Kelly Marie Tran Slaying As Disney’s First South East Asian Princess.

Unfettered

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 7.4k Warnings: sex pollen, use of restraints, sex-pollened!Mando gets scary and feral, SO MUCH dirty talk, sedation, injections/iv hydration, descriptions of previous injuries and blood, reference to violence, oral (m-receiving) while Mando is chained up but no longer drugged 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. Notes: Thank you to @fisforfulcrum for being the best beta and enabler in all the land!

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gif by @bestintheparsec

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.” 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. 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 this 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, feral 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 again. 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 recovered.

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... please... 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 too,” 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 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, though, 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.

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. He said your name one more time, and your resolve cracked a little.

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

“Yes, that’s it, baby. Come over here.”

Against all odds, you stayed seated.

“Come make me feel good, and I’ll make you feel good.”

There was no way you could just sit and listen to this forever, so you made a decision. You shot to your feet.

“Yes, sweet girl, that’s right. I knew you’d do the right thing—always so good to me. Let me down from here, and I’ll take my time with you, show you all the things I’ve imagined doing to your body.”

Sweet fucking hell.

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

He was going to kill you.

You turned abruptly and walked to the ladder, placing your foot on the first rung.

“NO! Fuck—don’t do this,” he raged behind you. You could hear the squeak of the links shifting against each other as he heaved himself forward.

Steeling yourself, you started to ascend the ladder. The only way for you to survive this was to lock yourself in the cockpit, far away from the temptation of his damn voice.

Mando roared and thrashed behind you.

You were halfway up the ladder when you heard it—an angry metallic whine and the pattering of several small objects hitting the floor. You whipped your head around and watched as the durasteel panel that his 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. When you dropped down from the ladder and faced him, you could tell that he was himself again. He stepped back against the wall, putting as much distance as he could between the two of you.

When he spoke, his voice had returned to its normal register and cadence, all business. “Fuck—fuck, you have to drug me. You have to.”

Your jaw dropped: “Drug you?? More?”

Words poured out of his mouth, desperate and rushed: “In the med kit,” he pointed, “there’s a shot—PLEASE, sedate me now. It’ll knock me out for a couple hours while the worst of this works through my system. Otherwise, these chains won’t hold. Please, just fucking do it—there’s nowhere that you can hide from me if I get out of these.”

When you didn’t move right away, he bellowed: “DO IT NOW.”

You scrambled over to the medkit, whipping it open and digging around.

“PROMISE ME—promise me you’ll do it, no matter what I say to you. Promise me right now that you’ll do it! Please.”

You looked up at him, your heartbeat loud in your ears. “I will, I promise, Mando.”

His shoulders slumped in relief.

You rooted around, moving past several other items—you took note of an intravenous hydration pouch and filed that information away for later—until you located the appropriate syringe of sedative.

As soon as you turned and approached Mando, you could tell he was lost again. He flipped so fast that if you’d blinked, you might have missed the subtle shift in his body language.

When you were just a few feet away from him, he threw out a palm—this time, not to reach for you, but to halt your advance.

First, he tried appealing to your reason.

“No, no, cyare, don’t. I shouldn’t have asked you to do that. What if there’s an interaction between the drugs? Could be dangerous. There’s no way to know.”

It almost worked for a second.

You took another step toward him.

Next, he tried bargaining.

“How can I hurt you when I’m chained up like this? The rest of these will hold, I know they will. And it won’t matter anyways; I won’t need the restraints at all if you just help me—if-if you give me what I need.”

You looked away from him, training your gaze on the metal floor again. “You know that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is. I was wrong before; it’s-it’s getting better. I can control myself now. I just need you, and everything will be okay. I’ll be—I’ll be gentle with you, so gentle, I promise.”

You forced out one word: “No.”

He didn’t say anything for a long, drawn-out moment. The tension was so thick that against your better judgment, you looked up again. He looked so anguished, so distressed... shoulders tense and fists clenched. You felt bad for him.

Finally, he tried straight-up seduction.

“Please—just, fuck—I need to fuck you. Your cunt, your mouth, let me fuck you. You can have me however you want me, love.”

All of a sudden, your thoughts were hazy, slow like molasses. You were stuck on the fact that he’d called you love.

“I think about fucking you right here in the hull, bending you over a crate and licking your perfect pussy until you cry for me. I always wonder what you’ll sound like when you’re taking my cock.”

You were trying to block out his words, to ignore the honey dripping from his lips. You just—you just wanted a taste.

“I have to know how you taste.”

So did he, apparently. You clenched your thighs. Fuck, you just wanted him to keep talking.

“I think you’ll make the sweetest fucking sounds when I make you cum—I’ve imagined it. I think you’ll whine for me—but I bet I can make you scream too.”

He’d wanted you, too—all this time.

All this time, you’d both been lusting after each other, separated by nothing more than the thin durasteel walls of this ship and a healthy dose of doubt.

“I just need to cum, and then this will all be better. I know it. The drug will leave my system. Don’t you want to help me?”

You did want to help him.

Your eyes wandered down his body, and your brain short-circuited when you saw the outline of his aching cock pressing against the fabric of his flight suit. It made your mouth water.

You wanted him. He wanted you. Why overthink it?

He could tell that it was working, that you were considering his words, so he continued cautiously, bargaining with you: “You don’t even have to unchain me. Just get down on your knees for me, like a good girl.”

Now THAT made you hesitate, made you stop in your metaphorical and physical tracks—but only because it sent a jolt of pure arousal down your spine, electricity igniting every goddamn nerve in your body so fast and intense it almost hurt.

“Don’t you want to open that mouth for me and suck my cock, pretty baby?”

As if on command, your jaw fell open, tongue darting out to lick your parted lips, and you took another step forward.

Oh, shit.

You did want to. You really fucking did. You wanted to get on your knees for him. You wanted to suck his cock and have him tell you how good you looked doing it. You were aching to hear his praise, to taste him, to make him feel good. He deserved relief.

And so did you.

You wouldn’t even have to unchain him. It would be fine. You’d be safe, and he would feel better.

You took another step.

You were close to him now—you didn’t realize you’d crept this close—almost within his reach.

Mando started talking again, capitalizing on this progress: “Gods, I’ve thought about your sweet mouth, those soft lips, wrapped around my cock, taking me down your throat so well. I think about it every fucking night when I fuck my fist. You’d look so good down on your knees for me, mesh’la.”

You watched as he got caught up in his own fantasy, mumbling on and on about every sinful thought he’d ever had about your mouth. You could tell his eyes were closed behind his visor, his head tipped back in bliss. Gradually, he started bucking his hips forward, like he could actually feel your lips around him, like he was chasing a phantom sensation. He was so completely absorbed in the picture he was painting, so drunk on the potential that for a second, he’d forgotten the literal hell he was currently in.

“Sometimes I can’t even focus when you talk to me because I’m just thinking about how your tongue would feel on the tip of my cock, licking me, sucking... so wet and warm, taking me deep like the good fucking girl you are, letting me fuck your mouth, until I’m cumming down your throat and you’re swallowing for me—swallowing everything I have to give you.”

Fuck, the picture he was painting was enticing you just as much as it was enticing him. It was a picture you’d had in your own head for months, one that you’d made yourself cum to so many times you’d lost count.

Before you could stop yourself, you took that final step toward him and extended your hand. You grazed your fingers over the bulge in his pants, and he was jolted out of his waking dream by your unexpected touch, snapping his helmet down to watch your fingers stroke him.

He choked on nothing. “Please, baby, please.” He was begging now, but his voice wasn’t soft or pleading like it had been when he was asking you to chain him up. Now, it was furious, demanding, and desperate.

He needed this.

Fuck, who were you kidding? You needed this.

You cupped him, pressing against his erection more firmly, and his hips pressed back, chasing that delicious friction. Your aching cunt clenched around nothing when you registered just how big his cock was under your hand.

You were so close to unbuckling his belt, to unzipping his pants. So fucking close. But a whisper of guilt in the back of your mind made you hesitate. The weight of the syringe in your left fist was an insistent reminder: you’d promised him—sane, right-in-his-mind Mando. You’d promised that Mando that you wouldn’t give in.

Fuck.

You stilled your hand.

Mando’s helmet snapped up, meeting your eyes, and tension pulled taut between you. You were both frozen, paralyzed—you by indecision and he by fury.

The seconds stretched on.

Mando broke first.

He ripped his right arm forward as hard as he possibly could, and with a furious squeal, the metal panel—the loose one you’d completely forgotten about—started to bend away from the wall even more, exposing a complicated mess of wires and pipes underneath. You watched as two more bolts popped out of place and clattered to the floor somewhere behind you. It was almost fully separated from the wall now; three remaining bolts along the bottom edge struggled to keep it in place against Mando’s brutal strength.

The screeching sound shocked you—dragging you forcefully back to reality—and you yanked your hand away from him, but at the same time, Mando’s heavy hand landed on your shoulder. He was finally able to reach you given the newfound slack in his restraint, and his fingers dug into your flesh, wrenching you forward.

He knocked his helmet against your forehead, holding you there with an iron grip.

Ouch.

You were so close to him that you could hear the words before and after they hit his modulator: “I know you want it. Take it. Take what you need, mesh’la. It’s yours.”

Every breath ripping from his lungs was harsh and labored, his chest heaving. You could feel the rage and pure need radiating off of him in waves. His left fist was clenched so tightly around the chain that the leather of his glove creaked.

“I can’t, Mando,” you said, stern but apologetic.

The energy in the hull shifted abruptly at your refusal, and you had the good sense to pull away from him just seconds before Mando reared back and launched himself forward, throwing his whole body toward you, only to be yanked back by the restraints. Those three bolts, the last hope of keeping Mando fully restrained, squeaked ominously as he jerked his limbs as hard as he could, the chains fully extended. He was snatching at the air a few inches from your chest.... reaching, reaching for you

And you were stuck, frozen in place, watching his grasping fingers hovering in front of you.

In a terrifying voice you didn’t even recognize, he roared: “GET ON YOUR FUCKING KNEES.”

Oh, he was truly lost. He was beyond recognition, beyond bargaining or soothing. He was enraged, throbbing with need. There was only one course of action now.

Another bolt clattered to the floor.

You dropped to your knees, careful to stay close to the ground and out of his reach as you crawled forward. You were trying so, so hard to not be distracted by the obvious strain of his thick cock against his pants, but now it was directly in front of your fucking face.

He pointed an accusing finger down at the syringe clutched in your left hand. “Don’t. Don’t. DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE.”

You ignored him, the needle poised over the unarmored part of his thigh. The next few moments played out in slow motion.

Mando bellowed: “NO!”

He ripped his arm forward again, and the metal panel whined, bending forward even more. Another bolt popped off, skittering across the floor and landing by your feet.

One. One single bolt remained in place.

And Mando’s right hand was suspended only a few inches above where you were crouched close to the ground.

