#bobadinweek

[dad-galaxy]

Entry "Pets" for @bobadinweek Bingo Flower shop & Tattoo Parlor

Sorry the absence, busy months I have plans for a fic for the RPG/tabletop gaming entry but I think i'll just do a drawing u.u

[poibynt]

Y’ALL. I’M FINALLY POSTING A FIC IVE BEEN SITTING ON FOR OVER 3/4THS OF A YEAR.

IT HAS ARRIVED. This fic was originally written for @bobadinweek’s bobadinaubingo and then I thought I ran out of time but I hear there’s an extension but I don’t know for how long???? So I truly don’t know if this fic counts anymore or not bc it’ll be done uploading passed any extension I assume. But either way it was written for the fills fantasy and shared fandom trope (modern au). A HUGE MASSIVE MASSIVE thank you to @missypup for not only betaing but being with me quite literally every single step of the way.

[mydetheturk]

Time and Again (406 words) by mydetheturk Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett Characters: Din Djarin, Boba Fett Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Time Travel, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic References, listen kotor was a very formative game for me in regards to star wars, i WILL use it as a reference point WHENEVER POSSIBLE

Summary:Jedi magic has always been a pain, and this time is no different.

for @bobadinweek! Time Travel is always fun, especially when i can do things like this

~~

The abundance of laser swords had been a clue that something was amiss. Seeing Mandalorians all over the place had been another.

Boba visibly getting side-eyed by most of them had Din’s hackles raised, though most of them passed over Din in favor of Grogu, who mostly just slapped at Din’s plate and chirped whenever a Mandalorian froze after seeing them.

The Mando’a was different as well, not unintelligible, just different.

Finding out that they’d been tossed backwards in time by the weird rock thing that Grogu had found was somehow the least stressful part of being four thousand years in the past.

“You could always join my clan,” Din said quietly, when he and Boba were discussing their options. “I don’t know your clan’s family history, but being here clearly upsets you.”

“One of my ancestors was Second to Mandalore the Ultimate who took over half the galaxy before the Jedi took the Mandalore out,” Boba replied in a rush. “Yes, I’m stressed out. Being a Fett in the here and now is as much of a curse as it is in the there and then!” Boba threw up his hands before slumping down in the chair next to Din’s.

Grogu chirped and wriggled, climbing over to Boba and curling up in his lap, tiny hands going up to touch his face.

“Yes, kiddo, I’m stressed out,” Boba said. He picked Grogu up and tapped their foreheads together.

Din smiled at the sight, but it faded soon enough. They were stuck, thanks to some sort of Jedi magic, and it would take Jedi Magic to return.

But it seemed that even here in the past, the Jedi were hunted.

Only this time, they were hunted by Sith, true Sith, instead of scattered remains of the Empire determined to do the rest of the Mandalorians in.

Din turned, pressing his faceplates into the side of Boba’s face.

“We’ll find a way home,” he said, “or we’ll make a home here. Makes no difference to me.” It was only partially a lie – Din would prefer if he could return to the others of his Covert, but if he were here with only Boba and Grogu, he could be content.

Boba didn’t call Din out on his lie, but that was okay.  

They really would figure out a way to get back.

If they didn’t, it wouldn’t be the first time ether of them had rebuilt their families.

[bobadinweek]

Round Up Post

The first ever BobaDin fandom week celebration was a smash hit! We were so delighted with all of the amazing creations everyone shared! 

Here is the round up! We hope you all have as much fun with it as we did!

Here’s to next year! <3

Day 1

alligatordemon (fic)

aprilfrederih (art)

autisticdindjarin (art)

chaptersinprogress (podfic)

dad-galaxy (comic)

damiemontclair (fic)

EAVanGeek (fic) *NSFW/Mature

inkformyblood (fic)

kazhan-draws (fic)

lilizh (art)

musicmillennia (fic)

mydetheturk (fic)

mymblesbuir (fic)

nim-lock (art)

ourhitofsucrose (fic)

shadowmaat (fic)

un_fett_ered (fic)

wanderingjedihistorian (fic)

wrennette (fic)

Day 2

aprilfrederih (art)

chaptersinprogress (fic)

dad-galaxy (art)

damiemontclair (fic)

EAVanGeek (fic)

firewins-the-fangxrl (art)

inkformyblood (fic)

kazhan-draws (fic) *NFSW/Mature

midnightmeatsubway (art)

musicmillennia (fic)

mymblesbuir (fic)

nim-lock (art)

oyubaat-tapcaf (comic)

shadowmaat (fic)

wanderingjedihistorian (fic)

wrennette (fic)

