#or the darksaber has haunted din | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sprout-fics · 2 years

Text

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.”

----

If you like my work please consider donating to me on Ko-Fi!

#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

303 notes · View notes

swinging-through-the-stars · 7 months

Note

Okay, Sith!Luke au sounds incredible!!! I haz questions

What's Din's whole perspective on things? Is he (like canon) blissfully unaware of who and what Luke is? Does he know and just not care? Is he just doing anything to protect Grogu, only to realize that the 'teacher' is very dangerous but has also imprinted on Din just as much as Din has fallen for him?

What about Grogu? Does he understand the darkness in Luke? Is he averse to it? Or does he go all in on the dark side to protect his dad?

OOOOHHH YES YES YES I'd LOVE to get into Din and Grogu stuff! (I'm realizing this will be another long one so there's your warning lol)

As for Din --

In my AU, after the Death Star blows up in 0 ABY, Luke begins to take personal undercover missions to continue undermining the Empire. To stay anonymous, he hires an untraceable mercenary that doesn't ask questions and is also not fond of the Empire - this is where Din Djarin comes in. (Din doesn't have a lot developed pre-Mando season 1 other than he's been bounty-hunting - and before that - taking mercenary jobs for a while, so why not utilize that for a story I want?) While working with Luke in this time period, Din has absolutely no idea who Luke is other than he carries a "red laser-sword" and doesn't show his face. He knows Luke as The Stranger, and for a few years takes jobs from Luke since he pays very well (that Empire money eh). Din is vaguely aware that his jobs have small impacts on the war against the Empire, so he is fine with complying, especially since they are relatively low-risk.

Things take a turn in 4 ABY when Luke hires Din to rescue Han Solo from Jabba's Palace. (one of the few pieces of fic I finished -- FREE SOLO) In this mission, Din sees Luke's face, learns his name (however doesn't recognize it from anywhere), and learns that he KNOWS specific people that a key to the rebellion (Lando, Han Solo, Leia, Chewbacca). The whole ordeal puts Din in more trouble than he bargains for. Luke declares an end to their business relationship because of this and cuts Din off, but it doesn't kill Din's festering curiosity as to who Luke is. He doesn't pursue further, but that curiosity lingers until they meet again.

Luke and Din meet again in a way that mirrors the end of Season 2 of Mando (because I thought it was a fun idea, and YES I have managed to write that out too -- SHADOW ON THE BRIDGE). This is where Din learns that Luke is not only a Sith, but the EMPEROR of the Neo Empire. I've been (ever so slowly) updating the fic of the aftermath of that, where Din meets with Luke again and where they begin to have those conversations of what will happen to Grogu.

In this next fic - First Steps into Darkness - I do want to explore how Din takes up the mantle of Mand'alor and how he uses his previous relationship with Luke to rebuild his world and also create an alliance to further push the Imperial Remnant threat out of the galaxy. Din deals with opinions about this from all sides, from Bo-Katan who has a difficult time trusting Luke, to Din's Clan that are between against and neutral on the matter. (Also keep in mind that I've been planning this part of the story before Mando S3 -- I do use some aspects of S3 but also very much divert from it).

What keeps Din coming back to Luke is ultimately his curiosity, both in Luke's abilities as a leader/negotiator and in him being this mysterious entity. Luke's fervor for his religion, his quest for familial answers, his internal battle of identity -- these are all things that Din relates to. (Luke's a bit more of a hot mess than Din is but -- you know, they have commonalities that they can lean on).

I also really like the concept of the Darksaber having its own sort of Force sentience to the point where Din has to work with it (it's a little like Haunted!Din but instead of outright possession it's more like -- Venom, or something like that, where they work together). Having Luke as a resource to navigate that territory further connects the two.

Needless to say, despite what rumors and warnings Din has been given, he doesn't understand why the "Dark Side" of the Force is considered the "bad" Force and why the "Light Side" is considered the "good". Perhaps it's because he's only really interacted with Luke, and perhaps it's because Mandalorians have a checkered history with getting along with "Light Side" Jedi users as well. His perspective could be biased or he probably just believes that Luke is not what others want to make him seem. Either way, the fact that Luke is a Sith doesn't necessarily make Din distrust him outright, especially since he's the only one that will agree to help hone Grogu's powers.

OKAY, ONTO GROGU -- YEAH THERE'S MORE --

Since's Luke's appearance in rescuing them from Gideon's Cruiser, Grogu is INTRIGUED with Luke and the pull to the Dark Side. In his little mind, Luke is powerful, really cool, and can make Gideon pee his pants -- of course he sees that and goes "ooh I wanna be like that guy".

First Steps into Darkness, while I mentioned will go into some of Din's story, will ultimately be a focus on Grogu (when I eventually finish it lol). I think child characters (especially cute bait like Grogu) often get the short end of the stick in terms of development, and it's SUCH a missed opportunity in my eyes. Children have very simple and blunt observations, and they SOAK up the world around them -- putting the mess of Sith Luke and through GROGU'S perspective is so fun to me.

Luke is not afraid of teaching Grogu, but he's afraid of Grogu idolizing him like HE did Vader. Despite Luke's attachment to his father, Vader was -- NOT really the best father, and deep down Luke knows that and is afraid. He keeps a distance from Grogu that Grogu is always trying to close. Grogu knows that Luke is just a teacher and that he's often not very personable with him. But Grogu sees how Luke's power has the ability to protect, he sees something in him like did with Din (who was also not very warm at first). Grogu believes that if he learns what Luke knows, he can too can become that protector that can stop wars and help those he cares about.

Grogu also continues to learn from Din about Mandalorian culture, so he isn't completely split between one or the other -- in fact, Luke encourages Din to keep sharing his roots with his son. The teachings of both Mandalorians and Sith are eventually the teachings that shape Grogu's perspective on loyalty, emotions, power, and so on. He's observant as hell, so he soaks everything up like a SPONGE.

And let's be honest, the Grogu realizing he could learn some tricks that maybe the Jedi forbade sounds a bit fun to him. He is still a kid after all.

Sorrynotsorry that was long -- I love talking about these concepts, and honestly answering these questions is helping me type out my thoughts to use as reference later. It's getting me fired up to keep writing and editing too.

Thank you again for the questions @just-prime -- I hope you found this interesting!!

#sithlukeau #sith luke skywalker #dinluke #din djarin #grogu #thank you for the ask

32 notes · View notes

mrfandomwars · 1 year

Text

Bitter Tarre

Every time I see "Tarre haunts the darksaber/Din", he always seems way too chill to someone whose weapon meant for peace and fighting Sith's and that now has a story of being used to hurt and oppress people and also was LITERALLY used by a Sith after being Stolen from it's resting place

Where's my bitter Tarre?????? where's my Tarre who Din has to gain the trust of????? who has to prove to not only Tarre but also every mando that has 0 relations to the Death Watch that even though he gained the title by combat, he still deserves to be Mand'alor???????? where's my Tarre who helps Din with their people, but still dislikes the way his Lightsaber was used?????

Seriously, the dude wouldn't be A-Okay with how his Lightsaber was used, let alone how it was stolen and used to kill people - especially Jedi who he considered family, but also civilians and simply innocent people

Like, at least a mention on Tarre being a lot more helpful to newer Mand'alore than he was to previous ones would be a step forward.

#tarre vizsla #star wars #darksaber #haunted darksaber #haunted din #mr talks #like #c'mon #the dude would *at least* be a bit bitter

43 notes · View notes

maul-antics · 1 year

Note

On your post about Din Djarin accidentally bringing one of the past Mand'alore and it being Jango Fett.

I have been thinking about this constantly for years now since they did the teaser for the Mandalorian and it has constantly disappointed me that there is no ounce of Jango Fett in it (though I highly appreciate the fact that Boba Fett was there and is now in disarray because Season 3 ended with Boba not being in it), please tell us more of your thoughts! I've been itching to also write about this with my undying love for the Fetts for over decades over.

It was a thought I was thinking about the other night about the different ways the Darksaber could be haunted as a result of all the power and belief that's put into it by centuries of Mandalorians using it as one of the symbols for a leader. One of the ways was just having the ability for it to bring one of the past Mand'alor to the current present (whenever that may be) and just having whoever is holding the Darksaber deal with it. Force Shenanigans and all that.

Which is why I think Jango would be a good option for a fic based around that idea due to his involvement with the Clone Wars/history with the Jedi on Galidraan and how he would be perceived by a lot of people including Boba after three decades of being dead. (I would also kill for the Darksaber bringing back Maul just for the hilarity and how people who try to kill him on sight after a brief period of like 7 years being dead lol.) I don't have much beyond that since it was me pondering on an idea late in the night, but if I were allowed to work on it with a bit more focus, I would do something where Jango would have to confront what happened to Boba after dying when he did and how much misery was caused as a result. Not all of it his fault, but certainly a catalyst for a lot of it.

I also wouldn't be opposed to doing an adventure that involved a lot of shenanigans that has Din and Jango grow close together since I'm a sucker for Din/Jango when an idea strikes me.

