#Din Djarin fics

[wannab-urs]

Trust

Prompt #634 "I trust you not just with my life, but with the lives of others."

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

Summary: season 2 finale fight scene rewrite

Warnings: uhhh brief threat of death? That's it really. WC: 418

A/N: Due to my crazy ass writer's block, and thanks to the recommendation from @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, I'm gonna start doing these @creativepromptsforwriting challenges. You pick a number 1-1065 and write for 15 minutes based on the corresponding prompt.

Did I even use the prompt? No not really. Is this drabble creative, interesting, or innovative in any way? Also no. But it's words! Which I've been struggling with. It's unedited also.

Din Djarin Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi | Prompt Fills

Mando is one of the most trustworthy men you know. He would never let anyone down if he could help it. You trust him with your life, with Grogu’s life, with the lives of any stranger that needs help.

That’s why it’s incredibly concerning that he isn’t here now. It’s very unlike him to leave you to fend for yourself. 

Moff Gideon has you pinned in the corner of some godsforsaken cell, the kid cradled protectively in one arm while the other keeps a blaster trained steadily on the Moff’s head. The strange weapon he wields twirls from his fingertips as if it weighs nothing. He seems completely unphased by the weapon aimed at him. 

“Hand over the child and no one has to lose any limbs,” he taunts.

“No kriffing shot, Gideon.” 

He won’t swing on you with the child in your arms… you hope. Gideon presses in closer, forcing you further back into the cell. You fire off a shot at his head, hoping it doesn’t ricochet back into you or Grogu. 

Gideon blocks the shot easily with his energy blade, sending the blaster bolt into the ground by your feet. Too close. And Gideon knows it. Knows you won’t risk another shot. He closes the space between you and tries to yank Grogu from your arms, but you twist away from him. 

With your back exposed to him, he can easily run you through with his sword without harming the child. This is it. Where the fuck is Mando? 

You brace for death, but it doesn’t come. Instead, you hear the distinct sound of beskar clashing with that strange sword. You slouch onto the ground, Grogu pressed tightly to your chest, and watch your mandalorian battle the Moff. 

He’s beautiful with that spear in his hands. All swift, fluid motion. The sword hums and growls with every impact, but it doesn’t seem to be able to cut through the spear. 

Mando hooks the spear behind Gideon’s leg and yanks, dropping the man to flat on his back. He presses the tip of the weapon against the Moff’s throat, but doesn’t press in. 

“Drop the saber, Gideon.” 

Gideon retracts the blade back into the hilt, flips it around, and holds it out to Mando. 

“Take it. You defeated me in combat. It’s yours.”

Din stares down at him, seeming to falter a bit. 

“I don’t want it.” 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s yours. Bo Katan will not be the leader of her people after all… Mand’alor” 

“Kriff.” 

@creativepromptfills

[intothemurkwood]

MIGHT OF MAND'ALOR

AO3 Chapter Link: MIGHT OF MAND’ALOR - Chapter 1 (Prologue)

Story Summary: Guided by your late father's teachings, you've learned that your powers transcend the conventional divide, showing that things aren't as clear-cut as the Sith and Jedi doctrines suggest. When Moff Gideon seeks your capture and Bo'Katan Kryze defies him, the Great Purge of Mandalore unfolds, setting the stage for a clash between light and darkness, with you trapped in between.

Chapter Summary: Moff Gideon meets with Bo'Katan Kryze to discuss the terms of Mandalore's surrender.

Word Count: 771 (fairly light, but it is the prologue)

Might of Mand'alor Series on AO3

Warning: Threats of genocides, violence, all things Moff Gideon. A fairly vanilla chapter with all things considered.

Author Note: For the sake of this fic, Pre Vizsla was Paz Vizsla's father... I'm sorry, I was 41k words deep before I realized the screw up.

Tag List: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

==EXPLICIT CONTENT: 18+ ONLY==

CHAPTER 1 (PROLOGUE)

Mandalore - The Great Forge

In the smoldering ruins surrounding the Great Forge of Mandalore, Moff Gideon, a formidable figure clad in black armor, stands with an air of authority at the far end of the high vaulted chamber. Bo'Katan Kryze, the Mand’alor, enters the room, her helmet tucked under her arm. Tension fills the air as their paths converge.

Gideon's lips curl into a sly smirk as he addresses Kryze, “Bo'Katan Kryze, the self-proclaimed leader of Mandalore. How delightful to finally meet you.” He relishes in her worn appearance.

Kryze holds her head high, refusing to let Gideon's presence intimidate her. “Moff Gideon. Have you come to surrender?” She asks, her voice hollow and light. All of Mandalore was burning under their siege. There was nothing left for the Empire to surrender to.

Gideon clasps his hands together, his gaze fixed upon Kryze. “I've come to discuss the terms of your surrender, Kryze. A chance for Mandalore to avoid further bloodshed. Surrender to the Empire, disarm your forces, and all Mandalorians, as well as your cities, will be spared,” his words a venomous offer. For a Mandalorian to disarm would go against everything they stand for.

Kryze's eyes narrow, her brows furrowing with determination. She understands the gravity of Gideon's words, but the cost weighs heavily upon her honor. “Spare our lives? Submitting to the Empire would bring shame upon our people.”

Gideon's smirk widens, “Survival often requires difficult choices, Kryze. Sacrifices must be made. And you, as a leader, have the power to make that choice. Your defiance will only lead to more destruction.”

Kryze pauses, her mind wrestling with the weight of her decision. In a moment that holds the fate of her people in balance, she finally relents, placing the Darksaber—a symbol of Mandalorian strength—in his hand. The act of surrender, though heavy with shame, bears the hope of sparing her people from further suffering.

A triumphant glint flashes in Gideon's eyes as he claims the Darksaber. “Wise decision. Mandalore will be spared... for now.” Gideon's haunting words echo around her as Kryze comes to a stop just short of the door. “There is one more thing.”

She turns to look at the menace washed in the cool glow of the darksaber. He swings the blade gently at first, testing its balance. Kryze turns to watch as the darksaber whirrs, slicing through the air with a heavy drag.

“What more?” Kryze asks, watching as the gifted blade grows heavier in his hand.

“I seek the force-sensitive Mandalorian. Bring them to me, alive and unharmed, or the Purge of Mandalore shall persist.”

Kryze's gaze flickers with disbelief, her mind struggling to reconcile Gideon's claim with her knowledge of her fellow Mandalorians. She moves toward him, her steps more confident than they had been in days. “There is no force-sensitive Mandalorian among us. Tarre Vizsla is no more.”

A sardonic smile plays at the corner of Moff Gideon's lips, “Oh, dear Bo-Katan, you underestimate how deeply I have infiltrated your forces. Bring me Pre Vizsla's daughter,’ he growls.

Bo-Katan's brow furrows, her mind racing to reconcile your image, a steadfast warrior she had known for years, with the concept of you being force-sensitive. "No, that cannot be true. I have fought alongside her, stood shoulder to shoulder with her, and never witnessed her harnessing the Force,” she argues, her voice filled with a mix of doubt and confusion.

As the echoes of their conversation reverberated within the Great Forge, silence settles upon the chamber, allowing space for contemplation. Gradually, Kryze's memories began to align, shattered fragments weaving together, unveiling a hidden truth about you that had eluded her for so long.

Moff Gideon swings the Darksaber, relishing in the power that he wields. “The Force has a way of concealing itself, even from the most discerning eyes. The more you reflect, the more you shall come to accept the truth. It wouldn’t surprise me if she wiped your mind on more than one occasion,” he says, his words dripping with sinister malice.

Determined and unyielding, Bo-Katan solidifies her resolve, “I do not know where she is. As I am sure you know Mandalorians are divided, fractured. If you choose to go back on your word, so be it," she raises her head, holding his gaze. 

Moff Gideon's eyes narrow, slicing through her lies. His patience has worn out. “I offered you a deal, and you agreed to disarm, now you have gone back on your word by refusing to hand over Pre Vizsla's daughter. You have one hour to turn her over or I will lay waste to this planet and all your people.”

[wannab-urs]

Written in the Stars Masterlist

Pairing: Din Djarin x Ezra (Prospect)

Series Summary: The Mandalorian takes a job unlike any he’s ever had before. Driven by his guilt over working for the Empire, even indirectly, and the strange bond he formed with the man, Din rescues his bounty. What follows is not something either of them ever expected.

Series Warnings: The Mandalorian/Prospect crossover AU, canon-typical violence, season 1 rewrite, eventual smut, slow burn, eventual romance

Graphic by @atinylittlepain (Thank you so much)

Ezra Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Arc One: The Job

Prologue

Chapter One: You Caught Me

Chapter Two: Got So Much to Lose

Chapter Three: Constantly on the Cusp

Chapter Four: Like Lovers or Partners in Crime

Chapter Five: Will We Burn or Just Smolder

Chapter Six: Fall Back into Place

Chapter Seven: Will You Take Me All the Way

[dindjarindiaries]

Distraction

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompts: "You need to distract me. Do something, anything." & Kissing as a distraction

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

Din's visor tilted at the sight of you, his modulated voice as charming as ever as he greeted you at your doorway. "Hey."

All you could do was blink at him in response, your gaze transfixed on the sight of his gloved hand clutching the hilt of a blade that was lodged between his shoulder and his chest.

"Can I come in?"

His words finally snapped you back into action. You all but tugged him inside, the anxious knot wounding itself even tighter within your chest when you heard him grunt at the movement. After securing the door closed, you turned back to Din and properly assessed the situation.