Day 3

alligatordemon (fic)

aprilfrederih (art)

autisticdindjarin (comic)

autisticdindjarin (fic)

dad-galaxy (comic)

damiemontclair (fic)

elenorasweet (art)

inkformyblood (fic)

kazhan-draws (art)

lowbudgetcyborg (fic)

mymblesbuir (fic)

nim-lock (art)

see8gras8kopf (art)

wrennette (fic)

youbitehard (fic) *NSFW/Explicit

lowbudgetcyborg (fic) *NSFW/Explicit

Day 4

aprilfrederih (art)

chaptersinprogress (fic)

dad-galaxy (comic)

damiemontclair (fic)

inkformyblood (fic)

kazhan-draws (fic)

musicmillenia (fic)

mymblesbuir (fic)

nim-lock (art)

wrennette (fic)

Day 5

autisticdindjarin (comic)

dad-galaxy (art)

dad-galaxy (art & fic)

damiemontclair (fic)

kazhan-draws (fic)

musicmillennia (fic)

mydetheturk (fic)

mymblesbuir (fic)

nim-lock (art)

nim-lock (fic)

oyubaat-tapcaf (fic)

see8gras8kopf (art)

thishintoflove (fic)

afoolserrand78 (fic)

Day 6

aprilfrederih (comic)

dad-galaxy (comic)

damiemontclair (fic)

kazhan-draws (fic) *NSFW/Mature

musicmillennia (fic)

nim-lock (art)

wrennette (fic)

Day 7/Uncategorized

asiminthering (art)

autisticdindjarin (comic)

dad-galaxy (comic)

damiemontclair (fic)

kazhan-draws (fic)

mando-connoisseur (fic)

musicmillennia (fic) *Mature (blood, gore)

nim-lock (art)

***We’re only human! If we missed your work and it’s complete, please let us know and we’ll edit the post!

[wreathedinscales]

@bobadinweek Day 5: Alternate Universe & Hurt/Comfort

AU of my Eldritch AU l o l

[ourhitofsucrose]

BobaDin Week 2021!!!

Hello everyone! The blog is pretty new, but if you’re interested in Boba Fett and Din Djarin, we’ve organized a fanwork week at the end of August! 

We’re just getting started, but please check us out and follow us @bobadinweek! 

[nim-lock]

@bobadinweek Day 7 - Free Day - Parenting/Misunderstandings i.e. Grogu gives the shovel talk to Boba Fett held hands with @kazhan and went properly feral, go read his fic !!!  trials and errors; 6.9k words

[A very tiny Grogu stands on the ground, with a murderous glint in his eyes, glaring at Boba while Luke doubles over in laughter, and Din looks on in confusion. It’s a wooded area. Luke’s x-wing is visible in the distance.]

ANYWAYS hfhfhfhhf it’s been an honor, can’t believe we actually did this in 3 days ( ఠ ͟ʖ ఠ) behold !!!

[chaptersinprogress]

sometimes family is you, the cute kid you met on the flight, and his mysterious dad

The last thing Boba expected, was to meet an utterly adorable child on the flight home, and then get mistaken for the child's buir and the riduur of the child's actual buir.

Rating: G

Pairings: Boba Fett & Grogu; Din Djarin/Boba Fett; brief Jango Fett/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Warnings: reference to past near-fatal jellyfish stings

Prompts: @bobadinweek 2021 day 4 | family & this

“Give us a call when you land, ok?”

Boba rolled his eyes exasperatedly at the third reminder. “Yes, O’buir.”

Obi-Wan smiled fondly at his child’s antics through the screen. “Sure you don’t want us to pick you up?”

“Yes, O’buir,” Boba sighed theatrically. “I’m 25. I can make my way home from the airport.”

But he couldn’t help the instinctive face he made when Jango appeared in the frame only to drape his arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and hook his chin over the other’s shoulder to kiss his cheek.

“Buir!” he said exasperatedly. “Stop doing that every time I call home, for Force’s sake. You can be sappy when I’m not there!”

Jango merely smirked at him while Obi-Wan hid a laugh behind his palm.

Oh Boba just knew his buir was doing it on purpose to get a rise outta him! He scowled at the pair, not that it did anything to stop them. No, they had been that way for 15 standard years already, and would be that way till they joined the ka’ra.

(And he wouldn’t have them any other way. He only hoped that he would one day find a riduur who would look at him the way his buire looked at each other.)

The hall speaker came alive with a chime, interrupting any further conversation.

