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hanasnx · 8 months

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KRAYT HOUSE M.LIST | ABOUT: Welcome to our page! Below you’ll find any and all links to fulfill your every dirty desire. Our studio is proud to present our first series in honor of Kinktober. If you find any episode(s) that interest you: comment, reblog, or inbox @hanasnx to be included on the taglist for the individual episode(s) you specify. Must have an age in bio or pinned to be tagged.

MINORS DNI 18+

STATUS: Completed! DISCLAIMER: None of these are actual videos. This is a masterlist to a literary fanfiction series.

NAVI | M.LIST | INBOX | @KRAYTHOUSE

Krayt House’s Uploaded Videos

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▷ House of Amateurs | Behind the Scenes: Background, Rules, & Credit - S1E0

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WARNINGS: f!reader | adult film au | mentioned: sexual content, adult film industry

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▷ House of Amateurs | Behind the Scenes - S1E6

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WARNINGS: no reader | adult film au | spoilers: october 2nd | mentioned: sexual content, adult film industry

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▷ House of Amateurs | Behind the Scenes - S1E13

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WARNINGS: no reader | adult film au | spoilers: october 9th | mentioned: sexual content, adult film industry, knife play, butt plug

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▷ House of Amateurs | Behind the Scenes - S1E20

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▷ House of Amateurs | Behind the Scenes - S1E27

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WARNINGS: no reader | adult film au | spoilers: october 22nd | mentioned: sexual content, adult film industry

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looseleafteeaves · 2 months

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Facing the Krayt Dragon

Note that this will be majorly AU, and also contain a ton of fanon/headcanon ideas. Rule of thumb? If you recognize it, probably not mine. You will see… Alderaanian culture stuff, force sensitive ideas, jedi stuff, amavikka stuff(aka Tatooine Slave Culture from various fandom writers, though one of the largest is @fialleril ), and maybe a touch of naboo culture stuff. Nothing will be Jedi critical.

Leia had followed Han to Tatooine for several reasons.

The mountains of Alderaan echoed in her bones but the waters of Naboo sung through her blood and the sands of the desert made up her soul.

One reason was Han’s capture.

One was the call she felt to the place her rebel brother called home.

One was to see the ghost of Obi-wan’s last years of life.

One was that she had heard a voice roaring for her to come home. To walk the blood soaked sands. To wake the dragon.

Yes, Leia had many reasons to walk beneath the twin burning suns.

Her war braids entwinned with mourning white ribbons as she approaches Mos Eisley. She knew she could handle herself.

Even if she felt adrift without her twin sun to orbit.

Leia was not prepared. Jabba the Hutt, sniveling worm that he was, had decided that she was pretty. Luke had nothing good to say about the place, and even less about the few times his family had to work off a debt to Jabba in the dry years. Leia knew she would be in for months, if not years of struggle. Luke’s advice still rang in her head like the mountain top cathedral bells. “If you must go to Tatooine, hide yourself first. You are foreign, pretty, young, and obviously fierce. They will think you are worth the risk of hunting to sell.”

Leia had not stayed hidden. And by the time several months had passed? She could feel the call to the desert growing stronger, and the urge to resist growing weaker.

“Child.”

Leia looked up immediately. An older weequay, named Shirsu Terramitta was approaching.

“Yes, Shirsu?”

The old weequay smiled. “Come to my rooms tonight. It is a time of joy. I would like to invite you to partake.”

A voice, unfamiliar but kind, spoke. “She will never be a jedi.”

“No. She will be someone else. Can you not hear the Force proclaiming such, as loud an a chorus sung across the mountains of Alderaan?”

Leia thinks long and hard, but nods. “I will be there Shirsu.”

“I will be waiting, Sister.”

Something stirs. That name is familiar, in the way that a favored bedtime story half-remembered is. Yes. I am Sister.

—

Jabba releases his dancers early. Rumors of a sickness tearing through his pets makes him wary of keeping them too close. All of his dancers move to Shirsu’s room.

“Leia, you are coming to Grandmother today?”

Leia pauses, nodding. The human, Itza, smiles. “Then I am glad to walk beside you.”

Leia remains quiet. The air feels like the moment before a sandstorm hits.

Anticipation. Danger. Survival.

Hope.

———

Shirsu welcomes everyone is, and says “My people, one has joined us. She looks towards the desert each day. She is Called. We now must bring her into our family. She must have her Name.”

Leia felt something building, something charging the air. A cool sensation like morning dew on Alderaan surrounded the quartet.

“Leia, we name you kin. You have been a slave, you will always remember that. You are one of us. I tell you this story to save your life.”

Shirsu- Grandmother- tells her the story of the stealing of Ar-Amu’s children. Of her promise. Of Depur and Ekkreth. Of Akar Hinil, Tena, Ebra, Mitta, the Twins who carried the suns.

Of Leia and Lukka. Of how the Krayt chases the sandstorm, and the sandstorm the krayt. Forever orbiting each other.

Leia learns about the piece of herself that never fit. She grows. She learns. And one day, many months after Bentu Depurak, Jabba is displeased with his senator toy. She had tried to poison him. He decided to send her into the desert for face the storm.

Leia, the call of the desert like a deafening scream, keeps her smile small and secret.

She knew the poison would come in handy

#star wars #headcannons #feed the machine #teeaves does star wars #amatakka #amavikka #tatooine slave culture #Facing the Krayt AU #accidently posted this way to early…#Part two is coming soon.

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ace-simp · 3 years

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*Spoilers for The Mandalorian Season 2, episode 1*

Okay, real talk here, I want Din to have a pet Krayt dragon, a little baby one. While we know that they can grow to be HUGE, and extremely dangerous, there are 2 types. In the game "Star Wars: Bounty Hunter" Garudulla the hutt had one in their palace, specifically a Canyon Krayt dragon which is a smaller less legged version of the greater Krayt dragon (the one Din fought). Both are native to Tatooine, and Din could have easily found a baby canyon Krayt dragon which had fallen out of its hole on the side of the cliff after the giant and earth shaking skirmish with the greater Krayt dragon. Maybe it lost it's parents or maybe they were killed by Tusken raiders. Either way, however it happens, bada-bing bada-boom: an extremely young and vulnerable baby canyon Krayt dragon, ripe for the adopting. We've seen that Din IS in-fact a dog person, with the way he treats animals and small children. I don't feel like if he found a baby animal with no parents he'd leave it to die alone. Now, Din is extremely protective of his kid, we all know, and I don't logically think he'd want a carnivorous baby hunter anywhere near his kid. Buuuuuutttt for the sake of my own personal self indulgence, say the kid feels and connects with it through The Force, maybe taming it just ever so slightly or something along those lines (We've seen multiple Jedis calm and tame animals through the force before). EITHER WAY, the dragon no want to eat the baby or Din, and while he'd have PLENTY of reservations against it, the kid could probably convince him to take the baby along with them. This would come with a whole host of new issues for Din, like feeding and training the dragon, but just imagine if he got the Armorer or someone else to make a custom saddle for the baby dragon (the smallest ones are probably still big compared to Din, much less his kid) and he rides it to meet clients for jobs. This would ABSOLUTELY pave the way for many hilarious and heart warming interactions between the 3 + company including:

1. The pure intimidation factor when out taking or doing jobs. Imagine the looks on these big hotshot crime bosses who hired the Mandalorian and were planning to subtly try to intimidate and threaten Din but see him ride up on a DRAGON. One thats known for eating people, who is under the command of this singular man.

