Laid Bare

Mandalorian Fan Compiles All Grogu's Baby Noises

star wars edit with WW84 trailer music | by voordeel_ts [x]

this is commander wolffe and you cannot change my mind

Summary: Din always cums inside of you. No exceptions. You never really understood why until now...

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Fem!reader, darkish Din?, innocent reader, p0rn with very little plot, ✨breeding kink✨, dom!din 😈 , established relationship, fingering, unprotected piv sex, degradation, no use of y/n

AN: The horny demon has possessed me again👻. but breeding kink is always activated when it comes to dindin tbh. Writing this made me 🌊 whoops🤰🏻

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Din always cums inside you. Always. No exceptions. Even when you would suck his dick he would never finish in your mouth. He would stop and manhandle you onto the nearest surface (sometimes the floor) so he could pump his cum inside you. It was all practice for the day he would finally fuck you with a purpose. To make new life.

When that day came there would be no implant stopping him. Din knew he would fill you over and over until his seed took and then keep fucking you through your pregnancy as your body swelled. Just the thought of breeding you would unleash dark thoughts in his head. It wasn't just the act that got him excited, it ran deeper than that. Though you had only been intimate for a little while, Din knew you were his soulmate. He felt a primal and romantic desire to cement his devotion inside you.

Din had given you an old holopad with the scripture of the Mandalore so you could learn more about his culture. You were fascinated by the section relating to fertility and breeding. It was quite detailed as copulation was central to the survival of the culture and continuation of ones clan. You actually learned a lot about your own anatomy as you were fairly inexperienced before meeting Din. You couldn’t help but shift in your seat as you read some of the descriptions of positions and toys used. You thought it was odd Din never mentioned this part of his culture when it was so important. He had shown you his face. Wasn’t breeding the next step mandated by the creed? You couldn’t help but feel a little rejection, assuming that his silence meant he didn’t want that next step with you.

Of course, you didn't know that after you went to sleep Din would check your reading statistics relishing how you spent the most time reading the breeding section. You didn't know he saw you in the fresher weighing your breasts and caressing your stomach in front of the mirror like you were already carrying his baby. It took everything in his power that day not to rip out that implant and breed you then and there. He was determined to make the first breeding special, but every day his restraint grew weaker. He nearly lost it at the last fuel stop when he saw you kindly braiding a little girl's hair. In his dark thoughts, he knew he had ran out of ways to tell you he loved you. He needed to show it by marking you permanently.

Oblivious to his inner thoughts, you continued to be worried by Din's continued silence. You were too shy to outright ask him why he hadn't fucked a baby in you yet. Instead, you asked him if you should get your implant replaced as it was nearing time. He said yes, which only worsened your insecurities. You left in a huff, going to the nearest healer at the next fuel stop.

"Where were you, ad’ika?” Din demanded as soon as you came back to the Razor Crest. You were an hour late from when he said to meet back.

“I was getting my implant replaced, like you told me to do.” You couldn't help but let some of your annoyance color your tone.

“Your implant..?” It clicked when you held up your bandaged arm. “Oh.”

“Problem is…” You walked past him into the crest. “They didn’t have any replacements so in the mean time you’re going to have to pull out or something…” You said nervously.


“That’s not going to happen.” Din growled lowly. He closed the hatch door stalking over to you. “I only cum inside your little pussy. You think I’m going to stop just because you took out the implant?” He tilted his helmet at you. The hour spent worrying about where you were made him sound angrier than he really was.

“But-" Your eyes widened. “I’ll get pregnant, Din.”

“Yes, cyar’ika.” Din purred feeling blood rush between his legs.

“I’m confused.” You looked up into the black void of his visor. “You told me to get the implant and so I thought you didn’t want to-with me-” You felt your voice climb higher in your distress.

“Silly girl…” Din tugged you into his chest. “I was trying to wait until we found a place to settle down.” He smiled at your look of surprise. He pulled off his helmet, his eyes finding yours.

"Really?" You felt yourself relax a little now that you could see his face. You thought it was sweet that he planned on waiting for the right time.

"Really." He caressed your face gently with his leather covered fingers. "I choose you in all things. I want you to bear my children. But do you want that, mesh'la?"

"I do." You replied in a soft voice.

“Then I guess I’m going to have to breed you a little earlier than I planned…”

You gulped feeling a heavy tug in your lower stomach.

“On the bed, cyar’ika.” He ordered, his voice growing huskier.

“Now?” You asked incredulously.

“Right now.” Din nodded his eyes lit up with excitement and determination. Now that he knew you were vulnerable and wanting, he wasn’t going to waste any time.

“But the implant will be in my system for another few days.”

“You sure about that?” Din smirked.

You shivered slightly feeling yourself grow wet. From either his excitement or your own, you were not sure. You walked to his small bunk and sat on the thin mattress. Your heart was starting to race. You tried to remember the various pieces of advice from the scripture but it was hard when Din was staring at you like he was going to consume you.

“There’s no need to be nervous, my love.” He kneeled before you, tilting your face towards his. “You were made for this.” His smooth voice calmed your nerves.

“I just- I want it to work.” You admitted.

“Kriff.” Din groaned. You were riling him up and you didn’t even know. “It will work. I’ll make it work. You just be your perfect self.” He leaned forward and kissed you softly, loving how you melted against him.

You had always given him your full trust but now it was so much more than that. He had your body entirely. Soon his claim on you would not be purely sentimental. It would be physical. While he knew you loved him, he still felt his cock ache at the thought of further tying you to him forever. Keeping you bred constantly so you'd never leave his side.

“Take my armor off, ad’ika.” Din murmured. You swallowed hard, reaching up with shaking hands and slowly removed his chest plate, his paldrons, piece by piece exposing him to you. It was sacred to touch his armor and even more special to remove it. You handled each piece gently, setting them on the ground in an orderly fashion. As you reached his flight suit you saw he was throbbing under his pants. You could feel the warmth emanating from his cock. You looked up at him through your lashes, waiting for your next instruction. “Take off my clothes now.” You nodded, stripping down his flight suit to his under layers. You pulled his gloves off one by one. Then you pulled his shirt off, smiling as his bare chest was revealed covered in scars you had memorized. Din looked perfectly content. Patient. When you reached his waistband, some of that patience slipped. He stepped out of his pants kicking them to the side. You honed in on his cock bobbing between you two. He had never given you such power before: to be fully clothed while he is bare.

“Now me, please.” You held your arms out for him to remove your shirt.

“You have to do it yourself, ad’ika." Din shook his head. "You have to show me that you give me permission.” You felt your cheeks heat up and some fight rise up in you. You were so used to him taking care of everything. “This is the way.” Din added with a stroke of your cheek.

You were much less coordinated with your own disrobing, pulling off your shirt and pants off almost at the same time, leaving them tangled up on the floor. You unclipped your chest band and shimmied off your panties. The cold air of the ship barely affected you as you were so worked up already. You were already so wet, like your body knew this time was different.

“Eager girl. So eager.” Din whispered to himself finally putting his hands on your naked thighs.