Lightning fast, you jabbed the needle into his thigh and emptied it in a matter of seconds. He roared in anger, thrashing against the chains, trying to snatch at your hand. When the entirety of the drug had been injected, you ripped it away and scrambled backwards, getting to your feet. Mando struggled and shuddered for a moment, growling all the while, wrenching his arm farther and farther forward—the metal panel screaming as it bent—centimeter by centimeter.

It was too late—you’d waited too long, and he was going to rip it clean off the wall before the drug hit him.

You reached back blindly, relief spreading through you when your hand landed on Mando’s rifle, sitting amidst his pile of discarded weapons. You gripped it and flicked the controls, setting it to stun. Keeping your eyes fixed on Mando’s thrashing form, you sank slowly to one knee, propping the rifle up your other, ready to incapacitate him if necessary.

Your finger hovered over the trigger.

Mando’s movements were suddenly slower, weaker, less coordinated. You moved your finger away from the trigger and let out a breath of relief as the drug finally seemed to take hold. He took a faltering step backward, and his plated shoulders hit the wall with a hollow clang. He slurred something incoherent at you, and thankfully, finally... finally, he stilled, head sagging forward drunkenly, arms going slack. He slouched against the wall, knees giving out as he slid to the floor, arms extended up and to the sides by the restraints—the right much lower than the left—and his bent knees slightly splayed.

The position couldn’t be comfortable for him, but you were too scared to adjust his restraints—worried that so much movement would likely rouse him.

You waited a good twenty minutes—pacing back and forth as quietly as possible—finalizing the details of an idea in your head. You waited until you were totally sure he was knocked out before you approached him again. First, you placed his rifle in the middle of the floor—out of his reach, but in a position that you’d be able to grab it if needed. Then, you retrieved the hydration bag you'd noted earlier and your sharpest knife. With those supplies in hand, you tiptoed forward. You squatted on Mando’s left side, gripped his bicep lightly... and waited. When he didn’t move, you continued. You held your breath as you carefully, so carefully to avoid nicking his skin, cut a generous hole in his flight suit at his elbow.

Hopefully he wouldn’t mind that you were sort of butchering his favorite outfit—you’d offer to sew it later.

As hard as you tried not to, the movement jostled the chains, and they clanked and rattled. It was a quiet sound, but it felt so kriffing loud in the oppressive silence. Mando’s breath hitched slightly, disrupting the deep, regular rhythm of his sleep. His fingers twitched. You froze, then slowly set down your blade and started reaching back for his rifle.

To your immense relief, before you could wrap your hand around the stock, his breathing returned to normal—slow and steady.

You returned to your task, clipping the IV bag to a pipe on the wall above his slumped shoulder and cleaning the skin over the bulging vein visible through the soft flesh of his inner elbow. He didn’t react to the cold alcohol wipe, but he did jerk violently when you pressed the tip of the needle into his skin. You tensed, ready to drop everything and back away if you needed to, but he stilled again, muscles relaxing. You pressed the needle far enough into his vein and taped it in place. You double-checked that the drip was working, then backed away slowly, taking your blade and the rifle with you.

You waited like that, leaned against the opposite wall of the hull, Amban rifle never out of reach. You were unwilling to let him out of your sight, so you remained there, tense and waiting. When the IV bag was empty, you scurried forward and peeled back the tape on his arm—painfully slowly—and eased the needle out before you scrambled back to your spot.

Over two hours after he had passed out, he stirred, head lifting slowly.

“Mando?”

He looked around for a moment, studying his surroundings. He gripped the chains in his fists and attempted to pull himself up, faltering slightly before he eventually succeeded by bracing his back against the wall. He looked slightly unsteady on his feet. His visor found your face across the hull, and he rasped your name.

“How do you feel?”

His voice was dry and croaky. “Better... I feel better. Normal.”

“Good.”

He stood there, relaxed, getting his bearings. All the rage and tension had left his body. He looked like Mando again.

“How long has it been?”

“Since I knocked you out? About two hours.”

He cocked his helmet. “I thought the drug would have lasted longer.”

“I gave you fluids to flush it out of your system faster,” you explained, tapping the inside of your own elbow to demonstrate.

He looked down at his cut up shirt.

“Good thinking,” he nodded.

“Yeah, and thank fucking Maker it worked,” you laughed. “You started to get scary there at the end.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, hanging his head in shame.

“Do you remember anything?”

He looked up at you. “I remember everything.” Then, glancing up at the bent panel above his right shoulder, he continued, “I’m sorry, mesh’la. I would never have forgiven myself if I hurt you.”

You noted the use of a pet name, wondering if this new habit of his would persist. You hoped it would.

You gave him a sympathetic look, shaking your head. “You weren’t yourself. You have nothing to apologize for.”

He nodded. “Still—I’m sorry. But, you can unchain me. It’s safe now. I promise.”

You stayed where you were.

He seemed normal again, but you’d witnessed just how persuasive drugged Mando could be.

Luckily, he could read your hesitation. “It’s okay,” he reassured you. “I understand. Let’s give it some more time. I want you to feel safe.”

He leaned back against the wall and started sliding down to his seated position.

His sudden patience was all the confirmation you needed.

“I believe you.”

He flicked his head back up to look at you and straightened, watching you as you took a few steps toward him.

“Did you mean what you said?”

He quirked his helmet at you. “About what?”

You wavered for a second, doubt creeping into your mind. What if it really was the drug talking the whole time? What if he only said all those things because he was out of his mind, desperate to fuck anyone... and you just happened to be in front of him?

You steeled yourself. The only way to know was to ask: “That you want me? That you’ve always wanted me?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“It wasn’t just the drug talking?”

He scoffed: “No, it wasn’t.”

A mixture of relief and want settled in your belly. And you could finally have what you wanted.

You approached him slowly. When you were standing directly in front of him, instead of reaching for his restraints, you hooked your fingers in his belt. Mando watched your movements, his arms straining forward slightly.

“What are y—”

He choked on his words when you started to unbuckle his belt. He moaned when you unzipped his fly and pulled out his aching cock. It was still red and leaking, throbbing with need in your hand. His mind might have been clear, and he might have been in control of himself now, but the physical effects of the drug had clearly not worn off fully.

You looked up at him through your lashes and licked your lips suggestively, then flicked your eyes back down to his cock in your hand.

Mando’s head dropped back against the wall with a hollow clank. “Oh shit, oh fuck, yes p-please, baby, please—”

Before he could finish his stuttering request, you sank to your knees and took him as far into your mouth as you possibly could. He let out a broken moan when he slipped past your lips, canting his hips forward to chase the welcoming heat of your mouth. He was big, and you had to wrap your hand around the base of his cock to cover the length that wouldn’t fit in your mouth.

He shuddered above you, tilting his helmet down to watch you. You paused there, holding him, hot and heavy on your tongue. You waited a long moment, taking advantage of the fact that he was totally at your mercy. The longer you waited, the more he fidgeted, hips inching forward, cock twitching impatiently.

“I—”

When he started to speak, you interrupted him by giving him exactly what he wanted, hollowing your cheeks around him and sucking hard. You thought back to what he’d said to you, replaying all those things he’d imagined you doing to him. You pulled back to circle your tongue along the head of his leaking cock and flicked it along his slit, working the rest of him with your slick hand.

While you bobbed up and down on him, your other hand wandered up his thigh and rucked his pants lower, easing his balls free. You massaged them, manipulating them between your fingers, and Mando’s head lolled back again, his helmet clunking dully against the wall. His knees buckled slightly, the chains connected to his wrists pulling taut as he gripped them. In the space where you had cut his shirt away, you could see his muscles rippling, the veins swelling under his golden brown skin as he flexed.

Taking him in your mouth had you aching for him, clenching your thighs together to try and relieve the growing tension. Losing patience, you released his balls and snaked that hand under your own waistband to press down on your swollen clit and whined around his thick cock.

Mando snapped his head down at the needy sound. His helmet followed your movement, and he gritted out, “Shit, does this turn you on, sucking my cock like this? Are you wet for me, mesh’la?”

You hummed around his cock and ran your fingers through your wet folds then extracted your hand from your pants, reaching up to drag your glistening fingertips over Mando’s knuckles where his fist was clenched around the chains.

“Fuuhhh-ckkk, I can’t wait to taste you, to feel how wet you are.”

With that same hand, you reached down and unzipped your pants. Mando let out an inarticulate string of syllables above you as he watched you tug your pants and panties halfway down your thighs with one hand. You let him slip from your mouth for a moment—working him over with long, tight strokes of your slippery hand in the meantime—to say, “Keep talking, tell me how you’re going to fuck me, Mando.”

You took him back into your mouth, and as you rubbed tight circles over your clit, he started rambling on about all the things he wanted to do to you, all the ways he wanted to explore your body: “F-fuck yes, I want to taste your pussy, I want to watch you finger yourself just like this until you’re dripping then-then let me lick your fingers clean—”

You whined around his girth; your body was responding to his words, the tension coiling tight and hot in your core. Your knees slid apart slightly on the slippery metal floor. They were going to be bruised blue and purple tomorrow. Worth it.

“Th-then I want to put a blindfold on you and-and lick your clit until you cum on my tongue. Yeah—oh shit, baby, yes, just like that, hnghhh—then, then I want to fuck you from behind, hard and deep, until you’re soaking my co—”

You moaned shamelessly, the sound vibrating deep in your throat, and Mando choked above you.

“Are-are you going to make yourself cum with my cock in your mouth?”

His visor was glued to your face, the lip resting on his chestplate, as he angled his head down to watch you. You nodded slightly, eyes wide and desperate, pupils blown with lust, as you did your best to keep up your steady pace on his cock while you were simultaneously falling apart yourself. As the tension in your body built, your mouth and hand faltered on him, losing their rhythm, and your ministrations were suddenly stunted and irregular.

“Gods, you’re so kriffing perfect—use both hands on yourself, put-put your—”

You had all but stopped moving everything but the hand between your legs, eyes falling closed as you focused completely on your own impending orgasm. Following his directions, you dropped the hand on his cock down to your cunt, spreading your thighs more to push two fingers inside yourself. You let out another muffled noise, and you could tell Mando loved the sounds you made with his cock stuffed in your mouth by the way his hips bucked forward.

One of your hands worked over the stiff peak of your clit, the other thrusting your fingers in and out of you, and that feeling—that delicious, fucking fantastic tension that had been building since the moment Mando had said he wanted to fuck you hours ago—threatened to snap.

“K-keep it in your mouth, just like that and make yourself cum—you’re close, I can tell you’re close—shit, fucking shit—”

He was throbbing on your tongue, pulsing with need. In the absence of the slick sounds of your mouth and hand working over his length, you could hear the sound of your own wetness as your fingers moved in and out of your dripping cunt.

“That’s right, pretty baby, cum with my cock in your mouth—fuck, I can hear how wet you are—look-look up at me—”

You opened your eyes and looked up at him just as your cunt tightened around your fingers. You let out a muffled wail around his girthy length as you came, and he groaned low and deep as he pressed his hips forward to keep himself buried in your mouth.

