#mando kinktober

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 31st

Day 31: FREE FOR ALL

Mando x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Breeding ceremony, voyeurism, public sex, helmet stays on, aphrodisiac, breeding kink, breast play, multiple rounds, cream pie

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Din! Din! Din!” The screams of pleasure echo throughout the halls, the rubble cleared and the forge once more lit. Mandalore is inhabited by Mandalorians again and now, new life is being conceived. 

Visors and eyes are fixed on the dias, the platform providing a unique view of the bed that has been placed there for this purpose specifically. Watching as your body writhes and shakes.

Your vision is hazy, clouded with lust and all you can see is the flash of beskar on his helmet as you bounce on his cock. The thick length feeling like he is pushed up into your throat while you rock on him. The jorgon juice that you had both drank before the ceremony making it hard to stop even though you have cum multiple times already. Your cunt leaking with his spend from countless orgasms. 

****

“Din Djarin.” You turn your head, hearing his name being called and nerves flutter in your stomach. No one can see it, it doesn’t show on the expressionless visor of your helmet, but you are barely resisting the urge to fidget. 

Watching as the Mandalorian in question pauses for a moment, as if he is surprised that his name was the one called before he steps forward towards the dias and where the Armorer stands beside you. 

You swallow, watching his long legged gait as he stalks with determination towards you. It’s a swagger in his steps, even though he always denies it when called on it. Everyone can see it, it’s ingrained in him from his years as a bounty hunter. His accomplishments marked by his fame in the parsec, the Outer Rim whispers of fear and awe. He is the mandalorian. 

Once he is in front of the Armorer, his armor nearly glittering in the flames of the forge, you hear her speak your name, the sound of it echoing through the great hall of Mandalore. “-has chosen you as her donor.” 

The crowd, helmeted and unhelmeted alike, start to beat their fists over the heart of their chest plates. The loud sound reverberated around the room. “Haav! Haav! Haav! Haav!” They start to chant, the word is quiet at the beginning and then starting to lift above the pounding of their fists, the approval of the crowd apparent when no one challenges it. The entire gathering shouting for the two of you to make your way to the bed on the dias. 

This is his chance to reject you. To melt back into the crowd and refuse the honor that you have ultimately bestowed upon him. You shiver slightly, although you seem to be the very picture of poise, statue still in your armor that will soon be stripped from your body. 

Din tilts his head slightly, his visor fixed on you and you can feel his eyes watching, gauging. The orange tips of his gloves flex at his side slightly and he twists back to look at the clan of Mandalorians that have now made this once abandoned planet home again. Breathing new life into the Creed that has all but been wiped clean of the galaxy by the former Empire. Hoping to grow your ranks and raise warriors. 

“I accept.” The clanging stops instantly, the shouting that echoes through the halls quiets. No one moves as Din steps forward again. “I accept.” He repeats, louder this time. 

The Armorer nods, motioning behind her and a tray with a cup is brought forward. “To aid you on your mission.” She hums as she picks up the chalice. 

You know that the helmet will stay on. It must, for his and your Creeds to remain intact. The ones who remove their helmets now understand why you keep your faces covered and no longer ridicule you for it. Both sects of Mandalore now coexist together for the good of your clans. 

When it’s offered to you, you take the chalice, lifting the bottom of your helmet and taking a sip of the slightly bitter, sweet drink. The tang of it laying heavy on your tongue and immediately heating up your body as it slides down your throat. 

Handing it to Din, you groan softly as he hooks his fingers under the edge of the helmet. Exposing just a bare inch of his throat, giving you a glimpse of his skin. The bulb of his Adam’s apple, the scattering of some facial hair, brown in color against the light tan of his flesh. 

You will create a child with this man. Not knowing the color of his eyes or the curve of his nose. You will take his cock, his seed, inside you and pray to the Creed that it takes root. That he plants a warrior in your belly to grow and birth. 

