#mand'alor din djarin

[stealingpotatoes]

Does mando know that Sabine  once wielded  the dark saber

i think we all know what he says when he finds out

(commission info // kofi support!)

[manofbeskar]

He comes home today

[kraftykelpie]

Amalgamated Clan Of Three! Didn't want to post these all separately since they're such small sketches

[beskarfrog]

Okay, so we all agree that Luke having to marry Mand’alor Din for political reasons is a quality au. What if Luke accidentally gets politically engaged to some other planetary leader instead?

Let’s say that perhaps his connection to Leia automatically made him a candidate for diplomatic marriage, especially after Leia and Han get married. Maybe it was a major clause in the funding for his Jedi school, but Luke didn’t really think they’d ever actually marry him off. For the sake of the au, let’s also disregard bits of TBOBF and Mando S3. 

Luke’s been building his school on Ossus, Grogu is enjoying Jedi training, and there are a couple other students. And perhaps, Din actually becomes Mand’alor and retakes Mandalorian space. Maybe he visits the Jedi school pretty often to see his son and get away from politics.

Luke can really sympathize with having the weight of the universe and a glowing sword tossed at you with no warning. So maybe he and Din become friends after a while and maybe that friendship becomes something different. There start being blushes when someone gets pinned in a spar, falling asleep together on the couch after dinner, running around after the younglings constantly. Din visits as often as he can and has about made up his mind to just ask Luke if he would consider moving the Jedi school to Concordia so they’d at least be in the same star system most days, if not on the same planet.

That's when Luke gets an urgent holocall from Leia, informing him that he’s just been engaged to some bigwig princess as part of a treaty with a rich planet the New Republic has been courting. Luke is absolutely panicking to Din, going on about how the terms of the treaty basically forbid him from keeping his school. He’s looked at his funding agreement with the New Republic and he can’t get out of it without losing money unless he’s already married to someone.

And then Din thinks of the most beautiful solution to both of their problems. Everyone else thinks that they’re already a couple, as much as Din has denied it. Bo-Katan has been harassing him for months about spending so much time off-world to go see his little family. Mandalore could really use a trade agreement with the New Republic.

The next logical step is, of course, for Din to propose in the middle of Luke’s kitchen while his Jedi friend is struggling not to go into a dark spiral about losing his school funding. It's simple, really. They just have to get married right that moment, which would fix the school funding issue. Luke moves the school to the Mandalore system so Din can see him and the kids all the time without giving Bo-Katan a new gray streak. And Mandalore probably gets a trade agreement out of it. What’s not to like?

Luke is so stunned he accidentally pours the calming tea he was making directly onto the kitchen floor.

[truly-neutral-art]

DinLuke week day 1 - Mand'alor & Alo'riduur

Uhhh here we go I guess, my first art post ever on Tumblr and it's DinLuke. I almost never draw fan art but thanks to DinLuke week I've now drawn several pieces for these two. I love them. I couldn't help it even if I wanted to.

On another note, I really liked doing the lighting for this! I also got to draw Luke in Padmé inspired fit which is one of my favorite things. Luke is a fashion icon and he must follow in the footsteps of his amazing mother.

Slight close up to get those details I worked way too hard on. As a note, the pattern on Luke's outer robe was hand drawn because all the pattern brushes I found didn't look quite right. So yeah.

[headcanonthings]

Din, introducing himself to the Senate: Hello, I’m Din Djarin, the new Mand’alor

Luke: Speech!

Din: That was my speech.

Luke, smiling with heart eyes: Short and sweet.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

Kinktober Day 23 - Breeding/Fancy Dress (Din Djarin)

mhi ba'juri verde

Mand'alor!Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 1k

Summary: After Din is crowned Mand'alor, you make good on your promise to fulfill the rest of your vows.

Warnings: Breeding, p in v unprotected, gratuitous sappiness, throne sex, mando'a, this is basically what it says on the tin. I mostly wanted an excuse to think about what a Mandalorian gown would look like.

inspired by the Kinktober 2023 prompt list by @absurdthirst.

also on ao3

When his guards have cleared everyone out of the throne room, Din remains seated. His elbows rest on his thigh guards, and his helmet rests in his gloved hands.

You climb the steps and kneel before your Mand’alor.

He looks up and groans. “Not you, too.”

“Can you blame me, Mand’alor?” you give him a sly smile. “I’ve been on my knees for you for far longer than anyone.”

