. He nuzzles his cheek against yours, and as your tears wet his shoulder, he keeps holding on, gently swaying and rocking you in his arms.

Leto touches you, comforts you, ever so intentionally, and he lets you feel him too. Allows your fingertips to run over the notches of his spine. Your palms to smooth over the tense muscles in his cultivated back and shoulders. To allow the heat of him pressed against you to bloom deep beneath your clothes, warmth suffusing through your whole body in a way the desert sun could scarce equal.

You bask in the divine brush of his sculpted beard against your cheek and neck. The feeling of his soft, grizzled curls as your fingers twine delicately into the length at his crown.

He holds you, and it is so long since you were held that for a moment you think an embrace this gentle might break you.

“I miss Caladan,” you sob against his skin, the words never having risen to the surface before now. Not until Leto knew what you needed before you did yourself; and what’s more, wanted to give it to you.

Still, as your wet words spillover from your mouth like water, his touch filling you until you are overflowing, you wonder if you forget your place too readily. You are with royalty, and you begin to fear that you might have misspoke. You pull back from him, to look him in the eyes. “Forgive me, my Lord.”

“There is nothing to forgive. You may speak plainly around me, sweet.”

His index finger traces along the line of your jaw, with all the reverence you have seen his hands display to the various gifts and antiquities you share from your travels. The path of his finger down the spine of a sacred text, or along the curved, swirled path of a hilt. His fingers splitting apart sweet, too-ripe, off-world fruits, his grin cracking just as wide. He touches you, as though you are a treasure. A rarity. A joy.

His eyes shine on you as warm as suns, his gaze flitting over your face like a dance of dappled light.

You close your eyes for a moment, perhaps believing all of this to be a dream - emotion swelling in your chest and up into your throat like the swell of your home seas. “I miss the rain,” you ponder, looping your hands around the nape of his neck and caressing him there.

A soft smile blooms in the midst of Leto’s beard. “You always did look happiest when the weather came down. There is a storm in your heart, I think. Something beautiful and formidable about you.”

You gasp lightly in disbelief as Leto cups your face tenderly in his broad palm - his touch akin to golden sun on your skin.

You smile wetly at him, and his eyes tighten in turn. “You noticed me then? On Caladan?”

Languidly, he strokes the pad of his thumb back and forth over your cheek.

“You did not know?” You softly shake your head. “Caladan was a grey world, my darling. But our conversations were bright spots - bright enough to rival the Arrakis sun.” His expression grows wistful. “You have brought me the greatest joy I’ve felt since…”

It is only then, in that moment, your eyes tracing the pain carved in the planes of his face, that you see how starved your Duke has been. How lonely, too. Emotions swirl in his eyes, but this time, you reach for him. You smooth your palm over his skin like you finally see how soft he is. How fragile, in many ways. A treasure, standing half bare before you. “All this time. I thought you stone, Leto.” How sad, you think. How sad that you did not see him.

His brow grows heavier yet, and solemnly, Leto draws away from you. The space around your body feels suddenly bereft without him enclosing you. You watch as he moves, padding towards the winged chair, still in his knee-high boots and tight black pants, and yet his torso pleasantly bare. He sits, his sturdy thighs spread and his palms resting flat atop each leg. He looks at you, expression -seemingly- as stony as ever. “At first,” he begins, “I suppose it is true - that my grief had turned me to stone.” Leto pats his strong thighs, calling you to his lap. He watches you keenly as your fingers fumble with the buttons on your own uniform jacket. As you slip off your boots. A soft smile blooms as he watches you. “And then, my sweet? Turning myself to stone was the only way I could resist you.” You curl in his lap like a spoilt housecat. Like the curl of a hilt fusing with its steely blade. Like stepping into a warm bath. You curl into his chest, and he holds you. “Now though, darling. Do you see?” Your eyes close. You hear the dull thud of his chest against the shell of your ear. You feel his broad hands smooth over you.

“See what?”

“My love,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, the brush of his beard gently scraping you. “Do you see that I have softened for you?”

