#but i hope with all earnestness that he enjoys his entry into his 30s

[edgerunnr]

the bach'alor_02

din djarin x f!reader. 2/? wc 3441. divider by @saradika-graphics | 01

if your blog does not have an 18+ age or age range at the top of it i will block you. DO NOT interact with my writing if you are not 18+!

din djarin, freshly minted king of a newly resettled mandalore, is told by his advisors that he must marry. it's a problem: he isn't in a relationship. you, his old friend and advisor, propose a little competition for his hand, and it's the dumbest idea you've ever had.

because you love him.

series warnings: 18+, angst, hurt/comfort, pining, secret feelings, eventual smut, canon divergence, royalty au, imperfect/incomplete star wars knowledge, reader insert is afab and ids as female, reader insert is a bit oc with a backstory out of necessity (i know none of y'all are from star wars so i had to put you in star wars), age gap (10-15 years or so/din late 40s, reader 30s).

chapter warnings: none to the best of my knowledge, but i do accept messages telling me if there's something to add!

a/n: so it's been a week. i'm back. i stuck to it. i hope this is somewhat satisfying. there's the tiniest easiest to piece together mystery here lol. anyway enjoy!

You woke late the morning before the competition was to begin, knowing that you needed to hammer out final details with Din. "Kriff," you mumbled, hastily pulling on your armor as you ran out the door of your quarters to meet with him. Like the rest of the court, you lived on the Mand'alor's compound, which at least made it easy when you needed to talk to the king, but made it yet more difficult to deal with your… feelings.

What were those feelings, anyway? You knew that you were attracted to Din; that went without saying. It still baffled you that you could be so into a man whose face you had never seen, but he was undeniably fine as hell. Something in the way he carried himself told you that he was an extremely handsome man beneath the helmet. It wasn't all looks, though, or what passed for looks in Mandalorian society. Din was shy and withdrawn around complete strangers and people he didn't care for, but around you and others he knew well, he was funny and well-spoken, with a rare earnestness that you had come to treasure. He was fiercely loyal and protective, but never made you feel helpless, and he remembered little details about you that you yourself hardly even noticed. The way he treated you made you feel special, seen, as though your life wasn't just another blip in the galaxy. Your life mattered to Din, and he made it obvious to you that it did. It was good, because his life mattered immensely to you. You loved him.

Love? Could you call it that? Only in the past standard year did the two of you have any extended time to spend together. Back on Nevarro, you were always off on separate jobs, spending a few days in the covert at a time, resting and preparing for your next trip out, but you had spent much of your free time together and become very close, at multiple points nearly crossing that invisible line into being a couple, but never quite getting there. For a few years, you communicated largely by holocall, when Din was on the run from Moff Gideon with Grogu. In that time, you had only seen him twice, until he won the Darksaber and you had spent the night together in the motel. Since then, you'd been by his side every day, either serving on the court, traveling with him and the kids, or as his friend. Being around Din was perhaps easier than being by yourself anymore, the two of you having become an extension of one another, inseparable. Something in you shattered when you realized that that wouldn't be the case for much longer. Maybe you did love him, but maybe you were just being dramatic because you would miss him. And maybe— definitely— you were lying to yourself, because you were afraid of being in love with him.

This particular morning, you'd be going over last-minute entries from the people of Mandalore with Din before sending out a speed dating schedule, which was due to begin that very night. You were curious to find out who had entered at the last possible moment, rather than immediately upon announcement. Would these entrants have given it more thought? Would they be more prepared, more calculating, or would they be measured, understanding of the duty that came with being the Mand'alor's consort?

You rapped on the doors of Din's quarters to no answer, so you keyed in his lock code and let yourself in. Two voices came from one of the bedrooms, muffled by the closed door, but audible.

"Uncle Din, slow down!" Ragnar, you recognized, a boy of all of 15 who had already been through far too much. Paz Viszla had been his first adoptive father, and Din, when adopting him upon Paz's death, hadn't wanted to take that title away, suggesting that Ragnar call him Uncle Din instead.

"But she entered!" Din's trembling voice made your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. She entered. The one he loved had entered the contest. He was about to call it off, cutting off your time together.

Ragnar sighed, sounding quite a bit like his uncle. "You have to think of the people. They're excited! They haven't had a long festival in forever, and it's our first one back on Mandalore. Can you stick it out for them? Please? I think it would mean a lot if you did."

"But what about—"

"She will be here, Uncle Din. You know that better than anyone. Use your time to plan something special for her."