He’s exhausted. The decorum and theatricalities... he understands. Manda’yaim is returning to strength, and putting on a formal ceremony for the first Mandalorian on the throne in far too long was a smart political play.

He hates that he has to think about smart political plays.

But he looks down at you, in a truly impressive display of craftsmanship, and thinks there are some perks.

You smooth out the skirts of the gown, which is woven in and around your armor. It’s the green of your hal’cabur and the silver of his, with embroidery like liquid beskar. Some of the layers of fabric are actually coated in near-molten beskar and hardened into plates. It’s draped in thin beskar chains. No expense spared—though the decorative pieces will be remelted and used for foundlings, as is The Way.

“You look radiant,” he says. “Let me see you, cyare.”

You lift off your helmet. No one will be able to enter the throne room, not with it sealed and the guards posted outside.

Din takes his off as well and leans back on the throne. “Come here,” he says.

You climb the stairs and go to kneel at his feet, but he tugs you into his lap. “I don’t think I’m allowed on the throne,” you say.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to defy your Mand’alor, either.”

You laugh, and he exaggerates a pout.

“Are you laughing at your king?”

“Oh, no, ner Mand’alor, I would never.”

At the affected simper in your voice, he grins. It’s contagious, and you grin back before it fades into a fond smile.

“You looked so strong and sure up there,” you say, straightening the fur-trimmed cloak on his shoulders. “Someone the people can place their trust in.”

“Don’t,” he says softly. He’s heard it all from you before, and while he’s inclined to believe you, as he would trust your opinion above all others, he’s still uncertain about his suitedness for the role.

“Din,” you murmur, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. “There’s no one I’d pledge myself to other than you. Not Bo, not Paz, not anyone. But my offer to run away with you still stands.”

He smiles. You both know neither would run away from duty, but he appreciates the sentiment.

“Should we attend this great celebration in your honor? Stop Fett from giving the kid too many sweets?”

“Mmm, just a moment. I’d like to do something else first.”

You narrow your eyes. “You know I’m fully armored under the dress, right? They did not build an easy access panel for you.”

“Well, then, they’ll be dismissed.”

You roll your eyes.

“Please, cyare?”

Your protests die as soon as he's spoken. His beautiful brown eyes look up at you with love and desire. But you make a show of groaning and getting up, tediously removing your dress, holsters, girth belt, and all the panels of your armor so you can open your flightsuit and step out, completely bare.

“No access panel, but I saved you the trouble of undergarments,” you said. “You’re going to help me put that all back on quickly when you’re done, right?”

He was leaning forward, an elbow on his knee, and chin rested on a fist. The smirk on his face told you he had enjoyed watching you perfunctorily strip down. When he finished looking you over, he leaned back again and extended an arm.

You took his hand and slid back over his thighs. “This seems unfair,” you say, originally intending to tease but then feeling it genuinely when you settled on the cold beskar.

“Just this morning, you were telling me how I get to ‘spoil myself’ now that I’m Mand’alor? I’m just taking your advice.” He reaches down and pulls his cock out.

You lean back a little, sulking that he didn't have to strip naked in a frigid room also. “Okay, but really, how is that fair?”

He rubs the head of his cock over your clit until you whine, and then pulls you down onto it. You gasp, unprepared for the stretch of him.

“Still worried about if it’s fair?”

You shake your head and moan as he helps you bounce with his hands on your hips.

“Hey,” you say breathlessly between kissing and nipping at his neck, soaking up all the noises he made. “You remember when I said I wanted to wait until all this was settled?”

His hips stutter, and he freezes. “Don’t tease, cyare.”

“I’m not, ner riduur. It's as settled as it will ever be. We have a lot to do for Manda’yaim, but it feels like the right time.”

His stare is intense, pupils blown dark, and he tightens his grip on your hips. “You’re sure?”

You lean in to kiss him. “Positive.”

He pulls you in, arms tight around your back, licking into your mouth with ferocity. He sets a rough pace, leaving you to cling on with your arms around his neck while he fucks up into your wet cunt. The sound echoes in the chamber, but it won’t occur to either of you that the guards could probably hear until much later.

“Last chance, cyare. You’re going to let me put a baby in you? You want more ad?”

“Please,” you cry, grinding down to hunt down your own release.