Your eyes weren't deceiving you. There was still a blade lodged inside his flesh, and he didn't seem worried about it whatsoever—despite how much crimson you saw staining his flight suit. "Shit, Din." You fussed as you practically ran around your flat in search of your medpac. "Shit."

Din huffed. "Don't you want to know how it happened?"

You fixed him with a look across the room. "You can tell me while we're fixing it."

Din hummed as you approached with the medpac. You eased him into the nearest chair and set the supplies on the table. "I'm gonna need a better distraction than that."

Your furrowed your brow, but didn't step preparing everything you would need to assist him. "What do you mean?"

Your stare remained on your hands as they sorted through the supplies in record time, but you were forced to stop when Din set his gloved hand over them. You looked back up at his visor, watching as he nodded towards the hilt of the blade. "I need you to take this out for me."

Your throat tightened with panic, but you spoke around it. "You... don't want to do that yourself?"

"I can't. It'll be too painful." Din tilted his helmet at you. "Haven't you done this before?"

Your voice was so strained that it was just a squeal. "No!"

Din's hand tightened around yours. "Listen. It's gonna be just fine. Once it's out, the pain will be more than manageable."

He took one of your hands and guided it to the hilt. Your racing heart plunged into your stomach, threatening to make you sick as you instead swallowed hard and focused on Din rather than yourself.

"I only need you to do two things for me. Okay?"

You nodded, more than happy to let Din's soothing voice guide you. It came as no surprise to you that he was the calmer one in this situation, despite the fact he was also the one with the weapon in his shoulder.

"You need to pull this out, and you need to distract me while you do it."

Your gaze searched his visor. "What kind of distraction do you need me to do?"

You instinctively tightened your grasp on the hilt, causing a tight groan to slip through Din's modulator that had clearly caught him by surprise. His next words were curt, but not angered. "Do something. Anything."

You nodded and gently adjusted your grasp. You thought through all your options, looking upon Din for something that you could use to distract him. If talking wouldn't be enough, then there had to be something more powerful.

Your gaze caught on the lip of his helmet. It would be a risky move, but with the fogginess of your panic for him blinding you, you didn't bother to consider the consequences. All you cared about was blinding his pain.

The first move you made was straddling him on the chair, which Din clearly didn't mind, based on the quick way he secured you there. Then, with the hand not clutching the weapon in his shoulder, you lifted his helmet just enough to press your parted lips against his.

It was sweet relief, an acknowledgement shared in the sighs between you, and for a moment it made you forget why you had done it. But the weight of the hilt in your hand still remained, even if the warmth of Din's mouth was a strong distraction.

You were right to make this choice. If he was enough to distract you, then you were no doubt more than enough to distract him.

Your hand on his jaw, which still balanced the metal rim of his helmet, tilted his head back further to deepen the kiss. The moment you pushed your tongue into his mouth, you tugged hard on the blade, freeing it from his shoulder.

Din released his groan into you, his teeth capturing your lip as he did so, but he never broke away from you. Instead, after a few heavy breaths, he simply returned the favor by exploring your mouth with a passion that left you breathless.

But again, the weight of the blade in your hand was too heavy to ignore.

You forced yourself to pull away from him, your brow shooting up as you did so. "That's enough of the distraction, Din." You showed him the blade in your hand. "It's out. We need to fix it now."

Din's gloved hand wrapped around the back of your neck. "It's fine. I can survive for a few more minutes."

When he made the move to kiss you again, you stopped him by setting your thumb over his lips. "Din." Your eyes were at least double their usual size. "You're bleeding out."

Din paused, his hand only leaving your neck to take the lip of his helmet from you. He removed it from his head completely, leaving you to gape in an entirely different way than you had before. His brow rose as his brown gaze burned at you with the same flame of desire that you had lit deep within yourself.

If the sound of Din's natural voice wasn't enough to make you melt on top of him, then the words he spoke certainly were. "Does it look like I give a fuck?"

You yet again blinked at him in surprise, unable to do anything except let the blade clatter to the floor as you willingly went back to him again. You kissed him like your lives depended on it, because—in a way—Din's did. And that's the way he wanted it.

He had just proven that you were more tempting to him than life itself, and that's what made it impossible to put an end to this "distraction."

[wannab-urs]

My weird spreadsheet with a bunch of pedro pascal fics

So recently I shared that I made a spreadsheet to keep track of all the Pedro fics I've read. I made a shareable version without my random thoughts and whether I've read them or not.

You can find that sheet here.

It's mostly smut. Fair warning. I'm a freak.

tag me in ur fics and i’ll add them to the list ❤️

[justagalwhowrites]

I love this story so much! A beautiful slice of life for the clan of two ❤️

Also, this line just hit me: Like his father, Grogu's lifetime of hiding, fear, and self-defense left him to use the strongest skills he had

Din and Grogu as orphans of war 😭😭😭 I love them so much!

They have a home now 🥹

[sarcasmismyonlydefense24]

"Not all men..."

Yeah your right José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal would never treat me like this

[ahhrenata]

[insert heavy breathing]

[thefrogdalorian]

The Arrangement

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: You entered into an arrangement with Mando find some physical relief from the monotony of hyperspace as you travel through the galaxy together as a formidable team of bounty hunters. When you did so, there were three clear rules: that it would not impact your professional relationship, that there were no strings attached and most importantly of all: that Mando would never, ever remove his helmet.

When you carelessly let your emotions get the better of you and undermine those rules, you fear you have lost the man who means everything to you and discover that you miss much more than merely the physical encounters…

Word Count:  7.1k ✯ Rating:  Explicit 18+ MDNI ✯ Content Warnings: Smut, light angst, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex. ✯ Author's Note: Well, this was by far the spiciest thing I have ever written and I hope you like it! I get the urge to write smut very occasionally and it was actually pretty fun to explore this side of a relationship with Din. Thanks to the lovely @decembermidnight for helping me out with this one and encouraging me through it! Very much a "Goooood Anakin, gooooood," dynamic. Nervous about posting this one so I'm going to run and hide now but hope you enjoyed it! :)

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

As you lie forlornly on your bunk, isolating yourself further from the man who has already put distance between the two of you, you rue the day you ever allowed yourself to enter into an arrangement with such an elusive man. You think back to all the moments you have shared since your paths first crossed, reminiscing over each one of your encounters. 

Tonight is not the first night you chastise yourself for allowing yourself to become entangled with a Mandalorian; far from it. 

Since you and Mando first started sleeping together, there have been frequent occasions when you have regretted the day that you gave into your desires and ever allowed yourself to end up underneath him, especially since he is so reclusive and aloof by nature. His reserved nature occasionally frustrates you, though you have always successfully hidden that. Well, almost always. 

Mando’s withdrawn, quiet nature began as an attractive trait. His stoic, quiet nature first drew you to him as a business partner. 

Except, now you have become something more to each other, such a trait prevents you from knowing him entirely. 

And, boy, do you want to know him entirely. 

Unfortunately, it seems as though you never will. A fact that you are painfully aware of now Mando cannot even stand to be in the same room as you. He is always hiding away in the cockpit. 

You are frustrated at yourself for ever allowing yourself to feel so deeply for him. 

What started as a casual arrangement is undeniably something more to you now. He means something more to you now. The man whose presence you cannot bear to be without. The man whose absence creates a great cavernous void in your chest that feels overwhelming. 

The arrangement between you and Mando started as a physical release for you. A way to scratch an itch. With no strings attached, the arrangement was merely a way of passing time as you hurtled through hyperspace to collect the next bounty. 

You were instantly attracted to Mando since you first glanced at him in the Cantina on Nevarro. With his broad shoulders, narrow waist and imposing form, it was impossible to tear your eyes away from him when he strode in. Even though mostly hidden beneath his armour, you were certain he was gorgeous. 

Then you heard him speak.

Maker. His voice. So deep. His tone was so even, including when he was frustrated by the conversation with the head of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild on Nevarro. Even in the face of adversity, Mando kept his composure. The hulking warrior seemed so composed, so certain. His voice was calm and steady. 

As a fellow member of The Guild, you were unable to resist the tempting urge to eavesdrop on his conversation with Greef Karga. You heard all about how Mando was struggling to afford the interest on paying off the ridiculous loan he had taken to buy the antiquated Razor Crest. You discovered he was having increasing difficulty covering the fuel that the old girl guzzled. After hearing about his predicament, an idea formed in your head.

It was rare for two members of The Guild to collaborate in such a way. After all, Mando should have been your competition. Something about him was drawing you to him, though. You felt compelled towards him, as though some invisible Force was pushing you together. 

You proposed an arrangement to him. 

In return for keeping the credits from your jobs, this mysterious Mandalorian would provide transport, lodgings and fuel in his ship. Considering it was an offer to have one of the best Bounty Hunters in the parsec come aboard his ship, you knew it was an offer he could not refuse. Sure enough, Mando accepted. 

You had been together ever since.

At first, the arrangement was strictly business. You both kept yourselves to yourselves. Never prying into the other’s affairs.

However, after a couple of months spent traversing the galaxy together, there was a shift in your dynamic.

It turned out that two people existing together in a confined space with only each other to converse with to break the monotony of endless hyperspace lanes would find conversation and, eventually, friendship in each other. Despite their best efforts to avoid such a dynamic. 

While friendship blossomed, so did other feelings. 