He swallows a mouthful of the liquid, groaning as he lowers the cup. Allowing the Armorer to take it from him. He reaches for the weapons belt at his hips and unclips it, handing his blaster to the Armorer to hold onto. Entrusting his weapons to her. 

Heat flares in your core, feeling the slickness starting to gather between your thighs as the juice starts to work. Biting your lip under your helmet when your fingers start to strip off your gloves to reveal your hands. 

Din hisses, his visor fixed on you, standing with his legs braced apart, you can see that his cock is starting to tent the fabric of his flight suit. Magically, assistance appears. Dozens of hands slowly and ceremonially strip the armor from his body and yours. The elders respectfully set aside the beskar, until the two of you are standing bare except for your helmets. 

His cock is heavy, stiff as it juts up from his groin and you lick your lips in anticipation. You have taken cocks before, but you are eager to feel him inside you. Pressing your thighs together as he reaches for you. 

Din cups your tits, fingers twitching and his moan is breathless under his helmet. Making you wonder when was the last time he touched someone without his gloves on. Seemingly overwhelmed as he rolls your nipples between his fingers and tugs on them to make you gasp his name quietly. 

He chuckles, the low sound almost cut off from the modulator. “You chose me, cyar’ika.” He reminds you, teasing and toying with your breasts as the crowd watches silently. Witnessing your coupling. “These tits will nourish our ad. Make them strong and healthy.”

Din normally doesn’t speak much, but now he seems to say everything that rolls through his mind, the jorgon juice lowering his defenses, relaxing him even as it makes him harder than a rock. 

“I did.” You nod, reaching out and wrapping your fingers around his length and making him hiss your name, immediately thrusting his hips forward into your grip. “This cock will plant a warrior in my belly and I will grow round with a child.” 

The voyeurism of the moment isn’t lost on you. The silence is poignant as heads turn, watching where you both fall to the bed. Witnessing the way that you straddle this mandalorian’s waist and start to sink down on his length, your cunt taking him with a low groan from both of you. 

You need a moment, panting softly as he stretches you out, his hands on your hips in a bruising grip. His own sounds come through his modulator and you wish for a moment that you could see his face. To see if it is twisting in pleasure like your own is. 

****

“Gon-gonna fill you up.” Din hisses, his hips rocking up with jerky thrusts, pushed deeper inside your tight walls. “Breed you.” 

Your eyes roll back, fingers digging into his chest where they are propped. “Yessss.” You whine. “Fill me up. Want it, want you to breed me. Breed me, Din” 

“Warriors.” He grunts, bracing his feet on the bed to thrust up harder. His hands pulling your body down. “You’ll give birth to warriors. My warriors.”

Your walls clench down around him, cunt spasming at the gravelly proclamation. It’s what you desperately want. To raise warriors for the survival of your religion. Your head tilts back, chest pushed out to display your tits as you start to cum again. Crying out loudly again, feeling him starting to take over the pace as he rocks his hips up. 

Din’s hands hold tight to your waist, his visor fixed on yours and you feel the way that his body is tensing, even as you shake on top of him. He’s about to cum once more. The bed beneath you is soaked in your juices and his cum, both of you sweaty and breathless. He lurches up, rolling you onto your back and he starts to hammer into you. Stealing your ability to cry out as you take his desperate thrusts. 

Stiffening, Din roars out a shout, cock twitching against your cervix as he paints your womb with his seed. Cumming in wave after hot wave as he grinds deep, pushing deeper into your body as if to plant it directly into your egg. 

This time, hours after the juice has been drunk and your bodies stripped of your armor, you no longer feel the need to continue. Din collapses on top of you, his helmet buried against your neck as he pants breathless. The slow, muted clap of gloved hands starts. One, two, three, on and on as the two of you lay together. If you were to look over his shoulder, you would see one hundred Mandalorians clapping, their applause starting to build in the chamber and ring out through the halls. Hopefully filling all of Mandalore with their hopeful cadence. Gifting you with their wishes that your union will result in warriors to wear beskar and walk The Way. 