You slowed your hands to a still as the final reverberations of your pleasure waned, your moan fading to a quiet whimper. You pulled off Mando’s cock with a slick pop to take a deep, shuddering breath.

“Now you’re going to cum in my mouth.”

“Fuuckk—”

You gripped the base of his hard, leaking cock and wrapped your lips around him once more.

Right away, he started thrusting into your mouth, his knees buckling, most of his weight suspended on the chains gripped in his hands.

“C-close—”

His voice cut out, words replaced by feral moans and grunts, as he bucked into you.

You hummed around him, running your free hand up his quad, hooking it around the back of his leg to hold him in place against you. You could feel the way his muscles strained and clenched under your palm as his body grew taut.

“I’m—hnngh—”

He came with a hoarse shout that quickly got so loud that his voice cracked and gave out completely. And when you thought he was done, he was somehow still cumming, spilling hot and salty down your throat. You swallowed around him, taking everything he had to give you, until he stilled and you let him slip out of your mouth.

You pulled your pants up loosely around your hips and stood in front of him, swiping your knuckles across your glistening bottom lip.

Mando caught his breath and straightened, using the chains to pull himself up. That yank on his arm restraints proved to be the final straw for that solitary remaining bolt. You both whipped your heads up when—with a defeated whine—that piece of durasteel was ripped away, skidded down the wall, and crashed to the floor.

You looked at each other at the same time.

“So... how do you want me first?”

“Unchain me, and I’ll show you.”

***

everything taglist: @chattychell @dincrypt @fisforfulcrum @iamskyereads @lexloon @meanperegrine @over300books @rebelpitstop @spideysimpossiblegirl @tacticalsparkles @tobealostwanderer @trashbuns @pentechnics @gracie7209 @tuskens-mando @absurdthirst

He’s a 10 but he doesn’t get any vitamin D 😔

PEDRO PASCAL vs. MANDO

Insatiable - Chapter One: Let Me Taste You

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: flirting, kissing, use of aphrodisiacs, dirty talk, semi-public groping/dry humping, fingering, oral (f receiving), mentions of an age gap (reader is 21), mentions of bisexuality.

Summary: Known for your incredible intellect, you’re invited to Dorne to meet the royal family as one of their honored guests. You meet Prince Oberyn, who’s interest in you is immediate and evident. You return his affections throughout the night as the family invites guests for a lively gathering. When you return from the bathroom, Oberyn heightens your flirtatious interactions as he meets you in the empty hallway on your way back to the ballroom.

A/N: oh lord I loved writing this, I can already tell this series will be a handful LOL. This was longer than I originally intended, but oh well, I am SO proud of it! Our promiscuous prince is an absolute sun god that can take me ANY day of the week. Hope y’all enjoy <3

Series Details:

- This series will loosely follow the outline of the show Game of Thrones, but you don’t need to be familiar with the show to understand what’s going on.

- Since Oberyn is known to be a salve for the sexy times, there will definitely be smut in every chapter.

- We are also beginning in a timeline that currently does not involve Ellaria. It’s not that I don’t absolutely love her (I totally do) I’m just more into monogamous relationships personally, so that’s where I’m gonna start. But who knows where this series will go.

- ANYWAYS, without further ado, our gorgeous Prince of Dorne and his overwhelming desire for the reader begins below.

Dorne was a land you’d never seen before but heard many stories of. Its infamous water gardens and tropical temperature was foreign to you, though not undesirable. In fact, the trip seemed comparable to a miniature vacation. Your presence was requested by the Lord of Dorne. After hearing of your intellect and travels, he wanted to meet you for himself. Many did, after all. When you became of age, your father flaunted you about, dragging you throughout the Seven Kingdoms in order to earn wealth and infamy. It wasn’t that you didn’t like it, you rather enjoyed being the center of attention, but the trips were long and tedious, and you yearned for a break from your busy life.

“I’ve heard stories of the prince of Dorne.” Your best friend tittered girlishly as she helped you pack.

“Have you now?” you smirked, pulling out another suitcase. The carriage would be here in the morning for your two-day trek. The Lord even sent one of their own; how charming.

“Oh yes, he’s very handsome.” She continued, gossiping as she helped fold your dresses. “And rather promiscuous.”

“And who are you hearing this from, Anya?” you question, humor in your voice.

Anya was two years younger than you, and still in school. She was actually due to be sent away to the Citadel to further her studies while you were gone. However, no matter how talented she may be when it came to her education, she always lacked a bit in maturity, diving into rumors and drama whenever she could.

“Everyone!” she squealed, excited for you and your new adventure. “I hear he fancies both women and men.” She whispers to you.

“It’s not that uncommon.” You glanced back at her, knowing she’s aware of your own sexual orientation.

“I know, but… I’ve just never met anyone else like that!” You grimaced at this. She could be so strange sometimes.

“Promise me you’ll write!” she requests, closing your suitcase.

“Of course,” you turn, reassuring her.

“I’ll miss you.”

“I know, I’ll miss you too. But don’t worry, the Citadel is a marvelous place. You’ll have a great time with your studies.”

Anya nodded, staring back at you before embracing you in a tight hug. She’d never been to Dorne, either. If you could, you’d take her with you, and if you’re being honest, you’re a little nervous for your own travels. This would be there first time you were visiting a new place on your own. After your twenty-first birthday, your father opted out of these journeys. He claimed that you’re grown enough to handle this on your own now, and you are. It’s just new to you, is all.

But that was the other day. Your thoughts have done absolutely nothing to calm your nerves as you continue on toward the foreign land’s palace. Sitting inside the carriage, you scan your wooden surroundings. Your two suitcases sit on the bench across from you, often where your father sat. He was great company on these expeditions, offering conversation and amusement when the treks became long and boring. But now, you had no one. But you can do this, you’re more than capable of doing this. Truly, it’s Anya’s comments that currently fuel your nervousness. You hadn’t been approached sensually by a man in so many years, and of course not while your father visited these places with you. If the prince truly is as flirtatious as Anya claims, you’re in for a treat.

Your thoughts entertain you on and off throughout your journey, along with the books you packed and the drawings you continue to detail. The closer you get to the land filled of flourishing fauna and flowing streams, the hotter the temperature inside the carriage becomes. Your halter dress is ideal for the tropical conditions, allowing much of your skin to breath as the majority of it is exposed. You tie your long hair up into a bun at the nape of your neck. Only a few more hours.

When you finally reach your destination, you’re overwhelmed by the heat radiating from the bright sun. Your home was warm, but nothing compared to this. Glancing out the window, you see the amazing structure of the royal edifice come into view, its large architecture and blooming foliage truly breathtaking. Once stopped, you’re assisted out of the carriage by one of the guards chaperoning your trip. He’d accompanied you on this visit, offering to be your personal aid and security while away from home, which you truly appreciated. While Dorne was a welcoming and friendly place, you’d need a familiar face in order to feel comfortable for your four-week stay. Yes, that’s right. For whole weeks. The Lord planned on inviting many guests to his home, flaunting you as his honored guest. You don’t mind though; a few parties should be fun.

“Thank you, Ambrose.” You smile sweetly, taking his hand as you step down.

A woman descends the palace steps, gracefully striding towards you. She greets you, introducing herself as Milena, one of the royal family’s servants.

“The Lord of Sunspear wishes to see you, promptly.”

“Oh, okay.” You stutter, turning to the carriage behind you. “Should I grab my things first?”

“Oh no,” she laughs, waving a hand as if it was a silly thing for you to ask. “We will have those taken care of for you. Now, if you’ll follow me.” She smiles sweetly, gesturing again with her hand as she silently asks you to follow her inside.

The layout and designs within the building are just as spectacular as those on its exterior. Large, multi-shaped corridors and archways lead you through the palace’s many hallways and open space. Your eyes take in the vivid colors and patterns that surround you; you’ve never seen anything like it. The servant’s pace eventually slows as you reach a particular room, clearly meant for entertaining with its open entrance and sizeable space.

The Lord of Sunspear sits at the far wall, adorning a golden throne sat upon a raised step. His frame is thin, his features dark as his eyes rest upon you. His brown hair is long, but thinning, a receding hairline forming on either side of his temples. Facial hair scatters along his cheeks and jawline, and he wears a robe bright enough in color to match the chair highlighting his royal position. To your left, his Lady sits, bouncing a child on her lap. Off to your right is a lengthy couch, another man half-sprawled out across the lavish fabric. You curtsy, doing your best to be as polite as you are graceful.

The man and woman sitting on the extravagant furniture on either side of you look up, acknowledging your presence. Lady Mellario hands her infant son off to a hand maiden who hurries away with him. The nobleman sitting on his throne nods at your elegant bow, appreciating the sentiment and formality.

“Welcome,” the Lord stands, his harms spread wide.

He walks toward you, reaching out to hold your hands in his. You smile at him, comforted by his gestures.

“We greatly appreciate your visit and are delighted to meet you. Allow me to introduce you to my family.” He leads you over to his wife, his hand on your lower back as he introduces you.

“Lady Mellario,” you grin, nodding to her in a show of respect.

She smiles back, greeting you kindly. You find it strange, though, her quietness. Regardless, you’re turned around to face the other man in the room. He sits up as your eyes meet, standing and walking over to you.

“This is my brother, Prince Oberyn.”

The prince leans down, taking your right hand in his before lifting it and pressing his lips to your knuckles. You stare into his dark eyes, his smirk evident as he greets you.

“Very nice to meet you,” he purrs, his voice low and accent dissimilar to yours.

You smile, sighing lightly at his chivalrous actions and baritone voice. He’s taller than you and has dark features, darker than that of his brother. His jawline is sharp, nearly black facial hair blooming along it and his upper lip. His lean muscle is prominent beneath his yellow robe, exposed by the front opening of his tunic, displaying his smooth, bronzed chest. He seems older than you, much older, in fact. Somehow, this only adds to his attractive charm.

“Well, I would love to entertain, but I must tend to other matters.” The Lord claps his hands his hands eagerly as he speaks, inadvertently pulling you out of the prince’s trance. “You will be shown to your chambers shortly, I advise you prepare yourself for the night’s event. My visitors will be arriving within a few hours. You’ll sit at our table, as Dorne’s honored guest.” The Lord behind you explains, placing his hands on your shoulders.

You turn your head slightly, nodding to him. “Thank you, I’m very excited.”

The same servant that led you inside directs you to where you’ll be staying. You admire your surroundings, the chamber enormous in its entirety. Upon entrance, you notice the large bed off to your left, held up on a higher level than the rest of the room by a large step. The bed is round in shape, decorated with many silk pillows and blankets. Straight ahead is a balcony overlooking part of the water gardens below. To the right sits a work area, a sizeable desk accompanied by a lavish bookcase. In the corner past this is your bathroom. An enormous bath lays in the ground, heated by springs pumped through the palace walls. The entire chamber smells sweetly of flowered perfumes and oils, the freshy cut blossoms sitting in expensive vases also adding to the pleasant aroma.

