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thefrogdalorian · 18 days

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Nowhere Else To Run

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Despite the fact that sharing a cabin with you and Grogu on Nevarro has given him the peaceful life he was searching for, Din cannot escape the nightmares of his past which haunt him most nights.

Although he feels unworthy of your love, the only time things make sense is when you take him in your arms and dutifully put his pieces back together. Even on nights when he feels he does not deserve it.

Word Count: 3.4k ✯ Rating: Teen ✯ Content Warnings: ✯ PTSD, nightmares, descriptions of canon-typical violence, survivor's guilt, Din feeling unworthy of love, Din's violent past, reader's hands described as being smaller than Din's. Author's Note: I created my blog six months ago, so here is a little Din drabble to celebrate. Title is taken from 'All These Things That I've Done' by The Killers (which is so Din coded) and I also listened to 2 Rocking Chairs by Jon Bellion a lot recently, so that might have inspired some of this too! Really hope you enjoyed it and here's to many more months of Din Djarin brainrot ☺︎

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

On the nights he startles awake, haunted by the nightmarish, twisted visions of the worst things he has done, he is certain that he does not deserve you. With all his evil deeds laid bare as his mind plays cruel tricks on him, Din Djarin remains convinced that he could live a thousand lifetimes and never be worthy of your love.

His eyelids fly open as his bare, muscular chest heaves. His golden skin is covered with a sheen of sweat. Din raises a trembling hand to wipe the moisture from his furrowed brow. Disorientated and afraid in the darkness.

His sharpened senses, honed thanks to his previous life as a bounty hunter, begin to function with all the effectiveness which once led to him being deemed the best in the parsec. He cringes as he remembers his narcissism, disgusted by how dishonourable it was to take pride in such an epithet.

First, Din feels your presence at his side. A warm mass of flesh in the dark, coldness of the night. So close that he could reach out and touch you if only he were not petrified that doing so would shatter your beauty. He yearns to draw comfort from you. Yet, he is too afraid to bring you down to his level, to defile your splendour.

Then, Din hears your soft snores. Truthfully, the sweet sounds you make are not quite snores at all. Merely the even, shallow sounds which indicate that you are peacefully resting. He relaxes slightly, relieved that his unwanted awakening has not disturbed you.

Emboldened by your continued slumber, Din sits up and gazes at you. Your stunning features are barely illuminated by the faint moonlight which streams in through an ill-fitting blind, yet even such a simple glimpse leaves him overwhelmed by your beauty.

As he quietly watches you, Din wonders what he could have done to deserve you in a past life. He certainly is not worthy of you in this one.

How could someone as wicked and treacherous as he ever be worthy of the love you envelop him in each day of your lives?

The guilt creeps in, then. It snakes its horrifying tendrils around Din's entire being and suffocates him under the weight of his regret and his pain.

He feels guilty that he has even found himself in a position to receive love like this in the first place. Especially after everything he has done, all the pain he has caused and contributed to.

Din wonders whether it is cruel to keep you around. To have intertwined his life with yours in the way he has. Surely you deserve someone better than him.

Inviting you to move in with him changed so much for Din. It deepened and strengthened his relationship with you while opening him up to experiences he had missed for much of his life. How to share space with someone else, to show affection and receive it in return.

Sharing a bunk with someone for the first time meant Din could not continue outrunning his past. It was a race that had begun decades prior on the day he lost everything on Aq Vetina, a marathon which continued well into adulthood.

The race was almost won when Din took the job that changed his life and led him to Arvala-7 in the hunt for the bounty who eventually became his son.

Yet it wasn’t until Din found you that he had finally crossed the finish line.

He still remembered the horrified look in your eyes when he awoke for the first time in your presence, thrashing and screaming as the night terrors plagued him. Terrified by the haunting visions that made his past as vivid as though it was happening right before him.

The nightmares are indiscriminate when they strike. Extensive in their scope.

In slumber, Din is confronted with the shameful jobs he took from the most reprehensible individuals in the galaxy, reminded of the ego he once possessed.

He relives how readily he hunted people for his gain, collecting bounties without a care for who he hurt. Who was he to be the law? To be judge, jury and, on occasion, executioner? Din is pained at the memory of the life of sin he led.

Din sees the job on Alzoc III in harrowing detail. The unspeakable acts of violence he had a hand in. As much as he tries to downplay his role and blame the atrocities on the disgusting band of crooks he ran with at the time, deep down, Din knows that he was a willing participant in the barbarity.

