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dindjarindiaries · 9 months

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The Broken Who Blossom

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

pairing: din djarin x mandalorian!reader

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

rating: T

word count: 3.563k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you help me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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minecraftian1213 · 2 months

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Do you guys ever think about how Grogu probably recognized Boba's voice? How he's 100000% traumatized from Order 66 and was scared the first time he heard Boba? But then Din didn't react and called him a friend so Grogu decided that this clone couldn't be too bad.

#idk it just haunts me that we never addressed this in BoBF #Grogu knew clones he shouldve had SOME reaction to Boba #star wars #star wars series #the mandalorian #din djarin #boba fett #grogu

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radiosummons · 2 years

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

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

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

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

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

Jaster Mereel: ....

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

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

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

Jaster Mereel: Death Watch?

Tarre Vizsla: Indeed.

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

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

Jaster Mereel: .....

Tarre Vizsla: .....

Tarre Vizsla: Wanna haunt him?

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

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

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cherubispunk · 1 year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Further.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must never look upon his face.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

But oh so familiar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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kedsandtubesocks · 1 year

Text

In The Dead of Night

pairing: Creature!Cowboy Din Djarin x F!Reader

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

wc: ~8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The quiet bounty hunter.

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

The bounty hunter had arrived many months ago.

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

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

He simply nods at Karga.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then his face turns up to you.

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

A tension settles over your skin.

Someone calls out your name, breaking your trance.

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

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

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

He stares at you now with wide eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

If something else lurks within them…

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

Then, soft gentle claws scratch at your face.

Your eyes flutter open fast.

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

“Hello there,” you coo back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Could’ve waited.”

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

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

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

“I can feel you staring.” He mutters.

“Good.” You mutter back low, hard.

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

“I know you’re upset…”

That is an understatement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Din’s thumb runs over your cheek.

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

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

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

Closing your eyes you lean into his hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You have never seen him this injured and seriously wounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Din.” You cautiously press.

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

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

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

You gasp and almost drop everything in your hands.

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me take him.”

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

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

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

Din gives it to you.

He discovered what has been terrorizing the town.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And the innkeeper?” You wearily ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, Din begins to suck.

He starts to suck and drink from your blood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes I see you.” You tease back.

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

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

He came into your life this exact same way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The door to the shop creaks open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I help you?” You ask sharp.

The leader’s lips twitch playful.

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

You stay quiet, staring hard.

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

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

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

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

His face melts into a deeper pleased smile.

“There’s something very important here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For some reason, their absence terrifies you more.

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

There a few steps away Mayor Karga grins at you.

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

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

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

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

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

Thankfully the answer appeases Karga enough as he sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The loud bang of a shot pierces the early evening.

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

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

Another gunshot comes.

Another bandit collapses dead.

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

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

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

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

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

“You damn BASTARD!” Vane barks back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A monsterous screech suddenly shatters the peace around your cabin.

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

Then it happens in a fast collapse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you have never been more mesmerized by your cowboy.

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

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

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

Then silence falls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Those wonderful eyes of his stare wide and petrified.

In fast steps Din rushes to your side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He tore your blouse to reach the wound.

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

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

All you can do is nod.

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

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

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

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

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

Din however stays quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

You blink through tears to where Din sits beside you.

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

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

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

So you bare your heart before him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for that, you will always be eternally grateful

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

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

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

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

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

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twinterrors29 · 10 months

Text

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

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

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saradika · 1 year

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— BLEED FOR ME | part ii

[masterlist]

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

rated e - 3.4k

haunted hoedown prompts: vampire!au + “i would burn the world for you.” + vampire has a taste for specific blood + revenge + (one-sided) enemies to lovers (+ 1 to be revealed!)

tags: vampire!au, drinking blood, reader has scar on shoulder, mentions of death, shared memories, light angst

He fills the doorway, as silent as he was downstairs.

Lingering there as you try to keep your breathing under control. A second where you wonder if he saw, if he suspected - your hands clasped together on your lap to stay the tremor.