2. Think of how cute it would be to see the dragon bump its head into Don's arms and demanding to get scritches from the shiney metal man/parent and then doing stuff like draping its head in his lap or curling around his feet while he pilots his ship.

3. Just imagine all the shit that happens between the kid and the dragon. Both are young, carnivorous babys who love Din whole heartedly but so do not understand half of the stuff he does and are just, *vibing to their own beat*. The kid most DEFINITELY definitely rides on the dragons head between the horns, and Din has to constantly move the child off so he doesn't slip and fall. The dragon thinks of the baby as "small strange green friend/sibling who I can feel is Different tm" and the kid thinks of the dragon as "the big tan friend who I convinced dad to take with us and helps me get out of my boxs".

Cara and everyone else are shocked but not surprised anymore. They feel they should have expected something along these lines. After all, the Mando already adopted 1 extremely dangerous and sought after entity, whats another to him?

Cara's weary, but comes around to the dragon. Finds it cool and a big softie underneath all those spikes and hard scales. Reminds her of the mandalorian who cares for it.

Peli is absolutely smitten with it, just as she is with Din's kid. Its just a big ol' baby to her (which it is) and just wants some loving (which it does) and proceeds to spoil it rotten. Fresh food for it and the kid, their both just the Mando's kids to her and she loves them either way.

Cobb, who only saw it briefly as he caught site of the mando right before he took off on the razor crest (somehow, idk this is for self indulgence) and was QUITE SPOOKED. He saw the mando feed it scraps of meat as it sat directly infront of him, staring at him with all the intensity of a dog staring at their owner with the treat. He couldn't believe his eyes and even after they take off he wonders if the heat wasn't getting to him and making him see things.

Greef is absolutely terrified of it in no uncertain terms and refuses to go near it. He was already somewhat wary about the magic force choke/healing baby, he did not sign up for man eating dragons. Because he's so afraid of it it sits directly across any table from him next to the Mando and stares Greef down. He finds this extremely concerning and will edge just a little farther away from both of them as the baby giggles.

All in all the dragon is playful and super happy with the child and Din, being extra affectionate to them both, but is super terrifying to anyone else. Especially on hunts.

Idk, if anyone has any thoughts on this idea or anything relating to it if you say this post tag it or something! Maybe message in the comments of this post idk.

#the mandalorian #grogu #baby yoda #din djarin #mandalorian #i just really like mando getting a pet and badass as he is #imagine cara walking on the ship to see the dragon on its hind legs with front paws hooked over Dins shoulders #its trying to get the meat that Din is fervently trying to keep put if its reach #idk what id call this #Pet Krayt Au #?

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generallynerdy · 4 years

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Uncalled they come to me, and told, they still won’t leave me (Din Djarin/Soulmate!Reader)

Spoilers for Chapter 9 (S2E1) of the Mandalorian

Summary: After the ambitious Toro Calican turns on you, his hired mechanic, in hopes of winning favour with the Guild, the mysterious Mandalorian saves your life. Now that you owe him a life debt, he’s stuck with you until you can save him back. It’s not so bad, having a free mechanic and babysitter for the kid, but things take a turn for the worse when both of you realise you might be catching feelings. For someone that might not even be your Soulmate.

Requested by Anon: Hello! How’re you doing? May I please request a Din x reader soulmate au? The one where you don’t see color until you touch your soulmate? It would be very difficult for Din to find his soulmate and I’ve always wanted to see how it played out. If not that’s ok! Thank you and have a wonderful day ❤️

Key: (Y/N) - your name, (h/c) - hair colour, (e/c) - eye colour Translations: vode - siblings, Ret’urcye mhi - goodbye (literally: may we meet again), mirshmure’cya - brain-kiss (Basic term, is Keldabe kiss. This is the soft one as opposed to the literal headbutt term) Asked to be tagged in this disaster: @pearlll09 Word Count: remember when i said this would be 4k? Yeah. It’s 6,478 words. What. The. Fuck.

Author’s Note: this is way longer than I intended it to be but I think u deserve it since u were the only one who saw my post begging for mando requests and actually sent one hksjlfdkj tysm!! I’m so happy I got to write a Soulmate AU for him tbh. Btw, I have it in my head that Yodito would’ve given him the ability to see green, as a familial Soulmate bond, but it wouldn’t work for this if your eyes are green so I just left it out. (Also wtf is up with the Cobb/Din shit, Cobb is clearly in a dedicated relationship with the bartender Weequay. I named them Sala :D) The title is from The Teller of Tales by Gabriela Mistral.

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“Do you wear those gloves all the time?”

The Mando gives you a look—one that you can’t read, obviously, but you get the idea that it’s drier than the desert you’re in.

Calican snorts, but you shoot him a glare and he shuts up. You’re only here because he’s paying well for your mechanical skills, enough that his request of an extra hand on his first bounty seemed reasonable. Finding out that he’s hunting Fennec Shand was...less than pleasing, but now that the Mando is onboard, you’re not quite so worried about the outcome. They’re supposed to be fearsome warriors, after all. And he was smart enough to figure out how to wait out Shand, which is what the three of you have been doing for hours.

“I’m just saying,” you continue, “between the armour and the gloves, it must be damn near impossible to find your Soulmate.”

He shrugs. Sort of. It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest.

“Haven’t you heard the stories?” Calican asks, flopping back onto the sand. “Mandalorians don’t have Soulmates. They start seeing colour after their first battle; war is their only destiny.”

You roll your eyes. They’re folk tales, really, and ridiculous ones at that. Every sentient has at least one Soulmate, romantic, platonic, familial, or otherwise, and there’s no reason for Mandalorians to be any different. Still, the stories make their rounds. There are specific ones, too, like the one about the Mandalorian Jedi who made the Darksaber; he was said to see colour when he lit his weapon for the first time. Fett, too, was said to have seen a new colour with every clone that was decanted—which is mildly ridiculous.

“Maybe the Mandalorians of old,” Mando comments with a scoff. “Not many of us see battle these days.”

“Well, if you’re looking for it, I know a krayt dragon a few hundred klicks away,” you suggest lightly.

He snorts. “No thanks. I’ll take the assassin.”

“Speaking of,” you said, “you guys know I’m just a mechanic, right?”

There’s a pause. Calican nods, but the Mando is still.

“What?” he asks, displeasure in his voice.

“I mean, I’m pretty good with a blaster, but I’m gonna be useless against Fennec Shand.”