He replays the moment when, in a cruel, unforgiving tone, the gold-helmeted woman he had always idolised coldly informed him that he was a Mandalorian no more. Din is tormented time and again by the knowledge that he rendered himself an apostate in the eyes of the people who saved him; who taught him how to live. Being a Mandalorian and swearing the Creed were the only things aside from violence Din had truly ever been successful at. Walking The Way of the Mandalore was the only thing which had brought him anywhere close to achieving inner peace.

But most chillingly of all, Din is reminded of the gravest transgression of his life. An act of cruelty he knows that he will never truly forgive himself for committing, for as long as he lives.

Night after night, Din is haunted by how he had given up the child you both adore beyond comparison, who sleeps peacefully next door, to the Empire for the measly sum of a camtono of Beskar.

Was that truly all Grogu’s life was worth?

Of course, Din knows that there is no sum in the entire galaxy which would prove comparable to how Grogu has enriched his life.

Even though Din has seen the error of his ways, as he thinks back across the decades and counts his mistakes, Din Djarin knows that he is not a good man.

Yet, somehow, he has found you.

You are the greatest blessing to happen to him, matched only by his son.

He thinks of the way you still look at him with such love in your eyes, even after knowing the atrocities he committed in a past life; it almost embarrasses him to be loved in such a manner.

Somehow, Din has secured your unconditional love. A fact which proves every now and then, both suns shine on a womp rat’s tail. That even the most undeserving of rodents can occasionally have the greatest of fortunes.

Even when the terrors overcome him, you have never contemplated deserting him. No matter how dark and disgraceful the visions he divulges to you are.

When he wakes up yelling for his parents or screaming for Grogu, whom he is momentarily convinced the Empire have recaptured, you are always there to reassure him and to hold him while he sobs; to kiss his pain away with a touch of your soft lips against his tear-streaked cheeks.

Even knowing all he has done, you still look at him as though he is responsible for hanging all the stars which twinkle in the sky above your cabin on Nevarro.

Din recalls evenings spent on the porch with you outside the unassuming cabin you share by the lava flats of Nevarro. Watching the sun set beneath the horizon as he holds your smaller hand in his, while he admires how your hands fit together as they rest on his lap. He thinks about how smooth your skin is there, how it is so unlike the calloused roughness of his own.

You are softness and humanity in the face of his wickedness.

A wave of nausea overcomes him. Din is stricken by an overwhelming urge to get away from you. To put some distance between himself and you before he corrupts you with his immorality once more.

He ponders that perhaps he will find some relief on the porch in the dead of night. A solitary figure, save for his thoughts and the ghosts that haunt him. Sitting in total silence, apart from the bugs which chirp in the distance, is an appealing prospect.

So Din slowly swings his legs off the edge of the bunk, careful not to disturb you. He cringes at the way the sheets rustle. It is a minor offence compared to the many sins Din has already committed. Still, he does not want to add disturbing your peace to that list.

He sighs in the darkness as he perches on the edge of the bunk, a forceful exhale which causes his shoulders to droop when he realises you are still sleeping soundly. Din is relieved that you are unaware of his distress.

He is tantalisingly close to the door when the moment of solace is cruelly snatched away. His careful steps across the wooden floor were evidently not soft enough.

The gentle sound of your voice cutting through the darkness stops him in his tracks. Din turns to face you.

“Din?” you whisper, voice thick and husky with sleep.

The wave of guilt that washes over him is immediate. It threatens to wash him away, to drown him.

“Go back to sleep, cyare,” Din shakily responds, hoping he sounds convincing to someone so attuned to his every mannerism.

“Did you have another nightmare?” you ask, clearly unconvinced by his display.

Din Djarin may be many things, but he is not a liar.

Even under the merciful cover of darkness, when he would not have to look you in the eye as he skirted around the truth, he cannot bring himself to lie to you.

“Yes,” Din finally responds. His voice cracks as he struggles under the pressure of admitting his weakness.

The light is on before he can protest, and you rise from the bed before he can insist that there is no need. Din blinks rapidly for a few seconds as his retinas adjust to the rude intrusion into the darkness.

When his eyes finally focus, you are standing right before him, already moving to gather him into your arms.