You had never been able to deny your attraction to Mando to yourself. Pretty soon, you could not even deny it to him. Not when he asked you outright after imbibing one too many flagons of spotchka. 

The first night you slept together was after a particularly heavy night of drinking at a seedy Cantina next to the shipyards of Corellia. There had been an unavoidable tension in the air that night. The alcohol had only enhanced your existing attraction towards each other to the point where it was no longer possible to ignore. The booze finally gave you the courage to vocalise them. 

The tension which lingered in the air all evening was only magnified when you finally staggered back to the Razor Crest. It was practically suffocating being so close to him in that old ship. 

In hoping that you would quickly fall into Mando’s bunk alongside him, you had vastly underrated the meticulousness of your business partner. 

Even in your inebriated states, he had taken the time to lay out the ground rules. Despite how desperate you were for him, every inch of you aflame, Mando had insisted on setting some boundaries before your first time together. 

Firstly, he insisted that sleeping together should not get in the way of your professional relationship. Mando would not give you favourable rates or discounts, nor would he expect them from you, just because you were sleeping together. He made it abundantly clear that, at any time, either of you could back out. The end of the arrangement would not impact your life together.

Secondly, there were no strings attached. No feelings. No declarations of love were wanted nor expected. Ideally, no emotions at all; this was strictly a physical relationship. You were to enjoy each other’s bodies and bring each other pleasure, but that did not necessarily mean that feelings ran any deeper than merely enjoying the way he relentlessly pounded into you, night after night, as you soared through the stars together. 

Thirdly, and most importantly to Mando: the armour stayed on. All of it. Including the helmet. You were never, under any circumstances, to question this rule. You were never to attempt to remove any of his armour. If you did, it would not only terminate your physical arrangement with Mando. But your professional one, too.

You were so desperate to finally relieve the tension that had been simmering for months that you were more than happy to agree to terms. 

You did not regret your decision for even a moment once Mando ended up in the bunk with you.

In allowing your desire for him to win out, you discovered that he was a skilled lover, even with the limitations of his armour. You could not touch him, see his face or feel his mouth, but he made it work. He always ensured you came first, knowing exactly how to please you.  

Your encounters with Mando were a way to blow off steam, a release you both craved. It broke up journeys and brought you closer together. Your professional lives went from strength to strength. You were attuned to each other’s bodies. With each encounter, it felt as though you were slowly becoming one.

Even if you feared catching feelings for Mando, you always consoled yourself that it would never amount to anything. You were sure he did not feel for you in that way.

Whenever you doubted the arrangement, you thought about how the positives far outweighed the negatives. After all, keeping your sexual encounters in-house, so to speak, was a far safer option than putting yourselves in such a vulnerable position, entirely at the behest of others. Your reputation as a formidable bounty-hunting team preceded you throughout the galaxy. You were certain that there would be no shortage of people who would be keen to seduce you and Mando for their benefit.

The arrangement was perfect for both of you. It satisfied your carnal desires. 

At least, at first, it did. 

The closer you grew to Mando, the more your lives became intertwined, the more difficult it was to respect how strongly he felt about keeping himself covered when you slept together. 

To begin with, Mando only took his cock out of the confines of his flightsuit. His armour remained on, digging into your skin. The various plates of his armour colliding roughly with your skin was a sensation you did not mind one bit, especially the touch of his cool beskar on your flushed skin. 

Although you were entirely naked before him, with every inch of your skin displayed. At first, Mando did not even remove his gloves.

During those early encounters, you would barely even touch him. Fearful of being scolded, of ruining what you had. He often took you from behind, pounding into you after he bent you over the crates or the edge of his bunk. Sometimes on the cockpit's dashboard itself, if you were particularly desperate for each other and could not make it down the ladder to your bunk.

Still, the more you and Mando got intimate with one another, the more desperate you were to reach the man below. 

When he finally allowed you to ride him as he sat on the red leather seat of the cockpit, your ass brushing against the cool metal of his thigh plates, you took your chance.

You frantically pushed through the coarse material of his cowl and moved the material which guarded his neck so you could place your lips upon the soft, golden skin you discovered there. 

Mando did not seem to mind, never pushing you away. 

It became a ritual whenever you slept together. You, delighting as you sucked marks that no one else would be able to see, while Mando groaned and praised you. 

You knew the marks were just between the two of you, for your eyes only. Still, their presence nonetheless gave you a thrill in the days afterwards. Especially, when you saw him interacting with others. To know that you had marked him. You had claimed him as yours.

It was a heady prospect that this formidable Mandalorian warrior had been reduced to a whimpering mess by your lips, by such a simple act. He had allowed you to claim him. 

It was also a dangerous prospect… to think of him as yours.

You did not dwell on it for too long, however. 

After that first time you desperately sought out his skin as you rode him in the cockpit, something shifted deep within Mando. 

That small action had clearly awakened some previously untouched feelings in him. The next time you slept together Mando allowed you to remove his flightsuit. You had not acknowledged this shift or dared to believe that it could mean that he held any deeper feelings for you than the lust and desperation borne out of your encounters. 

Still, from that day forth, rather than just taking his impressive length out and nothing else, he would undress himself and wait for you on the bunk, clad in nothing but his helmet. 

It was a sign of ultimate trust. Of vulnerability from a man who you knew rarely allowed himself to feel such an emotion. 

Now you lie here despondently at the knowledge that you have ruined everything. 

Your heart constricts as you remember how close you and Mando once had been. How much you had trusted each other. Entirely. Unquestioningly.

Those times seem so distant now.

Now that you and Mando have stopped speaking. 

Since your last encounter more than a week ago, which happened in the aftermath of a particularly stressful job on the forest planet where you had collected your latest bounty, he has not said a word to you. 

Mando has been completely ignoring your existence… and you have a pretty good idea as to the reason why. 

In fact, as you think back to your most recent encounter, turning over the thoughts in your mind once again, you are certain of the moment you ruined everything…

✯✯✯✯✯

You had barely made it to the bunk, so desperate for each other after spending days camped out in the undergrowth. Dirt still clung to your pores, invading every crease of your body. There had been no opportunity to use the sonic. You were preoccupied with loading up the bounty, as Mando started the Razor Crest’s launch sequence. Despite your dishevelled, filthy appearance, Mando did not seem to mind. He initiated another encounter without hesitation. 

Your condition seemed to unlock something primal within him when you bore yourself to him, traces of dirt on your skin. The musky scent of the forest planet clung to him as he bared his hulking form to you after stripping out of his flightsuit. He was feral, desperate for you as he pounded into you at a merciless pace. Mando moaned loudly and chanted your name as though it were a sacred prayer until he finished with one long growl of your name in his deep, gravelly voice that strained under each syllable.

In the aftermath, as you lay on his strong chest, you allowed your mind to wander. You wondered what the man beneath the helmet looked like. Whether he was as attractive as the rest of his body suggested. His body was firm and toned without being overwhelmingly muscular. There was a softness to his belly and chest you appreciated. A physique more than appropriate for a man of his age. 

You ached to move your hands beneath his helmet, tracing his features with your fingers so that you may see him in the only way possible for you to do so. To catch the vaguest of glimpses of the man who had brought you so much pleasure over the last few months. 

Still blissed out from your multiple orgasms and barely comprehending the gravity of your words and how dangerously close to the line you were stepping, you said something which you wished you could take back almost as soon as the words were out of your mouth. 

“I wish I could see your face when you moan my name, Mando,” you sighed as you lay there in the afterglow. 

The shift was immediate. You felt Mando tense beneath you. Your comment had unsettled him. The guilt was immediate.

“Wait, Mando,” you quickly added, your blood ran cold as you realised your carelessness, “I wasn’t asking you to remove it… I was just thinking out loud. Please, Mando, I…”

Your words were cut off when he shuffled out from beneath you, disentangling himself from your limbs that had been entwined ever since you collapsed in a heap of breathless satisfaction after your latest encounter.

Without uttering a single word to you, you heard Mando’s heavy footsteps echo throughout the metallic hull and disappear into the fresher to finally wash the grime from his body. 

When he finally exited, you attempted to apologise to him one more time. Unfortunately, he was thoroughly uninterested in anything you had to say. You stood before him, the threadbare blanket from the bunk wrapped around you, pleading for mercy. A formidable bounty hunter reduced to a trembling wreck, begging for Mando's forgiveness. Mando did not respond to anything you said. Instead, he immediately excused himself while mumbling about checking the hyperdrive generator. 

✯✯✯✯✯

Throughout the last few miserable days, you have distracted yourself from the uneasy atmosphere which hangs heavy in the ship by thoroughly polishing each one of your blasters and thinking back to happier times. 

Like the time when Mando stripped himself from his flightsuit for the first time and allowed you to finally see him almost entirely. As entirely as you ever would.

The way his taut, toned flesh felt underneath your fingers as you traced each ridge of his muscles with delicate, tentative fingers. His sweaty skin slapped against yours, an obscene noise which reverberated throughout the rest of the ship.

As you lie back on your bunk, you cannot help your fingers trailing down your abdomen. Lower and lower until they reach between your thighs. 

You are stunned by how wet you are before you have even touched yourself, so turned on by merely the memories of Mando.

You gather your wetness with your fingers before you begin moving them in a circular motion over your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

You think back to that first time you laid eyes upon Mando. His impressive physique. The way he picked up the pace to fuck you even harder when you raked your nails down his flesh. Moaning and grunting into your neck as you left marks down his broad back. 

