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dindjarindiaries · 4 months

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The Broken Who Blossom

summary: At long last, Din’s returned home to the covert, but he’s brought a lot more home with him than anticipated.

pairing: din djarin x mandalorian!reader

tags: angst, physical & emotional hurt/comfort, injuries, references to trauma & death, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.563k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

The beach was still littered with the bodies of injured Mandalorians and the giant-sized insides of the sea creature as you caught your breath. You went to stand up and let out a short gasp at the pain that rippled through your leg. Upon looking down, your visor found the gash on the side of your left leg, left behind by the creature’s claw.

You tightened your jaw and tried to stand again, but before you could, an outstretched hand offered to help you. Paz stood over you, the sight of him a relief as you accepted his help and stood on your feet as best as you could. Your gloved hands tightened into fists at your sides as you gave a quick glance around the shore.

“Is Ragnar okay?” Your modulated voice was more breathless than you wanted it to be.

“He’s fine.” Paz’s voice was lower than you expected, and his visor was fixed on something in the distance with hardly concealed hostility.

You followed his gaze to see the N-1 starfighter that had been the covert’s savior landing on the beach. Dread washed over you much like the water that continued to lap at the sand. You hadn’t gotten a chance to see the pilot, but the chances were the covert would have to relocate once again.

Then, the N-1 landed, and you clearly saw the person within it. The sight made you lose your breath even more than you had before, with only one thought—one name—able to come to mind.

“Din,” you gasped to yourself, your voice barely a breath as you attempted to walk forward.

Paz grabbed your armored shoulder without looking back at you. “No.”

You fought his grasp without hesitation. This was the first time you had seen Din since he was forced to leave you on Nevarro, and you weren’t sacrificing your reunion for Paz’s bitter feelings towards him. “Let me go.” Your voice bordered on a growl, even as your gaze softened at the sight of Din with the small, green child he had told you about so long ago.

“No.” Paz used his entire arm to keep you from advancing. “He is no longer one of us.”

Your helmet whipped towards his own. “What the hell do you mean?”

Paz’s visor finally met your own. “He’s an apostate.”

The words hit you harder than any weapon could’ve. Still, you remained skeptical, tilting your helmet at him. “How is that possible?”

“He removed his helmet.” You gaped beneath your own helmet at that, unable to believe Din could ever do such a thing. In your silence, Paz scoffed with cruel amusement and took a step away from you. “Let him tell you the truth himself.”

In moving away from you, the path between you and Din was completely cleared. Din had stepped out of his ship and set the tiny green child beside his boot on the sand. His attention was still fixed on the Armorer, who stood the closest to him. “I would like to request a brief audience with you,” Din announced to the Armorer, though everyone still standing on the beach remained silent enough to hear him.

You wanted to cry out his name again at the mere sound of his voice. Cycles spent dreaming of it, his final words to you wrapped around your mind like the cruelest broken promise, and now, you were finally hearing it again. But you can’t enjoy it, not with the knowledge of what Paz has revealed to you.

You didn’t want to believe him, but here it was, playing out in front of you. Whispers had already started to carry throughout the group, as if you had purposely been left on the outside of a deep, dark secret for much too long.

The Armorer at last responded with a nod. “When you are ready, you may join me in the forge.” Her visor found you with ease.

Din’s followed. You knew him well enough to understand how severe his reaction was to the sight of you, but even those who didn’t know him the way you did would have been able to tell. His entire body froze, even his cuirass stalling as his visor locked on your own. Your name came breathless from his modulator the same way yours had with his.

You let Din close the gap between you with steps that were both quick and hesitant, as if he was in a dream. You understood the feeling all too well, and you wished you could grasp onto it. Before he could get too close, you held out a single gloved hand, instantly stopping him in his tracks. Din’s visor looked between your hand and your helmet.

You willed your voice to be firm, but it was an impossible task. “Is it true?”

Din’s cuirass stalled again. He shifted his weight, a heartbreaking habit of his that made you want to drop your guard and reach out for him immediately. Still, the unspoken truth between the two of you overpowered your urge.

Your gloved hand was trembling as you continued to hold it up between the two of you. “Did you remove your helmet?”

Din took a deep, trembling breath. You were close enough to hear the way it shook as it entered and exited his corrupted lungs. All you ever wanted for longer than you even knew was to have this proximity to him again, but now, it was like a punishment. It was only made worse by the shame and pure ache in Din’s voice as he spoke. “I did.”

Your throat closed up upon hearing the truth from his lips. “You’re an apostate, then.”

Din’s helmet fell to his boots at that. “I am.” His voice was an inch from broken at the confession.

The little child at his side cooed in distress. It only worsened your own heartbreak. You exhaled and lowered your hand, giving your helmet an aimless shake. You lowered your voice as you spoke again. “Damn it, Din.”

The quivering in your voice was Din’s breaking point. He took another step closer to you. “I can explain.”

“Don’t.” You went to take a step back, forgetting the injury on your leg. It nearly gave out on you, causing you to trip a few steps around yourself. Din didn’t hesitate to reach out and steady you, but as soon as you had better footing, you pulled yourself away from him.

“You’re hurt.” Din sounded more pained than you, the one who actually bore the physical wound. He respected your silent wishes for him to stay away, his gloved hands tightening into fists as he struggled to do so. “Can I help?”

You raised your chin higher than usual. “I can take care of it myself.” You clenched your jaw as you turned your back to him, stopping to glance over your armored shoulder as you added one more thing quietly. “But you can come with me.”

Din nodded at that, clearly more than satisfied with your offer. He and the child followed you as you managed to limp all the way to your private barracks. You were grateful for the fact everyone had given you both some semblance of privacy, though you didn’t miss the glares thrown Din’s way as he followed you into the caves. It made you angry on his behalf, but even you were still disillusioned by the revelation.

It was like everyone knew except for you, and no one bothered to fill you in.

You led Din into your private room, and he drew the makeshift curtain closed for you. You managed to grab your medpac before collapsing on your bed. Din stood nearby, shifting his weight again as you began to tend to your own wound.

“I thought you would come back.” You made your voice stronger than before as you stole a look at Din. “Like you promised me.”

“I did.” Din’s quick response was desperate, not defensive. “After I completed my quest and reunited the kid with his own kind, I took all the jobs I could to get information on the covert. I found the Armorer and Paz on the Glavis Ringworld, and I…” Din shook his helmet. “I thought that was all that was left. That’s what I was told.”

You remained tough in your interrogation, no matter how your instincts of longing screamed at you. “Was that before or after you removed your helmet?”

“After.” Din never hesitated once in revealing each truth to you. “I had no choice, cyare. I promise, I swear.”

It was hard to remain calm when Din was so close to fracturing in front of you, but you maintained your composure nonetheless. “How did it happen?”

For the first time yet, Din hesitated. You stopped the work you were doing on your leg and glanced up, watching as Din bent down and held the child in his arms. You couldn’t help smiling to yourself at the sight of them. “The kid got captured by Moff Gideon.”

Your eyes widened underneath your visor. “Moff Gideon?”

Din nodded. “I… can tell you more about him later.” His voice was low, casting a shadow over the future conversation. “The only way I could get the kid back was to find the coordinates to Gideon’s light cruiser.” Din’s visor fell to the child tucked in his arm. “The Imperial terminal I used required a facial scan.”

It was hard to believe what Din was telling you, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Din was a man of honor, the most honorable you had ever known, but it was his love for and loyalty to the people closest to him that took precedence over all else. He had shown you so himself.

“You said you completed your quest.” You paused to grit your teeth as you administered bacta spray to your wound. Din nearly made the motion to lunge towards you in your peripheral vision, but he stopped himself. “But the child is still with you.”

“Grogu.” Your visor found Din again at the word. The way the child’s long ears had risen on his head answered the question you were about to ask, though Din also beat you to it. “His name is Grogu.” You simply nodded and continued to tend to your wound, allowing Din to continue. “I did complete my quest, but he came back to me.”

You spoke without diverting your attention away from your work. “Why?”

Din’s visor fell to the child, Grogu, once again. “I’m… not sure.” Your chest warmed underneath your cuirass as you watched Din’s forefinger and thumb hold Grogu’s hold. “I guess he wants to be a Mandalorian.”

“Or…” you smiled as you reached for the dark-colored gauze and began to unravel it, “he just wants to be with you.” You forced your visor to remain fixed on your work as you went on. “I know the feeling well.”

Din dared to take a step closer to you. His modulated voice was low and haunted as he spoke. “Have I ruined it?”

You took a deep breath, your armored shoulders rising and falling with you as you secured the gauze around your leg. You stopped and reached for your cuisse, holding the metal between your gloved hands and giving your helmet an aimless shake. “I just…” You raised your helmet to face Din. He continued to stand just a single step or two away from you, restless in his poorly concealed desperation as he shifted his weight once again. “I don’t understand.”

Din’s helmet tilted as he nodded. “I can explain.” His voice was hopeful, and softer than it had been ever since he arrived. “Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.”

“I know you will.” You packed up the medical supplies, securing the medpac closed and heaving another breath. “But I don’t think this is something you can explain.”

Din’s helmet straightened in confusion as you tried to stand. You groaned and stopped yourself, closing your eyes beneath your visor at the way the movement pained your healing leg. Din froze, his visor intently watching your every move. You held out your hand towards him.

“Can you help me?”

Din nodded, setting Grogu back onto the floor before taking a firm step towards you. He held your gloved hand and used the other to steady your back, helping you to stand and assisting you over to where your medpac belonged.

You resumed your earlier thoughts as Din kept you close to his side. It was a welcome feeling akin to that of a home. “Nobody told me.” Your visor found his. “I searched for a new location for the covert. I helped to bring everyone here, including the Armorer and Paz from Glavis. And what have I gotten in return?”

You shook your helmet, letting Din help you sit on your bed once again. That time, you were regretful to let go of his hand.

“Lies. Half-hearted truths.” You scoffed and tightened your gloved hands around your cuisses. “No one told me you were alive. Neither the Armorer nor Paz told me they had even seen you.” You lifted a hand to gesture behind Din at the curtain serving as your door. “They’ve all known about us for cycles, and yet no one decided to tell me what happened to you.”

Din helped a visible breath. Your visor never strayed from his as you sat in the silence for a long moment.

“But you haven’t hesitated to be honest with me.” You lifted your chin. “I’m not taking the side of those who refused to do the same.”

The tension that fled from Din’s armored shoulders at your words was practically visible. It was almost as if his weight gave out altogether as he knelt down in front of you. “Thank you.” His modulated voice was quiet, strained by an emotion you struggled to identify. “But…” he shook his helmet, his visor falling to the floor, “they’re still right.” Din found the faith to face you again. “I’m an apostate. I broke the Creed.” Din nodded, as dutiful as ever. “You deserve better than to be associated with me.”

You leaned forward and held his helmet between your gloved hands. It was a position that catapulted you to the sweet nostalgia of the past, when holding his beskar face was an everyday routine rather than a long-lost privilege. “Din.” It was hard to miss the small inhale Din took at your gentle utterance of his name. “You may have removed your helmet, but you did not break the Creed.” You nodded at him. “In my eyes, you upheld the most important vows we swore ourselves to: Honor. Loyalty. Solidarity.”

You paused, your visor finding the little one who stood patiently by Din’s boot. He cooed at you, nodding to agree with your words as he encouraged you to go on. You smiled at the child and looked at Din again.

“You completed the highest honor of our people.” Your helmet gestured to Grogu. “You rescued a foundling.” The front part of your helmet found his own as you brought Din closer to you. “This is the Way.”

Din’s gloved hands found your wrists, the touch slow yet secure as he wrapped them around you. His repetition of the phrase crackled through his modulator in his disbelief. “This is the Way.”

You smiled and brushed your gloved hands over his beskar cheeks. “If your allegiance to the Creed makes you an apostate, then…” you freed your hands from Din, holding your own helmet and lifting it before Din could stop you, “I suppose it makes me one, too.”

Din froze, his visor scanning your face in disbelief. His gloved hands were stuck as they reached out in front of him, a statue of his thwarted attempt to keep you from removing your helmet. He spoke in a trembling, disbelieving breath. “Cyare…”

You set your helmet aside and held his once more. “Loyalty and solidarity are the Way.”

Din finally began to move, one of his gloved hands returning to your wrist as the other cupped the side of your face. You leaned into the touch, closing your eyes to prove to him just how meaningful it truly is to you. “I’ve… only been able to dream of this.” Din’s confession was quiet, each modulated word strained as he spoke. “Of you.” He forced himself to take a deep breath, his gloved thumb running over the skin under your eye over and over again. “Of upholding my promise.”

You smiled at him. “As have I.” You held a hand over his. “It’s been hard, but…” you looked at Grogu and grinned wider, “I’m glad you put the foundling first.”

Grogu cooed at that before Din could even respond. You watched as the little one toddled his way over to you, wrapping his arms around your boot and closing his eyes as he hugged it. You chuckled lightheartedly, your gaze returning to Din’s visor.

You were shocked to see his true gaze just a moment later—a brown sea of warmth and pure affection.

Your gloved hands held his untrimmed jaw as the warmth of your forehead met his for the first time. You couldn’t resist the urge to study him up close over and over again, making your smile remain as you spoke to him in a soft breath. “Being an apostate isn’t so bad.”

Din huffed with amusement at that. His own gaze was studying you, but his eyes had started to focus on your lips. “We can make it worth our while.”