Preparing for his wrath.

Not ready for the way he waits, his low voice asking for your permission to enter the room.

For the way he comes quietly to you after - the glove that finally reaches, touches. Tipping your chin up again, like she had.

So carefully, a knuckle curved under your chin. As if he’s afraid you’ll break.

His helmet tilts, the smallest movements as he takes you in.

“You don’t have to do this.”

The Mand’alor’s voice is low - soft and distorted through the helmet. Not what you were expecting, but the words make your blood turn to ice.

Don’t have to do what? Your stomach churns as you think that he did see you - the twitch of your hand as you wonder if you could manage, if you could reach-

“I chose you,” His voice breaks the silence again. “But if you’re unwilling, I won’t feed. If it’s money you need, I’ll see that you’ve taken care of. I’ll find someone else.”

It’s so entirely unexpected. A nervous glance sent his way - and for a second, you wished there were eyes to meet. An opportunity to truly read him, for why would someone so heartless offer an alternative?

But you need him to take it. To take you - his armor shed and his defenses down, so you can put an end to this.

You deserved it, didn’t you? Revenge on the man who had stolen your home from you. The cozy life you had led, in the little cottage at the edge of the village.

It’s just a pile of stone, now.

Too much time had been spent getting to this moment for you to accept his offer, even as tempting as it is.

Because you couldn’t live here, surrounded in this finery. Playing a pet, while they depended on you.

The ones who had found you. Choking on smoke and half-dazed at the edge of the forest. Helping you up from where you were slumped against the base of that old, oak tree.

Swept until their wing after the destruction. There had been no place left for you, as the morning dawn creeped into afternoon.

You had barely escaped with your life.

And soon after, the plan was formed. If you could take down their leader, the rest would fall. Their whispers reeking of vengeance, sinking its talons into your skin.

Convincing you that you deserved it, didn’t you?

Uncertainty has kept you awake, in those days as you had thought it over. Because things could be rebuilt. The world was a vast place - you could start over.

But then they told you that this happened, often. That the vampires would crush small towns like yours, looking to feed. Leaving behind only silent memories and ghosts.

That is what got you. And it’s that thought turned into a knowing, a certainty.

You can’t let that happen to someone else.

Days of training turned into weeks, and then months. Then, a year.

Because it had to be you - there was too much history for any of the Slayers to do it. They’d be recognized a mile off.

Learning how they fight, until the weight of the silver dagger on your hip brought comfort.

“Wait until he’s distracted.”

“Do whatever it takes, just make sure-”

“Make sure you don’t trust him.”

“Not a single word.”

And finally, it had been time. You had three moons - until the winter solstice. After that, the vampires would keep inside for the Long Sleep, and not be seen until Spring.

If you did not complete your task in time, then you’d be trapped with them. If you succeeded too late, you’d freeze in the cold before you got far.

The sharpened piece of wood had been shoved into your hand, this morning.

“Run this through his heart.”

“Rip off his head. Burn him.”

“Trap him with the sun.”

Their advice hummed beneath your skin, as you had approached the castle. Your plans had been a heavy weight in your stomach, twisting with the unease at what you have to do.

To offer yourself up to a vampire was no mere feat.

But when that vampire was a Mandalorian, encased in that shining armor, it was all but madness.

It was no secret that he sought blood. That offerings were brought to him, almost always turned away.

No one could sate his thirst. He had paid no mind to the others that were ushered in with you. You had wondered if he could smell your deception, clinging to your skin.

But he had chosen you.

And if this is how you had to pay them back, you would.

Your head shakes, as you make your decision, "I… I am willing."

There's a second of silence, as if he wants to press. As if he's not sure, himself.

But then he's carefully tugging off the rust-tipped gloves, lowering himself onto the ottoman near the desk. Leaving the leather to rest on his thigh armor as his hands come into view.

You hold your breath.

But there’s no sharp claws, no blood caked under nails, no fur or scales.