You remember the unmistakable scent of sex that lingered in the air afterwards, amplified by the fact there were now two bare bodies during your encounters, not just one. It was almost overwhelming to your senses, the scent of him. So masculine and musky. So Mando.

You groan at the memory, clenching around nothing. You feel so empty, desperate to feel the delicious burn as Mando’s thick cock stretches you and reaches parts of you never filled before. You slide two fingers inside yourself and begin thrusting out. Although it satisfies the ache, it pales in comparison to the fullness and completeness you feel whenever Mando snaps his hips forward and thrusts into you in one fluid motion. 

You try to remember how he felt, pathetically imagining that your fingers are in any way comparable to his touch. To his length. It is the best you are going to get, for now.

Your nipples pebble and tighten beneath the thin cotton shirt you wear. The material provides some friction, but nothing as satisfying as when Mando would roll them between his thumb and forefinger, causing you to throw your head back in ecstasy. Still, you moan at the memory, continuing to thrust your fingers inside of you with one hand while the other massages your clit. 

“Mando,” you gasp when you pick the pace up. 

Both hands and your fingers working in tandem still are nowhere near as satisfying as even one of Mando’s thick, calloused digits. 

“Kriff, Mando!” you yell as your legs begin trembling.

You are so close now. That familiar feeling builds somewhere deep inside of you. A coil tightening, ready to release. 

A familiar voice behind you, tone full of concern, “Are you okay? I heard–” followed by a gasp of surprise and hastily retreating footsteps kills the mood instantly.

“Sith hells!” you exclaim, annoyed to have been interrupted when you were so close to climax.

That frustrated feeling soon gives way to embarrassment as you realise that Mando probably heard you from all the way up in the cockpit. He has spent much of his time up there, only descending the ladder to use the fresher or prepare himself rations. Even then, he usually only comes down when he can hear that you have sealed yourself into your bunk for the night. 

You must have called his name far louder than you had realised in the throes of passion. You wonder how you will ever face him again. You pull your pants up and step out of the bunk, keen to at least attempt to converse with the stubborn buckethead. 

Fortunately, you do not have to wait long. Mando soon emerges from the fresher. There is an awkward silence. He stands there, clad in his flightsuit and helmet, clenching and unclenching his gloved fists at his sides repeatedly. It is a mannerism you recognise well, usually seen when he is trying to size up a target or decide his next move. Is that how he sees you—as prey?!

“Mando,” you breathe, “Please, can we talk?”

Mando does not move a muscle. He stands perfectly still, at full height. A looming, intimidating presence in the darkness of the hull. 

“Look, I know I upset you the other day,” you begin, sincerely laying out your feelings and hoping that he comprehends how remorseful you are. “I’m so sorry, Mando. Please believe me. I know what I said was thoughtless, but I wasn’t thinking. I would never expect you to take your helmet off for me. I know how much being a Mandalorian means to you. I would never try to come between you and your Creed,” you promise.

You briefly pause, searching Mando’s body language for the smallest clue as to his feelings. Unfortunately, he is so used to hiding his emotions from the rest of the galaxy that you cannot glean even a crumb of information.

“I miss you, Mando,” you sigh, “And not just like that!” you hastily add, hoping that he does not think your apology is in any way related to the compromising position he just caught you in. 

Mando remains perfectly still. It’s progress, at least. He has not retreated. You take that as a sign to continue. 

“I miss the nights we spent together in the cockpit, sharing memories of our past and discussing our hopes for the future. The way you would always make sure there was a warm cup of caf for me each morning when I finally hauled myself from the bunk. You were always so eager to rise, while I have never been a morning person,” you smile fondly, attempting to fight the tears that have suddenly pooled on your waterline. “Remember when you showed me each of your weapons? Showing me just how you liked them polished and ordered. Somewhere along the way, they became our arsenal, Mando. Our weapons are together in the locker, side-by-side. Just like us.”

You finally get the first clue of the impact your words are having on Mando when his broad shoulders rise and fall. The shaky breath he takes is amplified by his vocoder. Reminiscing has left him emotional on some level, too. It’s a positive sign. You make headway with it.

“I will forever be grateful for the day I overheard that conversation with Karga in that Cantina on Nevarro. Even though I used to curse this ship after I first came aboard, I think it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Without it and the loan you took out to cover costs, you would never have required someone else. I know…” you sigh, choosing your next words carefully as you are painfully aware that you are likely going to come dangerously close to overstepping another boundary. “I know that you do not always take kindly to strangers, Mando. I know that you have been alone for so long that you have probably forgotten what it feels like to be with someone else. But what we had was something special. I miss that. I miss us, Mando.”

Mando’s helmet falls, then. His unrelenting, steely gaze is finally off you. You are getting through to him. You keep talking, hoping that your words have the desired effect.

“You mean so much more to me than our encounters, Mando,” you confess. “I enjoyed every second, don’t get me wrong. But I would take them all back in a heartbeat to go back to how things were before. I would rather have only had you in my life platonically than having you like that and losing you…

What happens next catches you completely off-guard.

Firstly, Mando tilts his helmet up. His helmet is finally level with you again, focused on you. You look into the dark, T-visor where you imagine his eyes would be. You can almost feel his eyes on you. Your heart starts thundering. You feel that connection back. That spark.

Before you even have time to digest his actions, Mando’s deep voice finally breaks the silence:

“I love you,” he says simply. 

Does he love you?! You are sure you misheard him. Your desperate mind is playing the cruellest trick of all. 

“Y-You love me?” you choke out in disbelief.

“I do.”

“Oh, Mando, I love you too,” you tearfully whisper.

“Din,” Mando rasps.

You look at him questioningly.

“My name,” Mando nods, “It’s Din. Din Djarin.”

“Din Djarin,” you murmur the name of the man you love with such reverence, as though it is a sacred prayer, enjoying the way your mouth curves around each letter. 

Your head is still spinning from Din’s declaration and the reveal of his name. You have barely had time to process the events which have just transpired when he drops the next bombshell on you.

“I want to remove my helmet in front of you,” Din declares, “I want you to know me entirely.”

“Din, I wouldn’t expect such a thing,” you shake your head frantically, “Just because we have confessed our feelings, I would never expect you to take such a drastic step.”

“That…” he sighs, “Is precisely why I am taking such a step.”

You do not have time to vocalise any further protestations. Before another thought can enter your mind, Din lifts shaky gloved hands to the side of his helmet. You hear the unmistakable sound of a Mandalorian helmet depressurising. Something you had only ever heard through the door of the fresher until now.

Din trembles as he lifts his helmet. The emotion of the moment takes its toll as he prepares to finally bear his face to you. Your mind almost goes blank. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears and his heavy breaths.

As the gleaming helmet finally begins to lift across his features and reveal his face to you, you get your first glimpse of the man you love.

You see patchy stubble across his jawline, a neatly trimmed moustache plush which sits atop plush, full lips, a strong nose and then, with his helmet fully removed, his most striking feature of all. His eyes. The most soulful pair of deep brown eyes that you have ever encountered.

Din Djarin is stunning. Heartachingly so. 

With just one look at his face, you know that you will never be able to allow this beautiful man to slip through your fingers. 

“Din,” you whisper, your eyes filling with tears as he stands there before you, his helmet clutched before him as he looks up at you.

There is so much nervousness and anxiety in his gaze that your heart aches for him. Unable to bear the eye contact any longer, Din bends down and places his helmet at his feet with a satisfying clunk. 

He stands up straight again, but not to his full height. With his face bared and the slight tremble evident in his body. You no longer see a hulking Mandalorian warrior and feared bounty hunter. Instead, you see a frightened man, who has never known such intimacy before.

“You are so handsome, Din Djarin,” you whisper, as you close the distance between you. 

Din’s mouth hangs open as your words sink in. You raise your hand, realising you are trembling with emotion, and timidly place it along his jawline. The patchy stubble is scratchy underneath your fingers.

“Devastatingly handsome, in fact,” you clarify.

“Thank you,” Din nods gratefully.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Din swallows thickly, steadying himself. When his brown eyes fly open and meet yours again, you notice the apprehension has been replaced by something different altogether.

Din’s brown eyes are aflame, burning with desire for you. You sense he is desperate to act on his feelings, but unsure of how to proceed.

“Can I kiss you?” you request.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before,” Din murmurs, closing his eyes again.

“You’ll learn quickly,” you say encouragingly. 

Din nods slowly, without opening his eyes. 

You close the distance between you, hovering an inch from his lips. You want Din to make the final move, to bring your lips together.

When he finally does, it is so achingly sweet and timid that you are surprised this is the same man who has bent you over crates and driven into you over and over, at a relentless pace. Until you were bruised and sore the next day from the force. 

Din pulls away, breathing deeply. A simple touch has been almost overwhelming for him. 

You wait for his next move, allowing him to take the lead with what he is comfortable with. When Din finally leans in again, he is more eager to claim your lips. The kisses deepen, growing increasingly frenzied as your tongues collide. Your hand trails along Din’s jawline and grazes along his neck. When you move your hands into his hair and tangle your fingers in the soft strands there, Din groans and presses his body against you.

In response, you lean your head to the side to give him unfettered access to your mouth. Din does not hesitate to take advantage, deepening the kiss without hesitation. He moves his enormous hands up to your cheeks, cupping them in his enormous hands. 