“That must be your boarding call,” commented Obi-Wan. “Have a safe flight, dear. Love you.”

“Safe flight, Bob’ika. We’ll see you when you get home,” added Jango.

“Mm, yeah. Love you, buire.” Boba waved back at them before ending the call.

Sighing, he slid the datapad into his jacket and shouldered his carry-on before pulling on his buy’ce again. At the boarding announcement of the rows including his, he joined the others making their way onto the aircraft.

“Welcome aboard, sir,” greeted the Togrutan flight attendant, glancing over Boba’s documents. “We wish you a pleasant flight.”

Boba tipped his head briefly in acknowledgement. Ahead of him, the mass of people slowly inched their way to their seats. Lowering the audio input of his buy’ce to reduce the audible hum of the craft, he joined them, squeezing his way past people until he arrived at his row.

More preoccupied with getting his carry-on into the overhead cabin space, he did not fully register the presence of his row-mates until a cheerful chirp caught his attention.

“Oh,” he breathed out, sliding into his seat which was thankfully an aisle one. “And who might you be, ad’ika?”

Big brown eyes stared back at him curiously from an impossibly tiny body, floppy green ears twitching ever so slightly. The kid was swaddled in thick robe-like clothing and had a child’s seat belt fastened neatly over its body where it sat in the center seat. Tipping its head, the child cooed at Boba.

“His name is Grogu.”

Boba looked up at the person sitting by the window and his breath caught at the sight of the unpainted pure beskar buy’ce.

The mando was clad in an unassuming, loose-fitting outfit of a shirt, jacket and jeans. But Boba had grown up around ori'ramikade, his buir being one himself, and had seen them in all sorts of attire.

He knew an experienced combatant when he saw one.

(Not to mention beskar was still incredibly rare. Not even the ramikade owned pure pieces of beskar’gam. So for the mando to be wearing the pure unpainted metal and as their buy’ce no less, they had to be talented enough to still keep it even with all the aruetiise who would gladly slaughter them for it.)

“I see,” he murmured. Straightening up slightly, he offered his forearm. “Boba Fett. Clan Fett, House Mereel. He/him.”

The mando clasped Boba’s arm, a silent strength in their grip. “Mando. He/him,” he replied, offering no more information.

Boba merely nodded as they let go. It wasn’t the first time he’d met a traditionalist.

(And it elevated his opinion of the man’s skill even higher. Though it did also raise the question of why he had given out his ad’s name. Perhaps the child was not used to being addressed otherwise.)

“Well met, Mando.”

The child squeaked, waving his clawed hands at Boba. He laughed softly at the adorable cry for attention.

“Well met, Grogu,” he said seriously, gently grasping one tiny hand.

As the pre-flight announcements began, the mando distracted the child with a shiny silver ball. The kid was happy enough to play with the item, rolling it back and forth between his hands.

Meanwhile Boba pulled out his own datapad and busied himself with a few interesting research papers he’d not had time to read while juggling his semester’s course load. The 9-hour flight would give him more than enough time to make a sizable dent in his reading list.

He connected his buy’ce to the in-flight entertainment system easily enough, and was soon absorbed in his reading, strains of warbat trance playing over his internal comms.

Engrossed as he was, he barely registered the passing of time until a soft insistent patting of his thigh caught his attention. He looked down from his datapad to find the kid tapping the outside of his leg, wide eyes fixed on his buy’ce.

“What is it, ad’ika?” he asked quietly, switching off his music.

Grogu cooed at him and raised his arms up. Boba glanced over at the mando, but the man seemed unaware of his ad’s antics. The silver buy’ce gave no hint of what could be happening beneath, though Boba figured there was a good chance the man was fast asleep.

Truthfully it was highly unlikely that the mando would be willing to let his guard down enough to fall asleep on public transport, especially around so many strangers and with an ad to protect. But it was even more unlikely that he would let his ad interact so unreservedly with an unknown, even a fellow mando’ad, if he was aware of such interaction taking place.

At Boba’s prolonged inaction, the child grew more and more fussy, his whines getting louder as he smacked his hand forcefully against Boba’s leg.

Making his choice, Boba stowed away his datapad and unbuckled the kid’s seat belt, carefully lifting the child and settling him on his lap.

“Shhh, ad’ika,” he whispered, gently stroking one ear. “Your buir is sleeping.”

Grogu easily settled down, having gotten what he wanted. Boba wrapped a protective arm around the tiny body, cradling the kid close as he had his fill exploring Boba’s clothing, fiddling with the many zippers, pockets and buttons.