His natural voice was a gift as sweet as the first kiss he gave you, a breathtakingly beautiful display of affection that was many cycles in the making. Pure warmth that rivaled anything the galaxy had ever offered you blossomed from his lips onto your own, setting your chest aflame with the same sweet heat. For the sake of the child in the room, the two of you separated more quickly than either one of you would have liked, your smiles brightening up the space between you.

“So,” you began, running your gloved fingers over his cheek, “where are we headed next, cyare?”

Din grimaced for a moment, making you furrow your brow in concern. “Mandalore.”

You lifted your head from his. “The planet’s cursed, Din. We can’t go there.”

Din broke away from you for a moment to reach for something on his belt. He lifted it and offered it to you. “That’s Mandalorian writing.” He said the words as soon as you read them on the green slab of glass. “A traveler acquired this from the planet’s surface.”

Your gaze of disbelief found his. “Is it breathable?”

Din shrugged, taking the fused glass back from you. “That’s what I’m going to find out.” He nodded and looked down at his helmet. “The Armorer has told me redemption is only possible in the Living Waters beneath the mines.”

You tightened your jaw in resolution. “Then that’s where we’re headed.” You prepared to force yourself to stand once again. “I’ll get my things together.”

Din shook his head, his brown eyes dark with worry as his brow furrowed. “You’re still hurt.”

“One night’s rest will be enough to heal it.” You nodded in further reassurance. “The trip through hyperspace will take care of it.”

Din hesitated, but ultimately he nodded to agree with you. “And you still have your ship?”

“I do. Speaking of which…” you raised your brow at him, “you’ve got quite the ship, now.”

Din huffed, though his gaze averted yours. “The Crest was destroyed by Gideon.” You set a hand on his cheek for comfort. “This ship’s turning out to be a fairly decent replacement, though.”

“Sure.” You grinned at him. “Knowing you, this ship’s much more your speed.”

Din chuckled, his attention turning to Grogu. “What do you think, buddy?”

The foundling let out a long coo, making both you and Din laugh before he helped you to stand. He supported you with one hand and used the other to grab your helmet, though he hesitated before he put it back on for you.

“Thank you, cyare.” The genuine nature of Din’s words were even more evident without the filter of his helmet, his brown eyes telling you the very same truth.

You brought yourself closer to him. “You don’t have to thank me, Din.” You nodded, your next words a whispered breath upon his lips. “I did it because I love you.”

You kissed him, a quick yet meaningful gesture that kept a small smile on his lips as you pulled away. His response was still just as meaningful as before, if not more so. “I love you, too.” He nodded as he began to set your helmet over your head. “Once we find our redemption,” the helmet lowered, “then I’ll follow through on my promise.”

You helped Din with his own helmet before leaning it against your own in one more Keldabe kiss. “I know you will.”

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#this is what din deserved after such a haunting welcome #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fanfiction #dindjarindiaries

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bestbountyhunterinspace · 1 year

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Din: Goodnight moon

Din: Goodnight tree

Din: Goodnight ghosts only I can see

Jaster, Tarre and all the Mand'alors of old: Goodnight Din :D

#darksaber is haunted bet #its like having an angel and devil on your shoulder except din mostly asks jasters help with parenting #star wars #the mandalorian #mandalorian #mand'alor din djarin #din djarin #jaster mereel #tarre vizsla #darksaber

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sensazioneultra · 9 months

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Shabana Azmi as Neeta

एक दिन अचानक | SUDDENLY, ONE DAY (1989) dir. Mrinal Sen

#shabana azmi #suddenly one day #एक दिन अचानक #ek din achanak #worldcinemaedit #filmauteur #southasiansource #mrinal sen #indian cinema #moviegifs #filmgifs #1980s #1989 #nico.gif #movies #she's so so beautiful and there's just that Sadness about her character in this film that makes her look somehow even more beautiful #just in a kind of haunted melancholic way #anyway i made this but now my back hates me lol

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radiosummons · 1 year

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Tarre Vizsla, hanging out in the Darksaber break room, idk how haunted lightsabers work: Oh? Hmmm ....

Jaster Mereel, also chilling out in the Darksaber break room with a cup of shig and another holobook on Mandalorian history: What is it?

Tarre Vizsla: It seems that someone new has claimed ownership of my lightsaber.

Jaster Mereel, no longer interested: And? The Darksaber changes hands so often nowadays, I'm surprised you even commented on it-

Tarre Vizsla: No, you don't understand. This Mandalorian doesn't even know what the Darksaber is.

Jaster Mereel: ....

Tarre Vizsla: And now he's trying to give the Darksaber away to the other Kryze child.

Jaster Mereel: .... he's what?

Tarre Vizsla: Trying to give the Darksaber away. Strange. It seems he is also a child of the Watch.

Jaster Mereel: Death Watch?

Tarre Vizsla: Indeed.

Jaster Mereel: And he doesn't actually want the Darksaber?

Tarre Vizsla: He seems absolutely desperate to get rid of it.

Jaster Mereel: .....

Tarre Vizsla: .....

Tarre Vizsla: Wanna haunt him?

Jaster Mereel, putting his holobook down: *sighs* Alright, yeah, sure. Why kriffing not?

#star wars shitpost #tarre vizsla #jaster mereel #din djarin #the mandalorian #the darksaber #darksaber #look #i just want din to be haunted #by the manda'lors of past #i think it'd be HILARIOUS #just jaster and tarre #in the background #cheering on their loser mandalorian #cause he's somehow #the only mentally stable mandalorian #to wield the darksaber #since tarre himself

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kedsandtubesocks · 8 months

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In The Dead of Night

pairing: Creature!Cowboy Din Djarin x F!Reader

prompts: “I will keep hurting, I will keep killing, anything to protect you” + “it’s just a little blood”

wc: ~8k

tags & warnings: 18 + only MDNI, supernatural western AU, monster loving, biting with aphrodisiac like effects, wound licking and blood consumption, magic healing, allusion to fem!oral receiving, gore and violence, possessive + protective!Din, loosely established relationship getting firmly established (if I missed anything please let me know)

a/n: written for the haunted hoedown, I want to thank @inklore & @psychedelic-ink for taking the time to create and host such a boo-tiful event! I saw ‘haunted hoedown’ and of course my mind went straight to spooky cowboys lol my deepest thanks and love go to @skeletoncowboys & @perotovar for being the best root tootin’ cowpokes ever, thanks for reading!

Legends whispered of demons living up in the mountains. Untouched by the sprawl of the town, the myths of creatures lurking in the shadows seemed born simply as ghost stories to tell around crackling campfires.

“Heard there’s a portal to hell up there,” one of the midwives had told you. “And the things that crawl out from the mountains are sent from the devil himself.”

Those legends though were forming into a tangible blistering darkness growing on the edge of the desert. The weight of it now circles the town like a vulture.

Shrill shrieks recently began howling in the night, haunting the town. Unlike the cries of coyotes or even a skittish wild boar, the bestial distorted screeches instead seize a primal fear within the heart of the town. The echoes linger in the wind and simmer a slight unrest.

Then a few shops, along with the bank, began to get ransacked late in the night.

And recently, as of two nights ago, one of the innkeepers heading home for the evening went missing.

As you sit in the cantina, the bustling discussion brewing in the bar of course focuses only on the creatures rumored to be living in the hills.

The cantina owner, a gruff older gentleman, tells you he even saw one once.

“It flew fast overhead. Had wings that reminded me of a bat, but I couldn’t see shit ‘cause of how dark it was. But I know what I saw.”

“All these stories are all just talk! Mindless ghost stories!” Mayor Karga laughs. “There’s nothing out past those points except unforgivable terrain and some terrifying rattlesnakes. Nothing supernatural.”

The wilderness held many forms of life. From the wild creatures to the shadows within the mesquite trees, the secrets held among the desert’s stretching landscape are endless.

“I don’t know mayor,” the bartender sighs. “We all hear that sound, and whatever makes it…it ain’t human.”

“It’s probably just an injured mountain lion.” Karga argues and you hope it brings some comfort in his rationality.

“There’s no way a mountain lion did the damage we saw in the shops.” Another patron rebuttals hard and unconvinced at Karga’s logic.

The grumbles and paranoid brewing among the bar refuse to settle.

“Look,” Karga sighs. “I’ll have my best man go up there and take a look around. I’m sure he’ll be able to find the source of whatever’s been making this ruckus.”

Karga moves to the corner of the saloon. He then happily claps the shoulders of a man sitting among the shadows of the bar.

The quiet bounty hunter.

You hadn’t realized his presence and at the sight of him your heart jumps rapidly as if a jackrabbit made a home in it.

The bounty hunter had arrived many months ago.

The black bandana he wore constantly covered his face. He now almost looked like a shadowy creature from the hills. The cowboy is just as dangerous as whatever lurked among the mountain range and is just as quiet.

In the dimly lit cantina, the bandana, along with his hat, casts an even thicker shadow over his face almost obscuring his eyes.

He simply nods at Karga.

Fear immediately claws at you, sinking its talons into your soul. You stiffen in your seat at the bar.

“See! It’s settled then!” Karga announces warmly and it does calm the tense room down.

“Poor bastard,” the saloon owner says under his breath.

You find no words, only an aching panic quickly gnawing at your ribs. Your body rises up on your own. You settle your tab, grab your shawl and quietly make your way to head back to your cabin.

But before leaving, you can’t help but turn to curiously stare at the bounty hunter. For being such an intimidating force of a man, he sits unassertive against the shadow of the wall. He’s barely touched his drink and doesn’t move to talk to anyone else.

Even after agreeing to investigate, to make his way to the treacherous mountains, one seems to pay him any attention.

Then his face turns up to you.

Under the shadow of his hat, deep eyes pulled straight from the blessed soil stare at you with an unwavering attention.

A tension settles over your skin.

Someone calls out your name, breaking your trance.

“You’re not walking back alone, are ya?” The saloon’s owner asks with genuine worry. Even a somber silence casts its shadow over his older face.

“I’ll be fine.” You reassure him with a soft nod.

You can’t help but find your gaze flickering back to the cowboy.

He stares at you now with wide eyes.

Before him or any else can act, Mayor Karga slides into a chair opposite the bounty hunter immediately drawing his attention. Your attention now moves down to the satchel slung across the cowboy.

The dusty cream colored bag suddenly wiggles. Out from its pocket a tiny clawed hand faintly pops out.

Before any more terror dizzying worry can poison your mind you spin on your heels and head out of the saloon. You feel eyes clawing at the back of your head your entire walk back to the cabin.

You expect the sound of cowboy boots to follow you out. Except only the still silence of the night greets you.

Thankfully no mysterious shriek comes among the evening air, just the crunch of your boots on the gravel.

As you turn in for the night you give one last glance out the window. There at the edge of the town, where civilization bleeds dry into the wilderness, the large mountain ranges loom with their ever watchful gaze.

If something else lurks within them…

You shove the thought aside as you take a seat on the chair in the dining room. Angrily yanking your quilt up, you close your eyes.

Then, soft gentle claws scratch at your face.

Your eyes flutter open fast.

Crawling up your body and staring with the widest marble like eyes, a green strange eared creature chirps the sweetest noise.

“Hello there,” you coo back.

The baby yawns and it crinkles up his adorable wrinkled face. Moving to rest flat against you, he sighs sleepily, comforted. His presence melts you.

Out of instinct you draw him close. Settling your hands against his tiny body, you wrap him under the quilt.

“Kid, thought I told you not to go and wake her-”

“It’s fine.” You sharply cut off the deep voice calling out in the cabin.

A sigh comes. When you glance over to the open dining room area, the cowboy already begins to disarm himself, laying his various weapons into the chest that sits snuggled in the corner by the wooden extended table he built for you.

“You shouldn’t have walked back here alone.” He mutters with a hardened edge.

“You were busy.” You briskly reply, rubbing your hand on the baby’s back.

“Could’ve waited.”

“Didn’t want to.” You fire back just as hard and frustrated.

He knew you couldn’t. No one in the town knows about you and them. For their safety, and yours, this existence remains a tight barbed wired secret.

Your eyes are drawn to the cowboy’s beautiful sturdy back and you glare fierce daggers into it.

“I can feel you staring.” He mutters.

“Good.” You mutter back low, hard.

A heavier sigh trickles into the cabin and the bounty hunter turns to face you. Removing his hat and drawing his bandana down, you are greeted by the most beautiful man this wilderness could ever bless you with. He stares at you with those same eyes that silently spoke to you at the cantina.

“I know you’re upset…”

That is an understatement.

“Din…” you sigh now as an ache wide as a canyon rips across your chest. “You can’t go. You don’t even know what else is out there.”

“That’s why I have to go. I have to see and make sure.” Your cowboy replies back with patience woven in his voice.

You’re more upset than he is and you angrily blink back tears over that truth.

The wilderness is an unforgiving vastness, capable of swallowing up anything it chooses.

The thought of that scares you more than any mysterious noise or being slinking around your town.

Suddenly a warm calloused hand trails up your cheek. Even after all this time the action sparks a warm current up your spine. When you blink out of your thoughts Din stares down at you with a molten ink gaze begging for you to fall into him, to trust him.

He is considered just as mysterious and dangerous as the wilderness from which he emerged. Just in the same manner that the desert is a cautious beauty, so is Din.

A nose as sharp and defined as a canyon’s peak, cloud soft plush lips, a scruffy beard and mustache that tickle your face, he seems crafted from a dream.

Din’s thumb runs over your cheek.

Staring up at him, you soak in the sight of this myth of a man. Din sighs and leans down to rest his forehead against yours.

