#Dom Din

[spacecatbowtie]

I know why - path 1: Dom Din

Interactive story (Path 1 of 3)

Base story | Path 1: Dom Din | Path 2: Dark Din | Path 3: Sweet Din

After the base story, this is one of the endings. Dominant Din.

Warnings: Explicit MDNI 18+

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Chapter word count: 4k

AO3

Tags: #Angst #Smut #Porn With Plot #Mando needs to work on his communications skills #unprotected p in v #Fingering #First POV #no mention of oc name #No use of y/n #I hate y/n #OC wants to be taken care of #OC wants to be independent #kinda forced proximity #Exhibitionism #Interactive #Daddy Dom Din Djarin #sweet din #switch Din

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I jerk my hand out of his grasp. "Don't pretend to have empathy all of a sudden.. bounty hunter."

 Calling him by the name of his profession, seems to kick him into his feral mode again. Because as soon as the attempt of degrading insult left my lips, it is followed by a pathetic squeal, as his hand shoots up to grab my neck and draw me closer. "Damned girl" He grunts "I don't want you hurt, that is why I didn't allow you to go with me on hunts."   With big eyes I look at him, no sensible thought is able to form in my head.   "Another reason I do not let you come, is because you distract me."   A nervous laugh that sounds more like a wheeze, due to the tight grasp on my neck is the first thing out of my mouth. He does not budge when I push against his chest. "Are.. am.. How.. In what way do I distract you?" The struggle with those words is not just because of the obstruction around my neck.   The grip of his hands on my body tighten slightly for a second, as if he is trying to feel those parts in detail. "In what ways don't you…" His voice is horse and soft.   "What are you implying?" He can not mean what I think he means.   No response. The arm that is not currently holding my neck hostage clumsily moves to my hip. His thumb starts to rub his in little circles there. He is teasing me. I know it. He is probably laughing at me underneath his stupid helmet. He has known all this time.

"Stop torturing me, stop using my feelings for you against me!"   This does get a reaction out of him. Immediately after I spoke the words he draws back a little and he seems to look in to my eyes. "You have feelings for me?"   "Yea duh!" I almost burst out in laughter, and can just about stop myself from mocking him with an bad imitated voice. "Don't pretend you don't know. I know what you are doing." How stupid does he think I am? "with your 'sweet girl'" I use my low voice impression of him here anyway.   He does not appear to appreciate my imitation of him. The setting sun reflects its orange glow on his armour when he turns us both. He is facing the wall now, and I stand with my back against it. "You assume too much about me."   "What does that mean?" I shove his chest plate again.

  No reaction.

  Okay, I am done.   When pushing against his chest does not work, I try to claw his hands from my throat. What in the hell does he mean? why is he always so infuriating and confusing. He seriously needs to work on his communication skills.  "Be clear for once in your life, and tell me what you mean!"   I don't know where this build-up rage suddenly comes from. Maybe because he caught me running from him, or it's from pushing down my feelings all this time, maybe it is his reaction that of lack thereof that angers me. Whatever it is, the only thing I can do is fight him. My hands thug at his arm and wrist, so hard my fingers start hurting. My feet and legs kick at him, trying to escape his firm uncomfortable hold on me.

Perhaps I fight against the physical, just the same as the mental hold he has on me. Him being himself draws me in, his voice, his posture. Hell, even the way he walks makes me want to consume him with everything I have. It makes me want to worship him, and it scares me. During my tantrum he has been incredibly still. His grip does not falter, he does not even seem to breathe.   "I swear if you don't let me go and tell me what is going on I will literally kill you!"   Finally, he speaks. But from everything he could have said, I did not expect this.   "Maker, I really want to have sex with you right now."   My body freezes.   "Excuse me?" I must have misheard that.   "You know what I said."   The hand on my hip moves to my stomach. "Can I touch you?"   Time seems to freeze. I am aware of everything, the cold wall against my back, the setting sun encasing the man before me. The man that now wants to give me what I've imagined during so many day dreams. All I can do in response is nod. The voice that was full of fury just before, is lost now.   "Okay, I will take care of you." His hand slides slowly over the boning of my corset, leaving a hot boiling feeling there. "Breathe, girl"

Sure enough, I had forgotten to do that. Steadily I blow out a deep breath.

His fingers continue downwards, past the rim of my pants. It is quite a tight fit with his big hand there. He takes a step closer, so as not to put his arm in an uncomfortable angle. His chest touches my face, draining me in his overwhelming smell. I think I am even more sensitive to everything about him right now.

Clamping my fingers behind the edges of his chest plate, to pull him even closer. His breathing sounds heavy above me. He is no longer taking hold of my neck anymore, the hand is now supporting himself against the wall above my head. Perhaps he is handling the tension of this situation worse than me.

The leather of his glove finally touches my skin. It is as if the reality of the situation is just now kicking in. Other than tense, I feel apprehensive and self-conscious now. Why is he acting this way now, it is too big of a change. I always thought he hated me. And now He stands here before me, with his hand down my pants.

His armour is hard and cool when I let my head lean against it. Closing my eyes, I try to stop myself from shaking.

Breathe.

Why is he doing this? Does he like me too in that way? Or is he doing this to apologize for acting angry with me?   He must notice my sudden shyness, because he pulls his hand back.   Blinking I force myself back in the present. "No, you dont have to stop. Unless you want to, but I-"   His finger touches my lips, to hush me. "I know." He proceeds to pull of his gloves. "I need you to be relaxed for me." 

The view of his naked hands in front of me, makes my brain do anything but being relaxed. I have never seen any part of his skin before, let alone his full hands. I wasn't even sure he was human or just humanoid. But hell is he human! His hands are big. I knew that, I could see that with his gloves on. What I could not see before, is how long and thick his fingers are. And how the muscles shift when he moves his hand. The hand that moves even closer, and finally touches me. His warm skin caresses my cheeks.   "I will take care of you." He tells me again.

I nod my head and rest it back against the wall. "Yes, okay."

Not knowing what to do with my hands, i rest them on his biceps, feeling his hard arms, capable of handling me in any way he wants. Slowly he moves his bare hand down my stomach, dipping underneath the waistband again.

Breathe.

The tips of his fingers reach the wet spot between my legs, only now I can feel how excited I am for him. I close my eyes and hide my face by dipping it down. But my head falls back as he digs the rest of his fingers between my lips.

"Oh fuking stars." I breathe and I step a little wider, so he has better access.

A low sound rumbles in his chest as wetness coats his hand. He explores me slowly, caressing softly back and forth, but every time he only skims over my entrance. Finally he dips one of his fingers a little more in, but then abandons it, making me let out a pathetic whine. He chuckles darkly as he teases me more, without touching my clit or my entrance in the way I need.

Clinging to his arms, I look up at him. "I thought you were going to take care of me." I grit my teeth. "All you do is put me on edge, but you never d-"

His fingers are inside me. I think it's two but I can't be sure. Even though I am all wet and slippery, the stretch makes me gasp.

"Oh, yes, Maker."

He pulls out again, and then slowly inserts them again, hooking his fingers as he pulls them back out. "It's not the Maker that is making you feel this way, girl."

"Mando, please." This man is making me beg. I never beg, maybe sometimes to get what I want as I look up at him with puppy eyes, but I never truly beg and mean it. For weeks, for months I have been watching him, with a growing feeling of butterflies in my belly when he is close, when he addresses me, when he grunts as he lifts something heavy. Now, this man has me pressed up against the wall with his hand down my pants, making me feel all kinds of wild.

"Is this what you wanted? For me to make you feel good?" His voice is rough, breathing heavily. He inserts another finger carefully and painfully slow.

I respond with an affirming mewl.

"For how long have you wanted this?" 

Am I going to tell him the truth? Am I going to admit that I have been wanting him badly for two and a half months, if not more, and that I basically fantasized about him since the day I laid eyes on him? His fingers dig deeper inside me, the palm of his hand angled so it rubs my clit. I grind my hips against him, searching for the release I crave.

"Tell me, girl. For how long have you wanted me to touch you?"  

It's hard to think with his hand making me feel all sorts of new things. But i try my best to answer him. "Since you told me to get some sleep." 

His movements slow as he listens to my soft voice.

 I continue. "After you cleared out a room for me." 

He draws his hand back, and I stiffen, afraid to have said something wrong. Did I come across as too desperate? pathetic? 

His fingers glisten in the twilight, as he looks down at his hand. My face reddens and I half wish I could disappear into the darkening night as my arousal drips from his hand.

Rubbing his fingers together, he bring them closer to his face, inspecting it. "That was the first day." 

Only after a few seconds I nod. There is no use denying.

"You liked me telling you to get some sleep?"

Again I nod, not daring to look at where his eyes are behind the visor. I look at his chest, then at the ground, and then back again.

"You like my voice?" It was more of a statement than a question.

I don't want to nod again, so I speak. "It just sounds nice, but I am sure you have heard that many times before."

"A few times." 

With his thumb he slowly swipes over my bottom lip, coating it with my own slick. "You have made quite a mess out of me." Then he pushes two fingers inside my mouth. "Be a good girl, and clean it up for me." 

Understanding where he is getting at, I suck on them and lick his thick digits clean. He hums in approval, making sure I have every last bit. For a few seconds he just looks at me, at least that is what he looks like to be doing. His fingers slip from my mouth.

I shrink underneath his gaze as I look up at him. Is he having second thoughts? He can't back off now, I want him, I need him. I slide my hands from his arms down over his chest, and even lower. Still I search for any reaction from him, any way his body language betrays what he wants, what he is feeling. But he remains stoic apart from the low breaths that move his chest and sound through his modulator.

His head tilts as my finger slides over the closing of his pants, as if he is inspecting me, waiting and watching for what I will do next. It takes a little struggle to open the fly and I have to look down to see what I'm doing. I don't dare to look up as I slowly grab a hold of him with a slightly trembling hand. A gasp escapes me as my fingers make contact with his warm skin. I'm not a virgin, I have played around a bit in the past. Some long term, some just for one night. But touching him finally feels new and different, as if I am the shy girl I was on my first time.

He is hard, the tip completely exposed. A low sound rumbles in his chest as I wrap my fingers around his grit and pull him out of his pants. He still has not moved as I look up. Experimentally, I move my hand slowly, swiping my thumb over the smooth head.

For the first time in a while he speaks, his voice rough and soft. "Make it wet first." It does not sound gentle, it sounds like he is refraining himself, holding himself back from doing what he wants to do.

I almost apologize at his request. How could I forget, I knew it could be uncomfortable for men to move against the sensitive skin without lubing it up first. Trying to remain controlled I lower myself steadily to the ground, settling on my knees. His helmet tilts further down, following me as I kneel before him. Giving a small lick on the head, I test the waters. A grunt from him challenges me to continue. I open my mouth further and take him between my lips, my tongue teasing the underside of his length.

He throws his head back with a delicious sound. One of his hands shoots to my head, tangling in my hair whilst he uses the other to steady himself against the wall. Looking down at me again, he guides my head, pushing me deeper on to him until he hits the back of my throat. The pressure makes me gag, but his reaction causes a burning heat to consume my lower stomach. 

With a growl he pulls me to my feet and turns me around, so my back is pressed to his hard chest. He keeps me against him as he takes a step back. "Hands on the wall." He says.

The wall is far more than arms-length away, so I try to take a step forward, but he keeps his hands tightly on my hips, preventing me from doing so. I look back at him in confusion. "What?"

"Hands on the wall." He speaks slower now.

After hesitating for a moment, I lean forward. Bending my hips at almost a ninety degree angle, I reach out to lean against the rough surface with my palms.

"Can you keep them there, sweet girl?" Mando's fingers dig in my waist before traveling up my torso.

I give him a nod, not trusting my voice right now. 

"Good." His fingers hook underneath the waistband of my pants and yanks them down. They end up half way down my legs.

I gasp and want to stand up straight again, feeling too exposed being bend over like this. A hand pressing between my shoulder blades prevents me from doing so. "Don't. Move."

Looking around frantically I search for possible onlookers. "What if someone walks in on us?"

"Then they will have something perfect to look at." Fingers slide over my pussy once more, until his hand cups me. "You are perfect." The hand is removed, only for it to be replaced with the tip of his length. It teases painfully slow from my clit and back up, spreading around my wetness and his pre-cum. This thought makes me shiver. It feels so filthy and naughty. After all those day dreams, this was finally really happening. 

"I need to know how you feel inside me." I push back against him, searching for more friction.

His voice sounds like he is as deep in this moment as I am. He sounds as if it hurts him not to give in to his desires right now. "Patience, girl." With his foot he kicks my legs wider apart as far as they will go with my pants down my legs. He is spreading me for him, exposing me even more. I don't care about decency or shame anymore. I need him, now.

"Please," It sounds more pathetic than I wanted it too. Tears of frustration start to form in my eyes. "Please, just fuck me."

Then he is where I need him, and he is pushing in. Slowly. I have never felt this good in my life, I'm sure of it. This moment right here, is what I have needed my whole life. I could die peacefully now. He is not even all the way in yet, he is still moving inside me, penetrating deep, far surpassing the length of his fingers.

"Oh, maker yes, shit, fuck." My voice is even less controlled now, high-pitched and loud.

"Watch your words, darling." His grip on my waist tightens, almost painfully so. Finally he is settled in all the way, his hipbones against my butt. "You feel... Dank Farrik, you feel amazing." Just as slowly as he entered me, he pulls back out again. A finger trails over the place where we connect, feeling how much I am stretched around him.

Is he watching? Is he looking at how my pussy grips him, how well I take him? As he has completely pulled out, he pushes in again, way faster now, but still not hard and fast enough for me. He keeps on this rhythm of fucking me, almost lovingly. 

"I love the sounds you make for me, sweet girl." His voice rasps through his modulator as his hand caresses my thighs and back. My arms almost give out, and would have slumped to the wall if it wasn't for his tight grip on my waist. "I told you to keep your hands there and not to move." Fingers scratch against my scalp as he digs in my hair. "I need you to listen to me." He sounds threatening, the voice he uses on his bounties when they are a hand full.

"Harder.. I need it harder." 

He pulls my head back by my hair and starts fucking me with a knee-buckling pace. A hand on my shoulder is used to shove me back on to him with every thrust. "Is this what you wanted, sweet girl? Have you wanted me to use you like this, and kept it quiet all this time? You have starved me of this tight wet cunt." His breath is fast and he lets out beautiful groans between words. He is truly undone, the normally silent mandalorian has turned in a primal man without restraints he normally lives by. The filthy words continue as he keeps pistoning in to me. With every trust, I feel him spreading me open, hitting every part inside me that makes me drool. This sensation is almost, if not way more delicious than the orgasms I give myself on the thought of him.

"Keep making those pretty noises for me." The already deep voice, is even more low and raspy now, and I decide that I really love this unfiltered version of him. 

"I'm going to fill you up, fill up your tight pussy until it leaks out." The groan he lets out at this thought makes me clench around him. "But first, you are going to cum for me." The hand on my waist disappears, as does the support it provided. "Keep still." He orders when my knees buckle under my own weight. The hand then moves over my lower stomach and further down. My whole body shudders when his fingertips touch my clit. It is sensitive and swollen from the pleasure he is giving me.