Perhaps it was the “buir instinct” that was often joked about by the mando’ade, but Boba found himself unconsciously smiling as Grogu played with the folds of his clothes, unbothered by the number of times he had to carefully disentangle the kid’s claws when they caught on the fabric.

“Patoo!” Grogu exclaimed softly. He lifted his hands up, straining towards Boba’s face.

Boba bent forward to let Grogu skitter his hands over the buy’ce’s cool surface, heedless of the strain in his neck at the awkward position. After a few gentle pats Grogu frowned, ears dipping down, then tapped the side of the buy’ce insistently.

“Do you want it off?” Boba asked curiously.

Grogu’s ears perked up. “Patoo!”

He tapped the buy’ce once more.

Sneaking a look over at the mando to make sure he hadn’t woken, Boba lowered the tray-table and helped Grogu onto it, making sure he supported the table with his legs. The child was incredibly light, but he’d rather not risk breaking the tray and/or endangering the kid either way.

Grogu watched him eagerly from his perch, and Boba huffed a laugh before pulling off his buy’ce and placing it on the kid’s empty seat.

“Patoo?” the kid whined, ears drooping as he reached for Boba.

“It’s ok, ad’ika,” Boba murmured, bending slightly to let Grogu run his hands over the scars on his face. “It’s ok, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

The child looked at him sadly, tipping his head in silent question.

“It was an accident,” Boba replied, running a finger across the kid’s ear. “My buire and I were freediving in the ocean near our house one evening a year ago. We didn’t see them, but I ended up swimming into a couple of jellyfish.”

“My buire were terrified,” he added quietly. “I nearly died that day.”

Grogu shuffled closer to hug Boba. Running his hand down the kid’s back, for a brief moment, Boba could’ve sworn he felt an almost familiar surge of warmth engulf him.

“Hello sir, is there any food or drink option you would like to have?”

Tensing, Boba pulled away and turned to the flight attendant, an arm wrapped protectively around Grogu. He relaxed slightly when the Twi’lek female smiled down at the child and greeted him softly.

“Do you have any broth for the kid?” he asked when Grogu turned pleading eyes on him.

The attendant briefly consulted her datapad. “Yes, we do have bone broth suitable for your child. Would you like it in a toddler-friendly cup?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The attendant handed over the cup. “Anything for you or your partner, sir?”

Boba choked, quickly disguising it with a cough as the Twi’lek looked at him in concern. “Ah, no. We’re good, thank you.”

As the attendant moved away, Boba could still feel the heat that had rushed to his ears and the back of his neck at the mistaken assumption. Grogu squeaked at him, patting at his chest.

“She thinks your buir is my riduur and you’re my ad,” he told the kid incredulously.

Grogu simply tipped his head and cooed.

“Ok, fair enough, I can see why she might think you’re my ad. But your buir's riduur? I could be a vod.”

The kid merely squirmed forward, attention fixed on the cup Boba held rather than what he was saying. Sighing, Boba helped the child off the tray-table and onto his thighs before handing the cup over. Grogu chirped happily and snuggled into Boba’s stomach, clutching his prize triumphantly.

Boba watched him absently, mind drifting back to the attendant’s words.

He’d never thought about having an ad of his own before, not seriously at least. But as Grogu sipped at the broth, perfectly content to sit on a stranger’s lap, he could slowly paint a picture of a future for himself - one with a tiny green child and an intriguing man with a pure beskar buy’ce.

He shook his head to get rid of the fanciful idea. “Di’kut,” he cursed under his breath. “I really need to get out more.”

A thump of the cup against his chest had him firmly back in reality.

He took the offending item. “Done, Gro’ika?”

Grogu nodded seriously at him. Then to his amusement, a large yawn escaped the tiny body, almost causing the kid to topple over if not for Boba.

“Looks like it’s nap time for someone.”

Grogu yawned once more in agreement. Burrowing himself back in Boba’s arms, he blinked tiredly a few times, and was soon out like a light. Boba tucked the folds of his jacket around the kid and leaned back against the headrest.

It really wasn’t so bad - taking care of an adiik.

The dim light and low drone of the aircraft quickly had Boba feeling the exhaustion of the day. And within minutes, he too unintentionally slipped into sleep.

“Hey,” a low voice called as someone shook his arm. “We’re landing soon.”

Boba’s eyes snapped open, body tense, only to meet the dark T-visor of the mando. A surge of discomfort coursed through him as his bare face was reflected back at him.

Then he remembered the child.

