FIC RECS: Fics I want to read /Fic Recs / Marchficmadness24 / Marchficmadness26
None of these fics use Y/N and no Real People Fiction.
Comments and reblogs are forever welcomed.
Series:
(â =complete)
Second Chances
Mand'alor!Din x Fem!Reader(oc)
TORMENT â
Din Djarin x Fem!OC
Some Sort of Holy Rite â
Din Djarin x Fem!reader
Despoliation of the Flesh â
A possessed!Din
Your Majesty â
Mand'alor!Din x Fem!Reader
Never Say Never
Queer!Din x Queer/NB!OC
One Shots: Din Djarin
Pretend
Din Djarin x reader (Din helps you fall asleep)
Bridging Dreams
Din Djarin as Norse God Heimdall
Ni Cuy' Val (I Am They)
Din comes out to you
Expectations
Over time your employer becomes your lover. Din exceeds your expectations in every way possible. But when it comes time to finally see him...Din did not expect for you to be the one terrified to see his face.
Six
Six days, six weeks, six months, you and Din go from neighbors to friends to something more
Luck
You and Din are traveling sublight in the replacement Razor Crest. A catastrophic failure interrupts your long delayed confession. A very whumpy hurt/comfort fic. 9-1-1 in space.
Light at the End of the Tunnel
The Dark Troopers proved too much for Din in this alternate season 2 ending.
Time for a haircut, King?
A very kinky fetish indulging one shot, Din discovers he really likes getting his haircut- inspired by fan art
More PPCU âŹď¸
Joel Miller
I Can Carry You
Joel Miller x FEM!OC-One shot
Bookends
Joel Miller x F!reader (enemies to lovers)- oneshot.
Dog Days are Over: A ficlet Series â
August '03, POV -Joel Miller's neighbor in Austin, Denise
Is Joel Okay?
Javier PeĂąa
Happy New Year- Javier PeĂąa x F! reader
Dieter Bravo
Just the Lilac
Dieter Bravo x F!reader
Francisco Morales
Deep Seeded Issues
Frankie Morales x reader & (young) Santiago Garcia x reader - one shot- Dead Dove December fic
Miscellaneous-
Ted Garcia
Mr. Mayor-
a voice kink fic-pwp smut
On Hiatus : Amoke! Amoke! Amoke!- Sarah Sanderson finds herself traveling far far away...
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Consume fic responsibly, heed warnings. Fic is posted for fun and community engagement. Please go ahead and reblog and/or comment. I do NOT consent to any of my work being fed to any A.I; please don't do that
2. if din gets in a bed with blankets does he remove his armor and get under the covers or lay on top of the blankets like heâs in prison
3. does din miss being a child and getting snuggled up under a big comfy blanket without any armor
4. is din completely unable to sleep unless theres beskar digging into his skin
5. is din ever scared one of his five billion worn weapons will be set off in his sleep
6. Would there ever be circumstances that would permit din to remove his armor (save for the helmet of course), take off the flight suit, and put on a set of satin pajamas and sleep under a big fluffy comforter.
7. when was the last time din slept in an actual bed that wasnt the cot on the crest or his twin sized mattress on nevarro
8. Does he have sciatica from sleeping in chairs/sitting up
2. If he feels safe or isnât on a job or doesnât expect to have to fight for his life in the middle of the night, then heâd probably take off the armour. And then heâd slip under the covers. It rarely happens though.
3. Yes. I donât think he lets himself dwell on these thoughts though.
4. No! He can sleep without beskar digging into his skin! Itâs just⌠it takes a lot to make him feel safe enough to take of all that beskar.
5. Nope. Heâs fucking methodical about them and makes sure theyâd never go off. (âIâm a Mandalorian. Weapons are part of my religionâŚâ)
6. See 2. All things considered I guess the stakes are so high it almost never happens. He craves it though. And doesnât admit it to himself. Thatâs why I have to write fics where he does exactly that (amongst other things). Someone has to take care of that man.
I accept Din not sleeping fully armored only when he is at home and all of his safety protocols are in place.
Or in canon divergent fics for the sole purpose of finally letting this man be cozy and get to cuddle and have skin to skin contact...like the precious baby he is. The number of times I've tucked this man in (in writing) I've lost count.
I love the helmet but seeing his face when he's talking like Din hits! He's said so few words on screen when showing his face and that bums me out, ngl
how it works: pick a favourite passage from your work for each category below. it can be a line or a few paragraphs.
Thank you so much for the tags @bergamote-catsandbooks & @kedsandtubesocks đĽ°
i put most of the passages under the cut to keep this from being too long đ
Most Romantic (Or Sweetest):
Surprisingly I had a few that popped into mind for this, but I have to give it to this moment in Dieterâs First Yule (dieter bravo x nb!reader x din djarin)
Dieter thought that true love would hit him like a freight train, that when people said "you know when you know" it meant it was loud in its arrival; a howling, shrieking thing that made sure its presence was known.