“You know I'm the only one who can go…”

You know he’s right and it’s why you are terrified.

Closing your eyes you lean into his hand.

“Just come back.” You whisper already hearing tears leak into your voice.

“Always do.” Din’s thick reply doesn’t help your aching heart.

As if on cue Grogu yawns, so heartwarming and sweet as he wiggles to get more comfortable in your arms. You and Din glance at the baby sleeping so peacefully against you.

“We should follow this little tadpole’s lead and get some rest too,” you mutter.

Din mutters a hum of an agreement. The three of you move to settle into the bedroom and sink into the warm quilts.

You don’t realize how exhausted you are until your eyes wearily flutter open as strong arms wrap around you from behind.

Din’s all encompassing warmth becomes a beautiful dream lulling you to sleep against his solid frame. His scent, the faintest hint of gunpowder mixing with the rosemary soap you gifted him, settles a peace within you.

The faintest pressure of his lips kisses your head, a soft good night.

In the morning, you realize it was also a goodbye.

Because when you wake up, your bed greets you cold, and Din is nowhere to be found.

The day passes by in a slow pace that sticks to your bones in a brewing terror. You try to hold grace and a steady strength, to be an unbothered mesquite against the wind.

Especially when you have a sweet little creature to watch over.

You stay at the cabin with Grogu and see the opportunity to work on the various chores you have neglected. You do some weeding, check on the fence, and watch Grogu happily chase after butterflies that flutter around your garden. It all manages to settle the brewing storm trapped in your chest, if only for a moment.

Thinking of Din facing whatever terrors haunt the town rapidly consumes you as your mind conjures up the worst scenarios. Din might be a force of a man possibly formed of smoke and shadow, still out of your grasp. Yet you want to keep him close and safe.

Little claws tugging at your leg suddenly snap you out of your thoughts.

Blinking down in surprise, Grogu glanced up at you with worried eyes. His head tilts in confusion. You effortlessly scoop him up into your arms.

“I’m sorry little tadpole,” you poke his nose and earn a shimmering giggle from the baby. “Just got lost in thought. Let’s head in for dinner, yeah?”

His excited squeak brightens your cloudy worry like a sunlight ray.

With the baby happily fed, his eyes fighting to stay awake. So you tuck him into your bed and return to cleaning up for the night.

As you close up the cabinets, wings fluttering dangerously around the cabin dance through the night air and you freeze.

Something solid collides with a hard thud onto the ground outside. A distorted croak of a noise follows.

The noise sounds close, right outside your door and you hastily move to head outside.

The lights from inside of your cabin along with the lantern on the front porch illuminate the midnight sky. Against the darkness, a looming silhouette slowly drags itself closer towards the cabin. It stops and curls over with hunched shoulders. The shape reminds you of a cornered animal hiding within itself from the light.

Then a distorted creak of your name whispers out soft as if it could be snagged on the desert’s foliage.

You sob Din’s name out into the midnight wilderness.

You rush out to him, relieved. Panic however rushes in like a broken damn when you reach him.

His body pitches forward and in a scramble you manage to steady him.

In this form he towers over you with an intimidating height. Yet this mythical monster, this tender creature, allows you to steady him into the cabin as best as you can.

After managing to sit him on the floor beside the table, the sigh of him now has you paralyzed in terror.

A gash runs against the top of Din’s head with blood trickling softly down his face. Rips and scratches can be seen on his wings even with them folded against his back. Various wounds run across his chest and his claws have blood already drying on them.

Rushing to the cabinets, you grab as many supplies as you can and spill them onto the table. You reach for the salve first to treat the wound on his head.

“What happened?!” Your hands shake as you scoop out the healing salve.

“I’m….fine.” In this form his voice creaks and sounds distorted, as if it holds the weight of all the secrets in the mountains. However, his breaths come out labored, thick, gurgled and fear pulses with a deadly toxin through your body.

His pitch black eyes wearily glaze over as he stares at you.

You have never seen him this injured and seriously wounded.

Fighting the tears becomes harder as you rub the medicine onto the gash against his head. You need to tend to his chest wounds next but it’s hard to focus with questions and dread filling your body.

A worried little noise shatters your anxious thoughts. You rapidly turn around. Grogu, wide away, waddles towards you and Din with worried wide wet eyes.

“Little love,” you say tenderly cautious. “It’s alright I’m helping your papa-“

“Wait…let the kid come.” Din interjects.

Grogu scurries closer until you simply pick him up and bring him to his father.

Din then begins speaking in clicks and chitters, gurgle-like noises only him and Grogu seem to understand. You feel out of place yet completely absorbed watching Grogu so endearingly try to grab at his father.

“Let me take the kid.” Din coughs out.

“Din.” You cautiously press.

“It’ll be alright.” He reassures with a dangerous wheeze that does not reassure your rapidly terrorized heart. But you hand him Grogu who stares at Din with glistening teary eyes.

You keep yourself busy by moving to place wraps and more salve onto Din’s wings.

Father and son exchange more click like chirps. You move to tend to his chest wounds. Then the scratches softly melt away, like magic.

You gasp and almost drop everything in your hands.

“S’all right honey.” Din calls to you low and eased. Your eyes whip up to him. Grogu’s hands are against Din’s chest and his eyes are so adorably focused. The realization settles in quickly. Your little tadpole is doing this.

The baby has healing abilities, like a legend out of a children’s bedtime story. Then again, to the town and to many others, these two creatures in your cabin would be mistaken as demons who crawled out of a nightmare. But to you they are precious, your most dearest boys.

“You two can heal?” You mutter out still stunned.

“In a way, yes.” Din replies still hoarse.

The chest wounds are all the baby can heal before his eyes flutter hazy and exhaustion takes over. Both you and Din rapidly move to steady his little body as he falls asleep from exhaustion.

“Let me take him.”

Din allows you to tuck the baby back into the quilts of your bed.

Your name floats out from Din a hoarse whisper. Hot tears bubble in your eyes as you return to your creature’s side.

“What happened?” You ask again this time hoping for an answer.

Din gives it to you.

He discovered what has been terrorizing the town.

“A group of bandits.” Din explains wearily. “They ambushed me but managed to get a few of them.”

If they were bandits, then what creatures were making those sounds at night?

The truth, you realize, sits right here on your wooden cabin floors.

“The bandits are like you.” You mutter out.

Din nods solemn, serious and your heart plummets straight into your stomach.

“What are they doing here?” You whisper low as if someone miles away could catch this conversation.

“Migrated here. Their kind jump from town to town, taking all they can and then leave.”

Your mind thinks of a plague of locus, deadly and all consuming.

“And the innkeeper?” You wearily ask.

Din shakes his head, a somber answer that needs no further explanation. Your throat closes tight.

These creatures, these bandits, would not stop or be satisfied until they get their fill.

Suddenly a soft face nuzzles into the hollow of your neck. A rumbling vibration runs up your skin and through your entire body. He’s purring. You’ve heard this sound before but this, this feels like his attempt to soothe you.

You gently wrap your arms around his large monstrous form as much as you can. Din burrows his face more against your neck as if he hopes to dig past your skin.

“Din careful, you’re injured.” The words leave you a scared, worried sob.

“I know just..need to be close to you.” His purring becomes louder, a stronger attempt to comfort you.

“I’ll keep you and the kid safe.” Din mutters in his gravel filled voice.

One of his clawed hands curls against you gently to draw you closer.

“No one will hurt you.” He vows and it rings with a conviction unwavering and hauntingly somber.

“But you got hurt.” You cough through tears thinking of his blood drying on your hand.

“Doesn’t matter. I will keep hurting, I will keep killing. Anything to protect you.”

His voice in this form seeps with danger, a venomous animalistic tone that should be a warning. But hearing those words, realizing the blood you wiped from his claws was not his…

A wave of slick dizzying heat licks up your body down to your core.

He is your protector, your shadowy creature consecrated from legends. And you love him.

Din inhales against your skin as if he smells this shift in your body. Maybe he possibly has because your cowboy begins to kiss your neck tenderly.

Fangs, dangerous sharpened fangs, lie behind those lips. Yet he kisses with a gentleness trying to cover every inch of skin you will give him.

“Din, you’re injured.” you remind him again and your bounty hunter exhales shakily.

“There’s...a way you can help heal me.” His voice now shrinks back, soft and hesitant.

“Wait.” Your thoughts clarify with a rapid sharpness. “There is?”

You would give him anything to save him, to help him.

Din draws his head up from the warmth of your neck and you find an ache missing his presence.

In any form, human or not, your cowboy is a beautiful sight. His completely consumed coal eyes avert from your watch. A bashful earnestly flickers over his ghastly features and an ache rises in you to soothe him.

Leaning forward you kiss his rough cheek with all the affection you can.

“Whatever you need,” you reassure your monster. “I’m yours Din.”

His body moves rapidly. His large form curls against you, a towering shadow. Din dives his face back to your neck as he starts to burrow his nose against your skin.

Suddenly his tongue draws out and begins to lick at you. It’s long, and you remember how snakelike it was when you first saw it. Your eyes close as you wonder if this is his attempt at soothing you once more.

Then he bites into the base of your neck and your eyes snap open wide.

Instinctively, like an animal caught in a trap, your body lurches forward. Pain sharply runs up your neck and warm liquid trickles onto your skin.

Then, Din begins to suck.

He starts to suck and drink from your blood.

Your heart hammers a thunderous drumming in your ears. You have never done this with him. You’ve been intimate with your cowboy before and never shy away from his more createrous form.

But… the secret cavern of your hearts, not even wanting to face this truth yourself, a part of you wondered with a dangerous temptation what it would be like to be intimate with Din in this form.

Your mind tries to steady itself on this new frontier you are about to explore. Suddenly a sharp wave of arousal washes over you so fast your eyes roll back.

Your body goes slack in Din’s large arms while a blissful moan escapes you.

“Shh…” Din mutters a low gurgle against your skin. “Not too loud.”

You can’t wake the babe asleep in the other room and this is the last solid thought you hold onto.

Because your mind quickly melts as if a desert mirage has blurred your reality. A heated fever burns across your skin. So much slick pools between your legs that you feel it dripping. Now your body thrashes with the pleasure of wanting to get closer to Din as much as you can. You press your lips tight to stay silent.

Din’s sharp fangs nip at your skin. He rapidly alternates between drinking your blood and licking at the wound.

Your mouth waters in a way you didn’t think pleasure could draw this reaction out of you. Soaked in this lust, you feel intoxicated and you don’t seem to be the only one.

Din rapidly laps at your blood and hums an animalistic noise that rages through your entire body.

“Taste so good.” Your cowboy slurs barely focused himself. “Knew you’d taste s’good.”

Pleasure builders faster and faster now. Your legs twitch trying to relieve the aching arousal but you don’t want this to stop. It’s delicious, pure pleasure, one that melts the skin off your bones and transcends you into a sacredness you can’t describe. Because this tastes sacred in both a delicious and dangerous way.

“Din.” You quietly moan his name out and he clutches onto you harder as you feel his own body beginning to grin against you.

Din sucks harder, fervently, and doubles the dizzying heat surging through you.

You’re getting close. The way your mind teeters between consciousness and bliss it feels like you are tiptoeing on the edge of a cavern’s abyss and will fall in at any moment.

Suddenly Din pulls away from your neck. The cold air prickles against your skin and a chill crawls up your body.

“Wha-” you slur your question. But before you can ask, the sight of Din steals your breath and thoughts.

His shoulders heave heavy and rise with rapid breathing. His obsidian eyes gleam wild and raw, almost possessive as he stares down at your body. His fangs, his beautifully monstrous maw is soaked with blood, your blood.

Before you can process this sight, your bounty hunter acts with the speed of a rattlesnake striking. His claws tear apart your night gown undergarments with a sounding rip.

You feel a surprise squeak die in the back of your throat.

This creature of a cowboy flings himself down between your legs with a feral franticness, a being possessed.

Then that long tongue of his takes a smooth swipe up your soaked folds. Your body shakes, falling into the abyss. Your eyes roll back as numbing black out pleasure swallows you whole.

The shop thankfully has been quiet all day. The shop owner, Annalise, and her husband left for the nearby town to visit family. So they told you. But you knew it was fear, the same fear driving out more and more of the town.

An eerie emptiness has settled among the shops as if ghosts themselves have moved into their vacancy. The town slowly rots away into a bone like shell of itself. Even the dread has begun leaking into you.

As you currently repair a skirt, the gentle silence that once comforted you itches your skin with an edge of unease .

The day is almost over. That comfort alone keeps you sturdy among the waves of worry.

A small thud of something falling comes. Then a little giggle follows.

Amusement tugs at your lips. Setting your work down you go investigate the scene of the crime.

There off to the side, Grogu sits happily tangled up in various colors of yarn. He must have pulled them down trying to climb up on the shelves here behind the counter.

Grogu with his angelic black eyes blinks up at you with red yarn hanging off his strange ears. He giggles again so playfully as he beams up at you. The baby begins babbling, holding up more of the yarn to show you his handiwork.

“Yes I see you.” You tease back.

Kneeling down to sit on the floor with him, you start gently untangling this adorable mess.

“You’re always just going to be my little trouble maker, aren’t you?” You fondly say mainly to yourself. Yet Grogu chirps a noise sounding like an agreement.

He came into your life this exact same way.

With a sneaky entrance and a giggle, you had first found this strange little creature in your garden. From that moment seeing his wide midnight eyes blink up at you with herbs in his mouth, your life has never been the same. But it has been blown into a beautiful new direction with such ease you never want to change.