Mando whirls on Calican. “You paid a mechanic to be your back-up? Are you insane?”

He shrugs. “(Y/N) has a mean right hook.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Mando huffs. He looks over at you and you can almost feel him glaring through the visor. “Are you crazy?”

“I’m broke,” you scoff. “Same thing. Oh, hey, do you need repairs on that hunk of junk you pilot? I’ll be more thorough than that lady at the hangar.”

He hesitates. “We’ll see.”

You grin. That’s not a no.

“You’re a prick, did I mention that?” you hiss over your shoulder.

Calican shoves the blaster into your side. “Shut up and keep walking.”

The Mandalorian stands on the other side of the hangar, waiting for Calican to make his move. Seriously, this day could not be going any worse. After killing Shand, Toro Calican, certified dumbass, decided that kidnapping you and the Mandalorian’s—pet? Child?—passenger was the best way to go. Whatever the little weird thing that’s in your arms is, it’s pretty cute, and you’d rather he shoot you than the baby holding tightly onto your shirt. In fact, he probably will, because the kid is his ticket into the Guild—you’re just dead weight.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now. Huh, partner?” Calican asks the Mando. “Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.”

The Mandalorian puts his hands behind his head. Next to you, Calican pushes Peli forward and instructs her to cuff him. With a huff, she moves behind the Mandalorian with the intent to follow orders.

“You’re a Guild traitor, Mando,” Calican begins. You consider sighing. This sounds like the start of a villain monologue. “And I’m willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape. Fennec was right. Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild, it’ll make me legendary.”

In a burst of light, the Mandalorian sets off a flash grenade.

You yelp and tuck the little thing into your arms before tucking yourself over into a roll down the ramp of the ship. You fall into the sand just in front of the Mandalorian, who’s moved to fire a shot at Calican, sending him flying off the other side, smouldering.

Breathing heavily, you sit up, the child still in your arms.

“Are you okay? Is the child?”

You look up. The Mandalorian has his gloved hand held out, offering to help you up. Hesitantly, you take it and pull yourself off the ground.

“We’re both okay—I think,” you say hesitantly, holding the baby out to him. “Is he—?”

“Dead,” the Mando confirms, taking the child from you.

You frown. “Good riddance. Thank you,” you tell him hesitantly, though your tone is genuine.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

He distracts himself by checking on the child, who coos up at him contentedly. You smile a little at the interaction, but put yourself back into focus.

“It’s not nothing,” you say firmly. “I owe you a life debt.”

He freezes. “What?”

“Where I come from, if someone saves your life, you owe it to them. Until I can save your life, I owe you,” you explain.

“That’s—you don’t need to do that,” he says quickly.

You cross your arms. “It’s like your Way. It’s my culture, my honour on the line. You’re stuck with me, Mando.”

“What? No. Can’t you...pay me, or something?”

“I’m broke, remember?”

“You saved the child’s life, doesn’t that count?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “I rolled with him. You did the work, so, no, it doesn’t count, even though he’s your…” You hesitate, remembering the word. “...foundling.”

“You know, you’re kind of getting the better end of the deal here,” Peli pipes up, directing the thought at the Mandalorian. “A free mechanic, babysitter, and an extra blaster? That’s a bargain.”

“Uh...pre-warning, I don’t know much about child care,” you warn immediately.

He snorts. “Neither do I.” After a moment, he sighs deeply. “Fine. But we’re going to work on those blaster skills before you become a liability.”

“Fair enough.”

Sticking with the Mandalorian is probably the worst decision of your life.

Almost immediately after Tatooine, in need of more funds, he drags you into trouble with another group of bounty hunters and the New Republic, of all groups.

“Who is this?” someone asks, her voice sing-song as she enters the Mandalorian’s ship.

You don’t bother turning around, continuing your repairs on a hull panel. “The mechanic. Don’t touch anything.”

“You have a personal mechanic?”

A few people enter the ship, making you finally turn around. The first speaker is a Twi’lek woman and the second a Human, who squints disdainfully. From behind him, Mando pushes past their little crew—including a protocol droid and a massive Devaronian—to approach you, deciding to stand next to you rather than them, which brings you immense pleasure for some reason.

“No. (Y/N) owes me a life debt and, apparently, credits don’t cut it,” he explains shortly, sounding frustrated and exhausted.

You nudge him companionably—it’s an argument you’ve had a few times, the paying of your debt. He doesn’t want to be free of you, per se, but he doesn’t want you to be in his debt. Having that kind of power or hold over you makes him uncomfortable, you can tell, as every time it comes up he gets twitchy.

“Kinky,” the Twi’lek snickers.

You grimace. That would explain why Mando sounds like he wants to die. “Fun group. What’s the job?”

“One of theirs got caught. We’re getting him out,” he says. “And we’re using our ship.”

Our ship. Maybe it’s a slip of the tongue or maybe he’s making it clear that you’re with him, but either way, it brings a smirk to your face. The Twi’lek looks disgusted.

“Well, at least my hard work won’t be going to waste,” you huff.

“Mando,” the Twi’lek interrupts, “you haven’t introduced us.”

You can feel him rolling his eyes. “(Y/N), meet Mayfeld, Burg, Xi’an. Mayfeld is running point, the droid is flying, and the target is a New Republic transport ship.”

“Ugh. You guys better be good; I’m not getting arrested.”

“Mayfeld’s former Imperial,” Mando says before any of them can answer.

You scoff. “A stormtrooper? My shitty blaster skills would be better than his.”

“I wasn’t a stormtrooper,” Mayfeld spits, annoyed enough that he must’ve said it once already. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

All but the droid stay, scattered around the hull. Mando follows soon after the jump to hyperspace, having hovered over the droid while it set their course. He stops Burg from getting into the weapons cache right after he hops down the ladder and the two look like they want to kill each other.

“Someone tell me why we even need a Mandalorian,” the Devaronian grunts.

Mayfeld huffs. “Well, apparently, they’re the greatest warriors in the galaxy. So they say.”

“Then why are they all dead?”

They all laugh at that—Xi’an with a particularly nasal one, which is irritating beyond belief. You frown deeply, but try not to show how pissed their laughter makes you. That sort of shit isn’t to be made fun of; a dying race. It’s all too familiar these days, what with the death of Alderaan and the crater on Scarif.

When you come back into focus, Xi’an is talking in low tones.

“See, I know who you really are,” she says to the Mando.

You roll your eyes. Unlikely.

(Something in your brain goes: I do, which is stupid. You don’t know who he is, under that helmet, sure, but you’ve seen a lot of him through his actions. He’s reckless, terrifying, and a badass, but he’s also patient and...kind, in his own way. The way he treats the child is like nothing you’ve seen in another bounty hunter. It’s gentle, caring. The kid has really grown on him, you think. And the way he treats you is just straight up polite, even though you’re practically his servant in terms of a life debt. Still, he treats you like a person and doesn’t ask you to do unreasonable favours just because he saved your life. He doesn’t hold it over your head.)