You heard the sound of a glove slapping a shoulder, and then Din spoke, his voice still shaking with adrenaline. "Your father would have been so proud of you, Ragnar," he said, the sound of metal on metal telling you he had hugged his young charge. "As am I. You'll make a fine Mand'alor yourself one day."

"What? Me?" Ragnar sounded truly taken aback, like he had never considered this prospect. "What about Grogu?"

"Grogu will still be only a toddler when my time comes. You are the prince, Ragnar. Is that okay?"

"You mean it, Uncle Din? You really mean it?"

"I mean it, kid. The Darksaber is already bequeathed to you should I die an untimely death. It's in my will."

"I…" It was Ragnar's turn to become emotional. "It is my honor, my Lord."

"Do not ever call me that again," Din said, breaking the tension by drawing a loud, hooting laugh from his kid. "Now come on, your aunt's probably here already."

You turned your back away from the hall so you could wipe the tears from your eyes, feeling lucky to have overheard such a beautiful moment. Ragnar was a smart and dedicated young man, and he deserved to be next in line for the throne of Mandalore. When Din had brought you his holopad to discuss the changes to his will, you had approved wholeheartedly, knowing that Mandalore would be blessed to have a king like Ragnar, but hoping it would be far in the future.

"Moonbeam!" Din cried out, running to you and throwing his arms around you, lifting you off of your feet and spinning you around and around. "What took you so long?"

"I overslept. I'm sorry, Din," you explained as he set you down, confused by his mood. He'd never done that to you before, but you had to admit to yourself that it made you feel warm and joyful. "But I'm here now!"

"That's not what I meant." He seemed as puzzled as you were, but didn't make a fuss. "No matter. I'm just so happy you're in."

"As am I," you agreed, taking a seat at the table. "Hi, Ragnar. Ready for school?"

"Yep!" the kid exclaimed, a little too hastily. "Gotta go, sorry Auntie! I'll talk to you later!"

"What's gotten into him?" you asked, sticking a thumb over your shoulder in Ragnar's direction.

"I told him he's next in line for the throne."

"That attitude was definitely not related to that. He seems… nervous. Like he's about to be in trouble."

"You think?" Din looked at the door and shrugged. "Maybe you saw something that I didn't. You're always more tuned in to his emotional state than I am. He's gone, though, off to school. Let's talk about these entries."

"How many did you get overnight?" You reached for his datapad, but he pulled it away, swiping something off of the screen hastily before handing it off to you.

"Something like twenty. A few major surprises in there, though."

"Oh?" You opened his inbox to see an entry from Bo-Katan Kryze, which may have surprised him, but didn't take you off guard for a moment. "I see. Bo-Katan."

"Yeah. I didn't know she thought of me that way."

"Din…"

"What?"

"You have to remember that you're the Mand'alor. Not everyone who enters this competition is going to be entering for you. Some want to be your consort, not your riduur. Don't get wrapped up in the wrong person." You set the datapad back down on the table, looking up at him instead. "So you say you didn't know she thought of you that way. It's probably because she doesn't."

He shook his head and swiped her entry off of the screen. "I forget sometimes."

"I know you do. I just don't want you to end up with someone who won't love you the way you deserve."

His head tilted in interest as he asked, "How do you think I deserve to be loved?"

"You want my opinion on all this?"

"You wouldn't be here if I didn't."

"Right." You closed your eyes, unable to look him in what passed for his face while you told him all of the ways you'd like to look after him yourself. "I think you deserve to be loved in the way that someone would love a sapling that has been moved too many times. The person you choose should hunt down the best place with the highest quality soil, the brightest sunshine, the cleanest water. She should plant you in that and let you grow roots that do not yield when a storm breaks out, and tend to you even when you seem healthy and stable, not only when you're unwell. She should make it clear to you that, perhaps for the first time, you're home, really home, and that this is a home that no one can take from you the way they have taken so many places you have called home in the past. When you're with her, you should feel safe and protected enough to express everything you never could when you were on the run, and you should feel heard and appreciated for it. As your roots grow, so too should your confidence; her love should make you feel like a better leader, a better father, a better man. You're already great at all of those things, but her love should be a balm to heal any cracks in your self-esteem. And, uh," you added, trying to break the tension, "the sex should be mind-blowing."

You heard nothing for a minute straight, dead silence in the room around you. Had he left? "Din?" you said, hesitantly, reaching out for him and opening your eyes slowly.

He breathed your name, sounding like he'd had the wind knocked clean out of him. "I never knew that was what I needed before you said it."

"It sounded good?"

"It sounded like every dream I've ever had." He gently took his datapad back from you, opening something before handing it back. "Is that why you entered?"

