#knight Din AU

[bon-sides-sw]

Din Djarin: Jedi Knight, Crush of many Padawans, reluctant master

He was found by Obi-Wan at his homeplanet, taken to the Temple and raised there. Order 66 never happened and Ahsoka took him as Padawan so he's officially part of the disaster lineage. Luke grew up idolizing him and has a bigass crush on him ;3

Other Stuff: [Mando Luke]

[backtothefanfiction]

You Should See The Other Guys | Din Djarin Imagine (Knight!au)

Summary: when you come across a knight covered in blood you fear the worst

Warnings: blood, hurt/comfort

A/N: as promised earlier, here’s my quick one before I go to bed. you guys voted and Din Djarin was the run away winner and I guess given the metal armour it works. anyway when I came across this picture on Pinterest it just got my mind working, although I think it’s implied that this might be a slain and fallen soldier, my brain couldn’t help but think otherwise…

This was not what you were expecting to see in the field, just up the dirt road from your house, as you made your way back from the market. In fact, you almost hadn’t noticed him at all, too preoccupied by the tiny stone that had worked its way into your shoes and now rattled around at the gap near your toes. As you had leaned against a wooden post for balance so you could take off your shoe, shaking the stone free before placing your shoe back on your foot, you looked out at the field of flowers and noticed something shiny and metal, laying amongst the wild grass. You squinted as the sun reflected off of it, your hand coming up to shield your eyes as you abandoned your wicker basket and began to make your way towards the anomaly in the field.

As you got closer, your realised the sun was reflecting on a suit of armour- it was a knight- and from the amount of blood that splattered his armour, you didn’t think he looked too healthy… probably why he had collapsed in the middle of a field of flowers. Upon realising what lay before you, you picked up the pace, rushing towards the man, eager to help in whatever way you could- even if it was just to hold his hand as he passed, which you feared was the most likely case.

As you hastily came to a stop and collapsed down onto your knees beside him, he startled, attempting to sit up.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You tried to sooth placatingly, your hands moving across his breast plate, trying to get him to relax again, “don’t move, it’s okay, I’m here to help.”

He tried to fight you a little, reluctant to lie back down so you could assess his injuries and see if you could help, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you in confusion.

“I live just over that hill.” You pointed behind him. “I was just on my way back from the market when I noticed you-“ He groaned slightly. “It’s okay, just relax, I’m here to help.” You said again.

“What are you talking about?” He said confused. His voice was slightly gruff, but sounded tinny through his helmet. Your fingers instantly reached to help pull it off. “No!” He cried out, sitting upright, his hands reaching to hold the helmet in place. “Don’t take it off.” He said.

“But I need to see your injuries.” You protested.

“Injuries?” His voice came back confused.

“Yes, injuries. You’re covered in blood. I’m surprised you are alive and moving at all, given the amount of blood on your armour.”

He looked down at himself then. His breast plate sagged as he sighed, his hand relaxing at his side.”You should see the other guys.” He mumbled, then paused. When you looked to him, begging him to elaborate, he said, “It’s not mine,” relaxing his body and leaning back on one hand. “Well most of it isn’t anyway.” He said, lifting his right leg and bending his knee, sneering slightly with the effort, before relaxing again.

“But I thought you were dying.” You said. “You’re lying in the middle of a field covered in blood.”

He sighed. “I was just resting.”

“Just resting.” You repeated, a look of reluctant astonishment on your face.

“Yes, resting.” He affirmed.

“Your leg?” You queried, putting the pieces together.

“I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

“Yes, I guess so.”

You frowned. He was being difficult. “So, where did all the other blood come from?” You asked.

“Bandits.”

“Bandits?”

“Yes, bandits? Look am I going to have to repeat everything I say to you?”

“Fine!” You snapped, “I was only trying to help. You know do my civic duty or something as a member of the realm.” You said, getting up and dusting off your hands and knees. He sat forward, following you with his gaze, or at least you thought he was behind that visor.

You huffed loudly at his silence before turning your back on him, ready to stride back through the flowers to the road and pick up your basket of goods- but the thought of his injured leg made you pause. You huffed again, loudly as you turned back to him. Marching towards him, you held out your hand to him.

“Come on.”

“What are you doing?”

“Come on,” you said again. “You need someone to look at that leg before it becomes infected and resting at my cottage will be a lot more comfortable than this field.” When he continued to hesitate, you said, “I’m not taking no for an answer Sir…?”

“Djarin.” He filled in. “Din Djarin.”

“Well then, Sir Din Djarin, are you going to take the help of this lowly peasant or not?”

Reluctantly he took your hand and allowed you to help pull him from the ground. He was reluctant to place weight on his right leg, so you wrapped an arm around his back and hooked his arm over your shoulders, encouraging him to lean on you to help him walk.

“It’s just over that hill, by that tree.” You informed him as you both began to cut across the field to where your small cottage lay.

He admired the flowers growing in your front garden, a well worn wooden fence with bits of it missing, the only defining factor between your property and the rest of the meadow. “How did you end up here anyway.” You asked him as you heaved him through the door. The two of you hobbled towards the fire place on the far side of the tiny thatched roof house.

“I walked.” He groaned as he sat himself down on a chair, stretching out his injured leg. You immediately fell to your knees before him, your fingers reaching to free his leg from its coverings. He sneered as you pried the blood covered armour from his soaked through undergarments. There was a large slash in both his trousers and leg. It was a miracle he had gotten anywhere. You gently slid the pant leg up above his knee to get a better look at the wound. Luckily it was all tissue damage, but boy was it bleeding.

“I think I’ve got some scraps of cloth to use as bandages-“ you began to half mutter to yourself and half explain to your new house guest, as you got up off the floor and moved towards a cabinet, opening up one of the doors and pulling out a basket of fabric.

You brought it back over to the fire place before moving into the adjacent room to grab some other supplies; a basin of water, a needle and thread, a pestle and mortar and a collection of flowers and herb from your garden. He watched you closely as you grabbed one of the pieces of cloth and began to clean the blood from around the wound. He would sneer every now and again when you pushed a little too hard at the skin and muscle around the wound, but mostly remained quiet.

When you had done that, you readied the needle and thread. Once again he grunted against the pain as you pierced his flesh with the needle, pulling the thread tight and holding the wound closed. Then you began to grab at different leaves and flowers, mashing them together until they formed a paste. Although he recognised some of the flowers you used by sight, he had no idea what half of them were called, or what healing properties they might have.

When you began to smear the paste over the stitches, he expected it to sting, but instead, they left a cooling sensation on his skin. As you began to wrap the leg, he relaxed, the concoction of medicinal herbs working their magic. When you tied off the bandage and shuffled back, collecting your items from the floor and placing them in your lap, he was suddenly so quiet- so still- you thought he might have fallen asleep.