And maybe in some cases that's true, maybe that's how it is for others.
But for him? It's this moment right here. A quiet warmth, wrapped up in the embrace of his two loversâ you snuggled in his arms as Din envelops the both of you in the wide breadth of his hold. Din's face nuzzling into Dieter's hair, Dieter's hands pulling you closer into his chest. The three of you swaying in time, enjoying the sounds of the band playing and the joy of the children as they dance and laugh along. The warmth from the fire almost feels like a physical embodiment of the warmth Dieter feels whenever he's with his three favorite people. He knows now there's nothing to be afraid of with his little family here. It's not too much too soon, too good for him to deserve.
It's simply perfect, exactly where he needs to be.
Where he belongs.
You bite your lip to try and keep from sobbing anymore, but the tears flowing from your eyes are harder to control. You flit your eyes up to his face, trying to gauge how heâs feeling from his reaction. You wince slightly when you notice the obvious anger in his eyes. His jaw clicking as he grinds his teeth. His eyes are bouncing around your face slowly, probably trying to formulate a way to tell the girls you had to go. Why would he want to keep you around after something like this after all? Still, thereâs something else in his expression that doesnât make you lose all hope.
"What are you saying?"
Here it comes. The moment youâve been dreading all day. The moment where he realizes youâre nothing but a pathetic mess who only attracts trouble and misery. The moment where he realizes he can do so much better than you and kicks you to the curb. The moment where he realizes he and his girls will be so much happier without you and your baggage. Because after everything youâve been through in your life, how does this still happen? You shouldâve seen the signs, they had to be there, right? Might as well rip off the band-aid.
"I-IâŚJoel, I promise I would never- I mean I wouldn't- if I hadn't been-" You're cut off by your own sobs, unable to get it all out there in the open.
Joel scoots closer and reaches a hand out towards your face, his fingertips brushing your cheek before tucking your hair behind your ear.
"Did someone hurt you?"
Your Angst-iest Writing:
oh Angst, my beloved. I love to inject a little bit of angst into everything I write, but i will always have a special place in my heart for a day beyond this night: one of my earlier pieces and a time where i took my pain and turned it into (spoiler alert) comfort. (joel miller x f!reader)
"You don't look like you're having any fun." You look up to see him staring directly into your eyes. You can finally see his eyes as he takes the sunglasses off and hangs them from his shirt. Theyâre a nice deep brown, warm and smooth like your favorite homemade hot chocolate you make for the holidays.
"How observant of you." You respond dryly. He seems harmless, but youâre still on the fence about this whole thing in general. Sure, the two of you are only talking right now, but did you want it to lead to something else? Did he?Â
"You know, I don't think crying in the corner is the way to get someone to fuck you." Thereâs no malice in his voice, he was more âmatter-of-factâ with his statement, maybe a slight tone of teasing. The corner of your lips slightly quirk in amusement.Â
"What do you mean? It's Hollywood, there's gotta be a perv around here who's dying to fuck the crying girl." You sit back up straighter, moving your legs and curling them under you as you lean sideways into the back of the couch.
He lets out a genuine laugh, not expecting that response from you. "Is that what you're looking for?"Â
You crack a small smile. "No, not really."Â
Your Most Humorous:
y'all can ask my wife, I always say I think I'm hilarious, but I don't really write a lot of humor đ But this scene in Your Lips Are Beautiful, My New Supplier pt. i was really fun to write (dieter bravo x f!reader)
Each thrust, each pass and slide of his cock across your tongue, each nudge and tap tap tap at the back of your throat beckons you closer and closer to the edge. Between fluttering lashes and watery eyes, you focus your gaze on the man before you; lay witness to the self-indulgent way he rolls his hips up into your mouth. Drinking in the way he grabs at your throat with both hands, using you in whatever way he sees fit to satisfy this burning need. Basking in his hungry gaze, his hooded eyes fixed on where you continue to swallow him down, each pant and grunt falling from his lips transforming into a sweet melody of desire.
He takes notice of the effect he has on you. He always does.
âYou gonna come like this? So desperate, so fucked up on chokinâ on my cock- FUCK, yeah baby, take it yeah, take it j-jusâ like that, christ- Â so cock drunk that youâre gonna f-fuckinâ come from it? I bet if I were to reach my hand down now, oh fuc- I bet youâd be drippinâ for me, wouldnât ya darlinâ?â
Your Sexiest:
There's just somethin' about Joel talking dirty while getting his cock sucked... wear me like a locket (Joel Miller x gn!reader)
np tags: @perotovar @rulexofxnines @max--phillips @gothcsz @mandaloriankait @rosharanfiction @mcthsman @ghotifishreads @whocaresstillthelouvre @ozarkthedog @fuzzy @djarins-cyare @missredherring @pedroscurls @cozymochaa @mysterious-musings-chaos-corner @djarinmuse and anyone who wants to play! đŠˇ
(technically x gn!reader but mostly sfw I think? There's language/swearing but that's it)
"What's that noise?"