Shock didn't begin to cover the way you felt when you saw your own image staring back at you from an entry into the competition. The pearly, opalescent shade of your helm and the graceful curves of your visor were unmistakable, and all of your information was correct, but you had not submitted this entry. "Din, I—"

He grabbed your wrists, stopping you from finishing that thought. "Don't you dare back out. Not after everything you just said to me. I don't think I could take it."

You couldn't tear your eyes away from him despite the fear of rejection you felt gnawing at your intestines. "I overheard the end of your conversation with Ragnar, though," you divulged. "She entered, didn't she? And you still wanted to call it off?"

"Yeah… she entered," Din repeated, a funny little edge to his tone. "But I'm not calling it off. Ragnar is right; the people deserve a celebration. I plan to give it to them."

"And fake this? The whole time?"

"Who said anything about faking?"

"You already know who's going to win."

"That may be true, but it doesn't make the process any less interesting or necessary." He slid the datapad from your hands and laid it on the table, slipping his hands into yours once they were free. "Don't withdraw. Please. I need you."

Your head was pounding. This had never been your intention. That entry hadn't even come from you, for the sake of the Maker! Was Din planning on taking you on dates only to choose someone else when all was said and done? You were a sucker for him, though, and you always had been. When he was holding on to you so tightly, as though his very life depended on yours, you couldn't deny him, no matter how much it wrenched your heart. "Okay, okay. I'll compete."

He stood and pulled you with him, crushing you into his chest. "You won't regret it, I swear," he said, stroking the dome of your helmet the way one might stroke the hair of a lover. "I will make this worth your while."

You decided that, despite the looming agony of losing him later on, you would pretend that this was real and try to enjoy it. Faking it with Din would be better than never experiencing it, right? He never broke his promises, so you knew that he would do something to make it memorable. May as well have fun while it was available to you. "So I'm guessing we skip the speed date."

He huffed a laugh, not loosening his embrace. "Somehow, I don't think we need it." When he looked down at you, you were nearly touching helmets in a form of Mandalorian kiss, which made you go weak in the knees. "Can I take you out tonight instead? Get a really nice dinner, just you and me? Ragnar can watch Grogu."

"You want to take me out for dinner? Tonight? Before the competition even gets going?" You wondered what on Mandalore he could possibly be thinking. Wouldn't taking you on a date in public affect his chances of landing The One? She probably wouldn't respond especially warmly to watching Din parade you around town like you were the one he was going to choose. Perhaps he was trying to make her jealous.

"I do. We haven't gone out in a while. I miss it, and this evens the playing field. Makes up for the fact that you don't get a speed date."

No, you thought, I get much better than a speed date. "Okay," you said, deciding that if you were going to be in at all, you were going all in. "Take me wherever you want."

On Mandalore, cantinas worked a little differently than they did on other planets. Getting a meal with someone posed issues, as removing your helmet was dar'manda for many, so Mandalorian establishments provided specialized accommodations. Tables were all enclosed within stalls, and each included a screen that could be pulled down when food was served, allowing guests to remove their helmets while still being concealed from their date. Din took you to one of these establishments, one of the finer ones on the planet, causing you to protest for a moment. "Din! This place is so—"

"Relax, Beam. I wouldn't bring you here if I didn't want to."

"But it's—"

"I know. You're worth it." He squeezed your hand, intertwined with his. "Listen, I get that you aren't used to this. Neither am I. I'd like to get used to it with you, though."

Your heart went wild. Maker, he was so romantic. It hurt that you would just be practice for someone more suited to be his consort, but you swallowed your pride and reminded yourself that for as long as you had this, you were to enjoy it. "There's no one better for me to get used to it with."

"I figured you'd come around," he said, a smile in his voice. "Come on."

There was an isolated room within the cantina that was bigger than the table stalls, and that was where Din took you for your dinner date. You walked through the sleek, chic establishment in awe, amazed that Din would be willing to splash out on something like this for you. The walls were a stylish deep gray, with rectangular light fixtures dropping from the ceiling and giving off soft light, the accents the same silver as your date's beskar armor. Modern art from local Mandalorian artists lined the walls as well, giving the impression that this was more of a traditional Mandalorian establishment, which would likely serve cultural foods. Inside the isolated room, the decor was much the same, but for the fact that it sported a gorgeous obsidian tile floor, polished to perfection. The table was genuine Mandalorian galek, with carved imprints of the leaves of the tree scattered across the surface. This wasn't a place someone took another person on a first date. It was far too nice, far too suited for a long-term relationship leading up to a proposal. "Din, this place is so fancy. You're positive?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's just, you know, everyone else is getting a speed date, and I'm here."