As you looked at his helmet, the shade of his visor, your fingers itched. You had heard about these specific guard before, they never took their helmets off, never showed anyone their face. You didn’t want to take the helmet off, but you longed to lift the visor. You just wanted to see his eyes. You turned and placed the items in your hands on the nearby table before turning back to him. You watched a moment longer. Checked the steady rhythm of his breathing, Slowly you built up the confidence to reach for him, your fingers ghosting at the metal covering his eyes.

“Weren’t you coming back from the market?” He suddenly said and you jumped back, but his statement had your eyes growing wide.

“Oh crap- my basket.” You grumbled and raced from the house. But when you returned he was gone.

The next day at the market you heard news about a group of bandits who had been found dead at the side of the road not too far from your house, but no one knew for sure who had done it. And although you tried to look out for him whenever you were out and about, you never saw him again. After a time you thought you had made him up, thought that he had never existed. But every year on the anniversary of the day a tiny bag of coins would appear on your doorstep with a poppy from the meadow placed beside it- a thank you to the kind stranger who stopped and did everything they could to help a resting knight from the kings guard in a field of flowers at the side of the road.

[spitzobsessed]

SWTOR AU idea:

what if Master Orgus Din were on the Ch1 team, JK and Kira being the Padawans for him to watch after

featuring my knight Lea:

bonus:

[mccn-bcys]

thank you for the tag @spacecowboyhotch ❤️ rules: Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 🤍

1. Just A Touch Of Your Hand

this fic is actually my first multi-part fic. it didn't start out meaning to be multi part but it is and I'm actually very proud of it. it's angst but also so fluffy and I love it.

2. First Date

my first javi peña fic. I love this one a lot actually. it took me literal months trying to get it just right. I adore nervous javi and I wanted to showcase him.

3. Final Arcade Token

I think this was my first moon knight fic. it's cute little marc fic, tiny bit of angst but super fluffy. it's super cute I love it so much

4. Hold My Hand

my first din djarin fic. I was nervous writing this one but it's actually pretty good! it's super cute, we see din being in love (as he should be)

5. Sensual Pleasure

this one was for a fic exchange with the girls in the marc's queens server. this one also took me a little while to write but finally the right idea struck me. I adore steven grant and he's so cute in this one.

no pressure tags: @luvpedropascal @marshmallow--3 @marc-spectorr @romanarose @leh2393 @bibli0thecary

[loquaciousferret]

Y’all are NOT ready for my upcoming Knight!Din and Royal!Reader AU… the most spicy slowburn fantasy AU that will ever grace your screen

Coming soon!

[syndxlla]

Hey, we will be giving the princess a ‘name’ this next book. It’s still a reader insert and her name is gonna be ambiguous but she has a fake name that she gives to some…allies (cough cough) that they’ll refer to her as. I wanted to come to you guys and see what you were thinking about that name possibly being?

Personally I’m heading towards something like willow or Rowan. Something earthy and whimsical. It won’t be a major plot point but I want to give her more of an identity and honest I’m thinking about de-starwarsing this eventually and actually trying to make it into an original published novel (LOL) so these are the first seeds I’m planting for when its no longer reader insert.

ANYWAYSSSSSS

Willow? Rowan? Ivy? Clover? Florence? Sage?

Any of those tickle your fancy? Any new ideas of your own? Can you see what road I’m going down for vibe?

That’s all! Respond with your thoughts soon cause I be writin’!!!!!

[omgspacecowboys]

DINLUKE GOT AU WHEN????

Fantasy au anyone?

[gloomwitchwrites]

Welcome to my blog!

Minors DNI – The content on this blog is for adults (18+). By following or engaging with this content, you are agreeing that you are 18 or older. (I will block users not respecting this boundary.)

Chat – Feel free to drop into my ask box, DM me, leave me comments...I enjoy connecting with people.

Ask Box // Requests – open (click HERE for info/boundaries)

Taglist – If you want to follow my work and be there right when it goes live, please consider joining my taglist. (You are responsible for making sure I can “@“ you when I tag a post; blank, empty, and ageless blogs will not be accepted) Taglist Changes Update.

Community Labels - This blog is Community Label compliant. All content that is graphic in nature will be put behind a Community Label. If you wish to view mature content, please adjust your settings.

Platforms – I am only on Ao3 & Tumblr. If you see my work on other platforms, please contact me.

Who am I? – Poppy. she/they. 31. bisexual trash gremlin w/ a caffeine addiction. @gloomwitchtales is my personal blog.

ao3 // taglist // personal tumblr

Missed Hints (Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader)

Misunderstanding (Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader)

Mint & Stone (Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader) ... coming soon

Rainy Reunion (Aragorn x Female Reader)

Burnt Bread (Éomer x Female Reader)

Gentle Dark (Haldir x Female Reader)

A Sudden Spark (Éomer x Female Reader)

We Won’t Be Missed (Legolas x Female Elf Reader)

An Unexpected Catch (Boromir x Female Reader)

Untitled Captain Rex ... coming soon

Untitled Din Djarin ... coming soon

Untitled Hunter (Bad Batch) ... coming soon

Dark Knowledge Masterlist (Miraak x Hermaeus Mora x Female Reader)

Ink & Needle Masterlist (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader)

Dangerous Pursuit Masterlist (Captain John Price x Female Reader)

Imagines & What If Main Masterlist (Task Force 141)

Locker Room: Part One // Part Two // Simon's POV (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader)

Second Act Masterlist (Task Force 141 Masked Metal Band AU)

A Brute, Brute Heart Masterlist (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader)

Thinking Of Series: Apocalypse // Biker // Neighbor // Knight // Viking // Hacker // Hitman // Pub Owner // (Summer) Olympics // (Winter) Olympics // Regency // PornStar // Gladiator // BlueCollar // Bodyguard // RockStar // MMAFighter

HCs & Quick Writes: One // Two // Three // Four

Winter 2023 Collection Masterlist

Fluffuarry 2024 Masterlist (Star Wars Edition)

Spring 2024 Collection Masterlist

Summer 2024 Collection Masterlist

1k Follower Event Masterlist

3.5k Follower Spooky Bingo Masterlist

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Kinkmas 2024 Masterlist

masterlist banners: created using Canva profile picture: taken & edited by gloomwitchwrites profile banner: taken & edited by gloomwitchwrites (oracle cards from Threads of Fate)

[javier-pena]

the duel

Pairing: knight!Din Djarin x f!reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Rating: Mature

Summary: When a grave injustice is done to you, there is only one man who will defend your honor.

Warnings: graphic violence | animal death (a horse gets killed) | death of a close family member | a hint of “who did this to you?” | a lot of historical inaccuracies | reader has long hair | a dash of self-loathing

Notes: I know I'm the slowest writer ever when it comes to working through my 10k follower celebration requests but we're getting there. A very sweet anon requested "Can you just look at me? Please?" with Din Djarin and my brain made that into a medieval AU somehow. Dear anon, I'm not entirely sure this is what you had in mind but I had THE most fun writing it, and I'm so so in love with knight!Din that it's going to be incredibly hard to let him go. As always, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who said this is the best fic I've written recently - it's amazing what I can achieve when there is no smut to overthink!