He’s never spilled inside you before, the two of you too careful, too aware of the danger around you. But Manda’yaim is stabilizing, her people returning. And though you both love Grogu, you’ve always known there was room in your heart for more children.

You cum when he fills you, the warmth and pulse of his cock intoxicating. You’re not sure how you’ll ever go back to a different way.

He whines when you stand up. “It’s not going to take if you let it drip down your thigh.”

“Guess you’ll have to try again later.”

He does, in fact, help you redress (though his wandering hands take much longer than if you had done it yourself).

Mando'a Translations (in order of appearance):

mhi ba'juri verde - we raise warriors Mand'alor - the ruler of the Mandalorians Manda'yaim - the planet Mandalore Hal'cabur - chest plate of Mandalorian armor Cyare - beloved ner - my (ex., ner Mand'alor is my Mand'alor/my King) riduur - spouse ad - children

[monostardust]

Someone please give me links to fics of Mand'alor the Reluctant. I need Din Djarin being a reluctant mand'alor with pov outsider like people being scared of him all the time. I'm so pissed this shit ain't cannon so I snort fics of it like I'm a drug addict.

[stealingpotatoes]

there's no way Ahsoka thinks Luke being Obi-Wan's padawan and his choice in partner is a coincidence

(commission info // kofi support!)

[manofbeskar]

Reposting some season 3 art I made months ago to celebrate the return of The Mandalorian!

[hinderr]

writing blood on linoleum floors got me in the mood for some mand'alor din djarin

(Audio is King from Epic: The Musical)

[omgspacecowboys]

leia going to mandalore on a diplomatic trip and discovering Luke is the mand'alor's consort

[the-mandawhor1an]

6 months later...

TLDR: it's Zaddy's and my RP 'anniversary'; artworks; Wolke being emotional about her Tumblr experience; and a fluffy one shot/drabble at the end of the WAY TOO LONG POST

I've alluded to it before, I've commissioned some artwork of the two lovebirbs and they just so happened to get finished this week. Huge thanks to @kenobiwanx for making the two come alive 😭 I can NOT stop staring at them.

LOOK AT THEM 😭😭😭

Yes these are spoilers for upcoming events but I just 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

@zaddymandalorian Überraschung!

Back to the actual point *wipes tears off her face*

Let's set the scene...

My dearest Zaddy and I reconnected in November of 2023 as I had been on a work trip at that time and I needed someone to talk to. We'd been talking on and off for the last months, mostly smalltalk and sometimes me complaining about stuff. Worth mentioning is also that I sent her my Maia fanfic back in June. First person to read it besides myself. I've known Zaddy since spring of 2016 ish (which also means I've known her longer than my husband – fun fact) so I felt comfortable with her reading my extremely self-indulgent shit. Everyone needs friends like that ♥

We mused about the roleplays we lost to forum admins being ruthless in their inactive-thread-deletion efforts every 4 months. We had barely started a Witcher RP and I'm sure it would've been awesome if we had continued. We literally stopped 7 ish posts in so nothing had happened really. – Why was it inactive? Well I took a 14 month roleplay hiatus due to me being chronically fatigued. The joys of working a stressful job and being severly anemic. Oops.

I tested the waters and made an offhand comment about maybe giving in and asking her to plot something with me.

This is a very convincing re-enactment of what happened: (translated because we're German potaters)

Well... and that's when the fun began

I, being a total Pedro fangirlie, asked if we wanted to just take the synopsis of my fic and run with that. She agreed, I was happy, she was happy.

So it's been 6 months.

OH. MY. GOD.

I did not think I had it in me to be consistently posting daily for 6 months. We've laughed, we've cried, we've lost sleep over it. We've grinned into our phone screens like maniacs at work and luckily no one asked

And now, 260k words later, I'm still in love with the babies. In fact I'd say I love the little blorbs even more now. Maia has a face, she has outfits (multiple!) she has a family and a story (that's only about 1/3 written so whew we might make it to a million)

Of course I also love Zaddy very much (and I will keep lovebombing your ass, bitch 🖤💜)

You know what, fuck it, I'm mentioning more people. Buckle up! Wolke spreads some love!