You laid back on the mattress, spreading your legs but Din doesn't touch you yet.

“I need you to ask for it.” He asked, voice tight. Restraint slipping.

“Please fuck me.” You answered automatically.

“No, ad’ika… ask for it.” He repeated.

Your mouth went dry finally understanding what he was implying. “Please breed me.”

At that request, he was on you in a second. He kissed you hard and passionately, his scruff burning your soft skin. His rough tongue filling your mouth. His fingers entering your wet opening without warning. No layers lay between as his body covered yours. You grabbed his cock as it lay near your hip feeling the precum slide through your fist. His appreciable length meant more now than just increased pleasure.

“Were they really out of replacements, ad'ika?” He taunted as he thrust his finger into you “Or were you just so greedy to be bred that you forced my hand.”

“They-“ you gasped into his mouth. “They were.”

“I’ll believe you but your pussy is saying something different.” Din chuckled rubbing your clit now with his other hand. “She doesn’t care if we’re on a nice planet or if the timing is right. She just wants to be bred now.” He pulled your nipple between his lips.

“Din!” You cried feeling your orgasm creep up on you.

“Cum on my fingers, ad'ika. I need this cunt to get nice a wet for me.”

“I’m-Oh Maker!” The wave of your pleasure peaked and then crashed over you, making you twitch below him. You could feel your pussy spasming around his fingers. You heard his grunt of approval. He pulled his fingers back and licked the cum from them. He could swear it tasted sweeter this time. Your vision cleared as he lined himself up with your still fluttering entrance and pressed in. He hissed as your hot walls squeezed his length all the way to the base. The sensation was all the more intoxicating to him because he knew you were unprotected.

“Stars this pussy...“ Din sighed pulling your legs around his waist thrusting harder now. "You were made for this, cyar'ika."

He had spent many nights after you had fallen asleep thinking about how he would breed you but none of those thoughts compared to the real thing. Your pussy was always better than anything he could ever dream of and he was about to make it even better.

“Din.” You moaned breathily beneath him not every sure what you were moaning about. Just how perfect he felt. He laced his hands with yours above your head as he fell into his usual hard rhythm. His determined eyes were trained on where your bodies were joined. The sound of his grunting and growling rolled over you in delicious waves. All you could do was answer them with your own cries. You felt your eyes start to roll back as he found that perfect spot. His noises the only thing keeping you from drowning in the pleasure.

“I can’t wait to see you pregnant with our child“ Din moaned, looking down at you. "You'll look so kriffing beautiful."

You agreed. You felt a surge of affection for the man fucking you. From the beginning all you wanted was to ease his scars, bring him happiness, and now you wanted to give him a family. It was your purpose. You placed a hand on his chest feeling his heart beat through his sweat coated skin. “Please." you whimpered. "I want to give you everything you want.” You kissed him as deeply as you could from this angle.

“Kriffing hell...” Din pinned you down to the bed using one hand to hold your neck down and the other to grab your hip and pull you up against him. Your hands gripped the thin sheet for leverage to help meet his every thrust. You felt weightless under his man handling. Your moans sounded tighter and more high pitched with his hand around your throat.

He had fucked you in this position many times before but it felt different today. He was harsher. Like he was after his own pleasure. Like the love was gone but you knew it was really stronger than ever. It was the deep root of the passion, the fire behind the purpose. You fucking loved it. You loved the sight of him, powerful above you, executing your shared purpose so beautifully.

He was nearly pulling all the way out and slamming back in with every thrust now. His balls slapped against you. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the air. His chest broke out into a light sweat, his thick neck strained as he clenched his jaw. His grunting became louder and lewder. He was trying to mold you to his cock and only his cock. Kissing your cervix every time. You gushed around him knowing he was using you to get himself off. Knowing he was breeding you.

“Good girl cyar'ika, taking your breeding. You like it when I put you in your place?” He panted, squeezing your neck to get your attention. He was looking down at you, his eyes molten.

“Yes!” You cried breathlessly.

“Because you're my little breeding slut?”

“Yes!" You nodded frantically. You didn't even care about the degrading term because you were his breeding slut right now and that was exactly what you wanted. Din shifted his weight forward, his gruff voice right against your ear now.


“No one else will have you, ner cyar’ika. As long as I live. I would kill a hundred men for this pussy. A thousand.” He snarled into your ear. “My” thrust “perfect” thrust “pussy” and then in a choked gasp he growled, “Say it. Tell me who this pussy belongs to.” He squeezed your neck again.

“You- Din! This” you squealed. “I b-belong to you.” You could feel your body react to your admission. Opening up more somehow. Din grazed a spot deep that made you gasp. “Din, I’m gonna-“ he hit it again this time dragging his cock head hard into it. You hadn’t realized you were that close but you were cumming again. Mouth open in a silent scream. Toes curling. Ass clenching as your hips jerked up. It was too much. Din's hands flew to your hips to keep himself inside you. You felt your body melt and reform then melt again. Your pussy was squeezing him like a vice, milking his length.

"Beg me." Din said urgently, holding your face, making you look him in the eye while he kept pounding you. His purposeful rhythm starting to break down in desperation. "Beg for my seed.”

"Please...I want it." You whispered, tightening your legs around his back and digging your nails into his back.

“I’m going to fill you up.” Din promised with his whole soul. “Right against your womb. Where it belongs.”

"Please..." You needed it. You needed it. You were his breeding slut at this moment, cock dumb and willing beneath him. You loved him so much you let him reduce you to your base instinct, your base purpose. Your body was fertile and you were powerless to stop what was about to happen. Fuck, you wouldn’t dream of stopping it.

At your final plea, Din felt his cock twitch and then suddenly his vision went white as his orgasm shot down his spine. His hips snapped forward instinctively causing him to shoot cum deep into you. His mouth fell open in pleasure. “F-fuck…” His back tightened and stance widened making his whole body coordinate to serve only one purpose: to push his cum as deep as possible. You whined, clenching weakly and watching the pleasure you gave him consume him. Watched as everything his body had to offer, his purpose, flowed into you. Spurt after spurt.

Din pulled back, his wet flesh dragging against your hot walls. “Take it all.” He prayed, slamming into you again to the hilt. He was still cumming inside you. His balls, dripping with your combined slick, pressed right against your ass. He ground himself into you trying to deliver every last drop from his aching spent cock. You imagined what his seed must look like right now, pooling at your cervix and spilling into your womb. Taking hold. Joining with you. It was a new level of intimacy that you knew you wouldn't be able to go without ever again.

The white noise in Din's ears faded as he drifted back to reality. He placed his hands on your stomach as if he could feel his cum inside you. He pulled out. Too soon, you thought.

“I don’t want to see a drop spill out, ad’ika.” Din kissed you sweetly, though his tone was far more commanding.

You clenched your sore muscles and tilted your ass up further to keep any of his cum from sliding out, still you felt some leaking out of your pussy.

“It's falling out!” You warned, your voice hoarse.