The air smells of smoke and horse manure and cold. It smells of blood and death too, but Din isn’t quite certain that he isn’t imagining that. No one has died here, at least not today, and if he keeps his cool, then the sun will set without him having taken yet another life. All he has to do is immobilize his opponent, make him surrender. If he can do that, he’ll win more than one victory today.

He bows, deeply, in front of Lord Marlowe and the assembled guests. To his left, Rhyswald the Crusader does the same, the insincerity evident in the way he inclines his head, moves his feet. Din has every reason to hate Lord Marlowe, every reason to wish the worst on the other man, but he wouldn’t dream of disrespecting him, least of all in his own house.

Rhyswald lifts his head, runs a gloved hand through his blond curls, and dons his heavy helmet. Din ignores the smirk on his face, the way he bares his teeth in something resembling a snarl. He can’t let these things get to him if he wants to walk away from this duel victorious, his hands clean. He lifts his own helmet, ready to hide his face behind the T-shaped visor, when he sees you stand and abandon your seat next to Lord Marlowe. You walk to the edge of the berfrois, your pale blue wool dress looking almost white in the soft light of the winter morning, your dark blue coat billowing behind you. You don’t wrap it around yourself, even though the cold morning air makes you gasp. Your eyes are fixed on Din’s, but he can hardly bear to look at you, his heart in his throat threatening to choke him.

You reach the edge of the berfrois and you seem so close that he thinks if he just extended his arm, he could touch you. And then you extend your arm and his hands begin to tremble. If he had to draw his sword right now, he wouldn’t be able to hold up the weapon. There is something in your hand, a piece of white silk, and you smile at him before letting it go, the cloth gently gliding down in the calm air, toward Din. He steps forward, his hand outstretched, and everything around him vanishes – the lists, the nobles, Lord Marlowe on his high-backed chair, even Rhyswald and his vile face. It’s just you and the token you’re bestowing on him that Din sees.

He secures the piece of silk around his left lower arm, gently pulling it tight with his teeth. By the time he is done, you have returned to your seat, regarding the spectacle before you with cold detachment. Like him, you can’t let this get to you. The world begins to come back with shouts and the sounds of stomping hooves and Rhyswald’s voice snarling some insult Din doesn’t quite catch. He walks over to his horse Razor, tied up at the edge of the lists. Razor is covered in Din’s colors, the dark blue of his father and the silver of his liege, its black fur shiny with sweat already. Din hoists himself up, takes his shield from a knave, and draws his long, heavy sword. With a deep breath, he turns Razor to face Rhsywald.

Din tastes blood on his tongue as he charges at his opponent, blood from where he has bitten the inside of his cheek. Rhyswald’s helmet is obscuring most of his face, but Din can imagine the smirk he is wearing beneath, sure of his victory. After all, didn’t he fight in the crusades? Didn’t he risk his life and soul for king and country? And where was Din while his fellow countrymen were risking their lives overseas? Where was he? Din raises his sword high above his head, channeling all his strength into his right arm, and a growl erupts from his chest, drowned out by Razor’s hooves hammering against the frozen ground.

Din manages to hit Rhyswald’s shield, but the steel glides of the leather reinforcements uselessly. Rhyswald misses Din’s shoulder because he twists out of the way in time but even before Din manages to turn Razor around, he’s there again with a second attack, splintering the top of Din’s shield with a forceful blow. Din changes direction, his back facing Rhyswald for a moment, but the bold move pays off. When he goes in for a second attack, the other man parries his blow with a surprised shout.

Beneath the horses’ hooves, the ground slowly breaks open and becomes uneven while the knights try to gain the upper hand. They are evenly matched, Din has to admit that, but whereas he fights for an advantage, Rhyswald fights to humiliate. When Din parries a blow, Rhyswald tries to hit him with his shield, when Din tries to free his sword, Rhyswald tries to punch his chin or scratch his unprotected lower arms. The longer the horses dance around each other, the harder it is for Din to keep the promise he made to himself.

“You should give up now,” Rhyswald suggests after a while, his voice coming out in strained pants, “because I will kill you if you don’t.”

Din doesn’t reply because there really isn’t anything he could say.

Rhyswald tries to grab Din’s arm but almost loses the grip on his sword and has to straighten his back. “Did no one teach you manners, boy? You answer your superiors.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Din presses out through gritted teeth, the blade of his sword coming down hard against the spaulder protecting Rhyswald’s shoulder but bouncing off it without leaving a mark.

Rhsywald pulls back his steed, disengaging, and Din drops his arm to relieve his straining muscles. “Why not? Did your little harlot forbid you to speak? Because she knows if you talk to me, it’ll only expose her lies?”

Din doesn’t mean to, but he can’t stop himself from charging at Rhyswald in a rash move and missing him when he swerves.

“Oh, so it’s true?” Rhyswald taunts, making his horse prance around Din’s. “Do you always do as she says?

“Shut up,” Din growls. Rhyswald’s grating voice is making his blood boil.

“Apparently not,” Rhsywald remarks, and Din can make out the smirk beneath his helmet. “So tell me, do you believe her little story? Or do you know she’s a liar?”

Din spurs on Razor, the pounding hooves quickening his heartbeat. He’s aiming the blade at Rhsywald’s head, but his opponent predicts the move long before Din can carry it out. Their blades clash and send out sparks. The force of the impact makes pain shoot up Din’s arm and he grunts. Rhyswald doesn’t let him catch his breath. He lands blow after blow, and Din can barely keep him in check while Razor nervously prances beneath him.

“That would explain why she picked you as her champion,” Rhyswald goes on while his blade comes down hard against Din’s shield. “Gullible Din Djarin who’d do anything for the taste of a ma–”

Din kicks, hard, and is surprised when his foot connects with Rhyswald’s middle. Rhyswald gives a shout of surprise, and Din knows his eyes are wide beneath that helmet. With a rattling crash, Rhyswald lands on the hard, trampled ground and his horse takes off with a whinny. Around them, the berfrois erupt with cheers.

Din closes his eyes and the sound changes. It now is the gentle rustling of newly grown leaves swaying in a warm spring breeze. When he opens his eyes, he’s back in Headdon Fort walking the corridors, climbing steep stairs. Outside the windows, the world is breaking out into colors, bright and fresh, while inside the mood is dampened by bad news recently received. As a knight passing through, no one has informed Din of the tragedy. 

Din doesn’t know what he is looking for, only that he is too restless to quietly sit in a chair yet too exhausted from his recent travels to spend his time training. The fort is almost empty since everyone is enjoying the spring sunshine, and Din, in turn, is enjoying the quiet. Until he hears a stifled sob, turns a corner, and finds you leaning against the damp stone wall. You’re crouching, face buried in your hands, a scroll of parchment lying at your feet, and your chest is heaving with violent sobs.

Din should walk away, spare you the embarrassment of being seen at such a vulnerable moment, but he can’t. It’s not his upbringing and training, the chivalry demanded of him. It’s the love he feels for you that makes him rush to your side instead of turning away from you.