Your kisses grow more desperate and frenzied, the moaning and panting increasing. Although Din was inexperienced and clumsy at first, your teeth clashing and his tongue searching yours desperately before he learned a more pleasurable ratio of tongue to mouth, you discover that he is indeed a quick learner. He nibbles on your lip, using his teeth in a way that he discovers you like as you throw your head backwards and gasp his name. You are still getting accustomed to the novelty of being able to call him something other than Mando. 

When your lungs burn, Din finally pulls away. The two of you furiously gulp air into your lungs, steadying your breaths as your eyes meet. You allow yourself to look at Din once again, admiring the features which are so new to you. Yet somehow, comfortingly familiar. You feel as though you have always known his face. In Din’s brown eyes, you see awe, shock and lust. Despite their already dark colour, they are blackened by something primal.

You are about to suggest taking this to your bunk when Din drops to his knees before you, a dark look on his face. You are about to question the gesture when he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of your pants and shimmies them down your legs as he goes. 

He kisses a path up your legs, pushing himself up so he kneels one leg as he pays particular attention to your inner thighs. Din takes his time teasing you. He removes the final barrier between you, discarding the pesky fabric elsewhere. 

When Din finally kneels before you, your glistening core bare to him you feel your knees weaken as he licks his lips at the sight in front of him. You groan, barely able to remain vertical. Thankfully, Din is holding your hips firmly in position, his gloved hands digging into your flesh.

At the sight of him on his knees like this before you, you think that this experience cannot possibly be any more arousing.

Then, his tongue touches you where you have been aching for him to place his mouth most of all, and you discover how wrong you were. 

He wastes no time sliding his tongue through your wet folds. Din makes up for his inexperience with enthusiasm and you move your hands down to run your fingers through his soft, dark curls. Keen to keep him in just the right spot, especially when he finally places his tongue where your fingers had been frantically circling minutes ago. 

“Din!” you gasp, when his tongue picks up its pace, clenching your thighs around his head and feeling his facial hair tickle your inner thighs.

Hearing his name fall from your lips in such a desperate manner only encourages him. He continues lapping at your core with a renewed fire and determination.

“Just there, just like that,” you praise.

Din continues for a few more moments and you feel your orgasm gathering pace within you. When your legs begin to shake, he moves his head back and you almost scream in frustration. But then you see the look on his face, and his sins are soon forgiven.

“Know how long I’ve wanted to bury my face between your thighs?” Din rasps, his voice barely audible and muffled thanks to his current position. “So beautiful,” he adds, before his tongue is on you again and all coherent thought leaves.

The pace is relentless now, Din swirling his tongue around your most sensitive spot as he seems driven to please you. To have you screaming his name so loud they can hear you all across the galaxy.

You chant his name over and over as your orgasm finally breaks, causing pleasure to reverberate throughout your body. Every inch of you is on fire for him. Din looks up at you, his brown eyes practically black. He makes an obscene slurping noise as he seems determined to collect everything on his tongue, not allowing a single drop of you to go to waste.

“Delicious,” Din rasps as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at you with a satisfied smirk. 

You cannot believe how much he seems to relish in your release. How much it arouses him. You know he has always enjoyed pleasing you, just as much as receiving his release. Now, his benevolent nature is on full display once again. 

Satisfied you can at least stand by yourself, Din rises to his feet. He looms over you, eyes meeting yours and softening briefly, with something which looks suspiciously like love. You wonder how long he has looked at you like that. How many affectionate glances have been stolen from your eyes by his helmet? 

None of that matters, now.

Your train of thought is interrupted as Din resumes kissing you, pinning you up against the cold metallic walls of the Razor Crest. You can barely breathe, unable to move for a few moments as he kisses you. Once you regain feeling in your trembling legs, you begin nudging Din in the direction of the bunk.

He never breaks the kiss as you stumble across the floor. Din cannot get enough of kissing you, his enormous hands roaming all over your body. 

The kiss is only broken once the back of your knees hits the bunk. You sit on the hard surface, looking up at him flirtatiously through your eyelashes. You decide Din is far too clothed for your liking and move to free his straining bulge from his tight brown flightsuit. Before you can feel his familiar length in your hand, he places his hand on your wrist and moves you away from him.

You look at him in confusion before he whispers, “Lie back, cyar’ika. Let me take care of you.”

You do as he says, but not before divesting yourself of your clothes. You lie back, awaiting him. Buzzing with excitement to finally lay eyes on Din Djarin in his entirety.

You are entranced as you watch his muscles contract and relax as he removes his flightsuit. Broad muscles and chest bared to you, then his stomach and lower... his muscular thighs and toned calves. The most incredible sight you have ever seen.

Din crawls up the bunk and positions himself on top of you, supporting himself with his elbows as he resumes your makeout session with just as much veracity as before. He plunges his tongue into your mouth over and over, desperate to taste you.

It seems as though Din is scared that he will never have a chance to claim you like this again. Later, you will remind him that you are his for the rest of your days.

For now, you cannot form words, conveying your pleasure only through broken sounds which are torn from your body by Din’s skilled mouth. 

The usual straining metallic groans of the Razor Crest as it hurtles through hyperspace are joined by its occupants’ moans and gasps as they collide.

You notice that Din has finally shed his gloves when he takes your breasts in his hands. Squeezing the soft flesh and staring at them as though it is the first time he has ever laid eyes upon them. In a way, it is the first time he has seen many of your features with his own eyes, finally free from the dark visor that distorts everything.

Suddenly remembering he can take your flesh in his mouth, Din begins kissing the valley between your breasts. He trails kisses along both of them, one at a time, paying them equal attention. As though he is worshipping you. Discovering new ways he can show his affection for you. With his helmet removed, an entire galaxy of new possibilities has been opened to him. Now, there are so many ways to demonstrate his affection for you, to revere all the parts of your body he loves so much. 

Although you are enjoying his ministrations, you are growing somewhat frustrated by Din’s languid pace. The frenzied kisses and touches have given way to gentle, almost timid, exploration of your body from Din’s lips. When you are about to whine pathetically and beg him to pay attention to your aching buds, Din finally envelops them in his wet heat. He begins paying careful attention to the most sensitive part of your breast. The place where you most wanted his mouth. 

You gasp as he begins mouthing sloppy kisses around your nipple, before finally swirling his tongue around your hardened peak. You arch your back off the bunk, giving more of yourself to him. Even in your desire-addled state, you think about how much better his mouth feels than gloved fingers and hands kneading your breasts. 

You grind your hips up against Din’s hardness, desperate for some friction. Clenching around nothing as he continues sucking your nipple, each swirl of his tongue only making you more desperate for him.

When you can take it no longer, you place your hand on Din’s head and pull his hair lightly. He looks up at you, raising a dark eyebrow at you.

“Din, please,” you whine, desperate for him to finally take you.

Often, the man you knew only as Mando would tease you at this point. When he had used his deft fingers to draw an orgasm or two from you, leaving you desperate for him. You knew he was satisfied that you were ready for him, but he still wanted to hear it from your mouth. Before giving you what you wanted, he would command you to use your words in a firm tone. Imploring you to tell him where you wanted him. 

Fortunately, it appears that the man who has confessed his love for you, will not cruelly tease you. Din is just as desperate as you are; aching for that moment when he finally enters you. 

Din kisses a hot trail up the column of your neck, thrusting his hips against you in desperation. He joins his lips with yours one last time before leaning up and taking himself in hand to line himself up with you.

“Wanted to savour this moment but, kriff! You’re so perfect…” Din rambles, “Don’t think I can wait,” he grunts as he notches himself at your entrance. 

“Then don’t,” you sigh, begging him to put you both out of your misery. 

Din nods, joining your lips one last time before he slides himself into you in one swift, fluid moment. You practically see stars. 

Somehow, he feels even bigger. It has not been too long since your last encounter. Even still, you have forgotten how impressive his length is. Your fantasies could not accurately capture how his hardness touches places so deep inside of you that you wonder how it is possible. 

Although the friction and sensation are delicious, particularly as Din keeps pressing kisses all over your face and neck, you know that you won’t last long. Since Din caught you earlier when you were so close, you have been on the edge almost continually. Now, he is thrusting into you at a relentless pace. That familiar ache is back. This time, there are no interruptions. Din does not slow down or pull away. You quickly come with another gasp of his name.

After watching you come undone, you are surprised that Din does not let himself go. That he does not allow himself the release you sense he is so desperately chasing. Instead, he continues to ride out your orgasm as he thrusts into you harshly.

“One more,” Din encourages, cupping your cheek in his hand, “I know you have one more for me.”

You nod shakily, eager to please him. In response, Din clashes your lips together, grunting against your lips as he finds a new increased tempo that you are stunned he could muster. All the while impressively maintaining a steady rhythm. 

“That’s it,” Din encourages as he feels the way your pants increase and your legs tremble.

When you come with another shout of his name, Din finally lets himself go. His thrusts become increasingly erratic before he finally comes with a shout of your name, burying his face into your neck. His pants are warm against your neck as he paints your belly with hot, thick ropes of his spend. 

Din stays like that for a few more moments, careful not to hurt you with his weight as he regains his composure lying on top of you. You feel so content and begin absentmindedly tracing circles into his warm, broad back. 

Then, he lifts himself from you. You smile when he lays his head next to you on the pillow, still feeling your heart leap as you realise that you actually get to look at his face. Din looks thoroughly pleased with the events of the night. Happy that he could please you over and over. 

“I love you, Din Djarin,” you whisper fondly as you bring your hand up to his jawline, stroking his cheek softly with your thumb. 