“We can’t have that.” Din growled using his finger to collect it and shove it back in your still fluttering hole. He kept his finger in like a plug. He fell down next to you keeping a hand on your stomach as if he was already protecting the child that would grow there.

“Thank you for choosing me.” He kissed you slowly. He wanted the first time to be special and it was. You didn’t need a fancy bed or pretty clothes. You just needed him.

“Mmm I think it worked, Din.” You sighed, joining his hand over your stomach.

“Oh my sweet ad’ika” Din smiled at your innocence. “This is just the beginning."

He started moving his finger in and out of you. Just wait until you see the breeding plug and collar he got made just for you...

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Taglist: @onesmokinbabe @heythere-mel @pinkninja200 @jpmarchs @morrison-mercury @phantombaby @greeneyedblondie44 @shadowchancorgi15 @fangirl-316 @what-iwish-you-knew @ajeff855 @my-own-oracle

I just saw a beautiful explanation of the “Din Grogu” name and I thought I’d pass it along!

Essentially, Din is currently sponsoring Grogu as a Mandalorian apprentice. This is because Grogu cannot yet speak the Creed. That being said, the name “Din Grogu” is showing that Grogu is still too young to have spoken the Creed and still under Din’s sponsorship.

Once Grogu can speak and take the Creed, the “Din” will be dropped and he will become “Grogu Djarin,” seeing as he will no longer require Din’s sponsorship. But having Din’s first name there for right now tells others that Grogu is still young and under his father’s sponsorship.

Still guts me that the background song when Din is arguing with Bo in the droid bar is the same as when he’s preparing to take off his helmet on Morak

I was listening to my favorite NSFW audio creator last night and it was a “fucking you awake but you’re kind of being a brat” type of situation and it had me thinking about how Boba would react in this scenario….

This is just pure smut under the cut

Keep reading

Unrestrained

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: Explicit, 18+ Word Count: 8k Warnings: sex pollen and therefore DUB CON, use of restraints, dirty talk, descriptions of previous injuries/blood/violence, masturbation, unprotected p-in-v, oral (m and f receiving), RIMMING (f receiving) Summary: When Mando is drugged on a job, he begs you to restrain him because he knows he won’t be able to keep his hands off you—but the restraints don't hold. Notes: Thank you to the anon that suggested this alternate version of Unfettered!

Masterlist

You were sitting on a crate in the hull, cleaning your disassembled blaster when the ramp jolted and started to lower with a mechanical whir. You knew it was Mando returning from his solo job—the nav had beeped a little bit ago to announce that he was in range—so you didn’t bother looking up from your task when he strode into the ship.

He slapped the control on the wall and kept his hand pressed firmly to the panel, frozen in place, as the ramp closed slowly. You caught the limited movement in your periphery while you worked, thinking vaguely that he must be exhausted.

“How’d it go?” you asked, rubbing an oily rag along the barrel of your blaster.

Mando didn’t respond. No sigh, no grunt. Nothing.

That grabbed your attention. Mando was never talkative, often relying on one-word rejoinders, but he always answered direct questions, especially from you. Lately, he was even initiating conversations during the long stints in hyperspace between one bounty and the next.

You looked up and were surprised to see that there was no quarry in sight—it was just Mando standing at the far end of the hull, his gloved hand still pressed to the control panel like he couldn’t bring himself to move. He looked… agitated. You could read the tension in his body; the fist hanging by his side was clenched, and his shoulders were drawn up.

“Mando?” you asked, the confusion apparent in your voice, as you set your blaster down and got to your feet.

“No,” he gritted. Without moving from his position, he whipped his head around and held up a palm to halt your advance. “Don’t… Don’t come any closer.”

“What—?”

He pointed a threatening finger at your chest. “Stay. There.”

You were so shocked by his unexpected command that you obeyed, staying rooted to the spot.

That’s when you really took in his appearance: he was shaking, the hand pointed at your chest trembling slightly. His armor was dirty—smeared with what was unmistakably blood—and his cape had a new ragged tear up the side. His chest was heaving as if breathing alone was a herculean effort.

When he saw that you were listening to him, he nodded stiffly and wrenched his hand away from the wall. Then, with leaden steps, he walked over to a large storage crate and dragged it into the middle of the floor. Each of his mechanical movements looked like it required every ounce of his control to execute.

“Why—?”

He grunted, ignoring your question again. You watched in stunned silence as he stripped off all of his weapons, even his vambraces and spare ammo, with stunted, jerky motions and dropped them into an unceremonious pile on the floor next to him. Mando usually spent hours caring for those weapons, so it was jarring to see them discarded carelessly like that.

He crouched and ripped the lid off the crate, letting it clatter to the floor. He rooted around, and when he straightened a moment later, he was holding chains—thick, hefty chains with menacingly large iron links—in his gloved hands. You watched in confusion as he set down the heavy tangle on the floor with a clank and hunted through the strands until he located the ankle restraints. He extracted them and began to fasten them around his own ankles, one at a time. Your jaw dropped.

“Mando, what the fuck are you doing?”

He whipped his helmet up to look at you and commanded: “Help me with this.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together: “Why?”

“Just do it.”

“I’m not going to chain—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, he snarled: “Just shut up and fucking help me.”

You stood there, dumbstruck, and cycled through several emotions in rapid succession. Your initial shock was immediately replaced by irritation as you registered his rude words. Anger flickered brightly across your consciousness, but it was quickly supplanted by confusion: he had never spoken to you in that tone of voice, let alone told you to shut up. Finally, fear settled in, thick and weighty, like a fog threatening to choke you.

You approached him slowly, kneeling on the other side of the tangle of chains.

“What happened to you?” you asked gently, reaching out to touch his arm.

He jerked away immediately, so quickly that he almost lost his balance. He thrust out an arm to steady himself on the wall behind him.

“Don’t—don’t touch me. Please.” His voice was suddenly small, almost quavering.

Your heart rate kicked up again.

“Mando, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s going on.”

He looked up at you, voice slightly softer but still firm and urgent. “Help me with this, then I’ll explain.”

You stared at him.

“Please,” he repeated—beseechingly.

He was begging you. That was when the real fear sank in.

Without another word, you helped him get the wrist cuffs in place. Then, standing beside him, you followed his directions as he instructed you to secure the ends of the four chains: two to bolts on the wall, and two to bolts on the floor. The two on the wall were affixed to his arm restraints, the two on the floor to his ankles. Initially, you left slack in the chains, plenty of room for him to move, but he insisted that you tighten them enough so that his back was almost flush to the wall and he couldn’t extend his hands out any further than the natural reach of his long arms.

He sighed, shoulders slumping in relief, when you clicked the last restraint in place.

You looked up at him. Mando was strung up against the wall of his ship, arms hanging by his sides, suspended about a foot away from his body, and his legs were splayed slightly in a wide stance, boots a couple feet apart.

It was quite a sight.

If you weren’t so worried about what was happening, you’d definitely be having some… ideas. They were completely inappropriate ideas, especially considering the stark reality that the two of you were nothing more than hunting partners.