"Mando, fuck yes please let me cum. keep fucking me please" I don't have any control over my words anymore. They spill out as he keeps softly caressing my clit with his fingers. Not only does he just rub the bundle of nerves, he too swipes over my lips and the place where he rams inside me. Never has a man done that to me before. Immediately I feel the familiar heat between my legs grow hotter.  Even by myself I have not managed to reach near an orgasm this quick.

Letting go of my hair, his hand seeks the wall for support. I can feel everything of him. His warm stomach and the cold beskar chest plate press against my back. This angle hits another spot inside me that makes my body feel as if it is flying. It does not take long for me to cum all over his hand.

He keeps on fucking me through my aftershocks and I feel he is getting close himself too. His groans become silent and breathing is getting heavy.

"Stars, yes, yes!" I moan as I feel him twitch inside me.

Spurts of cum fill me and he lets out the hottest, toe curling gasps. With a few extra deep and slow thrusts he makes sure to fuck his own cum deep inside me.

"Ner cyar'ika, that was perfect." Slowly he pulls out and straightens up. I attempt to turn around, but he keeps me in place. "You are perfect." He kneels down to put on my panties, probably knowing it will catch his cum as it leaks out of me. The pants are next, he pulls them up from where they have been stuck on my ankles.

He steps back and I turn around, finally facing him again. Nothing has changed, he is still his old self. The indecipherable mask, the broad but slightly static posture. I don't know why this surprise me, of course he hasn't changed. But for some reason it does feel different, he feels different. 

A sudden wave of emotions floods over me. There is fear, of him regretting what we have done. There is hope and love too, but also something that feels like guilt. There is frustration of how he has treated me for the past months, making me think he hated me. And there is relief, both physically as emotionally.

He just stands there, in front of me. Maybe he isn't sure of how to act himself. So I do the first thing that comes to mind in between the chaos of emotions inside of me. I jump at him, cling to him, my arms around his neck. I hug him close and tight, my face buried in the crook of his neck. The rough fabric of his cape rubs against my skin. I smell him, the warm heated scent of him. I have never smelled him so strong before, just whims of it when I walk past him. 

At first he stiffens, probably taken of guard by my hug attack. But then his shoulders relax and he wraps his arms around me. One around my lower waist and one over my shoulder blades, engulfing me, keeping me safe.

"Mando..." It sounds muffled in the fabric.

I feel him resting the helmet on my shoulder. "I've got you." He squeezes me tighter. "I've got you."

I could cry. I could but I don't, I keep that for later when I'm alone in my bunk. Now I just want to be here with him, nothing else.

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Base story | Path 1: Dom Din | Path 2: Dark Din | Path 3: Sweet Din

Let me know what u think! Which of the 3 paths did you like more? <3

[freakrenaissance]

I'm speechless. This wrecked me 🤤 dom din is delicious

Acting out

(Din x f! reader one-shot)

Summary: You thought it would be fun to tease Din on the comm link while he was hunting for a bounty, expecting it not to take too long. But it takes longer than you thought - and it turns out your distractions were partly why it took so long. Mando’s back now though, and he’s not happy…

(basically just a brat tamer! din x bratty-till-shes-drooling-on-his-cock reader)

Wordcount: 2.7k 

Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandolorian x fem! reader (no use of y/n) 

Warnings: dacryphilia, dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, edging/denial, crying, mean!mando, pussy slapping, spanking, daddy kink (mild), dumbification, crying (during sex bc it feels good), aftercare. MDNI

ao3 // masterlist.

Din stalked back to the ship, dragging the bounty behind him, aggression pouring off him in palpable waves. His seemingly easy bounty had taken triple the time it normally would have, thanks to the fact that every time Din got close enough to catch him, you’d picked up the commlink out of boredom, and moaned, whimpered and whined into it till he was so painfully hard under his beskar that The Mandalorian was forced to jerk off in dimly lit alleys. With the shiny armor on. 

14 times in three weeks. Fourteen times in three weeks you disobeyed his direct command to not touch yourself while he was gone, practically taunting him every time he threatened to punish you on his return. He could hear the smirk in your voice as you bit out each one of your witty little replies. ‘S okay, he was gonna wipe the smirk off your face, along with every other thought in your pretty little head. 

Since it was going slowly anyways, Din had gone a bit off-route and into a shop he’d rarely been to before. The package was now tucked in his holster belt, and had been spotted by the quarry who had been guffawing the whole way here. Must have been his happiest damn quarry yet, the rate at which his boisterous laughter was reverberating in Din’s skull. He whirled, slamming the Twi’lek face-first into the side of the Crest in warning, relishing in the string of blood and spit beading from his mouth as he spat out a tooth and snarled. Din snarled right back and hauled him inside, throwing him into the carbonite chamber and freezing him before he had a chance to do much else. 

Once that was out of the way, Din began hunting for you. He found you in the hull, giggling with the child over something adorable, no doubt, but he was so infuriated by you he didn’t care. He just walked over to the child, gave him a Keldabe kiss, and tucked him away in the crib fondly before fiddling with his vambrace to close the sphere. At the sound of your protests, Din turned to you and cocked his head in your direction, watching you trail off nervously as he offered no explanation. You took a step forward, reaching to put your hand on his chest and ask if he’s injured - but before you could even open your mouth - Din gripped your elbow and whirled you around. His chest connected with your back as he crowded you forward. 

A knot of anticipation and nervousness grew in your stomach. You were a brat, but you had never pushed him this far before. Never during a bounty, either. Despite your anxiety, you trusted him to take care of you; the combination of unpredictability and trust making your head dizzy with molten need before he even touched you. 

“Stand in the corner and face the wall with your arms up.  Don’t lower them unless I give you permission to.” His modulated voice ground the words out in a monotone, but he was close enough for you to be able to hear the whisper of rage in his words, making your hands tremble as you pressed them flat against the cool metal wall. You heard a rustle and telltale clink of metal armor behind you and tensed in expectation before a large, warm hand settled just above your hip, covering the expanse of your back. Another made its way around your torso and both began working in tandem to rip the clothes off your body. 

You gasped as you stood shivering and bare in the hull within seconds, testament to the strength he hid in his gentle touches with you. You opened your mouth to beg him to hurry up before his hand came down on your ass and a smack echoed in the ship. Your lips parted, and a cry of surprise worked its way out as Din began slapping both your cheeks in a random, but equally devastating order. He gave you no time to recover, barely letting the sting fade before he repeated the motion and the pain increased tenfold. 

Tears began pooling in your eyes as Din kept going, and when your legs began shaking from the ache you couldn’t take it anymore. “S-stop. Please. ‘M gonna be g-good” you could barely get the words out between the sharp, jagged breaths bursting out of you. Din chuckled behind you before leaning in to rub your swollen, reddened skin in a soothing motion. 

“Are you now? You forgot to count, though, cyar’ika. Good girls count. Let’s try again from one, no crying.” His tone dripped with condescension as he began again, practically reveling in each gasp and broken sob that spilled from your lips, taking pleasure in each time you stuttered on a number. Your eyes burned but you blinked rapidly to stop any tears from falling. You had submitted completely to your submissive headspace, and Din knew it too.

Finally, as you gasped out “25”, Din stopped to soothe the flaring bruises again. You whimpered and tried to move your hips forward, but realised the wall gave you no space to do so. Turning over your shoulder, you met his visor with pleading, tear-filled eyes. 

“S-sorry daddy. Won’t tease you next time, ‘m sorry for being bad. Please no more, it h-hurts,” sobs wracked from you, and you wrapped your arms around his midsection before burying your face in his chest. Gloveless hands began smoothing over your hair as Din began muttering praises and assurances to you from behind his helmet. 

“That’s okay, baby, I know it hurts. You teased me all the time, hm? Gotta make it right, no?” he paused as you nodded into his chest. “Then you gotta take your punishment, too, honey. You think just 25 strokes is enough to make up three weeks worth of misbehaving?” you shook your head, sniffling and looking up at him with such a sincere apology in your gaze that Din debated abandoning the punishment then and there. 

But the package sat on the floor next to his armor, tempting him, and he gave into the wrecked visions of you his mind was conjuring. Tapping your thighs lightly, he urged you to jump before adjusting your knees on his waist and cradling your head in one hand to reach down and pick up the inconspicuous white bag from the floor. Carrying you to his chair, Din pulled some rope out and began typing your hands to each of the chair’s handles; your feet spread wide in position. He reached his hand into the paper bag and pulled out a bullet-shaped, neon-pink toy as your eyes widened in alarm. 

You whined, tugging against your restraints fruitlessly as you looked at Din, who just tilted his helmet at you before kneeling and running a knuckle down your folds - chuckling when the contact makes you hiss and buck your hips. Din’s fingers leave you for a second before his hand comes down again - this time on your bare and swollen cunt - leaving you jolting away and yelping in surprise as you suppress a shudder. The snap of his rough hand on your clit leaves you breathless as stuttered pleas and whines come tumbling our of your throat. Din just brings his open palm down in another slap in response, the wet sound echoing throughout the room. 

“We’re done when I say we are. Ask me to stop again, and I’ll add another punishment after this one.” You squirmed, tugging against the ropes binding you to the chair. Din reached for the toy, pressing a button on its side and holding it snug against your clit. Your hips bucked of their own volition as you choked on your needless babbling, the warmth in your belly growing to a crescendo just as Din slid two fingers into you without warning. 

Just as you felt the first waves of your orgasms within reach, suddenly everything was gone - his fingers, the toy - pulled away cruelly, leaving you rolling your hips while the restraints chafed your skin. You sobbed out a whine as Din tutted at you in mock sympathy, stepping away from you until your release faded away before returning the toy and thrusting three fingers inside you in a single, swift motion. 

He repeated this cycle endlessly - bringing you to the edge only to pull away again, watching your trembling body rut in midair mindlessly; too far gone to even beg properly. Broken syllables poured out of your mouth, interrupted by wanton moans and sobs as tears stained your flushed cheeks. Eyes rolling back and slick running down your thighs, you furled and unfurled your fingers as the need to touch Din overwhelmed you. A steady chant of need to cum, need to cum, please, please, please, i’m sorry began taking over your mind, rocking your hips forwards and backwards in an attempt to chase any friction at all in the haze that had flooded your mind. 

Din could see you crumbling, your frustrated tears falling harder as time went on. He pulled the vibrator away from you again, turning it off to set it aside this time, untangling the ropes and opening your binds while rubbing at your sore wrists. You sobbed as you reached your shaking hands out for him, and he gathered you in his arms before turning to sit with you in his lap, rubbing your back as he cooed praises into your hairline. 

“You wanna come, honey?” You nod feverishly into his chest. “Okay, baby, okay. Took your punishment so well for me. You deserve a reward, okay? Let me take care of you.” You sniffle and look up at his visor before resting your hands on either sides of his helmet, waiting for your riduur to nod to tug it over his head and smash your lips to his desperately. You needed to feel him so badly, to breathe the air he was breathing, to be one with him again. Hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, your fingers began to claw at him urgently as you deepened the kiss. 

Breaking away from your mouth to grasp your chin, Din’s eyes met yours, an unguarded question in them. You want this? Instead of responding verbally, you stood to your feet to help rip off his boxers and undershirt before returning to straddle his thighs. Din leaned back in his seat before grinning at you. “Go on, take what you need. You’ve earned it. Just wanna hear a thank you when you’re done.” he drawled at you before resting his hands on the rests of the chair. You leaned in closer, rolling your hips to grind your cunt against his length; his moan rumbling against your pressed chests as his tip caught at your clit, making you hiss and jump from the sensitivity. 

You sunk down onto him, nails digging into his biceps as your toes curled and you both groaned from the stretch as you met in a rough, sloppy kiss. Eyes rolling back, you bounced in his lap whining his name over and over like a prayer as a cocky grin made its way onto his face. Wet, smacking sounds and the repetition of your wrecked “Din, Din, D-Din…” echoed throughout the hull. Din planted his feet, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, thrusting up and nuzzling your neck as his tip battered your cervix with enough force for your vision to black out; back arching as you screamed soundlessly and felt yourself hurtling towards your orgasm. 

You tipped your head back as your eyes fluttered shut, unable to do much more than take the pleasure he was giving you. A hand wrapped around your neck and clamped down as Din spoke into your ear with an edge that had you suppressing a shiver. “You look at me when I make you feel good. Let me see those pretty eyes cry on my cock, mesh’la. Cum.” The words of endearment in Mando’a were the final nail in the coffin, and suddenly your whole body was locking up -  walls clamping down around Din as you finally got to come - eyes filling with tears as Din’s movements didn’t so much as stutter, drawing the high out to the point of pain and over-sensitivity that had you jolting with each thrust. The steady repetition of thank yous began surging from your lips, eager to please him, keening for his praise. 

Scratching your nails along his scalp and curling your fists into his hair, his stubble leaving burn marks down your neck as he began rolling your flesh between his teeth before sucking bruises into it. Gasping, you felt your legs shake slightly as the onslaught continued, barely able to form sentences in your head as the white hot bliss wiped your mind clean. A particularly punishing press of his girth inside you caused a shriek to bubble up from your throat as you pushed weakly at his chest to slow him down, making him laugh at you. 

Tilting your head down to level your eyes, he brought his face close enough to make your noses touch. “My poor-” leaning in, he pressed a kiss to your now slack jaw, pulling back to look at you again, “poor, baby.” Twin brushes of his lips over your eyelids, which threatened to shut at the fatigue coursing through you now. “Fucked so dumb she can’t even tell me to stop.” A kiss to your cheek this time, his tongue flicking out to taste your tears. “‘S that what you want, sweetheart? Want me to stop?” you shook your head frantically, too desperate to feel him in you to remember your pain. 

“W-want you to cum, daddy.” You whispered it as you buried your face in his neck, body twitching with his relentless motions and reveling in the slight hitch in his breath at your words. Before you knew it, a steady slew of please cum and please trickled into your half-gasped, rambled vocabulary, just as Din’s thrusts sped up slightly. Your eyes did close then, arms wrapping around his neck to wrap yourself in his safety as he reached a hand down to thumb at your clit, making you lurch in his secure hold as he began tracing rapid, tight circles on you while rutting up into you with renewed vigor. 

“Give me another, baby. That’s it. That’s it, good girl” his words kept you grounded as you began wailing, trembling like a leaf as he thrusted a few more times before he came with a low, animalistic moan and spilled inside you. 

Heaviness and fatigue began weighing down your body and mind in his arms, your breathing evening out as you tucked your face in his shoulder. His arms wound around your midsection, pressing soft kisses and murmurs into your hair as he used one hand to smooth the hair away from your face. You felt him pick you up and walk you somewhere - turn on some water and the glorious feeling of his hands running down your body to scrub his soap into your skin. 