And then they start goading him about the helmet.

Burg actually goes for it, which Mando beats him back for. You jump forward, but just as you do, the door to the sleeping cot flies open, revealing the child.

Instead, you rush to the child, pulling him into your arms.

“What is that?” Mayfeld asks, approaching.

“Back off,” you hiss.

He looks between you and Mando. “Wait, did you two make that?” When you scoff, he frowns. “What is it, like a pet or somethin’?”

“Yeah. Something like that,” Mando says quickly.

Xi’an frowns. “Didn’t take you for the type. Maybe that code of yours has made you soft.”

You snort. Soft. That isn’t a word you’d use to describe him, ever. You haven’t seen very much action since Tatooine, but you saw enough there.

Mayfeld reaches for the child and, without hesitation, you lift your blaster. The way he’s looking at the little guy makes you uneasy.

“Fuck off,” you warn instantly.

“Aw, c’mon, I just wanna hold him,” he teases.

Over the comms, the droid’s voice echoes. “Dropping out of hyperspace. Now.”

The entire ship shudders and shakes, sending everyone flying off their feet. You happen to ram into beskar, your face slamming into the metal, which makes you yelp. The baby wails in your arms as gravity makes to tug you away again. Before it can, Mando grabs your arms and holds you in place against him until the ship is steady once more.

“You okay?” he asks, helping you to your feet—again, you think miserably.

“Ugh, no,” you groan, putting a hand on the left side of your face. “That’s gonna bruise.”

Mando takes the child from you. “Sorry. We’ll deal with it after.”

You wave him off. “I’ve had worse. You worry about the job, I’ll watch the kid,” you say, taking the child back. You can’t help but smile when he coos happily.

“Right,” Mando mutters. For a moment, he watches you both, considering.

“Mando!” calls Mayfeld. “Let’s go!”

Before he goes, he puts a hand on your shoulder. “Be careful. I have a bad feeling about this.” You nod, which seems to appease him, and watch him leave.

Petting the child’s floppy ears, you wonder if he meant that to be as comforting as it was.

I should’ve known, Din thinks when Qin walks out of that cell.

I definitely should’ve known, he decides, returning to the Razor Crest to find a sparking droid corpse and a shaking child in your arms.

He tosses the cuffed Twi’lek to the side and rushes to yours, stepping over Zero’s limp form. You look relatively unfazed, for someone who’s just ripped a droid’s head off with their bare hands, but the child is rather distressed. The kid squeaks at the sight of Din and, much to his surprise, lifts your hand to show him.

It’s bleeding.

“What did you do?” Din questions, crossing the hull for his medical kit.

“I...may have tried to punch the droid,” you admit hesitantly. “It didn’t work.”

He scoffs, returning to kneel in front of you with bacta patches in his hands. “No karking shit.”

Your face falls as he reaches for your hand, pulling it toward him so he can patch it up. “It was gonna hurt the kid.”

“You did good,” he murmurs. “Stupid, but good.”

It never occurred to him that you might save the child again. You’re here out of necessity, after all, because you owe him, because your honour depends on paying that debt. The child is just another being in the vicinity, but you still saved him. Again. You’re either very stupid or very kind and he can’t decide which one is more concerning.

“Maybe you should teach me a bit of hand to hand, too,” you suggest warmly, wincing at the bacta’s sting.

Din makes a noise that’s sort of a laugh. “I’ll add it to the list.”

He moves to put bacta on the bruise his beskar gave you—He feels ridiculously guilty for that; here you are, paying off a life debt to him, and he still manages to hurt you—but with a hand, you stop him.

“Don’t waste it,” you say immediately. “I’ve had worse bruises, seriously.”

He frowns. “It’s not a waste.” Before you can protest, he puts the patch on top of the bruise.

You huff. “You’re a worrier, aren’t you, Mando?”

“Apparently,” he replies dryly. He hadn’t realised it, either.

“Will you stop flirting and get us out of here!?” Qin shouts from the other side of the hull. “The New Republic will be on our asses!”

You roll your eyes. “I hate to say it, but he has a point. Where are the others?”

“Dealt with,” he says simply. “It was a double-cross.”

“Well, I figured,” you shoot back with a knowing look. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The drop is easy enough, especially since Din knows that New Republic signal is beeping steadily from Qin’s pocket. He escapes quickly, dipping back into the Razor Crest, where you wait at the top of the ramp, the child hanging onto your boot.

“Let’s go,” he declares, the ramp shutting behind him as he enters.

“Already?” you question with a raised eyebrow. “There are a few repairs I could make out of hyperspace that might be useful.”

He waves you toward the cockpit. “Later. We need to leave.”

“Oookay.” You frown but do as he says, plucking the child from off your foot. “C’mon, little guy,” you mutter to him.

Din waves away all your questions as he starts the take-off. Finally, when the Razor Crest is a safe distance away from the space station and X-Wings appear out of hyperspace, he glances back at you.

“Holy shit!” you cry as they open fire. You look back at him with a slack jaw, which makes him smile underneath the helmet. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, but it’s enough of an answer.

“You’re a maniac, Mando,” you laugh, watching the scene through the transparisteel.

Din thinks over it, staring at you for a long moment. There’s light in your eyes—maybe it’s the reflection of the explosion, but it’s captivating.

“Din,” he says.

You look over. “Hm?”

He clears his throat, trying to shove aside nerves. “My name. It’s Din.”

“Oh. Oh,” you repeat, eyes wide. Then, you smile, more genuine than he’s ever seen from you, he thinks. “You’re crazy, Din. You know that, right?”

He laughs—and that’s the first time you’ve heard a proper one from him. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

When Din drops a pair of gloves in front of you, you laugh.

“You’re telling me the gloves are out of convenience?” you ask him disbelievingly.

“The more skin you cover, the less likely you are to get cut up by a vibroblade,” he replies dryly. “Put them on.”

You raise your hands in surrender and take them, slipping them over your fingers. “Surprisingly comfy.”

It occurs to you that this is...sort of a big deal. You’ve kept your hands bare for as long as you can remember, mostly because you’re a romantic and finding your Soulmate has been at the forefront of your mind for a long time. But now, you think, it’s not such a big deal. You have a debt to pay and, besides that, you’re pretty happy with how things are now.

Life isn’t exactly nice with Din and the kid, so to say, but you’re content. You love the child and he adores you. The Razor Crest feels more like home than any planet ever has. And Din is...well, he’s something. Being around him is mildly addicting and whenever he’s gone, something feels incomplete.

“Better?” you ask, lifting your gloved hands.

“Much,” he says. Then, he holds out his own hand. “C’mon, up.”

You take the hand without thought, but before you know it, he’s swinging you around and shoving you to the ground.

“Ow!” you cry. “What the hell, Din?”

He huffs. “Lesson 1: Never take anything for granted.”

“Rude.” You hit his arm meaningfully, but he just rolls his eyes; just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean you can’t tell it’s happening.