Your servant leaves quickly, allowing you to bask in the beauty of your surroundings in private. You sit on your luxurious bedspread, holding the smooth fabric of your pillow on your lap and stroking its sheen texture. A breeze flows through the curtains separating the main space from the balcony, the sun’s rays dancing across the marbled ground at your feet. You were right, this trip would not be work, it would be relaxing. Though, Lord Doran did advise you to get ready to entertain, so you decide to do just that.

Your suitcases have been placed next to your desk on the far side of the room, and you open the top one to lay out your dresses, surveying your options. They’re each hand crafted from multiple fabrics, each a different shade and style. You eventually decide on a waist-high even split dress. It’s nude in color and flows smoothly over your body. The dress’ neckline is extremely low cut. The fabric at your waist parts into two sections, one larger and one smaller. The larger portion flows down your backside, while the other covers your front in between your legs. Your skin from your hips down is revealed in its entirety. You’d have to be careful tonight; one wrong move and you’d embarrass yourself for your lack of undergarments. The thinness of the dress won’t allow for anything to be worth beneath it, not elegantly anyway. You were never one to cover up though, especially in the hot sun that hung over Dorne. The attire was quite to your liking. Now within the cool walls of the majestic building, you decide to wear your hair down, fully expressing your beauty. You choose to wear the sandals you came in with, also nude in color as they wrap up your calf.

You’re ready much quicker than you expected. You know you’ll have to wait at least an hour before a servant returns to lead you downstairs and to your seat at the head table, maybe even longer. You scan the room, eyes returning to the last unpacked suitcase. You have time, and it’s only one bag, it should be quick job. Your books are first, and you lean over in order to grab as many as you can. But just as you start to set them onto the bookshelf off to your left, you hear a knock on the door. Your body shoots upright, spinning around just in time to see the large wooden door open slowly. Oberyn’s sudden presence frightens you for a moment, causing you to yelp as you turn. He chuckles, surveying your room as he lets himself in.

“Prince Oberyn,” you blurt out, watching him enter further.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he speaks, turning to shut your door before approaching you. “I wanted to introduce myself again, get the chance to speak with you privately.”

“Is there something wrong?” you ask, your brow furrowing in confusion.

“No,” he smiles, sighing as he looks down at you. “I’d just like to speak with you before our company arrives. That’s all.” He purrs, taking your hand in his again, his thumb stroking your soft skin. You blush at his actions, your gaze faltering as you glance at your feet.

“I want you to know, that when you’re in my palace, you need not address me as prince.” You look up, eyes meeting as he continues. “My title has no purpose coming from your lips.”

His hand leave yours, coming up toward your face, his pointer finger and thumb looking as if they mean to cup your chin. He tuts as his digits barely glide over your skin, deciding against it and lowering his hand. You’re left with a questionable emotion, wishing you’d felt his skin on yours as he backs away from you.

“Were you unpacking?” he questions, raising his eyebrows and gesturing to your books.

“Oh, yes. I figured I had the time.” You shrug, looking over your shoulder at them.

He leans over you, reaching behind you to pick one up, the edge of his robe brushing over your bare shoulder. The prince leans back and flicks through its pages, admiring its detail. This particular book covers a wide expanse of natural poisons among various plants and roots, something the prince studied extensively in his years at the Citadel, reminding you of his infamous title as the Red Viper. He hums as he reads for a moment, then shuts the book and places it back on your desk.

“My brother thinks you are an intelligent woman.” He steps forward, encroaching on your space as his hand flattens against the surface of your sturdy desk.

You cock your head to the side and raise an eyebrow as your confidence returns, assuming his words suggest doubt in your intellect. “And what do you think, Oberyn?” you inquire, trying out his request at the dismissal of his title.

“An intelligent woman, indeed.” He agrees, his voice lowering and nodding his head slightly. He towers above you, peering down into your eyes and tilting his head before asking, “Where did you study? The Citadel?”

You find this humorous, a small laugh escaping past your lips. “The Citadel studies me.” You respond complacently.

“An honor, no doubt.” He smirks, a single finger moving to run over the curve of your cheek. “One I would be delighted to receive.”

The prince’s suggestive remarks elicit a thundering pulse within you, arousal quickly building in your lower stomach. His beauty is palpable, as well as his attraction toward you.

“What do you want to know?” you question, breathing out shakily as he inches closer.

“I want to know what makes you tick, little one.” He mutters, “What makes your cleverness as bright as your beauty?”

The nickname and praise stir something deep in your chest while butterflies erupt in your stomach. Calling you “little one” while standing so tall and robust before you, his age much older than your own, his baritone voice speaking to you so softly, his eyes not once leaving yours… it makes you feel so innocent, submissive… like prey cornered by a hunter.

“Rather flirtatious toward your guests, aren’t we?” you inquire sarcastically, smirking up at him.

He purrs at this, appreciating your wits. “Only with ones as alluring as you.”

At this, you’re speechless. Your breath is caught in your throat and you’re currently out of clever remarks. When he sees your reaction, clearly entranced in his subtle seduction, his smile widens.

“What a beautiful dress,” he grins sweetly in your silence, the back of his hand roaming lightly over the fabric on your stomach as he glances down. His mouth parts slightly, his brow furrowing faintly as he focuses on the outline of your body beneath the thin cloth. His hand wraps around you, palm meeting the skin of your back as he gently places it on your waist. Your heartbeat quickens at his closeness, his curved nose inches from yours.

“Quite a taunting design.” He admits, his eyes shifting to the swell of your breasts. You grin wickedly, reveling in the prince’s full attention.

“As is yours,” you remark, staring at his bronze chest. His robe shifts open even more as he moves, further exposing his toned frame.

“Yes,” he sighs out, the hand on your waist moving up to rest just below the curve of your tits. He leans forward, his lips pressing lightly to your ear as he whispers, “But I could show you more.”

His words send shivers up your spine, your limbs tingling with excitement. It’s been so long since you’ve been with a man that the thought of any sexual act entices you. But with this man? The things you would do to be with this man…

“You said we have time, right little one?” his chest vibrating against you as he hums curiously. You nod, biting your bottom lip lightly. “Why don’t we make use of that?”

He removes the hand placed on the desk, raising it to meet the line of your jaw. He raises his eyebrows as you stare at him, silently wondering if you’ll allow his advancements. You decide to accept, tilting your chin up to meet him. The prince moves slowly, eyes lowering to your magnificent mouth and then closing delicately as his soft, full lips press to yours. His head tilts, nose brushing against your own as he deepens the kiss. You reach up to cup his face, moving your mouth against his in earnest. His facial hair scrapes against the smooth skin of your cheeks as he continues, his wet tongue eventually trailing over your bottom lip. You part your lips for him, allowing his tongue to move between them. An intense pulse floods through your heat as your tongues collide, massaging against each other deliciously. Adrenaline rushes through your veins as you feel the prince’s experienced mouth and tongue for the first time.

Oberyn moans into you, his brow furrowing in concentration as his tongue works itself inside your mouth. The hand on your face lowers to your hip, joining the other and gripping you tightly. You roll your hips toward him in response, allowing yourself to let go just a little bit more. A single hand falls to his chest, your fingers twiddling with the hem of his robes and dancing along his smooth skin.

He moves you over toward your desk before bending down to grab the back of your thighs. He hauls you up, placing you on the sturdy furniture and positioning his hips between your legs, his persistent mouth never leaving yours. His strength and forwardness get the better of you as your slick begins wetting your inner thighs. Your legs close ever so slightly, holding him against you. He continues lapping at your tongue passionately, his hand keeping your jaw open for him as he does so. He leans back, his tongue licking slowly over your lips before speaking.

“I want to taste you, pretty girl.” His voice is strained with desire as he continues, “See if your flavor is as delectable as you are.” He runs a finger over your lips, eyes focusing on the supple flesh before flicking up to meet your gaze.

At first, you’re hesitant, unknowing of how far you’re willing to go. You’ve just met this man, and you’ll be staying in his home for four weeks. What if something goes wrong… You know what? Fuck it. You’re on your own and you want to have fun. You’re an adult, and if things go sideways, you’ll handle it. Like an adult.

“I hope you like what you find,” you breathe out, beaming brightly.

He grins, lowering himself almost immediately. He keels on one knee before you, his large hands easily moving the thin fabric of your dress to the side. When his eyes meet your exposed heat, he moans lustfully. Leaning in, he places a single, gentle kiss onto your mound, and you gasp at the sensation. You rest your left leg up onto the chair sitting in front of your desk, offering him an even better view. But, just as he goes in to taste you, there’s a knock on the door.

Your name is called out by the servant who’s been accompanying you, causing the two of you to jump in surprise. Oberyn looks over his shoulder at the still closed door, your eyes finding the same spot. “Lord Doran is requesting your presence. He’d like you to be seated before his guests arrive.”

Oberyn turns his head back toward you, leaning in to kiss your thigh. He hums against you, the vibrations sending shock waves through your hips. He lifts himself from his lowered position, folding the fabric of your dress back to its intended place.

“I suppose we’ll have to finish this another time, little one.” His voice is soft and seductively low as he speaks, his hand cupping your face while his thumb swipes gently over the apple of your cheek.

The grip your teeth have on your lip nearly spills blood as frustration and arousal mix in your veins. You sigh out, yearning for some kind of release. The whine that comes from your lips is girlish and embarrassing, and it makes him chuckle above you.

“Don’t worry,” he mutters. His lips meet yours once again, kissing you twice before finishing with, “I’ll find you soon enough.”

The servant, Milena, leads you down the multitude of corridors within the palace. It’s almost frightening how large the building is and how many twists and turns seem to be around every corner. You make sure to take note of this, as this is where you’ll be staying for the next month. Eventually, though, you’re led to a large ballroom. Its entryway is enormous, truly magnificent. The walls of the opening are lined with blue and gold trim curving around delicate patterns. The inside walls resemble similar patterns and textures, its lofty ceiling upheld by solid, dark timbers. The far side of the ballroom is missing its wall, though, and is instead supported by large columns. The large spaces between them serve as entryways to the renowned water gardens. At the front of the glorious room is the head table, a seat set aside for each member of the royal family, and yourself, of course.

Your name echoes off of the stone walls as you’re called by the Lord, already strutting over to you. “My guests will be arriving soon, please, come sit.”

He shows you to the lengthy table, gesturing toward your seat. The wooden chair has carvings of the Martell House, the ruling family of Dorne’s, coat of arms: a golden spear piercing a red sun. You sit, admiring the craftsmanship as you place your elbows on its armrests.

“Adequate?” he asks, his tone full of amusement as he doubts you will say otherwise.

“Very.” You reply, smiling up at him.

“Perfect. Now, my visitors are very intrigued by you. They’re a neighboring house to ours, the Tyrells, in fact.”