“I love you too, ner kar’ta,” Din smiles in return, turning his cheek to press a kiss on the palm of your hand.

Since that first encounter in the Cantina on Nevarro, you and Mando have always been partners. Travelling through the galaxy as a formidable, feared pair of bounty hunters.

Now, you and Din are partners… in every sense of the word. 

[dindjarindiaries]

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompts: “You could have died, you know.” “I’m fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” and “I’m afraid of losing you, okay?”

main masterlist • prompt masterlist

"Hey! Hey. Stay with me." There was a gentle tap on your cheek that smelled of leather and blaster fire. You groaned and blinked your eyes open, wincing as light caught the silver helmet that leaned over you. "Hey." The modulated voice was even softer that time. "You with me?"

You nodded, grunting as you sat up on your elbows. Din's hands continued to hold the sides of your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks as his visor gave you a once-over.

"Easy." His command was gentle, rooted in nothing more than concern as his hands eased their way down to your shoulders. "That was a hell of a blow you took there."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me." You exhaled and began to stand. "We need to get back to the ship."

Din stood with you, one hand on your back and the other holding tight to your hand. If you weren't still somewhat disoriented, your heart would've been pounding at his touch and his proximity. "Only if you're able."

You huffed and raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm fine." You gestured with your head in the direction of the ship. "Let's get going."

Din nodded, drawing his blaster as the two of you began to run to back to the ship. There was no doubt the two of you had already taken care of your attackers, but it never hurt to be cautious. Din, however, was even more on edge than usual, his free hand staying close to you as his visor checked on you more than it did on the way ahead.

It was perhaps the most nervous you had ever seen him.

Once you were on the ship, Din secured the hatch closed behind you, and he wasted no time heading to the cockpit to get you off the planet. You collapsed into the nearest chair and took a few breaths, running your hand over your forehead as a slight ache began to arise. You had known you wouldn't be able to walk away from a detonator blast without at least a little pain.

You were so distracted by these thoughts that you didn't even hear Din return until he was kneeling in front of you with the medpac. You lifted your head at the sight of it and clicked your tongue as you shook your head. "Din, that's really not necessary."

He didn't stop shuffling through the medpac as he answered. "I'd like to make sure." Din paused and glanced up at you. "Please."

You couldn't help giving in to the pure worry in his tone. Your lips stretched in a small smile as you nodded. He returned the gesture and lifted a handheld scanner, using it on various parts of your head, arms, and more to make sure you were free of any critical injures. It time and time again chimed in the negative.

You watched him as he worked, taking note of the way his gloved hand shook as he held the scanner. His free hand was on your knee, and his touch pulsated every once in a while as if he was grounding himself to you over and over again. You furrowed your brow, and once he had completed his scans, you couldn't help speaking on it.

"Din." You reached out for the sides of his helmet, encouraging him to look at you. You searched his visor before nodding firmly. "It's all right."

Din held a breath in his armored chest, his shoulders tensing as his hand on your knee tightened again. His visor fell to study his grasp on you, as if you would fall away if he let go or looked away. After a long pause, he spoke in a voice so strained that it pulled on each of your heartstrings. "You could have died, you know."

You softened even more at that, your thumbs running over his beskar cheeks as you tried to soothe him. "I’m fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about."

Din shook his helmet, lowering it until it was resting against the knee he wasn't still holding. His shoulders rose and fell with each unsteady breath he took. Your softness was exchanged for fierce worry of your own as you ran a hand over his helmet.

"Din." You utterance of his name was just above a whisper. He still remained where he was, practically curled up into you as he clung to you the best he could. "What is it?"

He didn't move even as he answered your question. "I'm afraid."

Your eyes widened at that. You had been convinced that there wasn't a single thing in the galaxy Din Djarin was actually afraid of. He had sure as hell proven that over your time together. "What are you so afraid of?"

Din sighed, lifting his helmet once again so that his visor could face you. His hand ran from your knee to your thigh as if the motion helped him to gain the strength to say the words he was holding so close to his chest. "I’m afraid of losing you, okay?"

You instantly fell apart at his vulnerability. Your brow relaxed as you held his helmet between your hands again and urged him to get closer. The way you moved to the end of the chair helped to close the distance, and soon, you were able to rest your forehead against his helmet. "You won't lose me, Din." You shook your head to emphasize your point. "Not now, not ever."

Din exhaled a troubled breath. "We don't know that." His gloved fingers drummed against your thigh as he fought for strength to go on. "I... have lost so much. It almost feels inevitable. I've put my head down and kept going, but..."

His breath caught in his throat. Your sympathy for him nearly made your eyes well with tears as you waited patiently for him to finish.

"If it were you..." One of Din's hands rose to hold your wrist in place. "I couldn't bear it. Not even the thought of it."

You tried your best to put on a genuine smile for him as you began to reassure him. "I'll be more careful, Din. Okay?" You kissed the center of his visor. "Thank you for sharing this with me. I know it's not easy."

Din huffed, and a wave of relief flowed through you at the evidence of the darkness starting to leave him. "Neither is jumping near a detonator to protect me."

You chuckled, shrugging as your face began to warm. "Well, you would've done the same for me."

Din tilted his helmet at that. "Yeah. In protective armor."

You closed your eyes and savored your closeness. "I guess you'll have to find me my own suit of armor, then."

Din's hand gave your thigh a gentle squeeze. "I'll be your armor."

You reopened your eyes, smiling at him before you wrapped your arms around his neck to embrace him. Your cheek rested upon the cloth around his neck and shoulders as you nodded to yourself. "Perfect."

din djarin tag list: @yorksgirl @zenrobbins0021 @cyaredindjarin @cw80831 @maddiedrmr

[wannab-urs]

Written in the Stars - You Caught Me

Pairing: Din Djarin x Ezra (Prospect)

Series summary: The Mandalorian takes a job unlike any he’s ever had before. Driven by his guilt over working for the Empire, even indirectly, and the strange bond he formed with the man, Din rescues his bounty. What follows is not something either of them ever expected.

Chapter summary: Ezra awakes, suffering from an infection, to find he has been captured by an armored man.

Warnings: The Mandalorian/Prospect crossover AU, canon-typical violence, season 1 rewrite, eventual smut, slow burn, eventual romance, Ezra being a menace (verbally), non-sexual bondage, discussions of wound care and infection and other medical shit, very brief thoughts about Mando being hot. WC: 3.3k

a/n: I'm still not super confident about this fic, but I really hope yall like it. Cover collage by @atinylittlepain, betad by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin and @beskarandblasters, dividers by me and @saradika-graphics

Ezra Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

Arvala-7

Din lands and checks that his tracking fob is blinking fast enough. The bounty is here.

He lowers the ramp to the razor crest and strides out onto the cracked and dusty surface of Arvala-7. He checks which direction to go before using the scope of his amban rifle to scout his surroundings. He catches sight of two blurrg in the distance, odd looking but seemingly harmless.

As he turns to scope out the area to his left, a blurrg suddenly appears at close range. Din tries to take it out with his flame thrower, but the bastard catches his entire arm in its mouth, slamming him to the ground. He gets repeatedly smashed into the ground and slung in the air, feeling as if his arm may rip clean off. He punches the blurrg with his left hand, throwing as much weight as he can behind it. The creature lets go, but immediately charges him again.

Just in time, a dart lands in the creature’s side, sending a shockwave through its body and rendering it immobile. As another blurrg makes its way toward Din, who is trapped beneath the first one, it is hit by another dart.

An Ugnaught rides up to Din on yet another blurrg – this one seems tame, thankfully.

“Thank you,” Din pants.

“You are a bounty hunter,” the Ugnaught states.

“Yes.”

“I will help you. I have spoken.”

Din gets up and follows the Ugnaught to his farm, which is not far from the ship.

The Ugnaught makes tea as he speaks with Din.

“Many have passed through. They seek the same one as you.”

Din did not know there had been others before him. He wonders if there are others competing with him now.

“Did you help them?”

“Yes. They died.”

“Well, then I don't know if I want your help,” Din scoffs.

“You do. I can show you to the encampment.”

Considering his lack of knowledge of the terrain and his lack of suitable transport across this wasteland of a planet, Din supposes that would be helpful.

“What's your cut?”

“Half.”

“Half the bounty to guide? Seems steep,” Din shakes his head.

“No. Half of the blurrg you helped capture.”

“The blurrg? You can keep them both.” Why would he want a kriffing blurrg?

“No, you will need one. To ride. The way is impossible to pass without a blurrg mount.”

“ I don't know how to ride blurrg.”

“I have spoken.”

Taming a blurrg proves more difficult than Din expected. After she throws him to the ground an absurd number of times, Din finally manages to gain the creature’s trust. He hikes his leg over her back and takes her for a ride.

Shortly after, the Ugnaught leads Din across a cracked maze of muddy land – canyons have formed between the sections of cracked dirt that only a blurrg can jump over. They come upon a compound crawling with mercenaries, who all appear to be armed to the teeth. Din spots a blaster cannon and at least 60 men. Who is this bounty?

An IG unit stands in the middle of the fray, firing away and screaming about some code or other. Din grumbles about competition, his hopes of being the only hunter on the job dashed. And by a droid, no less.

Din drops to the edge of the makeshift battlefield.

“IG Unit! Stand down.” The droid shoots Din in his new pauldron, flinging his shoulder back painfully. “I'm in the Guild!” Din yells.

