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transmascskywalker · 2 years

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reasons i like bobadinluke:

-mandalorian/jedi dynamic to the MAX (because unlike din, boba has actual hatred for the jedi and for luke in particular)

-the idea of luke and boba only tolerating each other at first for din’s sake

-and maybe feeling threatened by the other

-but coming to respect each other (and eventually care about each other)

-and neither of them see it coming

-boba taking over jabba’s palace, a place of pain for luke not just because of ROTJ but because he grew up under jabba’s rule of tatooine

-especially with what we’ve seen in TBOBF, with boba’s softer side and genuine care for the treatment of the people of tatooine (hiring the teens, forcing the water dealer to lower prices)

-i’d imagine seeing this side of boba would really resonate with luke

-and at the same time boba sees how much of a warrior luke is, and how much he cares about din & grogu. he’s not like the jedi that boba hated when he was young, and he’s not like the sith lord he worked for when he was a bounty hunter. he’s something different. something new.

-after months, maybe even a standard year on tatooine, they stop holding each other at arm’s length and start to even become tentative friends (especially when luke comes to tatooine more permanently because let’s be honest, yavin iv gets lonely and grogu misses his dad)

-theres still the matter of both of them having feelings for din of course. a fact that din is completely blind to. he’s just glad they aren’t trying to kill each other again.

-eventually it stops feeling like a competition to them. they both find that they don’t just want din, they want each other too. and not just sexually.

-it would probably be a complete disaster. i’m sure they would only fall together after some attack, some imperial remnants coming for luke and grogu or a retaliation from one of boba’s syndicate enemies.

-din isn’t in the immediate line of danger, and that’s what makes it click for them. that it isn’t just din that they have feelings for anymore.

-luke would be terrified of how angry the thought of boba in danger makes him. boba would be afraid of losing another person he’s grown to care about.

-when the danger has passed they don’t try to hold back anymore. the adrenaline is too much. i think luke would remove boba’s helmet and boba would let him. and they would just touch foreheads like that.

-din’s heart sinks as he watches them together. he knew they were getting along better, he knew that something had changed, he just never thought it was like this.

-he’s never been good at expressing himself or his feelings to others. he hoped they just knew, based on his actions. for a while it seemed like they both did. but he thinks maybe he was wrong. so he doesn’t say anything.

-he just leaves. takes grogu and goes back inside. when boba and luke look up to find him gone, they follow him. luke can feel his pain like it’s his own, a bitter feeling rising in his chest.

-he’s more reserved than usual when they find him, a fact that worries both of them. they’ve both become well versed in reading his body language, the minute tilts of his helmet and stiffening of his shoulders that reflect his mood.

-they both reach out to him, and din pushes them away at first. he doesn’t want their pity. he doesn’t need them to coddle him, he’s perfectly capable of being alone, thank you very much.

-but that doesn’t mean he has to be.

-maybe he says something eventually, about how he’s happy for them, or about how their relationship is none of his business.

-but it is his business, because they only came together because of their love for him.

-din isn’t sure how to respond when they relay this to him. he doesn’t think he quite heard them right. it isn’t until luke runs his thumb over the seam of din’s visor, and boba rests his hand on the fabric of the cowl that covers his neck, that he allows himself to believe them.

-they press their foreheads into his at the same time. it’s a little awkward; boba hits his nose almost painfully against luke’s where they meet, and luke’s hair is still matted with sweat, sticking to the beskar. it’s a bit overcrowded, trying to touch their foreheads all together at once. but it’s perfect to them.

-it isn’t easy; luke still struggles with the responsibilities laid on him as the last jedi, din has to address the issue of mandalore eventually and can’t stay on tatooine as boba’s hired muscle forever, and boba still feels the nearly painful obligation to protect the tuskens and maintain order on tatooine as daimyo.

-but they’re making it work

#wow this got away from me huh #i really lost myself in this one boys (gender neutral)#i just think they’re neat!#i hear your ‘luke and din got together first’ and i raise you This #and if a certain marshal needs some love too who are we to deny him!#bobadinluke #boba fett #luke skywalker #din djarin #it’s about the keldabe kissing #oh and also han would cry when he learns that luke is married to boba fett

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stupidfatpenguin · 3 years

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Thank you @captainkappa for the tag! ((sorry I’m so late doing this sdsjjsk))

Rules: Share the titles of each of your current WIPs and if your followers ask, share a preview. Send this on to ten mutuals who you are curious what they’re working on.

ok, ok, so I have more ideas jotted down than I have WIPs it seems, but I do have a lot of things I want to write... eventually. I also title them very arbitrarily so--good luck guessing what’s going on I guess??? (I honestly don’t know half of the time until I open a file hhh)

dinluke - what are young men to rocks and mountains

dinluke - dune sea cowboys (the Sequel) - rated E

dinluke - the one where Leia knows - rated E

bobaluke - (and a little bit of madness)

dinluke - The Mummy/Dark Atlantis AU

bobadinluke - fathers

dinluke - the crack abo au I swore not to write

dinluke - how the knight won his prince

dinluke - past lives/everyone dies in this one

dinluke - tossed in furious weather

(--why is luke in all of these i need to diversify lollolololl)

Show me your WIPs? Please? ♡

@sushiburritonoms @withercrown @darkisrising @beanenchilada @a-aristippus @softieskywalker and YOU (if you’re reading this) ♡ No pressure.

#I know there is a lot of dinluke in there #Gotta get it out of the system before season 3 #the season 3 phobia is real #salty writes

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purplesauris · 3 years

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Frankly I'd love to hear about any of those WIPs if you'd like to talk about them. Is the Shapeshifter Ball connected to your other shapeshifter AUs? Why do the random thoughts rank an angry face? Who gets to be the vampire? Is the Pina Colada offshoot a sequel or a prequel? (Speaking of, curse you for making me invested in a series named after one of my most hated songs. XD ) Or anything about one of the others if you'd rather. :D

I would LOVE to talk about them!!

-So the shapeshifter ball is connected directly to my shapeshifter AU, and is set after they get together! It's just a bit of fun family time at an event none of them want to be at <3

-Random thoughts get an angry face because it was too angsty/standoffish for the fic so I scrapped it and now it sits, waiting to be used 😤

-Luke gets to be the vampire ;)

-the pina colada offshoot is a sequel! It's Din and Boba getting their respective flower tattoos from Luke 🌺💉

(the joke about the pina colada AU actually didn't come from me, you can blame the bobadinluke server for THAT beauty <3)

-As for snippets, I'll give a little vamp AU under the cut ❤❤❤

He finds out on the fifth day of his imprisonment that his cellmate has been hungry for far, far longer than he thinks when he catches the vampire watching him with pure, unabashed hunger written in every line of his face.

“Did you- I-” he gestures to the pitiful meal brought to him- some kind of coarse porridge left unsweetened and so thick it threatens to seal his jaw shut.

“No,” the man whispers, voice hoarse. He doesn’t talk much, doesn’t do much of anything at all besides his occasional shuffle to the latrine or away from the door. “I don’t eat.”

Din thinks back to his son, with a sharp grin and bright eyes and a love of pancakes Din can never sate. “Why not?”

The man’s face twists in agony then, brows pinching and lips trembling, and Din feels like his foot is on top of a landmine, and one wrong move will make it blow. Eventually, when the shaking stops and his companion takes a deep breath, he murmurs, “it doesn’t help.”

“But you can eat?”

Hesitating, the vampire nods. “Yes.”

Din takes one last bite of his food and another sip of water before he stands, walking closer than he ever has before to hold the bowl out. “Eat.”