“Definitely grateful Annalise isn’t here now.” You tell Grogu as he wiggles his arms watching your move and shift the yarn. “She wouldn’t appreciate you messing with her very meticulous and organized yarn arrangement.”

Of course she wouldn’t have appreciated seeing this strange sweet babe of a creature. It’s why whoever kept the baby had him hidden in bags or under cloaks.

Having him here with you at the tailor shop, sitting so freely on the floor, you understand walks a fine dangerous line, even with the vacant town.

But you wanted to keep your sweet little tadpole close to you more than ever.

“I’m also grateful your papa is getting some rest.” A distant wistful tone floats into your voice.

“Mweh.” Grogu replies back in his strange bell-like voice.

Since he arrived home from the bandits ambush three days ago, Din has slept under the blankets of your bed.

His continuous slumber reminds you vaguely of bears that rest in their caves during the winter. You wonder if the same goes for Din. After such a difficult fight, sleep and rest provide an ultimate form of healing.

When you first peeked under the blankets to check on Din, you found him resting peacefully and fully human. Now with a soft kiss goodbye to your cowboy every morning, you let him sleep and heal.

Grogu, as mischievous as he is, still is his father’s son. He begins helping you with the yarn by carrying as much as he can in his little arms. You warmly thank him and Grogu beams proudly as he continues wiggling out of the tangles.

The door to the shop creaks open.

Sundown approaches fast. Who could be coming in at this late in the day?

“Stay here and don’t move.” You softly tell Grogu with a pat to his head. You rise to greet the customers.

Instead you discover newcomers, strangers you do not know, and it’s a group of them.

Their leader, a man with sharp eyes saunters towards your counter. A deadly shift circulates in the air the way it does when a viper is spotted slithering across the sands.

“Why ‘ello there lovely.” The stranger coos with a disgusting seductive undertone that has you frowning.

Bandits, these have to be the bandits Din spoke of.

“Can I help you?” You ask sharp.

The leader’s lips twitch playful.

“Name’s Vane,” he introduces himself. “Didn’t think I’d find someone as lovely as you here.”

You stay quiet, staring hard.

“You know, it’s polite manners to introduce yourself.” The bandit named Vane offers coyly almost teasingly. His comrades snicker and you again stay silent.

You’ve seen your share of bandits that have rode into town. But these men infesting your tailor shop are not like the others. That thought alone infects you with a petrifying venom.

“What do you want? There’s nothing here you all could possibly need.” You argue steady and calm..

“See, that’s where ya wrong lovely.” Vane purrs with a gleam in his eyes. He takes deep sniffs once and twice.

His face melts into a deeper pleased smile.

“There’s something very important here.”

Something inside of you screams to scoop the baby into your arms and flee. Din gifted you a beautiful dagger months ago. You know it’s not much but threatening a weapon might be your next option.

“Aw,” one of the bandits frowns at you. “What’s the sad face for, pretty?”

“I need you all to leave.” Gathering all your strength you try standing your ground even.

They laugh wild cackles that put the crows to shame and your stomach twists sick with a tangible dread.

“Fellas, why don’t you do as the lady says and leave.”

Mayor Karga’s voice floats into the shop, a sturdy safeline. The bandits all turn in surprise at the new intruder who stares at them hard and determined.

“Ah, Mayor Karga! Good to see ya!” The bandit named Vane greets him.

“Why don’t we have our reunion somewhere else.” Karga urges firm.

Then his eyes turn to you with golden reassurance and he nods.

“Why don’t you head on home for the night?”

All you can do is nod back. Falling to the floor, you scramble and gather Grogu into your satchel. Of course the baby, just like his father, thankfully stays close to you.

“It’s alright,” you softly comfort him as you kiss the top of his fuzzy sweet head. “We’ll be home soon.”

You rise up and find the bandits have disappeared. So caught up in your panic and trying to reassure Grogu you didn't even hear or notice their exit.

For some reason, their absence terrifies you more.

When you step outside the town is bathed in dusk’s glow. Someone calls out your name.

There a few steps away Mayor Karga grins at you.

“I apologize for that encounter earlier. Might I escort you home? I’d like to make sure you make it back safe.”

You’re grateful for your town’s mayor. A steadfast calm and sturdy soul whose company you gladly accept.

“Where did the bandits go?” You cautiously ask.

“How did you know they were bandits?” Karga now curiously asks you.

“A good guess,” you sleepily reply back. “Haven’t seen them around town before.”

Thankfully the answer appeases Karga enough as he sighs.

“I know the town believes it’s some type of… monster living in the mountains that’s been disrupting the town. But I have no doubt it’s really those bandits.”

A heaviness shit in your chest as you wish you could agree that both possibilities are true.

“Now ain’t that just rude? Accusing us of somethin’ you have no proof of.”

Vane’s shrill voice slices through the ghost town and it steals the air from your lungs.

When you and Karga turn around the bandit already holds his pistol drawn with a coy eased expression.

“Just at least let the shop keeper go. This is between us.” Karga snaps fiercely as his hand rests now on his own gun.

“Actually, that pretty ‘lil thing is more interesting than you Mister Mayor.” Vane’s smile oozes with disgusting glee.

Boots crunch on the path in front of you and when you whip back forward, more bandits have arrived circling you and the Mayor like a pack of coyotes ready to strike.

“I’ll draw their fire, you run. Run as fast as you can.” Karga whispers low panicked.

The loud bang of a shot pierces the early evening.

You almost jump out of your skin hearing the gun go off. But one of the bandits drops flat onto the gravel path.

An unearthly hollowness snaps the air tight. Everyone, including yourself, rapidly tries to find the new gunslinger.

Another gunshot comes.

Another bandit collapses dead.

“Come out ‘ere!” One of the bandits roars. “Show yourself ya fucking coward!”

Materializing from the shadows himself, Din simply struts out from between the cover of two buildings. His rifle is drawn.

He’s here. Your cowboy, your bounty hunter, is awake and he’s here.

Din has never looked as striking and beautiful as he does now. A force of pure steeled power and precision he stands broad, intimidating. His black bandana hides his face. But from under the cover of his hat his eyes glare blazing furious fires.

“Your fight is with me.” Din snarls to Vane, fierce yet deadly composed.

“You damn BASTARD!” Vane barks back.

The gun fight erupts in a blink and flurry of bullets. A terrified scream escapes you before you can even stop it. But with chaos and terror swirling all around, you summon all the courage you have left.

You draw the satchel housing Grogu close to your chest and you run for cover.

Bullets fly in screeching fury and your heart rages fast within its cage in your chest. You want to help Din. But you need to protect the baby.

A voice sounding so close to Din’s screams, urges, inside of you to run.

So you flee as fast as you can from the town. You imagine wings sprout from your feet and carry you to your safe harbor in the wilderness. The bullets firing grows distant. Your cabin begins peeking over the horizon against the watercolor sunset bleeding into the early night sky.

Safety beckons you. It is right there just at your grasp.

A monsterous screech suddenly shatters the peace around your cabin.

The flapping of wings, furious and loud swoop in the wind and, out of instinct, you lean down away from the sky and cover Grogu.

Then it happens in a fast collapse.

Something sharp slices across your shoulder. Pain shoots through your body fast and unforgiving. You scream, faltering in your steps. Grogu cries out in a concerned sob but you hold him tighter refusing to let whatever took a swipe at you get the baby.

A loud thud lands. When you glance up, a creature rises before you.

His appearance vaguely reminded you of Din. Except this creature with a sharp beak and covered in scales is thinner in size compared to your cowboy.

“Thought you could hide from me, did ya?” The distorted voice of Vane seethes at you.

His shoulders and wings hunch in a terrifying tension suggesting he can strike at any moment. However, crimson drips down his side and colors the dirt path. He’s injured.

“But it’s hard to hide when y’er damn bastard mate’s smell is all over ya!” Vane hisses through gritted jagged rotting teeth.

Grogu wiggles in your arms almost in a determined fidget. But you stay frozen before the bandit, a jackrabbit staring down its hunter.

In this life, in this harsh wilderness you exist within, you have faced danger in their various forms. You think of the first time you encountered Din this way. When you first saw him, a creature from the dark shadows, it reminded you of how small and human you are.

Except now, you wonder if this is pure terror you face.

“M’gonna rippin’ you and that babe apart.” Vane grins with a rotting smile.

Like a released spring, the bandit flings himself towards you.

A blur of a force collides fast into Vane before the bandit can even reach you.

In his creature state Din slams Vane violently down into the dirt. He howls at the bandit, his fanged jaws open wide in a frightening threat.

This fight, just like the shoot out that broke out, erupts in a blink.

However, unlike the gunfight, your eyes fall under a spell and cannot look away.

The sight of these two creatures doesn’t seem possible. Yet, the snarling slash of teeth, the rapid movements, it all seems more real and raw more than anything you have ever seen.

Larger and healthier in his form, Din wrestles Vane down with a smooth ease. Sharpened claws swipe at the other with the intent to kill. The two brawl hard picking up dust and dirt in the evening sky.

Suddenly, Din shifts. In that moment he grasps Vane in his arms and towers over the bandit. Then Din digs his talons into Vane. With the same effort you have seen Din take when he peels oranges, he rips off one of Vane’s wings.

The action is visceral, unholy and Vane screams in absolute agony rattling your bones.

But you have never been more mesmerized by your cowboy.

Like a hawk that’s captured its prey, Din gathers Vane, along with the ripped appendage, into his grasp and takes flight.

Vane’s screeches, gurgled and violent. Din roars back a bellow you think shakes the mountains to their base.

The monstrous sounds echo into the air. Yet they grow further and further away. You even try to follow Din’s flight in the air. But, the shade of the sunset has faded from its tangerine warmth into a fully stretched out faint blue bleeding into midnight. The edges of the deep dark sky swallows any sign of Din.

Then silence falls.

Staring at the mountains against the sky’s tapestry you hope to catch even a glimpse of Din or of any movement.

Grogu cries a worried chirp in your arms and it breaks your gaze.

You need to get him inside, see if he has any injuries.

With the door open to listen for Din, to hope and pray he comes back, you take Grogu out of the satchel and begin checking him over. Babbling in his own clicks and chirps, Grogu fidgets with a worried frown on his sweet wrinkly face. His little clawed hand reaches out to you with a stubborn stretch.

“Hold still, little tadpole.” You breathlessly plead with him. A heaviness slowly creeps into your legs as if anchors have been tied around them.

The rush of boots run across your patio. When you whip your attention to the open doorway, Din rapidly is hurrying inside.

In his human state, his clothes are torn from the fight and blood already dries all over him.

Those wonderful eyes of his stare wide and petrified.

In fast steps Din rushes to your side.

“Are you alright?!” You croak out trying to breathe through the dizzying relief of seeing your bounty hunter home and alive.

“Your shoulder!” Din snaps. “You should be resting!”

In the whirlwind of adrenaline and panic you had forgotten about your shoulder. At his comment, you fully become aware of the stinging wound and the blood soaking your blouse to your body.

“It’s just a little blood and doesn’t feel deep. I’m alright.” You mutter reassuring Din who already begins inspecting your shoulder.

Exhaustion and the rush of this day, of this week, however causes your legs to buckle. Hastily Din’s sturdy hands catch you while you want to hiss at your body for betraying you.

“What did I say? You need to rest.” He growls.

You can’t fight him anymore, not when he guides you with tender sturdy hands to rest.

Your mind begins to feel thick and heavy, like you are trekking through a mud pit. You float in and out of your thoughts.

“I apologize for this.” Din’s sudden voice comes softly beside you and then a rip follows.

He tore your blouse to reach the wound.

A soft pad of a fabric begins to clean your wound and you hiss at the jolt of pain.

“I know,” Din soothes. “It’ll be over soon.”

All you can do is nod.

You can’t make sense of how much time has passed or how long you’ve even been sitting on the chair. It feels as if years have been crammed into this short day, as if lifetimes have been stitched into this past week.

Out of your haze, you think of the baby and ask where he is.

“Asleep. Took me a bit to get him to bed. Knew he was fighting me to stay up and make sure we were alright.”

Your lips twitch with deep love for that small creature you now hold in your heart as your own.

“He’s stubborn like his papa.” You mutter back with a hint of amusement.

Din however stays quiet.

A heaviness as thick as a thunderstorm hangs in the hush of your cabin.

Focusing out of your hazy thoughts, you worry Din is injured and refusing to tell you. When you are about to ask, Din speaks first by calling out your name.

“I am sorry… for putting you in danger.” A hoarse emotion has struck its barbs into your bounty hunter.

“For frightening you.” Din continues, his voice growing distant and you worried might get caught on the fence outside the cabin.

“And…for being a monster.” His voice cracks, shattering your heart within its wake.

You blink through tears to where Din sits beside you.

“The things I did, what you saw...” His eyes refuse to meet yours.

Torment furrows his brows and an ancient ache hardens over his handsome features. For being someone who faced bloodshed and pain, who existed in a split life so feared by many, his heart is so tender and golden.

“You could never frighten me.” You whisper tear soaked.

So you bare your heart before him.

He’s protected you, cared for you, showed you a tenderness you believed would never find you.

You think of those who love the mountains, love the beauty and the terror carved into the peaks. You will love Din the same until the very last of your days.

You will love his pain, his claws and his golden heart.

Even at hearing your heart being spilled before him, Din shakes his head adamantly stubborn.

“Do you remember when you came and checked on me before that big storm came?” You begin.

