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st4rrth0ughts · 2 months

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Aventurine character study that I spewed at my friend posted here bc I despise whoever portrays him as a useless blonde 24/7 horny twink as his canon self (i will throttle you through the fuckin screen)

A/n: I think the 2.1 trailer is helping me regain my writing motivation, expect inbox asks from Jan- Feb to be coming out soon :)

WRITTEN BEFORE 2.1 This post will contain leaks, 2.0 Trailblaze quest spoilers, world quest spoilers, Aven's slave life in canon, disgusting people saying Aven's a sex slave, under the cut! Please proceed with caution if any of these trigger you. Thank you, and enjoy my yap session on one of the best characters in this game.

Aventurine's story is much more than just looking and acting like the typical rich blonde playboy, as much as he gives off those vibes. Looking at his child self in the 2.1 trailer compared to all of his current models, its very obvious that many, many things happened that caused all the light to poof from his eyes.

First, his homeland, Sigonia. Aventurine's home planet's is uninhabited, and perhaps even destroyed completely. Aventurine is the last of his kind left. His parents, his sister, his possible friends and relatives, hell, even all the people he doesn't know have all perished. The IPC took him in, I presume, but most definitely not out of kindness. In fact, it may not matter that Aventurine is one of the Ten Stonehearts, he is not a person to the company. He is just a asset, a piece for them to dispose if he fucks up.

In the 1.4? Belobog quest where Topaz goes to Bronya about Belobog's massive debt to the IPC, and at the end, we get our first crumbs of Aventurine's character. A important thing to note in this dialogue between the two of them is that he asks Topaz to the project manager on his project in Penacony, because if he knows better than everyone that if he fails to get Penacony back into the IPC's grasp, he'll die. There's no way around it, unless he gets someone he has a somewhat close bond with, Topaz, to lighten his fall.

The tattoo on his neck, is a symbol of his slavery to the IPC. How he's bound to them. How no matter how hard he runs or hides, he will never escape their grasp. In fact, he knows damn well, if anyone gets wind of this alongside his Sigonian history (Sigonians are notorious for being wolves in sheep's clothing, bad people in most eyes'), it is very well possible that his rivals and enemies will use his past to their advantage. Thats why he freely shows it to the world. So that no one can dig it up and use it against him, because how do you use something that he so freely proclaims to everyone he meets?

Aventurine is a man who gambles as well. Not just simply gambling for the thrill of it or his earnings. He says it himself, he sees the world, life itself, as a gamble. High reward, high stakes. Even going back to his conversation with Topaz, its only shown on how he tells her he warned her about taking Belobog as her project because it was high risk, but low return. Aventurine wants the best outcome not just for himself, but because if he doesn't get a good outcome, the IPC has no use for him.

Aventurine is a man who knows how to get what he wants. he knows how to take risks, get out of high stake scenarios with him being the winner. Its obvious in his lightcone, 'Final Victor', his conversation with Dr. ratio in the Penacony 2.0 Trailblaze quest, and his conversation with Himeko and Welt about giving up his room for the Trailblazer. He's confident, cocky, if you will. But for good reason.

In the lightcone, its implied it doesn't matter for Aventurine dies or lives. He will always be the winner. Every move is calculated, precise, carried out with clockwork precision and most importantly, planned so well that whether you like it or not, you're letting him win. He manages to get the Nameless, the widely regarded faction, in his debt. He knows damn well how to play his cards. It is extremely impressive. But he is the Aventurine of Stratagems. He knows what he wants and needs, and he will go any length to get it.

The lightcone, again, also shows just how far Aventurine risks, just for him to gain Dr. Ratio as a asset for him to benefit from. He could have gone any route, but what does he go for? Thats right, Russian goddamn roulette. Just for the (I assume) slim chance of Dr. Ratio's trust, or at the very least, cooperation. "I will always be the final victor." I am repeating, but just bear with me here, this just solidifies the fact he is confident in his skills. He doesn't flinch at all when he shoots 3 blank rounds right into his heart, even though there's the 1/6 chance he'll die. He takes risks. Its his character. He doesn't have anything or anyone, much less his own life, left to loose.

The lightcone is also not 'haha funny gay story', as much as it is funny, i wont lie, the memes are fun to look at, but it is not that. Its a story where Aventurine's suicidal tendency shows through, perhaps not so clearly, but its very much there if you look past the story and read into it. Again, Russian roulette, he could have gone for anything else, like a contract or smth, but he knows he has to go through extremes, and this just solidifies the fact of how Aventurine will do anything for assets and trust in him, so his plans can come to fruition.

Aventurine's personality is complicated, like a intricate, deceiving web of lies and emotional barriers to keep him safe. He hides behind the facade of smiles and is unreadable, and his past is all but cheery. A slave, (not a sex slave, twitter+Tiktok users need their brain fucking reworked i will cry) a man branded by the IPC, bound to the till his death is what Aventurine is. The IPC is ruthless, evident from multiple world quests, such as the Aurum Street Alley quest, Belobog's debt quest, Chadwick's quest in Penacony, paints them as bad people, a bad organization in general. Hell, even though Topaz isnt like the assholes we've seen, she's far from an angel herself.

Aventurine has gone through many things to have lost the sparkle in his eyes. Take Childe/Tartaglia from Genshin Impact for example, whom fell into the abyss for months, seen all the horrors of it, had to learn to fend for himself because I'm very sure Skirk did not care for him in a healthy sense. We can either assume Aventurine been through something on the same level during his younger days or perhaps, worse.

And no, he is not Dr. Ratio or Sunday's sex slave, I'm looking at a certain artist on Twitter (fuck off I'm not calling it X), its disgusting. Whoever genuinely enjoys sex slave Aventurine is sick in the damn head, no he would not enjoy that kind of Roleplay, as much as i am downbad and indeed filthy with some of my fics with him.

Aventurine doesn't have anyone he can truly call a friend, ship him with Dr. ratio, Sunday, Boothill (yes, its a thing), Caelus/ Stelle, whoever, but in the end, you cannot say he (as of 2.0, this may change) has any true friends he can trust, not even just a bit. Bonds he forms are transactional, maybe not too much on Dr. Ratio (as evidenced by his dejected his looks after Ratio leaves, either from the insult or bc he truly though Ratio cared) and perhaps on the Astral Express's part, but his bond with Sunday? Yeah, its transactional, 101% unless it changes in 2.1.

All in all, Aventurine is my favourite character, i have never wanted to read, write, understand, watch, hell, I've never wanted to farm and pull for a character as much as him. He is a complex, heavy and deep character that I do not believe many can grasp upon properly when writing stories, headcannons or even smut/nsfw works with him in it (shoutout to those who does tho, I love y'all <3).

Draw or write his fanon self, make him a himbo, tsundere, a rich man who's just a playboy, or a blonde with a pretty face, but you cannot say that is him in canon. I may despise some fanon interpretations, but fuck those who merge fanon and canon. He will never be any of the fanon interpretations i mentioned above, and he never will be in canon. Hoyoverse put their whole soul into this man, i can see it, and its brain damaging on how so many people fetishize his past and water him down.

In speculation of 2.1 and 2.2, if Aventurine does live (he prob will, its unlikely he'll be killed before release, Tingyun is a exception because she released before her death), maybe he'll learn how to start to open himself up again, start to fully trust, starting with Trailblazer as his first true friend. Its cliche, typical protag power bullshit, but it will no doubt, be a huge step in shaping Aventurine back into the man he could have been if his planet wasn't enslaved.

Conclusion: He deserves better, both in- game and how the fandom treats him. I love him, he's my adorable pookie wookie shmookie <33

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enamouredfae · 8 months

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little astro observations i've made based on my little chart collection and experience 🎀

honestly i've observed this only in myself but you have a natural pull to people who's sun is the same sign as your 5th house, mine is in pisces and my bf, my best friend and my cat are all pisces, not to mention that 90% of my crushes have been pisces as well.

there is something about pisces and bunnies, they will either love bunnies (have tattoos of them, make art about them, be their favourite animal), own or have owned a bunny or they look like one, (my bf is all of the above).

in synastry a north node over a person's mars may indicate the north node person taking the mars person's virginity.

in synastry a person's moon in your 9th house may indicate they understand/feel/empathize with emotions in a different way from you due to where they come from and how they were culturally socialized, i have this with my bf and he comes from a north american individualist country where your emotions are your responsibility and other's are theirs and i come from a post communist country where you are responsible for everyone's emotions, and ppl live for other people.

in vedic astrology i am a hasta moon, claire nakti made a video on hasta nakshatra and describes hasta natives as "fairy pretty" and i have a pair of dragonfly fairy wings tattooed on my back, plus ive been told (before my tattoo) that i give off fairy vibes.

saturn ruled 3rd house makes you have to spend a lot of time in public transportation, for example you might live far from where you need to go, for me it used to take me 1 hour at least to get to some places, sometimes i'd have to wait an hour just to then spend on hour on the bus. just overall imposes patience for transportation

a lot of astro observation posts say that an aquarius 4th house makes you feel like u dont belong in your family or that you're the black sheep of the family, but i dont find that accurate at all, i feel like it makes the native the one to challenge family values, they may be the one to make their family change for humanitarian reasons

idk if this is a real technique already used by astrologers but i have a wholesign MC theory. in wholesign the midheaven can fall in the 9th/10th or 11th house. my theory is that wherever it falls is the way you get ahead in life, the way through which u become publicly known or get your career. If it falls in the 9th your career is owed to ur studies/travel, 10th your hard work/experience/reputation, 11th your connections/social media/friends.

i think i have the most literal astrological placements being passed down from your parents example. obviously placements dont always get passed down, my sister has none of their placements, but perhaps being the first child may have contributed to this since the first child is when parents still have their personality not yet influenced by parenthood. so my moon and my sun, which we know symbolize the parents amongst other things, are at the same degree and they sextile eachother exactly, which I think is an indicator that my parents are very harmonious together; they are still together and in love even now. furthermore, my moon and sun are the same signs of my parents' stelliums, i have a libra moon and my mom has a libra stellium, and my sun is in leo and my dad has a leo stellium.

sibling's ceres in your first is feeling like a parent to them, i constantly tell my sister she's my daughter, we even have an inside joke that i gave birth to her at 5, and my ceres is in her fourth, the house of motherhood so she definitely sees me as a parental figure.

me and my bf have eachother's jupiter in our 7th houses, besides being in a serious committed relationship, we want to start a business together. so i feel this is a great indicator for great partnership in both regards.

i feel like this is also a technique but i haven't really heard much about it, generational planets affect us through societal conditions/problems whereas personal planets affect us through personal problems. for example: let's go with two malefics, i have pluto in the first house which i feel would be very different from having let's say mars in the first house. the first house is amongst many things our appearance which i am insecure about. i have never in my life been told i am ugly, i am actually constantly told i am beautiful, and yet it does not click. it isn't through personal experiences that i have problems with my appearance but through consumption of society ideals. this is of course an oversimplification but you get what i mean.

chiron retrograde in natal changes our perception on trauma. me and my bf have the same chiron, his is retrograde while mine is not. he constantly says he is not traumatized, whereas i can tell i am. he 100% has traumas, the thing is that it's like he's left them behind? he just says it happened a long time ago so it's done. my observation is that retrogrades in your natal may make u leave things in the past or have a "it happened a long time ago it doesn't matter" attitude towards trauma. the thing is he acts like a non-traumatized person which is crazy to me.

i have a skin condition called dermatographia, also overall very dry itchy acne prone skin, i also have scars. here are a few placements that i have that i feel may be an indicator for skin conditions: mars ruled first house (traditional rulership) mars is inflamation and scarring, saturn in seventh saturn is dry and some people consider that libra(7th house) rules the skin, saturn opposite ascendant, saturn square venus i see venus as clear skin due to its aesthetical perfection.

saturn in 1st, especially conjunct ascendant indicates identity issues. borrowing elements of identity from people you admire, not feeling like you identify with the gender assigned at birth, not identifying with your birth name, etc.

having a libra 12th house can indicate traumatic female friendship. the 12th house is the house of hidden enemies, so you perceive these people as your friends, sometimes even best friends, so when they betray you it is very jarring and traumatic. having female friends that are jealous of you, female friends that pretend to like you, female friends that talk shit about you and even sometimes lie about u, friends that purposefully hide information from you, that want what you have, sometimes sabotaging what you have or trying to make u lose the thing they want, etc. this is a very difficult placement, because you love these people so much that you would've given up things, changed things or shared things with them if only they were honest with you. in the best of cases the friendship is real and full of love but you grow apart, and this is also painful because you can't control it.

venus square ascendant is people telling you they love you and you not believing them. just overall hardships around love and seeing yourself as loveable. double points when it also squares saturn making u think that if u are loved it's hard work or that people had to convince themselves to, that you're hard to love.

people with venus conjunct mars in first are stunning and have an androgynous vibe to them. sometimes this is visual, strong muscular body with graceful posture, but it can reflect in their personality, just strength imbued with vulnerability, people that surprise you, that are balanced.

taurus 6th house can indicate finding romantic partners in the workplace.

having a stellium in the 4th and no planets in the 10th, can indicate a strong connection to your mom and a disconnect from your dad, especially when the sun is in the opposite sign of your tenth house(in your 4th) feeling like your dad is not the way he should be.

🎀

please let me know what you think, im very curious how they hold up in other people's charts, critiques are welcome and invited.

#astrology observations #astrology #enamoured fae #astro tumblr #astro #astro notes #astro community #horoscope #birth chart

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themedialmercurial · 11 months

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🫧🩵Astro observations🩵🫧

Moon conjunct Jupiter 5H may have many kids. Bonus points if both planets are in leo (5H represents children, moon is related to family and jupiter is associated with abundance and growth)

Mars opp Uranus transit can bring about sudden bursts of pain, the sign indicates the how it impacts and the house indicating the part of the body impacted

Though libra placements strive for balance, underdeveloped people with these placements strive for THEIR ideal of balance, oftentimes to the detriment of others (i.e unwilling to compromise, resorting to manipulation to get their way)

The 3rd house explains how you communicate

Aries: assertively, outgoing

Taurus: stubbornly (resisting to change your outlook), practically

Gemini: versatile, inquisitively, witty

Cancer: emotionally, gently

Leo: dramatically, loudly, shamelessly

Virgo: thoughtfully, dry humour, critically (sharp w/ their words)

Libra: diplomatically, flirtatious, indecisive

Scorpio: intensely, passionately

Sagittarius: honest, exaggerative, optimistically

Capricorn: disciplined, can come across as cold/insensitive

Aquarius: detached, rebellious,

Pisces: spiritual, caring, empathetic

Libra venuses show affection by treating you to things you've always wanted and in turn, they expect the same from you (reciprocity is key!). They have a knack for finding gifts that are aesthetically pleasing

Leo stellium indicates a short temper. This placement magnifies leos natural urge to shine and dramatic tendencies and results in impulsivity when underdeveloped

Prominent pisces and aquarius in a chart gives the native an "otherworldly" type of beauty. The way I tend to notice them is always by their eyes, they tend to be widespread and/or big (ex: Anya-Taylor Joy, Halle Bailey). They have a type of beauty that almost "rebels against" the standards in place all the while having conventionally attractive features if that makes sense. It's like their features exacerbate existing standards

Virgo venuses love giving and receiving words of affirmation as their love language (virgo likes mental stimulation). They bring about a more service-minded type of affection, asking you what you need materially for instance

Pisces mars and the constant urge to escape? It's like they need music to get through the day. They often get the reputation of being "lazy" but these people really just are in another world, and, especially when in the 6th house, they rely much on media (books, podcasts, tv shows) to do any tasks (even mundane) or they risk daydreaming or or boredom. They are more likely to take a long time to complete any sort of task such as a shower or washing the dishes

Chiron in capricorn brings wounds and pain about ambition. This can manifest as the native either lacks drive or they have ideas they'd love to set in motion and they do (due to the cardinal nature of capricorn) but often fall short in continuing their project. As physical scars, the native may be prone injuries/dysfunction regarding their bones. Using myself as an example, I had braces as a pre-teen.