“I-” he spluttered, looking down at the kid who was still fast asleep in his arms. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” the mando cut him off, the smooth metal of his buy’ce giving no hint of true emotion. “Let him sleep. He’s had trouble doing so the last few days.”

Boba couldn’t help the flush that crept up his neck. Here he was bare-faced (the ugly scars criss-crossing his visage exposed) and cuddling a traditionalist’s child without their express permission, and somehow he was still alive and unharmed.

It was a kriffing miracle. His buir would’ve killed others for less.

Really, the only saving grace of the situation was that his aliit was not there to make fun of his massive misstep, for which he sent a quick thanks to the ka’ra.

Then he hastily grabbed his buy’ce off the seat between them and shoved it on. And just in time too, because the flight attendants were making their landing rounds.

“Good morning sirs,” greeted the same flight attendant from before. “Could you please have your child seated with their seatbelt fastened? We will be landing soon.”

Boba’s face was on fire under his buy’ce. He was already in deep enough osik with the mando, and now the attendant’s misunderstanding was putting him in an even worse spot!

He opened his mouth to hastily correct the attendant when the mando spoke.

“We understand. Thank you.”

Boba’s jaw dropped. As the attendant went down the other rows, he numbly placed Grogu back in his seat and watched as the mando carefully fastened his kid’s seat belt.

Mando was definitely one of the strangest traditionalists he’d ever met.

“Sorry,” he finally spoke. “About the attendant, she-”

“I know. I was awake,” replied Mando. “Since Grogu started trying to get your attention.”

“Oh he was no trou- Wait. You were awake the whole time?”

Mando huffed a laugh, a warm sound that not even the vocoder could completely disguise.

“He’s fond of you. It’s… unusual,” the mando said slowly. “He generally doesn’t like others very much.”

“I see,” Boba replied faintly.

They remained in silence as the aircraft landed and everyone around them began to disembark. Boba stood as the mando unbuckled his and Grogu’s seat belts.

“Do you have a carry-on?” he asked, pulling out his own bag to sling over his shoulder.

“Elek,” said the mando. “Same compartment.”

Boba nodded and pulled out the only other bag as Mando picked up his child. When the other reached out to take the bag, Boba shook his head. “It’s fine, I can take it.”

“You have an ad,” he added when it seemed like the mando would argue.

That seemed enough to convince the mando, and the two began the long process of going through customs and collecting their luggage.

By the time they finally exited the arrival hall, Grogu was wide-awake and happily cooing at all the new sights and sounds, eagerly pointing things out to both the mando and Boba. They came to a halt right outside the taxi stand.

The mando handed the silver ball to Grogu, and the child quietened, content to play with the item.

“Vor entye, Boba Fett,” he finally said.

Boba immediately shook his head. “There is no debt between us. Children are the future.”

“This is the Way,” replied the mando quietly.

They stood in silence for a moment longer.

“Do you have a place to go?” Boba asked. “Because, you could come over for a while if you want. My buire love kids, and-”

Grogu startled as a taxi sped by, dropping the metal ball with an upset squeak, which then bounced onto the road.

“Grogu,” the mando began, when the child lifted his tiny hand and the ball zipped back into it.

Boba inhaled sharply. “A Force-user.”

Beside him, the mando went still, a predatorial calm that sent klaxon sirens ringing through Boba’s head.

“Udseii, Mando,” he said evenly, making sure to keep his posture calm and unthreatening. “I will not harm you or your ad.”

At his side, the edge of a blade threatened to slice into him. “You’re not the first nor the last to say that.”

“Haat, ijaa, haa'it!” Boba swore readily. “My buir and some of my vod are jetiise, Mando. I promise you, neither my aliit nor I will harm you or your ad.”

At that, the mando finally relaxed. For the first time, Boba could see the exhaustion that threatened to swallow the other whole, and he found himself instinctively reaching forward to steady the man.

“Your buir, could you- could you take me to them?” the mando asked. “I was told to find a Jedi. I- I can’t- The child, he’s not safe. There are people hunting him.”

Grogu whined, sensing his buir’s distress. Boba’s heart, already firmly in the kid’s grasp, ached as the mando tried to sooth the child.

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, I can take you to him. You both will be safe with us.”

[mikadoplatypus]

Rated M for 18+ themes in later chapters.

When Boba Fett walks into the coffee shop Din works at, Din knows he wants him.

Cara cautions that Boba is a bad idea. Din knows he should be looking for something more stable for Grogu and himself.

Luckily, Din has never met a bad decision he didn't want to make.