"You're not everyone else. You're my oldest friend. I want this to be worthy of our long relationship, and the new steps we're taking." The attendant who had shown you in left the room, shaking her head. She'd probably entered and was worried that this meant she didn't stand a chance. How funny, when you knew you didn't stand one against Din's mystery woman.

He pulled your chair out for you and pushed it in, the simple gesture making it truly feel like a date rather than a dinner between friends. When the attendant returned, Din asked you to order first, and then ordered quickly so he could return to conversation with you. "So, Moonbeam… what did drive you to enter? Why now? Why not anytime before?"

Your head spun. You hadn't entered, and you still didn't know who did. It had to be someone who knew you well enough to have all of your information to hand, or have a way to get it without you noticing. Come to think of it, some of your papers had been shuffled around a few days prior, but you'd chalked it up to forgetfulness and rearranged everything, putting it back away neatly. Of course, you couldn't tell Din all of this, not when he actually seemed receptive to the idea of you becoming his consort. It would disappoint him too much. Perhaps he would choose you if his mystery woman turned him down, knowing that he could live a comfortable life with you. Being his second choice didn't exactly appeal, though, because you wanted to marry for love and love alone, not for any sort of practical reason. If it was foolish, it didn't matter to you. You wanted to be happy. In the moment, though, you needed to come up with a reason that your entry had ended up in his inbox, so you fabricated a little something. "I guess I've always been afraid to tell you that I thought we might work as more than friends," you explained, not entirely lying. "I entered because I figured that if you weren't happy about it, you could just ignore my entry, not bring it up, and I'd have my answer."

"I don't know why you ever thought I'd be unhappy about it," he said, holding one of your hands in both of his and tracing over the ridges of your gloves.

"You never said anything to me. I thought that if you'd never brought it up yourself, it meant you didn't want it."

"I did," he insisted, pulling his chair closer to yours. "I always did. I was afraid that you didn't want it."

"And here I thought we were pretty good at communicating with each other." You both laughed lightly, while your mind reeled. Din had always taken an interest in you? As you sat pining for him all these years, he had been doing the same. Had this woman come into his life, then, when you hadn't acted on what you desired? Oh, no. No. Your heart plunged into a bucket of ice. All this time, you'd had a chance, and dashed it because you weren't brave enough to say something. The One probably did say something. She had probably been bold enough. How could you have been so stupid? "I'm sorry, Din. We could have had so much more time."

"We have plenty of time." He looped an arm around your waist and pulled you in closer, finding a break in your armor near your lower back and rubbing it to calm you. "I'm not going anywhere."

You prayed that was true.

[nickxnovak]

Mark: Victoria Costa

tw: murder, blood, knives

this is the description of nick killin someone so its generally unpleasant, apologies

There are other killers in Diamond City more subtle than Nick Novak. There are people who specialize in arranging accidents, covering tracks, and forging suicide notes. It wasn’t that Nick couldn’t do those things, its that his clients weren’t interested in them. What sets Nick apart is not his skill as a killer. It is his skill as a messenger.

Of course he could kill Victoria Costa in her apartment. He could kill her as she walked to her haircut appointment on Tuesday at 3:00 PM. He could kill her when she went to a singles night mixer at the bar on her block twice a week. Those would all be much easier scenarios than the one he had in mind. But he didn’t get paid big for quantity. He was a high quality hitman, and if you’re going to kill a ballerina and leave an impression, you have to do it at the ballet.

Ridley had shown him his way in- the rooftop access would minimize the amount of people who saw his face and let him bring in whatever weaponry he wanted without worrying about security. It was locked and obviously on a rooftop, but he knew where the fire escape was and he’d gotten pretty good at picking locks in the past few years. 

He’d pondered just shooting off the lock with his silenced pistol, but if the cops found out later that this had been his point of entry they would seal it off. It would be better to keep this route open to preserve Ridley’s favorite escape spot- and in case he ever needed a stealthy point of entry again.

So Nick found himself crouching in an impeccable black tux full of weaponry as he finessed the lock on the rooftop of the Diamond City Ballet with about fifteen minutes until intermission, a bouquet of flowers by his side. The lockpicks were a gift from Raúl from when he had first started training. The bouquet was from some guy on the street he had paid a hundred dollars to pick up. He hoped that man enjoyed his hundred bucks, he was probably about to be a murder suspect soon. After about a minute, he felt the lock give a satisfying click. Good, Nick was on schedule, and he had to be. The clock was ticking- or, in this case, the metronome.