“Th-thank you,” he breathed. “Now, p-please, step away from me.”

You reluctantly complied, taking several careful steps backward, keeping your gaze trained on his visor.

“Okay, I did what you asked. Now tell me what happened.”

His breathing was still labored. “H-hit with a bio-dart, aphrodisiac drug. Strong… Heard of them before, but never encountered one until now.”

You gave him a skeptical look, raising one eyebrow. “An aphrodisiac drug as a weapon? I thought that was a myth.”

“Apparently not.”

You surveyed him again as the reality of the situation washed over you.

He continued, words spilling out of his mouth in a rush like he was running out of time to explain: “H-had to get back to the ship. Didn’t trust myself. Left the body there. I’ll go back for it later. No-no time to bring it back. I had-had to—before I—”

His whole body tensed suddenly, cutting off his own sentence, and he threw his head back as an ugly sound tore from his chest.

You stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Fuck, are you okay? Does it hurt?”

You panicked, desperately trying to think of some way to help him as he flailed.

He writhed for another moment then thankfully stilled, slowly raising his head to look at you. He sounded wrecked when he spoke again: “No, no. It doesn’t hurt, not exactly. Not yet at least. It’s—it feels like…” He trailed off, glancing toward the floor.

You prompted him: “Like what?”

Before he could answer you, another wave wracked through him, and he thrashed against the restraints. You fought the urge to cross the space and soothe him. Even in the most stressful, life-threatening situations, Mando was always the picture of composure: calm, collected, calculating. So, it was unnerving to see him like this—overcome and out of control. You were itching to touch him, to ease his discomfort somehow. After another moment, he stilled.

When his visor found your face again, he rasped: “It feels like if I don’t fuck you right now, I’m going to die.”

His words hit you like a slap in the face. You swallowed hard, staring at him… all thoughts suddenly gone, mind completely blank.

He filled the fraught silence, straining forward slightly, his voice dipping an octave: “I want to fuck you so badly, baby.”

Your heart dropped at the unexpected pet name, a wave of wetness unapologetically gathering between your thighs.

Fuck. This was not at all the situation you had imagined—Mando drugged and chained up—but you had definitely dreamt of him saying some version of those words to you… on a regular basis, like maybe every night you ever spent with him on the Razor Crest.

He spoke again, trembling as he said: “This is fucking torture, you standing there, looking like that. And I can’t even fucking touch you. Shit. Shit. Shit. I want to—I want to touch you.”

Without your explicit permission, your feet moved you one step forward.

Mando shook his head back and forth violently, helmet jerking like he was trying to clear unwelcome thoughts by sheer force. “Dank ferrik, this is really fucking with my head. I’m-I’m sorry—I’m not myself.”

Only one question came to mind, one thing you were desperate to know.

“So…it’s just the drug?”

You waited, holding your breath, hoping he knew exactly what you were asking him.

He snapped his helmet up, meeting your gaze. He sounded surprisingly sober for a moment. “No. It’s not,” he stated bluntly. “I always want to fuck you. It’s just now I… I can’t control that urge.”

Suddenly, the drafty hull felt hot, suffocatingly so. You inched forward again.

His confession flooded you with courage. “What if… what if I want you to fuck me?”

Mando whined, body convulsing, shoulders collapsing forward as far as they could against his arm restraints. You were so shocked by the foreign sound that you actually took a step back—you’d never, ever heard him make a noise remotely close to that. You’d cauterized gaping wounds for him, removed a jagged blade from deep in his thigh, witnessed him take a blaster bolt to the side, sutured countless lacerations with no local anesthetic… but you’d never heard him whine. It was high and needy, desperate and pathetic as it grated through his modulator.

“Don’t-don’t say that, please… don’t fucking say that to me right now… I c-can’t handle it.”

The chains creaked ominously, the links clanking together as he shifted against them.

“But, I mean it. I always want you to fuck me,” you continued, ignoring Mando’s feeble requests.

You squeaked and flinched back again when Mando suddenly lunged forward, hands gripping the chains and pulling hard. His arms and legs were immediately wrenched back, his beskar-clad torso straining toward you. He panted: “Gods, you don’t know how long I’ve dreamt of you saying-saying that to me, mesh’la.”

Even through his visor, his stare was scalding, his gaze scorching your skin as he surveyed you, helmet trailing all the way down and back up your body.

You stepped toward him.

He jerked his head to the side suddenly, tearing his gaze away, and whined again—more quietly this time, more resigned. When he said the next words, you could hear how tightly his jaw was set: “Not like this. I-I won’t fuck you for the first time like this. I-I won’t forgive myself if I hurt you.”

You took another, much larger step forward.

“You won’t hurt me.”

He whipped his helmet up to watch you again. His voice was dangerous now, menacing, as he growled: “Yes, yes—I will. You don’t understand what this feels like. I can’t control myself—it’s a fucking miracle I didn’t take you the moment I walked back onto the ship and saw you sitting there—so kriffing gorgeous—and it’s only gotten worse.” He let out another frustrated growl, then continued: “I don’t just want to fuck you, I want to wreck you, I want-want to wreck you until you can’t walk and then fuck you again. I want to tear you apart. Ruin you with my cock.”

He said those words like a threat, but you couldn’t help the way they sent heat coursing through your veins, a shiver down your spine. You stepped toward him one more time. You were almost within his reach.

“DON’T,” he ordered, voice deadly serious. “Really, I can’t control myself. S-stay back.”

Even as he told you to stay away, he reached a hand out for you, legs and arms straining forward, trying to get closer to you. His mouth was saying one thing, his body begging for another.

You stayed where you were, just out of his reach, and asked: “How long will this last?”

“I don’t know… I hope no longer than a few hours. It’s already been at least an hour since I got hit. But it’s-it’s gotten worse.”

You could hear the exhaustion and exertion in his voice. He was barely holding it together, and you knew you needed to do whatever you could to make this easier on him, not harder. So, you shoved down your own selfish desire and with great reluctance, stepped away from him. You sat back down on the crate across from him and said, “Then, I guess… we’ll wait it out.”

He nodded vaguely, leaning against the wall behind him with a loud sigh.

You sat in uncomfortable silence for several long minutes. You busied yourself by reassembling your blaster. Every so often, the restraints jangled loudly when Mando was wracked by a brutal surge of need and struggled violently. You tried your best not to flinch every time it happened.

Eventually, he disrupted the silence by saying your name.

Before you even looked up at him, though, you knew—you knew that Mando was gone.

His voice had dropped several octaves, and it sounded different… honeyed, charming, drawling, depraved. It was fucking sultry. When you looked up at him, you immediately noticed his body language. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what exactly had changed, but something about him was off.

All you knew was that, suddenly, a dangerous stranger was standing across the hull from you. For the first time, you were truly grateful for those thick fucking chains.

His voice was smooth and calm when he said: “I need your help, sweetheart.”

You looked away from him, studying the silver sheen of the blaster in your hand instead. The way he rasped the word sweetheart would be burned into your brain for the rest of your life. It made your whole body feel hot.