@immarocketman for being the first person on Tumblr that I kind of clicked with because we share a love for Pedro and the color purple 💜

@roughdaysandart for 1) allowing me insight in her creative process making a Fanfic comic and b) doodling Maia basically as soon as she made an appearance in text form 💜

The moots: @thefrogdalorian @djarins-cyare @djarins-wife @pedroswife69 for interacting with me, commenting on my posts and being real cute in general 💜

Everyone that ever interacted with me on here has been nothing but friendly, I feel extremely welcome over here. Everyone who liked/reblogged or commented on my posts, thank you so much. 💕💕💕💕💕💕

Now that the sappy whining is over, who wants to read something actually interesting?

In spirit of me being overbearingly loving, I've typed up a bit of fluff from the lovesick fools™ of Clan Mudhorn. Unbeta'd.

It was early in the morning, the sun barely over the horizon and engulfing the room in warm orange light, when Din awoke, a soft and warm body nestled into his side. She let out the softest little hum when he buried his face in her hair, wrapping his arms around her to hold her close.

"Sleep," he purred into her hair, placing a kiss on her forehead when her face turned towards him. Again, with a quiet hum, she buried her face in the crook of his neck. "How am I supposed to sleep when my husband has his hands all over me?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized and gently stroked her hair. "Why are you awake anyway?" she asked, finally raising her head so her sleepy, green eyes looked into his. "Hey mesh'la," he greeted her with a smile, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. "I don't know. I guess the sun woke me up, it's too bright in here." He sighed. "I miss the hut on Nevarro, it was always dark in there." "Come on, it's not that bad here. We needed more space anyway."

She pulled away from him, rolling over so she was on her stomach, hugging the pillow underneath her to get a better look at her everything. "Is the sun too strong, my warrior king?" a grin crept onto her lips as her eyes blinked slowly. Clearly this was way too early for her liking. To be fair, last night went on for longer than anticipated. "Are the little troublemakers awake yet?" She raised her head and turned to face the door. For now it seemed peaceful and quiet in the adjacent rooms.

Knowing well she would rise from the bed to check if he didn't stop her, Din hoisted himself over her body, practically pressing her into the mattress with his body weight. "You're not getting up to check on the kids now, cyar'ika," he muttered, peppering kisses along her shoulder. A chuckle escaped her lips as she rotated her head so she could see him in her peripheral.

She was so glad the mattress was soft enough to just give in under the weight, forming a perfectly human-shaped dent to make way for her body. "Whatever you say, great Mand'alor." For just a second she could feel him grind his pelvis into her butt.

He kept on pressing kisses on her neck, her shoulders, slowly crawling down her spine, kissing every little scar he found on his descent. "You really have to stop saying it like that." "Like what?" "With the bedroom-voice." He stopped to crawl back up to her head and leaned forward, giving her the chance to look into his face. His eyes were darkened, one of his eyebrows twitching upward.

"You're insatiable," she laughed, shaking her head. He slowly lifted off of her, immediately wrapped both arms around her and pulled her onto his chest. "That's your fault, my love." His voice was warm and silky, the vibration in his chest making her shudder. "My fault?" "You're just too beautiful so I can't keep my eyes or my hands off of you for long." "Di'kut" "Gar di'kut, forever." "Forever is a long time," she said softly and ran her fingers through his hair.

"And I'll be happy to spend every minute with you. I love you so much" he took her hand in his and softly kissed her knuckles. She sighed and watched him kiss every finger, eyeing her intently. She was mesmerized by his eyes, almost hypnotized by the dark brown, with the orange light surrounding them it reminded her of embers, glowing and warm.

Forever was a long time and although it didn't feel like it, time was progressing, evident by the threads of silver that sparkled in his dark brown curls. And although she felt like she herself was showing signs of ageing, he always told her she was as beautiful as the day he met her. "I love you more, mesh'la," she replied and rested her hand on his cheek.

"You and the kids are everything to me. I would die for you," he mused, closing his eyes as her finger brushed over his beard toward his lips. Her movements halted and the dark brown eyes reopened, scanning her features for signs of her sudden stop. The small crease on her forehead was enough for him to know exactly what was troubling her.

"Look at me," he pleaded with her, cupping her cheek in one of his hands now. "I know that look on your face. I would doesn't mean I will. Stop thinking about it. I'm here and so are you." Her hand slowly retreated to rest atop of his, thumb brushing over his warm and tanned skin. "Thanks to you, I am. You've saved my life once, I hope you don't have to do it a second time." She smiled warmly and nestled her face further into his hand.