The two duck out of the way of a volley of blaster fire and hide behind a pillar.

“You are a Guild member? I thought I was the only one on assignment,” the droid sounds annoyed, if that’s even possible.

“That makes two of us. So much for the element of surprise.”

“Sadly, I must ask for your fob. I have already issued the writ of seizure. The bounty is mine.”

“Unless I'm mistaken, you are, as of yet, empty-handed.”

“This is true.”

Din fires a few shots from behind his cover, taking out three of the mercs.

“I have a suggestion.”

The IG unit takes out several men from the top of the compound, their bodies falling to the dirt below.

“Proceed.”

“We split the reward.”

“This is acceptable.”

“Great. Now let's regroup, out of harm's way, and form a plan.”

There are way too many of them and Din wants to act as if they’ve given up so they can take the mercs by surprise that night. The bounty droid has other things on its mind though.

“I will of course receive the reputation merits associated with the mission.”

“Can we talk about this later?” Din fires off a few shots with his amban rifle, evaporating several mercs in the process.

“I require an answer if I am to proceed.”

The mercs advance on their position, pinning them in a corner with no way of escape.

The IG unit starts freaking out. He claims he cannot be captured and initiates a self-destruct sequence.

“Do not self-destruct! Cover me!”

Din runs to the door panel and tries to rip out the wiring, but quickly starts taking fire.

“There’s too many!”

“I will initiate self-destruct”

“Do not self-destruct! We’re shooting our way out.”

The mercenaries power up the blaster cannon and start firing at Din and the IG unit.

“Okay! New plan!”

“Beginning self-destruct countdown.”

“NO! Draw their fire and I’ll take it out.”

The IG unit runs out taking several hits and collapsing against the structure behind him. Din uses his grappling line to jerk the cannon out of the merc’s hands and shoots him before jumping on it and taking out every last mercenary in the vicinity.

Din goes to check on the droid. “Ya know… You’re not so bad. For a droid.”

They use the blaster cannon to get inside the large metal door, since ripping out the wiring hadn’t worked. Din takes out one last mercenary and starts searching the room for the bounty.

Din comes up on a man sleeping on the floor. He’s covered by a pile of ragged blankets and there is a bloodstain on the floor beside him.

“Well. They said 40 years old.”

“This does look to be our target,” the droid quips.

IG raises his blaster as if to shoot the sleeping man.

“No. We'll bring him in alive.”

“The commission was quite specific. The asset was to be terminated.”

He raises his blaster again, but Din is faster. Before the IG unit can even register his movement, there’s a hole in its head.

“Droids…” Din grumbles.

Din aims his blaster at the man and yanks back the blankets covering him. Din is stunned to find the man is missing his right arm, nothing more than a stump ending just below his shoulder. He briefly wonders if a blurrg got him.

Din toes him with his boot, keeping his blaster trained on him. The man doesn’t wake up. Din kicks him a bit harder and he still doesn’t stir, so he picks the man up and heaves him over his shoulders. He carries the man out to the blurrg the Ugnaught let him keep and ties him to its back like a saddlebag.

It’ll be a long walk back to the ship.

Ezra wakes up and realizes he is definitely not in the compound anymore. He’s very securely strapped to some sort of creature. A man clad in what looks like a helmet made of pure silver aims a rifle at two assailants and takes them out easily, evaporating them into nothing but scraps of fabric.

Barring an equally shiny pauldron, the rest of his armor is varying shades of red and brown – like rust. It’s quite the contrast and makes him appear like a rusted tin can.

The silver warrior doesn’t notice Ezra has woken up yet. Ezra reaches out with the Force, trying to get a read on the man’s intentions, but feels only his urge to protect. Until he knows what situation he’s found himself in, he thinks it’s best not to reveal himself and promptly slumps back into the beast, pretending to sleep.

Sometime into pretending, he does actually pass back out, the fever making it difficult to stay conscious for long periods of time. When he awakes, they have made camp for the night.

His arm is tied to his thigh, but he’s no longer strapped to that infernal animal. The warrior appears to be tending to a shoulder wound. If he could trust him, he would heal the man, but he is as yet unsure if this man is going to be his salvation or his damnation. All the same when he was probably going to die of infection anyway.

“Looks like a nasty wound, Tin Can,” he mumbles. His voice is rough from disuse. “I am well acquainted with grievous arm wounds.”

The silver helmet whips in his direction, the black visor leveling with his own stare. He thinks the Tin Can looks annoyed, somehow, despite the helmet.

“Quiet,” the man grumbles, his voice low and graveled.

“Name’s Ezra. And I am not inclined to suffer demands from my captor. Are you taking me back to the Imps?”

The Tin Can doesn’t answer, he simply returns to cauterizing the deep cut on his arm. Ezra takes that as his cue to turn in for the night. He adjusts his position as much as he can in his bound state and falls into another fitful sleep.

Ezra wakes up again and finds himself tied to the creature once more. The armored man has his rifle out and is disintegrating Jawas left and right. The little creatures are loading bits and pieces of a ship into their crawling fortress.

“I don’t think that’s very smart, Tin Can. Won’t ever get your shit back now.”

“Quiet.”

His captor is rude and clearly doesn't like chatter. Maybe Ezra can talk himself out of this kidnapping.

The Jawas quickly load into their land crawler and take off, the warrior right on their heels. He jumps up onto the ladder on the side of the crawler.

Ezra takes off on the creature he’s tied to – it seems to have taken a liking to him – and follows along behind the crawler at a gallop. He watches his captor nearly get slammed into a rockface, but he quickly pulls himself onto a ledge on the crawler.

He’s quite agile for someone covered in armor, Ezra thinks. The Tin Can is very capable indeed, scaling the side of the crawler first with only his hands and then with a grappling hook, all while being bombarded with random objects and shock batons. He makes it to the top of the crawler, despite his grappling hook being violently removed from the ship, and Ezra thinks he may actually succeed in reclaiming his ship parts from the Jawas.

A mere moment after the warrior crests the top of the crawler, he tumbles to the ground. Ezra fears the man may be dead. He isn’t sure why he’s worried, this man is his captor after all. Maybe it is something to do with being tied to a strange creature in the middle of a desert on a pretty unfamiliar planet.

Just then, the Tin Can gets back up. Resilient that one. He shakes off the fall and stomps across the wasteland and right past Ezra, simply expecting him to follow – which he does.

The armored man drops from the cockpit, entirely ignoring the ladder.

“Stripped. They kriffing stripped it.”

That’s the most words Ezra has heard from his captor since their journey together began. The anger he feels is so palpable to Ezra, he can almost taste its bitter tang.

“Will it fly?”

“No,” the man opens what looks like a storage cabinet to find it empty as well. He slams the doors closed angrily.

“So what are we going to do?”

“I am going to get my shit back. You are not going to do anything.”

The man is finally speaking in full sentences, albeit rude ones, and Ezra kind of wants to keep him talking. His low, graveled voice is quite appealing.

“Okay, Tin Can, how do you plan on recovering your items?”

“Stop asking questions. And stop calling me tin can.”

“You have not provided me with any other name by which to call you, my dear captor.”

“Mando. Call me Mando.”

“Alright, Mando. Lead the way.”

Mando suggests they walk to a farm nearby, where he knows someone that can likely help. Ezra lets himself be lifted back onto the creature, his body growing weak from all the excitement.

“Are you sick?”

“I fear I’ve contracted an infection from my emergency field surgery.”

“I have bacta. Had bacta. When we recover it, I’ll give it to you.”

“Why?” Ezra isn’t usually one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but his captor wasting such an expensive item on a bounty seems strange.

“You’re worth much more alive.” Ah, an investment then. That makes sense.

“Fair enough.”

Chants of “Suka! Suka! Suka!” drag Ezra from the black depths he was floating in. He slowly orients himself. He is on a sled mounted to two of the strange beasts he’s become very familiar with. His arm is once again tied to his thigh. An Ugnaught sits cross legged before a crowd of Jawas, Mando next to him – again managing to look exasperated despite not showing his face.

Mando stands and strides over to Ezra. “Good. You’re awake. Get on the crawler.”

“Where are we going?”

“The blasted creatures want a mudhorn egg.”

“This is going to go very poorly, you are indeed aware of that, I presume?”

“I’ll manage.”

Mando reaches down and pulls Ezra to his feet, maintaining a grip on him as they head into the crawler, the Jawas still chanting the entire way to the mudhorn lair.

Mando is much too large for the Jawa sized cockpit. He fills the space up quite nicely, in Ezra’s opinion. He does let slip a giggle when Mando’s shiny helmet slams into the ceiling during the bumpy ride, earning him what is certainly a withering glare.

Mando brings Ezra with him for some unknown reason, but leaves him tied up. It’s not like he’ll be able to help much, but he supposes the hunter doesn’t want to leave his bounty unattended.

Mando sloshes through the mud to the opening of the mudhorn’s cave. Ezra stays at the back of the valley, refusing to get any closer to certain death. Mando checks all of his weapons before stalking into the darkness.

Several minutes later, Ezra hears four rounds of blaster fire, quickly followed by Mando flying out of the cave and landing on his back.

“Ah, she’s awake then,” Ezra quips to no one. Mando is certainly not listening.

Mando tries for his rifle, the one that disintegrates entire beings into ash, but it appears to be jammed. So, Ezra surmises, we’re fucked. While he’s busy kriffing around with the rifle, Mando gets rammed again, flying almost to the back of the valley where Ezra stands.