You must hear his heavy footsteps despite your preoccupation, and you look up, eyes red, cheeks wet. “Din,” you breathe, your voice hoarse.

His chest tightens at the sound of his name coming from your lips in such a familiar manner. He steps in front of you, unsure whether he is allowed to approach, flexing the fingers on his right hand, still stiff from a recently sustained injury. “What do you need?” he asks.

You smile at him, gently, your grief momentarily forgotten. “It’s Eldrin,” you answer. “He … he died.”

Din’s chest grows tighter, a feeling no longer welcome. Out of your brothers, Eldrin was his favorite. Din had always looked up to the older man, and Eldrin had always treated him like an equal. “How?” he asks.

You shake your head as a new wave of grief rushes over you. Din can’t bear to see you like this. He drops down to his knees next to you, the floor uncomfortably cold through the fabric of his chausses. But he doesn’t care when you lean into him and bury your face against his shoulder. In fact, he doesn’t feel anything anymore except the warmth of your body against his and the way his heart flutters in his chest.

Steadied by Din’s presence, you finally answer. “He was murdered.”

“Murdered?” Din echoes, slinging an arm around your shoulders. The bright spring sunshine seems to darken at your words, and despair settles over the both of you.

“He was trying to save a friend,” you go on, your words muffled against Din’s tunic. “Lord Raaf. He had gotten into a fight, and Eldrin was trying to help him. They were all drunk, it was a stupid, drunken fight.” You sob, and Din can’t help himself. He kisses the top of your head, and feels a stab of pride when you pull him closer.

“Raaf,” you go on after you have somewhat collected yourself, “he said Eldrin got stabbed in the back. I don’t know why.” You look up at him, your eyes impossibly bright with tears. “Why, Din?”

“I don’t know,” Din replies. He could talk about honor, call the murderer a coward, curse his name, but none of these things would help you. Instead, he asks, “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” you reply, grabbing fistfuls of Din’s shirt. “He’s dead.”

“Does Raaf know who stabbed Eldrin?”

You nod. “A knight. He calls himself Rhyswald the Crusader.”

“There are witnesses,” Din goes on. “Lord Raaf. He saw it happen. Rhyswald will be brought to justice.”

You give him a tired smile. “I don’t want justice. I want Eldrin to be alive.”

Din’s stomach knots painfully, as if he had been stabbed himself.

It’s the same pain he feels now, back on the lists, watching the murderer push himself into a kneeling position, reaching for his sword. “Stay down,” Din whispers, but Rhyswald lets loose a deep growl and stands, picks up his mud-caked sword.

“You coward!” he shouts, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I should have known that you won’t be able to win this fight without cheating.”

“Enough!” Din barks. “Do you surrender?”

There are whispers all around him as he waits for an answer.

Rhsywald spits, and it comes out red. “No.”

The whispers stop.

Din circles Rhyswald, Razor snorting beneath him. “Then you have made your choice,” he declares with a heavy heart, raising his sword.

Rhyswald charges. Razor, surprised by the sudden movement, rears up and then collapses, the front legs giving way, breaking with a sickening crack. Din hits the ground, hard, the impact pushing all the air from his lungs. One leg gets buried under Razor’s body, while the other twists at an odd angle, and he loses both his sword and shield. The crowd gasps, there are one or two shouts, but Din only hears the blood rushing in his ears, and the rattling sound of Razor’s dying breath.

Din’s vision darkens when Rhyswald casts his shadow down on him. He pulls his sword out of Razor’s chest with a sickening squelch and huffs. “There. Now we’re evenly matched.”

Din places a gloved hand on Razor’s back, the body warm and alive to the touch. He can’t allow himself to feel, can’t allow Rhyswald’s dishonesty to get to him. He pushes the horse off his leg and stands, ignoring the pain in his calf, the way his vision goes dark as blood pounds behind his eyes. He limps to where his sword lies half-buried in the mud, then to where his shield sticks out of a heap of soil. He picks up both weapons, his grip like iron, and turns to face Rhyswald.

They circle each other; every other step is agony to Din, but it doesn’t escape him that Rhyswald holds his elbow at an odd angle or that his helmet has shifted, obscuring his view. Din shakes his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears but it doesn’t help. He loosens the grip on his sword, then tightens it again, and before Rhyswald can take on a defensive stance, he rushes toward him, his only goal to inflict as much pain as possible. He can let himself have that, he decides, as long as it doesn’t cloud his judgement.

Steel meets steel, and Din’s ears are now ringing with the sweet sound of combat. Rhyswald manages to keep him at bay, but no matter how hard he tries to get a blow in, Din doesn’t let him. He forces Rhyswald to defend himself, forces him to back away from Razor’s dead body, forces him to fight for his life. Rhyswald is strong, his defenses are tough, but once in a while, there is a crack in them, and Din exploits it ruthlessly.

Rhyswald’s shield splinters in half after Din hits it repeatedly, and the two halves fall to the ground, useless. Din can’t help but smile a cruel smile, already tasting victory, but without the additional weight, his opponent is faster and finally gains the upper hand. He pushes back against Din’s assaults with vicious jabs, forcing Din to divide his attention between parrying Rhyswald’s blows with his shield and defending himself with his sword.

Din’s arms grow heavy, so heavy that every time he has to raise his sword it feels like a task impossible to accomplish. Rhyswald seems to tire too – his footfalls are heavy and he grunts every time he swings his sword at Din. But when the blade lands against Din’s right cuisse, he feels the blow in his entire body and his knee gives way, making him stumble. Rhyswald goes for Din’s standard next, and it’s only through sheer force of will that he manages to parry that blow. The audience gasps, groans, and then falls silent.

“Don’t you hear?” Rhyswald hisses, pushing his blade down against Din’s. Every muscle in Din’s arm is screaming for him to give in. “They hate you. They want to see you dead. Why don’t we give them what they want?”

He kicks Din in the chest, swirls around, and with the force of a final blow lets the blade of his sword rush toward Din. Din lets out a hoarse shout as his lower arm is sliced open and hot blood spurts out, drenching his tunic. Steam rises in the freezing air.

“You should give in now,” Rhyswald suggests. “It would spare you the pain and humiliation.” He reaches for Din’s injured arm, for the piece of silk tied around it; Din draws back with a hiss. Darkness settles over Rhyswald’s face. “Have it your way then.”

He raises his sword high above his head at the same time as Din raises his shield, and when blade hits wood, Din pushes himself up, flinging his cover at Rhyswald. He feels bile rise in his throat at the effort; instead of air, it feels like he is breathing in fire, but he stands, and Rhyswald struggles for a moment, caught off-guard by Din’s resistance. Still, Rhyswald has a point – it would be so easy to give in, to stop here and let fate take its course.