I’ve seen so many Gemini suns who have a Gemini symbol tattoo

Eris in aries brings about chaos in areas of life related to assertion and self-involvement. In other words, the native may feel more inclined to hyperfocus on the needs of others and neglect themself

Ceres in gemini brings an abundance in matters related to communication and adaptability. You're likely to be perceived as someone who can go with the flow and is easy-going. On the other hand, when less developed, you can be perceived as scatter-brained and restless

Jupiter in leo can make someone have a wider, sculpted upper back and shoulders as jupiter expands anything it touches. Jupiter in aquarius can make someone have larger calves, shins and ankles. With regard to the house it's in, in creates growth in that area of life. As always, consult the aspects that other planets make to jupiter

Opposite to jupiter, saturn shrinks what it touches. In other words, depending on your saturn sign, this can show where you're physically smaller. Saturn in leo for example would have smaller shoulders and a smaller back. Saturn in aquarius can make someone have smaller calves, skins and ankles

"I have a headache in my stomach" -My virgo stellium best friend

Venus square ascendant creates conflict of ones perception of self (physical appearance, personality) and whether or not they consider themself to be attractive. Due to this internal conflict, they are likely to take it upon themselves to try and "glow up" and struggle with low self-esteem. They may require constant reassurance from others

I can't remember who posted this last month but someone asked if people could feel the effects of their upcoming solar return chart whether it be a month before or right as it hits? My birthday is early july and it's crazy how much I already reasonate with my upcoming SRC 2023-2024. I used @starsworldd post as a reference! ⭐️

My SRC rising is in leo and I already feel that I present myself more unapologetically and confidently. Since leo falls into my 12th house in my natal chart, I find that matters related to spiritually are much more potent (angel numbers, seeing specific colours, encounters, the urge to self-isolate, feeling energy extra strongly)

Natal sun (10H) conjunct SR venus: personality and beauty will become more noticeable to the public--> I found this especially true because I've been receiving so many complements from strangers lately🩷

Moon in pisces 8H SR: I'm emotionally tied to and more receptive to fantasies, creativity, sentimentality, escapism (esp with the way I've been reading so much lately and find any anything hard to do without music)

Venus in leo 1H: personality and outlook on life will be less inhibited, more free-flowing and harmonious (true bc I find beauty in simple everyday things more than ever. I stare at the trees, the sky, animals and even myself sometimes. I'm learning to look at myself in the mirror and understand I'm worthy of love no matter how I look)

Just from studying my SRC, it's made me so much more curious about the impacts of the lunar return chart (LRC) each month and daily transits

If any of these placements resonate with you personally or you know someone with these placements please let me know! As always, these are my observations and of course, not everyone is a monolith🩵

#themedialmercurial #astrology #astrovations #astro #astro community #astro notes #astro placements #astro observations #astroblr #astrological houses #asteroid astrology #astrology notes

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larphis · 8 months

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Edward Teach is the most character ever.

He is the symbol of powerful masculinity amongst his enemies. He imagines himself as the hot bride of his ex-boyfriend. He is bisexual. He killed his dad. He hasn’t killed anyone ever since. He is an art-hoe. He is a skilled fighter. He is feared. He is loved. He wears fine things well. He has fucked the most nasty guy on the planet when he was a teenager. He’s in love with a golden retriever soft boy. He swears he has given up on love but is going through the most disastrous teenage-girl-breakup ever. He did his own tattoos. He ties his hair into cute hairstyles with bows. He wears leather. He wears crop-tops. He ordered for a guy to get skinned alive with a snail-fork because he called him poor.

#I love him so much #Edward teach #ofmd #our flag means death #taika waititi #our flag means death season 2

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uva124 · 3 months

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So yeah, I finished the drawing of Asha's redesign from Wish :D, maybe I'll make some changes in the future, but I'm happy to have finished it, it should be noted that I haven't seen the movie. , so I can't give my opinion on it yet, but I found it very interesting that their fandom is mainly made up of people who rewrote or made their own version of the movie, they are all very creative and it got me out of an artistic block. that I had a few months ago, but above all I found the rewriting of @annymation which is the one I have been most hooked on, so I wanted to do some redesigns of the characters coming out of its rewriting, that's why everything that has to do with the story of this version of Asha, as well as her personality and her world on which I base my drawing are the ideas and work of this account: @annymation

I'm just making a drawing of her character and how I would design her as well as sharing part of the process I had to do to draw her because, why not?

BOARD:

The first thing I had to do was put together a table full of references that reminded me of the character and things that I would like to add to her design, so I used milanote to do it:

-Looked for some Asha's concept art and save the ones I liked the most, and add the main colors that I used in the design. -I also created notes to write down the personality of the character and some of his data to have a better guide, I did a little research and found publications that talked a lot about Asha's discarded designs and how Disney workers had put that she had tribe ancestry Amazigh on his mother's side and since his father was from the Iberian Peninsula, that's why the next thing I wanted to do is research more about their culture. -I am not an expert on this topic, nor do I belong to the cultures from which Asha has ancestry, so you can comment on any correction regarding this topic, I wanted to implement details of this culture to her design and I would really like to give a correct representation :)

HAIRSTYLE

Continuing with the theme, I saw that the hairstyles in the Amazigh culture mostly had this type of colorful decorations on their braids and dreadlocks, that's why I also posted these reference photos for Asha's hairstyle.

-Finally I decided that Asha would not have all her hair full of braids or dreadlocks, but only a few accompanied by these decorations with a great variation of colors, although it was fun to sketch the many hairstyle options that I had in mind based on these concept art and other photos that I had saved

TATTOOS:

-Another detail that I liked was giving Asha some tattoos with designs from the Amazigh culture, because I saw that it was quite common for women to get them, the tattoo on her forehead is a symbol of protection against bad influences, that's why the The middle symbol is responsible for deflecting it in the 4 directions, I also added a similar one in Asha's right hand.

ASTROLOGY AND THE SPACE:

-An important part of Asha's rewrite is her knowledge of astronomy inherited from her father, especially with the stars for obvious reasons xd, so in addition to adding constellations to her dresses, research the meaning (or something like that) of the planets. Only 3 really reminded me of the character, which were: -Mars: Symbolization of the internal conquering function of moving forward, independent, self-determined, enduring failures with new energy, courage and energy to fight for your desires. -Saturn: Maturity, effort to solidly build realistic criteria, frustrations are transformed into objectives to continue growing, critical and realistic, far from getting frustrated when an objective does not work, you strive to move forward and obtain even more resistant and solid achievements, perseverance , and tenacity (I feel like yhis it the most similar to Asha :D) -Moon: protective role, feeling very vulnerable outside your known areas, feeling of security with your ties, importance of family ties. The one that reminded me the most of Asha was Saturn, that's why I drew those Saturn-shaped earrings :).

SUITS:

I looked for references and placed some on milanote, I noticed that the concept art was mainly divided into whether the dresses have lilac colors or warm colors, I decided to draw 2 models based on the discarded designs, although at first I thought of using only one color palette lilac and bluish, I realized that the reddish colors of her dress reminded me of Mars which has certain meanings that in my opinion coincide with Asha's personality. In the end I didn't decide what wardrobe she would primarily have 😅, but I like to think that in this version of Wish, Asha would have wardrobe and hairstyle changes like in some older Disney movies.

-These are some of the concepts that I mainly used for my version of the dresses

FINAL COMMENTS:

I am satisfied with the result, it was fun to make all this, although what I researched mostly seems little, it actually cost me several hours and I did it at night, so as a funny fact the next day I was explaining all this information to my mother and I felt like I looked like that:

(Make this drawing was so funny LMAO)

(Apologies if there are errors in my writing, English is not my first language and my writing is very basic)

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mandos-mind-trick · 1 year

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Jaig Eyes

Summary: Soulmates are forbidden among the clones. Yours just happens to be a certain Captain. Thankfully, he's not above breaking the rules sometimes.

Pairing: Captain Rex x medic!reader

Warnings: NSFW, smut, P in V sex, no foreplay, unprotected sex, some description of battles, wounds, slight blood mention, drinking, partying, Soulmate AU

A/N: Rex my baby, my boy, one of my OG faves. It's about time I wrote something for him. I'm a little delirious from the heat, but I'm still alive. This was supposed to be the first one of the series but Tech and Crosshair demanded more attention.

MASTERLIST

The explosions are loud, even with the tanks as far ahead as they are. Your adrenaline is pumping, but you keep breathing, keeping it under control. That’s why you were chosen for this position, after all. Your ability to keep control even under the most overwhelming, stressful situations.

Your home planet got hit hard early in the war. Due to its location near four major hyperspace lanes, both sides of the war needed to control it, and that came at the expense of its inhabitants. Many people lost their lives in the brutal battle, both civilians and clones. There wasn’t much left of your home afterwards, most inhabitants of the city displaced.

So you decided to leave and join the GAR as a medic. You already had the experience, and after doing everything you could to help during the invasion, you had decided to put your life plans on hold and join the army.

Your ability to keep calm under extreme duress had impressed your instructors during your training, and so they had given you the title of combat medic, and sent you off with the 501st Legion. You had practically been thrown right into the field, not that you had expected much less.

Kix, the clone medic you served under, had given you a brief tour and rundown on the way to provide reinforcements to the 104th. He had warned you that the area they were landing in was going to be hot, and to expect to jump in right away.

You had expected nothing less, having already seen just how ugly the front lines can be.

That’s where you are now, treating troopers practically as they fall.

“The Captain’s down!”

The words ring loud and clear through your comm, the energy of the entire battalion shifting. You have yet to meet any of the clone commanders, much less the Captain of the 501st. You had been thrown into this rather rapidly. There would be a time for introductions later.

Your name is called through the comms, Kix appearing with another trooper, dragging who you assumed was the Captain between them. They lay him on the ground, the other trooper running back into the heat of the battle.

“We need to stabilize him before we can move him.” Kix says, kneeling next to the Captain.

You kneel on his other side, taking a look at him. His entire right shoulder piece is missing, an ugly wound oozing blood. It’s a nasty shot, but he’s lucky it’s not on the left.

“Bacta.” Kix says and you hand off an injector from your belt.

You move to take off his helmet, your breath catching in your throat. Your eyes are drawn to his helmet, above his visor. The marking on it. You knew most of the clones used some sort of marking to distinguish themselves. Whether it be on their armor, or tattoos, or hairstyles, they all had unique aspects about them to give them individuality.

This one, though. This one is startling to you.

Most species in the galaxy experience the phenomenon of soulmates. There are a number that don’t, but they are vastly outnumbered by those that do.

How one is linked to their soulmate can vary. Yours just happens to be the identifying mark. A symbol or even a phrase that means something to your other half. Or, for the lucky few, an entire name. Most got them at birth, or some shortly after. Rarely were there huge gaps in age between soulmates. Given the vast dichotomy of species in the galaxy, fate wasn’t that unkind.

Well, most liked to think it wasn’t.

Your mark showed up eleven years ago. You had already been well into your childhood when you woke up one morning to find a symbol on your chest. You’d never seen anything like it before. After some extensive research, you came to learn they’re called jaig eyes, a symbol used by Mandalorians for distinguished warriors. A symbol of bravery, tattooed over your heart in blue.

You had thought your soulmate might be Mandalorian, and so you had spent years planning and working towards a trip to Mandalore.

Then the war started, and your planet was invaded.

The entire situation had left such an impact on you, you decided to push your dreams of Mandalore, and your soulmate, aside for the time being. If fate had paired you together, you would meet eventually.

You hadn’t expected this though.

Your hands are shaking just a bit as you grab his helmet, pulling it off. You support his neck, easing his head to lie in the dirt. His face is pinched as Kix ties a tourniquet around his shoulder.

“I’m fine.” He grunts out, nose scrunching in pain.

“The gaping hole in your shoulder says otherwise.” Kix says, injecting the shot of bacta into the wound.

You grimace a bit, knowing how much that hurts. Your own fingers pull down his blacks, exposing enough of his neck to administer a stim shot. You can see as it begins to kick in, numbing the pain and giving him a boost of energy. His face begins to soften, body relaxing a bit.

Kix calls for an evac, two troopers easing the Captain onto a stretcher before removing him from the heat of the battle. You clear your head, moving on to the next injured trooper. The battle isn’t over. You have a lot more work to do before you can think about this new development.

****

You wipe your brow, body starting to drag as the adrenaline crashes. The battle had ended, but your job was only getting started. There was still a field of injured troopers that needed care, as well as a full med bay.

“I’m impressed.” Kix says, finishing applying the bacta patch on the final trooper that needed care. “Not many nat-borns can keep going that long after being in the field.”

You shrug. “It’s not my first time on the battlefield. My home planet was one of the first invaded by the Separatists. Most of it was wiped out by the battles. I learned very quickly to stay busy. If you’re not doing anything, you remember you’re human and you crack.”

Kix puts a hand on your shoulder. “Go get some rest. We’ll be fine here.”

“Thank you, sir.” You nod, heading off to the bunks.

You hop in the refresher, wishing it was real water, but the sonic shower will do. You don’t let it hit you until you crawl into your bunk, letting the day wash over you finally. You’re shaking, silent tears rolling down your cheeks. You’d mastered the quiet cry a long time ago, not wanting to disturb your fellow medics getting some much needed rest.

You’re exhausted, but you’ve seen far too much today to let yourself rest just yet.

You need to work through it. If you bottle it up, you’ll only explode later.

You close your eyes, the image of the jaig eyes coming to the front of your brain. There was no mistaking it. It wasn’t the confusion of battle, or the stress making you see things. The Captain of the 501st has jaig eyes on his helmet, in the same shade of blue as the ones printed on your chest, right over your heart.

This is going to complicate things.

It was one of the first things you were taught in your training. Under no circumstances were clones allowed to initiate their soulmate links. If, by chance, one of them happened to be your soulmate, the link had to be rejected. If a clone was found to have iniated the link, they would be decommisioned immediately.

It’s cruel, but you can understand why.

The soulmate link is a powerful motivator. The clones were designed to be loyal, focused, and dedicated to fighting and winning the war. Many of the first generation of clones had deserted upon learning of their soulmate marks. It seemed even the most potent conditioning couldn’t overcome the yearning of ones soul to find its other half.

Even the most loyal clone would turn their back upon meeting the soulmate.

The thought of being rejected is terrifying. It’s a painful process for both involved. Some who have experienced it claim it feels like your body is being turned inside out, every cell on fire as your soul destroys the link. You remember every second of it, the horrible pain and the grief that settles in as you realize you’ll never be able to feel the same again.

You’ll never be the same again.

You can’t tell the Captain. He can never know. You can’t stand the thought of being rejected. Though the pain would ease with time, you’ll never forget it. You’d rather suffer through the pain of being so close but never initiating than feel the rejection of someone who may never have wanted to reject you.

****

Time flies quickly now that you’ve established yourself amongst the 501st. The Legion is constantly on the move, burning through battle after battle with little rest in between. According to Kix this is very common, with the Legion going sometimes weeks without a break. You know it can’t be good for them, recognizing the exhaustion on many of the trooper’s faces and in their body language.

You’re beginning to feel it too, tension knotting in your shoulders and the quality of your sleep has been declining. You know it’s not just the stress of constant adrenaline and work, though. Constantly being within close proximity of your soulmate and doing absolutely nothing about it has been wearing on you as well. You’ve spoken maybe ten words to each other when Kix had introduced you to the Captain after the first battle when you’d helped care for him.

Since then, you’d only seen him in passing.

It’s slowly driving you insane.