"What?"
The Mandalorian is pacing aimlessly, like a caged animal, up and down the hull, but pauses, (finally) to consider your question.
You're sitting on the floor of the Crest. You've been locked down for two days, waiting for a bounty, and clearly the boredom is starting to mess with your head. It has a way of drawing out the most irritating details from your surroundings: yesterday, it was the intermittent hiss of the Crest's heating system, and the day before that it was the overhead light that is apparently on it's last legs and only a few days from burning out, if the constant flickering is any indication.
You gesture to where Mando is waiting for you to elaborate.
"There's like a⌠you're jingling, I don't know."
The T visor stares back at you blankly. "What are you talking about?"
"Walk towards me."
Mando obeys and takes a few steps towards you, and then stops short when he notices the soft clinking sound that you noticed about twenty minutes ago. It echoes right after every step, almost like he's wearing bells on his ankles. You'd never paid any attention before, but now that you've noticed it's impossible not to hear it, and it's starting to drive you insane.
"That! That sound, thatâ it's when you walk!"
Mando lifts his arms to test whether the action triggers the noise. Silence. Grogu wanders over and coos, and Mando scoops him up and carries him back to you, jangling the whole way.
"You hear it too, buddy?"
Grogu babbles and nods, which at least rules out that you're hallucinating it. Or you all are, after being cooped up inside for so long.
"But you hear it now?"
"Yeah." He turns in a slow circle, jingling softly with every step.
"D'you have, like, a buckle on your boots or suit that could be loose?"
"Don't think soâŚ"
"What about your armour?"
You know it's made of many plates and components, though admittedly the sound isn't like beskar; this jingling is like tin, thin and quiet. Mando hands Grogu to you and then grabs the edges of few pieces and tugs experimentally.
"I'd probably be dead if any of it was loose enough to sound like that."
"Could be something else in your kit⌠Is it one of your holsters or something? Is your vibroblade loose?"
He checks everything dutifully; detatches both holsters and shakes them for you and the child to see, and then bends down and checks his knife to ensure it is still secured carefully against his calf. No.
Bandolier?
Nope.
Is there something stuck to the bottom of your boots? you suggest desperately, but Mando is already peeling off the rest of his weapons as fast as he can, until he is virtually unarmed and still jingling when he moves. Grogu laughs and reaches for him as he turns, like it's a game.
"It's like now I hear it, I can't stop hearing it," you explain, and Mando nods distractedly.
"I hear it, yeahâŚ"
"Are you wearing anything⌠under your suit?"
You can't even imagine what you're suggesting. He shakes his head slowly.
"Nothing metallic." The helmet gives you a stern look before you can suggest that he remove anything else.
He steps out of the ring of weaponry and ammunition and resumes pacing, but every step has the same jingle whispering just after. Step, jingle. Step, jingle. All the way across the main hull and back.
"It has to be your boots!"
"I know, I knowâŚ" Mando actually sounds a little panicked. "But they shouldn't be, I meanâŚ."
He turns his upper body, back and forth to swing his arms, then shakes out his feet; still clinking, but nothing is visibly moving. Nothing seems to be the source, though the noise persists. Every part of his armour looks impeccable: well-maintained and in place as usual. You watch as he hops up and down a few times for good measure, each time landing with a combined heavy thud and soft jingling of metal, before he turns to you, horrified.
thinking about din djarin hours. typed this in the middle of the night while i couldnt sleep oops
yearning & a din djarin x reader under the cut.
special thanks to @djarins-cyare and @djarinmuse for fried crispics
He would be so hard to work with initially. Not because heâs intentionally standoffish, or because he has any horrible habits, or even because heâs any kind of inherently disagreeable. Heâs just.. blank. Thereâs an⌠uneasiness when you first work as partners. A lack of trust that can only be earned over time, when youâve been under intense pressure and could only rely on the other.
You meet in Peliâs hangar one day while sheâs working on your ship, and unfortunately for him, he caught you on a bad day. He waltzes in while she chirps and chitters the terrible news, so casually as if itâs no sweat off her back: your ship is completely kaputt.
And here comes moneybags, wearing the rarest and most expensive armor in the galaxy, adorable green baby on his back, immediately arranging new modifications for his sleek Razor Crest. Pre-empire, older than dirt, but still borderline luxurious compared to yours.
In moments, your ship goes from âin desperate need of repairâ to âreadily available parts.â Peliâs chipper voice crows your beloved shipâs demise.