It is strange to him, this notion that he ever needed someone to pick him up and dutifully put his shattered pieces back together. A human needing repairs is an alien concept to Din Djarin. While he has always been adept at finding and fixing faults in his impressive arsenal and starships, he was never able to identify his weaknesses and repair himself. Until he found his Clan.

It wasn't until Din saved the kid that he realised he had been running from something for his entire life. Since that terrible day, when he watched over his father's shoulder as the bodies of his neighbours hit the dusty floor. Crumpled heaps, which used to be people until moments ago, were clad in the same distinctive red robes as him. The terror he felt as his parents ran through the streets, determined to save him, their only son.

On his worst days, Din wonders if their sacrifice was worthwhile. He frets over what they would think if they could see what became of their precious boy. Whether they would be disappointed to see the life he followed. A life of such violence, such mercilessness.

Your warm presence against him, as you take him into your arms, snaps him back to the present. Din willingly melts into your embrace, relishing the human contact.

“Talk to me, Din,” you whisper as you hold him to your chest.

When you run your fingers through his hair, he loses all composure and breaks down into small sobs. Din shudders in your arms as you trail soothing fingers through his hair with one hand and rub your hand in circles on his back with the other.

“I don’t deserve you,” he eventually murmurs, voice quivering.

Din feels the way you shake your head. You gently place your hand underneath his chin and tilt his face up. Din's eyes meet your gaze and he notices how your eyes are full of concern for him. He can hardly look at you, feeling mortified at being studied like this.

Allowing himself to be vulnerable like this is still so fresh to him. To have his soul laid bare like this is uncomfortable and unnatural.

“You are not the worst things you have ever done, Din,” you whisper as you gently wipe the tears he was unable to prevent trailing a hot path down his cheek with your fingertips, “You cannot change the past. I know that you are a good man, Din, and I love you. All of you. You would not be the man that I adore without those parts of you. For better or worse, they shaped you into the man you are today.”

Din trembles under your gaze, under the weight of your words. Unsure whether he can allow himself to accept the unconditional love you offer so readily to him, time and again.

The tears stream steadily down his cheeks, as you continue to soothe his soul:

“In you, I see a caring father. A considerate man who will do anything to protect his Clan. A fearless Mandalorian warrior who has turned his fighting prowess towards a more noble endeavour. To rid the galaxy of any threats, to build a better life for your son. That is an honourable undertaking, Din.”

“I am not an honourable man,” he scoffs, instantly rebutting such a compliment. He is far too undeserving of such praise.

“You are,” you sigh, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb. There is such tenderness in your gaze and in how you touch him that he struggles to keep his emotions at bay. His bottom lip trembles at your next words, “Your life is not defined by your most evil deeds. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. I adore you, Din. There is so much of you that is loveable.”

Din sighs. In his current mental state, he is unable to believe your words. Unable to let them sink in, to find solace in your reassurances. He looks away from you, shaking his head in a silent response.

When he finally feels able to find your gaze again, he watches as something shifts in your eyes. A tether of patience snaps.

There is a firmness in your tone the next time you address him.

“Do you know how empty our lives would be without you? How much the little boy in the other room adores you?" you plead in an exasperated tone. "He’s asleep right now, surrounded by a mountain of plushies that his father bought for him because even though you intimidate most you come into contact with thanks to your appearance, I have seen firsthand that, beneath your armour, you have a pure heart. And you are wrapped around each one of his little green talons.”

At the mention of his son, Din cannot help the way his lips curve upwards, the ghost of a smile crossing against his features. A welcome respite from the tortured look he has worn since he awoke from his nightmare.

“Grogu adores you, Din. He idolises you. You would do anything to secure his happiness,” you nod, “And mine. How lucky am I to know a love like that?”

“I do love you," Din nods, "And I’m going to spend the rest of my life taking care of both of you,” Din vows, the cracks in his voice replaced with steely determination.

Din notices the way you seem to loosen at his words, knowing that the man you know and love is gradually returning to you. His insecurities and devastation have been replaced by his determination to protect you from anything in the galaxy which could harm you.

“Then, let’s get some more rest, honey,” you whisper as you press a soft kiss onto Din’s stubbly cheek.

Din nods and laces his fingers with yours, allowing you to lead him the few steps back to the bunk you share. He slides underneath the covers, watching you as you round the bunk to join him. Once you have slid beneath the sheets, you turn the light off and plunge the room back into darkness.

Yet, the darkness which permeated every atom of Din Djarin’s being has vanished. He can only see the light now. The way your love illuminates every part of his life. How unrelenting, yet not overbearing, the way you adore him is.