You had the distinct memory of his lips ghosting over each blotch of blue or purple, taking the time to kiss it softly before moving on to the next, before he wrapped you up, dressed you in his shirt and panties, and lay you onto the bed. Swooping down to kiss your forehead and smiling at the sleepy grumble you let out before reaching your arms out blindly for him, he turned the lights out and crawled into bed to hold you. Watching you burrow into him in your sleep, the irritation of the hunt seemed to melt away now that he was with you again. For the first time in days, Din let sleep take him; feeling completely safe and at home with you pressed to his chest.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones 🫶

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Familiar & Unfamiliar

din djarin x female!reader

warning: attempted sexual assault (not by our boy mando, and i don’t describe it in depth the furthest it goes is non-consensual kissing), light smut, angst then comfort, then fluff fluff fluff, identity theft, mentions of slave trade, canon violence, dom!din trying hard to be sub!din for you, he doesn’t succeed for long

word count: 4,174

Summary: You travel the galaxy with a Mandalorian who is much softer than his impenetrable beskar would lead others to believe. He leaves you with his son to search for a Quarry, but it’s not the Mando you’ve come to know and love who returns to you.

“It shouldn’t take long.” Mando hummed as he collected his gear from his weapon’s storage. You sat cross legged on the Razor Crest’s floor with the child in your lap. His small green hand played with the small, metal ball he seemed to always find. Your hand stroked his ears only stopping to push the ball away from his mouth when he began to try and chew on it. Mando turned around to stare down at you. “Will you be alright here?”

After traveling with the Mandalorian for the last two months, babysitting and completing repairs on the ship, you had finally grown accustomed to the silver beskar covered man. Initially it had been difficult for you to even look at the man for longer than a second⏤ too intimidated by the black t-shape visor that stared back at you. However, joining him had been your only option at the time, an act of self preservation, so you had to push your fear aside. Luckily, you had quickly learned that though the metal he was covered in was impossible to penetrate, the man underneath was as soft as they come.

You learned that the solemn, silent, and dangerous facade Mando wore was more or less an interpretation of what people saw. Yes, he was dangerous. You had seen him wrestle quarries three time his size and come out unscathed, but you had also seen him humming a song under his breath while giving the child a bath. You had seen Mando go out of his way to purchase you a new pair of boots in the market simply because he noticed your discomfort with your current pair. The brief times you felt his touch, a brush against your arm or a hand on your back, it was soft and comforting. His eyes were impossible to see behind his helmet, but you could feel the care in his gaze. Having Mando’s attention on you felt like safety.

Mando called out your name and you blinked in surprise. “Oh, um, yeah! We’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I shouldn’t be gone long. Days at most.” He reassured before you could even ask. You stood up and Mando drifted closer⏤ his gloved hand reached out brush the child’s head. Mando chuckled when his son cooed and giggled in response. You heard a long time ago that the best judge of a person’s character was how they treated animals and children. Mando passed that test with flying colors. “You remember the rules?”

“Hmm, no running with scissors?” You joked. Mando tilted his head and you chuckled. “Don’t open the Razor Crest’s ramp for anyone but you, and if I do have to leave for some emergency, get to a crowded spot with plenty of witnesses and talk to no one. Not until you come for us.”

Mando nodded in approval. He gave the child’s head one last pet along the ears and as his hand pulled away you felt his leather covered fingers drag down the length of your bare arm. Heat crept up the back of your neck and you prayed to any deity that was listening that Mando hadn’t heard the hitch in your breath. You were not attracted to your metal armored Mandalorian employer and friend. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. 

Without another word, Mando made his way to the back of the cargo hold. He opened the ramp before heading down and you called out for him to be careful. Mando glanced over his shoulder, at you and the child, and you waved. You stood at the cargo hold’s edge as Mando pressed a button on his gauntlet and the ramp began to rise. As the metal door rose, you stared at the mandalorian’s back until the ramp cut him off from sight.

Din was more distracted than usual and he told himself it wasn’t because of the newest addition to the Razor Crest. It obviously wasn’t because of you. No, he was just busy with all the bounties he was juggling and the stress of trying to find the child’s people. Then the added dilemma of his current quarry. Already he had been on the flesh trader’s trail for three days. Three full days. That was nothing in comparison to past hunts that would take him weeks on end, but Din found his patience wearing very, very thin.

“Are you ready yet, mate?” A voice asked through the closed door. 

Din had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. His only lead came from a mercenary who was hunting an Inner Rim politician that had come all the way out here to participate in the slave trade. It was the only access Din would have to get into the market to find his quarry and it came at a cost. Din glanced down at the helmet held in his hands. It was an oddly shaped red thing from Kaleesh culture. His new mercenary partner made it very clear that if he walked in as a Mandalorian everything would be lost. On any normal bounty Din would’ve risked it anyways. There was very little in the galaxy that could coax him out of his armor, leave him bare to the world, but a child in danger did it. 

A mother had come to him after he searched for a lead in the local cantina on his first night. She had fallen to her knees in front of him and begged for his help⏤ she offered everything she owned and more in return. Her only child, an eleven year old little girl, had been stolen away from her. Dragged to the flesh market to be sold. Din swore to her that he’d bring her back. On his word as a Mandalorian, she would be reunited with her daughter. He just wasn’t allowed to do it looking like a Mandalorian.

“Seriously, mate, we’re going to be late!” Trigg, the mercenary, barked once more.

Din settled the helmet over his head and shifted uncomfortably. It didn’t fit quite like his real one did, but it was tight enough that he wasn’t worried about it falling off in the heat of battle. For a second, he just stared at himself in the mirror. Red armor of cloth and leather covered every inch of his skin, black gloves pulled on tight, and his oddly shaped helmet covered his face entirely. Din hated it more than anything. But, the sooner he saved the girl and caught his quarry, the sooner he could return to his ship. Return to the child and you.

“I’ll be right out.” Din called back. He settled all his beskar armor pieces into the tarp bag he had borrowed from the child’s mother. It was her home they were using as a base of sorts. Din hid the bag in the closet of the room behind a stack of boxes. It made him anxious to leave his armor behind, but he forced himself to step away and open the door.

Trigg stood in the hall wearing his own personal gear. The blond man had scars from a raking claw on the side of his head leaving those patches with sparse hair. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stared at Din in a mix of annoyance and impatience. “Finally. Did you have to do your hair?”

“It’s you we’re waiting on now.” Din replied dryly as he marched past the man to the door.

The sooner, the better.

Night had fallen for the third night of Mando being gone. It was too soon for you to be worried about him, but a ball of anxiety still sat in your gut. He had been away for longer periods of time before. The longest thus far being three weeks. You were mumbling a soft song under your breath as you rocked the child to sleep. When his eyes drifted close, you carefully set him in the hammock above Mando’s bunk and tucked a blanket around him. 

When you were certain that the kid was settled, you drifted toward the fresher to get ready for bed yourself. You wondered what it would take to convince Mando to pick up a bounty on a planet with an ocean soon. Going from the lava plains of Nevarro to the deserts of Tatooine and now this dusty Outer Rim world was bleak. You missed water. You had grown up near a river on your homeworld and spent a decent amount of time there. It wasn’t until you saw dry planet after dry planet that you truly began to appreciate natural bodies of water.

You shrugged out of your clothes, tossing them aside, and slid into a pair of shorts and one of Mando’s shirts. It had been borrowed early on in your travels and now it belonged more to you than it did him. The dark shirt was large enough to cover most of your shorts. You had been in the middle of washing your face when you heard the tell tale sound of the ramp. Quickly, you grabbed a towel and dried your face while rushing out of the fresher.

Mando was walking up the ramp just as you entered the cargo hold and you shot him a smile, “Hey, Mando.” He came to a sudden stop. You glanced around but saw no evidence of a quarry behind or near him. Had they gotten away? “What happened with the quarry?”

The Mandalorian crossed his arms and a nervous energy settled over your skin. The way he stood just seemed…off. And, the silence that surrounded him wasn’t the usual comfortable quiet you had grown used to. Mando’s helmet tilted some, as if his eyes were raking over your form, and you tugged on the bottom of your shirt anxiously. This was an outfit you wore to sleep every night on the Razor Crest, but right now was the first time you felt uncomfortable having it on around Mando.

“Are you⏤Are you injured?” You asked.

Mando strolled closer to you. Another bit of him that wasn’t right⏤ his gait. As you tried to gather your thoughts, he came to a stop right in front of you. Nearly chest to chest. A lump had formed in your throat, mouth dry, and you tried to swallow it down. Being around Mando always made your stomach feel as if it were filled with butterflies, made your heart race out of your chest, made an addicting warmth pool in your core. 

That was not how you felt right now.

Your hand reached out, as quickly as you could manage it, and slammed against the lock button of Mando’s bunk. The metal door slid down. It clicked into place, and the Mandalorian in front of you grabbed you by the throat and shoved you back until you slammed into the Razor Crest’s wall. You clawed at the familiar, gloved hand tightening around your throat as a low, unfamiliar chuckle rumbled through the modulator.

“What’s wrong, baby?” A voice that did not belong to your Mandalorian asked. “Aren’t you happy to see me? You were a minute ago.”

“Wh⏤Who⏤” You tried to spit out but you could barely breathe let alone form words.

“I’m your Mandalorian, baby.” The cruel laugh coming out from behind the t-shape visor you found comfort in felt so very wrong. He yanked you off the wall and released your throat. You managed to gasp a single breath of air before he backhanded you across the face hard enough to see stars. You fell to your knees and elbows roughly, a cry of pain leaving your lips, but you struggled to find a weapon of any kind. “That’s right. Crawl away, baby. Run. I’m a Mandalorian who likes to hunt, and now you’re my prey. How’s that sound?”

Your hand found a screwdriver, lying off to the side where you had been working on something under the floorboard earlier, just as he kicked you in the side to flip you over. The imposter knelt on the ground over you and you tried to stab him where only the flight suit sat. Unfortunately, he turned fast enough that the screwdriver struck beskar and did absolutely nothing. He laughed once more as you gave up the attack to try and slip away, but he grabbed your hands by the wrist and pinned you to the ground. The imposter sat on top of your thighs, kneeling over you, and you were forced to stare at your reflection in Mando’s armor.

It would be a bold faced lie for you to say you hadn’t daydreamed about having the beskar armor on top of you⏤ the weight of it pressing into you in every delicious way you could think of. But not like this. Not with a stranger inside of it. 

“Who knew the ship came with such a pretty little whore.” The imposter hummed. He shifted your arms so he could pin both your wrists with one hand. With his other, he grasped the bottom of the beskar helmet and pulled it off.  The man’s eyes were a piercing blue. Cold and cruel. Blond hair covered his scalp except on the side of his head where the scars of what looked like claw marks sat. He tossed the helmet aside and gave you a sickening grin. “Is that what you’re here for? You keep the Mandalorian’s bed warm? Let him fuck you when he’s done with a hunt?”

“Get the kriff off of me!” You struggled against his grip, against his touch, but nothing seemed to deter him from using his other hand to run over your body. You screamed until you were hoarse and when you cried out for Mando the man sitting on top of you just laughed. Faintly, you could hear frantic tapping behind Mando’s bunk door and fear struck you. Was the child awake? He wouldn’t be able to unlock the door from inside you didn’t think. 

It seemed the imposter was too immersed in you to hear the sound. 

“How about this,” The man leaned closer into your space, “I get a quick taste of you now, and then, once we’re up and in hyperspace, I’ll fuck you better than your Mando ever could, yeah?”

His lips crashed down on yours roughly. You tried to turn your face away, but the imposter bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Between the metallic taste of your blood on your tongue and the smell of his rancid breath you were going to be sick. You gasped in pain and he took advantage by shoving his tongue into your mouth. He pressed his hips down into you, grinding against your stomach now, and the feel of his erection pressing into you made a horrified sob slip form you. It seemed to only spurn him on further. He let go of one of your hands to grasp at the waistband of your pants.

The sound of sprinting footsteps made the imposter sit up and you were barely able to register what was happening when a body dressed in red leather slammed into the beskar covered imposter⏤ both men falling away. Taking advantage of your freedom, you scrambled back as quickly as you could. The stranger dressed in red, wearing an oddly shaped helmet that covered his face, had a hand wrapped around the imposter’s throat while his other fist pounded away at the man’s face. Grunts of anger filled the air with every blow thrown and the imposter fought back only for a moment before his body went slack.

You scrambled away further but your back hit a metal crate sitting in the cargo hold. It shifted slightly and the sound made the stranger sit up and spin around. You gasped⏤panicked. Heart still racing. The imposter laid motionless. His face bruised, broken, and bloody beyond all recognition. You were breathing hard, trying to suck in more air as the air you did get brought no relief. The stranger jumped up, motions smooth and agile, and rushed to you. A cry of fear left you as you tried to pathetically jump up, but his hands wrapped around you. Soft, but firm. A comforting weight.

“It’s me. It’s me. You’re safe, mesh’la.” A familiar voice came out of the unfamiliar mask. The bright red and angry shapes still jarring to look at and you tried to struggle away. He pulled away to rip off his gloves. One hand came to rest on the side of your face, while the other lifted the red helmet just enough to reveal a jaw covered in dark scruff and lips. “Listen to me, mesh’la. You’re safe. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s me. I’m here.”

You were still shaking, your entire body threatening to tremble into pieces, but your breaths were beginning to grow controlled. The warm hand on your face was grounding. It was familiar. You couldn't see the man’s eyes, but you could feel his soft gaze. Safe. You felt safe.

“M⏤Mando?” You gasped.

“Yes.” He nodded. “I’m here, mesh’la. You’re safe now.”

You broke into an uncontrollable sob, unable to bite it back, and Mando didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms. The coarse, red armor you buried your face into felt unfamiliar, but the strong arms that wrapped around you felt right.

For the first time, Din felt uncomfortable in his helmet. It smelled of the spice that Trigg disgustingly chewed on. He couldn’t even bring himself to pull his armor on. It left him in a pair of plain sweats and shirt. After setting you in his bunk, the child curled into your side, he had stripped the mercenary out of his beskar and thrown the piece of shit into the carbonite freezer.

The job had gone so well then so bad. Din found the young Rodian child and killed his quarry. He’d only get half the bounty with the flesh trader dead, but something was better than nothing. The moment he returned the girl to her mother his heart had stopped when he realized his armor was missing. Din had sprinted to the Razor Crest, faster than he had ever run, and still he hadn’t come soon enough. 

Din stepped out of the fresher. The Razor Crest was in hyperspace and the cargo hold was dark. The only light spilling from the open door behind him. The sound of whimpering filled the otherwise silent space around him. Din hurried to the bunk to see you tossing and turning. He scooped the child up and set him in the hammock before crawling in to try and calm you.

He called out your name, bare hands on your shoulders, and when your eyes snapped open, thanks to his visor, he could see clearly the way panic and fear filled them. You screamed and began to swing at him. His helmet. It was his helmet. Without thinking, Din ripped his helmet off and threw it out of the bunk. Din pulled you into his arms again, pressing your face to his shoulder, and whispered reassurances.

“It’s me, Mesh’la. It’s me. I’m sorry. I was wearing the helmet. You’re safe, I promise.”

“Mando?” You breathed. He buried his hand in your hair and pulled you tighter into his chest. As if the two of you weren’t already tangled together in the small confines of his bunk. “I’m sorry I hit you⏤”

“It didn’t hurt. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Din didn’t know which emotion waged in him the most⏤ guilt or anger. They were neck and neck. You took in a deep shaky breath and your hot breath on his neck made him sigh in relief. You were safe in his arms. Din rubbed your back and the question fell out before he could hold it back. “Did he… Mesh’la, did⏤”

“No.” You whispered. “You got here just in time.”