#ask #dukeoftheblackstar #writing ramblings #din djarin #jango fett

17 notes · View notes

brokestrapmountain · 1 year

Text

I love how chaotic the Djarin-Skywalker family house would be. Din wakes up to the sound of Luke shuffling around their bedroom at 5:30am to get ready for meditation so that he could fly into the trees and become with the Galaxy and Din just goes back to sleep. Luke has to interrupt Din’s silent prayer to the ancestors he betrayed to ask him if he wants some coffee. They both have to manipulate their son to stop mass Force throwing plates at the wall for fun with promises for a snack. Din has to deal with not one, but two Force sensitive individuals getting tired from too much training and it’s fine until all of the furniture starts to shake because they’re so sleepy. Because of how much power Luke has in the Force he accidentally creates some sort of dyad with Din while they’re fucking. Neither of them really mind it. Sometimes the Darksaber is a little haunted and causes Din to act possessed. Luke is the child of darth vader so he’s cool with talking him out of mass murder. Din isn’t fazed when Luke’a eyes are completely white and he’s sitting criss-crossed, upside down, whispering in an unknown language

#They’re like a fucked up version of the brady bunch #block me if ur tired of the dinluke spam it isn’t going anywhere #dinluke #luke skywalker #din djarin #grogu

689 notes · View notes

moon-sang · 2 years

Note

Could I request reader gets hurt but doesn’t want to tell Din Djarin cos reader doesn’t want to distract him from the kid? Also I LOVE UR WORK! ♥️♥️♥️

STUCK - Din x Reader

SUMMARY: Grogu has just been rescued from Gideon, The Crest was in good shape, Din was happy! Everything seemed perfect…. Except they weren’t…. Just as you made your leap to the Crest Gideon manages to slash at you hip with his saber, Din is having such fun with the kid you don’t want to seperate the two of them, with your issue.

WORD COUNT: 856

WARNINGS: angst, reader is wounded, description of wound (not too gothic), reader hides wound from Din, pls tell me if I miss anything

~~~~~ Your breathes were ragged and heavy. Your head pounded, and your left hip screamed at you, shooting blinding pains through your abdomen.

You applied more pressure onto the wound hoping to suppress some of the pain, but only aggravated it even more. You silently whimper, tears stinging at the edges of your eyes. “Mesh’la?” Your head whips up, eyes meeting Mando’s glossy black visor. “Y-es” you reply through gritted teeth. “… we’ve been busy for the last three days tracking Grogu and today, rescuing him, you’ve barely had time to shower…. I’m playing with Grogu at the moment, why don’t you have a shower, and when your done I’ll have one?” You couldn’t use words to express how grateful you were at that moment, so you offer Din your biggest, and warmest smile instead with a small nod. ~~~~~

The steaming hot water worked wonders on your skin as it washed down every inch of your body. For the first few minutes the water stung like hell, especially on you left hip, you were even tempted to turn it off at one point, but it got better. You scrubbed the dust and grime off your body, taking special care on your hip. When you reached your hip, you gently washed some of the blood off. The blood was sticky and as water trickled down your hip, a clot of blood splashes down the drain with the water. You sigh. The buzz of the darksaber still rung in your head as clear as day, the strike of the darksaber haunted you and you shiver regardless of being in hot water. You take in a small breath and step out of the shower.

~~~~~

Once your clothes are on and your hair is dried enough, you make your way to the cockpit. You make sure that you put on an oversized jumper because you knew your wound would leak through the thin clothing you wore now. If there was a medkit around, some bacta, or at least some bandages you would’ve taken care of your hip yourself… but there was nothing…. You ran out of medkits way back when Din really wounded himself, and haven’t had the chance to go shopping since.