“You’ll thank me someday.”

“But not today.”

“Nope. Today, you’re gonna hate my guts.”

He’s dying.

It feels unreal, what with everything you’ve watched him survive so far. A newbie bounty hunter, a group of pissed off bounty hunters, lots of bounty hunters, and the New Republic but a group of stormtroopers is what gets him?

Moff Gideon is what really gets him, though. The bastard that helped destroy his people is going to destroy Din Djarin. Hearing him speak Din’s name makes you nauseous, furious, even. He gave you that name in confidence, trusted it to you, the only one of his handful of friends to even use it, and Gideon decides to declare it to Nevaroo in its entirety. It makes your blood boil, enough that you get out of the initial firefight mostly unscathed.

But Din doesn’t. And now he’s dying in your arms and you feel like you failed.

“Go with them,” he tells you, all croaky and half-assed.

“No. No, I’m not leaving you here,” you declare, carefully leaning him against the rubble.

Flames flicker all around the room and the child is crying. It’s not loud or consistent, but it’s enough to break your heart.

“You have to go,” Din says again. “You’ll die.”

You laugh ruefully. “That’s kind of the point. A life debt means I save your life or I die trying.”

A pause.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he hisses through the pain.

“Afraid not, dumbass. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

He grasps your arm, his hands still gloved. If you’re going to die here, maybe you should ask him to take off the gloves. A part of you has wondered…

“C’mon, tell me it’s transferable—some ‘dying wish’ shit like that.”

You nod, though the action sinks uncomfortably into your chest. Leaving him here...that doesn’t sit well with you. But if he asks, then you’ll do it. “Yeah, you name it, but it’d better be a big one, something equivalent.”

The breath he lets out is one of relief. “Take care of the kid. Go find his people and return him to them. Protect him.”

“With my dying breath,” you swear, the words holding an air of ceremony.

Din grasps your arm tighter and pulls you down, your forehead meeting his helmet. You’re not sure what it means, but it must mean something because he mutters words in his own language, which you’ve never heard him do before.

“Ret’urcye mhi.”

May we meet again.

Din does what little he can in saying goodbye to you, as deeply as that cuts. You’ve grown on him, a little too much maybe, and it kills him to think that you’ll be without him now. You still can’t hit a headshot, he realises, suddenly worried for how you’ll fare.

And so he gives you what he can: a Keldabe kiss and a goodbye, instead of the action he wants to take. He wants to take off his gloves and see if he can figure out the colour of your eyes. On the other hand, though, he doesn’t want to leave you with that, of all things, to leave you seeing the red of his blood and the blue-tinged orange of the flames before any other colours.

You take the child in your arms and, with one last glance at Din, leave the room for the covert’s tunnels underground.

The child whimpers up at you.

You look down, sniffling, and pet his ears gently. “I know, little one. I’m so sorry.” You place a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Cara appears, tugging on your wrist. “C’mon,” she says gently. “We need to get out of here.”

It occurs to you, as the three of you and Greef move on, that Cara might help you with the child. For Din, obviously. She’s a good person and, frankly, she and Din seem pretty friendly. The second she saw you, she’d offered her bare hand and bemoaned the fact that her vision was still black and white, much to your amusement. It was all in good fun, but Din had looked a little uncomfortable, for reasons you didn’t know.

“(Y/N),” Cara says quietly, calling your attention back.

You shake yourself from your thoughts. “Sorry.”

She smiles sadly. “It’s okay. Just keep up.”

The small group turns a few corners before footsteps sound from behind. You immediately place the child in the bag hanging from Cara’s shoulder and draw your blaster, watching her and Greef do the same.

From the distant hall, two figures approach: IG-11 and—

“Din!” you half-cry, half-breathe out. Holstering your blaster, you meet them halfway to take more of Din’s weight from IG. “How—?”

“No living thing can see me without my helmet. IG isn’t alive,” Din says dryly.

You laugh, a partly manic sound. “Thank kark. You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

The noise he makes is both amused and resigned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Where’s the—?”

“He’s with Cara,” you say, finishing the thought before even he can, in his groggy state.

It’s safe to say that when the Armourer gives him his sigil, Din almost considers correcting the Clan of two to a Clan of three. He doesn’t, reminding himself that you’re here because of a debt and nothing else, but the thought is there.

The months after Nevarro are more peaceful than the first week of your time with Din.

You finally get to pull a proper sleeping space together for yourself. Well, it’s a hammock in the hull, but it’s better than the seats in the cockpit. The child gets his own hammock, too, though it’s in the cot space with Din. He loves it, so much so that he squeals when he sees it. That’s your proudest moment, for sure.

Most days, you tend to forget that you still owe a life debt. To be honest, it just feels like the three of you are normal. Din takes bounties, you take short mechanic jobs on different planets, and the two of you trade off on child-duty. It’s pretty regular, more than what your life used to be, anyway.

Din is still training you in hand-to-hand and blasters, of course. You’re getting better with the latter, but the first is difficult. On the way to Tatooine, where there’s supposedly another Mandalorian, he decides to have another training session.

“Fists higher, do it again.”

Huffing, you wipe your wrist across your sweaty forehead. It’s easy enough to obey the order—the first part, anyway. Getting into his guard is difficult, though.

One hit, two blocks—there. You slip under his guard and make an abrupt drop to the ground, sweeping his legs out under him with a fierce movement. He goes down in a tumble of beskar, joining you on the floor. As soon as he’s down, you flip over and straddle his hips, an arm over his neck in false threat.

He barks out a laugh. “Much better.”

“I’m not entirely hopeless!” you declare joyfully before bursting into snickers.

Leaning down, you thunk your forehead against his helmet. The gesture is fond, you’ve learned, something shared between close companions—or at least you think. Din told you that it’s called a mirshmure’cya in Mando’a, that it doesn’t have an equivalent word in Basic.

(Which is technically true. Literally, it means brain-kiss, but the outsider term for it is Keldabe kiss. It can be used for close companions—vode in arms, family—but it’s also used for romantic partners, so he’s mildly horrified at the idea of explaining its cultural significance to you and having to face his feelings for someone that may or may not be his Soulmate. He hasn’t gotten up the courage to ask if he can check. Or try to do it discreetly.)

A distant beeping starts up, coming from the cockpit. It’s the approach warning, which means the training session is over.

“I’ll get the kid,” you say, climbing off Din and offering a hand.

He takes it without hesitation, dragging himself up and making a beeline for the cockpit.

Tatooine is about what you remember. That is, it’s dry, sandy, and the worst planet you’ve ever been on. Stepping out of the ship and into the hangar makes you smile, though, at the not-so-distant memory of Din saving your life. It hasn’t been that long, but it feels like it’s been years.

“Oh, hey!” says Peli, after greeting the child—which is fair, he’s adorable. “You’re still with him! Haven’t repaid that debt yet, huh?”

Your face falls. “Uh, no, not really.”