You’ve grown close to some of the troopers, especially those that frequented the med bay for “unjustified reasons” as Kix liked to call it. It was his code for “they did something stupid and now we have to fix them.”

You can’t really blame them for being a bit reckless sometimes. They deserved to have some fun every once in a while.

“There’s my favorite medic!” A heavy arm slings around your shoulder, nearly making your knees buckle. You’d been in one of the storage areas, cataloging everything the med bay needed to stock up on once you landed on Coruscant. “Excited about shore leave?” Fives asks.

“Actually I am.” You say, honestly. You had planned to book a hotel room and sleep off the stress. You hope the distance from your soulmate will help ease the tension that’s been building.

“A bunch of us are gonna hit 79s. You should come with us.” Echo says, popping up on the other side of you. You had been wondering where he was, as the two were rarely far from each other.

It’s a tempting offer. Losing yourself in a bar for a night might help ease the stress. Unless Captain Rex planned on being there too.

“I don’t know...” You say, chewing your lip. “I was planning on just relaxing.”

“Come on,” Fives squeezes you against his side. “It’s your first shore leave. Let us show you how we celebrate.”

You almost say no, but perhaps spending time around others will help you feel better. Even if Captain Rex is there, alcohol can help you forget. Perhaps you could even find someone else, someone to help you forget.

“Fine.” You sigh, but a smile tugs at your lips. “I’ll come with you.”

They both cheer, giving you breath-stealing pats on the back. Sometimes they forget they have to be gentler with non-clones.

“Meet you on the landing platform at 19:00 hours.” Five says.

You salute him jokingly, making your way to the med bay with a smile on your face.

***

You’re glad you thought to pack a dress for occasions like this. You’re also glad you packed a dress that covers your chest. The last thing you need is any of them seeing it. Would they report you? Would they tell the Captain? You’d like to think they wouldn’t. It’s not like you’d even been trying to talk to the Captain.

You check yourself in the mirror, making sure your mark is covered before you make your way out of the venator. As promised, a small group of guys is waiting on the landing pad, some of them having dressed down while others are still in their armor.

Fives whistles lowly as you approach, your cheeks warming a bit. “Looking good, civvy.”

“I mean, I know you’re a looker but kriff, you clean up well.” Jesse says, nonchalantly giving you a once over.

Your face feels hot with their attention and compliments, not used to being on the receiving end. “Thanks, guys.”

“Come on,” Fives tosses an arm across your shoulders. “Let’s get going!”

***

You feel warm, slightly buzzed as you make your way back towards the bunks. It’s late...or early depending on how you look at it. You’d had a good time with the guys. You’d danced and drank and laughed a lot. It was a good distraction, and it helped you decompress a bit. You’re exhausted, though, still ready to sleep the rest of shore leave away before you inevitably get thrown into another battle.

It’s the alcohol that’s dulled your senses a bit, not even noticing the person rapidly approaching behind you until they’ve spun you around, pressing you back into the wall.

“Fives!” You blink in shock up at Fives, his brow furrowed as he stares down at you. “W-What are you doing?”

Your heart is racing as his hand lifts towards your dress, all the worst possible things flashing through your head. He’s a flirt, but you’d never thought he’d go this far. Your buzzed brain has just got it in you to call out for help when his hand tugs the neck of your dress to the side, revealing the mark on your chest.

“I knew it.” He says, letting your dress fall back into place.

“How did you-”

“I glimpsed it while we were dancing.” He says simply. “I had to be sure.”

You step away from the wall, adjusting your dress. “Well you could have just asked instead of giving me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.” He says, actually managing to look guilty. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“I don’t want to get rejected.” You say. “I’d rather live with the pain of him being close than live with the pain of rejection.”

Fives snorts. “He won’t reject you.”

You blink up at him. “What?”

A grin tugs at Fives’ lips. “He won’t reject you. Most of us don’t agree with the rule against soulmates, and we don’t plan on following it. Rex may be a Captain, but he’s not going to reject you just because he’s supposed to. If we followed the rules as rigidly as we’re supposed to, most of us would be dead already.” He puts a hand on your shoulder. “Talk to him. You never know when it might be too late.”

***

Despite Fives’ admission to their willingness to bend the rules, you haven’t approached the Captain. Partly because you’re still afraid, and also partly because you haven’t had time. After the brief shore-leave, the Legion had been thrown into a long campaign that had been taking its toll. Many, many troopers were injured, and you barely got time to sleep, let alone do anything else.

Like approaching the Captain about your soulmate mark.

After two long weeks of grueling battles, it’s finally over. Well, at least the fighting. You still have an overflowing med bay to get through.

Hours later, most of the troopers have been stabilized and on their way to healing. Kix sends you away, practically ordering you to bed. You don’t argue, your feet already dragging as you leave the med bay. You need a long cry and a nap, ready to crash.

You hadn’t meant it literally, but it seemed fate was getting tired of your avoidance.

You walk straight into a hard chest, nearly falling backwards. Hands steady you, and you look up right into the eyes of Captain Rex.

“S-Sorry Captain.” You stutter, taking a step back. “I-I wasn’t paying attention.”

“It’s alright.” He says, still holding your gaze. “I know you’ve been overwhelmed in the med bay recently. You’re all working hard.”

You nod. “Yeah.” You continue to stare at him, the words bubbling out of you before you can stop them. “I need to speak with you. Alone.”

He blinks in surprise. “Oh. Is there...something wrong? Is it one of the troopers?”

You shake your head. “No, no. It’s...” You almost backtrack. You almost change your mind, but those soft brown eyes draw you in. “It’s personal.”

He hesitantly leads you into one of the many storage rooms, making sure it’s empty. You hope no one walks in. You’re already nervous about bringing this up to the Captain. You’d rather not have to try and explain this to someone else.

You turn to face him as the door slides shut, looking up into his eyes again. His face is drawn and focused, and you almost feel bad for throwing this on him.

“I think you’re my soulmate.” You blurt out, wanting to get it all out in the open.

His eyes widen in surprise. “What?”

You bite your lip, stripping off your gear enough that you can lower the neckline of your shirt a bit. You draw it down, revealing the mark on your skin. “It appeared almost eleven years ago.”

He steps closer, staring hard at the mark. His hand lifts, his gloved fingers tracing over the lines of the jaig eyes. “The medic’s symbol.” He says, eyes still staring at the mark on your chest. “My mark, it’s the medic’s symbol.”

You let out a long breath. Fate really does plan out everything perfectly.

His hand leaves your chest, lifting to cup your chin. You step closer to him, your chests almost touching. How desperately you want to kiss him, to initiate the bond. You’re not even sure that’s what he wants.

“I think I’ve known since Kix introduced us.” He says, his hand still holding your chin.

“I knew the moment I saw you on the battlefield, when you got shot.” You say.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” He asks.

“I didn’t want to get rejected.” You admit. “I-I thought...but then Fives said-”

“Fives knows?” He asks.

You nod. “He saw the mark when we went out to 79s last shore leave.”

His grip tightens just a bit on your chin, jealousy flashing in his eyes.

“Nothing happened.” You quickly add, realizing your words left a little too much unsaid. “We just danced, and he confronted me after about it. He said you clones aren’t quite as uptight when it comes to rules as everyone thinks.”

The side of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “Not in this Legion at least. I do wish you’d said something sooner, but I understand if you didn’t know...I’m not going to reject you.” He holds you still for a moment before dropping his hand. “The General is being called back to Coruscant, so we’ll get a short leave once we return. Two hours after we land, come to the barracks. I’ll make sure they’re empty.”

Your stomach squirms with excitement. Even if you do nothing but sit and talk, the prospect of being close to your soulmate has your body coming alive. You nod, hardly able to contain yourself.

You don’t feel quite so tired anymore as you make your way to your own barracks.

***

The two hours after landing seems to take a lifetime. Your eyes flash to the chronometer constantly. The first half hour hadn’t been so dreadful, as you had spent most of that helping move still recovering troopers, and loading up carts to pick up supplies.

Then you’d found yourself with nothing to do but wait, so you had returned to your barracks to wait out the hour and a half before you’d make your way to the clone barracks. You’d considered dressing up, but you thought that might draw too much attention. Wearing light gear could at least give you an excuse for being there, should anyone ask.

You head out ten minutes before, knowing it will take you that long to get across the ship. The trooper’s bunked on the opposite side of the ship from the medics, who were close to the med bay.

Your stomach flutters with nerves and excitement the entire way. You’d thought about this moment for a long time, though it’s not quite playing out like you had expected. You’re not complaining, though. You’re lucky to have someone as loyal and caring as the Captain for your soulmate.

You make it to the barracks, Captain Rex waiting outside the door. He’s removed his armor, wearing only the blacks underneath. You greet him with a smile, and he returns it. You like it, you realize, seeing him smile.

He leads you inside, this set of barracks smaller than the others. It’s specially set up, he tells you, for the more higher ranking clones. The Captain, the ARC troopers, and those on his specialized squad.

He leads you to the bed closest to the fresher, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t really plan anything. I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing something you don’t want.”

You put a hand on his arm. “I figured we’d just let things happen naturally. Even if all we do is sit and talk, that’s fine with me.”

He smiles down at you. “Then let’s talk.”

And so you do.

You tell him everything. From your earliest memories to getting your mark, to the devastation of your planet during the start of the war. You tell him about how you’d planned to visit Mandalore in hopes of finding your soulmate, and how you’d given up that dream to join the GAR.

He tells you everything about himself too. Growing up too fast on Kamino, the endless training, being called to the front when the war started, how he was there on your home planet when it was attacked, all the men he’s lost, the stress of the war. They’d been designed to be more resilient to high stress situations, but the grief of loss and the exhaustion still weighs on him.

You wrap your arms around him before you even think about it. You feel for him, you really do. As much as they’re supposed to be just numbers in an army fighting a war they didn’t even volunteer to be a part of, you know they’re more than that.

“That’s why most of us don’t follow the rule about soulmates.” He says, his arms wrapped around you. “We have to believe there’s something beyond war and loss.”

“I’m glad you don’t agree with it.” You say, resting your head on his shoulder. “I don’t think I could have given you up.”

His hand slides up your back, moving to rest between your shoulder blades. “I...don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think anyone does.” You say, and you mean it. “I think most of it is just supposed to...be natural. It’s supposed to feel right.”

He pulls away from you, looking down at you. Your faces are inches apart, breath mingling. This close you can see the lines on his face, the light scattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks.

“You’re kinda beautiful.” You say, staring at him.

“I think I’m the one that’s supposed to say that.” He says, leaning in closer. “You’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your cheeks heat up, a goofy smile tugging at your lips. “Stop. I am not.”

He cups your face, his gloved thumb tracing your cheek. “Of course you are. You were made for me, after all.”

Your lips meet, a spark shooting through you. You feel warm and light, pure energy racing through your nerves. His grip tightens on you, pulling you closer against him. He's warm and solid, like a cabin during an ice storm.

He groans quietly against your lips, pulling you into his lap. You settle against him, tilting your head as the kiss deepens. You hadn't really planned on going this far, but you now understand why people say once you meet your soulmate, it's uncontrollable.

He pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours. "I don't want to feel like I'm rushing you."

You smile. "I want this too. I don't think I could stop."

He wraps his arms around your waist, flipping you easily onto your back. "Good. I don't think I can either."

He presses his lips back against yours, slotting his body against you. He's all lean muscle, fitting perfectly against you. He presses even closer, something hard poking against your thigh.

You smile into the kiss, shifting your hips slightly to create some friction. You're already damp, your body well prepared for this moment. It had been building up for weeks. You can tell now, how much you'd been yearning for him, even if you hadn't noticed before.

His lips trail down your jaw, charting a path down your throat. You arch into him, fingers digging into his broad shoulders. You tug at his blacks, one of his hands reaching back to pull the top off over his head.

You run your fingers down his chest, feeling over every bump and scar.

“I’ll tell you about them later.” He says, tucking his face back into your neck. You have a few too he’ll want to know about. “Right now, I want to see you.”

You smirk up at him. “Then you best get to work, Captain.”

He matches your smirk, sitting up on his heels. “That’s brave, issuing orders to your commanding officer.”

“Well, in certain situations, I outrank you.” You reply.

He unbuckles your med kit, setting it on the floor. “Don’t tell me Kix has been putting ideas in your head.” His hands slip under your shirt, trailing along your skin. “I’ll make a pass, though. This is one situation where I don't mind being told what to do.”

You gape up at him for a moment. “Do you...like being told what to do, Captain?”

He pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it onto the floor. Your breastband quickly follows, heat blossoming across your neck and chest as he stares at you. You feel a bit self-conscious under the intensity of his gaze. “Only if it’s you.” He says. “You’re so beautiful.”

You smile shyly, reaching out for him. “Not quite as beautiful as you.”

“Definitely more beautiful than me.” He says, leaning into your touch.

“I’ve been waiting so long for you.” You say, caressing his face.

“Then I won’t make you wait any longer.” He presses a kiss to your lips before sitting back up, undoing his belt. He slips his pants off, tugging yours off as well.

You should feel self conscious being bare in front of him, especially only knowing him for a short time, but it feels natural. You know it’s natural. You were meant to be together.

He slots his body against yours once more, his hard length pressing up against your core. You’re already wet in anticipation, more than ready to seal your bond completely. It’s a bit strange after having thought you might get rejected if you ever revealed it to him, but you’re glad he’s at least willing to break the rules about this.

His hips grind against yours, dragging his length against your folds. You moan, spreading your legs further for him. You want him as close as possible. You need to have him as close as possible.

“You’re so wet for me.” He groans, dragging his hips against yours.

“I need you.” You whimper, arms wrapping around him. “Kriff, please Rex.”

“Yes ma’am.” He says, kissing your throat before he reaches down, lining himself up.

Hearing him say it stirs something in you, heat rushing straight between your legs. You slot that away for later, focusing instead on him as he slowly presses into you. The stretch burns a bit, but he goes slow, moving inch by inch until he’s seated inside you. You shiver at the close contact, your body coming alive from how connected you are.

“Kriff, you’re so tight.” He groans, dropping to his elbows over you. “Fit me so perfectly.”

“Well, I was made for you.” You say, wrapping your arms back around him.

“So perfect for me.” He says, pressing a kiss to your lips.

He begins moving, small thrusts as he drags his hips against yours. You cling to him, wanting him as close as you can get him. The sensations and the thought of having him so close set every nerve ending alight in your body, energy thrumming through you. You know it's the connection, the link you share coming alive.

You love the feeling of it.

It’s a bit sloppy and awkward, as neither of you are experts. You don’t care though, the pleasure still building as picks up speed. He’s close too, you can tell by the desperation of his movements. You slip a hand down between you, circling your clit as you near the edge.

He stills as he cums, your own orgasm washing over you at the same time. You cling to him, holding him as close as possible as you ride out your highs together.

“How much time do you think we have?” You say, holding him on top of you.

“More than enough.” He says, letting himself sink closer to you. “I told Fives to keep them out as long as possible.

***

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You had been so comfortable and comforted by Rex’s presence, you had just drifted off without trying.

It’s the arrival of the other troopers that has drawn you from your slumber. Rex’s arm tightens around your waist, obviously having heard their return as well. So much for keeping this a secret.

You hope maybe they’ll all stumble to bed tiredly and not even look in your direction. You’re hidden from the door by Rex’s body, his arm pulling the sheet up higher inconspicuously.

“I see the Captain’s been busy while we were away.” A smug voice says.

“Ha! I called it! You owe me 20 credits!” Another voice calls out.

“Fives,” Rex growls, going to turn around, but you sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest. You’re still very much naked.

“Wait, did you bet on us?” You ask in disbelief.

“You owe me another 20!” Hardcase exclaims, slapping Jesse’s shoulder.

Rex wraps an arm around you, pulling you back down. “Let them have their fun. I’ll make them all do extra rounds in the training room tomorrow.”