Din could feel tears soaking into his shirt. When the tears stopped, Din coaxed you out of the bunk and onto the cargo hold floor. He grabbed a first aid kit and rushed back so you weren’t left alone for too long. The only light still came from the open door of the fresher and he sat so his back was to it. The dim light illuminated your features and it was like a spotlight to the injuries you sported. He had told you that you could open your eyes. With the way you sat, it’d be too dim for you to see his face, but you said you didn’t want to risk it. 

He let his fingers trace the forming bruise surrounding your right eye. It trailed down to brush against the torn skin of your lower lip. Dank farrik. That kriffing fucker had bit you. He could see the outline of teeth. Din’s jaw clenched. He grabbed a bit of bacta and rubbed it gently into the forming bruise. He was going to do the same for your lower lip when you stopped him.

“Did I hurt you?” He blurted.

“No, no. Not that.” You mumbled. “Can I… Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Anything, mesh’la. Anything.”

“Can you kiss me?” You asked. Din was certain he had misheard you. It was why he sat in silence. He was trying to puzzle out what it was you had actually said. You spoke again, nervous, “You don’t have to. I⏤I…”

“You want me to…kiss you?”

You nodded. Eyes still closed lightly. “I know it’s dumb. It⏤ I just don’t want to feel his lips anymore. I don’t want the taste of him on me.”

“That’s not dumb, mesh’la.” 

Din settled one of his hands on the side of your face. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Din began to lean in. He didn’t want to startle you. He wanted to give you every opportunity to pull away if you needed to. Din would be lying to himself, again, if he said he hadn’t imagined the way your lips would feel on him. But not like this. He hated that these were the circumstances, but there wasn’t a single thing Din wouldn’t do for you if you asked.

His nose brushed against yours. Din was close enough that he could feel your lips part. He waited one second more before pressing his lips softly against yours. One of your hands lifted to tangle in his hair and a simple gesture shouldn’t make him feel so hot under his skin. The kiss was slow and tender. Din was terrified to press too hard and bring you pain. The injury to your lower lip still so fresh. And after what you had just suffered through, he wanted you to have all the control. If you needed to use him to rid yourself of that nightmare, to erase the memory that bastard left on your lips, then he would. 

Your tongue brushed against his lower lip, tracing it, and he parted his lips for you giving you room to explore him. Maker, the taste of you was so sweet. It took every single ounce of Din’s self control to not deepen the moment even further. The kiss grew almost frantic. A hand in his hair and another at the back of his neck to pull him into you. You pulled back just enough to suck in a sharp breath before your lips was back on his and Din lost his battle for self control.

He wrapped his other arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. Din was caught off guard when you pushed down to press yourself against his already hard cock, but it was a welcome surprise. He grabbed your hips, hands tightening into the soft skin there, and grinded into you. You moaned into his mouth and Din pulled away briefly so he could press open mouth kisses along your jaw then down your neck until he reached your shoulder. Thoughtlessly, he bit down, wanting to leave evidence of himself on you, and you let out a sharp gasp while grinding into him again. Din ran his tongue against the bite soothingly. 

Din’s hands slipped under your shirt and he desperately let his lips find yours once more. His tongue slipped past your lips, but then he tasted it. The sharp, metallic tang of blood. Din pulled back quickly realizing his plan to let you run the show had gone to shit. Both of you were breathless. 

“Are you okay, mesh’la??” He pulled one hand away from your hip to touch your face. His thumb brushed against your lower lip and in the dim light he could see the tint of red. 

“Thank you.” You breathed. You leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss that missed and only landed on the corner of his lips. Then you leaned your head on his shoulder and just took slow breaths. Din let his knuckles drag up and down your spine. He could feel your entire body going limp as you melted into his hold. You mumbled, “Thank you, Mando.”

“Din.” He replied, but he didn’t know if you had already fallen asleep or not. “Call me Din.”

[corazondebeskar-reads]

where you've been

For @dindjarindiaries celebration honoring 5 years of The Mandalorian.

5 Years of the Mandalorian: Day 2 - Boots

din djarin x f!reader

words: 708

summary: helping din with a simple task turns a little devotional.

warnings: dom!din djarin, use of good girl, established relationship, riduur!din, married couple, din djarin takes the helmet off, prelude to smut but nothing explicit, boot worship, hints of foot fetish, to me this is [spoilers] but we'll call it a standalone drabble, no proofreading or anything tbh

dividers by @saradika-graphics

You don’t mean to. 

You don't mean to make a thing out of it. And yet, here you are. 

It becomes something of a routine. Mando comes back from a hunt and goes straight to the fresher. He leaves his boots at the foot of the ramp, when possible, so as not to track filth through the Crest. 

It started out innocently enough. You saw his sad, lonely boots sitting out in the rain, getting dirtier instead of being cleansed. 

Help us, they seemed to say. You imagine they’d have squeaky little voices. 

While it occurs to you later that this is a sign you’ve been alone too long on the ship, in the moment, it tugs at your heartstrings. Those poor, abandoned boots. It’s not their fault that they’re so dirty! 

Yeah, you’re definitely starting to lose it in your solitude. 

You tiptoe down the ramp in your bare feet, hopping quickly to avoid the frigid durasteel before it can adhere your delicate skin to itself. Boots snatched in your hands, you make your way back to the safety of the warm ship. 

Din’s boots have seen better days. Many, many, many better days. But you squint at them and think you kind of love them. The buttery leather melts under your fingers, and you can see the way they’d hold snugly to his broad, flat feet. 

They’re just boots, but they’re the boots that carry him home to you. The bounties change, the unforgiving planets never change, the life never changes. And these boots bring your husband home. 

So you take them to your station, a crate in the hull repurposed for the care and keeping of equipment, and you give them the spa day they so rightly deserve. You don’t mean for it to be anything more than it is, but the work is soothing.

In the end, they might as well be new. The bantha leather shines with the coat of protective oil you had carefully rubbed into the supple flesh. The grooves of his soles are free and clear of mud, stones, and detritus. A few careful stitches had pulled the lining back in place. 

You’re scrutinizing them when he comes out of the fresher, clad only in loose linen trousers. His damp hair clings to the back of his neck, and his eyes are sharp as he takes in the sight of you perched there.

He doesn’t need to ask. The curve of your shoulders, your plump bottom lip trapped between your teeth, and the steadiness of your breathing tell him everything he needs to know. He tips your head up to look at him with his knuckles, and your lashes flutter as you look up at him.

“Oh, cyare,” he murmurs. “You’ve gone and put yourself down, huh?” 

“Uh-huh,” is all you muster.

He clicks his tongue. "That's my job." But he takes the boot from your hands gently in his other hand. “Look at this. What a good girl, taking such good care of my things.”

The warmth in your chest spreads like a dust storm, and his thumb wanders over your lip, freeing it from your teeth. 

“You like that? Worshipping me that way?” 

If you were in your right mind, you’d marvel at the way his voice is so smooth and sultry, the rough rasp of it somehow silky as he wraps you in his sweet words. 

But you’re not in your right mind, and you’re far too distracted by what he’s said to notice how he said it. Worshipping. Yeah, that’s about right.

You blink up at him, dazed, and nod. “Yes, sir,” you say for good measure.

“That’s my girl,” he says with a smile. He sits on the crate. “Put them on me.”

Your breath catches on something in your chest, hooked by the bait he’s dangled. Boots in hand, you sink to your knees at his feet. One by one, slowly, savoring it, you slip the shoes onto his feet. 

It’s your turn to catch his breath. Unprompted, you give each a kiss to the top of the toe. His hand finds your head and holds you there as he marvels down at you, the lights framing him like some dark entity rising from the horizon. You’re captivated, utterly and irrevocably. 

And so is he.

title from "Little Devotional" by Taking Back Sunday (which is how you know it's a make it hurt verse story lmao)

[2kiran]

◜ᐢ..ᐢ◝ ᶻz ➜ din didn’t know how it lead to this. you were his bounty and you made him chase after you then, eventually, he got to you. he was annoyed at you for being so stubborn when he caught you. but now? he’s completely at your mercy.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𖤐 pairing ☆ din djarin x dom!m!reader ˖ ࣪ ˖ cw ıllı bonus. helmetless!din. thigh riding. use of sir. blowjob [ giving ]. orgasm delay/denial. praise + degradation. ⪩⭔⪨

At first, a plan was quick to formulate in your mind. Intent on escaping his harsh grip as you were seconds away from boarding the Razor Crest. Unfortunately, you didn’t succeed. The Mandalorian’s reaction time was better than you expected. What was happening now, though, completely makes up for your earlier humiliation.

The feared and brutal bounty hunter, was on your thigh with his face bare, reduced to a whimpering mess.

“Shame that you have to wear that helmet of yours all the time. ‘s a waste for your pretty face.” He seemed utterly helpless, eyes pleading to you to end this enjoyable torture.

You guided him on your thigh, so slowly that he got quickly frustrated. “Faster...ah!” You sped up your movements briefly, only to slow it down again, earning a whine from him. “So impatient. We’ve only begun.” He shook his head, “Sir, I ca–can’t. I need—” You interrupted him, “You can. Be thankful that I haven’t already left after you’ve embarrassed me.” He moaned lowly as he rocked against you just right, “I’m sorry, f-fuck.” His hands rose, gripping your shoulders for dear life.

“It’s too late for that.” You lifted him away from your thigh, making Mando let out a sob. You put him on the crate you were sitting on and you pulled down his boxers, revealing his leaking cock. “I’ve barely done anything to you.” You leaned in without warning, licking up from the shaft to the tip. “Ah! Fuck, fuck,” He instinctively bucked into your warm mouth, a breathy moan escaping him as you hummed. The vibrations were dizzying his brain.

“Mmngh...Feels s’good. You’re doin’ so good...your m–mouth, ngh!” Your own cock strained against your pants at his words, laced with bliss. You surfaced, pulling off him to breathe. He groaned in disappointment, “No! I was s’close.” He slurred, a frown on his lips.

Oh.

He deserves this punishment.

You suddenly take him back in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down. “Oh! ‘M go–gonna—” On cue, your mouth was off of him again. Tongue ghosting over his tip. “What... why’d you stop?” He panted, “Do you think you deserve to cum?” His eyes widened, “I’m... I’m so sorry. Need your mouth on me. Please.” Your thumb rubbed lazy circles into his thigh to calm him down, “You can do better than that, yeah?” Tears brimmed at his waterline.

“Please... I need you. Need you to help me cum, to help me feel good, please. I’m sorry.”

“Stand up.” He followed your order, his shaky legs threatening to give up on him but you quickly pinned him to the wall. Swiftly, you took your pants along with your boxers off. Mando felt drool build up under his tongue at the sight of your cock. “Open your mouth for me, pretty boy.” He opened his mouth and you shove in three of your fingers, taking him by surprise. “What’re you waitin’ for? Suck on them, slut.” He did, surprisingly obedient and filthy.

Once he coated your fingers with his saliva, you put one of them into his hole. Then a second, scissoring him. Then there comes a third. “You’re taking me in so well, huh? Greedy little whore.” His dick twitched, his teeth biting on his bottom lip to muffle his sounds. You lined up your cock and slid it in, filling him up instantly. Din’s tears finally flowed down, staining his cheeks, “Please,” he weakly begged, voice more of a whisper, “Please fuck me, sir.” You couldn’t help it. Your hips drew themselves back, pounding into his entrance. The way he moaned your name seemed like it’s the only word he ever knew. You could consider it poetical, but it was absolutely whorish.

Mando swears a silent oath that he’ll never admit that he wants you to ruin him — to make a mess out of him in front of those who fears him.

But if you’re lucky enough, you could fuck it out of him.

“I’m going to—” He half-warns, “Don’t. Not until I say you can.” He quietly whimpered, choosing to keep silent. Mando knew better than to complain. He could only shut up and be your little toy.

The once silent Razor Crest was filled with his moans and the sounds of his squelching hole. You leaned in and kissed him, sliding your tongue into his mouth. Successfully silencing his moans until you pulled away, “You’re better when you’re quiet.” Your hand met his cock, setting up a quick pace, “Cum for me.” Almost on command, he came onto your shirt. His hole sucked you in so tightly, sending you off the edge.

You pulled out of him after a few moments, some of your cum dribbling down your cock. You kissed his tear-stained cheek sweetly, “Good boy.”

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

[freakrenaissance]

I'm soo happy I stumbled across this fic! This is awesome. Stunning. I can't wait to go on this ride, omg! & it was soooo hot! Then the plot! I'm just floored 🥵🤤👏🏾

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter I : Apollo

Series Masterlist

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Summary: Enter: A man who is not so much a man, but an effigy, a wound of steel and armor and Creed – secrecy and masked faces, above all else. 

Enter: A girl who is not a girl, but a creature helmed in darkness and spit out unto the galaxy broken and unmoored. 

Enter: The creation of myth.

Content Warnings: Dominant Din Djarin; Unprotected sex; Creampie;Size difference; Size kink; Rough sex; Overstimulation; Spanking; Brat taming; Touched-Starved Din Djarin

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Hello, friends, and welcome to the new story! 

A few notes: We are starting prior to season one’s canon, and I am doing what I want and making it so that Din already knows about the Force and the Jedi. I make free use of canon and the timeline in whatever way I see fit to suit my own horny purposes, sorry. If things aren’t canon or don’t make sense pls don’t tell me. I am naught but a fragile flower who wilts under harsh criticism. 

Please note as well, that I do describe the FMC as having two different colored eyes although I do not specify what color they are. 

Also, I will be updating the tags as we go along so as to avoid spoiling too much too early on. 

Thank you and enjoy!

Word count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

PART I

CHAPTER I : APOLLO

Is it a god inside you, girl?

Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

The first time you meet, he’s sitting in the corner of the shithole cantina on the shithole backwater planet you currently find yourself on: Nevarro. Sometimes you were wont to flight – in search of a nowhere place in the middle of a nowhere part of the galaxy to lose yourself. And the barren landscape of the volcanic planet, a broken star of red, the only interruption in the black field of ash, no wind, no life, no sound; it provides the perfect environment for getting lost when necessary.

And then one day, unexpectedly: him. He is a shining, metallic, mountain of a man. 

Mandalorian. 

Whenever you’d felt too suffocated, strangulated, in need of a moment, a breather, a reprieve from the reality of what you were… what you are becoming – this place is enough of nothing to be just the perfect something. When you’re not busy flitting from planet to planet, sector to sector, looking for something to fill the gnawing void within you. Before landing here, you’d been on Sorgan for a time. It’d been… nice… peaceful, or whatever approximation of peace you could partially recognize after an existence such as that which you were currently trying to run from. A temperate climate, kind people, but after a while, you’d happened upon a community one day, and they’d been so… so together, so familiar. Happy, they’d be so openly, unabashedly, uncomplicatedly happy. It was simple, and it had made a terrible lance of poisonous jealousy roil through you. Jealousy and anger and bitterness and a loneliness so painful that you’d had to flee, as far and as fast as you could from the reflection of all your envy and shame. And so you’d come here instead, to Nevarro. A more barren, emptier sort of place – better suited to your ilk. 