The glove on Din’s left hand is growing heavy with blood. He glances down to examine the damage and his eyes land on the piece of silk Rhyswald tried to touch, the token you gave him, convinced he would be victorious. He promised you, did he not? He offered his services to bring you justice, to right that terrible wrong that had been done to you. He can’t give up, no matter how much he wants to. Not when you are up there in the berfrois, all your hopes resting on him. Your hands are doubtlessly clenched in your lap, your eyes are wide with terror. You are praying, he is sure of that – not to a merciful God, but to him, begging him to keep going.

“You’re tougher than I had thought, I’ll give you that.” Rhyswald’s voice sounds tinny from beneath his helmet, and it lures Din out of his thoughts and back onto the lists. “But you still have to resort to tricks to gain the upper hand.”

Din is barely listening to the words. His eyes are roaming Rhyswald’s armor, looking for a weak spot, a small opening he could attack. There is nothing, not even a loosening rerebrace. But the way Rhyswald is holding his sword, his grip lax … if Din could disarm him, this fight would be over.

With an outcry, hoarse and violent, he storms at Rhyswald who is too late to raise his sword to defend himself. It flies out of his grip and lands somewhere to his right, halfway sinking into the mud. There is some careful applause coming from the berfrois, one or two cheers, as people are trying to figure out what just happened. Din feels a smile forming on his lips, one that is cold and calculating, as he allows himself this small indulgence because no one can see it.

Rhyswald looks at his useless sword, lets the implication of it no longer being in his hand sink in. Then he huffs and rolls his shoulders. Din steels himself for another insult, hopes for a swift surrender, but stiffens when Rhyswald loosens his heavy morning star from his belt.

“We’re just getting started,” he sneers.

Din rolls his neck, his shoulders, then flings his sword from him. There is one faint shout of, “No!” somewhere in the distance, and all he can hope is that it did not come from you. “Forgive me,” he whispers, pulling his pernach out of the loop on his belt.

When Rhyswald charges, morning star swinging at his side, Din is ready for him.

The air around him warms as the lists vanish and are replaced by a ground of dust, dry air being swirling up in the hot summer sun. Din takes a step to the side and twists his upper body, avoiding his opponent who rushes past him with a curse. Din turns and kicks him in the backside so he lands on the dry ground, face first. The other men clap and cheer, and Din runs the back of his hand across his forehead, wiping away the sweat and dirt.

That is when he spots you rushing toward him, your hands balled into fists at your sides, your footfalls heavy with anger. Din hears the other knights snicker, one or two whistle, but he ignores them. His entire world has become you – there is no room for anything else.

“What happened?” he asks as soon as you are close enough to hear him.

You stop in front of him, your eyes shiny with unshed tears. “I don’t know who else to talk to,” is all you say.

Din softly closes his hand around your elbow. “Come,” he says, “let’s go.”

There are some lewd comments, some more whistles, but you don’t seem to hear them. You let yourself be guided into the shadow of one of the trees in the enormous courtyard, where the heat is a little less punishing, and prying ears have a hard time overhearing your conversation.

Din takes in your appearance, your fine dress, your long hair, braided intricately, and his face heats with the realization of how he must look next to you, dirty and sweaty and half undressed, with his tunic hanging open and its sleeves rolled up, curls rumpled, hands brown with dust. You don’t seem to mind though.

“Rhyswald was acquitted.” Your voice is strained with anger and hatred; Din barely recognizes it. “The king has acquitted him.”

Din wishes he could offer you words of comfort. Instead, all he manages is a suppressed, “What?”

It should not be like this, was not supposed to go like this. You were convinced the king’s verdict would bring you justice, and Din was convinced of the righteousness of your cause. After all, Rhyswald had stabbed Eldrin in the back, in front of witnesses. Maybe you had misheard the king, misunderstood his verdict.

You lower your eyes at Din, and for a moment he thinks you’re redirecting your anger at him. “He didn’t believe Raaf, said Raaf was too drunk to know what he saw.”

“But there were others,” Din presses, unable to make sense of it all, “other witnesses. People who say Rhyswald …” He finds himself unable to finish the sentence.

You begin to pace beneath the shadow of the tree, your face shiny with sweat. “None of them confirmed Raaf’s story. They said it was too dark, they can’t be sure of what they saw, Rhyswald wasn’t drunk, they want to believe his story. The king said it wasn’t enough.”

Din watches you pace, rooted to the spot by his uselessness. He hears the clanging of swords, the shouts and cheers – the other knights must have resumed their training, already tired of poking fun at him. He hears the song of a bird high up in the tree above you, and the high laughter of a little girl somewhere close by. They all go on with their lives as if the world had not just ended.

“There must be something we can do,” Din finally says. “Maybe the king will reconsider if …”

“If what, Din?” you snarl. He flinches. You notice, and your face falls. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help but there is nothing we can do to change his mind. There is only …”

“You can’t give up,” Din interrupts you. “There has to be a way. We will find one.”

Your face softens as you gift him a smile. “There is one way. The only way. But it’s hopeless.”

“Tell me,” Din demands, taking both your hands in his.

You lower your gaze to where your hands are joined. “Trial by combat,” you answer. “If God’s verdict were to be in favor of my brother …”

Din tightens his hold on you. “Why would that be hopeless? Aren’t you convinced of Rhyswald’s guilt?”

You wind your way out of Din’s grip. “It’s not that. I don’t have a champion.”

Din blinks, trying to sort through his thoughts. “I’m sure your fiancé …”

“Lord Marlow accepts the king’s verdict,” you cut him off. “There’s nothing I can do.”

Din pulls you close. “Yes. There is.”

The sharp pain in his right arm brings Din back to the present. It has to be broken, judging by the way it uselessly hangs at his side. When the morning star hit the rerebrace, Din could hear the sickening crack it made. Rhyswald could too, and it put a cruel smile on his face, one Din could see all too clearly now that Rhyswald lost his helmet somewhere in the mud. Din tries to flex his fingers, tries to bend his right arm at the elbow, but the responding pain makes his vision darken and stars dance in front of his eyes.

Opposite him, Rhyswald looks how Din feels. His bottom lip is split, his teeth are red with blood. He spits and a tooth lands at his feet. Din inhales sharply and tries to straighten his back, but Rhyswald chooses this moment to charge at him, the morning star long forgotten, lost somewhere on the battlefield. Din glances longingly at his pernach, now too heavy for him to wield with his broken arm, then widens his stance, bracing for the impact.

Rhyswald is aiming for his shoulder, but Din takes a calculated step back and Rhyswald misses. He stumbles but immediately regains his balance, his eyes wild with rage. Din can’t help but smile.

Rhyswald reaches for Din’s left arm, which is still bleeding, and Din hisses when his hand closes around it, hard. He struggles against the grip, but can’t use his right hand to push Rhyswald off, and when he yanks back his arm, he only pulls his opponent toward him. Rhyswald closes his other hand around Din’s throat, but Din twists back his head, then brings his helmet down hard against Rhyswald’s temple. That does the trick.