There’s a simultaneous groan from all of them as they shuffle to their bunks to get ready.

“Don’t worry, cyar’ika. Your secret is safe with us.” Hardcase says.

“Just as long as I don’t feel the bunk shaking.” Jesse says, climbing up to the top bunk.

“No promises.” Rex smirks, wrapping his arms back around you.

Taglist:

@stressed-cherry

#star wars #star wars fic #the clone wars #the clone wars fic #clones #rex x reader #captain rex x reader #clone captain rex x reader

910 notes · View notes

quite-right-too · 5 months

Text

Piece of Art

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: The Doctor sees your newest tattoo.

One year.

You had been travelling for an entire year.

Granted, time was subjective when you are in a literal time machine, but the point still stood. For your timeline, it had been three hundred and sixty-five days of adventures.

It seemed like the Doctor also knew. He was up before you — which was normal considering his “superior Time Lord biology” allowed him to have “a considerably altered circadian rhythm” and he didn’t need much sleep.

He was already up and running around the console by the time you were up, hair tousled like he had been running his hands through it. You admired him from the doorway as he checked the screens, putting on his glasses and analysing the data that was written in that beautiful circular language.

“So, what’s the plan today?” you asked with a smirk, arms crossed and leaning against the coral entrance to the console room. The Doctor jumped for a second as he was brought out of his focused state.

He gave you his signature Doctor grin and began to flip various switches. “Well,” he drawled, “I was thinking we could go to Dracea VII. They have a wonderful festival that comes around every ten years. The food is amazing.” Nimble fingers typed into his keyboard as he watched the Gallifreyan symbols change. “Just imagine it. The sky's the perfect shade of lavender while the various rivers that flow through the city are a shimmering gold. The grass is soft, almost like silk, and is a deep blue. The entire planet is gorgeous.”

You couldn’t help the matching smile that spread across your face. “Sounds wonderful.”

“Alright!” he exclaimed, pulling a lever down hard as the TARDIS began to groan and lurch through the vortex. “Allons-y!”

A final thud upon landing threw your balance off. As you were sent stumbling, the Doctor reached out and grabbed your arm, pulling him into you as you both fell to the floor. He caught you, just as he always did. Your shared laughs filled the console room as you savoured the moment.

“Come on, up you go,” he grunted as he helped you to your feet. “Off on another adventure, us!” He grinned as he grabbed his overcoat and pulled it over his shoulders, adjusting the collar as he put it on. Once satisfied with how the garment sat, the Doctor held out his hand. His fingers wiggled in invitation. Chestnut eyes sparkled with the excitement of being able to spend time with you.

You loved it.

Fingers now laced, the door to the TARDIS was thrown open. Instead of the beautiful grass and rivers the Doctor had described, you were greeted with what appeared to be a sewer system. A very dirty sewer system.

As the two of you stepped out of the doors, the Doctor looked around with a grimace on his face. “What the-” He was quickly cut off with a low rumble.

A rumble that came from directly above you.

Although you both moved away from the now-noticed pipe above your heads, it was too late. The putrid smell of hot garbage assaulted you as you felt yourself get splashed with the brown mysterious liquid.

“Fucking dammit!” you yelled, lurching away.

The Doctor grabbed your hand, pulling you back into the TARDIS. Your shirt seemed to have gotten the worst of it. Not wanting to continue the contact of the sewage against your skin, you pulled your shirt off and discarded it on the floor of the console room.

“Alright, that was not where I intended to land. Sorry about that.” As the Doctor looked up at you, he froze. Standing before him was your shirtless form, bearing a semi-new tattoo.

The vibrant blue phone box that took up the space on the right side of your torso was beautifully surrounded with a galaxy. In the background, the Earth was able to be made out.

His feet moved of their own accord. Before either of you knew it, he was standing directly in front of you, staring down at your ribs. “When did you get this done?” the Doctor murmured quietly, his hand coming up to hover above the piece.

You moved your hand up to his, pressing his fingers against your skin. “You can touch, Doctor.” You smiled at how enraptured he was. “I got it the last time we were in America. Probably around three months ago? Did you know that Los Angeles has some pretty amazing tattoo artists?”

“This is brilliant.” The Doctor was in complete and utter awe. “Why haven’t you shown me this before?” He traced circular patterns over the tattoo with the pads of his fingers.

“I don’t know, just…” You trailed off, mind melting at the feel of the skin-to-skin contact. “Wanted to wait for the right time.”

“Well, I love it.” The Doctor wasn’t lying. His eyes were staring into your soul. He loved it.

“Good,” you breathed. He was so close to you — it made it so hard to think.

I love you.

The words caught in your throat.

#my fic #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor #doctor who #david tennant

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eatommo · 6 months

Text

Like Real People Do [d.d]

Summary: You and Mando have a history of broken hearts and are both looking for a place to land in the galaxy you live in, but you'll always have each other.

A/n: Not beta'd! mistakes are my own! and look a Hozier song to a Pedro fic what's new! I love this. I hope you do too! 6.2k

Cw: Canon typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, use of weapons, mutual pining, discussions of loss, discussions of war, brief mentions of grief, Reader is from Alderaan (trauma that comes from that), the reader has some of my tattoos because we love a self-insert, broken glass, pubic hair?, unprotected p in v, mentions of marking, hickeys, mentions of oral sex m/f receiving, fingering, the helmet stays on, breeding kink if you squint, as always touched starved Din, themes involving depression and loss, takes place post season 3 but has a flash back to season 1, I probably missed something but let me know!

It had been ages since you’d seen him. You’re not sure how many rotations, but not a day has passed that you didn’t think about him. But there, just passing the entrance to the trading post, his shiny beskar helmet flashes over the crowd.

You put your head down, looking at the spare parts you were hoping to auction off for some measly credits at a holiday festival for some caf and to help you hopefully buy some piece of junk craft to get you off this dusty and dry planet.

Maybe you’ll be lucky and you can slink away, and evade an awkward reunion all altogether. You found an outcropping and a small table covered in different smoked meats and small roasted animals.

You try to sell the fact that you look busy while you think about the last time you spoke to him. Your conversation about the rebel symbol marred into your skin with black ink, Cara had done it herself, and you’d helped her put the very same symbol on her cheek. The pain felt good, it mirrored the grief that felt immeasurable and it almost felt like a release of all of the terrible thoughts of your family’s final moments. Had your family suffered? Did they even know what was coming for them?

You were young and had just gotten off the planet in search of something greater, a higher purpose. Something to believe in, and the empire stole everything you’d ever known in one simple explosion.

It had handed you a purpose, for a time. Working with the rebellion, standing with your Princess, and fighting and punishing the Empire for the loss of Alderaan. Cara and you were hiding out on Sorgan after leaving your post as shock troopers. You were in the fresher when they started to tousle outside, you expected some gruff Klatoonian who she sharked in a bet, as it often was. Instead, she lies on her belly, a blaster pointed at a chrome-covered Mandalorian, who is lying on his back with a weapon drawn.

The only thing that holds your attention is a little green baby holding a cup of soup, mirroring your amusement waddling up next to you.

He coos, looking between you and his companion like he expects you to save him. “Sorry bud, I’m with her.”

An aggravated harsh pant cuts you off, “Stay away from him.” The blaster shifts to you, but you raise your hands and keep an even temper. He looks between the two of you, who clearly have no intention or idea what he is in possession of, and offers to buy the two of your dinner.

He didn’t speak much at first, but as you and Cara drank away a flagon of spotchka and you shared your interest in his ship, having to grow up around the rebel's fleet and wanting to see such an old military craft, he offered to show you.

“It’s a short walk, the kid is falling asleep in your lap anyway.” You look down at the little wrinkled green monster, blinking slowly with his massive eyes as you stroke his ears, you can’t help but fawn over him.

“I can’t believe they’re hunting a baby.” Whispering, as you feel the warmth of his tiny body, heartbroken at the idea of an imperial remnant looking for children.

“He is older than I am.” His surprisingly playful voice almost startled you, he’d been quietly walking by your side as you carried the little guy nestled into your chest.

“He’s” you struggle to find words, but you can feel an energy emanating from the little creature in your arms “magnificent.”

The Mandalorian hums lowly, agreeing with you. There’s a pause for a few moments while you look over at him, “Did you find a lot of purpose? With the rebellion?”

It's your turn to be broody, “For a time.” Suddenly feeling subconscious you speak a little bit more quietly, “Just waiting for the next thing to believe in I guess.” You sigh, gazing down into the dark black ink just above your rebel stripes, “It feels like I could keep fighting forever, but hearing all this, seeing such a small child threatened by the same evil as I was, it feels like I already have.” You’re not sure if he understands you, or even what side of the war he stood on.

“You feel like there’s reasons to fight.” He looks down into the baby drifting to sleep in your clutches. “But afraid that you have no fight left.” You half expect him to be criticizing you. Mandalorians have lost almost as much as you have, but are warriors by nature and have fought and continue to be feared across the galaxy as mercenaries and bounty hunters. His voice is soft, and understanding, as if processing his words himself.

You spot the ship ahead, falling silent in your admiration you trudge through the leaves and sticks that have fallen from the ship clearing its landing. The ramp hisses as it falls open to welcome its pilot, but you stop outside to admire the twin engines and their decades-long wear and tear.

Walking around the ship to admire her heavy laser cannons and her yellow markings. He watches you with a quiet but proud silence, as you eventually shuffle up the ramp to set the little one into a floating pram. Your eye catches a glimpse of a carbonite freezing chamber, and a little anxious butterfly seems to stir in your belly, how much do you trust him?

“I always thought I’d die looking for a bounty when I got too old, too slow, or just in plain luck.” You turn heel to face him, heartbeat clipping unsteadily in your chest, but you raise an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue. He hesitates and sets himself on top of one of the shipping containers. “But protecting this child has made me dream of a life I never thought I could fight for.”

You can feel your body soften at his confession, cursing yourself for thinking lowly of a man whose been nothing but kind and trusting of you. “I’m sure it's lonely.” You take a small but calculated breath, “He is lucky to have you.” The smile is soft, and you try to reassure him despite yourself.

He looks at you standing but a few steps away from him, and nods, “I’m just as lucky.”

The bustle of the holiday market slows to accommodate him, traversing through the stalls as all shapes and sizes scurry out of his way. You swear to yourself, turning away and buying some meat you can’t afford. When you hear your modulated name fall out of his mouth like a prayer, soft and delicate. He steers around the crowd, veering right into your path as a child walks in front of you blowing bubbles from the straw of a festive drink.

The Mandalorian approaches you with purpose, his walk deliberate and commanding as if everyone in the vicinity answers to him. “Mando.” you smile briefly, warmth heating your cheeks, and the never-fading crush you have on this man skipping around your belly. “Hi.”

His gaze stays fixed as he reaches for your arm, touching a patch of ink that not only is new to him but you completely forgot about. His glove runs over it and when it doesn’t smear it might’ve made his knees buckle. “The Crest.”

You peer into the helmet, glad to have him near you again, and realizing how much you missed hearing his voice, a rush of blood washes over your cheeks again. “Yeah,” you fumble around doubting your reasons for getting that tattoo in the first place, “I’ve been adding a couple of ships that are important to me.”

You hear a small noise but are unable to determine the emotion behind it, “I was hoping to see you on Nevarro,” your heart rate picks up in your chest, and of course, his helmet picks it up, “the last few times.”

“I’ve been moving around, looking for something new.” There’s a sleepy squeal coming from his satchel, “is that?” He swings it around to the front and opens the top of the bag to reveal your favorite green forehead. “Handsome man! I’ve missed you little mudscuffer.”

Mando chuckles under his breath as you pull the baby from his confines and offer him a piece of the meat you just bought. He swallows it down greedily. “I swear he eats. He just woke up.”

You smile and give him a playful look, “Is daddy feeding you enough munchkin?” You hand the baby another strip, Mando is glad you don’t see him adjusting his pants as the word daddy slips between your lips innocently, “Don't worry I’ll get you something sweet too.”

Mando rests his hands on his hips, and shakes his head in mock defeat, “He’s not gonna want to leave.” He follows at your back as you carry the child through the marketplace, sometimes letting his palm rest on your back to keep close to you.

He would not be one to admit but seeing you carry the child around reminds him of the times on Sorgan, of the weeks you spent together and his floundering inability to court you. Even now the way you look at him has him hiding behind his beskar helm like a foolish schoolgirl.

“He doesn’t have to, are you here for business?” You cast a look over your shoulder, “He can stay with me while you take care of whatever you need.” You find a stall selling some fruity overpriced drink for the planetary holiday.

You look into your bag, coming up just a few credits short, and cursing at yourself. Starting to walk away, “I’ve got it.” He cuts in front of you while gripping your shoulder and standing over the top of you, handing more than enough credits to the man in exchange for two drinks.

Yet another blush creeps into your cheeks, “No need to spoil me.” You offer the child his drink and he snatches it away from you eagerly with a screech.

“I want to.” That causes your brows to knit together and a deep ache below your belt to settle and warm.

You sip away at the luxuriously sweet drink, wishing you could at least share it with him. “I have a room at an inn,” you offer, “or we could go back to the Crest, and catch up.”

You lean against one of the walls so that you don’t accidentally traverse even further from his bounty. “I don’t have the crest.”

Your drink turns to ash in your mouth, “What? Is she in disrepair? I’m sure Karga-“

“It’s rubble on the planet Tython.” He’s sad, of course he is, but his hand finds the mark on your skin again, and you can’t help but mull over the memories, the connection you shared on that ship eviscerated.

“I’m so sorry.” You let your head hang low, remembering how many conversations you shared hoping he’d invite you aboard as crew. “I loved that ship. I mean not as much as you I’m sure.”

He chuckles, thumb brushing over the silhouette as he speaks, “You don’t happen to know how to rewire an N-1 starfighter engine?”

“I’m sure I could look at it, but I don’t think I’d be much help. Where the hell did you find one?” You’re a bumbling mess, wanting so eagerly for him to scoop you off this planet like he had before, but also knowing your heart couldn’t bear to watch him leave a third time.

“I didn’t think so but I have no idea what you’ve been up to and-“ he pauses, stopping himself to watch you take a sip of the drink after licking some whipped cream off of the straw.

“And?” You prompt him to continue, but he stares between you and the child who have matching bright red tongues and are both sporting some whipped cream out of the corners of your mouths.

You catch a hint of strain in his voice, “We can rest at your place for a while. He’s due for a nap.” You squint at him a little, easily reading his stiff body language and the change of subject.

At the word nap, the baby babbles away while chewing on the straw of his drink, “There’s a lot of sugar in this, so we might have to wait it out.”

Mando lets out an exasperated sigh, “What have you gotten us into.” You’re both sitting on the floor of a modest single room with the little one taking turns climbing up and over the two of you.

“You bought it,” raising your hands in defense, smile splitting ear to ear, “I was going to split one with him.” You reach out to try to grab his surprisingly quick body but he darts away with a giggle.

“He’ll crash, eventually.” You could hear him talk about the baby for hours, to sit with him and watch the two of them play together always felt like a treat on its own. “Get down from there.”

“He’s fine, this place is a dump anyway.” You smirk over your shoulder as he climbs up onto your bed, rolling around and giggling half to himself while chewing on the mythosaur skull pendant around his neck.

“How did you end up here?” Your face falls a little, but he’s kind, and soft, and you can tell he doesn’t want to pry but his curiosity is getting the best of him.

“I was tracking a bunch of smugglers, the republic got word that they were hauling children to Canto Bight, and exporting them maker knows where.” You continue, trying to keep your breath even, “Cara had asked me as a favor, but I had a run-in with a group of pirates who saw my stripes and stole my ship.”

“Does she know?” He shuffles closer to you, folding his knees in so that he can run a hand soothingly across the skin of your leg.