It's just a hand. Tanned skin and human, as far as you can tell.

It eases some of the apprehension, though your heart still races from almost being caught. At the thought of this next part - the pain of the bite and the fire in your veins.

You had been told to be brave. To grit your teeth and work through it - that it was something you'd have to learn to bear, if you were to get close to him.

But the thought of it, that anticipation, has your muscles strung tight. It takes more effort than you'd like to admit for your head to tilt to the side, for you to bare your neck to him.

He takes your wrist, instead.

A large hand wrapping around, his thumb pressing against the place where your pulse pounds. Something hot and electric arcing through you at his touch, though his skin is cool against yours.

"Thank you." The Mand'alor tells you, and there’s a depth to his words as he's lifts the edge of his helmet.

Just to his nose, and no further. He's human here, too - a pretty curve of lips framed by dark facial hair. Your eyes linger, realizing this is a sight that near-none had seen. Curiosity sparking, until those lips are parting.

And the two sharp fangs come into view, instead.

It has you tensing, as his grip tightens - that thumb smoothing over your skin. Almost soothing in its movement, though you can't comprehend why.

"Just a pinch." He murmurs, "You'll be alright."

You huff a breath at his words just as his head dips down to your wrist - and then, he's biting down.

There's a sharp ache as his fangs pierce your skin, and you wait for more. For the feeling of being sliced open, the burn of the venom, for your bones to crack beneath his teeth.

But, none comes.

Just the sensation of pulling, the buzz of his mouth against your skin as he groans, deep in his chest. The sound sends heat to your cheeks, it feels too intimate a noise for someone you just met.

For someone so cruel.

The pain was no more than the accidental prick of a finger against a dagger. That brief pain soothed by the continuous sweep of his thumb. A strange sort of contented drowsiness passing over you instead, tempting you to close your eyes.

And then, you do.

There's flashes. The pulse of lights that glitter like stars, mimicking the beating of your heart. A snapshot of images, flickering briefly in your mind.

Some, you recognize. Your old bedroom, the garden outside. Tulips swaying in a summer breeze. A second later and it's tilting - crumbling beneath your steps.

There's a child, their eyes round and black. The flash of something black, crackling with a bright light. An ocean, beneath the ground - dragging you under.

A sensation of being lifted. The warmth of your cheek pressed against ice. A soft bed of grass, the bark biting into your shoulder.

The pulse in your throat drops down, down, down. Settling somewhere low, between your thighs. Your breath feels trapped in your chest, and when you let it loose, it's a soft moan-

You gasp, then - and your eyes are opening. He's pulled away, fingers smearing red across his lips - the peek of a pink tongue as he licks them clean. Hiding himself away again under the mask, as your wrist lies limply in your lap.

"You did well," He tells you, "I know that was a lot. It will get easier."

The images are still flashing in your mind. Ones that you know well blending with others. Had you been sleeping? Was more of your memory from that night unlocked?

There's a soft pressure against your wrist, and you jerk. Coming back from your thoughts, looking down to see him swipe a cream across puncture marks that were still raw and oozing.

An opened jar sits on the table, indentations in the pale salve where his fingers had been. Your mind feels hazy as you watch the way he works it into your skin - as the residual bit of throbbing wanes, the deep marks seeming to lessen before your eyes.

"They'll be gone in the morning." He tells you. There's a rough edge to his voice that wasn't there before, as he pushes himself up. Leaving the salve where it is, as his hands disappear behind the gloves.

Extending one though, to help you up. A little wobble to your step as you take it, as you let him guide you to the bed. It's soft beneath your touch, the mattress dipping as you sink back into it.

"Would you like anything?" The Mand'alor asks, "Food? Water?"

You feel... drained. Which is a humorous little thought, in your exhausted mind. A small smile, an echo of that low, thudding pulse as your legs push together, as you stretch.

"No, I'm just-" A yawn splits your face, coming from deep in your chest, "Sorry, just tired. It was a long journey."