You’d heard of House Tyrell before, but you’d never had the opportunity to meet them in person. The Lord and Lady have three sons and one daughter and were often accompanied by their grandmother, a Lady as well. You’d heard rumors of their daughter, Margaery, being quite infatuated with your intellect and prestige.

“Ah yes,” you sigh happily, “Lord Mace and Lady Alerie. Will their four children be accompanying them, as well as their grandmother, Lady Olenna?”

Lord Doran smirks at your knowledge of the Seven Kingdoms, nodding his head before speaking. “Indeed. I do hope you will share some of that marvelous intellect with them tonight, as well.”

“I’d be happy to,” you sing, proud to show yourself off.

“Fantastic. Our cooks our preparing supper, do you have a preference?”

On this, you think a bit. Curiosity gets the better of you as your mind wanders to Oberyn. If you’re going to dwell in this man’s company for so many weeks, why not get to know him a little bit?

“I’ll have whatever Prince Oberyn is having.”

Lord Doran tilts his head, raising an eyebrow at you, but chooses to ignore his questing thoughts. “I’ll notify our head chef. Please, remain seated while our visitors arrive.”

Sitting patiently, you twiddle your thumbs and hum excitedly. You’ve been in this exact situation enough times to anticipate how the evening will go. Your hosts will serve you a meal, and likely their guests as well, while holding pleasant conversation. Afterwards, many other, less important newcomers will flood the room as musicians begin to play, and more alcohol is served. That’s when the fun begins.

“Quite punctual, I see.” Prince Oberyn strolls into the room, eyes immediately on you.

“Of course,” you reply, watching him walk over to you. “I don’t want to be rude to my hosts by disobeying orders.”

Soon enough, he’s at your side, and you have to angle your neck upwards in order to meet his gaze. He reaches down, lightly holding your chin between his thumb and forefingers.

“I can only hope you’ll be as obedient for me.” He purrs, smirking when your lips part at his words.

Before you can reply, his eyes flitter up to someone further behind you. You turn as well, seeing the Lord of Sunspear’s Lady sit on the far end of the table, Lord Doran then joining her. Oberyn sighs, pulling out the chair next to you and sitting. You’re feeling rather high and mighty, you must admit. You’re sat between Lord Doran and Prince Oberyn, two very powerful men who are honoring you tonight, and for many more nights to come. Sitting at a royal table wasn’t new to you, but it was always a delight.

Once you’re all situated at the table, the Tyrell family is led in, but not before a smaller table is set up in front of you for them to sit at. Lord Mace and Lady Alerie enter, followed by Lady Olenna and their four children. Each smiling and greeting the royals sitting next to you. They take their seats at the table and Lord Doran welcomes them, introducing you in the process.

“It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you all.” You speak, smiling politely. Surprisingly, Lord Mace scoffs at this.

“All,” he emphasizes, rolling his eyes. “Quite disrespectful for you to not greet my family by name.”

“Oh, I mean no disrespect, Lord Mace.” You reply quickly, not wanting to anger anyone. “To you or Lady Alerie. I have great admiration for your family. The studies your son, Willas, involves himself in are very intriguing to me. Your younger sons, Garlan and Loras’ skill in battle intrigue me, as well. Your daughter, Margaery, is renowned for her kindness and grace, something I admire deeply. I also have great veneration for you, Lady Olenna. A woman as graceful and intelligent as yourself is one who truly inspires me.”

Oberyn’s hand reaches for your thigh, squeezing it tightly as you respond to Lord Tyrell. You turn slightly to look at him, wondering if you’ve done something wrong. A grin pulls on the edges of the prince’s lips, a sign to you that all is well, though one that makes you curious, nonetheless. You continue to speak to the family, addressing them each as you make eye contact and do your best to smile and gesture politely. Lord Mace seems rather satisfied with your response, his attitude quickly changing as he begins to enjoy himself. Amicable conversation begins to fill the room as you’re served the first plates of your dinner, banter now interchanging between each member of the two houses. You even get the chance to speak to the Tyrell’s youngest child, Margaery, who is an absolute delight and clearly admires you and your influence. Once you quite down, Oberyn glances at your meal, a questioning look forming on his face.

“Are you watching me, little one?” he questions, your eyes turning to meet his.

“I prefer to taste a man’s meal before he tastes me.” You purr, smirking as you suck a plump cherry tomato into your mouth. A low grumble releases from his chest, his lips pursing as he chews on his lip, his smirk still very evident.

Prince Oberyn’s choice cuisine is rather appetizing. There’s a fresh, green salad laid on your plate, full of tomatoes, cucumbers, avocados, kalamata olives, and more. This serves as the appetizer, of course. The main entree comes in two plates. One is cold to the touch as oysters sit amongst a sea of ice. The other steams below you, cooked asparagus and marinated chicken spreading to the plate’s brim. Finally, dessert comes, your favorite part. A bowl of berries and cherries is set before you. Another, smaller dish accompanies its side, this one filled with exotic nuts. As you’re enjoying the last addition to your meal, you realize something. The majority of the prince’s preferred foods include aphrodisiacs. Fitting.

Your graceful laughs soon fumble into girlish giggles as you consume your third glass of wine. When he began eating, Oberyn retracted his grip on your thigh, but it returns as you nibble on your delectable dessert. The prince leans over to you, and you ease in, allowing him to bring himself closer to your ear.

“Are you enjoying yourself, pretty girl?” he asks, his large hand sliding to your inner thigh, his touch tickling your sensitive skin.

“Hmm,” you hum giddily, “Yes.” You beam brightly at him as he pulls a few inches away, still close to your face.

“Did you appreciate the food?”

“Yes, I loved it!”

He tilts his head, smiling at your ever-present happiness. “Which was your favorite?”

“The raspberries.”

When you answer, he looks down. With his other hand, he reaches over, plucking a berry from your bowl and lifting it to your lips.

“Let me see you taste it.” He requests, his voice now a whisper. His mouth opens slightly as he focuses on your own. When you open for him, his brown eyes rise to meet yours.

You keep his gaze when you part your lips, allowing him to feed you the plump, pinkish fruit. He smiles, his beautifully straight teeth shining as you taste the sweet juices spilling onto your tongue, his finger just barely sliding past your lips. When he moves to take his finger away, you close your wine-stained lips around it, gently and briefly sucking on it.

The servants begin taking your food away as the two of you continue your flirtatious actions and inquisitive conversations. You bask under the prince’s attention, his eyes trained on you while you laugh at his continuous comments and questions. You’re each fully turned towards each other now, endlessly engaging in the other’s interests. You enjoy the prince’s outward attraction toward your beauty, of course, but you also adore his interest in you, your mind. It comforts you, pulls you in just that much more.

The Tyrell family stands as additional guests begin to arrive, pulling you away from Oberyn’s captivating eyes. The curtains begin lowering in order to the dim the room’s lighting, the day now turning to night on the other side of the large, stone columns. Candles are lit, and musicians begin to enter the room. Carts stroll in, too, offering appetizing sweets and fermented liquids. The people that come in marvel at you, speaking to you in multiple tongues about various topics, such as politics, philosophy, literature, culture, and so much more. You were quite well-versed in the topics and nearly fluent in each language, and easily held steady conversation with Lord Doran’s many guests. Not only were you knowledgeable, but you truly enjoyed talking about the subjects and brushing up on the many dialects the Seven Kingdoms have to offer. More and more visitors come over to greet you, and you decide its best that you stand from the table to start mingling with everyone out on the ballroom floor. Oberyn stays seated, watching you walk off into the crowd.

“Milena?” you ask, pulling the servant to the side after meeting more newcomers. “Where can I find a washroom?”

She points you in the direction of one down the hall, and you eagerly stride towards it. After, what, four goblets of wine now? You definitely need to empty your bladder. There are perfumed oils at the sink, which you apply after washing your hands. You’re able to freshen yourself up a bit, fixing your hair and makeup and making sure the fabric of your dress is laid appropriately. Once satisfied, you leave the room, intent on returning to the event. Suddenly, you squeal, startled by the unexpected presence of strong hands on your waist.

Oberyn presses himself up against you, holding you from behind as he nuzzles his face into the hair flowing over your neck and shoulder. “You are irresistible, pretty girl.”

You blush, smirking while moving to hold the prince’s arms as they wrap around you. You turn your head, sighing out at the feel of his body against yours. He’s so close you can feel his breath on your skin, his lips brushing over your neck lightly.

“You scared me.” You giggle anxiously. The prince moves against you, leading the two of you a few steps to the side, closer to the wall and away from the center of the hallway.

“Are you still frightened?” he asks lowly, one hand reaching up to brush your hair off your shoulder and to your back.

“No,” you mutter, breathless under his influence.

Once you respond, his hands begin to travel. They slowly roam the curves of your body, wrapping around you as his right hand moves to hold the left side of your hip, his left hand shifting up to cup the curve of your chest.

“Do you like what I’m doing?” his voice is hoarse, his lips now moving to press heated kisses against the delicate skin along your neck.

“Yes,” you gasp, his hand now fully massaging your tits while the other grips your hip. You lean into him, letting your head lay back on his shoulder. A small whimper leaves your lips in your hazy state when he rolls his hips against your backside.

“Mm… those little sounds…” he sighs out, “I’d love to hear them while spearing you on my cock.” You gasp at his words as they send a shiver down your spine. You’ve never had a man speak to you so obscenely.

The hallway leading to the ballroom is lined with small columns, one of which is behind you. Oberyn pulls you backwards, leading you to the small space between the stone pillars, allowing the two of you an ounce of privacy. He spins you around, pushing you back against the curved surface so you can face him.

“You’re incredible,” he mumbles, crowding your body in the secluded space as he holds your neck, mouthing hotly at your shoulder. “So shrewd for a woman of your age.”

You grin, loving his praise and his fervent tongue on your neck. The prince’s hips grind against yours, his length patently hard beneath his robes. His hands continue to roam your body, curving over your hips to grab at your ass. Your hands hold him against you, one grabbing his neck while the other tangles itself in his dark, feathery hair. When you tug on the brown locks, he groans, lifting his head from your neck. You press your soft lips to his, and he responds to you quickly, leaning into the kiss as you move against each other. His hand moves between the two of you, cupping your sex in his palm.

He moans at your soft gasp, the interaction heightening the rate of your pulse. He grabs your jaw, breaking the kiss to stare into your eyes. “Will you let me taste you, sweet thing?”

The nook the two of you are tucked into behind the sandstone pillar offers a bit of seclusion, though not as much as an enclosed room would. There isn’t a single soul walking the halls, though the thrill that someone could at any moment excites you beyond reason.

“Yes,” you reply, panting from the euphoria the prince’s sensual actions provoke.

Oberyn chuckles lightly, clearly delighted in your response as he rapidly shifts to kneel before you once again. His tan hands run up your exposed thighs, his nimble fingers shifting the front covering of your dress aside to reveal your smooth mound. His smirk is evident, even from this angle. His left shoulder lowers, and before you can question him, he grabs the back of your knee, maneuvering you so that your one leg is resting over his shoulder and draping down his back. The parting of your legs gives him much better access to your wanting heat, already slick from anticipation.