“I don’t know,” You clear the tightness in your throat, “At least I don’t think so.” You find the words pouring out of you as if he is comforting you into realizing something you’ve been fighting for a long time. “I don’t think I can fight like this anymore, and I don’t know how to tell her that.”

He is quiet, giving a simple solemn nod, before pulling the rising phoenix from his back, and laying it on the floor. He scoots closer to you, settling next to you as you both lean against the foot of your bed. His beskar shoulder plate is cold on your cheek, as you lean against him, seeking reassurance you haven’t felt in so long.

Silently a tear falls down your face, and as if prompted by his little superpowers the baby, climbs into your lap nuzzling your cheek and touching your face gently with a warm hand. There are a lot of things this child is capable of, things you can’t begin to understand, over a lifetime that is marred with more violence and confusion than you will likely ever know existed. When he touches you, you can feel his pain and loss, but he also shares with you a joy and unfathomable curiosity over the smallest things he remembers.

“I can’t take you on the N-1,” his voice startles you out of your stupor with the baby, “but if you’ll give me a few days, I’ll be back to pick you up, and you can stay with us on Nevarro until you find somewhere else, something else to do.”

Your breath is shaking, and you’re not even sure the last time you felt safe enough to cry. A small piece of you wants to run because that's what you've been doing for these last 10 or so years of your life. Running from the Empire, running after them, and then running from yourself. “I don’t think I could.”

“Why not?” he reaches for your shaking hand, setting his gloved hand on top of yours, driving the energy in the room with the ease of piloting a speeder bike.

“You’re a family, he has a routine, you’ve settled into this beautiful life that you’ve worked tirelessly for. I couldn’t impose.” You try your best to sound strong like you’ve got a plan ahead of you, and the idea of not being around the two of them doesn't make your heart ache.

He hums, and for a moment your cry is less of confusion and more out of pain. His hand is gone from yours, and the lack of his warmth feels like a slap into reality, as you pinch your eyes shut to stop yourself from being embarrassed even further.

You jump. There's a much larger warm hand caressing your cheek, and turning your head into the dark stare of his visor. You can see the tanned skin of his wrist as he turns your face slightly, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “It is the greatest mistake of my life leaving you on Sorgan.”

You sniffle, the words sorting through the emotional fog of your brain, searching the blank emotionless canvas of metal for a hint of human connection, a flutter of an eyelash, anything. You can’t find anything, until you hear the faint sound of his breath from beneath his mask, stuttering and insecure, his chest rising and falling like he’s fighting a battle with his own emotions.

You feel it again, a swell in your chest of love and admiration and then you feel the tiny claws digging into the skin of your bicep. You look down at the tiny man as he steps between where your chests are separated by mere inches, “Could I have her come and get us?” You’re quiet as a loth cat, voice heady and rough. “I don’t think I could watch you go.”

He lets the little one settle into his lap after a moment, this time you can hear relief and a half-broken smile in his tone, “Let’s just wait until he falls asleep, I’ll go to the ship and send a transmission. I’ll come back with his pram, and then where we go. You go.”

You clear your throat again, wanting so desperately for this to be real and aching to touch him. “Okay.” your voice barely makes a squeak, he pressed the cold beskar helm to your temple.

Wondering if he feels as raw as you, you place your hand on top of his suppressing the need to comment on how large it is, and tangle your fingers with his. You stare at his hand, tanned and massive and warm. Human. You fold your legs in on themselves and shift your body so that you may properly look at him.

The glove sits in his lap, and he looks so imposing in this tiny half-furnished room, polished and chrome in the dingy and ill-lit space you've called ‘home’ for these last few cycles. You take his other hand, and look up to see if he’s going to stop you, but he is still and silent, so you slip the glove off his hand. You trace from the tip of his middle finger, down his palm and up towards the pulse point of his wrist.

He shudders beneath your touch, thankful for the mask to hide the crimson flush of his cheeks. He’s never had the opportunity to enjoy a tenderness like this, to feel his pulse quicken and the nervous butterflies he’s heard described during love stories on a holodrama. It’s terrifying, he feels like he could vomit, but the way your delicate fingers trace circles over the palm of his hand makes him want to run his hands over every last inch of your body until he knows it inside and out like his blaster.

The child settles into his lap, leaning his head against your arm as his head and eyes grow heavier with sleep. “Why don’t we walk to your ship together?”

Your eyes are bright, and he can tell by your posture that you feel better, but he can’t stop the audible grumble, not ready to let you or even your hand slip from his. He nods and swallows harshly to clear his throat, “Alright.”

You walk across the market again, and the crowd parts before the two of you except this time you are holding onto his hand, and rather than trying to avoid his gaze like every other soul walking the market, you cling to his him trying to suppress the smirk curling the corners of your mouth.

Nevarro has changed so much, you spend the first few days just getting accustomed to the new layout of the town. Dropping the child, ‘Grogu’ (it took a while but it grew on you) at school, and then going to spend time in the market picking up some rations and some of the seasonal veg you’ve been coaxing into the little one’s belly.

The domestic bliss that comes with living with Mando is both welcome and intoxicating. You’re awake at odd hours of the night, talking and sharing stories about Jawas and your run-ins with Ewoks, and sharing your dreams and hopes for the galaxy.

He shares stories about Mandalore, about visiting there for the first time and bathing in the healing waters, about Bo Katan seeing a Mythasaur alive. All things you heard about as a young child, and symbols that brought hope and purpose to the entire creed were real and were aiding to heal the planet and its inhabitants.

Then there were times when you both laid on the floor, watching the little one interact with a metal sphere, using his magic to hover it just out of your grasp and giggling himself to a peaceful sleep. You’d lay together, wrapped in the comfort and protection of his house, and stare at the little man as he sleeps occasionally peaking into the reflection of yourself in his helmet, and blushing when you catch your own heart racing.

You want to tell him how you crave to be with him, how addicting his presence and his mind are to you, but you’re afraid. Afraid to move too fast, to step over his barriers, but also knowing that each second without knowing the softness of his mouth is torture.

The first time you see him in his sleep clothes, a plain dark green shirt with three buttons on the top and loose-fitting black canvas pants, no metal aside from his helmet, you choke on your cup of Jawa juice. He’s large even without the metal beefing up his silhouette, his back broad and the fabric thin enough for you to see his muscles move as he opens a drawer for silverware. Even treating yourself to a glimpse of his waist and the way it tapers to his ass and hips.

It’s become more common, in fact when he gets home, he almost immediately strips out of the armor in favor of something more casual and comfortable.

Tonight the energy is different. The kid passes out early and you’re soaking a pot you used for dinner in the sink when he emerges out of his room. You hear his footsteps, but they’re muted and soft, he’s barefoot. As you glance over your shoulder as he offers you a glass from his bedroom you see he’s in briefs, (the house is admittedly warmer as the seasons change) but the shock is plain as day as you turn so quickly away the glass slips from your hand and shatters on the floor. But the image of his chest spattered with hair that trailed down his soft belly and into the top of his black undergarments.

You both are silent for a moment, hoping the noise isn’t loud enough to wake the baby, in his silence you swear, “Kriff, don’t move I’ll get a broom.” You shy away, looking to the ground for a safe path.

He cuts you off arm darting in front of you to halt your movement, “I’ll get it.” His hand comes to rest on your hip stalling your movements with his warm palm.

His other hand reaches out and before you can grumble in discontent he's lifting you onto the counter. You sit there, flustered with your hands tucked between your thighs as he fiddles with the control of his helmet flicking through to see which would help him find the scattered pieces of glass the best.

It's moments, but it feels like an eternity as he searches for a broom, sweeping the glass into a neat pile before discarding it into the bin silently. He settles between your legs, silent as a mouse.

“I'm sorry.” You smile sheepishly, struggling to maintain eye contact as he hovers in front of you, inches separating your face, and if it were any cooler you would’ve fogged the front of his mask with your breath.

He chuckles dryly, “Don’t be, I’ll take it as a compliment.” His posture is full of confidence, but also comfortable and relaxed. You long to touch him, to run your hand over his chest and abdomen, to feel the muscles shift in his back as he- “Mesh’la?”

You blink yourself out of a daze, “You should, you’re so handsome.” He braces his hands on the counter next to your hips and leans ever closer.

“Yeah?” His voice is hot like a pant, stroking a fire in the room that neither of you are able to ignore any longer.

“Yeah.” You smirk at him, emboldened and smoothing your hands up the strong plains of his arms, squeezing lightly around the muscles of his biceps. You let your foot run across his calf, urging him closer to your body, his hands find your waist, firm but careful as his thumbs stroke the skin just below your breasts. You curse yourself for even bothering with a bra band.

“I like having you here.” His head tilts, you can almost see the gears turning in his brain as he continues, “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” He uses his strength to pull you a little closer to him, so with each breath your chests touch and your core is flush to his abdomen. “Having you in my kitchen, sitting on my counter looking so pretty, so-” He swipes the hair off your shoulder exposing your neck and throat, “edible.”

Any chance you had of playing it cool is gone, you want nothing more than to bend to his will. His hand disappears from your side, and he tangles it in your hair, using it to fix your eyes to his through the helm, as he strokes your cheek with his thumb. You feel completely safe, but there’s something about him thats dangerous, hungry even, and it makes your skin damp with sweat.

He sounds like he’s in agony, like each passing moment without consuming you is torture, and you ache for him in a way that astonishes you, embarrasses you, not even sure that you could stand on your own two feet.

“I need you.” He whispers, breath uneven almost a growl, “Tonight. Now.” He reaches between your legs, letting his fingers ghost over you ever so gently, as if asking, no begging, for permission.

You swallow hard, his helmet tilts, admiring you, and you hardly manage to stutter a yes. Part of you expects him to be quick, tearing at your clothes and taking you right here in the kitchen.

He doesn’t.

He goes slow, letting the crest of his helmet fall to rest on your forehead, taking his time to caress your hips, tracing up your sides and taking your shirt with it. His hands are warm, but bring goosebumps to your skin as he touches you, hands squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipple. You keen, pressing desperately against his hands. You lean in, placing a kiss to his collarbone, gentle and moving slow so he may stop you if he wants, but he drops his shoulder and tilts his head to expose his neck.

You kiss his collarbone again, letting your tongue dart out to taste his skin, he’s vibrating beneath you. Trembling as you kiss the hollow of his throat and nibble at the skin of his neck. You run your hands down his chest, basking in the intimacy and living for the scent of his skin.

He lifts you in a fluid motion, whisking you out of the kitchen and into his modest bedroom. Laying you on the bed, he runs his hands down your legs and removes your pants. You blush, unable to hide your arousal but noticing the prominent tent in his briefs, your mouth waters and you get to consider getting on your knees for him briefly.

He’s faster than you, and not thinking about himself. Ripping your underwear from your body and running the tip of his index fingers through your folds. “All this for me?” He circles your entrance, gathering your slick before brushing across your clit with leg-shaking precision.

You chase his touch, the pleasure coating your tongue and fogging your brain even more than you can put into words. You beg for him to get closer, to press your bodies together until you weren't sure you'd ever part.

You're expecting to feel shorted by the absence of his mouth on yours. No taste of him, and not getting to hear his words directly from his mouth, but his touch is consuming. Like he's worshiping and waking each cell with caresses and adoration that's as palpable in the air as his sheets were soft on your back.

There are noises, words you think, that he is muttering between each supple squeeze and tease, words you've heard him say before but their meaning is only now defined by his actions.

Love. He loves you. You can feel it in the heat of his hands as he spreads your legs apart and admires the way you part for him, and he sinks two fingers into your fluttering pussy, pushing up and stroking something dangerous.

His erection is nestled against your leg, and he shifts his hips with every twist of his fingers for a few moments, pressed between your bodies he feels a glimmer of relief with a groan, as much as he wants to bathe you in attention, he thinks that if he waits any longer his heart might give out before the best part. “Mesh’la,” he twists his fingers as if to be sure you're listening, “Please.”

“Yes,” you nod, swallowing harshly as he slips free of his underwear, cock springing free of its confines. You gawk, unabashedly, as he did to you just moments ago. He's large, intact, leaning slightly to his left, and the skin is tanned brown, slightly darker than the rest of his body, thick and weeping out of the brilliantly flushed pink tip, the base adorned with sparse but dark hair that trails up to his navel deliciously. When he steps between your legs and lets it rest on your abdomen to press your forehead together again, you feel its heady weight against you and stoop so low as to beg, “Please.”

You're echoing each other's moans as he grinds against your folds, coating himself in your slick before sinking into you in a single brutally slow thrust. When he bottoms out, you do your best not to squeak as the girth of his member breaks you open, it doesn't hurt, rather it feels like you've both waited an eternity to come to this very moment, euphoric and fulfilling the needs of your body and soul.

He grinds his pelvis against yours letting his hand shift to cup your cheek, staring at you, he hopes somehow you can sense it. How he is barely able to stop passing between the pout of your lips and the deep pleading look in your eyes, begging him for the same thing his heart is calling for. He could weep, having finally shorn the armor to dedicate himself to you, because the truth is, all you needed was to ask. He would've dropped his creed, everything he had achieved, and the meek life he'd planned for himself to grovel at your feet for the rest of his human life.

Devotion, that's what it was called. He had felt at many moments of his life that he was in the right place, blessing along his journeys that started out as miracles, friends, familial bonds he didn't think he deserved. It felt misplaced, the little blessings that had entered his life so quickly that he swore they had to have been accidents. It had taken losing the child and abandoning you on that god-forsaken planet, for him to reflect, and to realize that the life he deserved was not determined by some blasters and an army, nor his home planet. He had the life he wanted in his palms once, and watched it slip through his fingers with the charred remains of his ship. His grip tightened instinctively, twisting the sheet in his fist.

It was you. You were the representation of all of the things he wanted but never thought he deserved. A family, a place to call home, and you even had committed something as passing as his ship to your skin with a permanence that scared him.

Here your skin was warm, surrounding him, nurturing him, squeezing him, and his mind was trying so hard to be a person, not a machine, loving someone else for the first time.

He found the words, he said it to you, over and over with his pelvis angled just right as he ground his hips into you.

He was throbbing inside of you, you could feel the slick slide and pulse of him with each thrust. The pleasure was so intense you were whimpering and mewling beneath him, wetness smearing onto your thighs and running on the sheets below.

You've had sex before of course, and now you seriously doubt you've been doing it right. You kiss at the hollow of his throat, and in response he hunches over you, arms on either side of your head, animalistic yet praising affirmations go straight to the building heat in your core.

You let your hands, come up to his back digging your nails into his skin. He moans in shock as his thrusts grow more frenzied, spurred on by the bite of pain at his back. He reaches between you and circles your clit with his thumb, pulling you headfirst into your orgasm. You're body goes taught and relaxes all at once, the pleasure blinding you as your vision goes white and each tilt of his hips makes you stutter out an overstimulated moan.

The fluttering of your sex around him would be enough to send over the edge but as you catch your breath you begin to beg for him to finish inside you. He does, still feeling you shivering through the after waves of your own, as he groans and revels through the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, complete with curled toes and a knuckle-popping grip on the sheets. He’s still looking at you, the rise of fall of your chests bumping into each other and your breath fogging the front of his helmet so much that when you kissed right over his eye, he could see the imprint of your lips for just a passing moment.

“I can’t believe we waited so long.” You chuckle, all smiles but looking as dazed and spent as he felt. A shiver coming over him as the small sounds cause you to tighten slightly around him as he softens, his body incredible sensitive.

“I’ll spend the rest of our life making up for it.” You note the sound of him speaking through the grit of his teeth, and do your best to lie still, not wishing to be parted just yet.

Months later, you’re married in a private ceremony in front of friends and his brothers and sisters of the clan. It's quick, and everything you had expected of a warrior’s wedding. You get the mudhorn symbol tattooed into the skin nestled behind your ear, wearing it proudly and with your vows you are made a family, a clan of three in front of all the important people you care about.