#ask meme #my writing #anonymous #the pina colada au is one of my favorites

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darkisrising · 3 years

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81 and 14 for din/boba/luke?

Hello anon! Sorry for the delay! As requested, here's a little trope mash-up for you, I hope you like it! Thanks for playing :-) Prompt: Bobadinluke 81. The Missus and the Ex 14. Bodyguard AU

Death threats start piling up for Leia, though it isn’t a surprise. Not with a senatorial campaign announced and the Organa name back in the news for the first time since “The Incident."

"The Incident" which had somehow, indelibly, publicly linked the Organa name with a Skywalker secret twin. "The Incident" which had ended with Leia’s then-boyfriend, now-husband knocking— throwing? depending on what conspiratorial corners of the internet you frequent and what angle of the cell footage you’re partial to linking to— Luke’s then-boyfriend into a thirty-foot pit.

The boyfriend had lived, but it was a near thing, or so Din had been told. Their relationship hadn’t lasted much longer after that.

“But now there’s you,” Luke said one time when the subject had come up. Crawling into Din’s lap, wrapping his arms around Din’s neck, he'd smiled. “Just don’t go around uncovered pits with Han and you should be fine.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Din rumbled between kisses as he’d splayed Luke’s lower back with one palm and pulled him in closer.

Since Din stays away from both the news and social media religiously, he'd mostly put the ex and the pit out of his mind after that. Life went on. He and Luke get serious, and then after six months of fitting their lives around each other— weekend lunches at the garage where Din eats with greased-up overalls while Luke steals his fries, morning coffees sipped together as a bleary Luke collects his spill of graded papers from the kitchen table— they get serious.

Din buys a ring and Luke cries with happiness. They pick a date— after the election, but before the new school year starts up again— and after that the biggest drama is whether the dry cleaner will find Din’s lost suit before Leia’s fundraising dinner or whether he’ll be forced to buy a new one.

That is until the day Din goes to grab the mail expecting bills and finds instead a note that's been painstakingly assembled with tiny magazine letters to read: “YouLL b DeAd B4 yOuR iN THe piT skYwLkR.”

For Din’s money, he’s betting it’s the ex. Luke doesn’t agree.

“How can you be sure?”

“For one thing, Boba knows the difference between possessive your and you-are you’re.” Luke smirks, amused, and it’s like he isn’t even worried about threatening letters being sent to their home. “I’m sure it’s the same person harassing Leia. Now that everyone knows I’m her brother, it’s probably connected.”

“Hm,” Din says, unconvinced, and Luke takes his hand between both of his and gives it a squeeze.

“But if it’ll make you feel better I can ask around. Find out what Boba’s up to these days. If I hear he’s got photos of me all over his walls with the eyes cut out or something we can start to worry.”

Which is how it happens that Din comes down the stairs in his new, sharp-edged suit, as ready as he can be for this fundraiser of Leia’s, to find a very large, scarred, bald man in their living room. A very large, scarred, bald man that is also wearing a suit, and Luke smiles over at Din, nice and sunny and says “You look amazing,” before introducing him to Boba.

They shake their greeting and Din half expects the ex to try some kind of macho, dominance move and squeeze the shit out of his hand but he doesn’t. His brown eyes take in Din with an open, frank assessment and when Boba says “Good to meet you,” they both know he’s lying.

“Boba’s got a bodyguarding business now!”

“Personal protective services. But, yeah, amounts to the same thing.” The smile he throws over his shoulder to Luke is unbearably fond and Din, who has never once had a possessive or jealous thought about a lover in his life, feels his hands curl into fists at his side. “When I heard about the death threats I offered my professional services.”

“Death threat. Singular,” Din finds himself correcting, even though up until this moment he’d been the one complaining that Luke wasn’t taking it seriously enough. “That’s kind of you but I’m sure you have more important people to—”

“More important than Sunshine? Nah,” he says and Luke beams, as devastatingly bright as his ex’s nickname for him and Din frowns. “Anyway, I thought I’d tag along at this fundraiser, see if anyone suspicious shows.”

“I’m sure all you’ll find there is dry chicken and even drier politicians, but I know Din will be glad to know there’s someone keeping an eye on me.”

“Oh, I won’t take my eyes off you all night,” Boba assures, and yet he’s looking at Din when he says it. “Especially in this suit. You look good, Sunshine.”

“And you don’t look so bad yourself.” Luke doesn’t sound like he’s flirting. He sounds exactly like he’s talking to Han or Leia or anyone else that he’d rather die than make a pass at, and yet Din can’t help but read more into that friendly, bantering tone. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit before.”

Boba snorts. “This suit? It’s so old it might have belonged to my father.”

“Well you wear it well,” Luke says and then turns to Din. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Din says and he lets Luke take his hand and lead him out to the car.

He’s all-too aware of Boba’s steady, dark eyes on them as they walk on ahead, and Din’s now not sure he’s the one sending death threats, but he is sure of one thing: if Boba’s not planning on killing Luke, he’s planning on fucking him.

Either way, Din’s going to have to stay vigilant since it’s becoming clear that, when it comes down to it, Luke has a blind spot the size of Boba-fucking-Fett on his radar.

#darkisrising fic #bobadinluke #eventual bobadinluke #dinluke #bobaluke #prompt fill #tumblr games #ask game #ask box

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darkisrising · 3 years

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The Heat of the Moment, by DarkIsRising, pt1

Haven’t done a Tumblr fic in a while. So, why not? Gonna throw this story on here as I go and when it’s all done then I’ll put the whole thing up on ao3. Cool? Cool! So, here, have some brand new, hot off the press ABO BobaDinLuke. The Heat of the Moment, part one

Din catches it before his HUD does. The sharp uptick of a smell, faint but unmistakable as it drifts through his helmet, of an unbonded omega about to head into heat. He almost believes it’s his imagination— what omega in their right mind would let themselves go natural in a place like Boba’s palace where violence is always a possibility and chaos just a hair’s breadth away?—but then his screen’s sensor clicks on with a faint warning light and he knows that this unsettled restlessness that he’s been watching from his place behind Boba on the dais, the one that has made for shorter tempers and quicker draws and more blood spilled than usual, might be just the beginning of something far worse.

“We got a problem,” he murmurs to the back of Boba’s bald, scarred head.

“Yeah, no fucking kidding. If one more spice runner thinks he can pull a fast one—”

“I mean there’s an omega about to go,” Din interrupts Boba, whose razor thin patience has been cut to an even finer edge all morning. “Unless we can find them it’s going to turn into a feeding frenzy here.”

“Oh,” Boba says and then he says “Oh, kark,” and then Din knows.

He knows and there’s no time to overthink it or wonder why he’s only now learning this about Boba when he’s spent the better part of three years guarding the man without ever noticing so much as a flicker of a tell from him.

Instead, Din’s raising Fennec on the comm and he’s saying: “Clear it out now” just as the first flared nostrils and wide eyes find Boba where he’s sitting on his throne.

“Dank farrik,” he mutters and that’s about the last clear thought he gets before all the alphas in the room lose their kriffing minds and then it’s mostly a lot of shooting after that.

He manages to get Boba back to his rooms where he barricades the doors and sweeps the place to check for any unpleasant surprises. There’s one zabrak alpha that’s waiting behind the ‘fresher door, but Din manages to drop him with a clean shot between the cranial horns easily enough.

By the time he gets back to where he’d left Boba he’s in an even rougher state than the one he’d left him in and that’s saying something since Din had had to pretty much carry him the entire way here.