âLucky you should ask, Mandoâ just so happens, a shiny new rag-nax converter just fell right into my lap! Probably the only working part on that old clunker.â
You feel like youâre moments from crumbling apart. He tosses her a bag of money like itâs nothing. She has the audacity to carefully pluck a handful of credits from it and unceremoniously plop them into your palm.
Before you can protest, her gallery of droids begin disassembling the hunk of junkâa light-freighter youâve called home for years, modified to the gills to withstand long stints in hyperspace.
The tin man before you has the gall to feign kindness and understanding. His voice is hoarse, almost softâ helmet moving ever so slightly as he speaks.
âIâve lost a ship before, too. ItâsâŚnot easy,â he says, T-visor glancing toward Peli, âIf you need transport somewhereââ
âIâm not keen on spending what little money I have to be ferried by a stranger,â you balk, pocketing the handful of credits, which you really should count, âthanks, butââ
âI insist. Youâre the reason iâm not waiting on jawas so my ship can get fixed.â
And thus began your uneasy alliance. Mando, Peli called him. He wasnât a cruel or dismissive hostâ just⌠quiet. Kept to himself, gave short clipped answers when prompted. Most of the speaking he did was toward his son, who he apparently reserved the greater breadth of his emotional expressiveness forâ rightfully so.
He had to make a couple stops on his way to coruscant, where you insisted on going, much to his displeasureâ but he offered, and he always honors his word. Your time on the Razor Crest was rightfully extended following an unfortunate series of events on Shakariâ a planet Mando seemed to harbor an intense distrust of. You proved resourceful, quick-witted. Skilled with a blaster. Protective of his son. You enjoyed the company, the change in pace from hopping between planets and cities for work.
He rewarded the three of you with fried crispicsâ it was the first time you saw him eat anything. It was the first time he heard your laughâdoubling over as you watched a crispic slowly disappear under his helmet. For the first time in decades, all Din wanted was to hear that sound again.
He hated it, at firstâsomething in his chest felt raw and peeled open. Like a hard-shelled fruit, cracked open and oozing. Before, heâd found you to be a kind guest and competent companionâa good friend. Someone he could count on. But seeing you laughâmove to protect Grogu on instinctâshare your warmth, your food, your thoughts?
He found himself at an impasse. He could keep you around and face the unexpected, inescapable yearning for someone who is right thereâor send you away and try to forget that you exist.
At another time, when he was another kind of man, he would have opted for the latter.
He surprised himself when he went back for the kid, years ago. He did it again when he earnestly asked you to stay. It happened once again, with the fluttering in his stomach when you immediately agreed to join him.
The unspoken oath of reliability came with uneasiness. The believed-to-be unrequited feelings nearly pushed you both over the edge. Your dynamic shiftedâyou were both new fixed objects in one anotherâs periphery, the shaken routine of accounting for someone elseâs safety throwing you both off-balance. Still, youâre both nothing if not adaptable.
Months into your partnership, he brings you to his home on Nevarro. Its the quaintest little cabin. A sleek starfighter parked across from two blurgs, and just enough space for a busy father and his young son. You were only stopping in, refueling and gathering supplies for the coming journey. You were still getting used to working for the New Republic, even as an independent contractor.
You sit side-by-side on his porch one night. The night air crisp in your lungs, the moon illuminating the countrysideâ the city of Nevarro glowing just off in the distance. While youâre grateful youâve outgrown your need to fill the silence, Din sits beside you, silently missing your nervous chatter. Tonight, he is the one who breaks the silence.
âThank you.â
Your head turns toward him, brow furrowed. Before you can ask, he continues.
âYouâve been a pleasure to work with. Grogu and I can rely on you. That isnât something I.. hold lightly. Thank you.â His voice, even dulled by his helmetâs modulator, holds a greater reverence; this isnât a simple admission of appreciation. The warmth behind his words is almost startling.
You can feel the skin of your neck prickle with warmth, your pulse buzzing. The night air suddenly thickens.
âThank you, Mando, I-â
âDin.â
You pause. You swear youâre looking directly into his eyes behind that visor, and something shiftsâlike the change in atmospheric pressure just before a storm hits.
âThatâs yourâ Din?â
âDin Djarin.â
He slowly pulls off one glove, your own breath quickening at the sight of his golden skin. He cups the back of one of your hands. He pulls your hand up, towards his helmet, reaching up with his opposite hand; with a soft hiss, the seal is released.
He pulls your hand so your fingertips reach just past the brim of his helmet. Soft lips press against your fingertips, the soft prickle of facial hair dragging against your skin. Every nerve in your body feels like itâs on fireâdizzied by the warmth, the slight moisture of his lips as he presses a kiss to your skin.
He slowly pulls your hand away, gingerly sets it back down, and pulls his leather glove back on.
You lean forward and press your lips against the curve of his beskar helm, just beside his T-visor.