It's easy to play the willing companion now, when you're fighting exhaustion. Your shields down with the promise of sleeping in a real bed, knowing you're not strong enough to fight tonight.

Tomorrow, you can try again.

"Of course." He stands at the foot of the bed. In your current state he almost looks awkward, with the cocked tilt of his hips. Looking as if he's ready to bolt, "I'll have Fennec bring you food when you wake."

Fennec. It must be the woman you met earlier. She had never given you her name.

Your nod is slow, a cracked open eye fixing on his helmet. In the light of the hallway he doesn't seem quite so big as he did before. Still broad, but you're no longer fearing what lies beneath.

"I'll be back tomorrow night." He tells you, "Not to feed, but to check on you."

You don't answer this time, already toeing the line of sleep. Missing the way he lingers for a long moment in the doorway. Before the heavy wooden door is closing, and you're left alone to dream.

Leaving you to wonder, as your eyes close - as you slip beneath the blankets, curling up. You knew he'd keep you alive. How else was he to feed?

But you never anticipated this, this...

This kindness.

You keep waiting for that veneer to crack - for that monster to be released. But it never does.

There is breakfast, the next morning. Then, lunch.

The skin on your wrist is smooth again by mid-morning, almost as if it never happened. A seamstress in your room by the afternoon, her eyes glittering as you’re measured for new clothes.

“You can’t be seen with the Mand’alor with only these,” Vera had all but giggled, a manicured finger flicking towards the small pack of clothes you had brought.

Too plain. Too worn.

You dress in soft linens now, in shades of crimson and slate. That brass rack along the wall filled to the brim with new finery.

Intricate beadings and rich fabrics and when the Mand’alor visits you that night, he’s quiet.

And with the new clothes, soon you do not look so out of place when you wander the empty halls during the day.

Unable to sleep while the sun is shining. Refusing to board up your pretty windows, to mimic a semblance of night.

You live stubbornly between two worlds. Out of sync from the rest of the castle for your first week. Bidding a good morning to Fennec as she eats her dinner. Skirting around her shadow - a broad man in dark green armor.

He no longer startles you, like he did in the beginning. Another Vampire Lord from across the sea, though there seemed to be no end to his visitation.

His eyes were always dark, always watching. He did not wear the helmet as the Mand’alor did - you would watch each expression flicker across his face, before it flattened.

A different kind of mask worn.

It has you curious, in spite of everything. Even though it takes you a few more days to pluck up the courage.

“Did Boba chose you, too?” You ask Fennec one evening.

Morning, for you now, you suppose. You have been trying, lately. The bread soaks into the dregs of your soup, as you swirl it along the bottom.

“In a ways.” She smiles. That rough edge softening over the days you’ve been here - her hackles lowering when it becomes clear that you were a little different than the others.

That you were the same you as you were before.

If only she knew in what way.

“It wasn’t like yours. And it was years ago.” She continues - an elbow digging into the wooden table, a palm cupped under her chin, “I was dying, and he found me.”

It’s not what you were expecting, the hunk of bread lying forgotten in your bowl.

“I suppose you could say he saved me.” A shoulder raises, and then drops, “I’d mistrusted someone. Slipped up, and found myself nearly gutted. No one could survive a wound like that.”

You don’t think you’ve take a breath since she started speaking - there was so little you knew about vampires. Only what you had been told, the bit you had gleaned from the books in your room.

“Boba found me, and he gave me a choice.”

“But,” You blink, “But you’re human, still?”

She ate, like you did. Did not stand with the same eerie stillness, not even taking a breath.

“He did not change me.” Fennec confirms, “But his blood healed me. And I’ve followed him since.”

“I did not… I did not realize vampires cared that much for humans.” You admit with embarrassment.

She gives you a knowing look, one that you do not understand. But a voice joins yours, low and laced with humor.

“We were all human, once. And you have not seen her on the battlefield, ad’ika.”

She smirks, as Boba fingers tap against the table, where he’s come to lean.