[eatommo]

Side by Side [d.d.]{kd13}

Pregnancy / aftercare

Cw: Pregnant!reader, happy family, wife!reader, mando'a, unprotected p in v, creampie, cockwarming, cuddling is aftercare!,

Din has always been a caretaker. It came very naturally to him, and he found it exceptionally easy to give you everything you asked for. It was even easier when your belly was swollen with his child.

He’s rubbed your feet, bartered for snacks you craved in back alleys, and even commissioned an addition onto your house Navarro. You were so breathtaking, it was a reward to watch you smile when he provided for you well enough.

Distantly he supposed this was something most ment crave, a wife as beautiful as you barefoot and standing in his kitchen nearing the end of your first pregnancy and playing with your first son.

Grogu would inevitably have a bit of a learning curve, but you both figured his understanding was there, as he constantly was touching your belly anytime the babe kicked or nudged against your skin. Sometimes it even felt like they were communicating. You both decided to leave that for when the time came. Grogu’s eyelids were falling quickly as his giggles became more quiet during a game of peekaboo, so you scooped him up and used your belly to help carry him towards the nursery.

When you turned you caught din staring at you longingly, helmet off and eyes alight with so much adoration it caused you to blush. You took the long way round, walking by the armored man so he could press a tender kiss to your forehead then the child’s.

The baby in your arms hummed in content, nuzzling into your chest and letting out a tired puff of air. You disappear into his room and a few minutes later emerge, having successfully put him down for a nap.

“How’re you feeling today?” He already had most of the gear off, standing in the living room putting away the weapons on his belt into a locker stored behind the couch.

“Good, was able to eat a good breakfast this morning.” You walk towards him, wanting a little bit more affection than a chaste welcome home kiss. “Missed you in the bed this morning.”

He smiles, “I had to go make some arrangements, Karga found a Razor crest.” He had been on the hunt for a cargo vehicle that could hold everyone, no longer for missions but for trips to his home world and to visit his comrades on other planets. “Peli is going to be so excited. We’re going to bring her two surprises.”

You wrap your arms as best you can around his middle, loving the feel of his soft shirt on your cheek. You hum low under your breath, blissfully remembering so many memories on his first ship. You fell in love with him on that ship.

“Not exactly what I was getting at but that’s exciting.” You snip, a little wound up at the flooded memories of being bent over a cargo box, or riding Din in the pilot chair.

He mumbles, and his mouth splits into a grin. “And what, my riduur, were you getting at hm?” He’s practically purring against your cheek, and you let your hands fall down to squeeze at his ass as they slip beneath the bottom half of his suit.

You turn your head toward him, asking for another kiss silently. He leans in and instead of pressing your lips to his you take his bottom lip between your teeth.

He groans, instantly pressing himself closer to you. His hands are gentle, still feeling huge at your back as you pop onto your toes to kiss him deeply.

He responds immediately, licking into your mouth and tasting your early morning tea. You turn and lead him towards your bed. Stepping out of you thin pajamas shorts and laying down, he sheds his own clothes and lays behind you.

His cock nudging into your back as he kisses along the nape of your neck and lets his hand span the expanse of your belly before settling right onto the top of your sex.

He whispers into your hair, “Mesh’la, you look so beautiful like this.” The sheets are soft on your skin, and you love how his tender touches continue to drive you further into desperation for him.

His palm slides down your legs more, allowing himself to lift your leg just a few inches, and suddenly he's pressing against your entrance. You're soaking and can hear the deliciously erotic sound of him splitting you open. He moves in slow calculated motions, never pushing you to the point of pain but making each shallow thrust feel devastating.

Your body feels extra sensitive, each brush of his nose against your cheek has you clenching around him in earnest, his own composure waning. "Squeezing me so tight baby, can you cum?"

His punctuating thrust is even more pleasurable than you thought possible, you nod eagerly. "That, keep that up." You hear his mouth pull into a smile. He grunts against your neck pushing into you slowly but with great force, letting your legs fall back together.