@bobadinweek

[inkformyblood]

a collection of shadows

Established BobaDin, no warnings, vaguely Victorian detectives

For @bobadinweek AU Bingo Prompt Eldritch

The policeman blocking the doorway is new, his boots still shining with fresh polish and his buttons still gleaming like targets studded over his broad chest. 

“Move,” Boba snaps, already too tired, too much in pain, too sick of this to even try and modulate his voice. 

The man — a child really and Boba knows he’ll catch the sharper side of Dune’s tongue for going after her officers — flinches before he stops himself, affront flickering over his face with stubbornness on its heels. “Miss Dune says to keep the scene secured until the consultants arrive.”

“We are the consultants,” Din says, his voice slightly muffled through the veil he wears. Boba sees the policeman start, his gaze shifting from Boba — obvious and in front and wreathed in scars — to his less noticeable shadow. Din doesn’t shift, doesn’t move except for the whisper of layered lace as he breathes, meeting the man’s gaze with his own. “So, step aside. Please.”

The policeman looks between them, the measure of reluctance included with the coffee at the station clear on his face. “Miss Dune—“

“Step aside,” Boba snarls. Echoes layer through his voice, a damned chorus of unnameable horrors pressing against the feeble cage of syllables and sound.

The man does so, his face sliding into a terrible blank death mask, and Boba inclines his head, letting Din slip past him in a click of heeled boots and a whisper of fabric. His shadow isn’t quite right, doesn’t follow the flow of his movements as it should, puddling in the uneven spaces between the paving stones and looking up at Boba.

“You too,” Boba murmurs, tasting ash and grit and the unmistakable copper tang of blood. He swallows against it, clicking his tongue at the shadow and follows Din, letting the door swing shut behind him.

The room beyond is almost unremarkable, taken in and discarded in a glance, Boba’s attention falling entirely on Din. He had looked his fill that morning: drank in the sun-dappled curve of Din’s shoulders as he sat on the edge of their bed, leaning forward to draw on his boots; pressed his hand to the smooth hollow in the small of his back, drawing down the reinforced silken weave of his shirt when it had caught beneath his jacket; a final kiss brushed against the grinning curve of his mouth before Din drew the lace veil down and cut his face off from the world. 

But Boba is a selfish man amongst other things, so he looks again.

“See anything of interest?” Din asks. He has raised his skirt further, hitching it up from skimming above his ankles to resting mid-calf and that glimpse of golden skin between boot and loose cloth trousers is enough to trap Boba’s thoughts entirely, the snare closing around him so sweetly he barely registered the teeth.

“Always,” Boba replies, the truth as sweet as a smile. 

He is rewarded with one too, hidden as usual, but Boba knows the shape of it well, broad and sweet and made to be kissed. He steps forward, intending on doing just that, but is stopped by a sigh, by a tilt of Din’s head. 

“About the body, Boba.”

The body is a body, forgettable enough and discarded in front of the burnt-out fire. The man had been tall, stretched overly thin and wiry like the copper wrapped around his knuckles and shining around the shell of his ear, and he was dead. 

Boba tells Din this and is treated to another sigh, this one sharp enough to line up a shot and thread through the lingering amusement as he speaks. “Bodies burned up from the inside is normal here?”

“What’s the kid say?” Boba asks, skipping over the answer they both know – that it isn’t normal, that they can both feel the crackle of something sliding just out of sight, that they wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t something otherworldly involved.

Din tips his head to one side, crouching just enough to extend his hand to his shadow circling his feet. Something reaches back. 

Boba blinks past the reflexive denial, the immediate sense that he is mistaken and it is just the sun, the scent of blood, the throbbing pain in his leg that crashes over him like waves–

“Grogu says he’s sorry for playing with your voice earlier,” Din reports, his words halting enough to be a repetition of a translation. “And he would like the recipe you cooked last week again.”

Another pause, a mumble of something too soft for Boba to hear – a gentle admonishment to redirect a child’s wandering attention – and Din speaks, “We need to go to the shipyard. The creature is still there, watching and waiting.”

Boba grins then, all bared teeth and violence etched in every twisted scar. “Amongst all that iron? Peli won’t be pleased.”

“We’ll need to hurry otherwise there won’t be enough for Cara to arrest.” Din straightens and his shadow moves with him, clinging to his hand and then to his boots before it pools back at his feet once more. 

Boba gets the distinct impression that Grogu – tucked away in Din’s shadow as if it was a carrier – was sulking. 