Din grumbled and pulled her face closer, peppering it with kisses wherever he could reach. "I've saved your life twice. But it doesn't matter, you've given me more than I could ever imagine. I have a family now. And the most amazing wife in the galaxy." "I love you." "Until the end of space and time."

Both flinched when they heard a noise outside the bedroom. Instantly both heads were turned to the door, listening for more noises. One of the kids must've woken up, maybe their voices were too loud.

"Any guesses?" Din asked his wife, once again burying his face in her hair. "My gut tells me it's your mini-version," she suapected, turning her head to kiss him gently. "Your gut? Or your Jedi magic?"

Din rose from the bed, stretching his muscles in the morning sun, stared at by his better half. "And you say I'm insatiable." A sly grin appeared on his lips as he put on a shirt, his shoulders and bicep stretching the fabric just enough to make her hum. "The faster you check on the troublemakers the sooner you can come back to bed. Hurry, I'm not done with you."

She didn't have to tell him twice.

Translations:

mesh'la - beautiful

cyar'ika - darling

di'kut - idiot

gar di'kut - your idiot

[gabrielislovegabrielislife]

I just know mando x reader fic writers are CRYING that his family name is Din and his individual name is Djarin (including me)

[wonderlandsakura]

Hi.

So I just started watching Mando season 3 and I was reading up on Mando lore stuff in the break and now my brain is highlighting all that fun symbolism stuff, so I thought I would chat about it cause ranting to my friends was clearly not enough

(btw this is about the 3 factions of the Mando Civil War)

Anyway:

The fact that Din knows, and is sort of respected by, arguably, the last remaining members (and thus heads) of the clans that headed the 3 factions, the Vizslas (Paz), the Kryzes (Bo-Katan) and the Fetts of House Mereel (Boba), which were the leaders of the Death Watch, New Mandalorians and Haat Mandalorians respectively, is greatly amusing, especially since he's being set up to be the very unwilling and accidental Mand'alor, cause it means he's also technically gained the trust and respect of all 3 factions.

(AND technically also united them, since they've all protected Grogu, which doesn't have to count, but it would mean, symbolically, that he has already united Mandalore, from when the 3 factions were separated. Not that he couldn't actually get them all to work together, since he could totally call all these dudes (since he's had his dip) and they would very likely come help him, no questions asked)

And so, not only has our soft, silly little Mand'alor accidentally earned his title via conquest, he has also earned it by technically uniting the 3 factions, also accidentally, of course, so he's accidentally become even more qualified for his unwanted position. (+ a certain spoilery occurance, that honestly just makes him even more overqualified)

It's really the sword that chooses it's master isn't it.

Din definitely didn't choose the Mand'alor life, but boy, is it screaming crying throwing up choosing him.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

Kinktober Day 26 - Tentacles/Dacryphilia (Din Djarin)

ori'skraan

Kinktober Day 26 - Tentacles/Dacryphilia

dark/haunted!Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: The Mand'alor needs to feed to regain his strength, so you are called upon to fulfill the most sacred of your duties.

a haunted!Mand'alor!Din Djarin is granted strength beyond human limits by the Darksaber but at the cost of becoming a creature terrifying to behold who must feed like an incubus. Also, he has shadow tentacles. tbh; this is an elaborate setup for eldrich horror smut.

Warnings: dark, dub-con, tentacles, tentacle sex, rough sex, bondage, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), monsterfucking, author makes up stuff about Mandalorian culture in the name of monsterfucking, horror vibes, Mandalorian reader, Mando'a, satine kryze slander, Mand'alor Din Djarin, this may or may not become a series bcus I have a problem

Inspired by this prompt list from @absurdthirst.

also on ao3

In the days of the songs of old, before the civil war, before the pacifist uprising, and the slaughter of your people, being the Mand’alor meant something. It wasn’t symbolic; they weren’t a tool through which politicians passed their agendas; they were gods.

And when they died, their manda would join the others and become something stronger yet in the new Mand’alor. It was all ghost stories when you grew up. Something your brother would taunt you with, and when your buir found out, he was scolded, but the information was not denied.

An all-powerful ruler, granted extraordinary abilities by their dead predecessors. Terrifying, world-destroying power. And a beskar sword that could wield pure Force power.

They talked about the Mand’alor like a creature, this benevolent but merciless being who stalked in the shadows and called their mando’ade to arms only in times of true need. Who every Mandalorian worth their beskar would follow into death, whether by devotion or respect.