His forehead is glistening with sweat and he’s doubled over with what anyone without a functioning olfactory system might think was a mortal wound, but the hormones that saturate the air around him make it clear he’s not hurt, at least not in any way that bacta can fix.

Boba is just very, very, very horny.

“I’m going to fucking kill Dranlo, that karking Toydarian bastard,” he spits with venom even as he writhes on the floor. “I fucking knew those blockers were no good. Karking bastard sold me back alley, knock-off shit.”

Before Din can respond to that, Fennec’s calm voice fills his helmet with a clipped: “Clear,” and something tense that’s been lodged in Din’s chest starts to settle.

“Good. Keep it that way.”

“Got it.”

Boba’s still shrunk into himself, muttering through clenched teeth: “—string him up by his wings and then I’m going to saw his snout off with a vibroblade. First I’m going to turn off the ultrasonic, then I’m going to saw it off so it’ll take a while—“

Crouching to a knee, Din starts to take Boba by the shoulder but stops himself at the last second. It’s been ages since he’s been around an unmedicated omega like this. Not since the sewers of Nevarro when Paz had hit puberty and puberty had hit back, and all he remembers is the Armorer snapping out not to touch him as she’d hustled Paz somewhere deep into a tunnel where he could get through his first, unexpected heat in peace.

But that first, weak-scented heat of an omega boy was nothing compared to this. This is so much stronger that even a beta like Din—usually utterly unmoved by the hormonal dance that alphas and omegas circle each other with from one end of the galaxy to the other—can feel something start to yearn in him, too. It’s nothing new, though, and easily ignored since Din’s been slightly yearning for Boba for years.

“Is there anyone I can comm?” he asks and Boba blinks at him, unfocused and uncomprehending. “Come on, this is important. Is there an alpha I can comm to come help you out?”

“No,” he grinds out at last. “No, there’s no one.”

Din rocks back. “Okay. Alright, next question: is there anyone out there that you would—” he doesn’t get much further than that before Boba is growling out: “Fuck no. I don’t trust a single one of them out there.”

“Maybe Fennec—”

“No,” he says and it’s clear that he’d rather eat his blaster than go down that hyperlane any further. “I’m going to get through this cycle by myself.”

Boba says it in the voice of a man that’s used to making his way through the universe on sheer determination and bloody mindedness alone. Like he fully expects that once he’s said it, he will be able to make his body obey. Din doesn’t doubt for a moment that he’s capable of it. That is until the next day when the convulsions begin, and Din knows there’s nothing else for it. He’s going to need to find Boba an alpha.

“Absolutely not,” Boba says when he’s conscious again, back to merely shivering with a strength that chatters his teeth together. “I went through blocker withdrawal in the sarlacc. I can do it again.”

There’s a million reasons why this is a terrible idea, but Din keeps them to himself. Instead he wipes the sweat from Boba’s face with a wet cloth and helps him to the toilet when he needs it.

Each time his shivering turns into waves of convulsions, Din keeps a wary watch, making sure that the area around him is kept clear of anything that could hurt Boba worse than he’s hurting himself.

Finally on the third day when Boba’s so weak he can no longer get out of bed he asks, voice rough from held back screams that makes Din’s own throat ache to hear, “Who did you have in mind?”

#bobadinluke #eventual bobadinluke #darkisrising fic

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darkisrising · 3 years

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Three Ruined Chemises, by DarkIsRising

Now for something a little different, this is part one of three scenes that take place in this fantastic, fabulous, amazing roaring 20s AU, Moonlight on West Egg by EightMinutesToSunrise I’ve never gotten to play in another fic writer’s world before like this and I’m having SO MUCH FUN! Basically you’ve got rich and reckless Luke, bootlegger Boba, and Gatsby inspired Din.

My first chapter takes place before “Moonlight” begins, here’s a snippet:

Three Ruined Chemises, Chapter 1

“Let’s go find a party.” Leia says.

Luke trips over his own feet as he rolls out of his four-poster. “Yeah? You mean it?” His blue eyes are wide, excitement coats his cheeks in a flush. “What kind of scene are you thinking?” he asks because he knows them all, and Leia goes out so seldomly he knows he’s gotta make it worth her while.

“Something fast and wild,” she says. “Something I’m going to regret.”

Leaping in the air, Luke claps his hands triumphantly. “Oh, honey, fast and wild are my middle names. And I’ve got nothing but a litany of regrets.”

“Perfect,” she says, lips wrapped around a bottle of gin. “Let’s paint the town.”

Read on ao3

#darkisrising fic #eventual bobadinluke #bobadinluke #bobaluke

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darkisrising · 3 years

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The best is yet to come, by DarkIsRising, pt1

And now for something completely new and different: my first attempt at writing an eventual Luke/Din/Boba fic! Eeeeee! Chapter one (well, one and two, I split it up to make the POV switch work better) is up now. Here’s a sneak peek: The best is yet to come

If Fett has thoughts about Luke Skywalker, darling of the New Republic and Jedi extraordinaire, getting drunk and self-destructive in a seedy Mos Eisley bar, he keeps them to himself. Instead he throws something at Luke’s head. At any other time he would have sensed it coming and stopped it midair, but as it is the hard tech catches Luke on the side of his temple and bounces off, landing on the table between them where Luke can see it’s a small comm unit.

“Ow! What’d you do that for?”

“You're just lucky I remembered the mobile one and didn’t throw my vambrace at you,” Fett grouses. “Call your boyfriend, Skywalker. You haven’t answered any of his comms and he’s losing his kriffing mind.” Read it now on ao3

#dinluke #dinlukefic #bobadin #bobadin fic #eventual bobadinluke #is that what the ship is called?#hello im new here

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darkisrising · 3 years

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The best is yet to come, by DarkIsRising, ch.3

The Luke/Din/Boba fic I never expected to write just keeps on coming. Chapter 3 is up now on ao3! I had dreams of getting this whole thing done before May4th but it just keeps getting longer...which is hopefully not a bad thing for those reading along ;-) The best is yet to come Luke wakes from the darkness and immediately wishes the darkness would take him back.

His head is stuffed with enough wool to cover a bantha, his eyes ache at the thin light that is edging through the window’s drawn blinds, and he has the vague, terrible feeling that he’s done something he should be ashamed of but can’t for the life of him remember what it was.

The sound of a whistling kettle comes from somewhere beyond the closed door of the room he’s in but doesn’t recognize, followed by the familiar ping of a comm going off.

“Su cuy'gar, ner runi,” a deep voice answers and Luke’s Mando’a is absurdly terrible, but even he can recognize the greeting and endearment from all the times he’s overheard Din and Fett talking before.

Boba Fett. Shit. He’s in Boba Fett’s bed. He’d kissed Boba kriffing Fett on the cheek and somehow didn’t take a blaster bolt to the gut for it. The rest is coming back to him now and he doesn’t like what he’s remembering at all. Read on ao3

#dinluke #dinluke fic #bobadin #bobadin fic #eventual bobadinluke #bobaluke #lukeboba #is there a cute name for that pair?#dunno #darkisrising fic

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darkisrising · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday

Hoooooow is it Wednesday?? How? Where is time GOING and is it being accumulated with interest somewhere? Hoarded by a dragon?

Anyway, here. This is from the fic that is my newest obsession to the point I'm dreaming up sequels I'm sure I'll never write... my boba/din/luke "The best is yet to come".

A pre-OT3 bobadin moment:

"Not just my Jedi. He'll soon be your problem, too, by the sound of things." There’s wry amusement in Din's voice, and Boba recognizes the sound of soon-to-be shared misery when he hears it.