His size becomes even more significant, your toes starting to curl and your fist knotting into the pillow. He bites onto your earlobe, and toys with your clit with his index finger, stroking over it in small tender circles.

A few short targeted thrusts has your climax washing over you, white hot waves of pleasure having you squeezing your eyes shut and shuddering around Din.

He follows soon after, you feel him throb and pulse as he cums deep and hard in you like its the first time. You stay like that for awhile, enjoying the warmth and support this position affords your belly and the intimacy of the moment making you feel so excited to see what lays ahead of your little family.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

my little flower

kinktober, day twenty-seven

a/n: no words, just :( because this is both so sweet and so sad and so just yummy yummy

warnings: din djarin x reader, smut, fantasy au, warrior!din, angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, long-distance relationship, there is some war going on, cuddling, cockwarming

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

Silver armour and sharp sword scattered on the floor, you couldn’t cling to the longed-for warrior fast enough when he finally returned, even if it was just for one night. Entangled in his lap, it was impossible for you to get close enough to him now that he was finally home. 

Cock embedded deep within you, throbbing as you hugged him with your warmth, “I wish you wouldn’t have to go back out there…” you uttered, head resting on his broad shoulder. 

“Oh, my little flower,” Din sighed deeply, his palm caressing over your spine as you melted further against him, “I know… if I could stop this war in a heartbeat, I would,” you bit down on the inside of your cheek, not wishing to spend what precious time you had on tears, “stay back here forever with you and never pick up a blade again.”

Eyes unfocused, you let out a low exhale, “but you have to…” knowing what would happen if he didn’t. 

“Yeah…” he sucked in a pained breath as his gentle touch continued to flutter across your skin, “just try and focus on right now… I’m here, I’m in your arms, you’ve got me, you’ve got all of me.”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[decembermidnight]

Ner Mircet'ad (My Slave)

Summary: The Mandalorian breaks into the Imperial safehouse where you're held captive and kidnaps you to use you as his slave... and you're not complaining. Kinktober 2023 special

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ mdni, CNC, kidnapping, handcuffs, use of gag, bondage, dom!Din, sub!reader, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (m receiving), tease and denial, edging (m and f), creampie, cumplay, degradation kink, Mando'a speaking kink, dirty talk, face slapping, glove kink

A/N: Happy Kinktober! Here's my contribution! This should have been a fantasy of the reader in another story but I got a little carried away and it became its own oneshot. I'm feral about how it turned out. See below for Mando'a translations. I hope you enjoy it!

Divider: @saradika-graphics

You only saw him a few hours before, when he entered the Imperial safehouse where you’re held captive, forced to work as a scientist at the facility.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him - tall, broad shoulders, mysterious, a dark and raspy voice that made you melt in an instant. You have heard he’s one of the best bounty hunters in the outer rim. He acted disdainful towards the Imperials, pointing his rifle at them as soon as he perceived a hint of menace.

You looked at him completely entranced the whole time, devouring him with your eyes. You noticed he tilted his helmet towards you more than once, and felt his hunter gaze scouting your figure as he barely paid attention to the Imperial officer talking to him.

When he left, you felt the urge to immediately go touch yourself.

You locked the lab door behind you and slipped your hand in your panties. You sighed when you reached your slit and felt you were drenched at the mere thought of him. You started circling your fingers around your swollen clit and rested your head against the steel door behind you. Your mouth let out a groan too loud and instinctively your free hand went covering it to muffle how much thinking about the Mandalorian warrior was getting you off.

You let your body slide down until you were kneeling on the floor with your legs spread open. You thought of how hot his masculine voice would sound moaning your name while you’d be on your knees sucking his cock. You circled your clit in a frenzy, trying to be as silent as possible, but the wet noises of your arousal were betraying you. You thought of his heavy, thick body on yours, of how hard he’d fuck you, of him panting in your ear. Those thoughts drove you over the edge and felt the hot spark of the orgasm setting you aflame. You squeezed your eyes shut and had to hold your breath as that hot wave of pleasure was traversing your whole body, reducing you to a weak, trembling mess collapsed on the lab floor.