Indeed. He is no longer stone. Not stone at all.

He is liquid and light.

Like sun on your skin.

Your voice cracks wide open like fruit pulled apart by his girthy fingers. Like his grin. Like the breaking of dawn. “Leto,” you croak, voice heavy with sentiment as his tender touch traces every patch of skin he can reach. “Do you treat everything you hold in your hands like a treasure?”

“No, sweet,” Leto purrs. “Only the most precious things.”

He traces his fingers and his lips over you with reverence. Care. Affection. He touches you like you could love him back.

Your skin sings for his touch, but this time you need only whisper, not scream.

“Hush, precious one,” he soothes. “Don’t waste your water.”

You had not noticed the tears wetting your cheeks until he spoke of them, falling even as your eyes crinkled with your smile.

“Tears of happiness are not a waste, I think.”

He smiles. No longer stone.

“Even so.”

Leto dips his head until his lips brush your skin, and he kisses your tears away.

#duke leto atreides x reader #duke leto x reader #duke leto atreides #duke leto #leto atreides x reader

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supernovafeather · 2 years

Text

Tender Morning

Leto Atreides x F!Reader

Content : nudity, sexual innuendo, pregnant!reader, fluff

A really short fic (less than 1000 words) I wrote because we crave sweet Leto being in love.

Night died a few minutes ago and yet your concubine is already adjusting the collar of his navy blue jacket. How can he master this glare at his own mirror so early, the kind only a confident leader certain of his convictions can possess so effortlessly ?

"You're handsome." You state from your shared bed.

Leto turns around with a raised eyebrow crowning a flattered face.

"Thank you my love. You are magnificent like this." He adds with a boyish grin.

"Thank you, but who put me in that state, mh ?" You ask with a chuckle.

You don't sleep naked unless you got to feel so good that you forget that clothes are meant to be worn. Why should you waste your time to cover yourself when this man keeps you close from his own naked body ? There is nothing more pure than skin contact, as dirty your previous interactions were.

"I took part to this my dear Lady." He acknowledges with a last look in the mirror. "But you collaborated very well. I appreciate your help."

"Anything to please you my Lord."

"I can only accept such actual dedication."

The man walks away from the mirror, his eyes stopping at the mess your bed is this morning. It is the only place becoming messy behind him, you can be sure of this and you ask for more every time. His immaculate uniform suits him so well that you can only lay there, half covered in blankets as your exposed breasts receive a caress from his gloved hand that soon travels down to the bump now visible in your belly.

"This is also because of you sire." You whisper as you cross your bare fingers with the leather covering his.

"And I am proud of this." He replies with a smirk. "I am never going to have enough of this beautiful body."

"Me neither." You scoff as you eye him up and down. "Me neither my love."

A slight grimace as he kisses you on your forehead with his magnificent black beard half in your eyes, a stroke on your cheeks, and a wink as he remains folded right above you.

"Take your time to leave our bed my dove. You need some sleep."

"I can get up Leto." You protest faintly as you sit up. "You haven't ruined me enough to get rid off me like that."

"Not this time." He acknowledges deadpanned. "It doesn't mean that won't happen again so you better take some rest as long as you can."

"Is that supposed to sound like a terrific threat, or like a wonderful promise ?"

"A wonderful threat. If you need to be recalled of what I am capable of, think of what led you to carry this child. Well, now I have to leave you for now. Have a good morning my sweet."

And just like that, he vanishes from your sight, ready for his day as you remain there, a dreamy smile on your face. He was talented for sure.

- - -

Thank you for reading, please comment and reblog if you liked it !

@salome-c @stevenngrant @lavenderluna10 @one-hell-of-a-disappointment @dailyreverie @thecursivej @lady-targaryen @general-latino @harrys-tittie

#leto atreides #leto atreides x reader #leto atreides x you #duke leto x reader #duke leto x you #duke leto

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1800-fight-me · 2 years

Text

Comfort

Eddie Munson x GN!Reader (No Y/N)

Rating: T (although as a general rule my blog is 18+)

Warnings: pure fluff

Word count: 375- it’s short & sweet

Synopsis: You had a bad day and all you want is to see your boyfriend.