On the way to Mos Pelgo, your thoughts linger on the life debt. One of these days, you’re going to save Din’s life—then where will you be? Will he want you to leave? What will you do if you have to leave? Your old life was nowhere near as interesting as this, nor did you have anyone close to what Din and the child are to you.

The dreary grey slopes of sand only make it easier to think of the worst possible outcomes. Now you remember why you hated Tatooine so much.

You don’t even realise the speeder is approaching the small town until Din taps your arm, which is wrapped around his waist. Jumping at the touch, you loosen your grip sheepishly and glance at the child, who looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely.

After the speeder comes to a stop, you take the kid while Din enters the cantina.

When you enter yourself, you find that he’s about to shoot someone, while the Weequay behind the bar looks rather distressed.

“Perfect timing, as always,” Din remarks without a glance.

You raise your free hand. “You’re the bad luck charm, I’m just here for the ride,” you retort teasingly.

“You brought a kid to a gunfight?” his opponent asks, raising an eyebrow.

Finally, you glance over at him and see why Din looks ready to kill him. He’s in Mandalorian armour but his helmet is off—clearly, he’s not Mandalorian. “You’re wearing beskar and you’re not a Mandalorian, buddy. I think you’re in more trouble than the kid is.”

“He is,” Din gets out, a twinge of viciousness in his voice.

Before they can even reach for their blasters, though, the ground starts to shake.

You grab onto the doorway for support, eyes wide as you grip the child. Din and the Mandalorian poser move toward the door, joining you and staring out at the street outside.

The entire planet feels like it rumbles and chaos reigns outside.

Something is moving the sand—coming toward the town.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper as it goes by, shifting the sand like it’s an ocean rather than earth. It flies out of the ground, sharp teeth the only thing you see as it consumes a bantha whole.

When it’s gone, the poser huffs. “Maybe we can work something out.” He turns to you, offering a hand, which is covered by fingerless gloves. “Cobb Vanth. I’m the Marshal here.”

You take it hesitantly, glad that things are still black and white when you make contact. “(Y/N).”

He notices your hesitation and chuckles. “The Weequay in there is Sala, my Soulmate. I’ll see if they can’t whip up something for the kid; I’m sure he’s starving.”

“Very,” you say, just before he goes to leave.

When it’s just you and Din, you look over at your companion. “Krayt dragon, huh?”

“Yep,” he sighs, already sounding tired.

You laugh. “I know I said I could bring you to one when we met, but I was totally kidding.”

He looks over at you and you can feel the low-level glare behind the visor, but it only makes you snicker. “I hate you.”

“You’re so full of shit,” you retort immediately.

You finally get to repay your debt.

It’s not what you’re thinking about when you shove Din out of the way of the krayt’s projectile venom, but it’s repaid nonetheless.

Din doesn’t think of it immediately, either, as he’s rather more concerned with the fact that you’re sent flying across the desert into a pile of debris and sharp rocks.

“(Y/N)!”

Before he can run to you, Cobb grabs his arm. “The dragon!”

To be honest, killing the dragon feels like a bonus when he pulls himself together and figures out a plan. When the great beast explodes, the Tuskens and the villagers cheer, but Din races back to the place he saw you last. He pushes aside the remains of one of those massive weapons they built to find you, laying on the ground. For a moment, panic clutches his heart, but then you groan.

“Am I dead?” you ask.

Din lets out a breath, hardly managing it, as he kneels next to you. “Dumbass.”

“Because it feels like I’m dead.”

“Dumbass,” he repeats, ripping your shirt away to find a deep cut in your side, just above your hip. “Of all the ways to pay your debt—”

You sit up, wincing. “Oh,” you say, as if you hadn’t realised it, “I guess I did that, too.”

Din’s heart is still beating a million klicks a second at how close you were to being dead, but for a second, it flips, realising that you hadn’t saved him just to pay the debt. And then, as he’s helping you off the ground and bringing you toward the others, who have bacta patches ready, his heart sinks.

Your debt is paid. You don’t have any reason to stay with him and the kid. As soon as you get back to the city, he’s going to have to watch you leave.

Shit. He didn’t think this through.

Meanwhile, you’re on the same train of thought. Does he really think you saved him for the debt? Does he want you gone that bad? It makes sense. You’re a pain in the ass, with all the training you need. But...well, you thought he might’ve—

“I’ve changed my mind,” you declare.

Din, terrified, attempts to sound neutral. “About?”

“The worst job we’ve ever taken. This is definitely it,” you huff as he helps you down onto a smoother boulder, taking patches from a Tusken.

He goes to use them, but you raise a hand.

“If you even think about getting near my wound with those nasty gloves, I’m going to skin you,” you threaten.

Frankly, Din is too shaken to even laugh. The silence lays there, stilted, as he removes his gloves and sits somewhat behind you, on another close stone. You’ve taken yours off, too, seeing as one is ripped all the way through.

He’s careful with the bacta patch and his bare hands, making sure not to touch your skin.

Now, of all moments, would be the worst time to find out that you really don’t have a reason to stay.

While he works, he thinks, briefly, that he should say something. “(Y/N),” he starts to say. “I—”

But that happens to be the moment he’s putting the bacta patch on. You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, wincing. Your hand flies out, reaching for something to ground you. Of course, because something out there has it out for you, you grab his hand, forgetting that his gloves are, for once in his life, not there.

You realise, ridiculously, that his hand is warm.

And then the world around you explodes into colour.

The faded yellow of the surrounding desert is overwhelming with how it burns into your eyes alongside the brilliant blue of the sky. The surrounding Tuskens are in browns and greys, simple things, but so, so beautiful to your new sight. You breathe out, a shaky action.

Behind you, Din comes to see the same, but his gaze is stuck on the back of your head—the (h/c) of your hair and how the light catches in it, despite it being a complete mess.

You barely have the breath to gasp, but you do, whirling around to face him.

His beskar is beyond what you’d pictured: a shining, sparkling silver that could stand out on a star. No wonder rooms fall silent at the sight of him.

Din has the same thought about your eyes. On death’s door, all he’d wanted was to know what colour they are and now he knows, but it feels so useless now. He doesn’t even know what to call them. Sure, (e/c) would work, however weakly. You are...something else. You always have been, but now it’s like he can see it, the beauty of who you are so plainly painted into your features.

Din doesn’t even have the time to be afraid of your reaction before the words are slipping out. “I don’t want you to go.”

You just stare at him for a long moment, words processing.

It...kind of freaks him out.

He jumps when you fling yourself at him, arms wrapped around his shoulders in the tightest hug he’s ever gotten. Immediately, he responds, clutching the back of your shirt like it’ll save his life.

“Thank the Force,” you breathe out, just beside where his ear is under the helmet. “I don’t wanna leave.”

Din lets out a breath of relief and tugs you closer so you’re practically sitting on his lap. It can’t be comfortable, but you don’t seem to mind. When you do finally pull away, it’s to press your forehead against his helmet. It sends a swell of affection through him again, your constant Keldabe kisses. He taught you something important to his culture, to him, and here you are, using it without thought.