You’d be remiss if what had you most excited isn’t the filthy promises he’s made to you about that night, taking his helmet off and kissing you everywhere he can for as long as he wishes. Promising to leave a mark over your new clan sigil as he marks the rest of your body for him, as you’ve done to him many times over. You get to admire his face and the most handsome man in the galaxy who kneels before you with reverence and vows to take care of you with more than just his words.

#pedro pascal #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin #eatommos 🗞️#the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian smut #din djarin x reader smut #din x reader #pedro pascal fanfic

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dreadsuitsamus · 8 months

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hi! i’m not sure if you’ve done this before but.. could i please request a vegeta x human!reader who’s heavily tattooed (legs, arms)? i have no real idea for a plot line for it but gather it’s not something he’s seen a whole lot of since coming to earth - if at all! happy for either SFW or NSFW, completely up to you if you don’t mind the idea? have a lovely day!

For Fun | Vegeta x Reader |

author's note: this idea has absolutely made my day. it just begs for a sweet little vegeta learning moment, since normally it's him explaining saiyan culture. i have chosen the sfw path here! it's also funny bc i've been contemplating tattoos lol and a vegeta tattoo has been on the brain for some time now. thank you for your request!!!! 🩷🩷🩷

pairing: vegeta x fem!reader

warnings: sfw, reader has tattoos, some nudity but no smut or anything remotely nsfw, post-namek but pre-androids and cell

You can feel Vegeta's eyes on you as you work on his suit, Bulma's lab being the only place you feel comfortable sharing space with him in— the racket of the tools at the very least would alert somebody of something nefarious happening. Your dear sister just had to have a soft heart (or rather, quite the boner) for the Saiyan, and now it's you that suffers the consequences while you patch up the blue suit with a precise needle and thread.

"I'm not going to ruin it." You snark at him, not exactly happy to be in his presence. He's a murderer! "I've fixed it for you before without an issue." Bulma's doing her best to copy whatever material this suit is made of, but she's having trouble competing with alien technology— though she'll certainly have it figured out soon. She's a petty thing on the regular, but test her intelligence with a challenge like this and she's more stubborn than acne on an asscheek.

"Mm." He never talks much, at least. But as you stretch your arm out to pull the thread taught, Vegeta moves to take your wrist in his hand. While strong and easily capable of smashing your poor bones to smithereens, his touch is on the softer side.

"What in the world are you doing?" Are aliens unaware of personal space??

Ignoring you initially, Vegeta's gloved fingers curiously glide along your forearm, eyes focused on the artwork adorning your skin. "Your tattoos make little sense. What sort of culture is this?"

"Culture?" You repeat the word dumbly, fighting the urge that lingers just under your skin, heart rate picking up as you will yourself not to shiver at his touch.

"These flowers and symbols, what do they represent? I've been on Earth long enough to know the culture here is nothing like these— furthermore, the lab rat has none at all."

The laugh that bubbles from your chest is easy. Perhaps Earth is the only planet, or one of few, with inhabitants that indulge in tattoos for pleasure rather than cultural representation. "They aren't part of any culture, Vegeta."

"Then what are they?" His brow furrows rather adorably, his lips pulling into a pout as you laugh at his ignorance.

"For fun."

"You marked yourself permanently for fun?"

"Sure did. I got tons of 'em. Some of 'em mean somethin', but for the most part they just bring me joy."

Vegeta releases you finally, shaking his head in a way that reminds you of your father when you first started inking up. "Silly Earth woman…"

"Oh come on. Tell me they aren't pretty." You smirk softly, eyes glittering with the twinkles of mischief. This is a new light on Vegeta, one that perhaps drew Bulma's generosity his way in the first place.

"Tch." A blush rises to his cheeks and he looks away, staring a hole into the wall. "They're not ugly."

A not-so-pretty snort escapes you as you resume patching the suit up, tying and clipping off the end of the thread after the hole is closed up. "I got my first tattoo when I was seventeen. I was young and dumb and in love with a guy I thought I would be with forever." You murmur softly, pulling up the leg of your sweatpants to show off the heart by your ankle. It's old and faded by now, but your lips still pull into a smile at it.

Vegeta takes the moment to examine it, brushing a curious knuckle over the tattoo. His curiosity is sweet, and this must've been on his mind for ages now— it's not like him to get handsy or remotely talkative at all. "Saiyans never took part in these."

It makes all the sense in the world; from what you've pieced together by Vegeta's quiet, rarely spoken about tales of home and with the love for fighting that gushes from both his and Goku's hearts, Saiyans aren't exactly sentimental. "Well… You're on Earth now. You could get a tattoo just for the hell of it."

"I have no need." Vegeta looks away again, and you shrug to yourself.

"They're not for everyone, I guess." You hold the repaired suit out, feeling a tad bummed out that the sight of him in a tank top and sweatpants will be gone soon, but a lilt of surprise thrums in your heart when he sets it on the table and looks at you instead.

"Do you… have more of them?"

You laugh and tug at your t-shirt, pulling it off in the face of the blushing prince and revealing several more tattoos, most of which he's never seen before. "You got time?"

"You could certainly warn a man before you start stripping." He grumbles out, forever the prude even in the face of a gorgeous woman and her body.

"So sorry." Your tease bounces off of him as his curious fingers run along the lines on your tummy, sides and just below your breast. You're bare to him almost entirely, as you've never worn a bra at home and certainly didn't intend to start just because a man moved in, though his eyes and touch are calmly curious and genuinely interested in the artwork you're laced with, rather than the perky breasts and soft skin that would have most men acting a fool by now.

It almost has you feeling ugly, though that near-permanent tint of red that dusts his cheekbones reminds you otherwise.

"Don't forget the one on my back." Your murmur is gentle, only there to invite him further into the journey without jostling his concentration too much. And he takes your advice, stepping behind you while tracing the intricate linework of the massive tattoo, pausing at the sight of the gorgeous mural on your back. You've spent quite a bit of money on this, suffered the pain of the needle piercing and permanently scarring your skin to the patterns that'll forever mark you, and the admiration Vegeta has for your commitment alone is monumental.

Even gloved, his touch warms your skin in the lab's cool conditions and that little spot on your back, the one that had you shaking and embarrassed as your tattoo artist that, bless his resilience, dealt with with more care than a fucking surgeon to properly tattoo, flutters against the accidental tickle. You shift, muffling a laugh into your palm and there's a pause before Vegeta drags his fingertips over the spot again, and then once more.

"Your laugh isn't ugly either." He mutters and steps away, the warmth of his proximity erased and goosebumps covering your body now.

Standing ten toes down and looking over your shoulder, your lips twist in gentle glee upon catching his dark eyes with your own. It's taken some time, but you've finally found what Bulma saw in Vegeta that allowed him into your shared home.

He's flustered by such intimacy and he quickly snatches his Saiyan suit up before rushing towards the door. "Put a shirt on, you vile woman, or you'll catch a cold." Vegeta grumbles out, hightailing it towards the comfort of his gravity room and far away from whatever the hell just happened.

"Must be the first time he touched a woman." You snicker, tugging your shirt on and cleaning up the mess, lest your sister properly bitch you out for it later on.

The ghost of his touch remains, and even under the duress of several times Earth's gravity, Vegeta's palms fondly remember the feeling of your skin.

#vegeta x reader #vegeta x you #dbz imagine #vegeta imagine #vegeta #x reader #x you #reader insert

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fuckyeahisawthat · 13 days

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While this article does not answer my #1 burning question of how you dismount from a speeding sandworm, there are a lot of great pull quotes, including:

On Paul and Chani:

"...I wanted to make sure the audience will understand that Paul becomes a dark figure, that his choices are exactly what Chani was afraid of. He becomes the colonizers the Fremen were fighting against.... He betrayed her in many ways. But the big thing for Chani is that it’s not about love. It’s about the fact that he becomes the figure that will keep the Fremen in their mental jail. A leader that is not there to free the Fremen, but to control them."

On the duel between Paul and Feyd-Rautha:

"...we approached their fight at the end like some kind of symbolic union. The way their bodies get close to one another, there’s something animalistic, an intimacy, I was looking for."

On the infamous popcorn bucket:

"I’m at peace with the bucket."

Full article text under the cut, including Fremen sex lives, murder toddler adaptation choices, and the teeny tiniest of teasers for Dune Messiah:

Denis Villeneuve Answers All Your Questions About ‘Dune: Part Two’

He explains why Lady Jessica’s face is so heavily tattooed, whether Paul considers himself the Messiah and what he thinks of those Javier Bardem memes.

By Amy Nicholson

April 17, 2024

This weekend, “Dune: Part Two” muscles back into IMAX theaters with the verve of Timothée Chalamet rodeo-riding a giant sandworm. After nearly two months in theaters, the film is the current champion of this year’s box office race, with a total take of more than $680 million. (It’s also available to rent or buy on some streaming platforms.) The film’s success is thanks in part to audiences that have returned over and over to get lost in the rocky warrens and spiritual reckonings of the planet Arrakis. One admirer reports he’s seen the movie 25 times to date.

That there’s so much to explore in “Dune: Part Two” is a credit to its writer and director, Denis Villeneuve, who boldly reshaped Frank Herbert’s complex and cerebral 1965 novel “Dune.” Villeneuve split the book and its themes into two films: “Dune: Part One,” released in 2021, focused on the political struggles between two families, the Atreides and the Harkonnens. “Part Two” delves into religious fervor as the two surviving Atreides, young Paul (Chalamet) and his mother, Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), ingratiate themselves with Arrakis’s Indigenous desert tribe, the Fremen, by allowing the locals to believe that Paul is their Messiah — a prophecy that, if it comes to pass, will mean the slaughter of billions of victims across the galaxy.

Villeneuve has yearned to tell this story since he was a teenager in Quebec. His devotion is palpable; every frame feels steeped in monkish contemplation. Yet, he’s also a visual dramatist who doesn’t want audiences to get tripped up by too much exposition. His scripts give only passing mention to core concepts like spice, a psychedelic dust that powers everything from space travel to Paul’s clairvoyant hallucinations.

Though Villeneuve doesn’t want to overexplain, he was willing to provide some answers in an interview via video where every question about the film — even silly questions! — was on the table.

Does Chalamet’s Paul Atreides actually believe he’s the Messiah? What’s the meaning of Jessica’s face tattoos? Villeneuve also got into the erotic lives of his desert dwellers and the extra narrative weight he threw behind Paul’s Fremen love interest, Chani, played by Zendaya. As Villeneuve said with a grin, “Chani is my secret weapon.”

Here are edited excerpts from our conversation.

The last time we spoke, you weren’t sure what to make of the sandworm-shaped “Dune” popcorn bucket. It went on to be so popular that it sold out in cities before opening day and is being resold online for around $175. What do you think of it now?

I thought that the bucket was an insane marketing idea. I laughed so much. It is so out there. I don’t know who designed it, but they’re a bit of a genius. I’m at peace with the bucket.

In this film, Javier Bardem’s character Stilgar is reduced to a guileless follower of Paul Atreides, who Stilgar believes is the new Messiah. His conversion is tragic. But also, Bardem’s awe-face has become a funny meme, and the second time I saw the movie, people laughed at almost every line he spoke. Did that reaction surprise you?

No. I am very happy when you say that he is a tragic figure. For me, he is the most tragic figure of all. The idea to bring humor to Stilgar was to make him lovable, to feel the humanity in that character. He’s not an austere figure, he has a big heart. But his beliefs, his faith, his reactions bring humor — and that is something I love about making a sci-fi film, because I can talk about that without offending people because it’s a fake religion. I designed all the prayers myself, so I know it’s fake. I find Stilgar very funny. And when people laugh, I’m happy because that was the intention.

Someone makes a dig that Stilgar has found a savior again. This is not even his first time?

All his life he has been raised with that dream. So I suggest that every time a guy comes from outside with a lot of charisma, he hopes he’s found him. Like in the Bible, we have tons of prophets before Jesus came.

The arc of “Dune: Part Two” is Paul accepting that he must become the Messiah — and get billions of people killed. Does he truly believe that he is the Messiah? Or does he just decide to let the Fremen believe that he is?

I don’t think he believes that he is the Messiah. I think he feels the burden of the heritage that the Bene Gesserit [the mystical sisterhood that Jessica belongs to] have laid among the Fremen, and he sees the potential to use that religious power to survive.

Paul is warned that no man can survive drinking the spiritual water of life. But as that’s part of the lore of a planet seeded with manipulative propaganda by his own mother, I have to ask: Have other men actually been drinking the water and dying? Have they been scared off from trying? Is the warning just a setup for a magic trick?

There are people that have tried it in the past and died. In Frank Herbert’s world, femininity is a power. I think Herbert was fascinated by motherhood, by the power of creation. I love this idea that the power is held by women. It’s something that was ahead of his time when he wrote it and I tried to put the focus on it.

You say so much with Jessica’s costuming. In the first film, her look is immaculate and baroque. This film begins with her in rags, but she finds another path to being dressed and treated like royalty. And she gets a lot of tattoos on her face. Why did she get so many more face tattoos than the outgoing reverend mother?

She’s trying to play on the symbolism that was put in the prophecy. She’s supposed to be the mother of the Messiah, so I wanted to bring the idea that she was like the pope of the reverend mothers on Arrakis. There’s some kind of madness in writing elements of the prophecies on her face. Frankly, I think when you drink the worm poison, it affects your sanity — and the same with Paul. I like the idea that we feel she’s going too far.

Jessica is already pregnant when the first movie ends, and she’s still pregnant at the end of this film. Which means you had to condense this massive story into less than nine months because her body is a time clock.

The idea was to compress the book so that Paul will feel the pressure to get the Fremens’ trust, to start gearing up — but not to succeed, not to have the time to create a real war. Time is against him.

Because in the book, this takes years. Long enough for Jessica to give birth to a very unnerving daughter, Alia. We glimpse Alia as an adult — she’s played by Anya Taylor-Joy — but you skipped over seeing her murder people as a toddler. Was it hard to decide no “murder toddler”?

I think pregnant women look tremendously powerful. To use that power was very exciting. And usually when you see a pregnant woman onscreen, she’s always giving birth. To avoid that moment, to stay in the state of being pregnant, I thought was very Frank Herbert-like. I was going away from the killer toddler, but I thought that was more fresh and original. Honestly, it’s one of the things that I’m proudest of in the adaptation.

Speaking of female power, let’s talk about Chani.

Chani is my secret weapon. Frank Herbert was sad to realize that people saw the book as a celebration of Paul Atreides. He wanted to do a cautionary tale against messianic figures, a warning against blending religion and politics. I wrote the second movie trying to be more faithful to Frank Herbert’s intentions than to the book. In the book, Chani is just a follower. I came up with the idea of her being reluctant. She gives us the critical distance and perspective on Paul’s journey. I wanted to make sure the audience will understand that Paul becomes a dark figure, that his choices are exactly what Chani was afraid of. He becomes the colonizers the Fremen were fighting against. And then the movie becomes the cautionary tale Frank Herbert was wishing for.

Paul makes a choice at the end that will go on to kill billions of people. That’s so large and theoretical that it’s hard to grasp. But you structure your climax so that in that moment of betrayal, he’s also betraying the love of his life — a betrayal we understand.

He betrayed her in many ways. But the big thing for Chani is that it’s not about love. It’s about the fact that he becomes the figure that will keep the Fremen in their mental jail. A leader that is not there to free the Fremen, but to control them. That’s the tragedy of all tragedies. Like the Michael Corleone of sci-fi, he becomes what he wanted to avoid. And he will try to find a way to save his soul in the third part.

But “Dune Messiah,” the book your third film is based on, picks up 12 years later with a reunited Paul and Chani. How far did you feel you could push her anger? Because at some point, she’s going to have to forgive him.