Rhyswald stumbles back and Din falls forward, grunting in pain. He can make out the tears and dents in Rhyswald’s armor where he was able to do some damage with his pernach, cut so deeply he drew blood, but it wasn’t enough. Rhyswald still stands, still fights. And Din knows he cannot take much more of this.

Rhyswald kicks, aiming for Din’s legs, and when Din tries to evade him, his leg gives way and he folds, falling to his knees in front of Rhyswald. Then his head starts ringing, and he realizes Rhyswald is pommeling the helmet with his bare hands, trying everything to make Din surrender. And Din wants to. By God, he wants to! He’s so exhausted he can’t even tell if this fight is real or if he blacked out minutes ago and this is all a fever-induced vision.

Rhyswald lands a kick against Din’s chest, and Din crashes to the ground. It has begun to snow, and as he is lying there, looking up into the sky, he can see the flakes dancing around him. When Rhyswald straddles him, sinking to his knees on either side of Din’s torso, he can’t find the fight in him to oppose him. Instead, he lets Rhyswald punch him, his chest, his chin; his head rings every time Rhyswald’s fist connects with his helmet, but there is no point in fighting back when it’s so easy to lie here and watch the snow come down gently.

Rhyswald curses, trying to pull Din’s helmet off his head. But his gloves are slick with blood and mud, and he cannot find purchase against the smooth iron. Din shakes his hands off with a grunt and his head comes to rest on its side where he has a clear view of the berfrois. A clear view of you.

You are halfway out of your chair, your eyes wide with shock. His chest constricts, the pain unbearable, so much more violent than anything Rhyswald did to him today. If he doesn’t fight back, this will be the last thing he sees, his last conscious thought will be that he disappointed you. And maybe that’s what he deserves. He killed so many people, ruined so many lives – this is his punishment for all the hurt he brought into this world. What’s one more broken person? What’s one more ruined life? Of course, the only thing he can give you as his present on your wedding day is for you to watch him get butchered. He lived his life dishonorably, of course it has to end the same way.

Drained, he closes his eyes, waiting for the end to come.

When he opens them again, it’s you he sees. Your eyes are bright, and you try to hide a grin behind the back of your hand, but he gently takes your wrist and pulls it away from your face. He can’t remember the last time he saw you smile like this, and he wants to savor every second of it.

You kiss him again, and it’s as if he was forgotten how to breathe. All he feels is the gentle press of your lips against his, the way you’re still so unsure but so, so eager to have him like this. It makes his heart bloom like a meadow in springtime. He can’t help himself – he has to cup your cheek. You shudder against him in response.

“Let us stay here forever.” The words are out before he can stop them.

You glance up into his eyes, your face so unguarded it makes him want to fight for your affection. Makes him want to die for it too. “I wish we could.” You push him back against the hard stone wall of the alcove you’re hiding in. “Let’s not talk about it.”

The next time you kiss him, he can taste your grief on your lips. “There’s –,” he starts, but you shake your head.

“No.” You touch your finger to his lips, and he freezes, blood rushing downwards, tight between his legs. “Din … I’m so sorry.”

There is nothing for you to be sorry for, no choice he regrets making where you are concerned, but hearing you say those words makes a lump form in his throat. “Don’t.” He kisses you to hide the ache that has to be written all over his face. “It’s what you have to do. You have your duties, as I have mine.”

You lace your fingers with his, squeezing them hard. He presses his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling.

“I’ll always be yours, Din. Always.”

Din reaches for his dagger strapped to his thigh, gritting his teeth against the pain. Rhyswald’s triumphant grin is wiped off his face when Din knees him in the crotch before stabbing him between his ribs where his armor has shifted. Rhyswald lets out a pained grunt, his eyes falling shut, as he tries to grab Din’s wrist to pull the dagger back out. Din does it for him, relishing the wet sound it makes against Rhyswald’s flesh. Then he pushes Rhyswald off him and rolls onto his side, arm braced against the other man’s chest, pushing himself onto his knees. The pain that is everywhere in his body now is almost unbearable, makes him want to vomit and pass out, but the sight of Rhyswald’s eyes, widened in terror, keeps him going.

Din closes his left hand around Rhyswald’s throat and Rhyswald starts kicking his legs in panic, clawing at Din’s fingers and arm. But Din doesn’t let go, only pushes him deeper into the mud. This isn’t the first time he is taking a life, and he knows it won’t be the last, but he will never again enjoy killing someone this much. He tightens his hold on Rhyswald’s throat, watches as his eyes begin to bulge, and he feels a strange calm come over him. It’s easy to grab the dagger, even with his broken arm, so easy to press the blade against the skin of Rhyswald’s throat, and even easier still to cut, one smooth motion, followed by blood, so much blood. It seeps into Din’s gloves, hot in the freezing winter air, drenches his hands so all the world can see he has taken another life.

Din doesn’t let go until Rhyswald’s eyes cloud over and he stops twitching. He pushes himself away from the dead body, a pained growl passing his lips. He isn’t shaking – that will come later – but he isn’t feeling the satisfaction he thought he would feel. He raises his eyes and glances up at the berfrois, up to where you are sitting. It’s not as if he had expected you to jump out of your chair and cheer for him, but he had hoped for some acknowledgement of a job well done. Instead, he finds you staring at him, eyes wide with terror, and he looks down at his soiled gloves and the man next to him, his throat cut open like a red, angry maw.

You would look at Din like that. Not with relief or adoration, but with terror. After all, now that you have seen his uglier side, you recognized the kind of monster he truly is. And who could love a monster, even if that monster killed for you?

Din kneels in the cold mud, eyes fixed on his hands, his terrible hands that have done so much bad in this world. He should have surrendered, should have let Rhyswald kill him. But there are men carrying his corpse away, and Din has to go on living, knowing the only person he truly loves despises him. He wishes there were cheers or curses, people talking, getting ready to leave, discussing the duel, anything, but it’s so quiet and he is alone with his thoughts that are so loud. He’s even alone on the lists now, Rhyswald’s corpse having been carried off, and still, he can’t bring himself to get up and leave. He can’t even raise his head because looking at you again would kill him.

His world turns pale blue as you come to stand in front of him. You kneel, not caring about spoiling your wedding dress – you’re kneeling in the dirt and blood, and you say, “Can you just look at me? Please?” but Din can’t. He doesn’t want to face your hatred, even if that makes him a coward.

Your voice is so soft as you repeat that, “Please,” and it does something to him, reminds him that he can never refuse you. His broken arm twitches painfully as his heart picks up speed, and then he looks up.

You have a soft smile on your face, one he had thought he’d never see again. You raise your hands, lifting the helmet off his head, and then you press your forehead to his, just like he did with you before you told him you’ll always be his.

“I love you,” you whisper into the cold winter morning.

That’s all he needs from you.

If you enjoyed the fic, I’d love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime …

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

This story is so good! And the plot twist that you don't see coming! It blew my mind and made me love this story even more. I'm not sure which part I loved the most the vows, the porn, or the plot twist. I highly recommend you read this.