“Come over here, beautiful,” he coaxed. “I’ve wanted you for so long, and now I know you want me too—you can’t hide from me anymore, princess.”

Princess. You didn’t answer. You just sat in silence and shrieked internally.

He said your name again—this time more urgently—then abruptly changed his tack: “Maker, this hurts so much now, it burns—I need you to make it stop hurting. Be a good girl and help me.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek and shifted on the crate, pressing your thighs together.

When you didn’t respond, he tested a third approach, his voice pitching low and sensual: “Please, cyar’ika, don’t you want me? I’m so fucking hard for you right now. I’ll make you feel so, so good, make you cum again and again. Just-just let me touch you. Let me show you.”

You stayed quiet, trying to remember how to breathe. He was playing all the angles—appealing to your conscience and your libido. The second strategy was harder to ignore.

“Come here and feel how hard I am for you.”

Fuck.

His voice was pure sin, purring and growling for you. He was fucking luring you in with it, and he seemed to know it. He said your name one more time, and your resolve cracked a little.

You looked up at him, setting your blaster down beside you.

Mando seemed encouraged by the eye contact, trying one last tactic. He cocked his helmet and rasped, “Are you wet for me?”

Your eyes widened, but you somehow managed to keep your lips pressed together.

Yes.

He continued as if you’d answered aloud, as if he already knew you were: “Show me.”

You stared at him, unmoving.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he nodded down at your lap, his voice suddenly much lighter, as if he was thrilled to have identified this loophole. “You don’t even have to touch me. You can keep your clothes on. It’s completely safe—just-just touch yourself for me...and I’ll tell you all the things I’ve imagined doing to your body.”

Sweet fucking hell.

Every part of you was screaming to listen to him. You wanted this. You wanted this just as much as he needed it.

“Please,” he whined, rolling his head to the side as if the thought alone made him burn.

“I don’t know—”

He fixed his visor on your face again. “I need—I need this, mesh’la. And so do you. It’ll help. I know it will. Don’t you want to help me? And don’t you deserve to feel good?”

Fuck… yes.

And he was right after all: what was the risk? It would be completely safe. He was shackled to the wall for fuck's sake.

You nodded dazedly, fairly sure this was somehow still a bad idea but struggling to find the will to care.

Mando was thrilled. “Fuck, yes, go on,” he encouraged, straining forward against the chains. “Feel your pussy for me.”

You surrendered to the rasping command of his voice immediately: you scooted back on the crate to lean against the wall, your legs crossed and knees open, and slid a hand under your waistband. Mando’s helmet followed your movements like his life depended on it. You could hear the staticky pull of his labored breath through the modulator. When your fingers found your clit and you whimpered and looked up at him, he let out a stuttering groan—a filthy, orgasmic sound that echoed through the hull.

“That’s right, show me how wet you are.”

Before you had the chance to think too hard about what you were doing, you swiped your fingers through your soaked folds and extracted your hand carefully, holding it out in front of you, so Mando could see—even across the hull—how your fingertips glistened wetly under the lights. He surged forward at the sight, the chains creaking threateningly, and hummed deep in his chest.

“Mmmmm,” he purred, slumping back against the wall. “I can’t wait to taste you. Make yourself cum for me now, and later, I’ll taste you and make you cum again. And again.”

You shoved your hand back into your pants and shuddered when you started rubbing slow circles over your clit, your eyes fixed on the hungry void of Mando’s visor. He wrapped his gloved fingers around the thick chains and clenched his fists tight. Every single muscle in his body seemed taut, his spine perfectly rigid as he leaned forward again to watch.

He quirked his helmet to the side suggestively and spoke softly while you touched yourself, painting you a picture: “Later, when you let me down from here, I’m going to take my time with you. I’m going to strip you bare and put a blindfold over your eyes, so I can kiss every inch of your body. I’m going to drag my tongue through your wet cunt and suck your clit until you come apart for me.”

The links squeaked as Mando shifted, slowly struggling further and further forward.

“I’m going to make you cum on my tongue so hard it hurts, and then I’m going to kiss it better.”

You whimpered, your fingers feeling like an inadequate replacement for his mouth, but his words were making up the difference. He was shoving you towards a climax without even touching you.

“Are you going to let me fuck you after I make you cum on my tongue?”

You nodded, too overwhelmed to scrape together a verbal reply, your fingers slipping wetly over the peak of your throbbing clit.

“Good... because I’ve thought about fucking you on every surface of this ship, beautiful. I’ve made myself cum thinking about bending you over the exact crate you’re sitting on right now and making you take my cock from behind. I’ve imagined fucking you up against the ladder with your legs wrapped around my waist. And whenever we’re in the cockpit together, I always think about pulling you onto my lap and letting you ride me right there in the pilot’s seat.”

You whined and squeezed your eyes shut, all those images too much to take. You moved your fingers faster, and you could feel Mando’s restraint slipping the closer you got to orgasm.

“Yes, just like that—I need it,” he panted. “I need you. Look at me when you cum.”

Your eyes snapped open at that, and you saw that he was actively fighting his way forward now, pulling until all four of the chains were taut, his boots slipping over the metal floor, his voice getting louder and louder as he talked you through it.

“I want—I want to see it. Cum for me.”

You were so close—your head lolling back against the wall, your eyes falling closed as your body started to tense—when an angry metallic whine and the pattering of several small objects hitting the floor made you freeze and snap your eyes open. Your hand was still shoved down the front of your pants, your fingers paused against your clit, as you watched the durasteel panel that Mando’s right wrist restraint was fastened to began to peel away from the framework of the ship, several of the bolts already missing.

The piercing sound seemed to jolt Mando out of his drugged haze. As you watched, he seemed to turn back into himself again. He stepped back against the wall, putting as much distance as he could between the two of you.

“Run.”

You withdrew your hand in a quick motion. “But I—”

“Do it,” he growled, his chest heaving. “Now. The cockpit. Lock the doors behind you—the manual emergency lock, so I can’t override it.”

You stayed rooted to the spot, trying to work through a storm of conflicting emotions in the space of a second. You didn’t really want to run; you wanted to stay, you wanted to cum, you wanted to help him. You wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt himself breaking out of those restraints.

Mostly, you wanted him to fuck you.

“Go.”

Even as he ordered you to leave, Mando grasped and yanked the chain connected to the loose panel, twisting his torso and leaning forward to make full use of his body weight. The durasteel barely put up a fight. It fell away from the wall almost immediately, crashing to the floor.

In the tense silence that followed, Mando lifted his head to look at you.

In a ferocious voice you didn’t recognize, he roared, “RUN.”

Adrenaline seemed to take over then. You jumped to your feet and hauled yourself up the ladder as fast as you could, flinging yourself into the cockpit and slamming your palm against the control panel to shut the heavy doors behind you. You forced the manual lock into place with a satisfying click, then with your back against the cold metal of the doors, you slid to the floor.