“Is it too late to tell you that this is the Mandalorian equivalent of a kiss?” he murmurs, more than a little embarrassed.

You laugh softly, arms reaching to rest around his neck. “And I thought you were so cool.”

“I just blew up a krayt dragon,” he argues.

“Oh, you’re plenty badass, Din,” you tease back, “just...not smooth.”

He huffs. “I’m gonna kick your ass next training session.”

A grin comes over your face and, for a second, he can’t comprehend why that would make you smile—until he realises that he just promised a next time. You’d genuinely believed he wanted you gone and Din thought you wanted to leave, but neither of you were right.

A whine from below catches both your attention.

The child reaches up from the ground, making grabby hands.

You laugh, a noise Din echoes quietly, and pluck him from the ground, holding him in your careful hands. “Hey, buddy. Feeling left out?”

He squeaks a confirmation, his little hands—green hands, you realise, deeply amused—reaching for Din’s helmet. Once he has a comfortable hand, he bashes his head against the helmet.

Din yelps, not out of pain, but concern, grabbing for the kid, who wobbles dizzily.

“Oh, shit—” Din says.

“Woah, woah,” you get out between wheezing laughs. “Don’t do that! His head is much harder than yours.”

The kid makes a weak huff and curls against Din’s chest stubbornly.

“I think that was an attempted kiss,” you suggest to Din.

Underneath his helmet, he grins. Petting the child’s head with a gentle finger, he looks back up at you. “It was cute.”

“Very,” you agree.

Without prompting, Din reaches for your hand again, a little hesitant. You take his gladly, running your thumb across his knuckles, which makes him shiver.

“Clan of three,” he whispers.

You lift your gaze. “Hm?”

“The Armourer, she said, ‘Clan of two’ when she gave me my sigil,” he explains. “I wanted to correct her then.”

The smile on your face is beyond words. “Clan of three has a ring to it. You’re stuck with me for good now, Din Djarin.”

He snorts and raises your hand to his helmet, touching it briefly to the metal in lieu of kissing it.

Tatooine might be the worst place in the universe, Din thinks that it doesn’t matter so much where he is. Sitting here, with you and the kid, he thinks that this might be home.

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

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coffeequill · 3 years

Text

DinCobb Week Day 4: AU

From my DinCobb service dog au.

----

“Where’s your Dad, girl?”

Din paused, then smiled, tightening the last bolt on the tire with a strain of his hands. Crest gave a short, low bark, follow me, and her paws padded against the garage floor before coming around the corner. “Found me,” Din said, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands. Crest bumped her nose against his shoulder before he stood, and Cobb stepped around the raised car with a grin of his own.

“Hey.”

Cobb was still dressed in his uniform, a dark maroon shirt today with his radio still on his shoulder. His work belt was on and his bandana taken off. It sat in his hands as his other hand reached back to wipe at his neck. Din’s uniform was much more jeans and black shirts he didn’t mind getting dirty.

His boyfriend stepped in close, reaching out to hook his fingers in Din’s toolbelt, tugging him in close. “How many more ‘til I get you?” he asked, their foreheads bumping together, and Din smirked before pulling in Cobb himself with an arm around his waist.

“This is the last thing,” he said. “But they’re picking it up tomorrow morning.”

“Perfect.”

Cobb let go of him and turned. He gave Crest an affectionate pet, who sniffed at his hand, and started towards her bed. Crest followed along to her bed -- one of many, now -- that made a nook of her own in the corner of the front office. “How’re you doing, honey?” Cobb murmured, quiet but affectionate. “Makin’ sure your Daddy’s okay.”

Din smiled. Then he glanced towards the clock and took a deep breath. “Hey,” he called. “... You want to get me home faster?”

Cobb looked over. Crest’s head popped around the corner, too, before licking Cobb’s cheek.

“Grogu is at Marin Avie’s house, still, for play group,” Din said. “You could pick up him and we’ll go straight back once I’m locked up here.”

“Perfect,” Cobb said, and he got up at once. He reached up to begin re-tying his bandana and walked over to Din as he adjusted it. “... See you at home, then.”

“See you.”

“Kiss?”

Din let out an amused breath. “You can just kiss me,” he murmured, and leaned in to steal a quick one. Cobb grinned and tugged him back in for a better one, this time lingering in the kiss until the tension left Din’s shoulders and he leaned in. Cobb’s arm slipped around his back. Din let his hands against Cobb’s chest, breathless--

His phone began to shriek, an alarm blaring. They jumped apart and Din turned to grab his phone off the table, turning it off. “That’s for Grogu,” he muttered. “Can you--”

“Got it.” Cobb walked towards the door. He pushed it open, letting warm evening air rush in, then stopped and looked back. “I still ask ‘cause I like how you blush when I do.”

Din stared at him, and as Cobb left, felt a burst of butterflies in his stomach. He looked at the new tire and then where Crest laid on the floor, just her head appearing around the corner. “Well,” he said.

By the time he got back, Din was well exhausted. Not just from the endless heat of Mos Pelgo, where the nighttime coolness wasn’t enough to rejuvenate him. Not even work, with long days of an air-conditioned garage where he still sweated buckets and worked until he was exhausted on Mos Pelgo’s machinery. Just the phone call he’d had to sit through with an out-of-towner, demanding that he fix whatever was wrong with their engine by tonight, had him drained.

No. The garage was closed. The townspeople knew it.

When he walked into Cobb’s house, only Krayt came to meet them, skidding to a stop just before Crest with a tail that wagged at a million miles an hour. Din had already taken her vest off and now she dropped to the floor, both dogs tearing off towards the door in the back.

“Home,” Din called.

“Here!”

Din looked to the stairs, then began to head up. Running water came from the bathroom, and he stepped into it to find Cobb on the floor with a child in the bath. Cobb was already showered in a shirt and shorts while Grogu giggled in his tub full of bubbles. “Dada!” Grogu shrieked.

“Hey, bud.”

Cobb turned and smiled. “Maybe go shower,” he said. “Ordered pizza.”

“Thanks,” Din muttered, pressing a hand against his stomach. He was starving.

After showering, Grogu was dressed. They sat on the couch downstairs with the news on at a low volume, the dogs running through the backyard, and Grogu played with his trucks while Cobb cleaned up the kitchen table. Din walked in with a yawn and Cobb looked over.

“Long day?”

“Everyone here respects my time,” he muttered. “Every asshole from a hundred miles out thinks they can demand service in an instant.”

Cobb chuckled. “You’ve acclimated,” he said. He walked into the kitchen.

Din followed. “How was work?”

“Fine. The usual.”

The usual consisted of helping with various small problems around Mos Pelgo and occasionally giving the teenagers a firm warning when they got rowdy enough to bother others. Din had nothing interesting, either. As the pizza arrived, Grogu happily began to scarf down his slice while the panting dogs laid on the floor.