Back then, you were convinced this hardened bounty hunter with his hard glare hated you. Yet he showed up with a blanket full of supplies. Even after much urging on your part, him and the baby stayed in your cabin to pass the storm.

Din finally glances at you with his rich earth eyes and he nods.

“That was when I knew I wanted to be yours.” You earnestly tell him.

Even knowing what he was, after seeing the core of who Din is, a gentle, protective and honorable man - you wanted so badly to be his.

“Will you let yourself be mine? Can I love you the way you love me?” This love rips apart your voice, cracks you raw and open.

Din leans forward and kisses you. The smell of dust and his sweat overwhelm your senses. The kiss is hasty, more desperate than anything as his lips continue to seek yours. You already want to mold yourself to him. Yet as fast as he kissed you, Din draws back to simply lay his face against yours. He softly rubs his lovely nose to yours.

“I am yours. Will always be yours.” The thick whisper of his voice holds the depth and implications of a thousand lifetimes.

You press back against him wondering if the two you will simply mold into one.

But when you shift ever slightly a sharp stab of pain runs across your shoulder and you flinch in pain. Din of course doesn’t miss this.

He cautiously says your name, but you reassure him again you’re fine.

“No.” He firmly cuts you off. “You’re not.”

You sigh knowing there is no hope in fighting your cowboy.

“I…there’s a way I can heal you.” He cautiously explains.

You think of how you helped heal Din. Even through the pain and exhaustion of the day, a simmering curiosity bubbles within you.

You stare deeply into his earthen eyes. “I trust you.”

His eyes widen for a fracture of a moment before he nods ever so reverently at your words. With tender delicate hands he maneuvers your face to expose your sounder. It keeps your attention forward.

Din’s hair tickles your skin as does his soft heated breath. Suddenly his tongue licks a gentle swipe across the wound.

Every inch of you tightens as well as collapses all at once. You dare not move, and wonder if you are even breathing.

His tongue licks through the blood, across the scratch and you find no pain comes from the contact. He’s delicate, almost kitten-like. Slowly emerging like an early morning fog, a tranquil haze falls over you in a soothing like manner.

It’s beautiful, tender and blissfully intoxicating having him tend to you like this. You start wondering if maybe some part of you will arrive at a realization of horror. Yet you find no terror, or disgust within yourself. Only adoration and gratitude fill your body. Dreamily, your hand even begins to run through Din’s soft hair. His tongue swipes and swipes with reverent warmth lulling you.

All too soon suddenly Din kisses your shoulder, your bare fully healed shoulder.

That snaps you wide awake and you scramble turning towards Din. He sleepily stares at you with a peaceful gleam. A soft crimson faintly colors his plush lips and you understand it’s your blood. The image of him in his creature form flutters back to your mind. Your blood coated his mouth then too.

No fear rose at the sight even then and it does not rise now. You instead move your hand to stroke his cheek.

Din’s eyes shut blissfully as he melts at your touch.

“How…how is it possible?” You have to ask.

“It only works with a select few.” Din explains quietly. “Just with those we love, who we see as our own.”

It’s why Grogu was able to heal him. And it made sense why the baby seemed so stubborn earlier about reaching out to you. It’s why you could heal Din. You even realize it’s why there is no wound from where he bit you days ago.

Love heals - a beautiful remedy and truth old as the wilderness itself. That soft understanding greets you just as kind as the morning breeze.

You lean forward to embrace Din. Quick as ever he draws you into his arms first. Safe and solid your cowboy’s warmth, you thank him.

You thank him for healing you and for so much more.

The legends of the mountains spoke of indescribable horrors that crawled among their caverns. However out of the wilderness, out from those shadows, Din was brought to you.

And for that, you will always be eternally grateful

Your cabin was your own personal ghost town before you found a mysterious creature adorably rummaging around your garden. Now Din and his son fill every space of your life with love. Your days are warm, even in the shadows. Even with the terror and fear, you consecrate yourself to this life, burrow your roots into it.

Yes, your cabin is now filled with monsters, creatures reminding you of the secrets that the wilderness shadows of the wilderness. They are indeed ghost stories brought to life.

But they are yours. You will house their secrets, become the desert itself and make your heart a wild fortress for Din and the baby to find refuge, to find peace.

And you will lovingly welcome them home with your arms stretched open wide and vast as the mountain range.

#this is maybe the most self indulgent piece I’ve written and I’m petrified of posting this but oh well time to be brave I guess lol 🤡#cheers to the haunted hoedown! okay I’m posting this and fleeing lol #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown #cowboy din djarin #din djarin x reader #cowboy take me away tag #ask to tag #Din 🩶

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cherubispunk · 7 months

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ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. (part i // ichor.) - Din Djarin x Witch!AFAB!Reader

summary: stranded. alone. a traitor to your people, your family. aeaea is the prison of paradise you call home, and he is the prophecy you like to call an enigma. the 'man made from metal', forged in fire, melted by your spell that is no witchcraft on your part. he is the hunter, you will always be the prey. it is the way as the fates designed it.

a note from lucy: so, its back. i'm officially back! basically, I went through it. accidentally deleted my blog. had to start from scratch. repost it all. but! I'm here. you're here. we're all here! Greek mythology is a huge love of mine. I always like to add a small sprinkling into my fics where possible. and now im writing one based wholly of two greek myths: eros and phsyche, and circe. I've read Madeleine Miller's 'Circe'. I fell in love with it, it's genuinely one of the best books ive had the pleasure of reading --hence the fact that this is heavily based off it in terms of 'lore'. Din is the perfect character for these myths to be translated into fic. So, without further ado, I present to all you lovely people (again lol), my mythology!au; ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. for @inklore and @psychedelic-ink's haunted hoedown. A three part fic with our beloved space cowboy. I really hope you enjoy it as I put a lot of time and thought into this. I love you all, you wonderful Pedro fanatics.

playlist

wc: 2255 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! mythology!au, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as 'Circe' twice in this chapter alone, dubcon, smut, p in v sex (unprotected), reference to past sexual assault (very mild), cussing, mentions of witchcraft, voyeurism, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of food and descriptions of eating, choking, breath play, oral sex - f receiving, edging, orgasm denial, toxic relationships, dom!din/sub!reader dynamic, sex as a means for manipulation and control, manipulative!din, stockholm syndrome?

series m.list | other fics

You had done many things under the pseudonym of Circe. Bird. Crow. What your mother and siblings used as a knife to your throat. An insult in the form of a name. One that man whispered in myth around fires. One a sailor would call out in fear upon reaching the shore of any island in the vicinity of Aeaea. It clung to the disgusted curl of their tongue like the tang of sour fruits. Lemons of Sicily. Limes from crete. Wrapped in letter parchment, sweetened with ink.

Across from you is the god responsible for many of those tall tales. In his gold sheathed glory, olive skin gleaming with a ripple of muscle against the warmth of your hearth. Under it flows ichor, steadily. His winged sandals flutter in a twitch every few minutes. A subtle sound that is heard little too often over the lilt of his voice. Hermes. A deity you invited to your bed when he would visit, indulge in the stories of how he stole cattle as mere youngling, delivered messages of ruin to mortals. Travelled the planes of the underworld from the Styx to Elysium Plains. Hades and his sunken eyes on his throne. Where winged sandals would carry him overseas with his travellers cap and staff of entwined twin snakes.

He would sit upon your chair, open his loose lips and a drone would pour out, Maybe to a mortal he would seem all so interesting. One to dote hours of your day to the thick honey like pouring of his voice in your ear. But to you – the witch – a goddess in your own right, he was a mere drag. A rake. A god worthy of being turned to swine at the unjust sight of his curling smirk.

You would have drifted off it weren't for his voice picking up in interest, your ears perking up with it. The high buzz from his drone of white noise faded, ebbing into coherence while his lips drifted in voice. Practised and perfected movement the way any divine being did.

“The fates speak of a man. Made of metal.” He mused, studying his thumb and forefinger as a stand of your lionesses hair was snagged between it. You wished to singe it from his fingertips. “A warrior.” “From overseas of Greece?” Now, and only now, he had your attention.

“Further.”

You muttered a curse under your breath. Where would be further. “He will sail on a ship, strand himself on your shores engulfed with fire. And you shall do as you have before.”

“Take it?” You sneered, sitting forward in your seat, teeth bared at him. “I suppose I shall feed him before he sets his disgusting hands upon me.”

“Oh come now,” He smirked, “Were you not to take him to your bed regardless?”

“I shall sew your mouth shut for such accusations.”

Hermes sighed, rolling his eyes in all his dramatics. Lounging in his seat.

“Circe, you humour me with your feral tongue.”

“And you disgust me with your plight.” “Ah,” he held up a single finger, humour on his face at the top of his curled lip, “I may be bored. But at least I have the world. You, Circe,” he spat, raising a brow in sickening amusement, “have nothing.”

Your face drained of colour. Your heart aching in its chasm of a chest, ribs pinching. He was right. Your oasis was still a prison. Despite its bars of gold, it still held you. Contained you.

He stood in his victory over you, taking one last look around. “One last thing–”

“Oh, there’s more, is there?” You sighed, staying seated. For all his heirs and graces, he was no more worthy of your respect than the dirt caked to your bare feet in winter's first bite. The god merely crossed his arms, a diving wind rustling the blonde curls upon his head, wrapped in laurels,

“You must never look upon his face.”

You sat in a furrowed brow muddle. He had drifted to the wind, turned to a shimmering spectacle of dust, in nothing more than a blink.

—

He came with a blundering sputter. In a ship that was no ship of wood that sailed on tides. A hunk of chrome with spitting fans of fiery heat. A thwip through your cloudless skies to crash upon sandy shores.

He came…with a child. A green creature with pointed ears similar to satyrs, no taller than your mid calf, alien to you. Wide hickory eyes that masked his face with innocence, having seen things unspeakable to even brave sailors. And when they sat at your table, piled plentifully with sweet figs, legs of mutton infused with rosemary, steamed and seasoned greens, and honey in its jar, the man of metal left all deserted by his lips. His plate was clean, wine untouched in his cup. Never once needing an added refill. Nor did he speak kindly. Rather, reserved. Gruff, distorted by something in his helmet seemingly fused to his head. While the child chewed on the fleshy roasted bone of lamb.

Rhythms of autumn, songs of summer, ballads of winter watched over you and the meadows you walked. Gardens you tended to. Woods you roamed. And he did too. There was something within him. Under that beskar. It called, howled, growled in insubordination. A vulgar hatred of being vulnerable out in this position. Where you held an advantage of both terrain and power.

So he took in a way he knew. In carnal, biting desire paced by him. Phallically. Reversed the role of who won who, made you beg in your own bed, in the drowning pools of darkness. Never to see his face.

But oh so familiar.

The first time he took you was akin to a memory in the very moment it happened. A haze of something so absurd it couldn't possibly have been true. Played out the way it did. The Mandalorian watched while you bathed. In a creek not too far from the path. A rock for your lioness to splay out over, sunbathe and make her coat gleam gold like the ichor in your veins. Her ears pricked at a sound he made. One you did not hear with your head submerged under the clear pool.

She looked up, lifting her whiskered chin from her large paws, and her eyes met his. He did not fret. Nor did he stop and turn away from the great willow he stood below. Only glanced from her to the curve of your bare chest rippling above the crystal waters rippling surface.

From there, he had stalked you to the deeper parts of the forest where even your familiar did not follow. Watched as a wicker basket was tucked under your arm, flowers and mosses being picked from the ground as you went about gathering pharmakeia for your draughts.

He appeared, bringing his musk while his hand clamped down over your parted lips. Pressed your front firmly into the tree, hands scraped gold raw by the silver birch’s peeling bark.

“Don’t.” He growled upon your demand to turn around. “Face the tree.”

And you obeyed in tandem with the hiss of something– his helmet– as it dropped to the dewy floor by your bare feet. A single kiss, seasoned with sparse prickled hairs was laid to the nape of your neck, a wondrous dichotomy to the events yet to unfold, noises of restraint on the tip of his tongue, the back of his throat. The skirts of your dress were gathered in messy haste, undergarments pulled to the side, revealing the shine of your own slick. How you dreamed in secret nights of this very moment. His taking of you, his claiming of your cunt— grunting while he invaded the tightness of your walls, flayed you open forever like a sacred text, ready for him to read once again.

A large palm of his, gloved in leather, pressed to the nape of your neck where the notch of your spine ended and your skull began to curve, thumb pressed to flesh, fingers curled into gnarled hair. You gasped, cold air nipping the back of your exposed thighs, fully clothed still, yet bent to submission by the masculine will of him. Naked.

The orgasm was The Mandalorians. And the Mandalorians alone. You never questioned the burning ache of pending release. Merely let it simmer in the tight heat of your walls at the mouth of your cervix. His noise still stinging in your ears, shocking the breath from your lungs. He took no time. It was a rush for his release. His domination of the witch of Aeaea.

From that moment onwards, you imagined his lips, recited in drugged sleep to the egyptian cotton and goose down of your pillow. His irises. To write a poem on parchment about something you could not see, nor ever would per his and Herme’s telling. Fingertips itching to feel warmth of skin, not beskar. While his armour was smooth, buffed, polished to shine in rays of Helios's chariot, it was cold to the touch. You had his visage mapped in your mind. Well trodden by fingertips such as the paths by the tall cliffs. The Mandalorian. Nameless. Faceless.