You waited there, taking deep breaths to calm your pounding heart, and looked around the dimly lit cockpit. Some buttons flashed on the console, and a smattering of muted stars was visible through the viewport over the pointed tops of the trees. You could hear Mando’s ongoing struggle down in the hull: a series of grunts, bellowed curses, loud metallic scrapes and whines.

After several minutes, there was one final crash, and a victorious roar rang through the ship. Then, silence fell.

He was free.

Some combination of relief and excitement overwhelmed you, sending a heady cocktail of adrenaline and desire skittering through your veins. You waited with baited breath, every inch of your skin tingling with exhilaration. He was coming for you.

For you.

A fresh surge of arousal flooded your core, your eyes falling closed as you rested your head against the doors.

After all the time you’d spent pining for him, after all those hours you’d watched his big hands work expertly over the console, after all days you’d admired the obscenely wide spread of his shoulders, after so many nights of sleeping feet away from him, your skin on fire just thinking about him… he was finally coming for you.

And now you knew the truth: all those times you’d thought about him, he’d been thinking about you too.

Some rude, insistent voice decided to remind you then that no matter how much you wanted to—fuck, you wanted to—you couldn’t let him in. He didn’t want you to.

No, that wasn’t right. He thought he shouldn’t. That was completely different.

He definitely wanted you to let him in. He'd wanted to fuck you long before the bio-dart. And that’s what mattered, wasn’t it?

The quietest sound—the unmistakable scrape of a boot over metal—made you snap your head up, your eyes wide. He was on the other side of the doors. Every nerve in your body seemed to be on high alert, positively humming at his closeness. You were separated by only a few inches of metal.

“Sweetheart.”

Your pussy clenched at that one word.

“Open the doors,” he murmured, his voice all silk and solace.

You could hear subtle movement on the other side of the doors, the hollow clank of his helmet as he rested his head against the heavy metal.

“Don’t you want me?”

Yes.

You clapped a hand over your mouth to keep the word from bursting out of you. There was an answering smack and a sudden reverberation against your back, and you knew Mando had slammed his clenched fist against the outside of the doors. Your silence was killing him.

“The drugs have plateaued. I promise you: I’m not gonna hurt you. I’ll make you feel good—so good—I swear. Open these doors, and I’ll show you.”

You were fully aware that it would be absolutely absurd to trust him in this moment. It made no sense whatsoever to take him at his word.

And yet.

“I’ll turn these lights off, and I’ll take my helmet off, so I can taste you—so I can taste every part of you,” he purred. “Don’t you want that?”

YES.

Suddenly, every light on the console was extinguished, and the viewport blackened, the glass becoming completely opaque, until the cockpit was bathed in total darkness. Mando was a man of his word after all.

You were left in the pitch black, thinking about Mando taking off his helmet—taking it off for one single purpose. The thought of his mouth threatened to sink you: the heat of it on your neck, on your lips, on your cunt… all over you. It threatened to erase every trace of logic or restraint that had ever resided in your brain. It dragged over every part of you, promising care and pleasure and him. It was overwhelming enough to spur you to your feet. Before you knew it, you were standing, your hand on the manual release for the doors.

As if he somehow knew, as if he could read your mind, Mando spoke then.

“I’m ready when you are,” came the rasping whisper from the other side of the doors.

Your heartbeat seemed to crescendo as you released the lock on the doors and instinctively scampered backward as they creaked open. You expected Mando to rush inside, to flip the lights back on, to be on you right away.

Instead, silence endured in the pitch black darkness. Thanks to his helmet, you knew he could see you perfectly; you, on the other hand, had no idea where he was. Your heartbeat ratcheted up impossibly higher, a spastic staccato against your ribcage. Your voice seemed to catch in your throat, unable to express any of the questions that were rattling at your consciousness.

What was he waiting for? How did this massive man covered in metal move so quietly through a metal ship? Shouldn’t he fucking clank at the very least?

Finally, the faintest rasp of a leather sole on the floor gave him away. He was silently making his way into the cockpit.

After all that build up, all that waiting, he was toying with you.

The audacity.

Well, fuck, if he wanted to play games, you were more than happy to oblige.

You could see nothing in the oppressive gloom, but you could feel him getting closer to you. Some innate, long-dormant prey instinct seemed to awaken in you then, and you backed further into the cockpit. You paused, braced against the console. When every single hair on the back of your neck stood at attention, and you felt certain he was closing in, you took a risk.

You sprinted past him, and Mando roared.

You dodged his grasping hands, feeling the faintest brush of leather on your arm as you slipped around him and threw yourself out of the cockpit, slapping the door control as you went. The doors clanged shut behind you, cutting off Mando’s frustrated grunt, and you barrelled forward, hoping your memory of the layout of the Crest was good enough to serve you in complete darkness. Your hands found the top of the ladder blindly, and you managed to get your feet onto the first rung without plummeting straight down into the hull. You climbed down as fast as you could, knowing the closed doors would buy you mere seconds.

Just as you dropped down onto the floor of the hull, you heard the doors slide open again. You scurried to the far end of the ship and slipped behind a stack of crates. You weren’t even really sure why you were still evading him. Hiding was pointless when he had the advantage of his helmet, but if he insisted on playing, you weren’t going to be the one to surrender first.

A grunt and a thud announced his arrival—then, nothing.

For several long moments, he let your blood pressure tick ever upward.

But eventually, the slightest creak of metal gave him away again. He was close—somewhere off to your right. You edged to the left, certain that you had a vague idea of where he was. You backed up slowly, relieved when you bumped against the solid metal of the wall.

You waited there, straining to hear the tiniest movement.

Nothing. Silence—heavy, oppressive silence blanketed the ship, making it hard to breathe. You couldn’t make out a single sound in the darkness, and the sheer anticipation was starting to make you sweat. Mando must be frozen too, somewhere out there in the gloom, waiting for you to make a move.

Was he even breathing?

Your stubbornness was quickly giving way to horniness. Your determination to outlast him deteriorated, and you opened your mouth to call out to him.

Instead, you let out a scream of terror when the metal behind you shifted, but the shriek was immediately muffled when a large, gloved hand clamped firmly over your mouth. Mando wrapped his other arm around your middle, pulling you completely back against him. You whimpered against the tight clutch of worn leather, the heady smell of blaster residue invading your senses, your heart threatening to burst from your chest.

The metal of his helmet was cold against your ear when he whispered, “It’s just me, sweetheart.”

You let out a quiet, needy whine in response, the icy fear in your veins melting into something warmer, something thicker. You tipped your head back, resting it against his cold, armored shoulder and ground your hips against him in silent invitation. He purred through the modulator, and he rolled his hips once against your ass in response. The temporary hot, tight press of his hard cock against you made you moan into his hand.

“Are we done playing, love? You want me to fuck you now?”

He lifted his hand away from your mouth just long enough for you to gasp, “Yes, please.”

His gloved fingers closed over your lips once more, and he kept you there, fitted tightly against his chest.

“You gonna take my cock like a good girl?”