Author’s note: Sometimes your day sucks and you want to be held by a pretty metalhead okay??

P.S. Here’s a link to my masterlist if you’d like to check out my other writing! Also! My taglist is always open- leave me a comment or an ask if you’d like to be added!

You pushed open the door to Eddie’s trailer, internally shaking your head at the fact that it was never locked, dropped your bag and slipped off your shoes then trudged down the hall to his room.

“Hey sweetheart!”

You heard him say as you opened the door then face planted yourself onto his bed.

“Hey,” you said, your words muffled by the blankets.

You heard his soft chuckle and soon felt his hand rub up and down your back.

“Bad day?” he asked gently as you flopped over onto your back and pulled him on top of you.

He let out a sound of surprise as he fell onto you.

You wrapped yourself around him and buried your face in his neck.

“Mmhmm,” you breathed out, finally content now that you were with him.

The scent of his coconut shampoo that you bought him months ago was comforting as you ran your fingers through his hair and he ran his hand up and down your side slowly.

He pulled his head back slightly, placed his hand on your cheek and asked, “Am I squishing you?”

“Want to be squished,” you replied as you squeezed him tighter.

He laughed softly.

“Okay baby, whatever you want,” he said as he kissed your forehead.

You sighed in contentment, grateful that your day from hell was finally over and you were wrapped in your boyfriend’s arms.

“I missed you,” you mumbled as you kissed his jaw.

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he said as he rubbed your thigh where it was wrapped around his waist.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked softly.

You shook your head and pulled him into a kiss. His lips moved against yours, slow and sweet.

“I love you, Eddie baby,” you said as you kissed him once more.

He chuckled, “I love you too.”

He pressed a kiss to your nose and you smiled.

“There’s that gorgeous smile,” he said lovingly and you kissed him deeply, so in love with him for being able to put a smile on your face after such a shitty day.

He spent the rest of the evening comforting and holding you and managed to turn the worst day ever into a quiet loving night with your favorite person.

Everything taglist:

@spideysimpossiblegirl @dinandgone @ohpedromypedro @littlemisspascal @tombraider42017 @kirsteng42 @just-here-for-the-moment @salome-c

Eddie taglist:

@bunnywritesmarvel @crazycookiecrumbles @kindnonny23-2 @kaqua @ali-r3n @maskedmistressed @thikkiesixx @barrenwastelandofbrokendreams @purple-storm @slytherclaw82 @dumpsterfirecee

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie stranger things #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson x gn!reader

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the-little-ewok · 2 years

Text

A Little Help

A little help

Poe Dameron X F! Reader

Rating : T

Wordcount : 2900 (ish)

Warnings : None. Just fluff

Summary : Request from Tegan with prompt: “Wait, you think I'm cute?”

Poe brings BB-8 to you every week insisting something is wrong but you can never find anything, His droid is always in perfect condition. But BB-8 has decided his master needs a little help with you…

A/N : Sorry this took a little time to write! I do hope its worth the wait.

GIF banner by the lovely Salome-C

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

"It's happened again!"

Of course it did. You could almost time the commanders visits down to the day now. Always around a week after the last time you've seen him, for far longer than you've been able to keep track. As long as Poe Dameron is on base, you can guarantee that at some point you'll hear him running into your room, asking for your help.

Putting down the datapad you’ve been working on, you turn to face him, holding the droid safely in his arms, the look of panic in his face softening your annoyance.

"Poe, I've already done everything I can. You really need to get it checked over by someone a bit more experienced. I'm not really a mechanic," you sigh softly as he puts the droid down in front of you on the table, wondering how he manages to carry it and yet still look like it hardly bothers him at all. The only indication it's even slightly heavy is the slight flush of his cheeks.

"But you fixed him last time?" Poe interrupts your admiration of him, drawing your attention back to the droid now happily beeping and rolling across your table.