The very same night he comes for you.

He breaks into the safehouse, exterminating everyone in it, mercilessly, using his huge rifle, and then he opens the door to your room and finds you there, laying in your bed, still half asleep, scared and disoriented by all the noise, dressed only in a light nightgown.

In a second he is on you, his heavy armoured body is preventing you from moving. You do not even attempt to resist him, you stay completely still and carefully observe every action he does.

He’s holding both of your wrists in the tight grip of one of his hands, as the other one rummages in his utility belt to take out handcuffs, which he immediately uses on you.

You feel a tingle of excitement as his fingers slowly loosen their grasp and start to lightly trail down your naked arm, until they reach your neckline, where they delicately pull the fabric of your dress down to free one of your breasts.

He admires your hardened nipple, tilting his helmet sideways as his middle finger gently brushes it, drawing circles around it. You sigh at the tender touch of the leather against your sensitive skin, and when he hears that sound, his inscrutable visor immediately jerks towards your face, to look at your aroused expression.

To your disappointment, his hand stops touching your nipple, goes back to his utility belt and takes out a piece of cloth with which he gags you - not because he needs to prevent you from screaming and pleading for your life, no. You immediately realise that he’s turned on by it - treating you like one of his preys, hunting you, kidnapping you, making you his. The thought of it gets you more and more aroused the more this unspoken, borderline wicked dynamic plays between the two of you.

He then picks you up from your bed and carries you on his shoulder like his trophy through the dark, desert streets of Nevarro, all the way back to his ship, where he lays your body down on the cold steel floor and fixes your handcuffed hands to the bottom rung of the ladder leading to the cockpit.

He kneels before you and rips your thin clothes off with his hands, rabid and longing, making you gasp in arousal at that vulgar display of strength, and looks at your naked body and at the marvellous way it responds to him, so eager at the thought of being owned by him.

When his hands start to touch your body and you feel the leather of his gloves against your skin, you let out a deep, muffled moan and pathetically try to follow his movements with your body, craving for more contact.

He indulges on your breasts, tender and soft, groping and squeezing them. His touch is unexpectedly delicate, and you carefully follow it with your eyes, seeing the way he makes you simmer as he takes all the time he wants to reduce you to a whimpering mess.

He plays with your nipples, feeling how hard they get with just the brush of his fingers circling them, making them hard and stiff.

Use me. Use me. Use me. You beg for him with your muffled voice and body language.

His hands then trail down to your soft belly and round hips. He caresses and squeezes your feminine curves, longing for the moment when he'll finally dig his fingers into them while using you for his pleasure.

You can’t help spreading your legs for him, letting him have a look at your glistening core, already so wet for him, warm and inviting. He lets out a low, guttural hum when he sees how yearning and desperate you are for his touch, knowing his painfully slow teasing is working wonders on you.

His fingers trail so close to your wet folds, and the whimpering noises you make are absolutely pathetic as he taunts you, softly brushing your inner thighs and outer lips without touching your most sensitive spot yet. Your breathing gets laboured as he gets close to your clit and barely brushes it, teasing you, making you stutter with a brief, imperceptible touch, only to proceed down your slit and slide two fingers inside of you, making you arch your back in pleasure, moaning as loud as you can as you clench around them.

"You like this, don't you?" he asks as he takes out his fingers, completely soaking wet. He seems so pleased as he admires the leather of his gloves glistening in your arousal.

"Go on. Taste yourself on my fingers." he ungags you as he pushes them inside your mouth.

You obediently suck his fingers, gently licking them with your tongue, tasting the salty of your arousal, the bitterness of the leather and the faint metallic taste left by his guns. You look at him with lustful eyes right in his visor as your tongue swirls around his fingers, letting him know with your gestures that you'd suck his cock any time he wants, that all you care for in the galaxy is just to give him pleasure.