As he spoke, he rolled his hips against you again, and you nodded frantically against his hand.

Approval rumbled through his chest—you felt the satisfied reverberation against your back as much as you heard it. The arm that was curled around your middle like an unyielding iron bar loosened then, and that hand wandered down your body, the leather of his glove dragging over your shirt—slow, weighty, distracting. You whined in disappointment, writhing weakly against him, when it didn’t dip under your waistband, instead continuing its path over your pants until it settled at the apex of your thighs. You parted your legs reflexively, and he shoved his thick fingers between them.

He stopped there, his palm cupped over your clothed cunt, his fingers poised so fucking close to where you were throbbing for him, unmoving.

A threat. A promise.

“Then beg for it.”

You involuntarily clenched your thighs together around his hand, unintentionally increasing the pressure on your aching clit, and your jaw dropped open just as the hand over your mouth disappeared again. The words spilled from your lips before you even knew what you were saying.

“Please, Mando, I want it—I need your co—”

You were cut off by your own surprised squeak when you heard the pneumatic release of his helmet so close to your ear. You held your breath—stunned into complete silence—as you felt him maneuver the cold beskar up and off his head. It clanged dully when he set it down somewhere behind him.

The complete darkness meant there was, thankfully, no chance of seeing his face, but just knowing he was that close to you… his lips, his tongue… after all the things he’d promised? After he’d admitted all the things he’d thought about doing to you? It was a lot to take in.

You shuddered when his exact words came back to you.

I’m going to make you cum on my tongue so hard it hurts, and then I’m going to kiss it better.

For a moment, all you could feel was the rise and fall of his sturdy chest behind you and his humid exhale against your cheek. His mouth was inches away from yours. Your tongue darted out flit across your lower lip.

If you turned your head and angled it just so, you could probably—

With a low growl, Mando interrupted your train of thought. He dipped his head and dragged his tongue up the side of your neck—one slow, languid pull of velvet that melted away any and all of your coherent thoughts. Your head lolled to the other side, giving him all the space he needed to taste you. He took the invitation gladly, greedily laving his tongue over the expanse and sucking hard kisses into your skin.

Hot. Wet. Bliss.

Somewhere in the back of your hazy brain, you knew you were supposed to be doing something.

What was it he’d asked you to do?

Mando worked his way up the column of your neck at a leisurely pace, blazing a searing trail across your sensitive skin, and you sagged in his arms, muscles weakening as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. All the while, you were painfully aware of the insistent pressure of his unmoving hand on your cunt, the press of his hard cock against your ass through so many layers of fabric.

When he reached it, he sucked your earlobe between his teeth, the teasing scrape somewhere between delicious and ticklish.

His lips ghosted over curve of your ear, and he whispered, “Beg for my cock, and I’ll bend you over and fuck you right here.”

Desire flashed up your spine. His unfiltered voice was sexier than the one that came through his helmet. It was warmer, fuller, rawer—ten subtle shades of red, as opposed to the one monotone hue that came through the modulator. It was Mando with no dilution, unadulterated in all his low, rasping glory.

It set something off inside you, obliterated what little composure remained.

You had no excuse—there was no incapacitating drug coursing through your veins, no bio-dart to explain your desperation—and yet, you felt that same exact urgency that Mando had described earlier when he was still in chains.

You felt like if he didn’t fuck you right now, you might die.

“Please, please fuck me. I want you to. Please, I need it,” you pleaded. Something commanding seeped into your tone then—that urgent feeling made material—and when you continued, your voice was unyielding: “Now, I need it now. ”

He snarled, rendered wordless by his own need reflected in your voice, and shoved your pants and underwear down your thighs in one rough movement. He ripped them down your legs until you lifted one foot, then the other, tossing them away into the darkness. Your shirt followed suit. When you were completely bare, he flipped you both around without warning.

“Hands out,” he said, his voice all authority.

You obeyed immediately, your hands flying out to brace against the cold metal wall as one of his large hands slid up your back, following the line of your spine, to rest between your shoulder blades and press you forward. You folded, and he nudged your feet apart and gripped your hips, pulling your ass up and back—manipulating your body into the exact position that he wanted it: open and ready.

You heard him unbuckle his belt behind you, the metallic clink sending a hot shiver down your spine. Your jaw fell open, a quiet, pained moan slipping from your lips, when the blunt head of his cock was rubbed up and down—it slipped so easily up and down—against your soaking wet cunt. You pressed your hips back, and finally, he fitted the head against your entrance and eased himself forward—stretching you slowly, agonizingly slowly. He was thick and long, so he worked you open with shallow thrusts, one hand on your shoulder, the other on your hip to hold you in place as you parted slickly around his girth. You both moaned when his hips met the plush of your ass.

“Fuck me, Mando. Please, fuck me hard.”

Letting out a low growl, he pulled his hips back and obeyed.

The only sounds that filled the hull were the obscene slap of skin against skin and your panting breaths. In the complete darkness, it was easy to get lost in the rhythm, in the slick push and pull, in the deliciously tight fit. The hand gripping your hip wandered inward, seeking out your clit.

Mando curled himself forward then, fitting himself along the curve of your back, and pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck. He paused to say, “Let me feel you soak my cock.”

You moaned in reply, reaching back to tangle one hand in his messy curls. Somewhere in the back of your hazy brain you registered this new piece of information, and it made your heart squeeze: Mando has soft, wavy hair.

With his fingers moving deftly over your clit, his cock filling you perfectly, it took less than a minute to reach your peak. His thrusts faltered when you spasmed and tightened around him—letting out a keening moan as the pleasure washed through you—and you knew he was close too.

“Inside—” you panted. “Cum inside—”

He snarled and pressed you closer to the wall, forcing you both upright. The metal of his thigh plates was cold against your bare legs, his forearm braced against the wall inches from your face. He kicked his pace up higher—a punishing slap slap slap—as he impaled you again and again on the rigid length of his cock.

When he came, his teeth threatened to break the skin on your shoulder, and you whined at the sensation, at pleasure tinged with pain. He let out what would have been a shout had his jaw not been clenched tight and canted his hips in an achingly slow motion—once, twice, three times—as he worked out his orgasm, releasing inside you.

Even after he’d finished, after he’d slumped his weight against you, pressing you into the unforgiving metal of the wall, he was still hard—throbbing hot and insistent inside you as you both attempted to catch your breath.

Eventually, he eased out of you, and you turned in his embrace. Immediately, his gloved hands found your cheeks, and he crashed his lips against yours, his bold tongue finding its way into your mouth right away. The kiss was messy and hot, a tangle of tongues as you swallowed each other’s moans.

Your eager hands wandered down his cold armor and settled on his hips, and you pulled away from him to sink to your knees. He let out a groan when he realized what you were doing and leaned heavily against the wall, bent over you, as you wrapped your lips around his cock. He shuddered at the heat of your mouth engulfing him, one large hand coming down to cradle the back of your head as you swallowed him down.