The mudhorn observes his unmoving form and charges at Ezra instead. Shit. Ezra waits until the heifer is nearly on him and then dives out of the way. His landing is hard, with no arms to break his fall, but he’s okay.

The beast turns on Mando again, who has just started to stand, and smashes him into the ground with its horn. While flames and grappling hooks fly, Ezra wedges the prongs of the discarded rifle under his ropes. He wiggles back and forth, trying to break the tie as Mando gets dragged around by his grappling line.

Ezra’s ropes snap just as Mando gets thrown across the valley once again. That armor must be incredibly strong. Just as the mudhorn sets off toward Mando for the killing blow, Ezra concentrates. He draws on the energy around him and lifts the mudhorn into the air without so much as touching it. He holds it up for a moment and then, closing his eyes, slams it down into the ground as hard as he can.

Mando dives forward with his vibroblade and jams it into the neck of the stunned creature. He drives it as deep as possible, funneling the rage that built up over the course of the battle into his blade before dragging it out of the mudhorn and sheathing it.

Ezra slumps to the ground, completely exhausted. Mando limps over to him, his cuirass completely destroyed, but otherwise seemingly intact.

“You could have done that the whole time?”

“Firstly, I was bound and needed use of my hand. Secondly, I had to exact some form of revenge for capturing me, but I do not wish to see you dead.”

“Why not?”

“You killed all of my protectors. I am alone on this planet and you’re my only way off it,” Ezra says weakly. His consciousness is fading fast. Mando pulls him to his feet, pulling his arm over his shoulder, and half drags Ezra back to the crawler.

Din lays Ezra on the sled, passed out completely. Din and the Ugnaught load up all of his gear as the Jawas devour the egg. All that work for a stupid egg.,

Once everything is loaded up, the three make their way back to Din’s ship.

“Is he still sleeping?”

“Yes.” Din was worried that Ezra had pushed himself too hard and gave him the bacta shot as soon as he had his hands on it.

“Was he injured?”

“No. Not physically. But he had an infection from removing his arm.”

“Explain it to me again, I still don’t understand what happened.”

“Neither do I.” He’s never seen anything like it.

Mando and the Ugnaught spend all night repairing the ship while Ezra sleeps in Din’s bunk. He can’t put him in carbonite with the still healing wound of his stump. He would almost certainly die.

“Good luck with the bounty. May he survive and bring you a handsome reward. I have spoken.” The Ugnaught nods sagely and takes off on his blurrg.

Ezra wakes up in a dark enclosed space, the chill indicating he’s on Mando’s ship. He feels better than he has in weeks, though the mat he’s sleeping on is not much better than the pile of ragged blankets he’d called a bed for several standard weeks.

Ezra stands, steadying himself before feeling along the wall for a way to open the door. His hand finds a button and the door whooshes open. He climbs out into a small space. He’s been here before, the cargo hold of Mando’s ship. It’s crowded with crates, without much room to walk around. He spies the ladder to the cockpit and assumes Mando will be up there.

He very carefully climbs the ladder, still learning how to do things with his off hand, and pokes his head into the cockpit. Mando sits in the pilot’s seat in front of three transparisteel screens that make up the front of the ship. A massive console fills almost half the room up to where Mando sits. There’s a jumpseat behind and to the right of Mando that Ezra decides to make his own.

“No bounties in the cockpit,” Mando grumbles as Ezra plops into the seat, but he makes no move to remove him.

“Shouldn’t have left me untied then, Tin Can.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“You insist on behaving like a rusted old sod and so I will refer to you as one.”

Mando doesn’t answer, so Ezra begins telling a story about channel rats in one of his ships. He unscrews a metal ball from a handle as he does so and begins to levitate it around the cockpit.

“Put that back. Don’t touch anything.”

Ezra simply pings the ball off Mando’s silver head, chuckling, and resumes telling the man about killing channel rats.

@beskarandblasters @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @electriclasso @schnarfer @alltheglitterandtheroar @survivingandenduring @catchallfangirl @nerdieforpedro @yorksgirl @heareball @morallyinept @jksprincess10 @julesonrecord @atinylittlepain

[wannab-urs]

This fic... it's so creative, so well written, and so fun to read. There's a whole lot of fluff and a good bit of angst. I loved every single chapter, all the twists and turns, all the soft sweet moments, and all the scary or painful ones. The ability to write accurate characterizations of so many different characters is seriously mindblowing. I adored this fic.

The Infinity Cube Masterlist

When you play with a strange cube, you’re transported out of your current reality with your boyfriend Marcus into brand new ones starring alternate versions of your boyfriend who look and act entirely different every time. With each encounter, you start to wonder if you’ll ever make it back to your real universe?

Main Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader

Side Pairings: Pedro Characters x Female Reader

Last Updated: August 27, 2022

~~~~

Part 1: The Beginning (Marcus Pike) – Fanart

Part 2: This Is Not a Dream (Din) – Fanart

Part 3: One of a Kind (Javier) – Fanart

Part 4: In the Next Life (Pero) – Fanart

Part 5: The Truth (The Thief)

Part 6: Versions of Me and You (The Thief) — Fanart

Part 7: Don’t Lie to Me (Whiskey) – Fanart

Part 8: Nightmare (Dave) – Fanart

Part 9: No Plan to Follow (Veracruz) — Fanart

Part 10: Half of a Whole (Frankie)

Part 11: Remember Who You Are (Frankie)

Part 12: Shelter (Oberyn) - Fanart

Part 13: Temporary Conclusions (Ezra) – Fanart

Part 14: Change of Perspective (Omar)

Part 15: I Wish (Maxwell)

Part 16: A Deal With the Devil (Dio)

Part 17: Survival of the Fittest (Max)

Part 18: This is How a Heart Breaks (Dieter, Marcus M, Nico, Joel)

Part 19: Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay (Javi G) - Fanart

Part 20: The End

My Edit: 1, 2

Cube Fanart

More Fanart I love: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Fan Video

Playlist

Final Chapter Announcement Video

[ddejavvu]

grumpy beefy mando falling for soft!reader in her “grandma era” - all she wants to do is crochet, bake and frolic around the galaxy with mando and grogu 🫶🏽

"He doesn't like hats."

You glance up at Din from where you're testing a length of crocheted stitches beneath Grogu's chin, ensuring that the hat inspired by the local flora of the forest planet you've found shelter on won't fall off if he gets too rigorous in his play.

Grogu coos beneath the flower hat, but whether it's in agreement or protest you can't tell.

"He likes this one," You decide, when the little green terror before you doesn't fight as you maneuver his ears through their designated slots, "And he doesn't have to wear it if he doesn't want to."

Your fingers slip the little white button through the slot you've left in the band, and the hat is secured around Grogu's chin; the cutest little flower you ever did see.

"Oh, honey," You gush, scooping the child up and tucking him into your arms, "You wanna see your hat? C'mere, let's look."

You crouch in front of the tree stump that Din has settled on, holding Grogu up to the man's beskar chest plate. It's freshly polished, but not completely reflective, so at the right angle, Grogu catches a blurry, slightly distorted version of himself in a very pink hat.

His legs are still too small to kick in excitement, but his arms pick up the slack, flapping about while copious amounts of baby babble streams from his mouth. Evidently he's pleased with your handiwork.

Din stays silent while he offers his armor up for Grogu's viewing pleasure, but the child's hands soon find the soft strap beneath his chin and tug.

"I told you he didn't like hats..." Din murmurs, not to be cruel, but to fill empty space in the air when your shoulders deflate slightly.

"I thought he'd like it if it was softer," You hum sadly, helping Grogu take the button out of its clasp so that he can tug the hat off of his head, "I just figured he didn't like the helmet you gave him because it was uncomfortable."

As soon as you've freed Grogu from the confines of his flowery prison his hands slap against the shiny metal of Din's armor. He takes the child out of your hands but Grogu keeps his hat tightly clutched in his fist, and, with valiant effort, pushes the hat into Din's helmet, insistently cooing something that sounds suspiciously like buir.

Your giddiness returns, and you circle Din like a hawk, "Oh, you want your buir to wear it? Let's see," Amidst Din's protests you balance the too-small cap on his helmet, and he stills if only to save the hat from slipping and dying a muddy death on the ground below.

"It doesn't fit me." He grumbles, body stiff as he keeps it balanced on his head. Grogu seems pleased with his buir's new headpiece, squealing and showing off his newly-emerged teeth in a grin.

"I'll make you a matching one!" You declare, snatching the hat off of his helmet to give him the freedom of movement again, "Grogu, baby, what color should Din's be?"

"Bah!" Grogu decides, and your steps still where you're racing back towards your shelter.

"Uh... how about purple?" You suggest, and another resounding 'Bah.' is all the encouragement you need.

[vor-mur]

smooches

[artanis-draws]

[wannab-urs]

This is probably the hottest thing I've ever read and if it's not then it's like... near the top of the list. Holy shit. Bondage? Din just absolutely railing you? The soft and sweet ending? It's truly everything you could ever want.

And the imagery. I could see this like a movie in my head (which is awesome, thank you, best movie ever).

Bound

Din Djarin x f!reader, Take Me To Church Universe

Rating: Explicit

—

It’s your thighs he’s bound this time — not your hands for a change.

Those are free to splay and pull at the sheets, free to fist and tug at worn fabric as he straddles you; your nails digging into the mattress for purchase.

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