The real Mand’alor in your youth was much less impressive. Actually, she was fairly disappointing. She barely wore any beskar’gam, and you knew you could not serve her. Would not answer her call, for she was no real Mandalorian.

Never mind that you were ten.

After the Clone Wars, after the empire, after the purge, after… everything, you never thought you’d see Manda’yaim again.

But news travels fast through the galaxy, and when whispers began to turn to headlines, when every pub in town was brimming with the same news, when Mandalore was back in the hands of her people—

You waited. A twice-bitten striil burying her head in the sand. But you did reach out, and sent a ping through your connections until something echoed back.

It was true. And the call had been rung—return, it beckoned, for there is a Mand’alor on the throne at Keldabe.

So you went home.

Running Mandalore and protecting her from danger was a truly staggering feat. One supported by hundreds of other Mando’ade. Your brother pledged to serve on the royal guard, and you—well, before the Duchess, there was only one role you wanted.

You had been in training to be an attendant to the Mand’alor for years. Your time away from home had taught you that such a position was looked down upon by aruetti, the minding of a household diminished. But how could it be so when your services were dedicated to the Ka'ra? To protect and aid their vessel? To share the burden of living so that the Mand'alor can fulfill their oath to the people?

The Duchess had refused attendants, of course. And as she did not wield the saber, did not appreciate the grace of the Ka'ra, and so your job was over before it had begun. Though, as much as you disapproved of Kryze, you would have rather died to protect her than let that darjetii sit upon the throne.

The Darksaber granted him no power, and none after him. But when you arrive in the remains of Keldabe, where little stands now but stacks of cleared glass and hope, there are whispers of a man who had entered the Living Waters seeking redemption and returned as a monster to the surface with the blessing of the Stars themselves.

His advisors have explained as much as they know over and over again. It’s not much. Your regular duties are simple, something you had long mastered. Your other duties are less clear.

And so, you attend to him at all times. He fights you on it at first, gruff and stubborn. He doesn’t want you to draw his bath; he doesn’t want you to deliver his meals to his desk. But you do, and as the days tick by, he stops protesting you.

He even starts to anticipate your presence, greeting you with a soft kindness and accepting your service with quiet respect.

But the day was to come eventually. When he comes calling, you’re putting away Grogu’s clothes in the nursery.

There’s a knock at the door, but he doesn’t wait for you to answer. Fair, you suppose, since this is his son’s room.

“Mand’alor,” you say, inclining your head. You move to stand, and he sighs.

“Please, let’s not stand on decorum in these chambers.”

“It’s my job to, ah, 'stand on decorum,'” you say, smiling. But you resume folding the linens and small tunics.

“I wanted to let you know myself that you will be needed for your other duties tomorrow.”

Oh. The only indication of your reaction is a twitch of your fingers where they lay on the sleeve of a robe. “Yes, Mand’alor.”

“They explained to you what may happen?”

“Yes, Mand’alor, I understand.”

He comes and sits on the floor in front of you. Your helmet conceals your surprise, steady hands still working through the small pile of laundry.

“I’m sure they told you I did not want an attendant.”

“Something along those lines, yes.”

“Did they tell you why I changed my mind? Did they tell you what happened last month?”

You shudder a little involuntarily but hold firm enough to look at him and nod. “They also told me she’s okay.”

“Regardless,” he says, self-disgust oozing through the modulator. “I don’t wish for that to happen to you.”

“It may or may not,” you say. “We won’t know until then.”

“But you were trained for this. Do you know a way to ease it?”

“I did not complete my training, and I was too young to know the details. But…” you aren’t sure if you want to bring up your idea. It is, after all, without evidence.

“But what?”

“It’s nothing, Mand’alor. A theory and nothing more, but it isn’t worth the price.”

“What theory?”

“Just mine. Not even a fully formed hypothesis. Just a passing thought.”

“Tell me anyway.” His voice is soft. Nothing like you expect to face tomorrow.

“I just wondered if you were more familiar with me, if it might help.” You know he follows the Resol'nare in the way of the old songs. You have adapted to honor his Creed, as is The Way, and so he has never seen your face.

He's silent and you hope you haven't offended him. But he seems to genuinely considers your words.

And then he reaches up and removes his helmet.

“Kriff, warn me first,” you snap, squeezing your eyes shut and covering your visor with one hand.