His hips bucked forward, and he grunted, “Fuck—yes—”

And time passed like that, in a darkened blur—everything was a hazy cloudburst of arched spines and bruising grips, a riot of golden sensation, warm and syrupy and tactile. You worked your way through Mando's layers until he too was stripped down, discarding armor and clothes throughout the hull.

Mando was fanatical in his pursuit of your pleasure, a devoted acolyte at the altar of your body. You came three times for every one of his orgasms. It was like a fractured dream: hot, sweaty limbs tangled together; broken moans and heaving sighs; pleasure sharpened to a euphoric peak by small, deliberate doses of pain.

His bare hand closed loosely around your throat while you rode him right there on the cold floor of the hull. His feet slipped across the smooth metal as he braced himself to cant his hips up and up, stunted thrusts in time with the movements of your hips. You could tell your nails were going to leave scarlet half-moons on the undersides of his biceps when you tightened around his thick cock. The rhythmic slap of sweaty skin against sweaty skin rang throughout the echoing ship. Words fled you both, and you were left with purrs and cries, with shaky keening and thundering pants.

The burning urgency—the fire and the fog—of the drug slowly wore off of him: you could tell by the way his movements became less desperate and more measured, by the way words eventually returned to him. He was completely himself again: your Mando. Time slowed, and the pleasure became leisurely, luxurious.

But even without the drug sharpening his need, the mutual hunger remained.

Some time—and innumerable orgasms later—you had finally made your way into his bunk, and you were flat on your back at the top of the cot, legs spread, his head buried between your thighs, your hands tangled in his waves. He was making good on his promise to taste every part of you, and even in the dark, you could hear how much he was enjoying it. He was moaning as he worked his tongue over your puffy, slick lips, circling the aching peak of your clit. You could feel the way he was humping the mattress, his hips stuttering, shaking the metal bedframe.

“Taste so good,” he slurred.

You whined when he slid two thick fingers inside the hot clutch of your cunt, hooking them up in time with the flicks of his tongue. When you came, blood rushed loudly in your ears, cutting off the sound of your own cry of pleasure. You were vaguely aware of the fact that Mando was also cumming: his hips thrusting frantically, jolting the cot, and he groaned against your pussy in an unmistakable way, spilling against the rough surface, entirely untouched. Your own orgasm rolled through you, tensing and arching, seemingly endless. When it finally ebbed, your grip relaxed, fingers slipping from his hair as every muscle in your body went limp.

“Turn—turn over for me,” he breathed, sliding backward to give you space.

You flipped over for him, bracing yourself on your elbows and knees, expecting him to fuck you again. Instead, you felt him settle behind you, and his large hands gripped your thighs and traveled up, kneading the supple flesh and spreading your asscheeks. You gasped when one of his long fingers trailed between them, instinctively looking over your shoulder even though you couldn’t see anything in the dark.

“Can I touch you here? Can I taste you here?”

His voice was low and hoarse, like sandpaper rasping over the smooth surface of steel.

“Yes,” you breathed, desperate to feel him anywhere—everywhere. After hours of this, you were on the verge of delirium—you wanted him to turn liquid and seep into every part of you, until you were inundated, until you drowned in it.

The first hot glide of his wet tongue over your asshole made you both shudder: your elbows gave out immediately, your cheek landing on the cushion of your forearm as goosebumps sprang up all over your skin. And the large hands spreading your ass jerked and tensed, his fingertips digging into your giving flesh.

It was an unfamiliar sensation—not unpleasant or uncomfortable—but new and alluring, half because of how it felt and half because of how much he seemed to be enjoying it. He moaned against you, and one of his hands found its way around your hip to your overstimulated clit. He started rubbing slow, meticulous circles around it as his tongue worked languidly against your asshole, savoring this new part of you.

You pressed yourself against his searching mouth, arching your back. He was as patient as he was determined, working his tongue and his fingers as if steadily edging you toward your peak was bringing him just as much pleasure. You whimpered against the cot when he slipped two fingers inside your aching cunt again.

When you came, every part of you pulsed for him, your cunt around his fingers, your tight asshole against his tongue. He groaned at the feeling of your body tensing and releasing—tensing and releasing just for him—on his fingers and his tongue, the tangible cadence of your pleasure as addictive as it was ephemeral.

He was panting when he pulled back, and you slumped against the cot, rolling onto your back, limp and sated and exhausted. He collapsed somewhere below you, his head resting on your thigh, and the two of you lay like that—completely spent and incapacitated.

You felt lazy and sedate, like a cat who’d slept too long in the sun.

Eventually, you felt Mando stir and back out of the bunk, his weight shifting the mattress, but you were too close to the verge of sleep to reach out for him or ask him where he was going. When he returned a few minutes later, he had a warm, damp cloth in his hand. He shuffled up beside you and ran it over the sensitive parts of you, over the sweat and the slick, gently cleaning you up, and to your sleepy delight, he followed the trail with soft kisses, pressing his lips to every part of you—retracing each step of the night, retreading the pleasure like a familiar path.

Kissing it better.

You hummed at the sensation, at the comfort. At what they promised.

After placing a final kiss on your temple, he disappeared again.

You missed his touch.

But Mando returned minutes later, this time with a full water bottle, coaxing you to sit up and drink before he let you settle back down on the cot. When he was satisfied that you were comfortable and cared for, he crawled up next to you and pulled you into his side, dragging a blanket over both your bodies and draping a heavy arm across your middle.

“Thank you,” you murmured, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. You felt him smile.

“Sleep, mesh’la,” he whispered, his calloused fingers stroking your cheek.

“Mmm,” you replied, your eyelids drooping closed, a drowsy smile on your lips. “Night, Mando.”

“Din,” he said quietly. “Call me Din.”

Din + hands (#for science) 

bonus:

Damnation or Salvation {Pero Tovar x F!Reader}

Tovar swore as he gripped the reins and guided the horse’s head down the overgrown path. The small price of fabric and broken branches indicated the spoiled brat he was charged with dragging back to her husband had gone the wrong damn way. The rain pelting down on his leathers added to the scowl he wore on his dark face, even though he was accustomed to such things. A mercenary’s life wasn’t a particularly comfortable one, but he had plans of a hot meal, a soft bed and an even softer whore around his cock when he had entered the brothel in the small village he had stopped in the night before. Instead he had found a lord looking to find someone to go retrieve his runaway wife, and the price had made it impossible to resist.

You wipe down one of the tables in the tavern you found work in. Dressed in rags  - what used to be a decent gown - and hoping to pass as a bar wench to disguise yourself. Men leered at you, made comments, but you took them in your stride. You aren’t like your fellow ladies back home. You’d experienced the harsh reality of the world of men and you knew how to handle yourself. You finish wiping down the tables and gasp when you look up and find a man staring down at you.  A frown on his face and a scar adorning his eye and cheek. Your heart thumps but not in fear. “Can I offer you something to drink?” You ask, standing up straight and he tilts his head, eyeing the scratches on your neck and forearms from where you ran through the forest. “Perhaps a seat by the fire to dry off?” You suggest when he remains silent.

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