"I didn't do anything but replace a few almost burnt out fuses. None of them would have caused any problems. You know that as well as I do." His face falls as you talk, making you pause in your words. Maker, you can’t stand to see that forlorn look. "But I suppose I can take another look. Maybe run some diagnostics again if you want?"

"Yeah? You don't mind?" Poe breathes, relief evident in his tone. "I've looked him over myself, but there must be something I'm missing. I just don't know how to help. Everyone else is busy. And you know it's…not really important."

You understood the love the pilot had for the little droid, but above all else the resistance came first, which meant he'd been bringing the droid to you to look over, even with your limited experience, because everyone else was caught up preparing for missions. His ability to care, to love even the smallest of things, has always been the most attractive trait of the pilot, which is really in part why you didn't mind him coming to you either. But despite the fact you enjoyed his company, you always wished it was under better circumstances.

"Ok, lemme help you take another look and we'll try and figure it out together," you reassure him, trying to quell your thumping heart as he suddenly wraps his arms around you to give you a grateful hug.

“You’re the best,” he breathes, letting you go so you can grab your datapad.

He stands by quietly watchful as you re-run the diagnostics on his droid. He doesn't interrupt you, but he hovers far too close, watching your every movement, his hands twitching to help catch the droid every time you move it to unscrew panels or to check the inner workings.

You almost wish you could find something to explain BB's behaviour, so you could at least fix it and quiet the pilot's worries. But as you finish up your diagnostics and checks, everything comes back exactly the same. His droid was, as always, in perfect condition.

"I don't know what to tell you, Poe. There's nothing wrong with BB that I can find," you shrug, re-checking the diagnostics again.

"You're absolutely sure? Can you check again?"

You sigh, opening your mouth to explain that running everything again wouldn't change anything, but you pause as he gives you a pleading look. Stars, he needed to stop doing that, and you absolutely needed to stop giving in to him. Steeling yourself, you shake your head at him.

"Poe, I've checked it twice already. I promise there is nothing wrong with -” Your words cut out as the droid gives a series of beeps and a tilt of his head, before spinning around at top speed, beeping and whirring, causing the pilot to hold out his hands to ensure it doesn't fall off the table. Once the droid stops, Poe gives you a worried look.

"This! This is what keeps happening! Just once a week and then I bring him here, and he’s fine. And then it happens again. There must be something." He runs his hands carefully over the droid, soothing it as one might a child, as you frown at them both, a thought slowly forming in the back of your mind. It starts quiet at first before it grows louder and the more you think about it, the more you start to believe it.

Putting down your datapad you gently tug Poe’s sleeve to get his attention.

"Can I have a word? Away from your droid. I think I know what this might be." When he nods, you walk over to the other side of the room, waiting for him as he follows you quietly. He all but drags his feet, shoving his hands deep in his pockets, looking like the world crashed into his shoulders before you’ve even spoken.

"It's bad news, isn't it? You don't have to pretend it's not. If we know, we can figure out how to fix it. I mean, nothing can be unfixable, right?" His worried look breaks your heart, especially when he bites his lip and glances up to look between you and his droid.

"Poe, I promise you there is nothing wrong with your droid. Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen one that's better cared for." You take a breath, considering how to phrase your next wording in the most polite way possible. "Do you think maybe…BB is just doing it for attention?"

To anyone else they might have scoffed at you, told you droids are programs, and they don't have the ability to act out, but Poe looks over at his droid, a frown etched in his brow. BB gives a curious whir in your direction, rolling to the edge of the table to get closer to you both.

"Why would he do that?" He frowns, turning back to you.

"You've been on a lot of missions lately. Maybe BB's just feeling a little left out of your attention? I think everyone misses you a bit when you're gone." You are sure you can't be the only person that misses his presence, so it's technically not a lie, though you couldn't say for sure.

"I haven't been gone that often without him. I mean… I guess lately things have been a bit more chaotic. I suppose I have been a bit distracted," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck with a sigh. "So, nothing’s wrong?"