“Your theory is sound. And we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

“Yes, but in the Chamber, we aren’t meant to outside it. And I only meant that perhaps I should—”

“What does it matter?”

You almost scoff before you remember your place. “I suppose it does not.” These were his rules, after all. He has a greater understanding of his own Creed than you ever will.

“I accepted an attendant because they assured me it would help you survive. That I would understand your purpose, in the moment. If this has even a chance of ensuring your safety, then it must be done.”

You reach up, but he stops you before your fingers brush the bottom of your helmet.

“May I?”

You still haven’t opened your eyes, but the rough sound of his unmodulated voice asking to remove your helmet sounds downright salacious.

“Of course, ner Mand’alor,” you murmur and tilt your head back.

You startle when he touches you, not because you're surprised but because he's removed his gloves. His thumbs skim against your neck to break the seal, and his smooth fingers burn. He lifts it off as if the beskar were as fragile as an egg and sets it beside his own.

You finally open your eyes and gasp. He’s beautiful. There’s no other word for it, or if there are, they are lost to you. His stare is intense and enthralling, his eyes the shade and softness of damp earth.

Then you remember your station and quickly avert your eyes to the ground.

“If it’s any comfort,” he says, “I’ll look much different tomorrow.”

“I’m sure your other form is just as beautiful.”

“Thank you, but you don’t need to flatter me.”

The silence that follows isn’t quite awkward. It’s not the pause of uncertain hands and mouths, of stilted negotiations, but the way the air hangs thick before dropping into battle. It’s the feeling of sitting side by side with your vod, knowing you are safe but still may not make it home.

He sits for a moment longer before taking his leave. “You should rest,” he says before he leaves the room.

You assure him you will. But you won’t. If you’re going to be off duty for two days, all the more reason to finish your tasks, you reason. The crawling pressure against your breastbone calls you a liar.

You know, have known, that to fulfill your duty means walking into a trap unarmed and unprepared. Whatever you find in there, you will have to face with no weapon, no beskar, no allies.

It doesn’t stop you from shaking a little as you remove your beskar’gam in the antechamber. You’re alone. No assistants, no handmaidens, no witnesses.

You take a deep breath that carries you across the threshold. The antechamber locks behind you. There will be no leaving until he is satisfied.

You expected the ritual halls of your ancestors. This is a bedroom.

Yes, it’s a bedroom in a hall carved of beskar-veined stone, but it’s soft. There are pale, thick rugs on the floor and tufted seats in shades of gray. The enormous round bed is indulgent, covered in silks and soft furs. You sit, bare, afraid to hide yourself lest it angers him when he enters.

Will he be the man or the beast when he enters? You’re not sure which you’d prefer. To watch him transform or to be forced to accept his second form upon his entrance.

You’re saved from dwelling on it when the door slides open. You breathe only enough to feel it slip away.

The Mand'alor's shadow cuts the light from the entry. Silhouetted in the frame, he towers higher, wider than he had in the baby’s room. The edges of his form are hard to look at. ike your eyes can’t focus, can’t accept what they see. When he moves and the door locks, you realize it wasn’t his shadow. He is the shadow. It ripples from him, spreading across his torso and arms.

He reaches you in far too few steps. His broad hand cups your chin, and the shadows that blur the edge between his skin and the air cup you also, spilling from his fingers up your cheeks like a wisp of fog.

The Mand’alor does not speak. But when he looks at you, more eyes peel open. Four extra on each side of his forehead, black and slit like a serpent's, though his two original eyes are still brown.

He leans down, the tendrils that swallow him threatening to swallow you, too. When his lips meet yours, your mouth opens to draw a sharp breath. It does not receive it, as he licks into your mouth. It feels like you’re choking, the darkness sliding down your throat.

His hands find your arms, and the shadows crawl down them, never breaking contact with him but stretching, growing. They curl around you, lingering just on the precipice of incorporeal.

You break the kiss to gasp for air, and a wide smirk spreads across his face. “Such a pretty girl,” he purrs. You wish it was hyperbole, but the words come in a rumble from deep within his chest.

And you flush, heat bursting across your skin and pooling in your cunt. He takes a deep breath and his eyes, all ten, dart down to your thighs.

“Offering to feed me already, alor’ika?”

You shudder, but your legs part for him. You hardly notice, enraptured as you are by the way blinks ripple across his hungry eyes.

“That’s it, what a good little pet,” he purrs.