“How’s your leg?” Din says suddenly, stepping forwards to press his forehead against Boba’s. He’s close enough that Boba shivers, the lingering chill of the other man growing into something substantial, something hungry and Boba is reminded once more of the artefact Din wears at his waist as if it was nothing more than a trinket. 

“Good enough for this.” Boba leans forward to kiss Din, the lace soft against his mouth, the edge of Din’s grin radiant and warm. “Shall we go?”

[dad-galaxy]

Bobadin Week —(29/8)Day One: Identity (secret identities)

They're idiots in love your honor.

[beskarr]

Mesh’la, My Din’ika

Rating: E Warnings: Top!Boba, Bottom!Din, Smut For @bobadinweek | Feb 11: First Time READ ON AO3 “As pretty as an angel, baby, pink lips and red cheeks,” Boba purrs. “Pretty boy with a pretty cock, ‘course people would think you’re an angel, hm? Had me fooled the first time too, didn’t you?” AKA the one where Din is just adorably shy and Boba makes it his mission to drag every noise out of him in bed.

Boba remembers a time when Din was shy.

A time when Din couldn’t look him in the eye, couldn’t take a murmured, “Mesh’la” without flushing down to his chest, a time when Boba left love notes on Din’s body, from his neck to his chest, just to drag out the breathy gasps and moans that escaped Din’s restraint.

Boba remembers a time when he thought Din was a sweet thing, a little standoffish and awkward, maybe, but still sweet—there was no other word for it. Boba remembers a time when he thought Din was innocent, an angel from a moon far away, something he could take and mould in his hands.

And Din was that, Din was all of those things, sweet and pretty and kind and made for him, for Boba, but he wasn’t innocent, not anymore.

Boba remembers a time when his hands were roaming, exploring, claiming, remembers how he stroked a thumb over the bone of Din’s hip, kneaded his tense muscles until he was melting in his hands, remembers bending down to gently press his lips to his shoulder, ghosting over his skin. It had never failed to drag a shuddered gasp from Din, and it had never failed to provoke him into nipping possessively, unable to help himself, only fuelled on by the moan Din let out at the sharp scrape of his teeth.

And Din had wanted more, had begged, so Boba had provided.

Boba remembers flipping him over, hands on his hips gripping hard enough to bruise, and remembers the glassy-eyed look Din had given him, full of nothing but need and want. He remembers the first time Din had gasped, “Please!”

A cry, not for mercy, but for more.

The cries that spill from Din’s lips right now are all too familiar to Boba’s ears, jarring him back to the memory of their first time.

The time he’d snapped his hips forward, jostling Din’s entire body and dragging out small, “Ungh, ungh, ungh’s” from his body, making him beg, making him cry, making him spill.

It urges Boba on right now, too, the same feral red taking over his vision, just like that first time.

“Please,” Din whimpers underneath him, his eyes squeezed tight as his thighs tremble from where they’re hooked around Boba’s hips.

Boba places a large, flat hand on Din’s stomach, pressing lightly as he murmurs, “You need something, cyar’ika?”

Din’s eyelashes flutter as his breath hitches in his chest, and Boba smiles indulgently before pressing closer, slotting their lips together. Swallowing Din’s little noises, Boba murmurs, “None of that, now. Let me see you.”

“You are,” Din whimpers, turning his head in protest as his cheeks redden.

Sometimes, Din is still shy.

Boba noses at his jaw, pressing flush against him, letting his hips slow as they roll into him. “Eyes. I want them open. Can you do that for me, Din’ika?”

Din goes even redder.

Boba remembers the first time he’d called him Din’ika, the way the name had rolled off of his tongue so easily, without even a second thought, nearly surprising him just as much as it had surprised Din.

Din still blushes the same way at the name, their name, special to them both.

He remembers the question Din had thrown at him after they’d both collapsed on the bed, utterly spent and exhausted—why did you call me that?—and remembers the look on Din’s face, an expression of raw vulnerability etched across his features.

Because you are my Din’ika, Boba had responded, and Din had easily taken it for an answer, moving closer to shyly press his lips to Boba’s.

Now, Boba dusts kisses along Din’s jawline before he nips at the same time that he cracks a hand down on Din’s ass, making him yelp. Before Din can wriggle away, he rakes his nails down over the flushed mark, painting four white rivers across the red, and snakes a hand up to card through Din’s damp curls.

“Eyes, Din’ika,” he says one last time, voice low and rough, and his tone must make it clear that he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer, because Din’s eyes snap open. “Good,” Boba breathes, hungrily drinking in the sight of Din looking at him with nothing but desperation. “Good boy.” And he lets his hips snap forward again, and Din’s eyelashes flutter as he rolls his hips up, lips parting in a silent moan.