As you climbed up the ladder to the cockpit you could hear joyful babbles and the deep throaty chuckles that you held close to your heart from Din. He was so…. Happy. You feel a small smile tug at the edges of your lips as you approach the two of them. Big beady eyes met yours as you sat next to Grogu and cradled an arm around his small figure. You smile at Din and say “Your turn” whilst rubbing the small silky hairs at the top of the kids green head. As you turn your attention to Grogu a blinding pain ripples through your hips, making it’s way all the way up to your chest. Your vision goes black, your breathes become even more heavy, and your head almost feels…. Numb. This time you can’t help but let out a choked sob. It was a loud yelp and it bounced off the cockpits walls. A small green claw rests on your arm, but you can barely recognise it because the pain doesn’t subside this time. The wound doesn’t just sting… but it burns as well. You try desperately calling for Din but nothing but a whisper of his name comes out. Your back hits something cold, you can’t tell if it’s the wall, or the floor, your world is spinning and you can feel your blood slowly begin to circulate around you on the floor. You try one last desperate attempt of calling for Din but you just can’t feel anything, nor control any part of your body anymore. So you just lay there limply. Your eyes are heavy but your inner fighter kicks in and you force them to stay open for as long as you can.

~~~~~

Din walks into the refresher, ready to strip his clothes and take a nice… warm…shower, when he hears a muffled noise. It peaked his interest… what was that? He presumed you were just mucking around with the kid. So after a few minutes of waiting to see if any other noise comes he steps into the shower now fully undressed. Momentarily after he turns the steamy water on he hears a small knock. He turns off the water to clarify whether he was hearing things or if someone actually knocked…. But there it came again… knock, knock followed along with a line of babbles and coos. Din sighs to himself. “One minute kid I’m in the shower” Din shouts. Din is about to Turn the water back on when he hears the knock again. “I said… just-a-minute!” Din growls a little more sternly. When Din hears another knock moments later, he quickly dries himself off and pulls his clothes on. He smashes his hand on a button which opens the hatch. On the other side of the hatch stood a small green alien with innocent glossy eyes, and two floppy ears. “What?!” Din questions as sternly as possible. Grogu’s small claw slowly points up the cockpit where you laid. “Huh- what is it?” Din says a little more gently now. “Patu” Grogu responds with a cute voice. “Y/n?” Din shouts confused. No answer. Din felt his heart drop as he played over the things that could have happened to you whilst he was in the hull of the Crest showering. With that he runs and climbs up the ladder to the cockpit. ~~~~~ You don’t know how long you laid there on the cold floor of the Crest, but eventually a silver blur came into your sights. Warmth (most likely from a hand) rested on your wound and you twitched. Your mind wouldn’t focus on one thing - it was like one of those moments when you woke up in the middle of the night but were still half asleep and couldn’t focus on anything clearly. “Din” you manage to croak out. You heard him say through a muffled voice “it’s………ok…..fine…….your fine………Mesh’la……your…….safe…………gonna…hurt……little…….bit……ready?………..1…….2……-” you jolt up as an electricity surges through your body, you yelp in surprise at the same time. “Hey, hey, hey!- I got you.” He cradles you in his arms until you slightly calm down… air had definitely returned to your lungs but you knew you needed bandages. “Stay-here-one-second” Din murmurs to you. He pushes you up slightly against the wall so you sat up a little and went away to get something. ~~~~~ when your eyes open to light Din is no longer a blur and your lying in the cramped space of his bed. “Hey cyar’ika” Din says whilst rubbing light circles on your head with his thumb. You slightly smile. “W-where’d you get the bandages?” You question as you realise your stomach is wrapped up all the way down to your ribs. “I had spare bandages in my drawer……. Why…why didn’t you tell me?” You break eye contact with him for a second. “I-I -I didn’t want to bother you with my wound when you were having such fun with Grogu.” You almost whisper. Din moves back in shock. After a few moments of silence he finally replies, a bit too stern for your liking at first. “You listen to me mesh’la …… you will never bother me.” You crumble at his words and tears spill out over the blankets. Careful not to hurt your wounded hip Din takes you in his arms and gently kisses your forehead whispering sweet nothings to you… he was so tender with his family…. You really did l o v e him.

- hope you enjoyed mandaloriansgal 😁

#mando x wounded reader #mando x reader #din djarin #reader #mando x you #Din Djarin x you #din Djarin x wounded reader #i have finished your request #mandalorian #angst

272 notes · View notes

cienie-isengardu · 1 year

Text

Darksaber

For me, the current star wars animated and live action TV series create pretty hilarious implications in regard to Mandalorians. One hilariously ironic detail comes from the change in lore about darksaber, from an ancient weapon passed down in Vizsla clan to an important attribute of power that apparently also happens to be a haunted / mystical item with sort of self-awareness that will accept - or reject - its wielder. So we have

Din Djarin, The Mandalorian, one of Children of the Watch that won the darksaber in fight but still has hard time to use the weapon 🟥

Paz Vizsla, another member of Children of the Watch, also not accepted by the sword 🟥

Bo-Katan Kryze. Ex-Death Watch member, princess from the royal family and freedom fighter? No problem at all. 🟩

Pre Vizsla, the leader of Death Watch? No problem either. 🟩

Gar Saxon, a Mandalorian working with the Empire during the occupation of Mandalore? No problem either. 🟩

Sabine Wren get the hold of darksaber pretty quick thanks to training with Kanan and Ezra. 🟩

And there are people who aren’t Mandalorian but also managed to use this weapon without much visible struggle, like Maul, the Sith Lord that has zero interest in becoming a Mandalorian himself or Moff Gideon, a high-ranked imperial responsible for the destruction of Mandalore.

But somehow two members of the Children of the Watch have the biggest problem with even raising the sword? That implies some really worrying criterias that darksaber follows in regard to who is worthy of it.

Also, the whole “If, however, it is not won in combat and falls into the hands of the undeserving, it will be a curse unto the nation. Mandalore will be laid to waste and its people scattered to the four winds” word of Armorer’s wisdom are pretty hilarious. Sure, blame the darksaber and its mystical curse instead of Mandalorian's own foolish choices. Is that really surprising the consequence are so dire if Mandalorians choose to follow the wrong people?

#star wars #darksaber #mandalorians #mandalorian culture #look blame the mandalorians for following the wrong kind of leaders not the darksaber #why din and paz vizsla barely can use the sword but every other characters fight with it with little to no problem?#i'm really curious about in universe reason

21 notes · View notes

corazondebeskar-reads · 6 months

Text

Kinktober Day 26 - Tentacles/Dacryphilia (Din Djarin)

ori'skraan

Kinktober Day 26 - Tentacles/Dacryphilia

dark/haunted!Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 2.9k

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

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

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

Inspired by this prompt list from @absurdthirst.

also on ao3

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

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

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

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

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

Never mind that you were ten.

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

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

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

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

So you went home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They explained to you what may happen?”

“Yes, Mand’alor, I understand.”

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

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

“Something along those lines, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But what?”

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

“What theory?”

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

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

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

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

And then he reaches up and removes his helmet.

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

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

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

“What does it matter?”

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

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

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

“May I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He savors every drop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin x f!reader #kinktober 2023 #the mandalorian fic #mand'alor din djarin

72 notes · View notes

ckerouac · 2 years

Text

I miss the big rec posts of old, so… I’m gonna do one. And I'm going to be real extra about it. I’ve read & reread a variety of things over the past few months that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed, and figured hey, y'all might enjoy them as well. Is there a rhyme or reason? Of course not. Are they all new? Hell no, that’s the joy of an archive. I also realized like half of them are spooky season themed, so... *shrugs* viva la spooky season.

Game of Thrones

Dornish Sand by Aviss - (E, 5K, Oberyn/Ellaria/Jamie/Brienne)

Jamie & Brienne go to Dorne, and the four of them bone. Why there aren’t more of these four together, I don’t know. More fics should be about sexy folks worshiping Brienne and this definitely hits it.

Royal Flush by @astolat - (E, 85K, various)

Canon divergence - what if during the Battle of Blackwater Robb found his way into King’s Landing, rescued Sansa, and killed Joffrey? Where does the game go from there? That’s the premise and it really is best to ignore the tags and discover the story as it goes because it is deeply engrossing and this is the type of story where being surprised and watching the chess match unfold is part of the fun.

Justified

Bad Apple Blues by @laporcupina - (NR, 7K, Gen)

A S1 day in the life of Raylan at work, including but not limited to a hostage situation where the whole team gets to show off what they’re good at. From one of my favorite gen writers, no matter what fandom they’re writing in.

In the Heart of the Holler by scioscribe - (T, 4K, Gen)

The stories say there's a place in Harlan County that will grant your wish on Halloween night. Raylan thinks Loretta should stay the hell away from it. Another one to head into spooky season. Because as someone who grew up in a rural area, some places are just creepy as fuck and this has the vibes.

Underground by @sholiofic - (T, 3K, Gen)

Another preview to spooky season (do I have a thing for Appalachian scares? apparently) with Raylan, Tim, and Rachel chasing a fugitive into what feels like a haunted mine. There are far too many things you can only see from the corner of your eye that far underground.