Burning Hour Masterlist

Din Djarin is the captain of your father - the king's royal guard and as such is tasked with protecting you. When you leave a child and come back a woman, he sees you in a different light- but he isn’t the only one with his eye on you. Can a Princess and her Knight find a way to be together? (This series has over 40k words)

Din Djarin x Royal F!Reader (Virgin)

Warnings: **Virgin reader* Smut 18+(NO MINORS) smut, language, pining, slow-burn, ✨yearning✨ (each chapter will have it’s own warnings.)

Inspo;

This post

What I imagine the wedding dress to look like

Asks;

Jealousy

Chapters with smut marked with **

Chapter 1

Chapter 2**

Chapter 3**

Chapter 4**

Chapter 5**

Chapter 6**

Chapter 7**

✨Complete✨

[vivwritescrappythings]

masterlist

updated: 11/30/24

character list: felix catton, recom miles quaritch, jake sully, kylo ren, miguel o'hara, hobie brown, john price, simon riley, könig, eddie munson, geralt of rivia, luke danes, logan howlett, thranduil, joel miller, din djarin, deiter bravo, fransisco morales, ezra (prospect), oberyn martell, marcus acacius.

requests are: OPEN

limits

joel miller

yours : you get new neighbors in Jackson, Joel doesn't like how much attention they pay to you so he decides to teach them a lesson. [SMUT]

unfair : an au about Joel attending a wedding simply inspired by Pedro's slutty little fit at the SAG awards. [SMUT]

part 2: good morning : Mornings with Joel are the best. [SMUT]

saying thanks : Joel is your grumpy patrol partner who doesn’t even talk to you in the streets of Jackson. But one night a man grabs your arm at the Tipsy Bison, and Joel’s decided he doesn’t like it. [SMUT]

set me on fire, i'll keep you warm : you and Joel get stuck in a cabin together during a winter storm [SMUT, a/b/o dynamics]

part 2: crack me open, swallow me whole : you go on one patrol without joel and a band of raiders finds you [SMUT, a/b/o dynamics]

eddie munson

the boy is mine (viv's version) : a romantic night at the trailer

just love me and eat : you watched Eddie die, so this must be some nightmare in your room

part 2: it’ll heal : Eddie’s perspective on his new life [SMUT]

late night visits : Eddie catches you dropping Max off and invites you over, he teaches you how to smoke weed [SMUT]

velma : You attend a Halloween party with Eddie, things don't go quite as planned when Jason Carver acts like a jerk

twenty-five : You always cry on your birthday, and this is the year Eddie finds out

silence : The five times you asked Eddie to be quiet, and the one time he was [ANGST, NO COMFORT]

squeeze : Eddie is your tattoo artist and long term boyfriend, one night you have an idea of how to spice up your next tattoo session. [SMUT]

simon "ghost" riley

simon riley brainrot : you sit next to him on a plane [drabble]

roadburn : someone hits simon’s motorcycle while you were riding

take it all : you meet simon at a bar and go home with him [SMUT, toxic simon]

small apologies: six months later simon decides he wants to apologize [SMUT]

könig

king of the joust : you attend a tourney with your family, a knight you’ve never seen before wants your favor [plus size reader]

sworn sword : civil unrest in the kingdom forces your father and the king to assign a knight to you for your protection. thankfully he is someone you have already met before

golden linings : the evening ball presents you with an unconventional dance partner

words fall short : you can’t stop thinking about some rude words said about you at last night’s feast, but your knight doesn’t let you worry for long

if she would have me : könig personally comforts you through the news of your betrothal. things get out of hand [SMUT]

anything you ask : despite all odds, it is finally your wedding day [SMUT]

hobie brown

and they were roommates : you and Hobie always toe the line between friends and something more.

[backtothefanfiction]

You Should See The Other Guys

Okay, I never do this, but I just came across this picture on Pinterest and the perfect short just popped into my head; however, I have no idea who to write this Knight!au for, so here’s a poll….

The picture:

The Poll:

I’m gonna write this tonight as one of my quick one shots before bed so you have until about midnight GMT to vote!

[koi-illust]

[StarWars AU] [Din/Jedi Master(Luke)]

Padawan Din Djarin (1)

Here’s the (2): NSFW

I think it’s a “FUCK or DIE” scene? Oh, don't worry, Padawan Din is no longer a minor, so he's up to be f…🤭(well, you know what I mean)

This piece was inspired by an artwork featuring a Padawan Din posted on Tumblr. I was like: "Aww, this is an excellent idea! I want to draw a Padawan Din too! The Padawan braid is the cutest thing, and I bet many people haven't seen photos of a young Pedro Pascal before, so I need to let you see it." So I combined these two photos and drew this Padawan Din.

In this AU, Din was still a foundling of the Mandalorians, but instead of taking the creed and becoming a warrior, he was found to be gifted with the Force. So he was taken to the Jedi Temple and trained to be a Jedi. To honor the Mandalorian who took him in when he needed it most, Din wears Mandalorian symbols on his Padawan outfit, and the Council allows it.

I imagine that Din would remain a Padawan longer than average. It's not that he doesn't excel in his training - on the contrary, he's an elite! He's always had the wish to protect the young, the weak, and his Master, so he's very dedicated to his training. But why hasn't he been knighted already? It's because he doesn't want to be separated from his Master!

Din is quite sentimental, just like we've seen him in the TV show. Once he thinks of someone as family, he'll never leave that person. But being knighted means he'll be sent on missions without his Master, and he can't bear that. He's failed his trials on purpose multiple times, and eventually the Council didn't want to push him anymore, either, because they sensed Din's doubts and that he wasn't mentally ready to become a Jedi Knight.

Din will become a Knight, that's for sure. Din knows it, and his Master is also persistently persuading him (although the Master is also getting harder to leave Din, too🤭). But for now, they'll just keep each other's company for a while longer…

I don't mind if anyone wants to use this setting to write fanfics, in fact, I'm totally encouraged! (I prefer Luke to be the Master, I love Obi-Wan too, but feel free to choose other characters.) Just let me know when the story is done, I’d love to read it!