“Please,” Din says, and he sounds ruined. “Gedet’ye.”

The word makes Boba shudder, and he stills for a moment to let it sink into his gut, hot and fiery and everything he needs right now.

Din makes another noise at the back of his throat, and his hands strain from where Boba’s tied them down to the head of the bed. His fingers twitch, and Boba drags his gaze down to his leaking cock, red and angry and untouched.

“You poor thing,” Boba murmurs, false pity coloring his tone. “You need it that badly, Din’ika?”

Din keens, cheeks picking up their color again at Boba’s words. Boba doesn’t let him recover, fisting a hand in his curls, making it burn oh-so-good. Then, he lets it fall slack, his fingertips pulling back to ghost over the head of Din’s cock instead.

It makes Din’s face twist in agony, and he begs, “Please.”

Boba can see tears beginning to well up in his eyes, dampening his eyelashes, and he purrs, “Oh, din’ika. Your riduur is so cruel to you, isn’t he?” Din whimpers, floundering, clearly unsure what the right answer is, and it makes Boba grin. “That’s okay, cyare. You let those crocodile tears go, let them spill, let me see them.”

A choked gasp is ripped from Din’s throat as Boba rests both hands on his hips again before picking up the pace, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room, and when he cracks a hand down on Din’s hip again, he feels Din clench as he lets out a dry sob.

“Mesh’la,” he breathes, squeezing his hip. “I could do this all day, Din’ika.”

“Please,” Din groans, shaking in Boba’s hands as his cock strains, drooling onto his stomach. “B-Boba—”

“Looking like a karkin’ angel,” Boba growls, unable to help himself. He finally takes Din’s cock in his hand, but he doesn’t give him any relief, just squeezes and makes Din blather incoherently. “Lemme hear it, all of it.”

“Boba.” Din shudders under his hand, and Boba rewards him by thumbing the tip of his cock, drawing out another aborted movement from him.

“As pretty as an angel, baby, pink lips and red cheeks,” Boba purrs. “Pretty boy with a pretty cock, ‘course people would think you’re an angel, hm? Had me fooled the first time too, didn’t you?”

“Pl—”

“Sing for me,” Boba grits out. “Don’t hold back, cyar’ika. No shame in it, I know you’re not an angel now.”

“I— I—”

“You think an angel can have an ass this karking needy?” Boba interrupts, and Din keens, really keens, and Boba can tell he’s quickly reaching his tipping point. He expects Din to burst into pleas, to beg, to cry, to squeeze his eyes shut to hide his wet eyes, but he doesn’t. He turns his head and looks at Boba, eyes glassy and blurry with nothing but pure adoration, giving it all to Boba.

It’s enough for Boba.

Boba swears and feels a furl of heat pulse in his gut as he comes, spilling inside Din, and Din groans, straining against the restraints like he’s desperate to touch Boba, to press closer to him and never let him go.

Boba pants, stills his hips, and then strokes Din’s cock, once, twice, and then Din is coming, strings of white splattering over them both. Boba takes him through it, hand slowing only when Din starts to make pained little noises.

Din quickly melts after that, all of his limbs pliant and loose. He mumbles nonsensically as Boba yanks the silk restraints off of him, tossing it carelessly to the floor before wrapping him up in his arms.

“Mesh’la,” Boba breathes one last time, and Din makes a soft, happy noise, burrowing into his chest.

[bobadinweek]

Hello! We’re happy to say that there was enough support on Tumblr and Discord to put on a week celebrating the pairing of Boba Fett and Din Djarin! 

The dates of the event are listed above in the graphic, and are included below. Please check out our FAQ for more information or rules, or drop us an ask!

Now - 4/24/2021: Writing themes / Art themes can be submitted.

4/30 - 5/15/2021: Vote on your favorite themes. (link)

5/31/2021: Themes posted. (Link to detailed themes, link to handy graphic quick reference.)

8/29 - 9/4/2021: Post your fanworks!

[wreathedinscales]

Day 1 of @bobadinweek :D :D it has blood and a bit of gore. For my Eldritch Din Djarin agenda!

[ourhitofsucrose]

Is there a BobaDin week in the works anywhere? 👀

[renlysbussy]

For BobaDin AU Bingo! @bobadinweek I thought this fit nicely into my “creature” category. For some reason, making Din a Disney prince meeting a very handsome mershark just worked for me.