He spent each night for a fortnight in your bed. The first, he parted your legs himself, and the rest they were already spayed open for his wanting. He snuffed the candles with his thumb and forefinger, unsheathing them from his gloves before doing so. You watched with intent from the sheets as his visage dominated the tall door frame. Shoulders broad and intimidating the negative space he occupied. Only when he was shrouded in utter darkness did he remove his helmet, climb his way up to your parted lips. Curating a careful path from them, over the column of your throat, descending your navel to the forbidden fruit gleaming, ripe and juicy for his lips. Ready for his first damning lick of your sex.

Like the apple in the garden of Eden, temptation on Lucifer's forked tongue, he delved deeper, rested his naked face between your tensing thighs. Broad arms, still sheathed in beskar curled under them, dragging you closer to his open mouth while your arousal, slick and thick as honey, drizzled out your weeping hole to his open, wanting mout.

His tongue drew ellipsis over the twitching bud of your clit. Thick and firm, the tip pressing into your cunt, following your hot seam down to your quivering hole. He dipped inside, curling it to draw the taste out. You couldn't see his eyes. But you liked to imagine they were open to feast on the sight of your quivering and naked chest the best he could without the guide of the candlelight. Now snuffed into curling stings of smoke. Staring while you were shaking under the pleasure rolling up from your centre and cascading like a landslide down your spine. It made you shiver. The soft plush of your legs swallowing his exposed ears, the small, neatly trimmed curls tickling the sensitive flesh. His coarse beard, scruff scattered in a smattering over his sharp chin scratching your skin.

A low groan rumbled from the back of his throat, your tang dancing with light feet over his taste buds And his nose bumped into your clit as he tasted more. Devoured your cunt like his last meal.

It wasn't long before you felt the burn behind your eyes replicate in knots in your belly. Tightening at the mouth of your cervix while he ate at you. A cry of his name bursting from your chest as he flicked his tongue with vigour. He had one aim in mind. To taste your release. The sticky mess that would coat his lower face.

“Give it to me.” He commanded. And oh, how you tried. You willingly left this realm while he licked at your pussy, his tongue languidly rolling up one side of your labia, up to your clit and circling it, then down the other side to plunge into your tight, clenching hole once more.

You nimble fingers curled into his hair. It was coarse, wispy at its ends where it started to coil loosely. And you gripped it as you ground your core into his face. RIding and grinding into his face that was exposed to your quivering cunt. Not ready to part with the way his ips enclosed around your clit and added enough suction for you to see Ouranos and all the stars that tattooed his blue skin.

You panted a chorus of heavenly oh’s. Breath came in heavy as he pulled back to spit. You felt it, cold in contrast to your own heat, drooling down to your slick entrance. It quivered when he added a finger, curling up from the second knuckle. It was merely one digit. But it stretched you out, had you reeling while he beckoned your orgasm closer to materialising in your belly.

He could smell the musk of you and it was divine.

He had your orgasm building and building into a near state of harrowing oblivion before he let it rip through you. The first wave was one of numbing pleasure. The one that fizzled through your legs until you were nothing but a mere speck for a second. And then it broke, like some great epiphany from him as an enigma.

He stood, replaced his helmet, leaving you boneless. A quivering, babbling mess of sweat and slick in your own sheets.

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saradika · 8 months

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— BLEED FOR ME | part i

[masterlist]

mand’alor!vampire!din djarin x f!reader

rated e - 1.8k

series prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 2 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, implication of drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death

For the haunted hoedown! Looking forward to sharing this, I wanted to do a vamp!din last Halloween but wasn’t able to. So to work on this with the inspiration of these prompts is so exciting! I hope you enjoy! 💖

When it’s revealed that the Mand'alor is seeking a companion, you find yourself among those hoping to be chosen. A life of luxury in exchange for your blood seems a fair trade - even if you’re hiding a closely-kept secret. One that would certainly put your life in danger.

Though, you are not alone. Because he has one, as well.

The nervous energy of the crowd is palpable - it’s impossible not to get swept along with it. The cowl of your cape is tugged down lower as you follow the others streaming out ahead of you.

Out of the small town, winding around the side of the steep hill. The air growing heavier, the fog rolling in as you climb the moss-covered steps. The castle looms against the darkening horizon, all blackened stone and tall, twisting spires.

They mirror the curl of your stomach - the weight of your feet as they seem to slow, the closer you get.

But you’ve come this far. You can’t go back now.

The gates remain shut, and you’re forced to halt. Huddled together in small groups, nervous and excited whispers breaking the silence.

A shiver even with the heavy cloaks that protect the bared necks and shoulders, a detail noted on that weathered scroll left in the town square.

And for the first time, you doubt.

When it had been announced that the Mand’alor was seeking a Companion, the news has spread. It was no secret that the vampire lord had sought blood.

But he had never chosen anyone before. Never pursued someone, like this.

There had been others but they had never lasted long. Just let into the castle long enough to keep him alive for another moon.

It had amassed a crowd, those who couldn’t resist the reward that was offered - thousands of gold coins, enough to live any life they could want.

Those who wanted the fame.

Those who wanted protection.

Those who wanted to see the spectacle for themselves.

And then, there was you.

Now that you’re at the doorstep, you’re suddenly unsure. If you were chosen - once you step through - it’s unlikely you’d leave alive.

Would that be worth it?

Would you get what you were looking for?

Even after all your training, it hadn’t truly prepared you for the patchwork of emotions you feel now.

Guilt and desperation and melancholy and regret and anger - all branding into your skin until you can feel yourself trembling with the effort to hold it back.

But the gates are parting now. And it’s too late to turn back.

A figure it stepping through - her leather armor blackened with oil. Her eyes are bright, and not the shade of red you were expecting.

Her chin is held high as her eyes sweep through the crowd, an eerie silence settling over your travel companions.

And wordlessly, she begins to sort. Sizing up each person as she approaches. A quick dart of her eyes as she plucks at clothes, examines faces.

Pulling a few to one side, the rest clearly dismissed. No pattern to her choosing that you can sense - that feeling of dread ratcheting up in your stomach as the crowd grows smaller and you grow closer.

Until she’s standing in front of you.

Her fingers pinch at your chin, forcing your eyes to hers. Dark eyes under darker lashes flick across your face, until they drop down to the clasp at your throat.

Your hood is pulled back, as deft fingers unhook the brass fastenings. The wool pools on the cracked stone as your skin is exposed.

Her eyes follow the curve of your cheek, to your neck, to the sharp curves of the scar on your shoulder, just above the cut of your tunic.

A reminder of that night. One that still haunts you, a year later.

Those eyes flick back up to yours.

There’s a second where you stoop to collect your robe - feeling bare, flayed open under her gaze - but her boot presses purposely against the hem.

Shooting you a small smirk as you rise again obediently, before a hand is guiding you towards the group she had selected.

And then, it’s over.

“Those chosen will be brought before the Mand’alor.” The woman’s voice rings out, “And he shall decide from there.”

With her signal the gates creak open again, and you're ushered inside. Across a wide bridge and through a massive set of wooden double-doors.

And then, you’re inside the castle. Those doors shutting behind you with a sense of finality.

The long halls are dark, in the fading evening. The last of the sunlight filtered through tall, stained glass windows - their shadows broken into shades of crimson and silver and gold, distorted where they spill across the floor.

A chill creeps into your skin. The ice of it feels reminiscent of your dreams - that cold bite against your skin, a balm to the burning heat that had surrounded you.

It distracts you enough that you don't see him slip from the shadows. Near-silent steps as he moves to stand before the small crowd, even with the heavy plates of his shining armor.

Everything seems to go still then. The inhale of a collected breath, now held.

You should feel terror. This man - this vampire - has killed hundreds. Thousands. Has feasted on even more.

He's a monster.

The fight or flight should be sinking in - but somewhere deep inside, there is only that weight that you still carry. A prickle across your skin at the way he moves, all sleek and careful movements.

Starting where the woman guides him. His hands stay motionless - tucked in the curve on his belt, the other curling around a black hilt at his waist. Her quiet murmurs that only he can hear. As he stops in front of each one.

No expression can be leaked, with the mask he wears.

Their faces, and finally yours, reflected back at you.

You do your best to gather your courage.

To keep your chin tilted up, gazing into that dark band of his visor. As you hear the rattle of the slow inhale of his breath, as if he could smell you from beneath his helmet.

Even you can see the fear in your widen eyes, feel the small tremor in your limbs as his hand suddenly and slowly moves.

As if he can't help himself.

As if it is on instinct.

Reaching out to touch your shoulder, your neck - but then, just hovering.

Your terror catches up now. That steady beat of your heart now pounding in your chest, knocking wildly against your ribs.

The smallest flinch as his fingertips hang in mid-air, before his hand is curling into a fist.

Dropping back down.

There's the smallest jerk of his head. A gleam in the woman's eye as her hand curves around your bicep, as he sweeps from the room.

A murmur of confusion, disappointment - the rest robbed of their spectacle and entertainment. It had taken longer to get here - everything over so quickly, it feels as if you’ve only just stepped inside.

Armored guards move from their neat rows - shields raised to ward off the remainers of your group - to urge them back outside and back to their homes.

Leaving only the chosen behind.

Only you.

The woman in armor guides you quickly to your new home. Taking you through twisting corridors lined with ancient portraits, up a winding path of stone stairs.

You’re utterly lost, and a part of you wonders if that’s intentional. To keep you trapped inside. A silent realization that perhaps, you haven’t been nearly as clever as you thought.

Those worries lingering as she stops outside a heavy wooden door, lit on either side by flickering oil lamps.

“This is your room,” She tells you, her fingers resting on the door, before she’s pushing it open.

With the stories you’ve been told about the fearsome Mand’alor and the fortress he lurks in, you certainly weren’t expecting a room so… beautiful.

There’s a luxury that seems to weave throughout it. Rich wooden floors and plush rugs. A constellation of glittering stars painted on a domed, navy ceiling - as if you had invited the night sky in to stay.

Bookcases line the walls - framing a wooden desk, plush seating next to the bench that was built into the space beneath the iron-wrought windows.

Thick velvets curtains thrown back to let the setting sun in, casting the four-poster canopy bed in a golden light.

You almost forget yourself, as your fingers run across the bedspread. Finely-made beneath your touch, as soft as spun silk.

If the situation had been different… you think you might have loved it.

“There will be someone to call on you if there’s anything you want. And to take care of things during your day.” She interrupts your admiring thoughts, bringing you back.

You send a silent chastisement to yourself, as your fingers clasp - the picture of docility.

“The Mand’alor has been looking for someone for quite some time. I will give you a moment to get settled, but understand that your duties are to begin tonight.”

The pounding of your heart begins again, not realizing it would be so soon.

She must see the surprise that flickers across your face - her arms crossing as she leans in the doorway, “He has not fed since the last. We’ll all be happier once he does.”

Since the last Companion.

You wonder what happened to them. If they were used and cast aside. If they were drained dry.

If the same would happen to you.

No. You won’t let it.

“I’m happy to begin my work as soon as it pleases the Mand’alor.” Your voice is soft, and her sharp look softens.

“You’re quick.” She smiles, “That’s good. If you listen, you’re gonna be just fine.”

The nod you give is cut short, as the door closes. Left alone, your attention immediately goes to the furniture in the room. You don’t have much time.

Something used as often as a bed would be impractical, especially if someone will be tending to you as the woman says.

The bookcases touch both the ceiling and the floor, the books in neat, uniform stacks. No room for disruption.

Your fingers tug at the bench, but it’s solid wood - there’s no storage beneath.

No closet either, an empty brass rack stands against one of the curving stone walls.

Leaving only the desk, as you hurry over. The bottles of ink clinking together as the tips of your fingers run over the wooden top, and then under.

Looking for a hinge, your fingers closing around the ceramic knob as you carefully pull. Revealing a drawer full of rolled-up scrolls, a handful of quills, a thick leather-bound book.

There’s a knock then, and your pulse races.

Fingers fumbling as you reach for the fastenings of your tall boots. A creak of the door as it begins to open.

Undoing them just enough to pull the thin silver dagger and the sharpened stake free. Hastily shoving them behind the scrolls of paper inside your desk.

Before you’re pushing the drawer shut - just as the Mand’alor fills your doorway.

And the first of the 2 secret prompts are: 'this person' ordered me to kill you but i actually think i'm in love with you. (The second part to come into play!) thank you for checking this out! And hope you like this au! 🥀

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #vampire!din #din djarin imagine #haunted hoedown #hauntedhoedown

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syringesyrup · 2 years

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darksaber pride month agenda

#haunted!din #din djarin #luke skywalker #dinluke #star wars #the mandalorian #fanart #art #idk bro din fr has a crush on the jedi #ruler of mandalore falling in love with a jedi this for sure won’t cause problems #i spent more than half of the hour i spent drawing this just focusing on luke’s eyes #needed them to sparkle #din djarin top one gay moments #the darksaber : DIN DJARIN ITS PRIDE MONTH #my art

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lovebunnie · 1 year

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it makes sense seeing people get pissed that bo katan of all people is going to unite mandalore because she can ‘walk both ways’ over the dude who is raising a jedi child and literally has the darksaber on his person so is technically in charge of everyone. however it all comes together when you think about the fact that the armorer has a huge insane crush on bo katan and after she saw her pretty face she just made shit up to ensure she was happy

#space.txt #star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #armorkatan #nitearmor #someone make a better ship tag please #she seriously has so much beef with din for no reason #she told him to go drown in haunted mine water to redeem herself and then just lets bo do whatever she wants

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apple8ees · 2 months

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the whimsical idealists got me.