“Oh…” he moans out, the palm of his hand running over the smooth skin of your sex and lower stomach. “So pretty.”

He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your mound, just as he did hours before in the privacy of your chambers. His warm, wet tongue then slides up through your folds, slowly, delicately, tasting the juices he’s been craving since laying eyes on you. You gasp out, the sensation beautifully stimulating against your sensitive skin. You reach out to him, grabbing his hair as you steady yourself above him. He smiles against you, happy at your responsiveness and grabbing hold of your hips. The prince’s curved nose rubs against your clit deliciously as he moves his tongue against you, into you, sloppily licking and sucking your folds as his tongue roams your inner channel. The lusty noises his mouth makes while devouring your dripping core are absolutely obscene as they echo off the surrounding walls. His eyes remain closed in contentment and concentration as he moves his hot mouth against you. You watch him intently, his head rocking rhythmically as he tastes you. His tongue slides out of your sex, traveling up to your tiny pleasure point. The wet muscle dances around your clit before rolling over it, applying pressure and sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh –” you sigh out, throwing your head back, “Oberyn…”

He hums at the sound of you moaning his name, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your hips. The pad of his middle finger barely touches the lining of your labia, gently rubbing back and forth before sinking inside you.

“Yes!” you whine, rolling your hip against his face.

His digit is thick as it enters you, almost immediately curling and applying constant pressure to that fleshy spot inside you that makes you want to scream. His ability to find it so quickly makes your head spin, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. He doesn’t even move his finger in and out, he just keeps it there, forcefully pulsating it against your g-spot, wiggling it in a motion that coaxes you forward.

“More,” you whimper, “Please.”

His finger retracts before lining up again, now with his pointer finger alongside it. He shoves them into you, now at a hurried pace as they continue to curl against that beautiful spot every now and then. He keeps his tongue on your clit, flicking it quickly with the tip of his tongue before wrapping his lips around it. His mouth suckles on your pleasure center while he pumps his fingers in and out of your aching pussy. His moans match yours, and you love that he’s enjoying this so thoroughly, possibly even more than you. Your pleasure continues to climb, washing over you until it peaks. His hot, wet mouth feels amazing against your dripping core, and you tighten your leg on his back to push him further against you.

“O-Oberyn,” you stutter, “I’m, I’m gonna –”

“On my face, little one.” He breaths out, panting below you. “Cum on my face.” His lips return to your clit, sucking harshly.

His words push you over the edge, and you bite your lip, unwillingly to whine too loudly in the hallowed halls. His tongue picks up its pace, sucking ruthlessly on your clit while his fingers resume their original motions, stalling inside you and only pulsating pressure against your g-spot, flawlessly riding you through your orgasm. His other hand grips your hip tightly, holding you against him as your high comes crashing into you, forcefully filling your veins with pure ecstasy as you cum against the prince’s face. He continues to mouth at you, his fingers and tongue persistent in their application of pressure on your most responsive areas until you’re shaking above him.

He slows down as your breathing calms, easily reading your body’s signals. He pulls his fingers out of you, his tongue now licking languidly at your folds. He brings his cum-soaked fingers to your fleshy lips, parting you with his pointer and middle finger. He angles his head, moving his mouth directly under your wet channel. With your folds parted, he licks into you, moaning at the taste of your creamy pussy. He slurps as he drinks from you, swallowing the last remnants of the sweet liquid your orgasm brought you. Your mouth parts at the sight, the aftershocks of your orgasm tingling through you as he continues to savor your taste before leaning back and bringing his fingers to his mouth, sucking the liquid off his fingers as his brown eyes stare up at you. The sight of the prince on his knees before you, absolutely savoring you and your juices, is one of the most erotic things you’ve ever seen. It makes you breathless, delirious as you watch him.

The hand on your waist moves underneath your leg, and once he’s licked his fingers clean, he turns his head to kiss along your inner thigh, licking the juices off the sensitive skin there, too. Lust-filled brown eyes meet yours once more while he continues to mouth at your leg as it rests on his broad shoulder. You smile down at him, his mouth and chin now wet with your slick. You gasp out when he sinks his teeth into your flesh, moaning slightly as you try to catch your breath.

“Would you like to share my bed tonight, little one?” Oberyn inquires, his voice husky as his dark eyes stare up at you from between your legs. “Help me to find my release as well?”

“I would love to.” You smirk devilishly, biting your lip as he places one last open-mouthed kiss to your thigh before rising.

masked in desperation

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word count: 6044

Warnings: Verbal Degradation. Physical Humiliation involving Din making reader wet herself. Dirty Talk. Penetrative, Non-Protective Sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong por favor). Rough then Soft Din. Don't worry, this is consensual and there is aftercare involved.

No summary because I don't even know what to call this? All you guys need to know is that this fic is based on/inspired by the following asks [x] [x] [x] [x]

A/N: Uhhh this is new for me so I'm sorry if I didn't get the dynamic involved with a humiliation kink right. Please let me know how I could correct anything should there be something off. This was supposed to be rougher...but I turned soft midway because nervous Din makes me warm. I hope you like it nonetheless though. Comments are hella appreciated. And you can add yourself to the taglist here. Enjoy and please don't @ me once you finish this fic. And I apologize that it took long, this semester was hell.

It was an act of crazed desire concealed beneath irritation and anger, irritation with you for managing to claw yourself into his heart and anger at himself for allowing you to do so freely. He couldn't deny his feelings anymore, not if he wanted to retain whatever sanity he had left around you. What started out as nothing but stress relief and a way to help with the pain left behind by Grogu leaving turned into Din wishing he could stake his claim on you every moment of every day so you wouldn't seek anyone else out. Not that he genuinely believed you would. Still...

And it wasn't like this was any different from what the two of you usually do. At least that's what he says to excuse his twisted behavior, to not dwell too much on his sick, possessive fantasies.

It was driving him mad. He wanted to mark you up, always did during those passionate nights, loved watching as you tried, and failed, to cover up his love bites and handprints from the guild members. But he also craved to feel the same way. He wanted to bear traces of you on him so people knew how much he cared for you, perhaps even recognized the hold you have on him. The only problem was, no one would ever see the angry nail scratches and bite marks you left every night on his skin because of his beskar. So this, this would do the trick, even if it was barely noticeable, even if it would be gone when he washed his beskar, even if the two of you would be the only ones who knew what happened behind closed doors.

The weird thing was, he doesn't even know how he got to this point. Well, that's not true. He can actually trace his way to this moment, but he feels ashamed to do so? Reluctant maybe. It didn't matter what he was feeling at this point. All he knew was that he needed to watch you as you humiliated yourself in front of him, and had no power to do anything about it. Perhaps it was because, deep down, he wanted to show you that he'd accept you no matter what. He wanted to prove to you that he may just be worthy of having you in his arms. He wanted to assure you that he would be committed to you until his dying breath. And this, in some way, was the solution.

Before he can reevaluate and dwell too much on his decision, he fills a cup with water and heads towards you, ignoring the Marshal's glances as he approaches you and taps on your shoulders.

"Yeah?" You turn around, and Din forces himself to stand his ground when he sees your smile growing wider as you take the water from his hand. "Oh aren't you sweet. Careful, or else they'll think you're growing soft." You tease him as you down the cup of water and hand it back to him before returning to fixing the ship. He says nothing as he walks back towards the cantina, and resumes his quiet meditation.

And that's how it goes for the next couple of hours. He brings you a cup of water every so often, murmuring something or other about how he doesn't have time to take care of you if you suffered from a heat stroke before leaving immediately. Din quietly thanks the maker for your discomfort with public refreshers, because this plan wouldn't have worked if you decided to go to the cantina or elsewhere to relieve yourself. He's locked his ship's refresher and made sure to not be anywhere in sight when you sought him out to ask about the issue with the door.

He feels himself grow harder when he notices you squirming as you work on the ship, softly palming himself through his pants when you halt your movements every couple of minutes to either cross your legs or push your hand between your thighs to attempt and alleviate some of that pain. A part of him feels horrible for putting you through this, but something tells him it will be worth it in the end. Din Djarin isn't a man of prayer, but he pleads to whatever higher power that created you that this wouldn't backfire and make you leave him.

As the twin suns slowly set beneath the sky, Din moves away from where he's been hiding and heads towards the ship, making sure he is in your line of sight as he walks up the ramp and towards his armory. He quickly takes out the durasteel cuffs from where he's set them, hiding them behind his back as he pretends to head towards the cockpit.

However, he stops when he sees you rushing past him and setting all of your tools aside. You're mumbling angrily beneath your breath when things begin to fall over, growling when you try to fix them a couple of more times, and they continue to fall.

"Motherfucking shit," Din hears you swear as you carelessly try to set the box again and it falls over. Shaking your head, you turn around and sprint past him again towards the refresher. His eyes never leave your shaking form as you push on the refresher button numerous times and nothing happens.

"Pfassk! Din, how angry would you be if I broke this fucking door right now?" You try to grab the gun on his holster but he is quicker than you, slamming his hand on your own to prevent you from taking it.

"Extremely." His answer is short and straight to the point, mostly because he can't trust himself to respond to you without giving himself away.

"God please I- I need..." You hesitate and try to remove your hand from him, only to feel his hold tighten around your wrist. He thought you'd break and confess what you needed to do due to your desperation, but you don't, holding your tongue and looking up at him quizzically when he removes your wrist and clasps one side of the cuff on them.

"Din, what- what're you doing?" You look down and watch as he clasps the cuffs on your other wrist and ensures that they aren't too tight around your wrists before he locks them. Before you can ask him again, Din drags you across the ship and into the cockpit, ignoring your annoyed murmurs as he sits down and pulls you onto his lap.

You squirm around and try to get up but Din’s hold on your waist tightens and he slides you against his beskar until you fall into his chest. He says nothing as you push away and try to maneuver yourself so your legs aren’t wide open. He chuckles lowly when he sees how much you’re struggling, finally allowing you to put some space between the two of you. You rest your back against the controls board and take a few deep breaths before you stare at him.

“Can you please let me go?” You ask patiently, and hope he sees how genuine and serious you’re being. When he sits back but keeps his hold on you, you know he isn’t going to make this easy.

“Why?”

“Because I- I need to take care of something,” you look away when you respond and Din feels his cock twitch in his pants at the sudden shyness taking over.

“How about you let me take care of you?” He takes his gloves off and throws them aside, smiling to himself when he sees you shiver as he moves his hands up and down your body. You watch him like a hawk and you feel yourself growing wet for a moment, but you realize this reaction is the last thing you want to experience in his presence right now.

“Wait Din- just...it’s not like that.” You bite your lower lip and stifle a moan when he cups your tits and softly flicks at your hardened nipples.