The Mandalorian/Star Wars

ain’t no road i like as well as the road that leads to you by getmean - (T, 3K, Din/Cobb)

Post-BOBF, Din, Cobb, and Grogu go relax on a planet that is moist and green and definitely not Tatooine. It’s soft, it’s sweet, and good lord the three of them deserve a break.

Find His Way Back by @catchclaw - (M, 9K, Din/Cobb/Obi-Wan)

What if Din and Cobb met 10 years earlier, and they ran into Tatooine’s favorite hermit and had to hunker down for the night? It’s exactly what you hope it is, and turned me on to a new trio.

Hold Fast by @staranon95 - (E, 21K, Din/Cobb)

Post-S2, Din returns to Tatooine looking for peace, but he’s haunted by the darksabre, both literally and figuratively. Cobb’s not doing much better. Some of the best haunted by your past AND actually haunted that I’ve read and perfect going into spooky season.

Lest You Be Shining by @brightmouth - (M, 10K, Din/Cobb)

Cobb Vanth falls in love in the crux of a new era and it only hurts a little bit. It’s the 1960s, Cobb is an engineer working for NASA and Din is an astronaut. Y’all, the absolute vibes on this one.

take my revolution by @saltsprite - (E, 34K, Din/Cobb)

Take Din, Mandalore, and the darksaber, and make it Revolutionary Girl Utena. My 90s anime fan self couldn’t resist.

A Waste of Water by @magess - (E, WIP, Din/Cobb)

Din’s come back to Tatooine, Cobb’s past has come back to haunt him. This one is currently a WIP, but the world building is great, the original characters feel fleshed out, and new chapters drop once a week. I look forward to it every week.

MCU

Can’t Keep a Good Man Down by @roboticonography - (M, 10K, Steve/Peggy)

After the serum, Steve has to deal with a persistent side effect. In his pants. Did I get in the mood after Jen’s excitement in She-Hulk over Cap fucking to go back to an old favorite of the genre? Yes. This is exactly what you want it to be.

Rhythm, Interrupted by @staranon95 - (T, 1K, Gen)

Marc tries to keep his presence as minimal as possible in Steven's life for his protection even if Khonshu doesn't understand why. I have such a soft spot for Marc trying to care for Steven before Steven realizes what’s going on, and this scratches that itch beautifully. It’s short, it’s soft, it's what I wanted.

Ted Lasso

bell, book, and candle by fakelight - (T, 5K, Gen)

“There is something strange,” Ted announces gravely, standing in front of the whiteboard. “In our neighborhood. Well, our treatment room. But, you know, our general vicinity.” In large letters above his head, Beard finishes writing WHO YOU GONNA CALL? AFC RICHMOND. A silly way into spooky season, for a change lol

Our Flag Means Death

The Keeper by @r0b0tb0y - (E, 7K, Ed/Stede)

Edward Teach becomes a lighthouse keeper. Everything goes wrong. Another one perfect as we move into spooky season because it’s cosmic horror meets sea shanties. And one you don’t want to know too much going into because the discovery is part of the fun.

Like the Sea Around the Shore by @the-cimmerians - (E, 51K, Ed/Stede)

Are you looking for a fic that could easily be the first few eps of S2? This is that fic. Ed and Stede find their way back to each other, the crew of The Revenge finds a way to talk it through as a crew, and a goldmine of callbacks and anachronisms are sprinkled through like the most fun easter egg hunt. I can’t articulate how much I love this fic from an author who never disappoints.

A Night at Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill by soft_october - (T, 6K, Ed/Stede)

Restaurant AU. The manager at the new restaurant Stede is trying to review is being kind of a dick. A certain member of the waitstaff, however, takes a bit of a liking to him. It’s fun, it’s light, it’s a delight.

The Sandman

Things That Never Happened In History Class by darth_stitch - (T, 2K, Dream/Hob)

Prof Hob teaches History 101, other immortals from other media make an appearance, it’s fun, it’s light, it’s a delight. And Hob still gets irritated over Shakespeare.

#fic rec #i'm feeling extra so i'm going to subject y'all to my taste #also i just miss reccing things #it's how i used to find so much stuff #anyway!#justified #game of thrones #ted lasso #the mandalorian #our flag means death #the sandman #moon knight

44 notes · View notes

kurlyfrasier · 2 years

Text

1) Bleeding Heart: Necessities

Side Stories to Beskar Kisses & Sequel to The Mand’alor’Kar’ta

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Synopsis: Din goes to the cantina for intel.

Masterlist

A/N: Well people, I know I said this may not happen - especially not this quick - but it did. This takes place directly after The Mand’alor’Kar’ta: Prelude Beskar Kisses. Updates will likely be slow and infrequent, just fyi. ENJOY!

Disclaimer: I do not own any Mandalorian/Star Wars anything

Warnings: Mentions of violence. Voices, kinda Haunted!Din. No use of y/n, if you like that. Cute moments.

Word Count: 1250

Mando’a:

- Di’kut (DEE-koot): Idiot

- Kar’ta (Kah-ROH-ta): Heart

Mando’a words and pronunciations found here.

Din stared at the fabric bolts, not having any idea of what you would like. All he knew was that you needed more clothes. Not wanted. Needed. Because all you had were the items on your back. Considering you were haggling with the front desk about working for a room, he assumed you had no credits on you. When you came out of the fresher in the same clothes he first saw you in - smudged in dirt, worn hem, and thinned fabric - he realized you needed clothes and that you weren’t about to ask him to give you some pay in advance. For something necessary. That you needed.

Of course his Kar’ta would be stubborn and selfless.

A smile bloomed under the helmet. Stubborn and selfless meant he could spoil you relentlessly, even if it might cause you embarrassment. He found he didn’t care, thinking you probably looked adorable when embarrassed. Spoiling you would be worth it, no matter the consequences. Not that he could think of any at that particular moment.

“I need clothes for every kind of weather: from desert planets to ice planets and everything in between. At least three of each item,” DIn told the shaking stall owner.

“What size would you like, sir?” She grabbed the fabric closest to her and held it close to her chest, like a shield. Din would laugh if it didn’t happen so often.

“Someone of this height,” he moved his arm to about your height before moving them to show your width. “And this width.”

“Uh…That’s not exactly,” the lady licked her dry lips, eyes bouncing everywhere but at Din. “I’ll get started right away, sir. When do you need them by?”

“I need one set within the hour. The rest by the day after tomorrow.”

Her eyes blew wide, fingertips turned white from gripping the bolt of fabric so tight.

“Can you do that?”

“Yes,” she nodded emphatically, starting to scurry off. “I’ll start right away. See you in an hour.”

Din walked away feeling uncharacteristically giddy, body buzzing in anticipation of getting something for you. Wandering around the stalls he decided he should get a new toy, or at least a special snack for Grogu as well.

It was strange, he thought, that his heart continued to beat without your presence next to him. Each beat reminding him he’s alive and well, no longer dependent on the darksaber to keep him alive. He gripped the handle, thinking once upon a time he would’ve given everything to be rid of it. But now…. Now it was an extension of him, a heavy crown that led him to you.

A quiet hum filled his head as though the darksaber was lit. DIn feigned ignorance of it and moved on.

After finding some satisfactory building blocks and jerky for his kid, Din found old habits died hard as he entered the local cantina, surreptitiously searching for threats as he made his way to the bartender.

“I need information,” Din laid a few credits on the bar.

“About what,” the light blue, almost gray, aging Twi’lek said, sounding wary and keeping an arm’s length away from the counter as he polished a glass.

“Has a local senator or dignitary lost their mother recently,” Din said, casually leaning on his elbows, showing the bartender his hands were empty - that he meant no harm.

“There was a funeral recently,” he said, glancing at the door as more customers walked through and found a place to sit. He leaned in closer, seeming more relaxed, and spoke quieter than before. “For the mother of Senator Hak Inut. Everyone loved her. She always tipped good and danced with the locals before she got sick. Said it helped remind her of where she came from. Once she couldn’t make her weekly visit, her handmaiden would pick up a meal for her. Too good to be a servant of any sort, that one. Too sweet, never complained. The sort who- well, she’s probably nobody to you.”

“What’s she look like,” Din said, hoping he was talking about you. It would make finding this Hak Inut much easier than anticipated.

“Why?” The bartender stood tall, puffing out his chest as he set the glass down.

“Di’kut,” an old, familiar voice sounded through Din’s head, startling him more than he’d like to admit. It had been a while since he had heard the haunting voice. “Answer us,” the darksaber roared as though the bartender could hear it, drowning all outward sounds of the cantina.

“Might be who I just hired-”

“For what,” the bartender demanded, voice close to a shout, causing patrons to murmur. “She’s no warrior looking for adventure. She never hurt nobody-”

“We would never endanger Kar’ta.”

“Nothing dangerous, I assure you,” Din lifted his hands in surrender, not wanting to start anything, against the darksaber’s obvious wishes, and was relieved when the Twi’lek deflated, grabbing another glass to polish.

“We keep Kar’ta safe.”

“Good,” he nodded and continued with a description of you. “You’re not gonna make her,” he trailed off, his other hand waving in circles. “Dance in court or anything, are ya?”

“Kill him.”

“Dance in-” Din shook his head, at the Twi’lek or the darksaber, he wasn’t sure. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well you're that Mandalorian who reclaimed Mandalore, right? The new king?”

“Yes,” it purred.

Din stayed silent, ignoring the voice and unwilling to admit the bartender guessed right.

“I’ve heard rumors he doesn’t paint his armor and wears the skull of a mudhorn,” he pointedly made eye contact on Din’s mudhorn signet. “Also heard he’s the reason for the negotiations going on. Everyone’s been buzzing about you, hoping you don’t bring your army and destroy us all.”

“Not a bad idea, actually,” the darksaber chuckled, its thirst for death never truly sated - no matter the amount of decapitations in a day..

“Sounds unreasonable,” Din stated, almost always at war with the weapon, placing a few more credits down in hopes the guy would stay silent about his presence there and left, wondering how he came out of that story as a tyrant.

He blamed the darksaber.

Back at the fabric stall, Din grabbed your new clothes and dropped credits with a quick “thank you” in one fluid movement, refusing to be away from you any longer than necessary. The market crowd had thinned, making the trip back to the hotel quicker than that morning’s walk to the market.

Din found you asleep on the stiff couch, quiet snores filling the air, Grogu laying on your stomach, a drool dripping from his mouth. With a resigned sigh, he set your clothes down on a nearby chair before lifting you up and moving you to the bed, hoping this nap was due to the kid wearing you out more than a restless night’s sleep.

After covering you up, moving Grogu to the pillow next to you, he retrieved the clothes and set them on the end of the bed, hoping you would at least wear this set even if you didn’t like it.