A shudder slips through, your nipples pebbling. He takes one in his mouth immediately. His tongue is rough, but his teeth are surprisingly flat. Human.

Though, you suppose, he’s not a carnivore. Doesn’t need the sharp fangs of nightmares to rend your flesh. Especially not when your flesh seems particularly eager to give him whatever he needs.

He licks the valley between your breasts and sets his teeth against the tendon of your neck. You tip your head to the side, and he rewards you with a famished growl and the sharp pinch of his bite.

You can’t quite breathe right, still. Your skin prickles and burns where his mouth travels down an extensive trail, tasting and biting and marking you. The restraint snaps when he reaches the crest between your thighs, the hunger overtaking him.

He’ll have plenty of time to savor you, anyway.

But for now, he dives straight in. You cry out and jerk your hips at the sudden sensation. Licking deep within you—unnaturally so, you suspect—the shadowy edges of him unfurl, more corporeal than before. Just the small taste has strengthened him so much already.

It splits into thick tendrils, blurry with no discernable edges, just a place where they meet your skin and where they pulse from his body.

They encircle your wrists and hold them just above your head, another pair wrenching your legs apart and opening you for him. He snarls, gripping your thighs in his hands and flicking the sandpaper of his tongue against your clit. You cry out, and a tendril slides into your mouth.

It’s nearly real, now, smooth and dense. Your eyes roll back into your head as it makes itself at home in your throat, fucking in and out.

He looks up at you and laughs into your pussy, the hot breath of air over your clit making you twitch.

There’s nothing to tether you, the slick silk slipping when you squirm, the tendrils connecting you to him, only him, and not the world around you. They lift up your hips, letting him drink from your well with fervor, and you jerk helplessly in their grasp as one slides up and caresses your ass, slithering over the hole and wriggling in.

There isn’t an inch of you that doesn’t feel raw. His shadowy limbs creep over your breasts, roll your nipples, smooth over your stomach, brush against your cheek.

When you cum, he snarls again, slipping two fingers into your cunt and curving them against you, pressing and rubbing, and it brings you over the edge again. He doesn’t let up, not until he builds you up and breaks you on his tongue and hand. Like cracking open a fruit and letting the juices pour over your hand.

He savors every drop.

The danger sneaks in unnoticed. You’re dazed, limp, and chest heaving, coated in sweat and his saliva. But his strength is growing, the tendrils no longer shadow but rendered into flesh, and his grip on you is bruising.

Neither of you notice. You’re exhausted, barely clinging to consciousness, and he’s ravenous.

“More, alor’ika,” he hisses. He forces himself to pull away, to crawl atop you and take.

When you had seen his cock, a brief glance when he entered, it was large but humanly so. It is certainly not, now.

He pushes in slowly, but for all the pleasure he wrung from you, it’s not enough. Could never be enough. You scream, but no sound comes out, thoroughly stoppered as you are by the shadow-limb.

You look up at him, pupils blown not from lust but from pain. Tears leak, and he leans down and licks them from you.

“So pretty when you cry,” he croons, extracting the tendril from your mouth so he can press his tongue inside.

“Mand’alor, please,” you beg through sobs.

The bones in your wrist grind as the tentacles pulsate around them. As he nears his peak, the force of his hips is cruel. You think of the girl from last month. The girl whose shattered pelvis will probably never heal right, even with the bacta bath.

“Ner Mand’alor,” you try again. “It’s too much. If you break me, you can’t have me again.”

He sinks his teeth into your neck. “I can have whatever I need from you.”

“Yes,” you say, trying to nudge his head away with your own. You bump his forehead in a weak attempt at a mirshmure’cya, jostling his damp curls and drawing his real eyes to yours. “Vor entye.”

He draws back a little, regarding you with ten unblinking eyes.

“I will hold you to that, ner ori'skraan,” he says and gives you his own Keldabe kiss. He fucks into you still, rough but not ravaging. The fevered kissing resumes as a tendril creeps down to rub your clit.

When he has drained every ounce of pleasure he can wring from you; he fills your raw, split cunt. It’s so much. It floods, and leaks from you, and all you can do is whimper until he begins to soften.

He reaches down between your legs and brings some of his cum to your lips. You accept the offering, the strange sweetness lingering in your mouth until your lips tingle. The feeling is slow to stretch through you, and by the time the analgesic takes effect, you’re already asleep.