“I’ve never met a Mandalorian before,” you croon up at him, smoothly sliding into the booth he’s currently occupying in the furthest dark corner of the cantina, only the gleaming silver crescent of the curve of his helmet visible from the other side of the room. 

This is the first of many lies you will tell him. 

No response. Only the dark, yawning pit of his visor faced slightly away from you. 

The stark curve of his helmet gleams brightly. Beautiful. He looks strong, thickly built. His shoulders, so broad. The armor adorning his torso is beaten and worn, and yet, there’s something so… what’s the word? Lived, perhaps, about the facade of him. This is a creature who has lived – who has seen things, who has battled and survived and most assuredly killed. 

Maybe a little like you, but good. For this you know with certainty about Mandalorians – a flash of a pained scream, beskar crumbling beneath the force of you, for not even what could be considered the most endurable alloy in the galaxy could withstand something of your nature, blood, so much blood, and the sound of such defeat as you do the unforgivable– they are good and honorable and worthy – great warriors. But perhaps, on the surface, with a face of shared, painful history, of survival, maybe there are some things between the two of you which could be called similar. 

“I’ve always been curious, though… Always wanted to meet one.” You sidle closer to him. There’s something about him, the weapons, the breadth of his shoulders, the silence, which starts a chilled little shiver of fear that flashes and coalesces into something hotter and wetter deep in your belly, the closer you get to him. And the feeling of it – of apprehension, of standing in the presence of something other, something that could perhaps best, even you, it is exciting and arousing and different to everything else you’ve ever encountered.

Still no response. 

“You’re hard to come by now. Not many of you left, right?” A curdle of shame and regret hidden beneath your wry tone, “A girl’s got to get extra lucky to find something as interesting as you nowadays… something as pretty too.”

He does react to this, finally, and a little shock of victory fizzes in your belly at the fact that he’s at last deigned to give you even a semblance of his attention, for you are desperately in want of it, as he turns his helmet the fraction of an inch in your direction at the sound of you calling him pretty. So, it seems even a Mandalorian is victim to vanity. 

“Oh, so you can hear under there,” you quip, “I was beginning to worry…”

And then his voice, deep, and of potentially the lowest and smoothest baritone you’ve ever heard, comes through the modulator, “I can hear.” Clipped, and even maybe, a little cold. 

“And he speaks too!” He flexes open the fingers of the gloved hand that lays on the table. You’re annoying him. “How exciting.” You cross one knee over the other, elbow propped up on the edge of the table and chin cupped in your palm, looking up at him. He’s tall, even sitting. Your joint presses into the hard muscle of his thigh, and you feel him scoot just the tiniest bit away from you. You have the uncontrollable urge to snap your teeth at him. You must surely be at least half his size, especially with all that beskar covering him. Don’t act so scared, big, bad Mandalorian. I’m just a little girl. You don’t know what I actually am.

Helmet now turned entirely in your direction to keep an eye on you, he says, “What are you?” Or… whoops, maybe he does know. 

You ignore his question. “You know, I met a whore once – who claimed she’d fucked a Mandalorian. Is it true you just pull out the important bits and get on with it? Seems a bit cold, no? Even for a paid fuck?” He jolts a little at your vulgarity, and you flash him a wide grin, wriggle one delicate eyebrow provocatively. “No game?”

He turns his body to face you more fully now too, his thigh pressing into yours once again as he takes you on directly. Perhaps a warrior's instinct that can sense he is not in the presence of something to be trifled with. The helmet cocks slowly to the side. Silent, silent. Not one for many words this Mandalorian, although, it seems you’ve provoked him now. 

“What are you?” he says again, voice measured. 

“How do you mean?” You let your voice end on an upward lilt, and he shifts minutely, as if agitated at your uncooperativeness. 

“You’re not– I don’t–” The helmet tilts the other way as if inspecting you, and you cut him off before he can finish. 

“Oh, so many things.” You roll your hand on your wrist in a fluttering wave, tapping your fingers quickly against your thumb one by one, flexing a muscle you’ve not allowed yourself to use in a while and repressing it, all at once. You’re watching him so closely you see the small pivot of his neck to glance at your hand, and then back to your face. “Who can keep track anymore? So many strange creatures roaming the galaxy after the fall of everything. The Empire. We’re all just madly careening around as whatever the moment requires of us, aren’t we?” He’s quiet, still inspecting you, and you feel his gaze like a brand on the skin of your face. Like fire, like something that you remember from a nightmare, and that you think should be painful, but now only feels exciting. “So, what are you, Mandalorian? What does the present moment require of you?”

He goes silent again, and you watch the subtle downward tilt of his helmet as he inspects the length of you. You wish you could see if he was ogling the tight swell of your breasts beneath your dark clothes. You tilt your head side to side, smile big at him again, and you’re pretty sure you hear an agitated little huff of annoyance slip through the modulator.

And then: “I’m not interested.” He turns back to face away from you, both fists now firmly planted on the table’s surface, clenched into tight balls of clear annoyance. “Go away.”

Oh, he’s funny too. You throw your head back in a quick laugh, “Did I offer something?”

Silence.

“Dirty mind, Mandalorian.” You drag the vowels out to irk him just that extra bit more. “What? Just because I made one little mention of a whore means that, I too, must be peddling my wares?” And you knock your knee into his beskar clad thigh again. He scoots a smidge away from you, and you follow him, laughing again. Oh, you really should stop provoking him, but it’s just turning out to be too much fun. And you’d been watching him for weeks now, every time he came in here for a new bounty puck. You’d so wanted to talk to him, had snooped around to find out he’s in the Guild, and now you finally are. It was just too much for a girl who had too much time on her hands, and too many ugly thoughts she’d rather forget, roaming around in her mind, to look away from a moment of distraction such as this. 

“Stop,” and it sounds like he’s gritting his teeth. 

You snicker. “Stop what?” in a sing-songed lilt that you know must be grinding his gears. Poor, shiny Mandalorian. 

“Whatever it is you’re doing – speaking to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want something from me.”

“What could I possibly want from you?” You bat your eyelashes at him. “Who’s the one peddling their wares now, Mandalorian, hmm?” He says nothing now, and you know you’re pushing him, you can see the vibration of his restrained agitation in the lines of his thick arms, but there is something needling and annoying and obnoxious inside of you that wants his attention, that wants to incite him. And so you make a mistake that perhaps, is not a mistake at all, but a call for something more, for a reaction from him because as you slowly start to lift a single finger up towards the curve of his helmet, you say, “Tell me, what do you have to offer?” At the same time, he pivots and snaps up to grasp the thin of your wrist in a bone crushing grip as you’re about to make contact with the smooth surface of the gleaming beskar helmet. And you know you were asking for it, that you should never have even insinuated that you were going to touch a Mandalorian’s helmet, and that this is only your own doing, but as his harsh strength makes contact with you, so unexpectedly, he’s so fast, that you’re caught almost entirely unaware, you react on pure instinct. A reflex so embedded into the deepest and most poisoned recesses of your mind, that despite the fact that you know this is the last sort of reaction you should exhibit, that above all else you needed to keep this part of yourself hidden and secreted away from the rest of the galaxy, you can’t help yourself when, at the moment that his crushing strength slams your hand back down onto the table, twisting painfully so that you’re crying out in shock and hurt, you weren’t going to do anything to him, you just wanted to touch a little, you can’t help it when you let go of the reins on your power, and you feel the Force snap out of you like a band of rubber, to crack out and wrap around his arm and rip his painful grip away from you. Another inviolable tendril shoves against his chest plate to push him back. His movements, too abrupt, too unexpectedly aggressive to give you a moment to temper your reaction, to give you a chance to remind yourself that this is not one of your painful, dark memories, that you’re free, you’re free, you’re free, and suppress your reaction to not reveal yourself.

The two of you pause for one long moment, him by force, and you in shock and fear and slight nausea as you pant breathlessly. It’s been a long time since you’ve lashed out like this, since you’ve used the Force in front of another person, and the sensation of being perceived, of being seen for what you truly are is disequilibrating and terrifying and sickeningly liberating all at the same time. 

One thick arm of his is held up and pinned against the back of the booth the two of you are ensconced in, hidden from prying eyes, at least. His legs start to shift restlessly, seeking purchase or trying to kick out, and you pin him there too, lest he try and hurt you again. 

“I do not like to be handled so,” you admonish him, clicking your tongue. You can feel the seething fury rolling off him. “I wasn’t going to do anything to you. I am not going to do anything to you.” He’s got a blaster strapped into a holster at his thigh, and you’re sure his vambrace is hiding several other nasty tricks up his sleeve. You eye them both. “If I let you go, are you going to try and hurt me again?”

“No,” he growls out.

“No,” you mock back, but release him anyway, letting an impenetrable wall settle between the two of you. He immediately goes for his blaster, and you block his reach which has him furiously growling and lurching towards you, only to be met by the invisible Force impeding his attack. He spits a frustrated volley of curses in a language you can’t understand, but that you’re fairly certain is Mando’a. 

“Ah, ah, no blaster,” you tut, and he settles, going suddenly, shockingly still, watching you watch him. “You really are quite poorly mannered and surly.” There’s a part of you that is still slightly unbalanced, heart beating painfully against the cage of your ribs, but you’re trying to hide it behind a wry smile and light tone. Echoes of pain and hurt and cruel and unyielding hands molding you into a thing that was just as cruel and unyielding. You cannot tolerate being handled like that anymore, and you feel contrite that you’d provoked him into doing so. Sometimes it is still difficult for you to remember how it is you’re supposed to behave around other people. 

And then something you weren’t expecting, for he says, “You’re a Force weilder. You’re a Jedi.”

You let out a barking laugh. “What do you know of the Force?”

“Are you?” He presses.

“Yes, but no, definitely not that, no.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing. Or… whatever the opposite of a Jedi is, I suppose.”

“The opposite?” He shakes his head, “I don’t–”

“Hmm…” you cut him off, turning to make sure the two of you still haven’t been noticed. “Not anymore. I don’t use it anymore.”

“Oh, no?”

“Well… you’ve gone and ruined that now, haven’t you?”

“You started–”

“All I was trying to do,” you interrupt, “Was make nice. I’d always wanted to meet a Mandalorian,” Lie, “Haven’t you ever heard of a little flirting? And I fear, now, you’ve painted them all in a very poor light,” Lie, “Look at how rude you’ve gone and been, when all I wanted was to be friends,” Another lie, “A shame…” you heave a big sigh, “You really are very beautiful.” Truth. That fist clenches again, and you cock your head to the side, getting one last good look at him. You feel suddenly sad, you don't want to go. You’ve enjoyed this brief moment you’ve gotten to talk to him. Even if you’d gone and pissed him off and ruined it all now. 

“It was nice meeting you, shiny. Even if you were an abominable beast about it.” You give him a nod of your head, and a quick two fingered salute before you’re sliding out of the enshroudment of the booth and slipping out the back of the cantina, into the dark alleyway, leaving him behind. 

The last glimpse you catch of him out of the corner of your eye before the door shuts behind you, is the sight of him scrambling out of the booth and starting towards the door to follow after you. 

A glutton for punishment, then, so it seems. 

You flit through the dark, dirty alleys, scampering from shadow to shadow. The city streets around you, gone quiet now as the sun over Nevarro sets quickly, and you can feel him hunting after you. He’s strong, and you can almost feel the heavy weight of his life force even at a distance, almost as if the goodness and honesty of his character is a presence of its own, sentient in a way. And he’s angry, and you can feel that too, charging after you, provoked, even if he does it on entirely silent and measured feet. You can sense that ravenous curiosity and frustration at being bested and evaded pressing up against you, chasing after you. As if there were some dark red thread connecting the two of you from spine to rib bone, leading him to you, pulling him along your trail. You tiptoe the lines of the shadows silently, making your way through the winding city streets, feeling him getting closer and closer, trying to confuse him, even as he gains on you anyway. 

And then he’s there. 

You feel a massive hand, strong and sure, clamp around the back of your neck, but his touch is measured this time – he’d heeded your warning. His other hand wraps around the bend of your elbow, twisting your arm back behind you, and then he’s kicking open the nearest door, what seems to be some sort of storage alcove, the space dark and humid and mildewed, and pushing you inside. He shoves you away from him once you pass together into the darkness, and you catch yourself on the edge of what feels like some sort of table or workbench.

You laugh breathlessly. Overwhelmed by the thrill of the chase, of the feel of his hands on you, the surrounding darkness, the sound of his own panting breath through the modulator of his helmet. You hope he’s just as overwhelmed, disequilibrated, as you are now. 

“Oh, you again?” you laugh, turning to face him, bracing yourself back against the table. All you can see of him is the silver crescent of the curve of his helmet, the outline of his wide shoulders in the dim light of the moon seeping in through the cracks of space around the door. He is a steel giant.“Did you forget something? Need me to hand your ass to you again, Mandalorian?”

“You’re a fucking brat. Anyone ever tell you that before?”

You gasp mockingly, “Me? Never.”

“Why is it that everything you say sounds vaguely like a taunt? Like you’re trying to provoke me.”

And, oh, he sounds just so unbearably serious and put out by you, that you pout, forced to match his serious tone with one of your own. You force the smile to leave your voice, “Maybe because I am,” and your voice goes quieter, softer, because again, truth. There is something about him that incites provocation, you want him rattled, come undone. “Maybe I want to see what happens when a man made of metal loses control.”

“I can’t – I don’t–” His voice, even through the modulator, is its own flavor of foreplay. “I don’t know…” he says again, whispers it, his tone seeping through the helmet, entirely uncertain, or at war with himself. 

He takes one menacing step forward, made even all the more intimidating by the vast difference in your heights, the sheer breadth of him, the darkness wrapping around him so that all he’s made into are slivers of gleaming silver flame here and there. You feel the whisper of one leather covered finger skim lightly over the outside of your right forearm, another soft touch to the left side of your waist, and you shiver all over. 

“Not a virgin? Your Creed lets you fuck?”

“No.”

“No, what? Use your words.”

Silence. Stubborn, silent, tin can.

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Whores?”

A grunt. 

“Aha! Gotcha.” You start to toe your foot forward, bending your knee to make contact with him when you find his leg, tilting slightly away from the table so that you can slide your thigh between his legs. “Is that what you want me to be for you?”

“No.” Fucking monosyllabic–

“Then what do you want from me? Why did you follow me?”

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t lie.”

“I want to fuck you.” Your cunt goes soaked and tight at his words, because yes, yes yes, this is what you were leading him to. Finally, he’s caught on, and then he’s planting a strong, broad hand to the center of your chest and pushing you back into the table, and pressing the hard, unyielding length of himself against you. He’s hard and swollen beneath his pants, you can feel the thick heft of him against your belly as he presses into you, and you bring your palms up to slide against the unprotected sides of his strong waist, sending him into a full body shudder as you touch him, helmet falling forward on his neck as he hunches over you, hands planted on the table behind. You can hear his labored, panting breath huffing through the modulator as you run your hands along the planes of him. He’s huge, pure muscle beneath unrelenting beskar, and if you weren’t the creature that you are, you’d feel slightly frightened at the unbelievable strength he’s made up of. He is a thrumming effigy of restrained power beneath your hands, different to that which makes you up, and you feel the strength of him once again, humming through the Force. His light burns so bright, almost blindingly. He’s strong. 