“Kar’ta is safe,” it sighed, content for the first time since Din came to possess the darksaber.

Once the door swooshed shut behind him, Din started for the next meeting of negotiations, secretly hoping Hak Inut would be introduced to him.

“Death to Hak Inut. Death to Hak Inut. Death to Hak Inut,” the darksaber taunted with each step and Din agreed, a feral smile appearing under the helmet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THANKS FOR READING!

Please, I beg of you, tell me if the voice thing gets confusing. Yes, if you were wondering, the darksaber was the one speaking to Reader in Beskar Kisses. I don’t think I ever made that clear. Also, should ‘darksaber’ be capitalized? I’m thinking yes, but I haven’t been doing that lol fail

TAGLIST: @againstacecilia @djarinslove @bxmxtx @takeyour-pants-off

Please, let me know if you would like me to take you off of this taglist since Beskar Kisses is technically done.

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #beskar kisses #fanfic #cute moments #Darksaber #grogu #mentions of violence #voices #reader #you #no use of y/n #star wars #my writing #bleeding heart #sequel #the mand'alor'kar'ta

37 notes · View notes

sprout-fics · 2 years

Text

The Hunted

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

Ending One: Freed

Read (Here) on AO3

Word Count: 8.1k

Rating: Mature

Tags: Din is Haunted, Dark! Din Djarin, Possessive Din, Protective Din, Possession (By the Darksaber), Luke Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano, Grogu, Jedi vs Mandalorian fighting, Near death experiences

Warnings: Stalking, Toxic Relationship Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Violence

Summary:

There's no footsteps when Din arrives. Like a specter himself he simply oozes out of the darkness, metal armor catching the dim glow of the flames as he reveals himself. You shudder, hearing those same whispers suck into silence as he moves forward, frees himself of the darkness clinging to his form and coming to stand at the edge of the clearing, visor locked on your form.

He stands a ways away from you, the two Jedi standing between you both as he pauses, observes the scene before him. At first he seems almost confused by what he sees- with you standing behind the two sorcerers and cradling his foundling in his arms. His eyes rake over Luke and Ahsoka silently before they again come to rest on your form- take in your wide, dread-laden stare.

You see his hands clench at his side, his shoulders tuck back and nearly hear the growl that purrs low in his throat. His entire form stiffens, and you understand at last that the sight of the two warriors standing between his beloved and his child incenses him, drives the bloodlust in his veins to a fever pitch, dark and starving for violence.

Din is furious.

Tag List:

@adancedivasmom @writeforfandoms @arctrooper69 @devstinyy @bunnyteefs @zwiiicnziiix @leithatnight @againstacecilia @mina2000alex @dankest-farrik @stupendousladydinosaur @telltale-vixen @grogusmum @shadeblade16 @besk4r-recs

(Reply to or reblog this post to be included in future updates!)

-------

The stars must favor you, because you find the Jedi.

You don't know how but you do. Someway, somehow you manage to find someone who knows someone who knows someone who delivered a shipment of construction droids to a remote planet far away from any other settled systems. When you find the smuggler and frantically describe to him the image of a small green child with long ears, he recognizes Grogu instantly. Yet you still have to beg him to take you, offering every remaining credit to your name just so he can fly you to where Grogu and his master await.

They're hidden away on one of the unmapped Core Worlds, a lush green planet with tall, wavering trees that whisper in the wind. Mist clings to the foothills as you sail through the sky, all the while anxiously glancing at the sensors to ensure another ship hasn’t tailed you. It's tranquil, beautiful, and you understand why the Jedi chose it. There's something about this place that is blissfully serene, free of the strife and struggle that seems to permeate the rest of the galaxy.

You're unable to appreciate it though. You're dazed, terrified, more exhausted and drained than you've ever been in your entire life. By the time you land and the horizon swallows the sunset you're struggling to see in front of you as you climb your way to the makeshift temple- jumping at every shadow and flinching at whispers that aren't there. You feel as if Din is right behind you- breathing down your neck and reaching for you. You dance out of his phantom grasp, trying vainly to stand, to stay awake.

The incident on Kafrene has left you unable to rest, barely able to eat. Every time you close your eyes you see him, standing amidst the carnage and viscera, the black of his blade flickering like a specter. He whispers your name to you, holding out his hand-reaching for you. When you pull away, when you run his voice chases after you like shadows, dark and furious that you'd dare flee from him again.

You don't know if he's here already, if he's right behind you, if you look over your shoulder and he'll be there.

The landscape around you grows dark as you ascend the bluff towards the stone structures. Your pace never slows, as if the growing darkness itself nips at your heels. Fireflies dance through the ferns like strange fairy lanterns, but to you they seem like eyes watching you from the shadows, tracing each stumbling step and ragged inhale that wracks your entire frame.

You don't stop. You can't. If you pause, if you stop running it means he'll catch you, he'll be cursed forever, that you yourself will drown beside him-

When you stumble onto the temple grounds, suddenly there's hands to catch you.

You're too exhausted to flinch away, even as a cry of terror cracks your throat at the thought that it's him.

...Except it isn't.

No, the touch against your shoulders is warm, gentle. You hear your name echoed in a voice that isn't Din's, confused and concerned at your sudden presence. The grip on you is supportive, even as you lean all your weight against it. When you look up, it's not into a darkened visor that glints with some whispering phantom, but into a pair of blue eyes and white markings contrasted against beautiful ochre skin.

"Ahsoka Tano." You breathe before your eyes close, your strength at last fail you now that you're finally safe. You shudder once, feel yourself go limp into her arms even as you struggle to stay awake for just a moment longer. You need to stay conscious, to warn her, but the weight of exhaustion at last begins to pull you under like you’re sinking at sea. Ahsoka gasps your name again, voice rising with worry at the way you crumple into her hold without warning. You barely notice, not as the veil of sleep overcomes you with sinister whispers.

With your final breath before unconsciousness you whisper, voice tight and desperate:

"Help."

----

It's warm when you wake.

Your body feels lighter, somehow, as you drift back towards consciousness. It's strange, you're used to waking and already being tired, drained despite the few precious hours of rest you've managed to retain. It’s rare for you to sleep somewhere that isn’t a seat in a cantina, hidden at the back of an alleyway, aboard a crumpled cargo vessel. Yet when you open your eyes your muscles don't sing in protest, your head fails to respond with the dull throb you've become so familiar with. For once, nothing hurts.

The glow of a campfire flickers atop the stone ceiling of the hut you're in, but the shadows there don't whisper sinister prophecies, nor do they watch you with keen, glowing eyes. Instead, they remain silent, dancing quietly as the nighttime breeze filters past an open doorway. You watch them for a moment, entranced, before belatedly realizing you aren't alone.

You try and shift towards the pair of eyes you sense quietly observing you, and at once the world seems to spin around you, untethered by gravity and floating freely. A groan escapes you as you flop back against something firm- a cot of some kind. You raise a hand to cradle your brow, trying to find your anchor against the nauseating wave of dizziness that washes over you.

"Try not to move." A voice you don't recognize murmurs gently. "Your body is still recovering from your journey."

You turn your head from where you're lying, eyes adjusting as you stare across the fire to a face- strange and yet somehow familiar.

"You." You echo, voice breathless and eyes wide at the sight that greets you.

The Jedi across from you is sitting cross-legged, his hands planted gently on his knees and posture relaxed. He's dressed in the same dark clothing you saw him in aboard Gideon's cruiser, but this time there's no hood to cover his face, no cloak that billows in his wake. He seems more human, somehow, this way. In your memories he's a mysterious and powerful sorcerer, but the man who sits across from you now seems so young, sandy haired and blue eyed and radiantly gentle.

"We didn't get a chance to exchange greetings last time we met." The Jedi murmurs, affording you a smile that seems almost shy. “My name is Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight."

You blink, feeling your jaw drop a little despite yourself.

A Jedi Knight. You repeat silently to yourself, awe overcoming you at the thought. You can’t help the amazement that crosses over your face. Jedi were even rarer than Mandalorians, spoken of in reverent whispers as the warriors of old, slain and extinct at the hands of the Empire. Yet here one sits, across from you and smiling as if he’s simply greeting an old friend.

It only lasts a moment, for soon you're collecting yourself, memories rushing back like a flood as you raise yourself off the cot you've been placed upon and words tumbling out of you. You speak past the wave of dizziness as you sit up, shoving aside a blanket that has been gingerly tossed over you.

"Master Skywalker." You start, trying to gather yourself and failing miserably before you're suddenly stammering, trying to say what you can before time runs out, before he arrives. "I-I didn't mean to- I mean, sorry for the intrusion, but D- the Mandalor-"

Luke holds up a hand, and instantly you still.

Then he places a single gloved finger to his lips, hushing you before his smiling eyes dart down to his lap. You follow his gaze and manage to stifle a gasp at what- who you find there.

"Grogu." You breathe, emotion welling up inside you so sudden and fierce it threatens to spill from the corner of your eyes. You shift so you can see him better, swinging your legs over the cot so you can sit up properly and look at the child you had taken so much time to care for, to reunite with his order.

The little one is asleep, his head bent and tucked into his chest, ears drooping low and tiny hands open at his sides as he perches in his master's lap. You can hear the smallest of snores from his tiny body despite the crackling of the campfire, and you suppress the instinct to reach for him, take him into your arms and let the familiar weight of him soothe your heart like a salve.

"You should have seen him when Ahsoka brought you to us." Luke comments, his voice soft and subdued so as to not wake the youngling. "He was frantic, wouldn't leave your side for hours, insisted on trying to heal you despite the fact that you weren't injured."

You feel your eyes soften, shoulders sinking and throat tightening at the thought of the toddler so afraid at your sudden appearance in such a state. You can only imagine what he saw- as Ahsoka carried you to Luke, your form limp and unresponsive in her arms. The poor child must have been terrified. That thought alone threatens to break something inside of you that's already too fragile, threatens to shatter with the lightest touch.