"Nothing I can find. I mean, you really should get someone else to check him over in case I'm wrong, though. Droids aren't my special field." He already knows that, but both of you also already know that unless it's resistance critical, there are still no resources to really help him, even with the respect everyone held for the commander.

Poe lets out a sigh of relief, the tension easing from his shoulders at your reassurance.

"No, I think you're right. It makes sense. I haven't been a very good friend lately."

Your heart gives a sudden painful ache, and you have to stop yourself from throwing your arms around him to hug him.

"I don't think it's that. You're doing the best you can, and nobody has been a better friend to that droid than you." You settle for patting his arm comfortingly, still biting back the urge to wrap yourself around him, and squeeze him tight for even thinking that about himself.

"I'm sorry. I feel like we've wasted your time," he apologises.

"Not at all. I don't mind. But I will get my own back," you wink, before raising your voice loud enough to echo across the room. "So yeah I'll just take it apart, wipe its memory, rebuild it and should be fine then," you shrug loudly with a smile at Poe.

BB-8 gives an alarmed set of beeps, rolling as far away from you as possible to the other end of the table. With a laugh as he walks back, Poe picks him up and sets him carefully on the floor, where he rolls behind his master's legs, peeking out at you.

"She's not serious, buddy," the pilot reassures softly, "but you gotta stop this now. I know I haven't been able to take you with me lately but -"

BB-8's beeps cut him off mid sentence making the pilot spin on his heel to frown at the droid.

He kneels down to get eye level as you walk back over to them, convinced you must have misheard or mistranslated something.

"Say that again, buddy?" Poe asks softly.

Curious to hear a clear answer as well, you crouch down, close enough that his leg is pressed against yours while he kneels beside you. Silently, you curse yourself for misjudging the distance that would be between you when you got down here. You really should move but now, you feel stuck, feeling like it would be as awkward to suddenly move as it would be to stay.

The pilot smells good. Really fucking good. Like starched washing, engine oil and soap. And he's hot, like the warmth a cooling X-Wing engine gives off when you stand too close, just warm enough to be comfortable but borderline that you might overheat if you stay too long…

Swallowing, you try to ignore the flare of prickling heat that creeps up the back of your neck at his closeness. If the lack of distance bothers Poe at all, he makes no indication of it.

He frowns at the droid as BB-8 repeats his earlier statement, reaching out a hand to rest on its side as he speaks, "Buddy, what do you mean you have to keep coming here until I do it? Until I do what?"

BB beeps back at him, making your eyes go wide and Poe stiffen next to you.

"You… you little…we are going to have a serious talk about this." He scolds, pointing a finger at the droid, who gives a series of beeps back in defence.

Poe turns to you at the same time you turn to him and fuck, he's far too close. The shock of it makes you wobble on your heels, and you're lucky his reflexes are what they are, as his hand shoots out to grab your arm and prevent you falling backwards. He holds you until you're steady, while you hope he can't feel your fluttering pulse through your clothes. His hand on your arm seems to burn through your shirt, sending heat flushing across your skin, before he lets you go, and a strange coldness engulfs you at the lack of touch.

Getting a handle on yourself, you swallow, bringing your attention back to the droid's answers.

"Did…did your droid just say that he's bringing you here to ask me out?"

"I am so sorry." The pilot apologises sincerely, but there's something in his eyes that you could almost take as thinly veiled amusement. You're not sure how sorry he actually is for his droid’s interference, but maybe he's sorry you found out.

"Do you always get your droid to pick up girls for you?"

"I swear I didn't put him up to this!" Poe protests the moment the words leave your mouth, a blush creeping over his cheeks and lighting up the tips of his ears with red.

You raise an eyebrow at him, amused at his sudden defence.

"So you're telling me you think your droid did this all by itself just to get you to talk to a girl?"

"Yes!"

"And you're telling me it's seriously been bringing you here every week, so you can ask me out? And you had no idea?"

"Yes!" He confirms, his cheeks growing redder with each passing moment. You aren't sure if he's embarrassed at your teasing, at the thought that you think he put his droid up to it, or the fact his droid decided he needed a little help with getting dates.