You slide one of your hands up his chest plate, tucking your fingers into the top-most edge to bring yourself up and closer to him as he curves over you, bending you back into an arch over the table’s edge. Your other hand reaches for his wrist braced against the table, wrapping around it, so thick your fingers don’t meet, to tuck your fingertips into the space where his sleeve meets his glove, and at the feel of your bare skin on his, just there, just there, he growls, deep and savage in his chest at the same time that you let out a breathy, warbled moan. His other hand shoots up to grasp at the small of your back and press you into him, his fingers digging painfully into your skin. He’s burning hot, sweltering, and he slides his palm lower, tilting your pelvis into his as you hitch one of your knees up the outside of his thigh to his hip, and then your cunt is rocking against the thick length of his cock, and another breathless, pained groan from the both of you as you make contact there, pushing and pulling against each other. You want to taste his skin, his tongue, you want to kiss him, to feel him licking into your mouth. You pull yourself in closer by the hand tucked into his chestplate to press your face into the warm space between his helmet’s edge and the folds of his cowl. He smells so good, like leather and sweat and metal. Something earthy and musky, something that proves to you that despite the beskar, there is only a man of flesh and blood and want beneath. 

His palm slides to grip the lush of your ass, rolling you onto his length harder, pressing deeper as if he could fuck you through your clothes. 

“Are you going to let me fuck you, little brat?” he pants, ending on a stuttered groan as you hook your calf around his waist and press your foot into the small of his back to grind particularly sharply onto him, pressing your clit into the edge of his utility belt, “Please, just– just–” you gasp, head falling back on your neck. And then he’s spinning you abruptly and pressing between your shoulder blades so that you're bent entirely over the table, cheek smushed against the hard surface. That wide palm slides down the slope of your spine, squeezes your asscheek harshly so that you’re moaning out in lust or pain, you can’t tell.

“Was that a yes? Who can’t use their words now?”

“I liked it better when you weren’t talking,” you grouch, but then his fingers have somehow snuck their way up beneath your tunic and under the edge of your trousers, and he’s ripping everything down to leave you bare and unprotected from the sudden onslaught of that huge expanse of leather clad palm cracking down painfully on the soft skin of your ass so that you’re scrambling to find the opposite end of the table to pull yourself away from him. A pathetic little screech claws its way out of you, and he wraps the length of your hair around his fist to pull your head back and up, turning you into his own little bow string, head resting back on the hard pauldron over his shoulder. 

“Where do you think you’re going? I caught you, you’re mine now.”

“Fuck off–” You try, but he clamps his fingers around your jaw, squeezing the fine bones of your face to cut you off, his other hand in your hair gives a sharp tug that makes the tips of your breasts go hot and tight and your cunt clench around nothing. You can feel yourself dripping down the insides of your naked thighs. 

“Open your mouth,” he orders, shoving the thick of his fingers inside to press down on your tongue. You try and moan around him, protest or something, but you can’t help but run your tongue around the digits, tasting the smokiness of blaster residue, the tang of whatever he must use to oil his gloves. “Finally, some silence. I like you better like this,” he taunts you with an imitation of your previous words. He bends his head forward, “Get them wet,” he murmurs, voice soft and sultry through the modulator, and the moan you give him now is all desperation as you let saliva pool heavy on your tongue to coat the leather. 

When he pulls them from your mouth, tugging your head back further so that you can look up into the dark tee of his visor as he slides his spit slick gloves between your thighs to press against your throbbing clit, your whimpered little mewl has a chastising tut filtering through the helmet, “Slippery, little thing.” He starts to press slow circles to the aching bundle of nerves, sliding down on every other swirl to press gentle, teasing pressure to your clenching opening. “Did my chasing do all this? Do you like being hunted, brat?”

“Not–” you moan as he presses down hard on your clit, then back to the mouth of your cunt, giving you just the tip of his finger, “Not a brat,” you struggle to get out.

“No?” He starts to press two fingers inside at once, both of you groaning in tandem. “Maker – fucking tight–” He scissors his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist to fuck you open, making room for himself inside of you. “Don’t know if I’ll even fit in here.”

“No,” you groan, low and drawn out, and then, yes, whispered breathlessly, one of your arms reaching back to hold onto the wrist of his hand still twisted in your hair, trying to find purchase on anything to anchor yourself with. Because the stretch of just his two fingers inside of you – you can hear the slick squelch of your wetness as he starts to fuck them in and out of you slowly – is so unexpectedly obscene. You had not expected to find yourself in this position with any man, especially not one like this – had not thought you were yet ready to be touched by another person. Not so soon after– “Please – m– more. I want–”

“You think you’re ready for my cock, little one? Have I stretched this tiny cunt out enough?”

“Yes– yes. Just do it.”

“Fuck–” You listen to the wet little pop as he pulls his fingers from you, and the clink and shuffle of his belt and armor as he pulls himself out of his clothes, and then he’s shifting behind you as you brace against the edge of the table. The burning hot blunt tip of his cock skimming against the round of your ass, and you feel him spread his feet wide, bend his knees, and then his cock is there at the slick mouth of your cunt, and he’s thrusting up and into you on the downward roll of your hips, and Maker, he’s deep like this. Suddenly, twin strangled groans of pain or relief ripping from your throats in tandem as he grinds deep, deeper, for a moment. You feel the heavy kick and throb of his cock inside of you, and he is too big, too thick – he forces you to take it anyway. Stretching you in a way you’ve never been before, your eyes smart, forcing your body to make room for his inside of you, it leaves your breath to stutter out in a weak little puff of shock. 

And you moan, using the palms of your hands against the edge of the table to grind yourself back onto him while his hands clamp tightly around your hips, his fingers so long they almost meet at the center of your belly beneath your navel. 

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. That’s so good.

You can’t tell which one of you is speaking. You can't even tell if you’re still breathing. And then he starts to move. 

You knew he’d fuck hard, from the first moment you’d seen him, you knew.

He pulls his hips back, the slick wet, the grasping walls of your cunt trying to suck him back in, and then the scorching slide of him pressing back in, in, in, grinding again, those long fingers pressing down on your belly so that you feel him from the outside too. 

“Harder,” you beg, because of course you want more. You are a creature made of greed and hunger. You always have been. 

“Quit. You’ll take whatever the fuck you’re given,” but his hips slam back in, a savage growl punctuating the movement. 

He gives it to you almost brutally, without pause or thought, fucking punched out breaths and whines from you. 

“Shut up,” he spits on the end of one particularly deep, harsh thrust that’s followed by a high pitched mewl from you. “You want every piece of shit on Nevarro to find you split open on my cock like this?” Your head lolls back limply on his shoulder, the wet slap of his heavy balls against your clit overwhelming the sound of your thoughts. You can’t speak, your brain is currently being jostled within the confines of your skull by the force of his cock splitting you open. “No? Then be a good girl, and be quiet,” his voice, rough, even through the modulator is almost drowned out by the wet, obscene sound of him pounding into you. 

He brings one of his hands back up to your jaw, turning your head slightly so that your nose is almost smushed up against the chrome of his visor. He wants to look at you. The hard beskar of his chest plate rubs harshly against your back on every push upwards of his hips, and you’re sure that’ll hurt later, but right now you just can’t seem to care. You can feel the humid, warm air of your panting breath, foggy against the gleam of his helmet, and you bring one of your hands up to the wrist holding your face, holding on for dear life, sanity, you’re not sure what. Your other hand twists back into the hanging fabric of his cloak so that you can pull yourself more tightly back into him as he slows his thrusts, making them longer and more drawn out. “Yeah– like that. Settle… good girl.” Your eyes flutter shut. Too much, too much. It should hurt. You wanted it to hurt. Not gentle, you don’t want it gentle.

“Harder,” you whine, plead.

“No. How I say.” He rolls his cock into you over and over, your slick sliding down your thighs, the backs abraded by the plates of beskar over his own legs. He’s so deep, so big it hurts so good. Even if you want it harder, it still hurts so good. The hand at your face slides down to rip open the fastening of your high necked tunic, reaching inside and under your breast band to pull out the heavy aching weight of your tit and pinch your nipple, rolling it between his strong leather clad fingers – more high, desperate mewls that have him groaning deep in his chest. You’re sure if your face wasn't so close to his you’d never be able to hear them through the helmet, low and rumbly and so delicious. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs low, cupping your breast to plump it up, massaging it in his palm.

“What? You can see?” 

“Yeah– fuck yes, I can see.”

“Not fair,” you whine. It’s so dark in the little room he’d pushed you into, you’re not even going to get to take a good look at his cock before this is all over. 

“You don’t need to see. You just need to be good and take it.”

“Do you ever kiss?” you ask him suddenly. Irritated by the fact that you’ve not gotten to ogle him – or kiss him. If he even does that.

Another deep roll of his hips, a tight squeeze to the swinging globe of your breast, “No.”

“That’s a shame.”

And he responds immediately, voice subdued and even, underneath the helmet, despite the fact that you feel like he’s cleaving you in two. “Maybe next time,” he says. His palm slides down to your belly then, the other pressing down between your shoulder blades to fold you over the table, hands moving to wrap around your hips and lift you up and back onto his impaling cock so that the tips of your toes are left skimming the ground beneath, your fingers scramble and claw for purchase against the wood of the table. You can feel the wide tip of his cock punching against your womb on every thrust in and stars flash behind your eyes, mouth hanging open pathetically. 

There is nothing gentle about the way he fucks you. Like he wants to split you in two, like he wants to make sure the shape of him is branded into the center of your body so that you’d never forget this. The sticky sweet coil of your orgasm starts up low in your belly, and you feel molded in his image for one second, pushed out of yourself to stand on the sidelines and look upon the sight of your much smaller form draped over the table and being fucked into so savagely by this silver blade of a man.

And then: they’re fucking bare, they’re fucking raw, and it has been so, so long since he has felt the touch of another person, someone else’s skin on his that was not bestowed upon him in violence or with the barrier of a sheath between. It is an almost overwhelming feeling, that of your hot, soaking wet cunt pulsing around him, you’re about to come for him, he can feel it. The fluttering of your inner muscles, delicate thing that you are, your thighs shaking as you struggle to push yourself back on to him to get it harder, deeper. He is, almost, made faint with the feeling. And those eyes… you’ve got the strangest multicolored eyes. One enshrouded entirely in darkness compared to its bright counterpart – as if one had forgotten to take that last step into the light. You’re fucking beautiful and–

You snap back into yourself. No, no, no, stay out of his head. Stay out of his head. Focus. You push yourself up again so that your back is against his chest, and he bands one tremendously strong arm around you, gripping your breast tightly. You feel him bend his knees framing your thighs to change and deepen the angle, and then he’s pounding right into that tender, devastating place inside of you, and your cunt twists and floods with your orgasm, electric shocks of pleasure numbing your fingers and toes. You can do nothing more than let him do with you what he will. Your toes aren’t even touching the floor. 

He presses as deep as he can, grinds for a moment, and then he folds you over the table once again and presses down harshly on the small of your back with one heavy palm as he pulls his cock from you and finishes himself off. You listen to the wet thwack, thwack, thwack of him pulling on his cock, and then the searing hot spurt of his come is hitting your ass and the exposed seam of your fluttering cunt, a savage growl ripping through the modulator as he squeezes all of the air out of you with that unyielding hand. You’re like a pressed flower between the pages of a book – wilted and frayed, but still held in the image of that which you once were. At the last spurt from his cock he brings his hand to your ass, spreads you apart to rub his spend into the tight furl of your ass, and then further down into your throbbing, overly sensitive clit. All you can do is cry and whimper weakly, still trembling from your own orgasm. “T– too much, nooo,” you whine pathetically.

“Easy – easy, settle.”

You feel him fall to a crouch behind you, pulling you apart with both hands by the meat of your ass to look upon the sight of your blushed, fluttering hole. Messy, little cunt, you hear him whisper. He rubs his come into your trembling thighs, over your swollen clit again, inspecting every vulnerable inch and crevice of your sex, and then he’s pushing two of those thick fingers back inside of you, the passage made slick and fucked open by your mingled come. “Just one more, little one. Want to see it up close,” he murmurs. You try and wiggle away, tears of oversensitivity brimming beneath your lashes, I can’t, I can’t, you think you whisper, but he’s inescapable. He clamps one hand painfully over your asscheek, keeping you spread apart for his inspection, the other one buried deep inside of you so that his fingers are hooked against your g-spot where he presses over and over, quick and relentless, his fingers almost vibrating inside of you until your vision is going white hot and a buzzing sound rings in your ears, and you’re crying for what you think might sound like mercy or something equally despeerate. “Yes, fuck, yes. Just like that.” Your answering sob does not prompt him to abate, for he keeps his fingers pressed against that spot inside of you until you’re leaking an embarrassing amount of wetness down your thighs, until the rippling throbs of your orgasm have finally settled. You feel his head fall forward, the beskar of his helmet pressing against the space where your asscheek meets your thigh, and he holds there for a second against your burning hot skin, the scorching soothed by the cool metal.

You can’t stop shaking, you feel, suddenly, like you might cry. You were not prepared for something of this intensity, to be touched like this, and now that it’s happened you’re left reeling. You don’t even know his name. And now you’re sure he’ll go away to wherever it is that Mandalorian bounty hunters run off to, and you’ll never see him again, and you’ll have to live with the memory of this forever. And something like this… amidst all the other horror that lives within you, you’re sure that the intimacy, the fervor of this, will make it hurt all the more, even compared to all the rest. 

He uncoils behind you, rising up to his towering height. You listen to the rustling of his clothes, and then he’s smoothing a large palm over the slope of your trembling back and reaching down to pull up your trousers, tucking your breast back beneath your tunic, righting your clothes for you without commentary. When you think you’ve finally caught your breath, or can at least pretend you’ve done so, enough to push yourself up from your position over the table. Your eyes feel pinched and hot, your heart beating so hard, almost painfully, within the confines of your ribcage that it feels as though your bones are rattling beneath your skin, knocking together in the imitation of a death rattle so that he’ll surely know that you feel two paces away from falling apart entirely. 

“You’re… Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?” Voice stilted.

“No more than I wanted you to.”

He’s silent for a moment, uncomfortable. You can feel the sensation of him pulling away, getting ready to make a run for it. “That’s not–” he cuts himself off. “Do you– do you spend much time on planet?” He’s awkward, uncomfortable now with this unnecessary notion of seemingly required small talk.

“No.” Lie. You like Nevarro, you spend more time here than anywhere else. 

“What’s your name?” It shocks you that he asks, for you know he’d not give you his if you asked it of him in return, but for one infinitely painful, insanely uncharacteristic moment, you want to tell him. You want to give him your real name desperately, tell him who you are. But if you were to do that, then you might tell him what you are. And then he’d hate you, and the memory would be ruined, and you have so few good ones, that this one must be protected at all costs. 