"We managed to piece together what happened." Luke says, his eyes focusing on you once more. You meet his gaze, surprised to find him expression tight, worried. "It's the Darksaber, isn't it?"

His question surprises you, not expecting him to know of the Mandalorian artifact or its significance. You nod after a heartbeat. Then you suppress a shiver at the mere mention of the blade, as if the mere utterance of it will somehow summon shadows.

"Din- I mean...He-" You start, then pause, trying to find the words to properly explain the strange circumstances that led you here, to this moment where you conversed in hushed tones with a Jedi, of all people. Your thoughts raced as you try to summarize your journey, brushing past the details of sleepless nights and waking nightmares. If feels as if time is precious, as if you have only mere moments to describe to Luke what has happened before Din himself appears from nothing, cuts the conversation short with a furious swing of the blade.

It takes you a moment, but you force yourself to breathe, collect yourself.

"The sword...it changed him, somehow." You explain at last, voice quiet, hushed. Despite the glow of the fire your hands find your arms, rubbing warmth into them. "…It's like he's possessed by it, like it's controlling him somehow. I…can't properly describe it but there's something wrong with him, like he's gone mad."

Luke nods, contemplative at your words. Yet he doesn't speak, and after a moment you take that as a signal to continue.

"I-I could tell it was twisting him, changing him, making him dangerous.” You go on, trying to contain the tremble in your voice. “I-It almost felt like it was sucking away at him, trying to feed off of him."

Yet then you hesitate, a shiver of uncertainty rippling through you with your next words. You feel as if speaking them aloud will somehow confirm all that's happened, transform these events from some twisted nightmare into a dreaded, haunting reality.

"I-" You try, then swallow, shoulders shrinking as a shiver races up your spine at the memories that follow your words. "I had to run from him. I thought- maybe if I did he'd come to his senses, that he'd wake up and realize...but it only made it worse."

The clog in your throat seems to sharpen, and you hunch forward, hands clenching the blanket on your lap. You swallow thickly, and the motion wells tears in your eyes. Again, you feel the weight of him in the back of your mind, feel the shadow of his presence stalking your thoughts as if somehow he can reach you there- stretch out and let his touch manifest against your skin.

"He was hunting you." Luke murmurs, and despite his even tone you can hear the underlying horror there, the realization of exactly what the Darksaber had driven Din to, had forced you to become.

You nod, and the small gesture at last frees your tears so they're spilling down your cheeks, hot and wet just like the breath choked in your chest that bubbles up in a small hiccup.

"Please, Master Skywalker." You plead suddenly, voice cracking as you lift your gaze to stare at him over the flames. "You have to save him."

Luke's face pinches oddly at your plea, and you can't decipher his expression or tell if its concern or hesitation. Yet he remains conspicuously silent, even as the fire crackles between you both, the smoke curling up towards the chimney above and beyond into the clouds.

"This isn't our battle to fight." A voice pipes up from the open entrance of the hut, and you glance outside to see Ahsoka leaning against the frame of the doorway. You start, having not noticed her presence until that very moment. She's turned away from you both- staring out into the darkened scenery around the hut as if waiting, watching. Yet you can see the corner of her face, brow drawn tight and eyes downcast. "The Darksaber is a Mandalorian weapon, one that should never fall into the hands of Jedi."

Your face falls at her words, distress rising within you at the idea that you have come all this way, endured so much, only to be turned away by those who’s aid you seek. Before you can speak, can object and voice your protest, however, Luke's voice interrupts you.

"No." He agrees, and you spin to face him, eyes distraught and fresh tears threatening to spill down your face. He's avoiding your gaze, looking down into his lap with his brow scrunched in thought.

You feel like you're going to break. The disappointment, the despair wells within you unabated, held back all this time by the slightest glimmer of hope. Yet now it feels like you can hardly hold it back as that same light slowly dies within you, and with it you feel a part of yourself threaten to shatter at the seams. One thought above all others seems to swallow the rest of your emotions like a gaping maw, devouring everything in its path like an insatiable void.

You’ve failed.

"But it's not the Jedi way to turn away those in need." Luke finally concludes, lifting his eyes towards you once more. You're nearly startled by what you find there- a compassion, a determination and courage that seems to stretch across the space between you, brush up against your own senses like a gentle murmur. Despite the softness of it you feel it pluck at something inside you, summon an awe so powerful you suddenly understand the legends of old, of the strange, enigmatic warriors with gifts blessed by the stars themselves.

You hear Ahsoka huff, but the sound is more amused than annoyed, as if she's sharing some secret joke with herself. She tilts her head towards you, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Not like you gave us much choice, friend." She tells you, and despite her words there's no malice there, only a small, subdued determination. You offer her a small smile in return, bashful, almost apologetic for thrusting her and the other knight into your own troubles.

"Besides..." and she turns, her eyes hardening as they gaze out into the darkness beyond the clearing, into the shadows.

"He's here."

You freeze.

Then, you feel it- the cold.

You shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself as the shroud of darkness slowly descends over you the four of you like a chilled mist. It takes you a moment to notice that the crickets and nighttime calls of the creatures from the forest and ponds have gone silent, almost as if they too are trying to hide from the thing that stalks through the woods. Yet it is in that silence that you notice the whispers, see the flicker of the fire dim and undulate wildly as if to herald the presence of him.

The Manda'lor.

Luke stands, and you see in his eyes that steely determination turn grim, brow knotted, and lips pursed. You follow his motion, legs unsteady under you but ready to assist all the same, to do what it takes to save Din once and for all from the curse of the blade.

Yet Luke shakes his head at you when you take a step forward, and you pause. Instead, he side-steps the dying fire and gently hands you the sleeping child in his arms, taking a moment to meet your eyes.

"Stay here." He tells you on no uncertain terms, voice softer as if Din can somehow hear his words.

You nod uncertainly, taking Grogu in your arms as the toddler sighs in his sleep, cuddles closer to your form. The weight of him grounds you, wards off the shadows dancing in your periphery even as you feel the air around you chill, turn stale.

Then Luke brushes past you, coming outside to stand in front of Ahsoka. The other Jedi stands attentively, looking deeper into the woods towards something you can’t see. You hover in the doorway behind them, backlit by the embers of the fire as the two knights straighten, remain silent in anticipation of the thing that has penetrated the boundaries of their sanctuary.

You shiver, wanting to press your back against a wall just to make sure Din isn't there, hasn't somehow snuck up behind you while you were unaware. The whispers of the blade are stronger now, clicking and hissing in Mando'a words you can't decipher and yet somehow understand all the same. Following Luke and Ahsoka's gaze, you stare out to the boundary of the clearing where the light of the fire casts a hazy halo past you. Your shadow stretches long into the night, the edge of it vanishing into the darkness where you don't doubt it blends with the other spirits of the Darksaber who eagerly report your whereabouts to their master.

Din is furious.

"Cyare." He warns, and the word alone forces you to take a step back, as if the warmth of the fire can somehow protect you. Yet it is flickering low behind you, as if smothered by the presence of the relic at Din’s side. The brightness of it behind you dims, suppressed by the shadows that lurk long and dark around you all.

You force yourself to be brave despite the tremble in your hands, the fear that your voice might be already choked by the stretched touch of the blade, seizing your throat and refusing to let you speak.

"How did you find us?" You ask, not bothering to hide the shudder in your words.

Din pauses, then he chuckles.

"I tracked you with the help of the sword." He replies, voice a purr tenored deep in his chest. His eyes seemed to bore into you, flaying you open so he can see all of your thoughts and precious secrets. "I don't need a tracking fob to know where you are. There's nowhere in the galaxy I won't be able to find you, cyar'ika."

Then he pauses, gaze again raking over the two Jedi that stand between you and him.

"Even if it's with enemies."

For their credit, Luke and Ahsoka don't speak, but you see the way Ahsoka's eyes narrow at the Mandalorian, see her fingers flex at her hip near her lightsabers.

"We can resolve this peacefully, Mandalorian." Luke speaks, his voice carrying across the clearing to where Din stands. He’s calm, assured, and you find yourself soothed by the temperance in his voice. "We don't need to resort to violence."

Din tilts his helmet at the Knight, as if considering his words. Yet the gesture seems mocking at best, as if Din is feigning contemplation.

"You take away my foundling." He states, and his voice borders on a tremor, as if he's vainly trying to restrain himself. "You refuse to tell me where he is so I can ensure he's safe, and then, you steal away the only person I have left and dare to stand between us?"

In a single fluid motion Din unholsters the Darksaber from his hip and ignites it, the blade activating like the sound of thunder.

"An jetiise cuyir aru'ese!" Din hisses, swishes the blade once before him in a brash challenge towards the two.

You see Luke's shoulders sink for a moment, as if disappointed that Din would immediately resort to violence. Then you see him reach for his own lightsaber, nodding at Ahsoka to do the same.

Three blades ignite in the darkness, casting glowing shadows against the faces of their wielders.

"Please." You say suddenly, taking a step forward to briefly grasp the hem of Luke's shirt, eyes pleading. "Don't…don’t kill him. Please."

Luke pauses, looks over his shoulder at you with a grimace. Yet then he nods -just once- in acknowledgement.

He's cut short, however, as suddenly Din roars ferociously and launches himself forward. His visor glints with the glow of the flames, muscles coiled as the Darksaber shrieks in his grip. At once you're flung backwards, with Luke shoving you out of the way and raising his blade to meet Din's catastrophic downwards slice.

Ahsoka intercepts him first, using both her blades to block Din's downward swing, grunting under the force of his blow. Din merely presses down harder, shoulders hunching as he leans all his strength into the attack. You see Ahsoka lean back for a moment, arms shaking as she tries to hold the Mandalorian off.