“Yes, it’s not my charming personality that has you keeping me around.”

He huffs a laugh, and there’s something like camaraderie between them.

A friendship.

It leaves you more confused than ever.

It’s morning, when he comes next.

The gentle knock at your door startling you awake. Most of the castle was asleep by now. You’re still trying to reset your internal clock - thinking that by now, you should be making an effort.

Not expecting him to be outside, as you pulled your robe a little more tightly around yourself.

It's been four days since he last fed, though you've seen him often in that time. The dip of his head when he passes you in the corridors. Watching him from the plush seats in the throne room - his helmet just barely tilting your way when he's not being spoken to.

You wonder if he's been watching you, too. If he thinks you will bolt - if he harbors any suspicions.

"Forgive me for not thinking of this sooner." He tells you, as you step aside to let him in, "I should have been doing this from the beginning."

"Doing what?" You frown, as you move to the bench by the window. A spot you've occupied the last two visits, preferring the wide bench to the narrow wooden desk chair.

"You're still getting used to this. Visiting you as the evening falls isn't helping you adjust." The Mand'alor explains, as you tug up the sleeve of your robe, baring the skin of your wrist.

His suggestion is thoughtful. As time has passed you've grown stronger, more used to the feeling. No longer sleeping right away, able to fight that sense of drowsiness.

It extends to the during, as well. If you concentrate hard enough, parts of those visions that flashed behind your closed eyes come into focus. And if you try really hard, the images fade to just sensations.

You couldn't explain if, if you tried. It certainly hadn't been something divulged during your training. In fact, a tiny part of you wondered if any of them even had knowledge of being a companion. Everything so far has felt... off.

Distorted by a degree, as if the road you were traveling had split, but still followed their path.

"You are the Mand'alor," You shrug, trying to brush off his consideration, "I am bound to follow your wishes."

He makes a sound, a low hum. It's as close to a laugh as you've heard, as he lowers himself to the bench next to you.

"I think we are past titles, seeing as I've tasted you." His voice is low, rough behind the helmet, "You may call me Din, when we're alone."

There's a heat in your cheeks at the innuendo, though he can't possibly mean it that way. His hands are already bare, fingers pressing against your skin. Feeling how your pulse had jumped at his words.

His helmet tips higher, this time. Resting on the bridge of his nose, his full lips on display.

It’s still too hard to watch - your eyes closing as he bites down. A small inhale of breath in anticipation, but you’ve gotten used to the impact.

Your eyes fighting to stay open this time, to stay in your own head. Unable to help risking a glance, then.

At the wash of red against full lips. The scruff of his jaw, the patch of hair missing - you imagine your thumb pressing against it.

Wondering if his face would feel like face, or it would be cool marble, like his hand.

His throat bobs, with the softest groan.

It’s natural, you tell yourself. You’ve groaned while eating the freshly-baked bread in the kitchens. Though it’s funny to think of yourself as the meal.

Idle fingers play with the edge of the heavy curtain, slipping through the fringe.

It’s then that the thought hits you. How distracted he was, at this moment.

How it’s morning.

How the whole castle is asleep.

Your fingers pinch down on the tassel. Testing the tension as you eye your desk, across the room but no more than a quick dash away.

All it would take is the slightest tug.

The morning sun would pour across his bare neck, the lower half of his face. Burning him, enough of a distraction that you could go for the stake. Fit it between his ribs, in that soft spot under his armpit.

You inhale a breath, to steel your nerves.

At the movement, his fingers stroke against your wrist. A means to soothe you.

And you find…. that you can’t do it.

Not right now. Not yet.

And this morning marks the beginning of that funny feeling that starts in your stomach. An unease, though it feels like you’re drowning in it.

Is it from wearing his colors? Is it your visions, or the echoing thud that tipped towards something carnal?

Is it because the thought of your revenge was so much easier when he was nameless?

Or is it because you’re still not sure what stayed your hand?

It’s not something you can think about, now.

You just need to play your part.