[campingwiththecharmings]

*These weren’t necessarily written and/or posted in November, but that’s when I read them 😊

🔥 - explicit/mature content

Star Wars

🔥Kinktober Day 30 (Cunnilingus) (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Healing Love (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @dailyreverie

Pumpkin Patch and Everything Nice (Poe Dameron x Reader - Modern AU) - @dailyreverie

Melt (Part of the Your Wish is my Command universe) (Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader) - @dailyreverie

🔥Morning (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

🔥Noon (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

🔥Night (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

🔥Facefucking (Poe Dameron x Reader) - @dameronscopilot

🔥Brat Taming (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @dameronscopilot

Ambrosial (Din Djarin x Black!F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch

🔥Boob Drunk Poe (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @dameronscopilot

Unremarkable (Poe Dameron x Reader) - @the-little-ewok

blood will have blood (Part of the better safe than sorry universe) (Poe Dameron x Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Moon Knight

Falling Like Rain (Steven Grant x Reader) - @dailyreverie

Sugar Rush (Jake Lockley x Reader) - @dailyreverie

Pumpkin (Marc Spector x Reader) - @dailyreverie

Chain 'Round My Neck (Steven Grant x Reader) - @dailyreverie

🔥Chain Reaction (Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

🔥Sweet Tooth (Part of the Dancing With Wolves series) (Werewolf!Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @hon3yboy

🔥friendly favors (best friend!Steven Grant x Reader) - @runa-falls

🔥Honey (Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @juneknight

🔥Night Desires (Dark!Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @lunalockley

🔥he smells like flowers (Steven Grant x Reader) - @runa-falls

Protected (Jake Lockley x F!Reader) - @romanarose

Triple Frontier

🔥Kinktober Day 23 (Dirty Talk) (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Breaking the Rules (Santiago Garcia x Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

Jingle Bells (Santiago Garcia x Reader) - @ivystoryweaver

🔥Kinktober Day 2 (Public) (Frankie Morales x F!Reader) - @youvebeenlivingfictional

🔥Kinktober Day 4 (Sex Pollen) (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @youvebeenlivingfictional

Sucker Punch

🔥Kinktober Day 21 (Hate Sex) (Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Inside Llewyn Davis

🔥Kinktober Day 24 (Lingerie) (Llewyn Davis x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

🔥Kinktober Day 26 (Face Sitting) (Llewyn Davis x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces

Ex Machina

🔥Perfect Fit (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @ivystoryweaver

🔥Fuckin' Stupid (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor

🔥The Beauty of Imperfection (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @missdictatorme

🔥The Empty Room (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @reallyrallyauthor

The Card Counter

🔥Losing Hand (William Tell x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse

🔥(pumpkin) cream pie (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @runa-falls

Daredevil

Daisy (Mechanic!Frank Castle x Sunshine!F!Reader) - @fandxmslxt69

🔥Kinktober Day 1 (Overstimulation + Impact Play) (Frank Castle x F!Reader) - @youvebeenlivingfictional

Thank you to all the wonderful writers for sharing their stories with us 🥰❤️

*For more recs, please feel free to check out my fic rec tag.

**If you’d like to have your fic removed from the list, I completely understand, just let me know

[djarincore]

Bethrothed

summary: You finally get to meet the knight you’re going to marry.

word count: 716

tags: royalty!au, knight!din, arranged marraige

a/n: the second part of my 500 words a day series. the letter is B for bethrothed!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Following the sudden, tragic death of your older sibling, you were thrust into a position as your kingdom’s future ruler. The duties and obligations they left behind were piled on you all at once—suffocating you to the point of madness. You were no longer yourself, just a doll filling in the unfillable void their older sibling left behind. 

When new threats began to arise, your future as ruler seemed bleak. But, you would do anything to save your kingdom from the threat of ruin, even if it meant marrying a man you did not know. 

As you sat at the meeting table, you could only focus on the grinding of your teeth and the feeling of your mother's reassuring hand over yours beneath the table to stop the tremors in your clenched hands. You spared a glance across the table toward the sitting red-haired woman, Bo-Katan Kryze, the ruler of your neighboring kingdom, and her masked knight, Din Djarin, standing tall at her side. 

She was reading through the parchment in front of her, fingers rhythmically tapping against the table. It wasn’t fair that a flimsy piece of paper held your entire future—the kingdom’s future—in between its ink lines and you could only sit and watch it dry. The knight by her side hadn’t moved an inch since she sat down; you would have thought he was a statue if not for the steady rise and fall of his shoulders.

Your gaze lingered on the knight—he would be your future husband. The helmet he wore was intimidating, cold, and you had no idea what he was thinking; it unnerved you.  

“Why don’t the two of you take a walk and get to know one another?” She suggested. “This might take a while.” 

“Yes,” your mother chimed in, “good idea. Take Paz with you, dear.”

Your ever-loyal personal guard stepped forward and you rose from your chair with a pasted-on smile. “The gardens are lovely this time of year,” you said. Appearance was everything now that you were set to rule. 

“Go on,” Bo-Katan urged. 

The knight moved around the table and extended his arm wordlessly. You slipped your hand through his arm and lead the way with Paz trailing close behind. 

In the fresh air of the gardens, you slipped your hand free of his and dropped your smile. “It’s awfully rude to keep your helmet on, sir,” you said, brushing your finger over the petals of a red rose. “Something you’re hiding?” 

“Apologies.” The voice you finally heard was low behind the helmet and made you pause. There was no denying the rasp was attractive. When you turned to him again, the helmet was gone, tucked beneath his arm. 

Your eyes were drawn to the scruff along his jaw, the slope of his strong nose, and the deep brown eyes. He was certainly handsome and you almost didn’t want to look away. 

“That’s a bit better,” you hummed. His eyes flitted away from yours. You continued the walk down the cobbled path while Din trailed behind at a similar pace to Paz. “And there’s no need to behave like a knight with me.” You ushered him forward and when he hesitated, Paz gave him a slight shove. 

He took careful steps forward and bowed his head. 

“Are you as uncomfortable with this arrangement?” His head snapped back up and you gave him a wavering smile.

“I don’t mean to offend you.”

“Not at all.” You shook your head and approached him, resting a hand on his arm. “Strange, isn’t it? To think you know where your life is headed and suddenly everything is out of your control.” 

Your smile fell. If you had it your way, neither of you would be in this position and you’d return to the carefree attitude you once had, free of crushing obligation.

Din cradled your hand, determination set in his eyes. “Then allow me to make a vow; I will do my best to make you happy.”

Your cheeks were warmed by his words. “You’re certainly the kindest knight I’ve ever met.” You glanced over your shoulder at Paz. “No offense.”

A grunt was Paz’s only response. 

You looked back at Din with a true smile now. “And I will do my best as well.”

[kyberblade]

Our Song Is Not Yet Written (Din x Reader) a Clone Wars!AU - Coming Soon!

He’s a Mandalorian bounty hunter hired by the Jedi council for a sensitive mission. She’s a newly appointed Jedi Knight instructed by the council to accompany him, and aid him however she can.

Their only thing in common?

Aggressive negotiations.

Jedi and Mandalorian’s are sworn enemies, a rift going back centuries. On top of it all, these two can’t seem to be in the same room for more than a few minutes without getting in each other’s face.

Can they figure out how to get along between side eyes and muttered insults? Will the mission be a success, or are they doomed to repeat history?

When the galaxy starts to fall apart, with the crumbling, burning Jedi temple at the heart of it all, they’re forced to make some decisions they never even thought were an option.

Including taking care of a little, green, frog loving Jedi who finds his way to them in the middle of it all.

^^Mood board by @almostfoxglove.^^

Rated: T (I think that’s as high as it will go.)

Warnings: I haven’t even gotten it all down on paper yet, idk. SW typical violence? Swearing. Does sarcasm count? Yearning. Enemies to lovers…. That’s it. Slow burn. Enough said.

Word count: Don’t make me do this.

I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.