Especially when you gently encourage him to roll over on his side so you can wrap your arms around his tight waist and nuzzle into the centre of his back. Your nose and mouth nestled between his broad shoulders.

Din lets out a sigh of contentment.

In your arms, there is tranquillity. The necessary remedy which soothes his anguished spirit.

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Later, when Grogu is finally sleeping soundly after another long day of being doted on by his parents, Din finally makes it to his intended destination. Although he tried to reach the porch in the middle of the night, he would rather be here now. Especially since you are by his side, sitting next to him. It is a moment of rest after a hectic day spent entertaining a hyperactive Force-sensitive toddler with a voracious appetite.

With your presence in his life, Grogu has only continued to flourish. Din’s chest swells with pride as he thinks of his son's progress and all the milestones he has reached. Din knows that being a good father to Grogu is the most important role he will ever fulfil. He treats it with as much seriousness as such a responsibility warrants.

But Grogu is asleep.

Now, it is just Din and you. He smiles as he looks at your hands together, and appreciates how your fingers are intertwined. Din relishes the comfort he draws from your physical presence. He feels soothed by the knowledge that he has hidden nothing from you, that you can still love him regardless of his past transgressions.

Din looks out across the landscape towards the rolling volcanic hills of Nevarro, dusted a pale pink and orange colour in the fading light of dusk. He thinks about how he will grow old with you here in this little cabin. If fate grants him such an honour.

He cannot help but smile as he thinks about how you will sit out here on this very porch, holding hands with each other. When his patchy facial hair is flecked with grey and even when it is entirely white. When the wrinkles on his face are as lined and drawn as the crevices which scar the surface of Nevarro. Perhaps Grogu will be old enough to run around by then. Maybe he will have gained the gift of speech.

Regardless, even many rotations from now, Din knows with absolute certainty that he will still think you are the most beautiful sight in the galaxy. Even after years of adoring each other, he will still wonder how he was ever so lucky to be worthy of your love.

Din is excited to spend the rest of his life proving to you that he is the good man you repeatedly inform him you still see, even amongst all his flaws. It is a heavy task, yet one he relishes. Love had terrified him for so much of his life. When he discovered its beauty, he was determined to make up for lost time.

It is a heavy thought that he may never exhaust his capacity and reach the depths of all the love he has realised he possesses.

For now, though, Din turns his head to look at you, a soft smile lighting up his face as the sunset illuminates his features. The colour has returned to his cheeks. You return the gesture, gently sweeping your thumb across the back of his hand.

In the fading light, your face glows golden, only accentuating your beauty. Din wonders again how he was ever so lucky to know a love like this.

Except now, he does not doubt that he deserves it.

Now, Din Djarin allows his chest to be flooded with the warmth he feels when he embraces your love.

He accepts it, even after all the things that he’s done.

#din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fluff #din djarin angst #pedro pascal characters #my fics #cannot believe it has already been 6 months where does time go eh!

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mando-din-lorian · 10 months

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AU where Din and Boba are turned into kids and they become bestest friends

#Boba definitely totally DOES NOT have a crush on Din #nope #no way #not at all #they get into so much mischief together #this AU simmers in my brain like soup #the mandalorian #din djarin #boba fett #my art #fan art #mando #star wars #bobadin #tbobf

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eggdrawsthings · 1 year

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now there are more of us, but there was only one of you

#I'm sorry your canon!mom didn't care about you Paz here lemme fix that for ya 😔#the blood doesnt make much sense but i just wanna be dramatic so wtv lol #my art #paz vizsla #the armorer #the mandalorian #mando #star wars #tw blood #tw injury #does it count as injury if this is just blood splatting on statues???

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pedropascalpussyhat · 1 year

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happy mother’s day to her 😌💓

#my sON #does Not have ADD #he jusT like To JUMP #pedro pascal #snl #pedro on snl #the mandalorian #the last of us #tlou #joel miller #mando #pedrito pascal #happy mothers day #!!

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

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Not Like This

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: angst, angst, angst, angst. if you're looking to feel better after chapter 23 this is not gonna do it. canon violence, mentions of blood and injury, threats of death.

word count: 1,368

summary: chapter 23 of the mandalorian happened, and you had a front row seat.

SPOILERS BELOW THIS CUT.

"when i can't sleep at night⏤ i stare at the empty side of my bed, and wonder about the things i would tell you, if you were lying next to me." ⏤A.S.