So instead you say that which you have no real desire to say, do what you have no real desire to do, and make sure that he thinks you’re not interested, that you have no desire to ever see him again. Maybe next time. Your heart gives a surprisingly painful pinch, your eyes growing hotter by the second. “This was just a fuck, don’t get all sentimental on me now.” Your voice is so cold, so uncaring. You hate the way you can make yourself sound sometimes. You sense him snap with tense shock, and he nods once, succinctly. “Very well. Thank you… for this. I suppose.”

You lean back against the table, trying your hardest to appear as unaffected as you can. You turn your face to the side, roll your cheek over the hill of your shoulder. “It was my pleasure.”

He turns to go, his cape snapping with the sharp abruptness of his movements, and he pulls open the door of the little storage room letting a flood of moonlight sweep in to shed light on the construction of this memory you’re assembling brick by brick to preserve in your mind for as long as you possibly can. Your eyes sweep over the length of him ravenously, trying to catalog every single detail of him, the incredible breadth of his shoulders, the silver gleam of his beskar helmet, the sweep of his cape, the arsenal of weapons strapped to his body, lethal. He turns back to look at you for one moment, the yawning darkness of his chrome visor, “Don’t get killed, Mandalorian. There are so few of you left now.” And truth, truth, truth, for it would be a shame beyond imagining for a creature such as this, something so strong and beautiful and other, to perish when so few like him remain. He pauses to take you in, as well. You wish you had the courage to ask him what he sees when he looks at a thing like you. The tears are right there, and you hate them and feel weak and disgusted, but also relieved, and you could fall to your knees, in this moment, to thank the Maker that you still possess the ability, the heart, to cry, to succumb to something as trife as tears. You hope he cannot see them. The helmet cocks to the side for one second, perhaps he too is cataloging you to his memory. He nods once, and then he’s turning and gone away into the night. The door snicks shut behind him, and you’re alone once again. 

You pause for a moment, hoping that relief will come. He’s gone, you got what you wanted from him. You should be glad. But there is only the screaming thought of wait, there was still more, there was still more that I wanted from you. 

You let yourself sink slowly to the ground, hand braced against the edge of the table he just fucked you over, lest your shaking legs give out and have you planting face first into the dirt. You fold your legs beneath you, tuck your wild hair gently behind your ears, your movements measured, trying to breathe deep and slow, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Don’t cry, there’s no reason to cry. But shouldn’t we be glad we can still cry? Isn’t it a sign that not all is lost? That there is still a part of us that feels enough to shed tears? This should be a good thing. And so you let the tears fall. You fold yourself over as small as you can, one hand pressed over your hot, leaking eyes, another over your mouth to keep your sounds contained, and you sob as quietly as you possibly can. It was so good and you’re crying and you’re alive and you’re free. You are free, and you should be glad of this. Cry, cry, but cry for your own victory, for your own freedom, for the chance to cry. This is what victory feels like. This is what it is to be alive. 

And so, here is your truth: It is a difficult thing, to shed the facets of the dark side after you’ve lived with it for so long. To be a Sith is to forsake all connection, all peace. There is only passion to strength to power to victory to the Force, but it is always alone. Always against someone or something else. So, yes, it is difficult to shed the facets of the dark side that have made you the thing you’ve been for more than half your life, since the time you were stolen from your cradle, your parents slaughtered, and spirited away into the shadow of a cruel and unforgiving master. What is it to know exactly how your life will play out, to see everything, to be so aware of what you will be – and to still be lost? Part agony, part madness. The pieces of you that are secretive, that like to hide, to run, these are especially difficult to let go of, and you are so, so interminably sad, you live in it. It’s all you feel you are now, after the dark, after the fall of the Empire and the Sith, after escape, after freedom, after you’d so forcibly ripped its claws, that were so deeply sunk within you, out by sheer force of will, by sheer force of desperation, you worry that it’s taken a piece of you with it, your soul. That it had eaten a piece of you. That you don’t have one anymore. 

You don’t even know his name. And even if you’re certain he would not have given it to you, for one moment, you feel an incredible lance of regret that you did not give him yours. 

But then: a person without a soul could not cry. 

And so this must only be proof of the fact that you must still possess yours, as shriveled or weak as it’s been made, you must still have one. You must. You must. 

And you think: I am not unfamiliar with this half life – there is a wound inside of me – dark and putrid and festering. But perhaps my tears will heal me. Seal the wound closed. 

You feel lonely – worse, you feel strange. Once, you were terrible – now you are only yourself. So you cry for the passion of the moment, for the way he made you feel, for the loss of a name, for the truth of freedom.

Chapter II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[topmalereaderblog]

Normal Rant (simping) //

Bruce Wayne, Jake Sully, Tony Stark, Peter b Parker, könig, Norman bates, Patrick Bateman, Din Djarin, Dick Grayson, Clark kent, Henry Cavill, Chris Evans, Chris Hemsworth, and Oscar Isaac are all men I want to fuck 😫 like I swear day by day I become obsessed the things I would do to these men.

[pedroshotwifey]

Lesson

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Tags/Warnings: NO use of Y/N, dom!reader, sub!din djarin, extreme over-stimulation, pregnant reader (not mentioned until the end), reader is a badass and we love her, restraints, aftercare, fluffy fluff, slight bdsm, Din whimpers bc I want to see Din whimper, im sure im forgetting stuff but oh well

Summary: Din chooses to put himself in danger by changing plans during a mission, and you decide it's about time he learns a lesson.

A/N: Hello lovely people! Hope you enjoy some subby Din for a while. I don't really have much to say this time, so just ignore my rambling I suppose. As always, requests are wide open and reposts, comments, and likes are very much appreciated! <3

***

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” 

You’re absolutely furious. In all the years that you’ve been with Mando, he’s never made a mistake this detrimental. Not only did he almost lose the bounty with his random change of plan, but he also put himself right into the path of danger. This shouldn’t have been a dangerous mission, but somehow, Din found a way to make it life-threatening. 

The bounty the two of you were after had been hiding out in an old, abandoned ship on an old, abandoned planet. The main objective was to get the target outside of the ship to capture him in case there was any kind of fuel left in the corroding ship. 

You thought you were both stationed in your respective positions, the bait set to lead the bounty out, when you had noticed something was missing. Din. Din was missing. You curse under your breath as you stand up to get a better look at his empty post. Fucking bastard. 

You spot a gleam of beskar in your peripheral and turn to follow it. He’s too far away from you for you to yell at him or try to grab him, practically at the opening at the ship already. There's nothing for you to do but wait and see how everything plays out. You groan as you crouch back down behind the rock you had been hiding behind. 

Then you hear a deafeningly loud bang.

Your heart drops to your stomach as you shoot back up to your feet. 

“MANDO!” You hear yourself scream his name but you don’t remember making an attempt to do so. 

You immediately know what had happened as you get closer to the ruined ship. The first thing you see is the absolute wreckage laying around where the ship used to be, some of it still smoldering. The second thing you see is fucking Mando emerging from the smoke, target in hand. 

His armor is coated in a black film, likely from being so close to the tank when he fucking shot it and blew it up. You stand in place and let him walk to you, keeping a firm expression the entire time. You can tell the moment he sees the way you’re seething. His movement falters and he lowers his head ever so slightly, continuing toward you with his tail tucked. 

You wait until he is a few feet away from you before turning on your heel and starting the way back to the Crest. You know he’ll follow, so you don’t look back or say a word until you reach your shared ship.

When you climb aboard, you wordlessly signal for Mando to put the bounty in carbonite before you climb up to get the ship into the air. Once you’re out of the atmosphere, you climb back down the ladder to find Mando standing in the middle of the hull. 

He doesn’t say a word to you, just stands there awaiting your orders. Smart. You point to the bedroom and wait for him to start walking before you trail behind him, still fuming. He stops in front of the bed and watches you walk past him and into the closet. You throw a single word his way as you start digging for the restraints. 

“Strip.” 

He shudders at your tone but does as he’s told.

***

“Please, Cyar’ika, please!”

The sob that slips from his mouth is delicious even though it’s a bit muffled by his vocoder. You chuckle darkly as you look down at him, The Mandalorian, clad in nothing but his helm and the binders around his wrists and ankles that secure him to the corners of the bunk. 

His cock, throbbingly hard and flushed almost purple at the tip, jumps as you speak. The twitch is overstimulating enough to have his whole body try to curl into itself, but it doesn’t budge with the way he’s binded. 

“Aww, you poor, sweet boy,” you say with a mock sympathy as you fold your hand to rub your knuckles along the inside of his thigh. “Want to come so bad, don’t you?”

You both know the answer to that question. You’ve been going at this for hours now. You denied him at first, bringing him to the edge and then denying him as soon as you felt him about to bust. You lost count at about nine times—around the same time Din started to cry. After close to an hour of that, you did let him come, just like he wanted. But then you didn’t stop. 

The last hour and a half or so have been spent working him up just softly enough to get him hard and leaking again, and then edging him for a while before letting him come. Each time, he grows more sensitive, and each time, it becomes more fun for you. 

You know your panties are ruined with your arousal at this point, but you don’t pay too much attention to the fact. This is about Din right now, about teaching your Mandalorian a lesson.  You want to rip his helmet from his head so you can see the way his tears streak down his ruddy cheeks, so you can hear his whines for mercy without the modulator warping his voice. But you don’t, not yet at least. You want him to feel humiliated by the way he is being punished and violated while still in his beskar. 

He begs you to stop, but you know he doesn’t mean it. You have a specific code for these types of things—if he really wants to, all he has to do is say the word and you’d have him out of the binders and in your gentle embrace within seconds. He hasn’t said the word yet, though. He’s too stubborn to let you win completely, but that's okay, you don’t plan to break him. You just want to make him think that you will. 

He tilts his head back and whimpers in response to your taunting question and you take the opportunity to grab his cock. Din’s head comes back up with lightning speed as he shouts at the contact that causes his body to shake once again. Though he orgasms, not much trickles out. A small dribble of cum escapes the tip of his cock and leaks down his softening shaft. 

He’s a whining, whimpering mess beneath you, and you can’t get enough. 

“Think you’ve learned your lesson, sweet boy?” You pet his flaccid cock, making him sob as you ask him the question. He nods to the best of his ability and you tut down at him. “Use your words for me, baby.” 

“Y-yes, I’ve learned my lesson,” he tries to keep his voice unwavering but fails miserably. 

“Yes, what, honey?” 

“Yes m-ma’am, I’ve l-learned my lesson, I’m s-sorry.”

You hum in consideration for a moment before speaking again. “Good boy. I think you deserve a reward for that, don’t you?”

He nods and you figure you’ll accept it this time. 

“Okay, baby, I’ll be right back.”

With that, you sit up from where you had been perched on the side of the bed and stride into the closet. As soon as you go through the threshold, you hear Din let out a shuddering breath. Poor thing must be exhausted. You smile at the thought. He’s not done yet. 

You open a drawer and dig around until you find what you’re looking for. Once you have the wand in your grasp, you walk back out into the bedroom. You hold the object behind your back so he can’t see while you sit back in your original position. He’s quiet as he waits for you to speak. 

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” you start, trying to hold your smile back. “I’m going to help you with a little toy, and you’re going to tell me why you’re so sorry.” You wait a moment to watch the way he tilts his head back in defeat. When you hear a small blubber of regret slip from his lips, you continue. 

“If you can give me the right answer, I’m going to be generous and let you come, and then we’ll be done. If you can’t… well I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, pretty boy. How does that sound?” 

“S-sounds fair, ma’am.”

You nod at him and reach your hands up to his helmet. “Can I take this off, sweetie?” He hesitates but gives you a small nod after a moment. He doesn’t want you to see the mess of tears staining his face. 

You release the airlocks and lift up, slowly revealing his pouty lips, his prominent nose, his beautiful, begging eyes, and finally his soft, brown curls. He looks up at you slightly parted lips as you set his helmet to the side. 

“There’s my pretty boy,” you say before leaning down to place a gentle kiss to his lips. You don’t wait any longer to move down the bed to where his swollen cock lays against his stomach. You smirk and take the vibrator you picked out into your hand, flipping the switch to turn it onto a low setting. Din flinches at the sound. 

“Okay, honey, I want you to keep your eyes on me while you speak, just so I know you’re not lying to me.” A tear slides down his cheek and you can see him gulp down his anxiety. “Yes, ma’am,” he says after a moment.

Bending down, you place a kiss to the tip of his dick, and he tries his best to get away from the contact. When you look up, he’s staring at the ceiling. You lightly slap his cock, making him shout. “Look at me, baby, I’m not gonna tell you again.” 

Once his glossy eyes are on you, you bring the vibrator to the tip of his dick. He immediately bucks his hips away and starts to whimper and pant. “Now tell me, what did you do wrong today?” 

Mando is too busy gritting his teeth through the blinding overstimulation to answer your question, and you turn the wand up to a higher setting. It’s a fair warning, you think. He screams and thrashes in his restraints. 

“I’m sorry, Gods, I’m sorry, p-please!”

“Sorry for what?” 

“I’m sorry I went ag-ah-against the plan, Gods, I’m s-sorry,” he tries his best to ignore the way the sobs muddle his speech. 

You run the vibrator up and down his shaft before bringing it to the tip and applying pressure. 

“Good boy… Are you going to do it again?” 

“No, no, please!”

You smile and figure that he probably means it. If he ever pulled a stunt like that again, you’d have him chained to the bed for days. His beautiful brown eyes stay on you the whole time.

“Okay, baby, I believe you.” Even though he’s still squirming beneath you, he looks visibly more relaxed at the knowledge that this is almost over. “I want you to beg for it baby, beg me to let you come.” As humiliating as it is, he doesn’t have to be told twice. 

“Please let me come, p-please! I’ve been so good for you! Been s-so good!” 

You chuckle at the desperation in his voice as you lean down one more time. Keeping the vibrator on the tip of his cock, you turn it up to the max setting and take one of his balls into your mouth, sucking harshly. 

He lets out the loudest shout of the night as he comes. He shakes and sobs underneath you as you prolong it as best you can. You hear him speaking, but it’s so slurred through his cries that you’re not sure what he’s trying to say. 

Once he’s done orgasming, you lift up and turn the wand off before casting it to the side. When you look at his face, Din has his bottom lip between his teeth as he tries to keep his tears from falling from his closed eyes. Taking pity on him, you decide to wrap it up quickly. 

You look down at his belly, covered in his own cum. You take two fingers, being careful to avoid his poor cock, and swipe up a glob of it. Bringing it up to Din’s lips, you tell him to open up, and he does so, licking his own spend off of your fingers. 

“What do you say, baby?”

“T-thank you,” his words are breathless but filled with relief at the same time. You bring your forehead down to touch his before kissing him one more time. He gladly reciprocates, chasing your lips once you sit up again. 

You tell him to wait just a second as you work at the restraints. Once free, Mando lets his limbs fall into comfortable positions. You smooth his hair down in a soothing motion as you assure him he did good. You stay there with him for a moment before getting up again to get him a glass of water and a fresh set of sheets. You turn the shower on while you’re at it. 

Once he’s in the fresher, you change the sheets and grab some snacks for when he comes back. When he does, you’re waiting in the clean bed with open arms. He smiles warmly at you and crawls in, letting you wrap yourself around him. The two of you lay there like that for a while before you break the silence. 