The stairs from the rooftop lead to the backstage area, but he had some ground to cover before he got to his destination: the dressing room of Victoria Costa and Angelica Howe. The key here would be avoiding backstage foot traffic. He’d timed it so there would be no scene changes during his movement here, but there would still be crew moving about. That was unavoidable. He rolled his shoulders back and puffed up his chest slightly, flowers gripped in his right hand. His cover was confidence, not shadows and corners. He’d learned a long time ago that if you dress nicely and act like you belong, you can do pretty much anything without drawing attention.

No one seemed to notice him as he made his way towards the dressing room. Everyone was too absorbed by their duties to bat an eye at the man walking with the bouquet. The flowers were a three-purpose prop. They were currently serving their first purpose: They helped project the aura that he was supposed to be here. If anyone wondered who he was, the flowers told them he was a thoughtful friend or family member of someone in the production.

He reached the dressing room without any questions. Good, but he had factored in some extra time and now he was slightly early. Ah well, he could talk to Victoria for a moment before he killed her. Hopefully he was correct and Victoria would be in her dressing room alone. She wasn’t in any of the dances left before intermission, whereas Angelica, her dressing room buddy, should still be in the wings. He knocked on the door.

Victoria opened up the door and gave him a slow once-over. Angelica didn’t appear to be in the room with her.

“Can I help you?” She asked, placing her hand on her hip.

“Hi, yes, you must be Victoria.” He gave her his most earnest smile, “I’m Angelica’s friend, Mike. I was wondering if it would be alright if I waited in your dressing room to surprise her when she comes back from intermission.” The flowers now served their second purpose: backing up this story.

Victoria paused for a bit too long, and Nick worried that maybe he had done something to give himself away. Maybe she had recognized him from the bar with Ridley. 

“Friend?” She raised an eyebrow curiously. Ah. That explained it. 

“Yeah. We’re very much just friends.” He shifted his smile towards being more flirtatious, assuming that was what she had meant by the question.

Victoria changed her posture and batted her eyelashes at him. Subtle. “Come on in, you can sit down on the couch over there.”

Nick did as instructed and looked at his watch. He had fifty-six seconds to kill. Literally. In about a minute, a very loud music cue would sound, one that should overpower any sort of noise that happened in the violence. He needed to be able to make a quick and unnoticed departure from the dressing room before intermission and he couldn’t be caught causing any sort of disturbance that would impede his hasty exit. This had to be choreographed just as much as what was happening onstage. 

45 seconds

“So how do you know Angie?” Victoria questioned conversationally as she sat by her vanity.

“She was in a dance class with my sister a few years ago.” He answered, vague and rehearsed.

Victoria nodded and began to pull her blonde hair up into a bun. 

30 seconds

“Are you two close?” Nick asked, filling time. 

She flashed him a smile from the mirror, “We’ve been in the company together for about a year now. Did you know that we actually...” Victoria continued speaking. Nick nodded along politely but processed none of it.

15 seconds

Nick slipped the knife he kept tucked in his left sleeve into his palm. Victoria finished putting up her bun.

10 seconds

Nick rose slowly from the couch. Victoria watched his movement in the mirror.

5 seconds

Nick walked towards the vanity. Victoria’s noticed the knife in his hand.

3 seconds

Nick walked closer. Victoria spun around in her chair. Her eyes turned gold and she clenched her hands into fists. Nick didn’t have time to worry about the fact that his employer hadn’t warned him she was a mutant and none of her records had indicated it.

1 second

For the slightest of moments, neither of them moved. 

Then, a burst of sound from the trombone section reverberated through the backstage area, the acoustics just wrong, and Nick struck. Whatever power Victoria had been readying, she never got the chance to use it. He found his target swiftly, slicing her right across the throat. She tried to cover the bleeding with one of her hands, but the cut was deep and true. Nick reached out with his senses and switched off her pain. She fell to the ground with a thud. 

The music returned to a lull.

Now it was time for the flowers’ third purpose. Nick dragged Victoria’s body to the center of the room and placed the bouquet on her chest. He picked up her arms and crossed them over the flowers. He felt for her pulse and found none, but stabbed her once more in the side for good measure. The blood splattered a bit onto the flowers, painting the lilies red. His client had requested an eerie scene. As he stepped back and stared at the corpse, Nick felt certain he had delivered on that request.

He exited the same way he entered; confidently, up towards the rooftop, unnoticed. He had a whole minute to go until intermission. Altogether it was a job well done, though he would have to press his client on not disclosing her mutant status. That could have gotten complicated quickly. 

He took a moment to stare out onto the city from up high. Ridley had been right.

He did hate it all just a little less from up here.