“No? And yet here you are melting at my touch...your body knows me mesh’la, it’s blooming for me and I’ve barely touched you. Sweet girl, don’t you want me to make you feel good? I’ve been thinking about you all day long, about kissing you until you’re breathless...and biting you until you have my mark everywhere. Don’t you want me to show you just how much I’ve missed you?” Din knows he’s not being fair but the way your eyes are glowing with lust is enough to ground him so he could carry out his plan.

“I- I do...fuck, Din- I really do. I barely think of anything else...but I really need to-” You shut your eyes and groan as soon as you feel Din’s hand descend down your chest and rest on your lower stomach. He supports your back as he slowly begins to push against your navel, watching with fascination as your face contorts from pain and pleasure the harder he pushes on your muscles. You’re not sure what’s happening for a few seconds until you manage to open your eyes and look at him. His visor prevents you from seeing what he’s thinking but none of it matters when you feel him shift underneath you before he eases up. You sigh in relief but Din repeats his actions, only this time, he’s becoming a little more aggressive with his touches.

"N-no wait please I-"

"What's the matter mesh'la? You're usually fucking me like a loth-cat in heat by now, begging for me to have my way with you...take what I want until you feel properly fucked and filled with my cum." Din leans forward, never once easing up as he begins to move you over his beskar-clad thigh. There’s not much you can do due to the cuffs and how much advantage Din has over you in terms of muscle and size so you do the only thing that’s left.

You beg.

"Please, please Din I- I just...I need to-" It takes every ounce of control not to let go of your body’s function and you realize you’re not making much sense when Din cuts you off again and asks you what you want.

"Need to what? Go on sweet girl, tell me. What do you need?" His motions become more rough as he alternates between shoving his hand against your bladder and moving your clothed heat across his thigh. Din wants nothing more than to push you to the floor and fuck you until you can’t remember anything but him, but he tries his best to keep himself in check until he gets what he wants.

"I'll do anything Din just...need the- the refresher. I'm so- so...maker, please wait-" The controls dig into your back the more you lay on them but you can’t find it in yourself to care because a different kind of pain shoots down your spine when Din brings you closer to him and hikes your shirt up. His palms are warm against your skin and you hate how good they feel because this was not how you saw the day going with him.

"You know the safeword. Say it if you want me to let you go and I will." His tone shifts and you throw all caution aside as you confess to him why you need to leave.

"Din please...I really need to pee. I- I'll come back right away but I- oh it's too much, t-too much." You think he’s going to apologize and let you go when you tell him but all your admission does is cause him to momentarily stop before he wraps his arms around you and stands up. He’s pushing you up against the wall, not caring for what you just said to him or how rough he’s being as he nudges his leg in between your thighs and resumes his antics from before.

"I know."

The curt response washes over you like ice and your eyes begin to water as soon as Din takes off his helmet and you see him smiling down at you. You don’t know that you’re shaking in his arms but he leans down and nuzzles into the crook of your neck to commit the moment to memory. He loves the effect he’s having on you and although a small part of him feels bad, he doesn’t bother or care to hold back as he brings himself flush against you, the action causing his beskar to push deeper against your navel and have his desired effect.

"Din?" He thinks your whimpers might make him cum right then and there but he takes a deep breath before he pulls away and looks down at you. He’s sure that his eyes don’t convey an ounce of guilt at the moment, the opposite actually, and it only brightens his smile as he pulls down your tank top strap far enough to give him access to the top of your breasts. Din moves closer to you and lays lazy kisses across your heated skin, all the while attempting to grab your attention so he could tell you what he wanted.

"Why do you think I kept handing you water all day ner ka'rta?"

"W-wha-?" Your sniffles pull at his heart but he knows that you’re not in any physical danger and that all you need to do is whisper your safeword and he’d let you go. When a tear drop trails down your chin and hits his forehead, Din has to pull away to take a better look at you. He hates how much he loves the way you’re looking at him right now, like he’s simultaneously a villain and a savior to your predicament.

"And who do you think locked the refresher? Sweet girl… I thought you were smarter than that." Your surprised gasp adds more to the innocence he’s seeing in you and it’s the last straw before he holds onto your waist and begins to move you across his thigh again.

"You what?"

“Go on pretty, I know how much you’re trying to hold it in. ‘m not letting you go any time soon,” Din talks down at you and if you weren’t trying to prevent yourself from embarrassing yourself in front of him, you’d think it was the sexiest tone he’s had with you yet. But it’s getting more difficult to control your bladder and even though you get the sense that he will probably win in the end, you still try to hold off as much as possible.

“Look at you trying so hard...prettiest fucking sight in the galaxy. And do you know what makes it even better? I can smell how much you want me...this tight, wet cunt is begging for my cock. You can have me sweetheart, you can have me right now if you want. But you know what you have to do.” You’re shaking in his arms and plead pathetically when he applies more pressure on your navel. You try to ask him why again but you can’t find the words and resume moaning his name as he uses you.

And that’s what he’s doing. He’s using you. Like he owns you. Like he has the right to control every muscle in your body. You’re not sure what it is that made him act like this all of a sudden and you know it ultimately doesn’t matter because like he said, he won’t be stopping any time soon. It’s just strange that he wants this. He wants you to embarrass yourself. He’s practically helping your body let loose so you could wet yourself. You try to convince yourself that nothing about this should be turning you on, but the way his eyes are hazed with lust and desperation makes you reevaluate your thoughts and you manage to look up at him as he begins to speak again.

“It’s okay mesh’la, you can let go. Let go, now! Make a mess sweetheart. Make a mess of me, I won’t fuck you till you ruin my beskar and make this ship dirty. Go on. Or do you want me to help you again?” Din isn’t sure what’s come over him but he doesn’t hold back anymore, slipping his hand underneath your pants and pushing hard on your bladder until he feels your thighs squeeze around him.

“D-din fuck...oh- my...maker I- I can’t-” You throw your head back as you fist your hands into his cowl, holding on to that last bit of self control before you’re no longer able to. As he lifts his hand and pushes again, the thread breaks and tears slowly roll down your cheeks as you frown up at Din when your bladder gives out. Din looks into your eyes one last time before his attention moves south and his jaw clenches tightly when he notices the material of your pants grow darker the more you relieve yourself.

He doesn’t bother to stop, continuing to apply pressure on your lower stomach as a day’s worth of water floods down your legs and onto his beskar. He watches with fascination as his pants grow wet as well before he hears the faint sound of droplets falling onto his ship. You follow his line of sight and whimper in embarrassment when you notice just how big of a mess you made. There’s a small puddle forming where the two of you are standing and your nervousness only grows when you see how wet Din’s pants are.

When there’s nothing left and your shaking subsides a little, Din removes his hand from you and returns it to your waist, squeezing the skin he has access to so he wouldn’t strip you and fuck you in the middle of your mess. Every time he moves his foot, he can hear the soft splashing sound of the puddle underneath him and it only makes him harder. When he finally looks at you, he’s met with the most vulnerable expression he’s ever seen on you and although he wants nothing more than to kiss you and apologize, he allows himself to go just a little further until he sees you’re no longer able to put up with him.

“D-din...you- you made me, I-”

“Oh sweet girl, I made you do nothing.” The look of shock on your face is worth the hassle and he watches as you pout your lower lip before more tears leave your gorgeous eyes.

“You’re just a filthy girl, wetting yourself in the middle of my ship and not caring how dirty you’ve become...you really couldn’t hold it in cyar’ika? Look at this, look at the mess you made of my armor. You know how valuable beskar is and yet you pissed all over it. And my ship!? Didn’t we just clean this ship pretty?” Din could feel you melting into him with every word that passes through his lips and when you look away from him, his smile falls and he quickly grabs your neck, turning it straightforward so he could look into your eyes.

“No, you don’t get to look away from me when you’ve just pissed all over yourself and me. Maybe I should change your name, call you ad’ika from now on.” He has to hold back from smiling when he sees the moment you recognize the word. He’s only ever used that word whenever he talked with Grogu and you knew exactly why he was bringing it up now. “You’re my little girl aren’t you? My filthy, pretty little ad’ika who can’t fucking control herself and marked me up like she has the right...like she owns me.” Din watches as your expression softens a bit at his last admission and he trails his gaze down your nose until he is only focusing on your lips.

You can’t help but also stare at his lips and Din uses the brief moment of distraction to unbutton your pants and slip his hand into your panties, humming in approval when he feels the wet fabric scratch deliciously at his knuckles. You gasp when you feel his fingers softly rubbing your slit and as you look into his dark brown eyes, Din slips two fingers into your wet cunt and stops.

“Fuck, you’re so wet ad’ika, so warm and wet and ready for me.” He nudges his fingers deeper into he finds the spot that makes you see stars. You know immediately what he wants to do and reach for his arms as he grows closer to you. When they begin to get in the way, Din takes hold of the cuffs and raises them high above your head until the cuffs are glued to the wall. He can’t stop from smiling down at you, all stretched out and ready to be thoroughly fucked. But he doesn’t give in just yet.

“Din it’s...you’ll get dirty. I- I don’t want you to-”

“I don’t fucking care,” he growls as he leans down and bites shoulder again, moaning against your skin when he feels your cunt clench around him. “That’s it, open up for me...let me make you feel good. I- I want you to scream my name sweetheart, scream my name as you make a mess of me. Please...I need it, need- maker...need you to drench me again.” His words twist something inside of you and you lean back as he moves his thick fingers in and out of you until you feel that familiar pressure all over again.

“Oh Din...your fingers f-feel so- so good.”

“That’s right ad’ika, only I get to touch you. Only I get to watch you come undone...only I get to wear your scent, your beautiful fucking wet scent. I- I won’t wash this armor sweet girl, not when you’ve marked it...marked me, this much. Go on, be a good girl and make a mess of me. Let me walk around with the smell of you etched on my fucking beskar.” You whimper at the filthy whispers Din breathes against you and just as you’re about to come, Din grabs your pants along with your damp panties and pushes them as far down as he could. You bite into your lower lip as he tries to push his digits deeper into you, and when you finally manage to turn and look at him, you hold your breath as you see the way he’s looking at you, into you.

“Cum for me. Now.”

The quiet order, along with the pace of his touches, breaks you and you force yourself to not shut your eyes as your pussy throbs around his fingers, a wave of euphoria washing over you so swiftly you think you’ll faint. Din momentarily turns his attention to your heat once again and he hisses when he feels you coming on his hand just as you squirt on his beskar and the floor of the ship. You’re unable to form a coherent sentence as Din refuses to slow down and your eyes water again when the hold he has on your waist becomes more painful than before.

“Maker...you’re perfect.” Din kisses your neck as he finally decides to slow down but the way he continues to rub your clit with his palm does little to calm your nerves and you don’t realize how much you’re shaking until everything quiets down and all that you can hear is the sound of Din’s heavy breathing and your own heaving and sniffling. You wince when he fully removes his hand from you and helps you out of your pants and shoes. He takes a step back and groans when he sees how spent and ruined you look as you stand on your tiptoes and try to calm down.