"Is this a bad idea?"

Din shrugs. "Probably. But that's never stopped you before." He tilts his head down when Boba’s hands come up to tease the soft fabric just at the line where his helmet ends before lifting it off his head.

Boba barely catches a glimpse of Din's face—dark, soulful eyes and soft lips beneath a mustache—before they are kissing, sweet and slow. There’s reassurance being offered in this kiss and Boba can appreciate it for all that he doesn’t need it.

Maybe Din does, though.

"Oh," a voice says. Din startles, pulling away to stare and this close Boba can practically hear his heart jump when he sees Skywalker standing in the 'fresher doorway.

#darkisrising fic #wip wednesday #bobadin fic #bobadin #eventual bobadinluke

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darkisrising · 2 years

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SwampWitch!Luke WiP, by DarkIsRising

Next up on WiP fic I haven’t quite gotten around to finishing but am hoping to get done in the new year, here is a BobaDinLuke I started for the BDL server that I really hope will see AO3 at some point. It’s a fantasy AU starring Swamp Witch Luke, Cowboy Din, and (eventually) Vampire Boba.

Enjoy! SwampWitch!Luke WiP

The gunslinger adjusts his hat until it cuts low across his forehead, shielding his eyes from the sunlight that catches in blinding bars around a thick grove of trees. Insects hover, darting past his face and he’d long ago resigned himself to their constant presence since no amount of shooing seems to do a lick of good for very long.

Abruptly, what had been something of a path that he’d been following disappears into a deep, watery muck and Razorcrest whinnies a protest as he urges her through it.

“I know, I’m not used to this either,” Din tells her, his soft voice swallowed by the rustling of bushes and the calls of more birds and creatures than he’d ever seen in his days wandering through desert towns in search of work. But he’s determined to find the witch that’s been rumored to live deep in the heart of this swamp, and so he pushes on despite his horse’s— and his own— misgivings.

Razorcrest scrambles down the embankment and into the water with a splash, and it’s instinct now to reach his hand out, to make sure the satchel at his side hasn’t been disturbed. Through the burlap he can feel where the warm weight of the child meets the press of his palm, and his chest unspools a bit with relief and something he doesn’t care to examine too closely for all that’s he’s pretty sure it’s got something to do with all the long, rambling days and careful, watchful nights he’s spent with the kid since he’d waddled into Din’s life.

But Din knows that letting himself get attached is about as useless as tits on a boar. A hunter’s life is no life for a kid, for all that this particular kid has settled into it like he was born to it, having more than earned his keep when they’d fallen into trouble a time or two on their way to Dagobah swamp.

Anyway, there’s no point in getting soppy now: up ahead he can see the curls of smoke as they rise from a chimney and the barest outline of a hut. Soon enough the kid would be out of his hands and with someone that’ll know what to do with him.

All at once Razorcrest sinks into the mud to her flank and starts to thrash in upset. “Fuck,” Din breathes, heart beating madly. He pulls his own legs from the stirrups and snatches desperately at the satchel, holding it over his head before the kid is swallowed by the swamp, too.

The child starts to writhe, awake now, and Din tells him “Don’t move, okay? I’ll get us out of this.”

It’s an effort to wrestle his way through the hungry mud, and he loses a boot to it, but he finally staggers to higher ground and sets the kid down beside where he collapses. Cautious black eyes peer up at Din, big and worried. “You’re fine,” he tells the child, and with a pang wishes he could say the same for his horse, who is still sinking fast.

He’s close enough he can smell the smokey husk of the homefire burning in the hut ahead. He can see the front door where it hangs open, beckoning mockingly, and all at once he fucking hates this witch, whoever she is.

“You’re a long way from home, cowboy,” a man’s voice calls out to him and Din’s hands reach for his guns. Of course, they are as muddy as the rest of him and it would be a miracle if he could fire the damn things in the state they’re in.

He’s got no idea what kind of creature that voice might belong to, but plenty supernatural types hate silver. Worst case maybe Din can work the silver bullets out from the cylinder and… do something with them. Throw them? Seems pathetic but right now it’s all he’s got.

“Stay quiet,” he murmurs to the child before standing, drawing attention to himself. He’s not too worried about the kid, he’s learned how to keep a low profile on their journey and can make himself neigh on invisible when he wants to. Instead Din sets his sights on confronting the voice: “I’m looking for someone,” Din answers carefully. “A woman.”

“A woman?” the man asks back and Din tries to train his gun toward the sound of his voice. “Not many women to be found around these parts.”

“A witch,” Din clarifies. “Have you seen her?”

“Ah, a witch. Well, witches are an entirely different matter altogether.” Stepping out from behind a curtain of leaves and branches, the man who meets Din’s gaze is dressed in somber blacks, though his eyes dance with a joyful amusement that’s a bit unseemly, all things considered. Still, he seems harmless enough, as young and scrawny as he is, and Din lets his revolver drop to his side. “How can I help you?”

Din huffs. “I already told you, kid. I’m looking for a witch, and seeing as I’m about to lose my horse and most of my supplies I’m not really in the mood for games. If you know the witch, tell her I’m here. If not, go bother someone else.”

“Hmmm,” the man hums, tilting his head, considering, as he takes in Din where he sits and then says, bafflingly: “It’s a good thing you’re pretty” before raising his hand and sketching out a shape in the air.

All at once the swamp begins to tremble and Din watches, mouth dropping open, as the scrawny man’s blond hair whips in an unseen breeze and then he’s lifting a one-ton horse out of the grasping mud with only an outstretched hand and a sleepy look on his face.

Din staggers to his feet and to Razorcrest’s side. The horse collapses on the embankment, exhausted, and when Din swings around to look at the man he’s looking mighty smug. “Learned that one from my master. You might as well come on inside, since you’re already here.” He waves a hand, ushering Din toward the hut.

“You’re the witch?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, quicksilver and bright. “You can call me Luke, though. I only go by witch on special occasions. Solstices, child blessings, palm readings, that kind of thing. Now come on, come in. The soup should be ready. I’m not the greatest cook, but I promise you it’s better than anything you’ll find to eat out here.”

It’s hard to argue that. Still, Din hesitates. “I need to take care of my horse.”

“Ah, yes, here,” Luke says and then with another symbol of power painted into the air, his hand dances about and Razorcrest is magically scrubbed clean. “I can do you, too, if you want it,” Luke offers and even though every single instinct he’s ever honed in his time working for the hunter’s guild balks at the thought of allowing magic to be done to his person, he’s got mud in places the sun don’t shine and he’d just about kill to be clean.

“Yeah. Okay. But no funny business, witch.”

Luke’s solemn face is undermined by his laughing eyes. “You have my word,” and then, with a warm cascade of power rolls like the wind over a desolate plain, Din is spelled clean.

“Thank you,” he mutters, and there’s a flashing heat that sparks the air when Luke responds “My pleasure,” but it’s gone before Din knows what to do about it.

It’s just as well, because that’s when the child, who has been quiet all this while, gives a questioning trill.

“Oh, hello, little one,” Luke says, stepping closer and instinctively Din steps between them, careful to keep the kid covered by his own broad body, for all the good it’ll do as protection against magic. “Didn’t see you there.”

“That was by design,” Din says, a warning, and Luke lifts his hands. Din’s fingers inch to his revolver, ready for another bout of magic, but nothing comes.

Instead Luke shows his palms in a show of surrender. “I mean your child no harm. Now, come on, bring him in. Sun’s going to be down soon enough and there’s plenty in this swamp to be afeared of that’s worse than me.”