Then you see a green flash, and suddenly Din is dancing backwards to avoid the incoming swipe of Luke's saber, ducking under it and retreating several steps so he can face both warriors at once.

Your heart beats so loudly in your chest you feel like you can hardly breathe, watching as Ahsoka and Luke both take their stances, with the Togruta settling wide on her heels and holding her blades both behind and in front. Beside her Luke with his grip held tightly onto the hilt of his saber next upwards, near his shoulders.

Din stands across from them, feet plated wide and the Darksaber held tightly in his right hand, the other clenched as he no doubt readies his vambraces for the fight that is about to ensue.

The stillness lasts only a moment before Din launches forward once more, dodging Ahsoka's strike and instead raining down a series of blows onto Luke that seem almost supernatural in speed. Luke blocks them deftly, as if he knows where the strikes will come before they're even there. His expression has lost that sense of calm now, and now his eyes flicker with that grim determination you had previously seen lie just under the surface as he expertly deflects Din’s attacks.

When Ahsoka aims at Din's back he merely spins, raises his bracer to meet the blow with a shower of sparks that alights the trio. Luke takes the opportunity to deflect the blade of the Darksaber, spinning it effortlessly off his own and retreating a step before immediately launching a renewed attack, pressing his offensive.

Din is there to meet him though, as he spins in place and uses his vambrace to block Luke’s blade and the Darksaber to fend off Ahsoka on his other side.

"You aren't yourself!" Ahsoka grits over the whine of the swords, her own white sabers absorbing the electricity that dances along the darkened edge of Din's weapon. "You're being controlled!"

"Jahaatir!!" Din hisses, and the sound of his voice is warped, obscured by the low growl of others who reside within the crystal of the blade. Then you see his wrist flex, and instinctively you wrap Grogu tighter in your arms, back to the wall of the stone hut as whistling birds escape Din's wrist launcher, forcing both the Jedi to leap away and deflect the beskar bullets with their lightsabers. The projectiles whine and whistle as they scatter across the clearing like fireworks.

Din presses his advantage, except this time he launches himself at Ahsoka, swinging the Darksaber from below his hip into an upper swing that has the blade screeching with the motion. Ahsoka manages to deflect it, but the motion leaves her open, vulnerable.

"No!" You scream in horror, and your voice has Din whirling his head towards you, as if he just remembered you were there. You watch as his focus changes, as he takes a single step in your direction, the Darksaber purring darkly at his side.

You want to step back but your form is already flush with the hut’s exterior, and the knowledge of that makes your pulse rise in your throat, flutter desperately like a caged bird.

Before Din can even try to reach you, however, he wheels again as Luke appears at his side, forcing him to deflect a series of strikes that has him briefly careening backwards.

Ahsoka leaps at him from his flank, but Din manages to spin just in time, using one hand to wield his weapon and block Luke, and the other to twist his wrist and let a stream of fire erupt from his gauntlet. The attack presses Ahsoka back, forcing her to retreat and giving Din the opportunity to press harder into Luke, twisting and letting his block turn into a lean against the smaller man.

"The blade is corrupting you." Luke grunts under the force of Din's weight. "It's driven you mad- if you don't let go it might kill you!"

Din laughs, and the warped, warbled sound of it has a horrible shiver running straight up your spine.

"The only thing the Darksaber has done is make us powerful, let us protect what is ours." He rumbles deeply, visor catching the glow where his and Luke's blade are interlocked. You swear you see the edges of him shudder for a moment, as if swallowed by the shadows of midnight that dim the glow of the blades. He doesn't give Luke a chance to respond, because suddenly he's spinning, blocking Ahsoka's incoming strike with his vambrace again. All at once both Jedi press their offensive, and Din is forced to dodge and block as three separate sabers come down on him.

You watch as sparks rain between the trio as plasma meets beskar, the light catching against Din's armor like lightning, the impact of the blades sounding for all the world like thunder as they come crashing down. Yet, surprisingly, Din is managing to hold his own against the two warriors, even as he's chased into a defense. He's ducking, dodging, his form almost wavering before your eyes like he's some sort of phantom, too fast for you to truly trace. When he raises the blade to block and incoming strike his arm doesn't even tremor with the exertion, as if he's merely deflecting a falling leaf from his path.

It's the blade, you know it is. Whatever it's done to him, it's made him stronger, faster, more powerful than he had ever been before. Despite the flurry of attacks from both Jedi he doesn't seem to tire, doesn't seem to lose his stamina even as he manages to kick Ahsoka in her abdomen and send her flying away to the edge of the clearing and into the darkness.

You scream for her, but she doesn’t answer.

You have to do something. At this rate Din might somehow win against these two, might somehow defeat your only hope to save him. You watch as Luke deflects a series of blows from the Mandalorian, jaw tight as he strains under the strength of Din's attacks.

There has to be something you can do, some way you can intercede.

"The blade!" You call out abruptly to Luke, taking two short steps forward as if it will help your voice carry across the dim clearing lit only by the glow of the swords. "Try to get it away from him!"

Din spins towards you as Luke retreats a step, and his entire form is held taut, furious at your outburst.

"You!" He snarls, and you can imagine his face under his helmet, contorted violently into a sneer. "You left us!!"

He takes a step towards you but freezes as if anchored to the spot by an unseen force. You follow his gaze to where Luke is, brow furrowed in concentration as he outstretches a hand towards the Mandalorian. Din looks down to his hand, to where he has the Darksaber clenched in his grip.

"Jetiise ram'or!" Din snarls and thrusts his other arm forward to launch his whipcord, yanking to let it wrap around the younger man who tries vainly to immobilize him. Luke manages to cut through the chord, but in doing so breaks his concentration and allows Din to free himself from the Jedi's hold. In the moment it takes Luke to disentangle himself Din leaps forward like a Nexu from the bushes, claws outstretched and fangs on full display.

“Ni cuy' te Mand'alor!!”

He's seized halfway through his jump and yanked backwards by an unseen hand, and you see Ahsoka at the edge of the clearing, now having righted herself after Din's blow. Her grimace is alight from the glow of her twin blades, shadows cast starkly against her face as she uses the Force to repel Din from the younger Jedi.

"Together!" She calls to Luke, who wields his saber to his side and nods, outstretching his hand and combining his power with Ahsoka's to hold Din, immobilize him to the spot. You watch as Din struggles to right himself from where he’s fallen, managing to push up on one knee even as his muscles strain against the invisible hold of both warriors. He's spitting and cursing in Mando'a, the saber in his grip singing a note that seems to almost shriek in pain under the grasp of the Force surrounding it.

"His helmet!" Luke yells at you, and his voice is tight, labored as he now uses both hands to try and subdue the Mandalorian.

You try not to hesitate, not even as you hurriedly set Grogu's sleeping form down on the ground and rush to Din. You’re trying vainly to ignore the temptation to flee away from the blade just as much as to come closer, let the weight of it settle against your palm. You kneel before him, hands settling on either side of his visor even as he tries to protest.

"Cyare-!" Din grunts as your hands come to settle on either side of his helmet, struggling even as they gently pull it up to reveal his face. "N-no! Don't!"

"I'm sorry Din." You breathe as you toss the beskar somewhere behind you into the darkness. You can hardly see his face as is in the midnight forest, and as your hands come to rest against his cheeks you notice they're slick with black ink that bleeds from his eyes, his mouth and nose and ears. The mere touch of it has you shuddering, feeling for all the world like it seeps past your skin, into your veins.

Even so you brace your forehead against his, not caring as your hands are stained and the acrid smell of blood fills your nose. Instead, you will yourself to hold him, as if somehow the mere presence of you can chase away the demons inside of him, can rescue him from the abyss.

"Please." You beg, eyes smarting with tears once more. "Please Din."

You don't have the words needed to express what is inside of your heart at that moment, to express the hope and despair, the fear and longing that calls out to him. You’re so tired, so afraid. You want no more of this, no more fear and dread, no more running and hiding. You just want him again, as he was, your gentle and devoted Mandalorian who would summon the stars for you if you asked him. "Please come back to me."

Din is trembling under your grip as if he's at war with himself, trying desperately to answer your summons, to fight his way free of the shadows inside him. He doesn't speak, his breathing fast and hard under your palms as you will a part of you to reach out to him through the darkness.

"W-why did you leave?" Din chokes, and his voice is wet, as if there's blood bubbling up his throat. Yet his words are distraught, almost afraid as they reach out to you.

You don't answer him. You can't. You don't even know the answer to the question yourself. You left to save him, but by doing so you abandoned him to the blade, let it fester and rot inside of him until he was something different, something else. If you had stayed, had tried to stop him-

All you can do is scrunch your eyes tighter, fingers nearly digging crescents into his cheeks as you try to physically will the shadows to untangle from his veins, free him from the curse.

Then, suddenly, there's a touch at your leg just as Luke gasps, tries to choke out a protest despite his exertion in keeping Din still. You don't need to look to know who it is. You've felt that touch a thousand times before, know it like you know your own heart. The calm, steady and almost playful presence draws beside you, and suddenly you're breathing a shuddering sigh against Din's lips, trying to immerse yourself in the peace the toddler beside you offers.

Grogu is silent at your feet, and you want to look but you can't, focusing on trying to keep Din's entire focus on you, refusing to let him go for even a moment. The blade is screaming at the back of your thoughts, shrieking and unhinged in its madness as you desperately try to hold fast against it, not let it drain you of your sanity.

Yet that volume only increases as suddenly you feel Grogu shift across you, come to stand between you and the blade still held alight in Din's grip.

"Ad'ika. Kid- w-wait-" You hear Din rasp, and his voice is just his now, absent of the other spirits. His words are desperate and concerned as the youngling approaches the hilt of the blade, draws near to the source of Din's madness.