That anger is tremendous. I don’t want to reveal what I’m going to do with the third movie. I know exactly what to do. I’m writing it right now. But there’s a lot of firepower there and I’m very excited about that decision.

In the spirit of no dumb questions, Chani says that Paul sand-walks like a drunk lizard. Which means Arrakis has booze?

Actually, there is spice beer. In the book, there are Fremen parties, even some orgies involving spice. I didn’t bring that into the movies because it’s PG-13.

Body fluids have significance to the Fremen. Spitting is the giving of water, a sign of respect. But tears and vomit are a waste. So what is kissing?

As long as you don’t lose your humidity, you can kiss. It’s an exchange of fluids — an act of love, when you think about it. Fremens love to kiss.

What about the, um, other romantic fluids?

You cannot have sex outside, for sure. But they are very sexual. I suspect that all sexual intercourse happens in environments that are protected from losing moisture. When they are in their sietches [or caves] underground, those are sealed. You don’t need to wear stillsuits inside them. We can deduce from that there is no problem to have sex in a sietch.

By the way, who decided that Fremen was pronounced Freh-men and not Free-men?

All the pronunciations, I took them from recordings of Frank Herbert’s voice. Frank Herbert used “Freh-men,” which I love. It makes it less on-the-nose.

You kept two major characters out of the first movie and only introduced them now: the princess Irulan, played by Florence Pugh, and the Baron Harkonnen’s nephew Feyd-Rautha, played by Austin Butler. The princess is the first voice in the books, the first face onscreen in David Lynch’s “Dune” [1984]. What made you sure holding them back was the right move, despite three years of fans asking, “Hey, where are they?”

When people ask me what was the biggest challenge in making those movies, it’s writing them. In order to make this adaptation, we have to make big, bold decisions. One was that the first movie should be seen from Paul’s perspective. I wasn’t able to do that entirely because I had to go to the Harkonnens’ side to introduce them so that the story will be clear, but I tried to find an elegant simplicity in the story structure. And I wanted, frankly, to keep some firepower for the second movie.

Why is Feyd-Rautha’s gladiator scene in black and white? And what are the splats in the sky above the dome?

Frank Herbert explores the impact of ecosystems on cultures, on humans. How it influences the way we evolve — our biology, culture, technology, mythology, religion. The psychology of a tribe is linked with their environment. If you want to know things about the Fremen, you observe the desert. I wanted to have the same approach to the Harkonnens. They killed nature. It’s a plastic planet. One thing left was sunlight, but instead of a sun that reveals color, it kills colors. When you are outside, it’s all black and white. It gives us ideas about how these people perceive reality, politics, violence in a binary world — it brings the idea of fascism. It also gave me the opportunity to bring images that remind us in our memories of World War II and the Nazi regime. So it’s an idea that I had as I was writing. Then I had the idea to have strange fireworks in the sky that will look like Rorschach drawings. It’s a nightmarish celebration. The perception of a dome is not accurate. It’s just that the fireworks reach a certain altitude and then they explode. But it’s true that it looks like a liquid that falls from the sky.

Forgive me if I am not being fair to sadistic, psychopathic Feyd-Rautha. But all of the gladiators were supposed to be drugged for his happy birthday massacre. The one who secretly isn’t puts up a worthy battle. So I assumed that Feyd-Rautha isn’t that great of a fighter. But at the end, he’s the only warrior who is Paul’s equal?

It’s a show. You see that the Harkonnens are very cruel and their society is very paranoiac. His opponent is known in the books as one of the great fighters, Lieutenant Lanville. I tried to show that Feyd is excited to have a real opponent. He has a code of honor, he respects the effort, and he has fun with it. That’s the idea I tried to convey — he’s not a coward.

Audiences might remember that the Bene Gesserit wanted Jessica’s child to be a girl, that Timothée Chalamet’s Paul Atreides was supposed to be female. And they specifically bred Feyd-Rautha to be a male. Were they hoping these youngsters would mate?

Yeah. They are trying to increase the potential of humanity by breeding the best specimen of each tribe or family. A baby between Feyd-Rautha and an Atreides daughter would have brought peace between Harkonnens and the Atreides, and created an über being.

Will you read any of the internet fan fiction spawned by the idea of Timothée and Austin hooking up?

[Laughs] But you know, we approached their fight at the end like some kind of symbolic union. The way their bodies get close to one another, there’s something animalistic, an intimacy, I was looking for.

I rewatched the first film again recently. It opens with a quote in another language: “Dreams are messages from the deep.” I love that quote. It feels like how a film resonates, too. But it wasn’t until I had subtitles on at home that I realized who said it. Of all the important characters and cultures to establish, you gave that major moment — the very beginning of your franchise — to an anonymous Sardaukar from the murderous imperial army that we’re cheering to see get killed. Why?

I love your question. The Sardaukar are the dark side of the Fremen. I thought it would be interesting to have a tiny bit of insight that they are not just tremendous warriors, but they have spirituality, philosophical thought. They have substance. Also, their sound was designed by Hans Zimmer. I absolutely loved how it feels like it’s coming from the deep, from the ancient world. Frank Herbert said beginnings are very delicate times. By starting with a Sardaukar priest, I was indicating to the fans that I was taking absolute freedom with this adaptation, that I was hijacking the book.

But you also deeply love the book. So when you make these bold changes, do you feel like asking Frank Herbert for forgiveness?

Yes. There’s so many darlings that you kill. An adaptation is an act of violence.

#dune #dune part two #denis villeneuve #paul atreides #chani kynes #as usual i think he gives frank herbert way too much credit when it comes to writing female characters #agree to disagree on that one denis

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arlana-likes-to-write · 9 months

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What Was I Made For? By Billie Eillish

Summary: After Yelena returns to Soyna's apartment from failing to kill Clint Barton she begins to question her place in this world. Luckly for her, you are there to lend a helping hand.

Warning: Self-doubt, Fluff, Lots of drinking, mention of Natasha's death, Yelena needs the biggest hug.

Word Count: 2.7k

The front door slammed shut and alerted you to her arrival. But you didn’t get out of bed when you heard the hushed voices of Yelena and Soyna through the door. It was when you heard one set of footsteps storm off, you climbed out of bed and opened the door. You lived with Sonya when she and Yelena exposed you to the Red Dust. She offered you a room until you decided what was next. However, that was the problem. You weren’t sure what was next. All of your life you followed orders and behaved like a good soldier to complete the orders to a man that no longer existed. He could no longer hurt you. What were you to do now? “How is she?” You asked. Soyna was resting her hands on the kitchen counter.

“She didn’t complete the mission,” that was a surprise. Yelena always completed the mission. You didn’t know anything about her newest assignment, just that the target was in New York City and she would be staying here until she finished the job. You sighed, walked over to the fridge, and took out two bottles of vodka.

“I’m guessing she’s on the roof,” you put on your sneakers and winter jacket.

“Zvezda (star),” you stopped before going up the fire escape. “I don’t think she wants to talk to anyone.” You smiled at your friend.

“Well, it’s lucky I’m someone special,” you opened the window and stepped onto the fire escape, closing it behind you. Zvezda it was a nickname Yelena gave you. The Red Room assigned you to a rising crime lord in the New York and New Jersey area. At least that was what Soyna told you. The things you did for them would come in flashes, mostly in nightmares. Once you adjusted to having your mind and body back, you got a tattoo of Saturn on your arm. The planet symbolized stubbornness, stability, and authority. It was for anyone that wished to take control of their life. That was what you needed. A gentle reminder that you were in control of your life and the end of your story. So they tried to give you the nickname of ‘planet’, ‘Saturn’ but you didn’t like any of them until Yelena came up with star. It fit you well.

You stepped onto the roof, the winter air caused goosebumps to form on your legs. “I came up here because I do not want to talk,” Yelena said, without turning around. She sat on the roof’s edge, legs dangling above the city below.

“Good thing I don’t want to talk,” you said, sitting down next to her. It was close enough that you felt the warmth radiating from her but you gave her enough space to not overcrowd her. It was a delicate dance to play with the blonde. You opened the bottle. “Drink.” You offered her it but she didn’t take her eyes off the busy city street below. You took a sip from the bottle, the burn made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You put the bottle between you and her, leaning back and looking at the city. It was beautiful this time of year. Red and white lights danced in the darkness. You wondered what it was like to celebrate Christmas. Holidays weren’t celebrated in the Red Room. Holidays were used as an easy way to get into a party to find a target. It was another day of training and another night handcuffed to your bed.

“You are going to catch a cold wearing that,” she took a generous sip from the bottle.

“And I thought you didn’t want to talk Belova,” she was wearing her black tactical suit. A smirk was on her face as she took another sip and you picked up the bottle, mirroring her. The other Widows liked to tease you that Yelena had a soft spot for you. She rarely snapped or became annoyed with you but you contributed to not bothering her. You let her exist, not forcing her to talk.

“What did Soyna tell you?” She still refused to look at you.

“You didn’t complete the job,” you shrugged. “I didn’t ask more. Not my place.” It was true. If Yelena refused to kill the man or woman then it had to be a good reason.

“Why are you here then?” Finally, she looked at you. Her green eyes were red, her cheeks blotchy, and dried tears on her cheeks.

“Just to sit here and be your friend,” you took another sip. You felt her eyes on you soon it became too much and you looked at her. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“I do not know,” you nodded.

“Well, when you do know I’m here,” you continued to sit in silence, passing the bottle back and forth until it was empty and you opened the next one. The alcohol was making you feel warm like you were surrounded by a big hug. Yelena rubbed her eyes, suppressing a yawn. “Come on,” you stood up, wobbling slightly. You didn’t know if it was from the alcohol or your legs being asleep. You weren’t drunk, a little tipsy at best. “You should get some sleep.” The blonde groaned and you held out your hand. She sighed, took it, and grabbed the fuller bottle before standing up. She stumbled more than you did. Was she drinking before she came back to the apartment? You were a few inches taller than her and you caught the blonde when she stumbled forward. Her head fell into the crock of your neck. Her warm breath caused goosebumps to form on your skin.

“You smell good,” she mumbled. “Like euc-euc eucalyptus,” she stumbled over the word a few times which caused her to giggle. You rolled your eyes.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed. You walked in front of Yelena as you led her down the fire escape. Your hand lingered on her hip now and again to steady her. When you opened the window, the apartment was quiet. You weren’t sure if Soyna went to bed or went out. Yelena was eyeing the couch that had been her bed for the past few nights. “Do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?” You asked as if you could read her mind. She looked at you, her green eyes wide.

“Can I?” She whispered. It was so rare to hear such vulnerability in her voice.

“Of course, you can,” you took the bottle from her and put it back in the fridge, making a mental note to buy Soyna two new bottles. You grabbed Yelena’s hand and brought her to your room. The first time she was in her was when she dropped you off. You’ve changed it since then, added posters of bands you liked and pictures you’ve taken around the city. She sat on the edge and looked around your room. “Do you want to change?”

“Clothes are out there,” she pointed to the door. “Don’t wanna move,” you giggled. “What’s so funny?” She asked as you walked to your closet.

“Your just cute,” you saw a blush rise to her cheeks. “I have stuff you can use,” you grabbed her a long sleeve shirt and an extra pair of sleep shorts. You handed them to the blonde but knelt on the floor to take off her boots. She didn’t fight you but watched you with a curious expression. “Do you need help changing?” Yelena shook her head. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” You left your room with her boats in hand to give her some privacy. You filled two glasses with water before returning to your room. Yelena was changed and resting her back on your headboard. You placed both glasses of water on your nightstand. “Did you get hurt tonight?” She hesitated but shrugged. “Do you want me to look at it?”

“No,” she simply said. You turned on the light you had on your nightstand and turned off the overhead light before climbing into bed. She copied you, getting under the covers, and lay down to face you. Tears swelled in her eyes.

“Yelena,” you whispered. “Are you okay?” She shook her head, a sob escaping her lips. You didn’t think and brought the emotionally distraught Black Widow into your arms. She tensed up at the sudden contact but you felt her hands grip onto your shirt like a lifeline. “Sh, you’re okay,” you whispered, undoing the braid in her hair and running your fingers through her blonde locks. “Your safe. Your safe.” You kept repeating it until her cries turned into hiccups and her breathing evened out. She was fast asleep in your arms. You wondered if she ever allowed herself this peace, this safety net to fall back on. Yelena always seemed so strong, barely showing any emotion. It had to be exhausting. You allowed yourself a few minutes of soothing her before falling asleep.

It took a few moments for Yelena to recognize where she was, alone, in a room she had only seen in passing but never dared to go in. Your room. It always seemed welcoming, warm, and inviting. Yelena groaned, pushing her hands to her temples. Her head was pounding. She wasn’t sure if it was from all the alcohol she drank or the crying. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried, especially in front of someone. It was embarrassing and threatened the way she presented herself. But last night was the best night’s sleep she’s had in a long time. Yelena saw the glass of water and medicine you left out for her. There was a part of Yelena that was curious about where you ran off to but the much louder part was dreading to face you. With a sigh, she finished the water and ventured into the apartment. You were in the kitchen, mixing something into a metal bowl. “Where is Soyna?” Yelena asked. You jumped slightly.

“She ran to the store so I’m in charge of breakfast,” you smiled. “I’m making pancakes.”

“Do you need help?” Yelena offered. She wasn’t well versed in the kitchen, surviving mostly on take-out or easy microwave dinners.

“Can you make coffee?” That was something she could do and she was grateful to do something. You turned up the music you were listening to and the kitchen was no longer quiet. When the coffee started, Yelena couldn’t help but watch you move around the kitchen. You were so different than the other Widows she’s saved from Dreykov’s claws. You were soft, caring, and like Melina said all those years ago to her and Natasha you kept your heart. Her heart was tainted, blackened with grief and a thirst for revenge. But she felt empty, lost, and without a purpose. “Your thinking too hard,” your voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Sit. The food is done.” Yelena did what she was told and sat down. You placed a plate in front of her with syrup and coffee from the pot. Why were you doing this? Yelena wasn’t deserving of your kindness. “Yelena, stop thinking and just eat.” You smiled. Your smile made her stomach flip.

“Thank you,” she took a bite of the food. “It’s really good.”

“I’m glad you like it,” you both ate in silence, allowing the music to fill it. But her mind started to wander and it went back to your room. Yelena had a room at Melina’s farm, she rarely used it as she slept in hotels or apartments of the Widows she’s helped. The room wasn’t decorated, and she didn’t have posters or pictures to hand up. The only picture she had was a ripped photo strip of her and Natasha.

“Yelena,” she looked at you. “Are you okay?” She forced a smile.

“I’m okay, malen’kaya zvezda (little star), no need to worry.” She wasn’t expecting you to frown.

“Your not okay,” you said. Your blunt comment surprised her. “And that’s okay. We can’t always be strong. We have to break now and again.” Yelena chuckled, shaking her head.

“Tell me, how did you keep your heart?” She asked. You didn’t mask the confusion on your face. “Your heart is good. They didn’t taint it.” Your frown deepened.

“Do you not think your heart is good?” Yelena couldn’t find an answer. How could she tell you she was hired to kill an Avenger and she believed the lie that he killed her sister? “I think your heart is good,” you continued. “You wouldn’t do what you do if your heart wasn’t good.” Yelena laughed bitterly, looking out towards the window. She wondered what Clint and Kate were doing right now. Were they celebrating Christmas?

“Do you ever wonder why we were put through the Red Room?” She asked. “Besides following Dreykov’s orders and taking down countries and starting wars. But what about now? The Red Room is gone and we are left with these kills,” she sighed, running her hands through her hair. “What was I made for? I used to know but I’m not sure now.” Yelena looked at you. You were watching her intensely, it made her feel small and foolish under your graze for opening up like this. But she couldn’t stop.