***

“I didn’t know men could be witches,” Din says after he’s been made to sit cross legged on the floor and a bowl of something that has a lot in common looks-wise with the swamp outside is pressed into his hands. He hesitates to bring the bowl to his mouth, but the kid is happily sucking back the sludge so Din sighs and joins him.

“Clearly.” Luke doesn’t seem bothered at Din’s ignorance. Instead, the corners of his eyes crease with laughter held at bay. It’s not a bad look on him, Din notes, warmth rising in his cheeks, but he tells himself that’s just the heat from the merrily cracking hearth. He clears his throat and Luke, mercifully, turns his attention from Din to duck his head and drink his own soup.

They eat in silence and the sludge isn’t nearly as bad as it looks. When they’re all done— and the kid has kicked back two more portions and a hunk of hard bread, to boot— Luke does some throat-clearing of his own.

“So I don’t imagine you came all this way just for dinner.”

“No, we didn’t,” and then, when Luke shows no signs of taking the reins of the conversation and waits— silence building like the creeping dark outside— Din continues on with a sigh. “The kid. I found him when I was out on a job. For the hunter’s guild.”

“You’re a hunter?” Luke’s voice is sharp as a slap.

There’s no use lying about it, so Din answers with a truthful nod.

Luke’s wary now, eyeing the revolver at Din’s hip as if for the first time seeing it for the weapon that it is. “Your kind have killed an awful lot of my kind.”

“That’s true enough,” Din allows, though he can’t help but to add: “And the reverse is true, too. Your kind have killed an awful lot of my kind.”

“Not enough, clearly,” Luke says stiffly, turning away so that he can busy himself with collecting the bowls and setting them aside to be cleaned. “Seeing as I’m the one living in a swamp, alone, while you hunters wander around wherever you please.”

He’s got Din there, dead to rights, and they both know it.

Bowing his head, Din offers quietly: “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well. That’s not worth much,” Luke mutters, but he doesn’t throw Din from his home, which is as good a sign as any that he isn’t completely unwilling to hear Din speak his piece.

Luke offers him a cup of something from a jug. It could very well be poison, or more magic for all Din knows. He also knows this is a test of sorts, and so he tries not to think of all the terrible ways he might be inviting death and takes a deep swallow while the witch watches. It burns going down, but in all the right ways. “Hooch?” he asks through a cough.

“I’ve got a still in the back.”

“It’s good,” Din says with another sip and Luke eventually settles back down with a cup of his own. The kid reaches his grubby hands out and Din catches them before they can get ahold of the moonshine. “Knock it off. This stuff’s not for kids.”

When he looks up, Luke is staring at them, head tilted again, and whatever animosity that had been gathering like storm clouds a moment ago has blown clear away. “So,” he says at last. “A hunter with a soft side.”

It’s a hard statement to refute when the kid is busy climbing into Din’s lap, making himself at home, so he admits: “It’s a recent development.”

“Still, I can’t imagine it’s good for business.”

“It’s not.” Din’s voice is flattened by the force of memory, remembering all the things he’s had to do to keep the kid safe to come this far; remembering all the humans that were willing to be more monstrous than the monsters Din’s made a living killing just to get their hands on him. “But the kid’s needed me. I want to take him to his own kind, only no one seems to know what he is. I was hoping maybe you could scry around a bit. I’d be willing to pay.”

If the child understands they’re talking about him, it’s hard to say from the way he’s blinking his big eyes. His ears are dipping tiredly, and Luke hides a smile into his cup that Din can just see the edges of.

“I could do that. Only I don’t want your money, hunter.”

Up until now the witch has been a kindly host, but something in his tone makes Din wary. He’s heard of magicians and their tricks; according to Paz they’re as bad as fairies or djinn. Worse, really, because they look so very human as they’re fucking a man over. “What do you want, then?”

“You’re little one’s just about asleep and you don’t seem to be faring much better. Let’s call it a night. We can work out the particulars of a deal in the morning.”

***

Din waits for them to resume their talk from the night before, but they never do.

Instead, Luke leaves in the morning in search of herbs and mushrooms, some of which he grinds when he returns home, others he hangs upside down from his rafters to dry. The kid watches, entranced, as Luke works and at first Din is worried he’ll try to eat something he shouldn’t— he has a bad habit or doing that— but if he’s sneaking tastes of what all Luke’s gathered it doesn’t seem to do him enough harm to be noticeable.

Luke notices his little shadow, but doesn’t seem to mind. “Come here, little one. You can help me if you’re careful.”

From what Din’s gotten to know about the kid, careful is the last thing he could ever be called. Still, he handles the mortar and pestle with a seriousness that brings a smile to Luke’s face and when the witch catches Din’s eye, he can feel an answering one shadowing across his own.

He’s feeling fairly useless watching them work, so he goes to check on Razorcrest.

The mare is about as tuckered out from her time in the mud as he’s ever seen her, and he does what he can to make her comfortable, whispering sweet nothings into her flickering ears all the while. She’d given her everything to get them out this far into the middle of nowhere, and he hates to think she’s only going to have to do it all again when they leave. Still, Luke’s not showing any signs of kicking them out any time soon, so Din pushes his worries away for now.

The next day’s about the same as the first, as is the one after that and the one after that.

Easily, they find a rhythm to their days. Luke takes the kid to go with him when he gathers in the morning, and then sits him on the ground of his hut where he grinds the ingredients under Luke’s patient eye, his tiny tongue poking out all the while .

In the afternoon Luke draws symbols of power in the mud with a single fingertip that the kid solemnly copies. Din’s a little wary about that one, but the kid beams bright with every quiet good that Luke throws his way and it doesn’t seem to be stirring up much by way of magic, so Din stays out of it.

At night Luke waits until the kid is asleep and then he brings out the moonshine so that he and Din can sip it together as the hearth spits, twisting long shadows along the walls. The witch is hungry for news of the outside world and he seems to have a keen interest in whatever Din can remember about the happenings around the Tatooine desert.

“That’s where I’m from,” Luke admits one night when the shine is settling into his cheeks, red and high. Din blinks, forcing himself to look away from Luke’s flushed cheeks when he realizes in a dull haze that he’s been staring.

“You are? Really? Tatooine?”

“You’re surprised.”

Din drinks from his cup and when he pulls away he can feel a droplet where it’s sliding down his bottom lip. Hastily he wipes it away but not before he catches Luke looking at his lips with an interest that kicks his heart into a healthy gallop. “I guess I can’t imagine you anywhere but here.”

“I didn’t just crawl out of the swamp, fully formed you know,” Luke tuts. “I did come from somewhere.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Din concedes.

“You guess,” Luke laughs, kicking out until he’s gently knocking his foot against Din’s ankle. “So? What else do you know of Tatooine?”

A fair amount, as it turns out. Din recounts for Luke his slaying of the krayt dragon and the regular headaches that the hostler in Mos Eisley, a real spitfire that answers to the name of Peli Motto, gives whenever he blows through town. Luke listens to him with a raptness he finds flattering, if completely unwarranted. Din’s no storyteller, but you wouldn’t know it by the spellbound look on the witch’s face.

“The last contract I got before I got the hell outta dodge to go looking for the kid’s folks was in Tatooine,” Din admits. “I should have resolved it before I went off on my own but it didn’t seem like the kind of thing to be dragging a kid along for.”

“You brought the kid along on a dragon slaying,” Luke notes, amused. “How much more dangerous could it get than that?”