#one piece #one piece 4kids #i tag with a heavy heart. i just think his lollipop is goofy #one piece fanart #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #blackleg sanji #cat burglar nami #tashigi one piece #does tashigi have a surname. questions that will haunt me #actually yeah she has one its mi-[gunshot]#who said that #e.png #digital art #nobody say anything about the fire in the screenshot redraw. look at dragostea din tei instead

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twinterrors29 · 5 months

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The Armorer: you're back earlier than I expected, have you bathed- what are you- Din Djarin: mine's haunted Paz Vizsla: ...what? Bo-Katan, loading a slug thrower: mine's haunted

#star wars #the mandalorian #the armorer #din djarin #paz vizsla #bo katan kryze #mine's haunted

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cherub-notifs · 7 months

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ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. (series masterlist) - Din Djarin x Witch!AFAB!Reader

a note from lucy: so, its back. i'm officially back! basically, I went through it. accidentally deleted my blog. had to start from scratch. repost it all. but! I'm here. you're here. we're all here!

Greek mythology is a huge love of mine. I always like to add a small sprinkling into my fics where possible. and now im wiring Ince based wholly of two greek myths: eros and phsyche, and circe. I've read Madeleine Miller's 'Circe'. I fell in love with it, it's genuinely one of the best books ive had the pleasure of reading --hence the fact that this is heavily based off it in terms of 'lore'. Din is the perfect character for these myths to be translated into fic.

So, without further ado, I present to all you lovely people, my mythology!au; ICHOR. BLOOD. WATER. for @inklore and @psychedelic-ink's haunted hoedown. A three part fic with our beloved space cowboy. I really hope you enjoy it as I put a lot of time and thought into this. I love you all, you wonderful Pedro fanatics.

playlist

PART I // ICHOR.

w/c: 2255 | smut, angst

warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! mythology!au, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as 'Circe' twice in this chapter alone, dubcon, smut, p in v sex (unprotected), reference to past sexual assault (very mild), cussing, mentions of witchcraft, voyeurism, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of food and descriptions of eating, choking, breath play, oral sex - f receiving, edging, orgasm denial, toxic relationships, dom!din/sub!reader dynamic, sex as a means for manipulation and control, manipulative!din, stockholm syndrome?

PART II // BLOOD.

w/c: 1692 | smut, angst

warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! mythology!au, no use of y/n, reader is referred to as 'Circe' twice in this chapter alone, dubcon, smut, p in v sex (unprotected), oral sex - m receiving, choking, toxic relationships, dom!din/sub!reader dynamic, sex as a means for manipulation and control, manipulative!din, stockholm syndrome?

PART III // WATER.

w/c: ? | smut, angst, fluff

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sprout-fics · 2 years

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The Hunted

(A Haunted! Din Djarin x Reader Mini-Series)

Chapter One: Cursed

Read (Here) on AO3

Word Count: 5.4k

Rating: Mature

Tags: Din is Haunted, Dark! Din Djarin, Possessive Din, Protective Din, Feral Din, Possession (By the Darksaber), Rough sex, Established Relationship, Angst

Warnings: Stalking, Toxic Relationship Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Delusions, Please Refer to Tags

Summary:

You run. You flee from him even as it shatters your heart in half. A part of you thinks that perhaps by doing this Din will come to his senses, will see what he’s become. More than that you run from that thing that turned him into this, the way it spawns shadows that cling to him like a shroud.

Your only mistake is that it’s him. Din is clever, determined, persistent. It’s how he became an infamous bounty hunter. It’s how, no matter where you run, no matter how fast you flee, no matter which star you try to hide behind…

He will find you.

It’s only a matter of time.

"Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll come find you.”

Tag List: (Reply to or reblog this post to be tagged in future updates!)

@adancedivasmom @writeforfandoms

----

It's the little things you notice first.

Din has been...off ever since the fight aboard Gideon's ship. You know this is because of Grogu, know that the child's absence has ripped a hole in Din's heart that can't be filled.

You miss Grogu, but you know Din misses him more. You know Din saw himself in his foundling- a child lost at sea in the midst of war. Both of them were ripped from their families by forces beyond their control, cast into a galaxy full of enigmas and unknowns until, somehow, they had found each other. You saw their bond, felt it fill the cracks in your own heart like a salve.

Grogu is gone now, back where he belongs, and Din in turn doesn’t know where he belongs anymore.

Every attempt on your part to console him seems to bounce off him like blaster bolts off beskar. Din shrugs you off far too easily, shutting down and refusing to bare his grief to you. He doesn't even seem to notice your words, meant to console yourself as much as him.

He is distant in those first few days.

More often than not you find him alone in whatever accommodations you are staying in, be it a rundown inn, camping out beyond town, bunking overnight in a star liner. You see him standing and staring out at something you can't see. He sits in silence, his palms open as if he's looking for answers. Din has always been reserved, contemplative. Yet this is unlike him, this brooding behavior of his. When you question him on it he stays silent, refusing to let you see the inside of his heart and letting your concern slide off him like water, just like the words you attempt to soothe him with.

You’re lonely.

There’s an emptiness inside of you at all the things that have happened, at the sudden axis shift in your lives and the way Din seems to be unable to right himself. Yet when you reach for him, when you seek his comfort he seems distracted, unable to fully see you.

At last, Din speaks at some point of trying to find the other Mandalorians. He gets a tip from the man who helped you in your scheme of rescuing Grogu- Fett, you think is name was. Something about a secret enclave somewhere on Ferrix. So you go, ever by Din's side, his partner, his lover, his friend, his confidant, and his support. Traveling with him now, however, feels less like the exhilarating adventure it once was and more like an aimless pilgrimage as you both wander to an unknown destination.

He doesn't sleep much.

More than once you wake in the night, with him still wearing all his armor, as if to remind him of what he is despite breaking his creed, despite removing his helmet. He stares at nothing, into the darkness as if it somehow stares back at him, whispers to him in a language you can't understand. When you whisper his name, concern tinting your voice, he always turns back to you. Din clings to you on those nights like a child, shivering and wide eyed under his helmet. It makes you wonder what he sees in the shadows.

When you ask he merely shudders, doesn't answer.

You’re just happy he seems to see you again.

---

Din is...jumpier now. You see it during your travels. Every snap of a twig and startling noise has him spinning on his heels, bending and reaching for his blaster at nearly every opportunity. It startles you, this agitation of his. You almost feel his anxiety bleeding out of him, seeping past his armor and smearing against your fingers with every touch, every word you lay against his skin.

You think it’s the lack of safety your travels bring. The Razorcrest is gone now, your small stronghold that you had all created so many memories in. You found yourself longing for it often, less so for the convenience but for the imprint of safety it brought. Now you both sleep with one eye open, expecting the eyes that traced over Din’s armor to follow you into slumber, to ambush you while you are unaware.

Din’s hyper awareness extends beyond the cities and towns you stop in. More than once you find yourselves in the wilderness, seeking out a remote village where a Mandalorian may have passed by. Din seems even more on edge in the absence of other people, as if the lack of noise only amplifies whatever shadows lurk in his thoughts. His eyes are constantly scanning, fingers twitching, shoulders drawn tight and breathing stifled.

More than once he flinches at nothing, as if he’s been scalded by the mere brush of air against his body.

He's scared you realize far too late, and the knowledge of it is jarring. Din was afraid of very little. Losing his creed, losing you, losing Grogu, afraid of things being taken away from him despite all he's done to avoid it, perhaps. Yet Din faced far too much to be afraid of his opponents. His years as a hunter seem to form a second armor around him, padding his senses and holding back whatever snarling terror with teeth from seizing his throat. That fear is replaced by a calm surety, a confidence that has him able to conquer any and all challenges thrown at him.

In the face of this, whatever this is, you see him falter.

"Keep the light on." He murmurs to you, on a night where you two are able to afford an inn. His voice is frayed, broken, and underneath you can hear just how tired he is. The time spent traveling with his sense on high alert at any given moment are wearing on him, pulling at his seams and letting the threads of him slip loose.

When you turn to look at him he's sat on the edge of the bed again, his back to you and shoulders hunched. You wished you could see his face, could see what expression is drawn there as if it would give you any indication as to what he's feeling, to what he’s so scared of.

"Please." He croaks, voice cracking.

You sleep in the light, and Din buries his helmet into your chest as if he's hiding from whatever is haunting him. You hear him mumbling in his sleep, hear the sharp consonants of Mando'a clicking against his teeth. Yet when you twine your fingers with his he stills, falls deeper into sleep with a shuddering sigh.

Sleep doesn't come easy to you that night, and you peer into the shadows cast by the lamp as if somehow they can show you what he's so afraid of.

There's nothing there.

---

Trouble finds you about a week after your search has started.

It's the usual case. Someone has given you faulty info, has led you into a trap so they can kill you both and steal Din's armor. The numbers aren't ideal, but together you've been in worst scenarios, so you fight your way out.

That is, until a blaster bolt goes straight through your arm.

You scream, the burn so radiant it hurts, and your veins sing a song of fire all across your shoulder and down to the tips of your fingers. You drop your blaster automatically, but before you have the chance to duck down and fetch it a hand secures itself across your throat and suddenly all your oxygen disappears. Your body is hoisted up, slammed against a nearby wall and you feel something threaten to snap inside you. The sensation makes you wheeze, lose the precious air left in your lungs.

Vision swimming, you try to use your hands to claw at the grip depriving you of air, but find your shot arm hangs limply, uselessly at your side. Still, you try and kick ad squirm to freedom, all while trying to sound Din's name on your lips and staring up into the snarling face of your assailant.

Just when black specs begin to form at the corner of your eyes, when you wheeze out the remaining air in your lungs in an effort to summon Din, something strange happens. The man holding you up arches backwards, and a dark, humming light pierces straight through his chest. It crackles like lightning, the sparks threatening to climb from inside the man’s chest outwards, engulf you both.

A wet, gurgling groan pours past the man's lips, his glassy eyes wide and unseeing before he ultimately releases you, slumps backwards, dead.

It's only after you've coughed and caught your choking breath that you see him, that you see Din.

He's standing over your assailant, shoulders heaving and breath echoing raggedly through the filter of his helmet. His hands are clenched at his sides, and it takes you a moment to notice the thing he's holding in the grip of his right hand.

The Darksaber.

It glows with a strange aura, bright on the edges yet a void black in the center. The blade hums loud, as if singing out to the Mandalorian wielding it. The sparks crackle along the edge like a strange, exotic electricity that reaches out for its next target. For a moment it seems to yawn wide like a black hole, seeking to devour any and all in its path, including the Mandalorian who wields it.

Din sheaths it the moment he turns to you, and at once your face is being gripped by his bloodied hands, and his voice is shaking. You try to reassure him you're okay, just bruised, but Din merely bends into you, his touch frantic and voice petrified at how close he had come to losing you. He’s shaking as he takes you into his arms, ushers you both to safety.

That night, after you both have set your wounds and found a safe place to sleep, he reaches for you across the cot. You go to him willingly, happy to indulge in the simple comfort of his loving touch once again. You missed this, missed him, missed the intimacy between you that had been swallowed by the strange series of events that had caught you both.

Yet when Din touches you, the shake in his hands has yet to abate. His breath is caught in his chest, and when you press a hand lightly to his chest you feel the drum of his heart fluttering there like a caged bird. When he whispers your name in the darkness as he ruts into you it sounds desperate, frantic, as if he's trying to remind himself that you're still there, that you're alive.

You can only hold him closer and whisper soft reassurances to him, but he doesn’t seem to hear it.

It’s almost as if he hears something else.

You wake that same night to him gazing into the darkness again. Yet this time he's talking, whispering words in Mando'a that you don't understand to someone you can't see in the shadows. There’s nothing there, no shadows, no figures, no voices. He so absorbed by whatever…it is that he doesn’t even notice you pull yourself closer, resting fingers across his bare thigh.

"Who are you talking to?" You ask him quietly, uncertainty. Din stills, turns to you. He's absent of his helmet, and you swear his eyes glint in the darkness.

"No one." He whispers mysteriously and reaches for you once more.

You can still taste the lie he spoke on his lips as he kisses you.

----

He uses the Darksaber more frequently after that. You start to never see him without it. It's always attached to his belt, always within reach when he sleeps, tucked beside his helmet as he eats.

You don't like it.

Call it superstition but you can't shake that image of the blade, of it like pitch black maw trying to swallow you down the longer you stare into it. You try not to look when Din uses it, feeling that, should you look too long, you might go mad.

The smallest part of you whispers that perhaps that's what is happening to Din.

You ignore it.

Din seems to be going back to his normal self, after all. That should be a positive indication. He's brooding less, he's talking more, he's more confident in his strides. He begins to actually listen to you, to hold you like he used to.

Yet the nights are long between you both. You try to sleep despite his mumblings, his habit of sitting up in bed and speaking to the shadows. Sometimes, if you listen long enough, you swear you can hear voices other than his.

It unnerves you.

A part of you tries to deny that there might be something...off about Din's behavior. He still refuses to speak to you about his midnight conversations, and when you try and pressure him he simply changes the topic.

“What do you see?” You ask him again one midnight, words barely a whisper, an emotion that feels oddly like anxiety rising in your chest.

Din turns, hauls you closer. His lips are brushing against your temple, fingers roaming down your ribs and past your stomach, knee slotting between your thighs.

“You.” He whispers in reply, ignoring your question and instead focusing his attention on you, on the way your back bows off the bed under his touch. You try to argue, to refute this sudden change in topic, but your only reply is a shuddering gasp that pours past your lips.