“Sometimes I don’t feel real,” she continued. “I’m just something someone paid for. I don’t know how to feel,” Quietly, you rested your hand on top of hers. Yelena was surprised she didn’t pull away.

“What was your mission?” You asked. Yelena stared at your connected hands.

“Someone put a hit on Clint Barton,” she didn’t need to loop up for you know you knew the name. “Valentina gave me the job. She said,” Yelena sighed, closing her eyes. Her throat began to burn as she felt her emotions start to overpower her. “She said he had a hand in my sister’s death.”

“Did he?” You whispered. Yelena shook her head.

“No. It’s why I didn’t kill him,” you didn’t say anything instead you ran your fingers across her hand. It was soothing. “I wonder,” Yelena continued. “If Valentina is like Dreykov. I’m blindly following orders without thinking for myself.” It was your turn to sigh and Yelena glanced up at you. You were deep in thought, staring at the now empty plate.

“You and I and every other Widow were not given a fair or easy life,” Yelena counted herself lucky for the 3 years in Ohio. She was given a family, even though it was for a mission. It was more than some of the other girls had. “We were born to be used, and abused, and controlled but I know that isn’t the end of our story.”

“What is the end?” Yelena asked. You finally began to smile.

“I don’t know but we are free, Yelena. We write our own story. No man or woman can take that from us,” you squeezed her hand. “You were made to be anything you want.” Yelena scuffed, shaking her head. You made it sound so easy.

“I don’t know what I want,” there was one thing she wanted more than anything in the world. She wanted more time with her sister. It was so unfair how little time they had together. You removed your hand as you started cleaning up the breakfast. Yelena hated to admit how much she missed it.

“Well, I would stop working with Valentina,” you loaded the dishwasher. “Go on a vacation. Swim in the ocean. Eat your weight in ice cream,” Yelena chuckled. Once you were happy with how the kitchen, you leaned back on the counter. “That’s the beautiful and scary thing about being free there is no limit to what we can do,” Yelena smiled, a real when. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she smiled.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” she said. “How did you keep your heart?” You shrugged.

“They tried to break it,” you told her. Your smile was no longer happy. “But I had to believe the horror we were subjected to wasn’t our end. It gave me hope,” this time Yelena grabbed your hand and interlocked her fingers with yours.

“Will you join me?” She asked. “On my self-discovery journey.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said. “I’d follow you anywhere you go.” Yelena felt a warm feeling grow in her chest. She couldn’t blame the alcohol or her grief. You were to blame for this giddy feeling that she had about the future. For once, Yelena wasn’t afraid and she hoped to make her sister proud.

Might return to this little AU in the future. May add some angst in Part 2. We'll see what happens and how I'm feeling lol

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x fem!reader #yelena belova #black widow x reader #black widow one shot #black widow fanfiction #yelena belova imagine #reader insert #based on a song #barbie movie #black widow imagine #black widow

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romanticatheartt · 3 months

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*tiny HOFAS spoiler*

So while reading the book I came across these two paragraphs:

chapter 13 ^

chapter 81 ^

And they oddly reminded me of Feyre...

I'm not saying it means anything because I'm no theorist lol but while reading these, only Feyre came to my mind.

Cthona holding an infant while her other hand hold an orb which represents Midgard and in ACOWAR we have Feyre fixing the Cauldron which we learn it's kill switch for Prythian (even tho we knew that but now there's a story behind it) so she -and Rhys- literally saved their whole planet. In another word its holding up because of their power...

Urd holding a black metal bowl in her hands and symbols are carved all over it. Cauldron also have patterns swirl on it. Those symbols runs all over Urd's body and we have Feyre having tattoos on her arms and in ACOTAR we've seen her body being painted in patterns.

ACOTAR -> chapter 13:

ACOWAR -> chapter 76:

Now we know Feyre had their entire *world* into the palm of her hand and not universe because back then we didn't know other worlds exist as well. But again this looks like Cthona, birther of worlds, holding the Orb in one of her hands, the other holding a baby and Urd, Goddess/Fate/Mother, holding a bowl in her hands...

idk what all this means, maybe Sarah only like the aesthetic. And I think it's so far fetched to say Feyre is a goddess (or semi-goddess?)... but it's all very interesting :)

cr: paintfaery on Instagram

#my very first post #🥹#and what better way to start?#feyre darling #english is not my first language #so forgive any grammar mistakes #idk if anyone has already pointed this out #I don't check what's going on in Feyre's tag but I know there's too much negativity for my liking #about her and other characters #and I'm not here for that...#pls don't make this about ship-war!#feyre archeron #feyre cursebreaker #high lady feyre #pro feyre #feysand #hofas spoilers #hofas #I needed to document this somewhere bc who knows maybe they mean something lol

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xzaddyzanakinx · 4 months

Text

The Maker’s Angel pt. 1

Din Djarin/Mando x Female Reader

Warnings: suggestive speech, possessiveness, mentions of marking/claiming/owning.

Info: reader is tattooed with a tribal fertility symbol, I made up my own lore bc fuck it I ball. Smut coming in pt. 2.

The one where Din’s idea of foreplay is accidentally seducing himself into marrying you

His gaze locked onto yours, the softness of your smile capturing him in a way few things have. His hand reaching out involuntarily to adjust the tactical belt on his hips as He approached you. You found yourself tracking his hand as it moved, eyes lingering a bit longer than they should at the soft bulge between his thighs.

He stopped right in front of you, your bodies close enough to feel the warmth emanating from each other. The scent of your alluring perfume fills his nostrils and it's then that he decided to take his chance.

"Mesh'la," He whispered softly, keeping his voice low with a hint of breathiness from the helmet's voice modulator, "Are you alone here?"

“I am.” You answered, crossing your ankles as you leaned against the counter.

The wide legs of your harem pants swishing as you moved. You looked up at the tall man in beskar and took a sip of your drink, bringing it down to rest in your hand against your exposed stomach. Your bandeau top displaying the slightest hint of cleavage, paired with the low slung waist of your pants the entirety of your abdomen was exposed.

His eyes wander over your exposed skin, noting the tattoos on the side of your hips. His mind races with thoughts as he considered whether to push further or retreat back into his stoic shell.

"Cyar'ika," He utter quietly while keeping his helmet tilted, reaching for a drink nearby without looking away from you, "Do you know what it means?"

“No, but I do know it’s Mando’a.” You answered, keeping your gaze on the dark visor of his helmet.

He nodded slightly, understanding the curiosity in your tone. In response, he decided to explain further.

"Mesh'la," the breathy sound comes from the voice modulator as his hands grip tightly on the glass, "‘Mesh’la' means beautiful and ‘Cyar'ika’, darling. It is how we express affection towards someone."

“How sweet.” You teased with a playful smirk. He was confident but you noticed subtle signs of nervousness, like the way the leather of his gloves creaked from his clenched fists.

"Are there more stories behind those markings? Or are they just decorations?" He quickly changed the subject back to you.

“The tattoos?” You asked, tracing over the matching designs on your hips and sides. “They have meanings.”

He leaned in slightly, breath barely audible through the vocoder of his helmet as he spoke softly.

"So tell me more about them." His hand reaches out to lightly brush against one of the tattoos on your hip before pulling back quickly.

“These are traditional. Something we do on my home planet for femininity and fertility.” You said, looking down at my abdomen.

“This one,” You traced the ink above your cleavage. “is a symbol of strength and prosperity.”

His eyes drifted down to your exposed cleavage, taking in the curve of your breasts beneath your top.

"It suits you well," He muttered under his breath before turning attention back to your conversation.

"And these?" He asked reaching out to touch one on your side near your hipbone.

They’re part of these larger ones,” You said, watching as he glanced down at the swirling patterns that went over your hips and up the sides of your stomach.

You tapped your other hip. “The blank space you’re touching and this one here, we leave unfilled until marriage.”

He nodded, understanding the significance behind your tattoo. His fingers trace around its edges as if considering what it would mean to fill those empty spaces.

"It's an honor reserved only for one?" A hint of jealousy crept into his voice, "Or could there be exceptions?"

His gaze flickers back towards your exposed cleavage before returning to meet your gaze once again.

“It’s reserved only for one. No exceptions.” You said firmly. “once I’m marked, it’s for life, a sign of possession and loyalty.”

The thought of such commitment sends shivers down his spine, a primal thrill in it that piques his interest.

"Intriguing," He mumbled under his breath while maintaining eye contact, "If you were marked by me... would you continue wearing these revealing clothes?"

Your fingers tighten slightly on the glass as you tried to gauge the seriousness of his response based on body language alone.

“Mhm. It’s like a wedding band.” You finally nodded.

“They’re meant to be displayed to show dedication to our mates. It’d be insulting, disloyal… if I hid them.”

A wry smile quirks the corner of his hidden mouth at your answer.

"Hmm," He replied, letting out a soft chuckle beneath the beskar helmet, "You would wear such displays even if that mate wasn’t standing beside you? If they weren’t present?”

“Of course.” You responded.

“Women of my tribe never cover these tattoos, whether they are filled or not. It would be punishable by my mate if I covered them willingly. It would be disrespectful.”

A hardened edge crept into his voice, reflecting a mixture of fascination and unease. "And if you refused to wear them?"

A sinister grin spreads across his lips as he leaned closer, his helmet mere inches away from your face. He was challenging you, trying to provoke you.

“If I refused to let my chosen fill my tattoos?” You asked in surprise. “I wouldn’t be permitted to marry.”

“I can date and what-not… but once I’ve chosen someone and they ask to fill my tattoos, if I accept, then I’ll be mated to that person for life.”

The concept leaves an unusual taste in his mouth, and yet there's something exhilarating about it.

"And what if your 'chosen' tried to force you?" He asked his query coldly. His voice echoed in the confined space between your little bubble among the other bar-goers, "How would they be punished?"

“If my chosen tried to fill my tattoos without consent, they would be brought before the tribe leaders and put to death.” I said plainly.

“Disrespect of a woman, or of any possible partner is considered worthy of death.”

He nod slowly, taking in your reply. A silent respect forms for the severity of consequences within this strange culture.

"And what if you were to breed with another man despite being marked?" His words cut through the heavy silence like a sharp blade, "Would they meet the same fate as one who attempts to fill your tattoos without permission?"

“It would depend on their status.” You said in a serious tone.

“If they were also marked, yes he would be put to death.” You said cooly.

“But if I were marked, and ‘bred’ with someone un-marked, it would be possible that I could be put to death. It’s up to the discretion of my mate.”

His eyes narrowed slightly behind the visor as he heard your sweet voice repeat such a primal word back to him, but he pushed aside those thoughts for now.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, impressed by your commitment to tradition as it closely mirrored his own.

"Sounds fitting," He whispered softly, still processing this new information while keeping an eye on the pulsing lights reflecting off your body in intriguing ways, casting shadows and highlights across your curves.

"So telling lies within our relationship... would that be tolerated?" His eyes flickered back to yours, searching for any signs of dishonesty in your gaze.

“No, honesty is more valuable than any other virtue.” You said plainly, raising an eyebrow at his choice of ‘our’. “If I were to lie to my mate, they could punish me as they saw fit.”

He nods slowly, understanding the gravity of your words. His gaze roams over your body again, taking in every curve and contour.

"And if I were to lie?" He asked casually, my voice holding a hint of curious lust.

“I would be allowed to punish you as I saw fit as well.”

A chuckle escapes him, finding humor in this twisted game of power dynamics that had fallen so perfectly into his grasp. After years of cruelty from the galaxy, he was being gifted the perfect woman on a silver platter.

"So it appears we both have leashes," He said with a sly grin widening across his face, "But only one is adorned by truth and honor."

His fingers trace the pattern on your tattoo again before pulling back abruptly; hunger gnawing at the pit of his stomach like an insatiable beast.

“Not true, the males also get marked after filling their mates tattoos.” You grinned.

His helmet tilted as he furrowed his eyebrows slightly at your correction, intrigued by the complexity of this ritual.

"So both parties are equally bound?" His voice sounding even deeper in close proximity, "The difference lies merely on who draws first blood?"

“It’s traditional that the female gets her tattoos filled first.” You reach your hand up to touch your neck and circle the blank space there. “Then she gets to choose a symbol of protection for her mate, and tattoos it right here.”

"Could this protection symbol also be one of love and devotion instead?" He asked, his tone truly serious.

“Of course.” You nodded. “but you are a bounty hunter correct?” You raised an eyebrow in question.

A faint scoff left his lips as if amused by your quick change in topic.

"That I am." He confirmed nonchalantly while keeping eye contact steady, "But what does it matter for our current conversation?"

“Well you asked about the different symbols a woman could choose to mark their mate with.” You stated with a smirk. “you’re a bounty hunter, so I would choose a symbol of protection for your tattoo.”

You brought your hand up to softly brush against his neck.

“So you’d be safe. Even when I’m not with you.” You purred.

A low growl rumbles in his throat at the thought of you being just as possessive over him as he was beginning to feel over you.

"And what symbol would you choose for me?" The question comes out huskier than intended, confirming his growing fascination with you.

“The most powerful protector of my people, reserved only for the strongest of warriors. The sigil of the Manticore.” You said confidently.

He hummed, the admiration for your bravery and faith in him clear. "Thank you," His voice cracked slightly, revealing the inner turmoil he was suffering. "that... means a lot to me."

Slowly, you remove the glass from your hand and place it back on the countertop, your heart races faster as he tilted his helmet closer.

“Though, you are a Mandalorian. Your tattoo would need to be displayed permanently… since you don’t show your skin, it would need to be etched into your armor.” You said matter of factly.

“Does the Manticore hold meaning in Mandalorian culture as well?” You asked.

Din paused for a moment, pondering over your question.

"The Manticore is known among us." His fingers twitch unconsciously at the thought of engraving such an image onto his armor,

"However it's not celebrated or revered like within your culture." He admitted gruffly. "But its symbolism aligns with one of protection which suits our conversation perfectly."

“How convenient.” You grinned.

He can't help but chuckle at your assertion, finding amusement in his luck at this truly perfect situation he’d fallen into.

"Yes, convenient indeed." His gaze locks onto yours once more as a sudden idea strikes him,

"Then when we reach an agreement for our mating rituals... I should start by engraving that symbol into my armor." He asked, a hint of excitement in his rumbly voice "A show of good faith from both sides?"

“Yes.” You blushed.

His heart beats rapidly against against chest, anticipation filling every fiber of his being, he felt as though his heart would beat through his beskar at any second.

"Then let us make this arrangement official." He reached out to cup your chin gently, turning your face towards his, "Do you consent to be marked by me?"

“Are you serious?” You gasped. “That’s not funny Din.”

“D-don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” Your eyes watered.

Relief washed over him at your response, a bit of remorse welling up inside from causing you momentary stress.

"I am serious." His voice is soft and sincere now, "And I promise to respect whatever decision you make next."

“W-will I ever be allowed to see your face?” You asked quietly.

The question catches him off guard, causing him to pause for a moment before answering honestly.

"After our mating rituals are completed... yes." A smile evident in his tone, "You may see my face then. However, this is non-negotiable; it's part of our agreement."

His eyes search yours once more, ensuring you understand the stakes involved

“I accept.” You nodded, a serious expression plaguing your face.

A sigh of relief escapes him as he slowly lowers his hand from your chin, returning it to the countertop. A contented hum vibrates in my throat.

“The Maker has finally sent me my angel.” He whispered huskily, grabbing your hip firmly and pulling you against his chest in a crushing hug.

Din’s List

TagList:

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@burnthecheshirewitch@cherrylooney@star611

@tahliac11 @exquisit?corpse @jeldog @arzua10

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@fallinlovewithevil@sythethecarrot

@joshfutturmansrighthand @chaoticantihero

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#din dijarin fanfiction #din dijarin x reader #din djarin #the mandolorian x reader #the mandolarian #mando x reader #mando #mando x you #mando fanfiction #starwars fandom #star wars x reader #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker

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