“I hope you know I genuinely want you to be safer, baby, that wasn’t just for show.” You know he knows, you just want to be sure. 

“I know… I’m sorry I did what I did today.” You can hear the guilt in his voice and you turn to look into his eyes. 

“It’s okay, Din… I just…” you trail off as you try to find the right words. “I don’t think I could live with myself if something ever happened to you.” You can feel tears stinging your eyes at the thought of it. 

“And now, with the baby on the way…” you trail off, looking at your distended stomach. “ I don’t want our baby to grow up without a buir, Din.”

“I know, my sweet riduur,” he says before placing a soft kiss to your head. You can see the guilt in his eyes as he looks at you. “I never mean to put myself in the way of danger, I don’t know what I was thinking.” You stay silent, but he knows that you’ve accepted his apology. 

“And for the record,” he continues, shyly. “I enjoyed what you did tonight.” You look at him and can’t help but giggle at the smirk on his face. It’s not often you take charge in the bedroom, so you were glad to have the confirmation that he liked it just as much as you. 

“I love you, Din,” you say softly as you turn off the light and then snuggle into him. He laughs and hugs you closer. 

“I love you too, cyare.” 

[odetodilfs]

Don't question my reasons for this.

[bearsbeetsbeskar]

Who is your favorite Pedro character?

This is just a general poll cause I am curious and I wanna know everyone else's preferences!! I am a Din gal through and through, there is nothing I do not love about that bucket head bitch and his green son, but Frankie Morales and Joel Miller are a close second (thanks to the beautiful fic that is out there for them)

[suiine]

consider: Din vs. Luke in a game of strip poker (or strip dejarik)

(Luke dreaming of winning and getting to see Din's face as Din strips off the last piece of covering from his nude body - his helmet.)

but alas. everyone knows Din will win because he is the street smart cowboy while Luke is just a moisture farming nerd, and Din has a million pieces to his armor. pauldrons, chestplate, vambraces, flight suit, bandolier, baby sling, countless utility pouches.

and it's true. Din keeps winning. but, no matter how many times Luke loses and has to strip, every piece of clothing he takes off just reveals more clothes, to Din's surprise. because Luke Master Skywalker's got the all-black cape, chanel boots, Armani shirt, leather pants, velvet tunic, Gucci belt, leather gloves, silk turtleneck, silk stockings, 4-piece intimates set exclusively by Naboo Luxury Boutique,

(and so even though Luke has lost so many rounds, due to the amount of designer haute fashion he is rocking, eventually Din is sitting there completely naked with just his helmet remaining )

[brujitaadinbo]

My time is limited but I did what I could, my best effort. I had to make the reference to Grogu and Toretto protecting their new family. And I'm sorry if I look horrible, I love this drawing

And family Let's have faith, Toretto would say, faith in this shipp

Because family is the bonds we form with those people with whom we share similar moments.

this is the way....

[chaotic-iguana]

Twisted Love

summary: as we know, im a bit of a gremlin. i take ur asks and fucking add my own spin. here we are. its like a “joel edges reader, reader accidentally comes” with SUPER dark twists. let me know what you think. feel free to (gently) yell at me because honestly @breakfastatjoels is the only reason i decided to post (love you dee)

pairing: dark! joel x reader

wordcount: 2.3k

warnings: survivalism, dubcon, dark!joel, edging, dom/sub dynamics, pussy slapping, very out of my comfort zone writing this, stockholm syndrome, this joel is everything husband joel is not. hes a dick please dont acc be in these kinds of relationships, swearing (no bc me being a smartass and adding swearing as if its worse than STOCKHOLM SYNDROME), choking, slapping, passing out and keep going, somno? i think?, dacryphilia, he’s a genuine fucking asshole

A/N: please be warned that this is not a vanilla smut fic, it follows some super dark themes. unlike my other fics, no “soft” joel, or aftercare; no checking in or wiping tears. also forewarning, i do not support relationships that are in fact like this. i am not glorifying sa or abuse. dont want any anons in my inbox tearing me a new one. 

masterlist // navigation

Four hours. You’d been tied to the bed spreadeagle for four hours. Your wrists and ankles had chafed, you’d nearly lost your voice, and you couldn’t seem to stop trembling.

Joel had one hand on your stomach, pressing down, and another between your legs, bringing you to orgasm after orgasm only to pull away at the last second to watch you buck your hips into thin air, chasing friction, as your high ebbed away again. And then he would start again. And again. And again.

By now, you were gone. Your mind had long been wiped clean of coherent thought. Broken moans and whines escaped you as you tried to beg despite having seemingly forgotten the ability to articulate yourself - you could barely manage short gasps of breath in between sobs; words were proving to be near-impossible. 

A dizzying chant of Joel, Joel, Joel, took up your mind as he wrenched his fingers out of you once again, just a second too late to accomplish what he wanted. No; in your desperate, hyper-sensitive state, that split second alone was enough to send you into a  spiral: toes-curling, back-arching and your breath coming in sharp gasps as an orgasm that had your vision whiting out for a few seconds washes over you.

Joel glared down at you, the vision barely registering to you past the buzz of euphoria, eyes rolling back as reality faded away. He gripped your jaw then, snapping you out of the daze by bringing a hand down on your cunt, repeatedly striking the sensitive folds, the painful sting heightened by your orgasm. 

 At the pitiful groans of protest and the way your legs contorted against the bindings to fall into themselves; instinct taking over to protect you from his merciless assault, he rolled his eyes with a huff. 

“Y’gonna be a brat? Be a fuckin’ brat. ‘M not wastin’ my time on a girl that can’t behave.” 

Snapping his switchblade open, he leaned down to rip through your restraints before turning and walking out of the room without another word.

That had been a week ago. You had spent an hour curled in on yourself, numb in disbelief that he’d just left. You hadn’t meant to go against his wishes, your body had just taken over and practically pushed you over the edge. You knew the deal-  of course you did, it was seared into your fucking mind- it’s what kept you alive. 

It was an offer he had spat at you with a blade pressed to your neck, a decree that signed your body over to him. He’d let you live and keep you alive, and in return all you had to do was obey him; be his “good little girl”, as he put it. All you had to do in exchange for your safety was listen to him, do what he told you to. 

A paralyzing fear had gripped you since that day you had accidentally defied him, death looming over your head like a guillotine you couldn’t quite see just yet but knew was inevitably coming. 

You’d hated the arrangement at first, resisting it; resisting him. But once he had made it abundantly clear that there was no way for you to leave, nowhere you could go, you found yourself fighting back less. Life had already been so long, taken so much from you already. You’d never have to worry again. He’d keep you safe. Despite his inherent brutality, he took care of you; more care than anyone else had taken since the world went to shit. He made sure you ate enough, slept in better spots, showers. When you had nightmares, he’d set a bruising pace against you and rut until your head emptied of every thought but his. 

Your disdain for him faded over time, and you began craving him. You wanted him under your skin, you wanted to feel him and nothing else, to be reduced to a mindless mess as damp sheets clung to your skin. Wanted his bites and bruises, wanted his grip on your thighs, your waist, your neck. Slowly, you wanted him. A twisted love characterised by dizzying need for him to rip you apart and put you back together infected your mind. To be with you, hold you, praise you. And you were perfect for him as a result, wanting nothing but to keep him happy. 

He, however, hadn’t so much as looked at you all week. If he said anything, it was bit out in your general direction as an afterthought; an inconvenience. It was like he’d stopped caring where you were, how you were. Pent up and needing him, needing to feel the scrapes of his callouses against your skin, his teeth nipping your flesh, you simply endured it all fearfully. Your arrangement had gone on long enough that you genuinely did not know if he would follow through - but you’d seen enough of what he was capable of not to risk it. You may have your own infatuation with the man, but you weren’t stupid. When he stood jaw clenched, shoulders tense, and with that crazed glint in his eye, you did not speak to him; your self-preserving habit of pointing out his tells blaring at you to run. If you so much as stepped too close to him on days like these, you’d see how blown out his pupils were, how his face was set in an expression that made it difficult to identify him, before he’d pin you to the nearest wall and use his mouth, fingers, cock, blade handle, beer bottle and makeshift toys on you until you passed out, and then he’d keep going until exhaustion overtook him. Which, for a man that size, often took over a day. 

So you settled for trying your best to impress him. Wore that dress he liked, did your hair in a ponytail because you knew it made his fingers itch to tug at it, painted your lips with a shadow of red and just followed him like a lost puppy, without stopping or complaining once. Didn’t matter how many gashes you got on your hands and knees from getting your foot caught on sharp edges or rocks he didn’t warn you of anymore, didn’t matter how hungry or thirsty you were with him neglecting to pass the canteen back to you, didn’t matter how badly his biting comments hurt you or how many tears filled your eyes, you followed him without complaint.  

But it had been a week, and your resolve had started to break. If he was going to kill you, he had to do it now. The buildup, the constant fear, the desperation to impress him, the cuts and bruises now littering your body, the hungry ache in your stomach - they all reached a point where your knees just buckled, and you just couldn’t. Joel was ahead of you, still trudging on without so much as glancing in your direction, not even after the pathetic wail that sounded from you as you fell to your knees. Gasping out his name, wincing at the rasp of your voice from the disuse, you watched his steps falter as he looked at you over his shoulder, and kept walking. 

“No, no, no, please Joel, please.” Tears began streaming down your face, your body shaking with the force of the devastation sweeping through you as you began crawling after him. This made him stop and turn, brow raised and mouth set in a cruel smile as he took in your form. He took slow, deliberate strides to where you lay on the ground, elbows given out, and looked down at you. 

“Please, what?” His dark eyes were glittering as he smirked at you, watching you crumble before his very eyes. 

“No more. ‘M sorry, I’m so sorry I won’t ever go against what you say again. Didn’t mean to come - it just happened n’ I couldn’t stop it. I’ve been so good for years, Joel. I’m s-sorry, please I’m so sorry.” Cheeks burning hot with humiliation, you could barely meet his gaze as you began begging the man you’d sworn to kill when you first met him. Begged him to take care of you, to forgive you. 

He crouched low, reaching a hand out to tip your chin up and meet your eyes. 

“Need me?” A jeering, boisterous laugh. “Do ya, now?” At your nod, he snorted. “You forget who’s in control -once, just once - I fuckin’ leave you then and there. Clear?” Another nod. “Take what I give you this time.” Not a question, but you find yourself nodding feverishly anyways, making his lips twitch as he grasped you and lifted you into his arms the rest of the way. 

Joel spotted a cabin while trudging through the rough terrain, your hands around his neck and torso flush against his chest as you hung limp in his arms, half-asleep. Deciding to settle there for the night, he barely took a minute to scout the place out before he was making his way to the bedroom. He dropped you onto the bed before turning to strip his flannel and trousers off. Watching you blink in confusion as you started to wake up, he scoffed, tangling a hand in your hair, flipping you onto yoru back, and yanking your head to the edge of the bed. 

Giving you no time to brace yourself, Joel shoved the blunt head of his cock between your lips, working your jaw open as he starting using your mouth. One of hands came to rest on your exposed neck, putting enough pressure to feel himself moving in and out of your throat, while the other gripped the edge of the bed next to your head, intermittently coming up to slap your tits, your stomach, your thighs - anywhere he could reach. The sounds of your garbled choking and gasping filled the room, Joel using your mouth like a fleshlight. 

Refusing you a single second of reprieve to get your breath, he kept rocking his hips until you were lightheaded and there were spots in your vision, consciousness fading. When he glanced down and realised you were about to pass out, he pulled himself flush against your mouth and stayed there, drool and spit spluttering from your nose as you struggled to accommodate him, struggling against him until you blacked out. 

When you came to, you were lying on your stomach, hair still in Joel’s grip and head held back. Your hands were tied to the headboard in front of you with the underwear you had been wearing all day, and his fingers were bruising your waist in his grip as he pounded into you from behind. 

You could feel that you had lost some time. Come and blood streaked all over your jaw, neck and chest, and you could feel some drying on your back, thighs and stomach as well. Moreover, you were drenched. Covered from head to toe in a mixture of blood, sweat, saliva and cum. You could see skin on your chest and stomach swollen and red, broken by his teeth, which had left permanent indents into the flesh. Blinking steadily, you realised that the sun was up, the room bathed in the first few rays of dawn. 

“Welcome back, sweetheart.” His rasp from behind you had a shudder dancing down your spine, straightening up slightly. You could barely sob your response - the new angle had your eyes rolling back, and you could feel yourself being jolted up the bed by the sheer force of his thrusts into you. 

Feeling the muscles of your stomach tense, you hardly had the rationality to start babbling a half-understandable “Gonna cum, ‘m g-mmh-cum,” before feeling him shift his hand on your hip to move it between your legs, swiping over your clit with just enough pressure to bring you to your peak - before he leaned down to snarl into your ear. 

“Don’t come.” At your whimper, he laughed. “Y’wanna live? Be good f’me? Don’t you dare fucking come.” You felt your muscles lock up, a pitiful whine leaving your mouth as you staved off your orgasm, tensing so hard against it that your whole body hurt. Your legs were shaking with the force of holding off, and you felt Joel smile into your shoulder in approval before he moved his arm under your thigh, lifting it as the strength of his hips snapping into yours increased, making you scream when his fingers returned to your folds. 

He reveled in the wails that were piercing the silence of the room, at the force with which you began convulsing in the effort to obey him. Sucking a bruise into the skin behind your ear, he let you suffer for a few more plunges of his tip into your cervix until he felt his own climax fast approaching, uttering a permissive “Come,” until you were gripping him so hard his vision whited out for a few moments. Watching your hand come around to the back of his head, body trembling as you moaned low and near-pained next to him, he stayed inside you for a few seconds before pulling out and stepping into his jeans immediately, watching you collapse onto the bed from overexertion. 

He just reached across the bed to twist a particularly large bruise between his index finger and thumb, savoring your squeak of fear and the tears streaming down your face. 

“Best get cleaned up quick. We gotta lot’a ground to cover today.” And with that, he was walking out again. At least this time, you knew he’d keep you around. 

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore , @evyiione , @breakfastatjoels  , @millerscoffee dividers by @cafekitsune!! cover by the AMAZING @pedrosaidsheispunk. what a LEGEND. 

[diamondnokouzai]

erotic things to do to robots:

troubleshooting while they're conscious (or even just constantly restarting/shutting them down and rebooting them...)

USBs/thumb drives

installing software

guro but the guts are wires (this includes peeling back the rubber coating on copper wires)

clearing their cache

connecting to them via bluetooth (note that its not erotic if the robot is connected to a bluetooth speaker. im talking connecting a bluetooth mouse/keyboard to them to input something)

however it is SUPER erotic to connect just one set of headphones to them

tightening/loosening screws, nuts/bolts, etc

hacking (obviously)

looking at their blueprints

plugging them in (to an outlet or charging station)

[hexedmaiden]

Trick or Treat

Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth Words: 787

Rating: General

Status: Complete

Summary: 

A snapshot of Din & Cobb getting Grogu ready to go out trick or treating <3

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───   

link in the reblog and source

[bi-geeky-fanboy]

New pwp ✌️