Not like this. Not like this. Not like this. Your heart was racing in your chest, and with every painful beat the words echoed through your skull. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. The fingers wrapped around the back of your neck squeezed hard enough that you knew there would be bruises left in their wake⏤ you could feel his nails digging into your flesh⏤ but the pain wasn’t registering. Not yet. Not when fear and panic suffocated you in a haze the way it did. All you could feel was the heavy weight of Din’s gaze under his helmet. He was reassuring you. Din was restricted in whip cords, brought down to his knees by Imperials, weapons carelessly cast aside, and he was reassuring you in the familiar comfort of Mando’a.

It’s going to be okay, cyar'ika.

No. No, it wasn’t. Moff Gideon’s laugh in your ear told you it wasn’t.

Don’t cry. We'll get out of this.

Were you crying? You couldn’t even tell⏤ you were numb and frozen in shock. This couldn’t be happening.

You’re going to fine. I swear it, cyar'ika. I won’t let them hurt you.

You didn’t care. Your own safety was dangerously low on your list of priorities. If it meant Din got to walk away safely you’d do anything. Literally anything.

Listen to him. It’s alright. Just do it. He’s going to hurt you if you don’t.

No. You couldn’t. Not like this. Din and you had been side by side for years now. Partners in every aspect. It started with bounty hunting. Then, when Grogu came into the picture it turned into running from the Empire. Searching for the child’s home. The nature of your jobs continued to change and alter, but the love between you both had never faltered. It grew and grew and grew until it could be contained no longer. For three years you had been his partner in crime, but only for the last six months had you been his lover.

“Take his helmet off. Now.” Moff Gideon growled low in your ear. Seething in rage at how long this was taking, but not enough to just walk away or do it himself. The bastard knew the weight of this and you knew it was why he wanted you to be the one to break Din’s creed in such a violent manner.

You shook your head again⏤ hands curled into tight fists at your side. No one took the Creed more seriously than Din, but you were a close second. It became a habit for you, living with him, and keeping your eyes away from him in moments when he needed to shed the helmet. Even when he removed it for Grogu, you averted your gaze. Din asked once why you hadn’t just looked when you had a chance, and you told him it was because you respected his beliefs and you wanted to do it right.

And, Din said you would. He swore that when the fight was done, when he finished helping Bo Katan reclaim Mandalore, all three of you would settle. Din would find a safe place for you, him, and Grogu. A place where you could share vows then remove his helmet, creed intact. Somewhere quiet and warm. Somewhere he didn’t have to wear an ounce of beskar on his skin and you could spend the entire night memorizing every detail of him. You had spent countless nights dreaming of that soft moment to come.

Not like this. Not like this. Not like this.

Moff Gideon, impatient and eager for his enemies’ downfall, lifted his hand from the back of your neck to tangle in your hair then he yanked your head back. A cry of pain tore through you as Din lashed out in anger⏤ trying to loosen the Imperials’ hold.

“Take his helmet off or I slit his throat and let his blood pool at your feet.”

He shoved you forward, hand falling away from you, and a sob left your lips. Trembling violently, your hands reached out to settle on either side of the silver beskar helmet you associated with adoration. You loved this man, yet here you were about to forcefully tear a piece of him away.

“It’s alright.” Din whispered. His hoarse, modulated voice making you cry harder. “Do it. It’s not your fault. I want you to do this.” Your bottom lip quivered and you bit down on it hard enough to draw blood. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika.”

With a sharp breath, you lifted his helmet and squeezed your eyes shut. Maybe he wouldn’t notice that you weren’t looking. Moff Gideon could make you break Din’s creed, and maybe keeping your eyes shut now was more a nuance than anything else, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Even when the logical voice at the back of your mind told you that Din could redeem himself once more⏤ if the two of you just got out of this alive it would be alright⏤ you couldn’t do it. Redemption or not, this moment would be gone. You couldn’t unsee his face. An Imperial barked out a sound, and Moff Gideon’s hands were on you once more.

“Don’t touch her!” Din yelled.

Moff Gideon strangled you now, his hand wrapped around the front tight enough to steal your breath, “One last choice, you stupid, stubborn girl. Open your eyes and look at the once Mandalorian or I’ll make sure you never see anything again.”

“Look at me. Look at me!” Din roared, you could hear him struggling against his captors again. “Cyar’ika, please. Please look at me.” He pleaded⏤ begged. “Open your eyes for me, please.”