You snort with laughter at the whole situation.

"Stop laughing about it," Poe laughs, "I swear I did not encourage this in any way! I had nothing to do with this!"

"Okay," you laugh at his protests, "If you say so, Poe! You've both wasted a lot of my time, you know? You're lucky you're cute, or I might be annoyed."

Oh no. Oh no, you did not just let that slip out. You can feel your own embarrassment prickling at the back of your neck as Poe's eyes light up.

"Wait, you think I'm cute?" His grin this time is not his usual flyboy flirtation cockiness, but a genuine lopsided goofy smile that's all teeth. Stars, it's the most adorable smile he's ever given you, and you could swear your heart skips more than one beat at the sight.

"Yeah, well, you both are. You know, together. Just a droid and its dad." You give off what is supposed to be an offhand laugh, and even you can hear the unsure way it comes across from your embarrassment. "Anyway, we were discussing you two."

You try desperately to change the subject back to the droid as BB-8 whirs and beeps happily around you, teasing his master.

"He was too shy to ask me himself? Now you must have a fried chip I've missed!" You giggle before you glance over at the pilot, who quickly turns his gaze from you back to his droid, his cheeks still flushed pink. "You're not shy."

"I don't think shy is the right word. I just…you're busy, and I'm sure you have better things to do. I was being considerate. There hasn't been a good time to ask. And you might have said no and broken my heart." He gives you a playful wink, and you can't help the smile that curls over your lips in return, as much as you try to suppress it.

"Well your droid went to all this effort, I think it would be rude not to ask now," you tease him softly. Poe raises his eyebrows before he gets to his feet, holding out his hands in order to help you up. Placing your hands in his, you allow him to pull you to your feet, trying not to allow your breath to stutter at the contact. His fingers are calloused but soft, his grip firm but gentle. And even when you are on your feet, he still doesn't let go of your hands.

"So, would you consider letting me take you to dinner?" Poe finally asks, the back of his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand. "Maybe tonight?"

"Well, I have a lot of work to catch up on from the last few weeks because I spent a lot of time checking someone's bratty droid," you give BB-8 a pointed look and the droid beeps back at you, letting you know it has zero regrets about that.

"Which was in no way my fault or doing. I am also an entirely innocent party in this and should not be blamed." Poe reminds you with a grin before he lets go of your hands. You suddenly feel lost without the contact, as though without him grounding you here, you could simply float away. "But if you don't want -"

"I didn't say that," you cut him off with a reassuring smile. "I'm sure I can clear some time for dinner with you tonight."

"Great!" He gives a cough, curbing his enthusiasm with a quick embarrassed smile. "I mean, that's great. So, 7?"

You nod in confirmation, not trusting your own voice to not come out as a squeal of excitement, and Poe beams at you.

Leaning over, he presses a quick kiss to your cheek, making heat flare up the back of your neck and across your cheeks.

"See you tonight then," he grins, walking backwards towards the door, keeping his eyes on you as you bite your lip with a smile. You see it coming seconds before it happens, not giving you enough time to warn him. He turns around to look where he's going and smacks straight into the door frame with a thud.

He groans, stumbling back a little, his hand flying to press against his forehead.

"Are you-" you start, taking a step towards him, but Poe shakes his head, straightening his jacket.

"You didn't see that," he laughs at himself, turning around to give you a grin, his cheeks bright red with embarrassment. There is a clear mark forming quickly on his head where he met the frame, and you can't help but giggle.

"I mean even if I didn't see it…still sort of heard it," you laugh as he rubs his head. "Seriously, are you ok?"

"Yeah, don't worry. No getting out of our date. I'll be alright by tonight… and I promise I’ll be more co-ordinated" he winks with a soft laugh. "Right, let me try this again."

When he leaves this time, he turns to watch where he's going, carefully navigating his way around the door frame as his droid beeps at him. You hear his answer floating back down the corridor.

"You shush, You've caused more than enough trouble." Another series of distant beeps followed by Poe's outraged answer echoing across the halls, "I am not being ungrateful for your help!”

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