“Vampires,” Din says and Luke stills before straightening up from the drunken sprawl he’d fallen into.

“Vampires? But there aren’t any more vampires in Tatooine.”

Din quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? You sure about that, when you haven’t been to Tatooine in how long now?”

“Yeah, I am sure, because my sister slayed the master of them all, herself. I saw her do it with my own eyes,” Luke insists when Din’s other eyebrow joins the first and he’s gaping now, incredulous. What kind of family of witches is Din dealing with here, that would use their powers to take on a master vampire? “All the other vampires in his lineage shriveled away with him.”

“Yeah, well. Guess his place was too tempting to steer clear of because apparently there's a new master that’s taken over the joint. The humans servants that’ve been caught and questioned call him Master Fett.”

“Hm,” Luke says, and there’s something in it that catches Din’s attention, even as dusted as he is.

“Name mean anything to you?”

“Might could,” Luke says, faraway look to his eye. “Then again, Fett is a common enough name. Could just be a coincidence.”

Din doesn’t believe much in coincidence, but he holds his peace. He’ll have better luck with questions when he’s sober. TBC

#bobadinluke #darkisrising fic

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thewriterowl · 3 years

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Daaaamn your answer to that BobaDinLuke ABO ask was hot as hell. Still hopping that despite being literally workshipped, Luke still gets to kick ass on a regular basis tho?

:D Thank you!

And at first, no, because Din and Boba would have to shake off some Alpha-instinct for a bit. But then Luke will grow restless and when they tell him no to a mission, he'll level them with such a look, then kick their ass without moving a muscle, and they'll get reminded of who their mate is.

And then, yes, eventually, he'll be back doing stuff with them as normal.

#owl inbox #dinluke #bobaluke #bobalukedin

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darkisrising · 3 years

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Bobadinluke, 37?

Ooooooooooh, Anon. Dear, sweet sweet Anon. You have NO idea how overboard I went on this, lolol. Thank you for the prompt, I hope when you read this next 4k+ words you won't regret it too much. Disclaimer: All I know about prison I learned by watching Oz back in the day. Full whump in this one, and threats of sexual assault though none actually occur. Some character death, some mentions of transactional sex... lottttttta cursing. Yeah, just, if you decide to read this one please proceed with caution. 37. meeting in prison au, BobaDinLuke

“First thing you do when you get to prison,” Anakin Skywalker whispered into his son’s ear as he held him so tightly Luke couldn’t draw in a deep enough breath, though maybe that was just the panic setting in. “You find the leader of the Sith in there and tell him Darth Vader said to take care of you. He goes by Maul. He’ll keep you safe.”

In answer, Luke hissed “Fuck you, you fucking bastard” and sincerely meant every word of it. When the guards pulled them apart to lead Luke away—the irons around his ankles clattering ominously—it was a relief. For a father that had thrown him and his sister by the wayside as they were growing up, leaving them to be raised by distant and dubiously-related relations, he sure had decided to make himself suspiciously present in the courtroom ever since he’d framed his only son for murder.

“Don’t be proud, Luke,” Anakin called out, his voice cutting through the courtroom’s chatter. “You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Luke’s tempted to throw another “fuck you” over his shoulder but then he caught sight of Leia, clutching her tiny lump of a newborn son in her lap. Her eyes were as close to crying as he’d ever seen his sister get and that’s when it all came crashing down on him. That this moment, which some stupid, fragile part of him had thought would never really come to pass, had happened. He’d held on to hope that someone—some jurist— would listen to all the damning witness testimonies and look at all the gruesome crime scene photos and then look at Luke—pacifist, Prius-driving, yoga teacher Luke—and think “No, it couldn’t possibly have been him.” He had a rescue dog, for fuck’s sake. He’d gotten Artoo from the no-kill shelter that he volunteered at between shifts at the local food pantry.

How the fuck could they ever believe him guilty of murder?

But Anakin Skywalker, leader of the Sith crime syndicate—second only to the so-called Emperor whose identity was a mystery to all but his most trusted underling—was good at what he did. If he wanted to kill a district attorney, he killed a district attorney. If he wanted to pin it on his son to keep his own ass out of prison, then that’s what he did. And then if he showed up every single goddamn day to Luke’s trial, sitting there just behind his son so that no one could help but notice the resemblance between the two of them—couldn’t help but speculate at how close they must be for his father to be taking such a personal interest in his son’s trial—until a person decided that the apple hadn’t fallen far from the rotten, mafia-laden tree?

Well, then; he did that, too.

Guilty on all counts. Seven life sentences to be served consecutively. One hundred and five years without the possibility of parole, and Luke knows as soon as the van pulls up to the prison gates and he’s shuffled out along with all his fellow offenders deemed too dangerous to society for anything but the most maximum of maximum security prisons, that he is going to die here.

As it turns out he doesn’t have to go looking for the Sith. Word of his arrival has preceded him and he turns from placing the blanket and pillow he’s been assigned onto the bunk he’s been assigned to see he’s been followed.

“Hey, you Vader’s kid?”

There are two men lingering by his cell’s opening and Luke doesn’t need to ask who they are to know what they are. They have that same glint in their eyes, rabid fanaticism and zero fucks to give, that mark all the Sith that Luke has had the displeasure of knowing in his life.

“No,” Luke says as mildly as he can manage before turning his back on them to pluck at his blanket under the guise of making his bed. His hands are shaking, his anger at his father is like runoff from a melting mountain snow, and he takes deep, careful breaths to try to staunch the torrent. He’d kill for a yoga mat and a dim room right about now, but he doubts that’s in the cards for him anytime soon.

“Aren’t you Skywalker?”

“I am,” Luke allows. “But I’m afraid my father’s name is Anakin. Not Vader.”

“Oh, come on,” one says, standing close enough that Luke can smell that his clothes are fresh from the dryer. It’s an industrial smell and utterly impersonal. “We both know who Anakin Skywalker really is. Maul wants to see you.”

“I’m afraid Maul is just going to have to be disappointed, then, because I don’t want to see him.”

“I think you’re going to want to,” the other one says, flanking Luke’s other side and he’s suddenly very aware of how small this cell is, especially with three bodies in it. “Pretty blond kid like you? Lots of ways you can end up hurt, you know what I’m saying? You’re going to need someone to protect you while you’re here.”

“I can protect myself.”

They only laugh, like they both know things that he doesn’t, but they don’t press the matter any further. Luke finds out the next day they were right to laugh. Maybe Luke had taken enough martial arts classes as a kid—from a sensei teaching out of a strip mall that was so wizened and stooped that he wasn't much taller than the children he instructed— to think he knows something about something. As he lays on the floor of the prison’s basketball court with the taste of his own blood leaking through his clenched teeth, a bribed guard smirking near the closed door as six men pummel him with fists and feet, Luke quickly learns how little he knows about anything. When one stomps on his wrist Luke doesn’t even scream, the pain is so white hot he can only cling to consciousness for one bright, all-encompassing moment before everything fades to black. The last words he hears before he’s gone are “Tell Darth Vader that the Tuskens send their regards,” and then: nothingness.

When he wakes up in the medical ward there is a cast on his arm and a man staring down at him. He's wearing the khaki pants and button up shirt of a prisoner. Tattoos spill across his face, down his neck, and continue again along his exposed forearms and for a moment Luke wonders if he’s the only one that can see this fearsome creature of a man for all that the nurses and guards and other prisoners are ignoring him.

“Still think you don’t need my protection, young Skywalker?”

Maul. It has to be.

Luke has to clear his throat before it’s any use to him but eventually he’s able to get out “Dunno why I’d need it. ‘M doing great.”