Broken at the anguish in his voice, you opened your eyes and Moff Gideon made sure you faced your Mandalorian. And, there he was. The man you loved. Sweat made strands of his brown hair cling to his forehead while the rest sat a mess on top of his head from where you pulled his helmet off. Scruff along his jaw that you had felt, but never seen. And his eyes⏤ Din’s eyes were the softest shade of brown and the emotions that swirled in his gaze was enough to knock the wind from you. Panic, fear, anger, anguish, but there was also love. So much love and adoration that it made another sob slip from your lips. You wanted to touch him⏤ to tell him how beautiful he was while your fingers traced every line of his face.

Your hand lifted to him, but you were suddenly yanked back so he was just out of reach.

“Take him to the debriefing room.” Moff Gideon commanded and the Imperials began to drag him away. You screamed out to Din, trying to lunge toward him, but Moff Gideon kept a tight grip on your arm locking you in place. In all your focus on watching Din get dragged away, you hadn’t noticed a weapon being drawn⏤ not until the vibroblade pierced your side.

“No!” Din’s scream seemed to rattle the room. You collapsed and clutched your side to try and stem the bleeding that would not stop. It gushed through your fingers painting your clothes and the floor red. Din was thrashing in the arms of the Imperials who carried him off and the last look on Din’s face that you got to see was blinding rage. Then he was out of sight.

You laid your head on the ground⏤ eyes growing heavy. Moff Gideon was addressing the other Mandalorians trapped behind the doors, but sound was slipping away and all you could focus on was the silver beskar helmet lying discarded on the floor beside you. The t-shape visor stared back at you almost mockingly. This was nearly how your day started. Lying on a too small cot with Din pressed to your side in full armor. Soft snores escaping from his modulator while you stared at your reflection in the visor and imagined the day you’d get to fall asleep next to him sans beskar.

Not like this. Not like this.

Blaster fire filled the air and you let your eyes drift close.

Not like this.

[next part]

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #mando x reader #mando #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #female reader #reader insert #angst #just all the angst #not even a smidge of comfort #canon violence #moff gideon is a dick #but he does it in style i'll give him that #the mandalorian spoilers

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caleblandrybones · 1 year

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im a little bit in love with this picture

#hes dressed as nacho and very obviously in between takes or about to shoot #how does he look NOTHING like him #nacho varga #gus fring #michael mando #giancarlo esposito

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nighttimepatrons · 11 days

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Not Without Maedhros

Thinking about a Fingon fic set in Mandos where Fingon is ready for reembodiment but won't leave the halls without Maedhros. Never mind the fact that he hasn't actually seen Maedhros's spirit yet...

The only way he can tell the passage of time is the influx of spirits into the Halls, the halls get larger to accommodate them all. Surely Maedhros is around here somewhere.

It's about Fingon being asked if he's consider Life again and he says he has, but he'd like to wait for Maedhros first. He does not want to leave without Maedhros.

More spirits enter and he waits.

When asked again he is indeed ready for Life but it is disturbing to him that it as taken this long for Maedhros to find him. So he reaffirms that he is waiting, he will not leave without Maedhros.

Spirits come and some start to leave.

The asking stops, and in its place he is told: "it is to leave these halls", "you have lingered long enough", "you can feel the yearning for Life in you, go on, it's time to go". He always says the same: Not without Maedhros, not withouth Maedhros, not without Maedhros.

It seems impossible, but the population of the Halls actually seems to decrease.

And yet he waits. He waits until all of his family has walked out of those great, beckoning doors. He waits as his fellow spirits dwindle around him.

He waits, until he is alone in the vast, silent halls.

#in my heart of hearts it is second person pov #i don't know maybe Miriel can show up #Fingon #maedhros #russingon #<- but only in a sad way #middle earth #silmarillion #mandos #i hope it obvious but yes mae is in the void #my art #my words #<- wow can you belive that me writing something that is awfully close to fanfiction in the year of our 2024 #the silmarillion #fic idea #at risk of sounding arrogant if anyone does like this idea feel free to run with it #i would love to see anything you make (*/ω＼)

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corazondebeskar-reads · 3 months

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I'll take care of you

dark!Din Djarin x gn!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 1 - helpless | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 882

summary: Din takes care of you after a head injury leaves you helpless.

warnings: dark, dark!Din, gaslighting, graphic descriptions of injury, restraints, manipulation, violence, no y/n, reader has hair of unspecified length and no other description

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s blurry. Everything, that is. You try to reach to rub your eyes, but the cuff jerks you still.