“Good girl,” Din murmured, looking down at Crest. He gave her a brush with his foot and she shifted.

After, they sat on the couch. They sat casually apart, at first, until they shifted closer and then until Grogu was settled between them. Grogu sprawled across Din’s lap and the dogs came in to lay down; Crest plopped down, panting, at Din’s feet while Krayt hopped up at Cobb’s other side. Cobb tugged Krayt halfway into his lap and the basenji sprawled out as well, relaxing under Cobb’s petting.

“I love you,” Cobb murmured.

Din looked up from stroking Grogu’s back. He smiled. “I love you, too.”

“Kiss?”

“Mhm,” Din said, and this time leaned in for the kiss himself.

#dincobbweek2021 #Coffee Writes #dincobb

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inkognito97 · 6 years

Note

-winces- Obi-Wan is probably pretty close to the mark with the Krayt AU. Hopefully the rampage doesn't happen, but I can see it all too clearly. Shit, Qui-Gon... The council will have to handle that a lot more carefully. And the scene about arriving... the dragon probably shouldn't be in the middle of all that.

@ladyteldra & @lyssore

The Council was not amused, not at all. and it probably did not help that Anakin’s feelings were all over the temple. There was of course awe and wonder, but also fear for his future and of the people before him and not to forget the anger, which seemed to be coming from the krayt dragon at his side, though it was unclear where the anger came from.

Obi-Wan however, he had been overly alert ever since his Master had taken the boy and his dangerous pet under his wing, had noticed that the beast had begun to act strangely around the Senator of Naboo. At least in this case, Obi-Wan could not blame it, he too felt uneasy about the politician, even though Anakin seemed to like him.

It was in this moment that Obi-Wan’s eyes met Master Yoda’s. There was a deep sadness and so much understanding in the green troll’s eyes. He knew what had happened between the Master-Padawan pair and he was not alright with it.

“Discuss this matter, in the circle of the Council we will. Go, you shall,” Yoda had surprisingly interrupted Mace Windu and Qui-Gon’s still friendly discussion and even though everyone’s eyes rested on him, Yoda kept looking at Obi-Wan. “Stay you will, Padawan.”

“Yes Master,” he bowed his head and ignored his Master’s midnight blue orbs that tried to make contact with him. The bond was blocked, on his side.

“Troubled you are,” continued Master Yoda, as soon as the doors had closed behind the reptile.

“Yes,” he felt just a little uncomfortable being all alone with the greatest Masters of the Jedi Order.

“Tell us about your thoughts,” asked Plo Koon in a calm and almost soothing voice.

The Padawan nodded. “I am… uneasy about Anakin and his pet. They have a bond, one which I believe should not be cut, but…”

“Understand your fear, we do,” spoke Master Yoda and the other Masters nodded. “Unstable it makes young Skywalker.”

“The dragon reacts to Anakin’s feelings, as is the case the other way around. But… Anakin can’t control it, he never will. After all the krayt as an intelligent and Force sensitive being, has a will of his own.”

“He would need to break the creature’s mind in order to have control over it,” elaborated Mace Windu for the few Masters, who looked questioningly.

“So you say that the krayt dragon can fall into its natural aggressive behavior any minute?” one of the Masters behind Obi-Wan asked. He received a grim nod and the tension in the air heightened.

“Unfit to be a Jedi, it might make him,” it was Yaddle, who spoke the words, with a lot of sadness in her voice.

“Yet Master Jinn still wants to train him,” Plo Koon again. All eyes landed on the uneasy Padawan.

“Go you may, remain close you should,” said Yoda, who had always had a soft spot for his Great-Great-Grandpadawan.

“Yes Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan bowed again and left the Council chamber. He was not surprised to not see anyone waiting for him. His Master had probably returned to their shared quarters and had taken Anakin and his ‘pet’ with him. That was fine by him, at least he would have his silence and could meditate…

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #anakin skywalker #krayt dragon #krayt au #yoda #yaddle #mace windu #plo koon #padawan obi-wan #jedi council #alternative universe #prompt #ladyteldra #lyssore

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hanasnx · 8 months

Text

Kinktober: House of Amateurs - S1E13

MINORS DNI 18+

SUMMARY: october 13th | behind the scenes | the daring interviewer, zena daren, isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty and advertise krayt house’s first full-length pornographic series. the new frontier of breaking through this industry’s stigma is a challenge she’s up to face. joined by any member of the cast that’ll lend their mouth to the microphone, zena wants to know the answers to questions the people are too afraid to ask. WC: 0.5k | CHARACTERS: anakin skywalker, zena daren (oc) WARNINGS: no reader | adult film au | spoilers: october 9th | mentioned: sexual content, adult film industry, knife play, butt plug

KRAYT HOUSE M.LIST | NAVI | INBOX | @KRAYTHOUSE

“Episode nine was a surprise, I must say.” Zena muses, adjusting to incline into Anakin’s direction.

“Oh, the pet play thing?” he confirms, mirroring her movements in effortlessly smooth motions. “Yeah, it’s different than usual.”

“Why do you say that?” a sly tone knits itself into Zena’s question as she draws her pen from her clipboard, she points it at him, tracing a circle at him in a gesture. “I thought your whole brand was seeking out new experiences.”

“That’s what I mean. The girl introduced the idea— think she’s done it a bit before— and I’m-” He glances to the side with a shrug. “-not one to back down from a challenge.”

“I heard different.” Zena tilts her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she tucks the pen back under the clip. “She told me you wanted to modify the scene a bit. Wanna tell your fans what you had in mind?” she goads.

The camera on him is granted one of his famous cold stares. “Coordinator didn’t have a bunny headband and butt plug tail lying around.”

“You wanted to dress her up?” That truth has a specific effect on Zena, as if she’d uncovered gold. So he’s direct about his desires on set; not only did he accept the proposal but he wanted to add his own spin on it. The only obstacle being the fact the supplies weren’t on hand. It sells the fact that episode was a spur of the moment decision.

“Why not? She would’ve looked cute. More like a pet, anyway.”

“So was the episode slot open for some reason? What idea did you replace with pet play?”

His gaze lays on her, and he gives her a single nod. A scoff creates a wry curl to his lips. Is she mistaken, or is he impressed by how quickly she caught on? She’s noted how he doesn’t like to make things too easy for her, an air of mystery surrounding him, never giving too much away. A sick sense of pride blooms in her chest. “It was knife play.” he responds, without a hint of hindrance.

Zena’s brows visualize her genuine intrigue. “Cold feet?”

Anakin’s gaze is unwavering, as always, when he replies calmly, “No.”

How can a man say so much with so little? Not to mention his fierce protectiveness over his co-stars. He doesn’t throw anyone under the bus as to their boundary toward a blade and how it threw a wrench in production, while simultaneously bragging about his interest in it.

“Will you explore knife play in the future on your own channel?”

That curl to his mouth deepens, scanning her figure in a deliberate and shameless motion. “Maybe if I meet the right person.”

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