You know he’s distracting you, trying to get you to stop asking your repeating concerned queries. Yet his hands are tracing constellations against your bare skin and when he fills you all your thoughts stutter into a vacuum of silence as you succumb to him.

You find that you don't mind this.

---

There's a sharpness, an edge to him now that wasn't there before.

Din is easier to provoke with the people he is talking to, his patience easily wearing thin. Din has never been particularly patient, but sometimes you swear he's trying to pick fights. You sometimes wonder if this is the case just so he can pick up that strange artifact again, hear it hum and sing in his veins.

You have to intervene often, lest you both lose a lead on the Mandalorians you are so desperately seeking, on bounties needed for credits, on information, supplies, boarding, any of it. Din’s voice is often nothing more than a growl, like a prowling Loth-Wolf looking down at another predator. You can always tell when he grows taut, when his muscles coil and he goes silent that he’s about to pounce, snarling with his fangs on full display.

Yet Din always eases under your touch, his helmeted gaze seemingly captivated by you, words softer and touch gentle. The abrupt change of it startles you, the way he can go from being ready to tear someone’s spine out to almost syrupy sweet with you, hands reverent with his touch and yet still somehow firm, always dragging you closer to him.

One time you step in too late and the vendor you're talking to seizes you by your arm, hissing something in Hutteese. You barely have time to jab a retort before Din is already reaching for it, for the Darksaber. Even though you gasp, try and reach for him he barely seems to see you, eyes locked on the Toydarian who’s three clawed grip has wrapped itself around your arm.

It ignites with a crackle, the Darksaber, electricity dancing up and down the black glowing blade. The darkness of it seems to bleed past the hilt and trace like a vein up Din’s arm, his shoulders, and for a moment you almost see your Mandalorian engulfed in a black flame, glowing and glinting at the edges.

When you blink, however, it’s gone.

Though Din doesn't try and swing the blade against the vendor, the sight of it alone is enough to send the man careening back, away from you.

Instantly you step forward, winding your arm around Din's, hoping and praying the gesture is enough to soothe him, to temper his fury. For a moment he doesn't even seem to notice, and you feel his weight shift as if he wants to step forward.

"Din." You whisper his name like a call, trying to lure him back to you. It works, for his gaze darts to your own, wide and full of terror. After a long, dreaded moment the saber powers down, though it stays in his grip.

Yet it’s the words that he speaks next that have goosebumps racing up your arms, sinking deep into you with the knowledge that this is something else.

"This is the way."

---

Din starts being...different after that incident.

He never seems to let you out of his sight. When you walk in step with him he seems to crowd into you, his broad frame looming over you like a tall shadow, keeping you beside him, always within reach. In a market, on a walkway, in the quiet parts of the cities you visit, it doesn’t matter. He’s always there, a shadow of yours that is larger than yourself, ever present. When you try and talk to others he crowds behind you, staring over your head or dragging you against his side, as if his proximity alone can keep you safe.

He's protective, possessive in a way you don't recognize on him.

He's less gentle too.

Love making with Din has always been a soft, tender affair. He's a hesitant, careful lover. Din has been deprived of touch for so long he seemed to not know his own body and was in turn endlessly fascinated by yours. Every touch of his was designed to worship you, whisper love into your hair, against your flesh, confessing his adoration and treating you as if you were something sacred.

“Mesh’la.” He’d whisper against your collarbone, his breath tickling your bare skin as he drank in your scent. “Beautiful. So beautiful.”

Now, when you find yourself under him, which feels often, his touch feels less like a caress and more like a claim.

It's good.

His gentle, almost shy advances have turned into something more primal, a desire to devour you. His affections for you are twofold. His words are a sickly-sweet purr, his grip on you firm and possessive, afraid that if he lets you go, you’ll evaporate like smoke. It scares you at first, the way he will hum low in his throat and maneuver you to a nearby crate in the new ship he bought, fingers dancing along your spine and teasing just below your stomach.

He always waits for your signal, waits for you to reach for him in turn before he’ll flip you over, yank down your pants and fill you in one easy stroke that has you gasping and clutching at him as he punches the air from your lungs. His lips will fasten around a piece of skin at your throat, and he bites as if he wants to leave a mark there, as if he’s brand you as his, only his. Forever his and his alone.

“Good girl.” He purrs in your ear, and you shudder. “So good for me.”

Din can go at it for what feels like hours, wring orgasm after orgasm from you until you think there's nothing left- only for him to somehow find brightness lurking further down in you. He chases after it like he's trying to drown himself in it, to let it chase away the shadows that seem to nip at his heels with every step.

"Please don't leave me." He whispers one night against the nape of your neck as he smothers you into the mattress under him, rolling his hips in a way that makes you burn alive from the inside out in delicious, unabating pleasure. His hands are everywhere, seeking, touching, delving into the depths of you and drawing out sensations and sounds you didn’t think you had within you. “Please.”

You can only whimper in reply, voice rising in your throat and then choked off into nothingness before your climax drags you out to sea.

You don’t admit to yourself how cold to the touch he feels.

---

This strangeness in him seems to sharpen as the weeks pass by, honing into an edge that feels all too similar to the blade constantly in his grip. He uses it to carve open his opponents as if he seeks the blood their death bring, drown himself red in it as if it will quench whatever untamable desire seems to pull at his strings like he’s a marionette.

You've stopped searching for the Mandalorians. You’ve run out of leads, so it isn’t too surprising, but the way Din simply shrugs it off as if he never really cared to start itches that doubt within you. It’s peeling away that denial that there’s nothing wrong, that this is fine, that Din is still just finding himself, that this isn’t the fault of the blade that hums under his hands.

Instead, Din seems to chase after every bounty he gets his hands on. The more dangerous the better.

You’ve stopped going on hunts with him, putting one more thing between you and that thing he carries, trying to absolve yourself from looking at it. You feel like the longer you see the crackling void of the blade it makes that part of you sink further into something that feels dangerously like compliance, submission.

He’s stopped coming back with captives, even with bodies. The only indication he ever found his victims is the blood sprayed across his armor, painting it a strange abstract of violence. He seems to wear it like a trophy, and you find it harder and harder to dismiss the thing that feels like fear at the man he’s becoming.

Din will come to you after his hunts, pent up and wound far too tight. It’s like the hunt makes his blood go mad, and his only way to release himself is with you, with your body coiled tight in pleasure under his, writhing and whimpering and arching into him. You let him, worrying that if you don’t that madness in his blood might boil him alive, choke his breath from his chest like smoke. Yet you can’t deny that you enjoy the way he’s just so rough with you, leaving you trembling and aching but so fully, undeniably sated afterwards.

A part of you almost begins to look forward to his hunts, achingly anticipating his return so he can jut between your legs again and drink you down, down, into the void inside him like it might fill the emptiness there. The pleasure almost prevents you from remembering that something is wrong.

Din is relentless. With you, with his prey, with his inability to sleep and little desire for food or water. He hardly rests, and when he does it’s only after he’s had his fill of you, as if you are the ice to cool his blood that runs too hot inside him, like it’s scorching his insides. It feels as if something has possessed him, and always your mind wanders back to the shadows he whispers to in a language you can't translate.

It’s that thing, you know it is. You wish you could just find a way to get rid of it, could toss it overboard or somehow destroy it, rid Din of the shadows that bleed from it and dye him in darkness. Yet Din is never without it, and part of you knows that even if you did manage to separate him from it the saber would only call to him again like a siren’s song, drawing him back into its grip once more.

“Come back to me.” You whisper to him once, as he sleeps with his head on your chest.

As if he was never asleep at all, Din turns his head to you, his pupils fully blown, eclipsing the brown of his irises. They’re too dark, hungry, and for a moment you think you’ll drown in them, let them drag you down into the darkness that’s already consumed him.

“I’m right here, Cyare.” He whispers, reaching up to kiss you once more.

---

He scares you.

It takes far too long to admit that, and by the time you do it’s far too late. The grip he has on the Darksaber, the grip that the Darksaber has on him, is something beyond your control. You think still about trying to somehow get rid of it, but you’re afraid if you do that now it would be like ripping an organ from him. You’re afraid he’d simply die from the shock of it all, of this now inherent part of him being torn from him like flesh and bone.

More than that, you feel like you yourself are slipping, the edges of you being dyed dark and blurring into the pitch black of the blade. It leeches away at your sanity with every passing day, and more than once you find yourself almost serene with the way things are, with the way Din carves a path of carnage on his hunts, of the way his voice melts you from the inside out, of this strange farce you two are living like lifeless things trying to find something to inhabit in a mockery of existence.

You feel it like a specter, the whisper of the blade, prickling at your back and waiting for the moment your guard lets down so it can seep past your skin and dye your bones black with shadows. It takes all your strength and resolve to constantly remind yourself this isn’t right, that Din needs help, that you can’t just sit by and watch this happen.

You start seeing them too.

Asleep at Din’s side, you see the spirits of the blade dance along the hull of the ship, their eyes watching you from the darkness. It’s only ever for a moment, for the second your heart beats too loud, that you try and wake Din -to what end, you aren’t sure- they’re gone. You hardly sleep, haunted by the way those eyes seem to watch over you like you’re prey, waiting for the perfect moment to descend on you and squeeze the last bit of sanity from you.

You jolt, one evening, when your eyes stare unblinking into the darkness, waiting for the shadows to return. Din’s nose is freezing against the junction of your shoulder and throat, arms snaking around you from behind and drawing you into his frigid form. You shiver, from fear, from the cold, you aren’t sure. Yet that’s nothing compared to the iciness that washes over you with Din’s words.

“Don’t worry.” He mumbles drowsily, lips skimming over your flesh so you can feel his teeth. “They won’t hurt you.”

---

You leave him.

You do it when he’s away on one of his hunts, pack all your things away in a single bag and start hiking in the direction of the nearest spaceport. All the while your heart seems to hum too loud, each step feeling like you’re walking through water. You hate this, you hate that it’s come to this. It kills a part of you inside to leave him, abandon him against your word. You don’t want to leave him. You love him, but this- this is too much for you to handle. You know the longer you stay the more you run the risk of simply succumbing to the sweet siren’s song of the blade.

You flee.

You flee in hopes that maybe your absence might somehow startle him enough to realize that something is wrong, that the blade is slowly eating him alive. If you can somehow jolt him enough to question himself, then maybe you can try and talk to him, convince him to get rid of the thing, to come back to you as the man he was before.

A part of you is just scared. Scared for him, scared for yourself, scared of that dark, magnetic blade that hums even in your dreams.

Your walk starts off as a slow march, the steps becoming easier the more distance you put between yourself and the ship- as if doing so releases you of the hold the blade has started to wind around you. Yet as you do you feel a different type of shadow lurk over your shoulder, the knowledge that you’re running from a hunter, from a man who tracks down people for a living, if only to kill them. The thought that he might arrive at the ship before you get off planet- might discover your absence and begin giving chase is terrifying.

By the time you reach the edge of the city you’re running, skin feverish and eyes wide, darting through the growing throngs of people towards the spaceport. They seem startled by the apprehension that oozes off of you, and you wonder if they can somehow sense the lingering shadows of the Darksaber as well, can sense that there might be something wrong with you too.

You purchase a ticket for the first star liner off world, and as the planet begins to grow small through the window beside you that tension in your chest finally, finally seems to release itself. Yet it doesn’t disappear, not with the knowledge that you left Din, left the man who you had promised yourself to, alone with that thing.

You curl up in your seat, trying to remind yourself of him, of the way he echoed your name before he won the artifact, gentle, tender, and reverent, as if you were the stars themselves. Already you feel that same wound in your heart placed there by Grogu’s absence reopen in the absence of your beloved, of Din.

You miss him.

---

It’s only just before the third ship you get on, trying to dull your scent as much as possible just in case, that you finally message Din.

You weigh your words carefully, trying to find the best way to try and persuade him of your love, of your fear, of the desperate, inherent, dreaded need to rid himself of the blade. You all but beg him, saying you’re scared, saying you want him back, that you’re terrified of what the blade is doing to him.

“Please, Din.” You write. “Come back to me.”

You hold your breath as you send the message, skin cold to the touch and heart beating too loud, too fast. You pray Din will respond in kind, that he’s already come to his senses, that he’ll surrender and plead with you to come back, saying he’s already gotten rid of the blade. Maybe he’s tossed it into the void of space, rid himself of the shadows clinging to him like a shroud and instead seeking the brightness still within you.

Yet there’s a darker part of you that you aren’t sure is entirely the whisper of the blade. It almost wishes Din would chase after you, burn worlds to find you, to bring you back to his side. He is relentless, and you know this. He could find you if he wanted to, track you through the stars. If the blade has him within its embrace still, you know that no matter where you go, no matter how you run, no matter which star you try and hide behind, he will find you. It’s only a matter of time.

When your comm pings, your heart leaps in your throat, and you read the single sentence Din has sent you in reply.

Yet then you shudder, too cold and too hot at the same time, something within you twisting with fear and also something else. You let your eyes linger over the words before you drop the comm, let it crack against the durasteel walkway and crunch under the force of your boots. Even as you walk away you feel your ears ringing, hear Din’s message whispered in that silky-sweet tone of his as if he were leaning over your shoulder and murmuring against the shell of your ear.

"Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll come find you.”

----

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#Din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #dark din djarin #din is haunted #stalking tw #Fic: The Hunted #my writing #my fic #my stuff

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