Maul grins and a mouthful of sharp teeth glint in the stale, fluorescent light. “Yeah? Well let’s see how long that lasts. Your daddy says I’m not supposed to raise a finger to help you until you pledge loyalty to the Sith.”

Luke’s heart kicks over as a chill spreads across his skin. So that’s what all of this has been about. For years his father had tried to get Luke to join him, to serve the Emperor just as he did, and now—what?—Anakin thought he could force Luke’s hand? That he could manipulate him into a situation where he’d have no choice but to swear his allegiance to the darkness Luke has tried so hard to exorcise from his life?

“That’s never going to happen,” Luke says and Maul only pats Luke’s ankle, a parody of comfort.

“Oh, it will, young Skywalker. The only question is how much pain are you willing to bear before you do? There are a lot of men in here that hate your father. I’m sure one of them will convince you that you need our protection.”

Maul isn’t wrong. In his first month in prison Luke becomes intimately aware of the intricacies of his cell block’s various factions and all the ways that Darth Vader has, one way or another, fucked over each and every one of them. He learns it in the cafeteria, where he’s jumped in line to get his food, and in the gym, where he’s pinned down by steel between the weight racks, and in the library, where he’s caught somewhere between the dictionary and the encyclopedias. He almost learns it in the showers when the leader of the Hutts has him dragged to his knees but that was blessedly interrupted by a CO actually doing his job for once.

Jabba watches him go, thick tongue licking across even thicker lips, and Luke knows his time is running out. He’s going to need to find a protector and quick.

***

The one respite he's found in this hellish existence are to be found at night. His cellmate, an old man with a white beard that everyone else calls “Crazy Old Ben,” is a lifer who is less interested in Luke’s body and more concerned with his soul. Together they meditate, sitting on the cold concrete floor and tuning their breaths until Luke can pretend not to hear the sounds of quiet violence and even quieter pleasure in the almost-dark prison.

Old Ben takes Luke under his wing until the day Luke comes back from a shower to find no trace of Ben save for the ratty old bathrobe he always wears. It’s crumpled into a heap on the otherwise pristine cell floor, like he had been in it and then, suddenly, was gone.

When the blaring sirens and red flashing lights and screaming of the guards call for a lockdown, Luke knows, he knows, he knows whose body has been discovered. And when, from across the hall through bars of his own, Maul catches his eye and smirks, Luke knows who ordered the hit on the only friend Luke had found in this God forsaken place.

***

Somehow the warden talks Luke into leading a yoga class for his fellow inmates. It's bullshit, of course; no one ever shows up. But it is nice to have space enough to move the way he wants to without risking someone stepping on his throat while he's down in Shavasana or taking his downward facing dog as an invitation for something he’s not interested in offering.

One day he’s startled to find a man he's never noticed before waiting for his arrival. He’s flanked by two that Luke has had plenty of run-ins with already to know they run with the Mando gang and Luke balks when he catches sight of Vizsla but for once there’s no smirking taunts to be had from him. He stares sightlessly ahead, chin raised, as if at attention and that more than anything makes Luke look back at the unknown man again.

He’s handsome: with sad, dark eyes and a scruffy appearance that somewhat distracts from the fact that his prison uniform is wrapped tight around a body that’s been whittled lean with muscles. He has a smattering of scars, remnants of violence that cut across his arms and hands, and if he’s there to beat Luke up he certainly doesn’t act like it when he extends his hand politely.

"I'm Din," he says in a careful, unassuming voice and Luke warily takes his hand, giving his name in return. “I understand you’re running a yoga class here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Luke says, glancing at Vizsla again and wetting his lips. “But, um, if you need the room it’s yours. No one ever shows and so I can clear out—”

“I’m here to take the class.”

“Oh,” Luke says, mouth running before his mind has caught up but what else if new? “Oh, well, that’s great. Let me get you set up with a mat. Are your, your—” he casts about for the right words. “—friends? Going to be joining us?”

Vizsla snorts. “Hell no, Skywalker. We’re just here to make sure nothing happens to the Manda’lor.”

It takes everything in Luke to simply nod and turn to the pile of mats to find one that isn't reeking of sweat and mold from being shoved into storage dirty. To not gawk at the doe-eyed man who even Luke, who prides himself on knowing nothing about his father's world, knows rules over all the Mandalorians, both inside and outside the prison. The one man that not even Anakin Skywalker will fuck with.

"I have a son," Din explains with a shrug when the class is over and Luke has been rendered suitably impressed with the fluid grace with which the fearsome Mandalorian gang leader had moved through every pose, his body made for movement and honed by battle. "The people that are watching him for me say there's this lady on YouTube that teaches kids yoga that he’s gotten really into. I just thought if I tried it it could almost be like we were, well," he shrugs again like whatever he's about to say is too unbearably personal and despite himself Luke finds it utterly charming.

Luke smiles, asking "How old is he?"

"Five."

"Well, if he’s anything like his dad then he must be a natural at yoga, too."

Din's lips quirk in a smile and something complicated in Luke’s belly curls at the sight. Or maybe it's not so complicated, Luke considers as he watched the Mand’alor leave with his guards. Luke can recognize a burgeoning crush when he feels it. He floats through his shift in the kitchen, contentedly lost in his memory of the other man, until he's brought back to reality when he takes a punch to the side of his head.

"Watch what you're doing, Skywalker. Hate for you to get hurt when you've got your head in the clouds, " the inmate supervisor calls out and Luke can only nod as he ignores the pain from his jostled skull and gets back to work.

Luke keeps his crush to himself, and would avoid Din completely if not for the fact that folks are remarkably less inclined to punch him in the face whenever he’s in the Manda’lor’s company and so he tries to be as close to him as often as he can. It’s strategic, Luke tells himself, as he asks Din if he has any pictures of his son and coos over a kid with giant eyes who is triumphantly holding up two bright pink Easter eggs. The more Din likes him, the better his chances when he finally works up the courage to officially ask for his protection. He knows he doesn’t have much to offer in return, but by now Luke knows the transactional nature of prison. His body is a hot commodity and he’s perfectly willing to give Din exclusive use of his ass and mouth if it keeps him alive.

He ignores the thrill of excitement that the thought of sex with Din inevitably brings.

So Luke flirts, flickering little touches here and leaning in closer there, hoping that eventually things will progress naturally. They don’t, but that’s okay because Luke is nothing if not persistent. He has full faith in his ability to work the cute twink angle. Lord knows he did it enough when he was on the outside and had far less to lose.

And it works. Sort of. Din doesn’t seem to notice that Luke drifts along in his orbit after morning yoga classes, sometimes well into the evening and as close to lights out as he dares. The reason why he doesn’t make a move on Luke becomes painfully, achingly, mortifyingly clear the morning Luke enters the meeting-come-yoga room to find Din in a passionate kiss with someone Luke’s never seen before.

He should have known something was different when there had been no Mandalorians posted by the door but this. This. This is. It’s—

The man whose mouth Din is trying to crawl into is built like a shit brick house, all thick muscles and big dick energy as he holds Din by the jaw and their teeth clack so hard that Luke can feel the echo in his own mouth. When he tears away to fix Luke with a stare, he can see that this man’s been so scuffed by life that even his scars have scars and when he speaks it is with a deep, gravel voice that shivers across Luke’s skin.

“You must be Luke,” he says, as if he hadn’t just been caught making out in a dark room. Like Luke can’t see his raging hard-on through his prison-issued pants.