"Din please." You whisper through the voices of the blade, words curling in the scarce space between you. "Let us help you. Let us save you."

Din tries to shake his head, and you feel the tremble in his limbs fading, as if he's finally growing tired despite the curse of the sword in his grip. You feel it, feel the sudden wash of fear that isn't your own, terrified at the thought of surrendering, of letting go.

"I-I have to be strong." He tries, voice cracking in his throat as he tries weakly to protest. "To protect you. To protect you both."

"Not like this." You whisper to him. "Not this way."

You hear a small whine as Grogu stretches out his hand to rest on the hilt of the blade, and at once the blade screams under the Jedi youngling's grasp, as if the mere touch of the child is enough to scorch it from within. Din gasps as well, tries to thrash in your grip despite his shivering limbs as if he too, is branded by the mere touch of the child.

For a moment nothing happens, not as the voices in your head scream to a fever pitch, blotting out the sound of your own heartbeat and the concerned yell of the Jedi around you. You feel the cold envelop you, feel it wash over your bones with a chill that feels never ending. Even with your eyes closed it suddenly seems so dark, so lonely that you yourself shudder. Yet you never let go of Din, not even as it feels as if the whole world is being torn apart around you, shredded into stardust until there's nothing left but you, Din, and Grogu, all trying to withstand the desperate death throes of the blade's phantoms.

Then, all at once, there's silence.

It surprises you so much that for a moment you don't process, don't unclench every muscles you have coiled in concentration as you hold Din's face between your slickened hands. The forest around you feels still, and for several long seconds you can't even hear the sound of your own heartbeat until at last it thuds gently in your ears.

Din's weight abruptly collapses, as if something has snipped the string holding him up. You gasp, scrambling and trying to grasp at him as he falls into your arms, completely and utterly spent.

He doesn’t move at first, and the weight of him in your arms is terrifying with just how still he is. After a moment you realize he’s not breathing, not moving, and panic immediately swells within you.

"Din?" You gasp, voice high in your throat. Frantically, your fingers dig under his cowl, pressing up against the bottom of his jaw as you desperately seek a pulse. You find it after a brief, terrifying pause, beating slowly and rhythmically against the pads of your fingers. A cry of relief bubbles up past your throat, and soon you're dragging Din further into your arms, resting his head against the crook of your neck and feeling his uneven, ragged exhales pour against your skin.

You’re crying before you even realize as desperation, relief, and happiness force their way up your throat into a series of sobs. Soon each breath is a struggle as you hiccup and shudder, arms wrapping around Din’s warming form and fingers tangling into the coarse fabric of his cape. Tears, hot and slick, fall freely down your cheeks as your shoulders heave. Vainly, you try to catch your breath so you can thank the stars, the gods, thank the Force itself that Din is finally saved.

All your time spent running. All that time escaping, hardly sleeping, barely breathing for fear he’d find you- it hadn’t gone to waste. You had worked so hard for this, had run beyond what you were capable of and broke your own limitations more than once- all to keep him safe. Now, Din was alive, here, safe in your arms and finally, blessedly free of the darkened possession of the Darksaber.

A cry tears from your chest as you hold him, too caught within the tide of your emotions to feel the Mandalorian at last sit against you.

“…Cyare?” Din slurs as he begins to come around, consciousness slowly dawning over his senses. Yet his voice only makes you cry harder, bend into him and clutch at him as if in a single heartbeat he might be stolen from you once more. His hands are hesitant as they reach for you, reach to return the embrace that you’ve kept him in. You shiver against him, breath trembling. Your shuddering sobs only makes Din raise his head from its place against your shoulder, head lolling for a moment before his eyes begin to take in his surroundings. “What- where?”

A small coo at your side has both of you turning your gazes towards the tiny creature that had done so much to save his father, to save Din. Through blurry eyes you see Grogu, his hand outstretched to you both. You free your grasp from Din’s cape, sniffling as you usher the child forward until he’s pressed between Din’s thigh and your gentle touch. There he burbles something, relaxes under your hand as he leans his head against the form of his father.

“Kid?” Din asks, voice rough against his throat but still managing to convey his surprise at the appearance of the toddler. Then, as if the events of only moment ago began to filter back to him, you feel Din stiffen in your arms.

“Wait-“ He tries, throat suddenly tight as it constricted his words. He tries to push away at you suddenly but relents when your grip keeps him still. Even so he manages to pull away just enough to see your face. “No- did I? No-“

He looks at you then, with his beautiful brown stare no longer darkened by the blade’s influence, into your eyes filled with tears. Moonlight pierces through the clouds above, casting soft rays of light down onto the clearing. It illuminates Din’s face, and as it does you can see it in his gaze, can see his thoughts race as he begins to piece together the events transpired. You can see the confusion, the flash of realization before it fades to a horrific dread, eyes wide and terrified at his own actions.

“I-“ Din speaks, voice shaking as his trembling hands come up to grasp yours as they raise to his face in an effort to reassure him. “Cyare. I- I could have killed you.”

You shake your head, still sniffling and trying to contain the hiccups that still bubble up your throat. You try and summon the words, try and tell Din that it was never his fault, that he would have never hurt you, that it was for that reason you had to run from him, that you had to be the one to save him-

“You were corrupted by the blade, Mandalorian.”

The voice comes from beside you, above you both. Din turns, flinching- as if realizing at last you three are not alone.

“You-!” He gasps for all of a moment before collecting himself. His grip against you tightens, and for a moment you see his eyes dart, desperately seeking the familiarity of his helmet.

Luke smiles wearily down at you both. You can see the edges of his robes are slightly singed, his hair mussed and shoulders weighed down with fatigue. Even so his eyes are gentle, relieved as he takes in the sight of the tiny clan before him.

“The spirits trapped within the crystal of the Darksaber possessed you, drove you to commit acts beyond yourself.” Luke explains, and you can hear in his voice the energy it took to immobilize Din so you and Grogu could intervene. Even so his tone is firm, measured but without anger. “Had it not been for your partner’s determination, you would have been lost.”

Din turns back to you, worry and guilt clear in his stare. You see the questions forming on his lips, one hand reaching for yours even as it trembles, betraying his shame.

“I…I was hunting you.” He speaks slowly, as if trying to recall his memories through a shadowy haze. “You ran from me.”

You nod desperately, feeling your breath choke in your chest but managing to speak past it. The truth of it all threatens to break from you like a dam, words flooding forth as you recount the past weeks to Din, of your sleepless nights and terrified daydreams. Yet you know now is not the time for that, not while Din is still weakened by the blade.

“I had to, Din.” You murmur at last, and Din’s gloved fingertips are smeared with the ichor that still stains your touch. “I had to find a way to save you.”

“And if I had caught you?” Din presses, as he sounds almost panicked at the thought. He’s shivering slightly, overwhelmed and distraught at his own actions brought forth by the curse of the Darksaber. Yet he seeks your touch to ground him, reassure him against his own misdeeds.

“If you had stopped running, if I had managed to catch you…” His voice trails off, as if he can’t bear to finish the thought, can’t withstand the horrible, dreaded idea of you both at the mercy of the blade.

You smile through your tears.

“Din.” You breathe, and hope, adoration, love bleeds through your words, more potent than any curse. “I would have run to the edge of space itself if it meant I could save you.”

Din sucks in a breath, entire form shuddering and then going rigid against you. You see it in his eyes, see his shame and fear slowly give way to relief, to affection and the same devotion you had longed after for so long.

Din clutches at you then, and soon he’s dragging you into his arms, burying his nose in your hair and breathing in your scent with a shuddering exhale.

“Thank you, Cyare.” He murmurs, voice wavering and full of emotion. Tears threaten his words, and the tenderness in his tone forces fresh moisture to the corner of your eyes as you fall further into his embrace. “You saved me.”

Footsteps sound off to your other side, and you gently turn your head bent against Din’s chest to take in the sight of Ahsoka’s form limping closer. There’s a hand clutching her side where Din kicked her, but her expression is relieved, gracious.

Din looks up over your head to the two Jedi, still cradling you against him as if he’s afraid to let you go.

“Thank you.” He rasps. “I…I’m sorry for attacking you both, I-“

“It’ll take more than one Mandalorian to take a Jedi down.” Ahsoka tells him, and you soften at the hint of humor in her voice, grateful that all is forgiven between them. Din breathes against you something that almost sounds like a laugh, but you aren’t sure.

“And the Darksaber?” Ahsoka asks, voice hushing in reference to the blade.

“Destroy it.” Din replies almost instantly, voice dipping low in his chest with warning. He grips you tighter, as if somehow his touch can ward off the curse of the artifact. Yet then he softens, looks up to the two Jedi, to his foundling. Then he looks to you, leaning back to gaze into your face, into your beautiful eyes filled with love and tears.

“I don’t need a relic to lead. I only need my clan.”

You smile, feeling Din’s warm hand press against your cheek for all of a moment before he leans into you, drawing you up towards him and into a gentle, beloved kiss. You sigh against his lips a shuddering sound, letting the exhale dissipate all the remaining worry and fear inside you. It billows up and away, into the moonlit sky far above.

When Din at last parts from you his gaze is exactly how you dreamed- gentle, reverent, adoring in every way. Just like in your dreams he smiles at you, brushes a stray strand from your face. He’s warm against you, the cold having fled from his body. Replaced there is the warmth of him, of your beloved Mandalorian, whole and with you at last, here where he belongs.

Din’s voice is soft when he speaks, yet his words find a place in you and stay there forever, haunting you as a beloved reminder of his love.

“Let’s go home, Cyare.”

-------

If you enjoyed my work please consider donating to my Ko-Fi!

#din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din is haunted #dark din djarin #fic: the hunted #my writing #reader insert #There's another chapter and 2 more endings coming soon!

100 notes · View notes