Same shit, different day. You wish you’d start remembering faster when you wake up.

The mornings you do wake up, that is.

You know you’re missing days. It’s hard, with how the room spins, to keep track of anything.

“Good morning, cyar’ika. How do you feel?” says the smooth baritone, like fresh caramel dripping onto a sundae. It’s a warm comfort.

Until it grows cold and hardens, that is. His hand shoots out and grips your jaw. “What have I said about answering me when I speak to you?”

He’s quick to anger today. So you’ll likely be bed-bound again.

“Sorry, cyare,” you mumble. Using the pet name placates him, and his hand relaxes but doesn’t leave you, gloved thumb brushing your bottom lip.

You don’t even know if he’s flesh and bone. His cock would lead you to believe so, but the rest of him is cold metal, and they make good synthetics nowadays.

You don’t want to ask. It’s something you’re sure you should know, and sometimes, the things you’ve forgotten upset him. You guess you’d be upset, too, if your spouse forgot you.

“It’s okay. I know it’s hard when you’re still all scrambled.” He moves like he’s going to ruffle your hair, but all you feel is the grinding, bruising pain as his hand grips and jostles your head.

He’s rustling with the restraints, and you try to tamp down any and all emotion. He says it’s okay, that it’s normal for you to have intense feelings, all things considered.

But sometimes you seem to have the wrong feeling, and he doesn’t like that very much.

Once your wrists are unhooked, he helps you to stand on trembling legs. Walking makes you so dizzy, so he always makes sure he can support you.

That’s one thing you can’t deny despite the pain and forgetfulness. He’s so attentive while you’re helpless. He never leaves you to struggle. It’s obvious he’s a good husband—maybe even the romantic type, doting and considerate.

He lets you use the fresher by yourself but helps you stand up and settle the tunic back down around your body. It’s the only clothing you have on. Other than thick wool socks with rubber grips, that is. He says it’s not safe to walk without them.

You’re sad to be led back to bed, and it must show.

“How about I stay for a while, and you can have a break from the cuffs?” he offers.

It works, and you brighten up a little. “Thank you, Din.”

He still makes you sit in bed, but you can hardly be cross. He’s sitting with you and keeping you safe.

After all, that’s how you got hurt in the first place, he said. Falling off the bed like a silly little thing and cracking your head.

Your dreams recall it quite differently. When you do dream, he’s there too. But he’s bigger. Scarier. And so angry. So, so angry.

You always wake up before your head collides with the wall.

Here, in the waking world, he holds you against his cold steel body. You’re inclined again to think he’s flesh underneath as warmth radiates from the leather and duraweave between the plates. He’s reading to you softly from a datapad since it still makes your head hurt when you try.

Which means he’s right there against you when it happens. You sit up, clutching your forehead.

“What’s wrong?” he says.

“I don’t know,” you say through a dry, tacky mouth. Your head is pounding, and when you look at him, so is your heart. Not with love, that is, but with terror.

It must be written across your face because he stiffens.

“Who are you?” you whisper.

“Cyar’ika,” he says carefully, raising both hands as if he means no harm. “You had an accident. You’ve had a severe head injury. Your memories keep coming and going.”

You’ve heard this before. You don’t believe him this time.

“You know me. I’m your husband, Din.”

You shake your head, wincing. “I want the truth.” Because what’s undeniable now is that it wasn’t a dream. This bulking beast of a man had cornered you in an alley behind the cantina after your shift.

He sighs, but there’s a new placating lilt to his voice when he responds. “Fine,” he murmurs, standing up. He comes around the bed and you back into the wall. Trapped.

“You want the truth?” he says, voice low and sultry. Smug. His hand comes up to brush your cheek. “You need me, cyar’ika. You were out there all alone and scared. No one to care for you. No one to protect you.”

“You kidnapped me.”

“Hardly,” he scoffs. “You’ve always been mine. You just didn’t know it. But now that we’re together…”

He reaches into the many pouches around his waist and surfaces with a small syringe, the overhead light glinting off the needle’s shiny point.

“We can do this one of two ways, cyar’ika. You can be good and do as I say. Or,” and he wiggles the needle in the air. “I can make sure you’re good. Either way, I promise I’ll take care of you.”

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