With a calming breath Luke grasps desperately for his most enlightened and peaceful tone as he replies. “I am. Will you be joining us for class, Mister….”

“Fett. Boba Fett. And no fucking way. I’m just here to stand in the corner and enjoy the view.” He smirks at Din who answers with a smile that’s absolutely smitten and Luke can feel his heart jump into his throat before plummeting into his stomach.

“Of course. Make yourself comfortable.”

When the class is over Luke lingers in the room, taking his sweet time rolling up the mats. As he follows Boba out, Din turns to look back at Luke with a confused expression. “Aren’t you coming?”

“No, no, you go on ahead. I’ve got things to do.” Din’s eyebrow raises and Luke can concede that maybe his voice was a little high, a little pinched, but Din doesn’t press the issue. He only shrugs and tells Luke “Well, you know where to find me” before he’s out into the hall.

Luke doesn’t need to go in search of information on Boba Fett. It’s drifting through the filtered prison air wherever he goes. His re-incarceration is all anyone can talk about, starting from his offense—knocked over a grocery store and killed the clerk, if you can believe that stupid shit—and wild guesses as to why he would have gotten caught doing something so petty when he’d finally been paroled—probably just missed his husband, you know how stupid those two are for each other.

“Guess you got tossed to the curb, huh, Skywalker?” Jabba says when they are working the food service line and Luke is very carefully keeping his eyes from looking at where Din is sitting, trying to eat between laughs as Boba crowds so close he’s practically in the Manda’lor’s lap. “Tough break. You know the offer still stands if you want a new cock to suck.”

Telling the Hutt what exactly he can do with his cock and precisely how his mother might like it might give him a surge of soaring adrenaline for the moment but he quickly sees the error of his ways when it’s time to clean up and he’s shoved into the industrial freezer next to all the rows of Hoth Farms Vegetables.

By the time he’s found he’s pretty much stopped shivering which doesn’t seem like a good sign. The doctors in the medical ward seem to agree, at least as far as Luke can tell by all their scrambling activity when he’s wheeled in, barely clinging to consciousness.

***

“That was remarkably stupid,” a melodious voice says a week later.

Luke has been able to cling to lucidity well enough that he’s been sent back to gen pop, for all that he keeps to his bunk and can’t seem to stay awake for longer than a few hours. Shockingly no one has been by to harass him in his weakened state but his luck has finally run out. There is a mountain of a man leaning in his cell’s doorway, and Luke can’t even find the energy to be nervous by the way Boba Fett’s dark eyes are narrowly assessing him.

“I excel at stupid.”

“Yeah, I’ve gathered that from what I’ve been hearing about you. Son to one of the scariest sons of bitches around and yet you refuse to join up with your old man’s gang. Instead you prefer to get the shit kicked out of you like you're just another prison bitch.”

“Yep, that’s me alright,” Luke says with false cheer as he struggles to sit up.

“Word also has it that you’ve been following my husband around like a bitch in heat.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. “Listen, Fett—”

“Now I don’t begrudge you a little schoolboy crush. Din is a hot piece of ass. And I haven’t exactly been around so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt here that you didn’t know that he was otherwise engaged.”

“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.”

“Okay. Good. That’s that.” Fett nods at him, but he doesn’t move from where he stands, still watching Luke. Still taking his measure.

“Does, uh,” Luke’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, a nervous gesture that Fett’s eyes watch sharp as knives. “Does Din know that I—” and he can’t bring himself to say anything more about it.

Fett snorts a laugh. “Din is clueless about just about everything but fighting and fucking. He doesn’t even know whose kid you are. I’d be very surprised to hear he was able to figure out for himself that you’re in love with him.”

“Ah. Okay, well that’s,” Luke stops when the ache in his chest tightens so abruptly he can hardly breathe. Still, he forces out a bleak: “That’s good.”

“It is. Take care of yourself, Skywalker.”

***

There seems little point in fighting against the inevitable after that. If his father thought prison was going to break him, then he’d thought right. He takes a month of beatings without so much as lifting a finger to protect himself. His face is in a perpetual state of bruises but he hardly notices for all that it feels like he’s floating, like he’s becoming one with some great higher power and one day he might just fade away entirely.

Fett is usually there in the periphery—watching, always watching—and Din’s eyebrows furrow every morning when he catches sight of some new mark, some swollen finger, some hastily bandaged scape.

“What’s going on?” he asks and it seems like Fett was right, Din really is that unobservant if he doesn’t see how often Luke is made to bear marks in answer for the sins of his father.

Luke plants a sunny smile on his aching face while Fett watches them from the corner of the room, arms crossed and face twisted in a scowl. “Not much. Same old same old. Shall we begin with our Ohms?”

***

He’s spitting blood down the drain after another ambush that leaves him splayed on the slippery communal shower floor when Fett finally confronts him.

“What the fuck are you playing at? You’re a dead man walking, Skywalker. Quit being stupid and go to Maul. Get his protection.”

“Never,” Luke grinds out with more vehemence than he’s felt in a long time. “I’ll never join the Sith.”

“Why not?”

“Like you care,” he says, reaching for a washcloth to finish the shower that had been unavoidably interrupted. Fett gets to it first and he holds it aloft and out of Luke’s reach unless he wants to strain his ribs that have seen better days.

“You got some kind of Daddy issues or something? That why you won’t become a Sith?”

“Hey, fuck you, Fett,” Luke says and he waits for Fett’s first punch but it never comes.

“Come here,” he says instead, his head tilting curiously. Luke doesn’t move and Fett rolls his eyes. “Come here, don’t look at me like I’m about to eat you.”

A washcloth wielded by a surprisingly gentle hand dabs at Luke’s face. He holds perfectly still under the ministrations while Boba leans in closer. “You’ve got gett'se, that’s for sure.”

“Like I know what that means.” Luke’s tone is bratty and rather than take offense, Fett smiles.

“Gett'se. Guts. Courage. Going to need to learn Mando’a if you’re going to be joining me and Din for the foreseeable future.”

“What?” Luke asks, eyes wide, and Fett doesn’t answer. Not in words.

The distance between them disappears as Fett presses his plush lips to Luke’s bleeding ones. He’s careful, so careful in his kiss and it shatters something vital in Luke. Tears are burning his eyes, biting at his nose, by the time Fett pulls away. “You’re breaking Din’s heart, the way you’ve been carrying on, cyar'ika. And that’s been breaking mine. So why don’t you do us all a favor and come be ours for a little while. If you hate it, we can set you up with someone else, but I have the feeling you’re going to like it just fine. What do you say?”

Luke can’t speak through the tightness of his throat, through the spilling of his tears of relief, and when Fett kisses him again, and again, and again, each time it’s like he’s someone worth caring about. Someone that matters.

Fett—Boba—turns on the shower and leads him under the spray, washing his hair and his skin. “Shouldn’t I be doing that for you?” Luke asks quietly and Boba laughs.

“Sure. Soon as you can lift your arms higher than your shoulders you're free to do anything you want to my body. Until then let me wash your fucking hair, alright? Gotta make you pretty for Din, yeah?"

He rests his forehead against the immense, solid expanse of Boba’s wet chest and for the first time in a long time he feels safe enough to close his eyes somewhere that isn’t his locked cell.

When the guards— who had fucked off to wherever the hell they’d been bribed to go while Luke took maybe his last beating ever—finally show up and yell at them to break it up, Luke isn’t even mad about it because Boba is tossing him a towel and telling him to hurry up and dry off. Din is waiting for them.

#darkisrising fic #bobadinluke #tumblr prompt #ask game #ask box

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