As you try to catch your breath, Din unlocks both cuffs and throws them aside, reaching down and grabbing your ass so he could support your weight against him. You jump on instinct and moan when you feel the cold beskar against your skin as Din grinds into your soaked heat. He doesn’t waste another moment, diving in and claiming your lips until he could feel your teeth nipping at his tongue. He makes sure he has a good grip on you before he moves to the refresher and as soon as the two of you are standing in front of it, he pushes a code into the pad and unlocks the door. You pull away for a moment to look into his eyes, the silence of your gaze knocking the breath out of him as you hide into his neck. It takes but a second for Din to realize that he shouldn’t try to push your limits any further for the night.

His touches grow softer as he carefully sets you down on the floor of the refresher. Din can see you’re shivering from the cold room and makes quick work of his clothes and armor, choosing to leave his boxer briefs on so you wouldn’t think of anything else. He leans down and taps twice on your shoulders so you could raise them above your head. As you do, you look everywhere else but him and the gesture is a little too raw for Din because as he strips you down to nothing, he’s leaning down and kissing your forehead until he feels you relax in his arms.

When he’s satisfied with your slowing heart rate, he stands up and turns on the water, making sure to stand in front of you and block you from the cold water until it turns warm. Even though he doesn’t particularly enjoy it, he turns the hot water just a little further, knowing how much you preferred it when it struck your skin.

Grabbing the bar of soap you bought from the last hunt, Din sits down and rests his back against the cold metal of the wall before pulling you towards him.

“Come to me mesh’la.” His voice is much more controlled and mellow than minutes before and you melt back into him as soon as his skin comes into contact with yours. You rest your back against his shoulder and sigh heavily when his hands begin to massage your arms. The scent of flowers hits your nostrils in seconds, making you relax even more as the soap washes away any trace of what you and Din had just done.

Din kisses your shoulder and neck as he rubs the soap on your chest and stomach, keeping his touches as appropriate as possible to distract himself from the hardening issue he was struggling with. Although he prefers you all sweaty and dirty, he makes sure to wash every inch of you, knowing that you probably needed to feel clean after...after what he’s done.

He pushes your back until you’re leaning forward far enough for him to wash your back as well. His breath hitches when he sees evidence of his touches on your skin from previous nights. Some of them have turned a light blue color while others were still purple.

Fuck. He didn’t know his grip was this harsh. He was a little guilty for bruising your skin, your lovely, beautiful, gorgeous skin. But the more he saw as he rubbed the soap over your back, the more pride he felt in his chest at the knowledge that he was the only one allowed to mark you.

“D-din…” You moan his name when he pulls you back into his chest and you feel his hands descend lower to wash your thighs. You think that he’s going to touch you where you ache for him but when he focuses on your thighs, you realize that he wasn’t going to go anywhere near your throbbing cunt.

“I’m here sweet girl, let me take care of you.” His whispers are laced with promises and affection and you’re not sure what to make of it. He’s never been this intense, this touch-starved, even this controlling. There’s something about the events of the night that tug at your heart and you wish you could ask him what has changed all of a sudden. But you don’t, instead repeating his words from earlier over and over again as he continues to wash you.

He told you, although indirectly, that you had the right to...to mark him, to own him. He begged you to drench him so everyone would know that he’s yours. That you’re his.

“Din please,” overcome with emotions, you slap the bar of soap away from him and use his surprise to your advantage, quickly turning around and holding onto his broad shoulders as you straddled his thighs.

“Ner ka'rta, we don’t have t-” Din keeps his hands to himself as he feels you rub yourself on his clothed cock. You instantly cut him off, molding your lips with his in a bruising kiss until his arms wrapped around your back. When you knew you had him, you pulled away and laid kisses across his handsome features. He was a moaning mess in no time and when you took hold of his chin and pushed it back, Din felt like he was travelling through the stars, the rough nips you were leaving across the jugular of his neck making him notice just how needy you were.

The hot water cascaded down your back as you assaulted Din’s skin and when you felt him grab your waist and begin to move you across of him, you knew he wasn’t going to deny you from what you wanted. Needed. Craved.

“I need you...now, please Din. I need to feel you inside me.”

“But-”

“Please? Oh maker, I- you said...you said you’d give me your cock if I wanted. And I do. I want you, I want your cock. I- you promised. I- I’ll do anything.” The sound of your desperate pleas sends a shiver down his spine and Din nods frantically just before you pull him out of his briefs.

“You- you’ve done enough for me cyar’ika. So so much. And I- I...oh-” Din throws his head back and shuts his eyes as soon as you lower yourself on his hard cock. He thinks he’s going to cum right then and there, but then you’re moving on top of him and squeezing him so tightly and he realizes that he needed to feel more of you. You cry out his name over and over again as he twitches against your tight walls, and when his eyes snap wide open and look at you, you can’t help but lean forward and bite into his shoulder to keep some semblance of control.

“S-sweet girl...lovely girl, tell me you’re mine.”

The short request causes you to falter in your pace but Din decides to take over again, wrapping his arms around you as he begins to move you on top of him.

“I- I’m yours Din, I’m yours. No one else can fuck me like you, n-no one can kiss me and touch me and take care of me like you...gods, you’re amazing. And you’re mine,” Din groans when he hears the last of your words and he nuzzles into the crook of your neck as you continue to whisper sweet things to him.

“You hear that Din...you’re mine. You- you belong to me, you touch only me...you, oh maker, you fuck only me. This cunt is yours baby and your cock was made for it. Made for me. You l-love only me. Right Din? P-please I’m...already so close. Tell me Din because you know...know that I love you. I love you. No one else. J-just you-”

Din is sure he might be suffocating you with how hard he’s hugging you right now but he doesn’t seem to notice because all he can hear is your declarations of love and commitment. Neither of you have ever come close to being this intimate but his earlier actions apparently unlocked something in the two of you.

You loved him. Even though he could be kinder, and was definitely too broken. You still loved him.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. P-pfassk...I love you mesh’la. Only you...always you.” Din comes with a cry when he feels your nails digging into his back and he growls as his cock throbs inside you until he’s filled you with his cum. But he doesn’t stop, instead maintaining his pace just to see you fall apart one last time. It’s all too much and not enough, and he’s already oversensitive from coming but he has only himself to blame considering how much he edged himself the entire day. When he hears your gasps turn quieter, he knows you’re close and slithers his hand between your bodies to flick your clit. You moan into his shoulder as you quickly peak one last time, the touch of his fingers reminding you of what he’s done earlier and in a matter of seconds, you’re clenching around him so hard to the point where you’re not sure if you’re experiencing pain or pleasure.

Neither of you say anything as you slowly return to yourselves. When Din moves to try and turn the water off, you accidentally dig your nails deeper into his shoulder and make him hiss.

“S-sorry.” The small apology does something to Din and he decides that he needs to do this now and not when the two of you are in his cot. Twisting his hand into your hair, Din pulls it back until you’re forced to look at him. You stare at each other for what feels like hours before you lean forward and kiss him. It’s much slower and kinder than the earlier kisses and you smile when Din unintentionally thrusts into you. He pulls away and returns your expression when he sees how genuine it is.

“I think I should be the one apologizing ad’ika.”

You know what he’s referring to and you think that perhaps he’s beginning to feel more guilt at what he’s done but you brush it aside with a joke so he knew there was nothing of concern.

“Not sure what you’re talking about Din,” you leave a quick peck on his nose as you rest your cheek on his chest and hug him tightly. He recognizes what you’re doing right away and decides to not fight you, instead maneuvering you off of him to shut the water off. You try to stand but your legs give out immediately. Forutrantly for you, Din is there to catch you and he ignores your complaints as he carries you out of the refresher and into his room. You watch as he brings two towels and proceeds to dry you off, handing you the other one to dry your hair. You giggle when he almost stubs his toe as he comes back with a set of new clothes.

Din ignores your comments when you ask him why he was handing you one of his long sleeve shirts instead of your own, quickly putting on a pair of boxers before throwing the towels back into the refresher. When he comes back, you’re already comfortable and warm in his bed, the sight of you sniffing his pillows causing him to think of a multitude of thoughts. He brushes them all aside when you make room for him and ask him to come to you.

As he slithers underneath the covers, you waste no time and move closer to him until you’re sure you’re touching every inch of his skin.

“Are you okay mesh’la?” Although you know what he’s referring to by that question, you don’t bring up the topic, instead nuzzling into his chest. The sigh of content you hear tells you that he’s not overthinking what happened too much, and it signals for you to do the same because even though you never expected the day’s events, you can’t help but admit to yourself that one thing which you know Din will bring up when the two of you have properly rested.

As strange and sudden as it was, Din’s treatment of you turned you on.

Translations:

Mesh'la - beautiful

Cyar'ika - beloved

Ad'ika - little one

Ner ka'rta - my heart or my soul

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum - I love you

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Pedro Pascal (and any of his characters):

@pastel-0-princess @feelmyroarrrr @libbymouse @its--fandom--darling @spideysimpossiblegirl @princess76179 @cheekygeek05 @miraclesoflove @purple-mango @freeshavocadoooo @metalarmsandmanbuns @acthenerd @greeneyedblondie44 @cannedsoupsucks @purplepascal042 @talesfromtheguild @f0rever15elf @vibin-hippie @onesmokinbabe @leaiorganas @words-way-of-life @kideyz @lovesickmadsadpoet @niall7inches @rosiefridayrogersunday @tati-adventures @sleep-tight1 @itsfreeekinbats @cybergroupie @marsplsstop @ezrasbirdie @diogodxlot @janebby @juletheghoul @bii-aan-ckaa @nohartandsole @djjarins @lamelyssher @giselatropicana @pescopadral @blackmarketmummy @laviipopii @ew-erin @fan-of-encouragement @melody13522 @clydesducktape @planetariumx @sambucky21 @thirddeadlysin @leannawithacapitala @fangirl-316 @thou-creature-of-the-deep

Din Djarin: @a--1--1--3 @tanzthompson @mrs-ghuleh @caitlynmarty

laid bare

word count: 6k+

warnings: smut (18+ only istg): din is a switch, you heard it here first, oral (m!receiving), piv sex, a singular spank. also: spoilers but helmetless!din; brief injury and blood; me mentioning the crest despite the crest being dead (rip); language; x fem!reader

a/n: this fic means a lot to me for some peculiar reason, and i think part of the reason it took so long is because i labored over every. single. word. there’s lots of sweetness up front and then it just descends into rampant filth. let me know what you think! xoxo!

You know his body better than you know your own. When he comes to you in the night, seeking your heat, he finds you pliant and willing. In those moments—those sacred, sublime moments—you map his body with your palms. You know every rise and ridge, every scar and divot. If given the proper materials, you could sketch his form to an exact likeness. All save one key aspect. 

His face. 

Keep reading

The Mandalorian | Chapter 6: The Prisoner

This was my favorite episode of Season 1

ok first of all i didnt "miss" the red flags i looked them and thought yeah thats sexy

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.”