He hums in satisfaction, thinking of the way your sweet mouth will welcome his cock, how far it'll go into your throat, and how badly he wants to cover your pretty face in cum.

He takes out his fingers from your mouth and gags you once again. After that, he stands up and goes to his well-stocked armoury, taking some ropes out and coming back kneeling between your legs. He spreads them even more open, to the limit, and enjoys the view of your achingly needy cunt, drawing a few circles on your clit with his thumb, driving you insane as he looks at you whimpering and rolling your hips towards him.

He starts by tying each of your legs to the same ladder where your hands are, so that it’s impossible for you to close them. After that, he patiently wraps a rope around each of them, tying your thigh and ankle together, immobilising you, so you’re always available, at his mercy, any time he wants, and the thought of that gets you even more aroused. You’re drenched by now, you feel your sleek coating your inner thigh and dripping on the floor below you. Maker, you've never been this wet in your life, ever.

He looks at your helpless body, trailing his gloved fingers on your inner thigh, making you feel leather against your skin once again, rejoicing in the fact that you can’t move, making you quiver with lust as he smirks under that damn helmet seeing that you are so wet for him. He sees the way you react to his body, to his dick, to his touch, and Stars, he is so turned on by that.

He unfastens his utility belt and unzips his pants to finally take out his big, thick cock. It's throbbing and veiny and its tip is deliciously red and glistening in precum. You mewl just looking at it, feeling your walls clench in anticipation.

He immediately starts sliding it painfully slowly between your folds and it’s fucking debilitating after all of that excruciating teasing. You arch your back while moaning hysterically, begging for more as your eyes uncontrollably cross as you try to keep your gaze on his tip teasing your aching cunt. He keeps rubbing, keeps rubbing it on your clit and you feel so close already, and right when your body starts shaking in preparation for the imminent orgasm, he stops, taking it away from you, and starts stroking himself at the sight of you - so desperate for his cock, getting off from your agony. He gropes the soft flesh of your thighs and keeps giving himself pleasure in front of you. You can barely hear him panting under the helmet and oh, damn, he sounds even hotter than you’d imagined. It's such a pleasurable torture to be forced to look at him without being able to do anything, to hear the wet sounds of him fucking his fist so close to you when you wish you were the one who makes him feel so good.

He gives one last squeeze to his cock, letting a drop of precum out, then he slides his tip inside of you, making you roll your head back, sighing at the feeling of having him inside of you, finally.

When he feels how welcoming and hot you are, he groans in pleasure. His raspy voice makes you clench around him. He feels how tight you get when your muscles clench, and he lets out a barely audible curse.

He takes it out and immediately slides it back in, just the tip, just to play with you, to tease you, to get you on the verge of your orgasm and who knows, maybe he won't give it to you. You're at his mercy, you have to accept anything he's willing to give you. Will he make you come? Will he fuck your pussy, or will he just tease you like that indefinitely, leaving you crying and begging for him, as he gets off in your frustration, covering your body in his cum?

He goes on tormenting you like that for what feels like forever. A long, pleasurable torment where you desperately beg for him to put it back in everytime. Your whole body is shaking at the cruel game he's playing with you.

You wonder what he looks like. You bet he's handsome and he's smirking sadistically under that helmet, getting off from your desperation. His body exudes sexuality and confidence, his voice is deep and sensual - he is hot for sure.

He puts his tip in one more time, but now he's pushing all his shaft inside of you, and he's looking at your tearful eyes and how they widen in wonder when you feel him sliding slowly inside of you - deep, so deep, like you've never been fucked before, making you feel owned, marked, his property, his. He knows how good his cock is making you feel and that you'll never be fucked this good by anyone else in the galaxy.

He can't help sighing at how tight you are, and he sounds so hot when he does. You're so wet, the obscene sounds of him sliding in and out of you fill the hull of the ship. He's grabbing your legs, thrusting deep and slow, his head leaned back, completely sinking into the pleasure that is fucking you, controlling you, owning you.

When he picks up the pace, he starts cursing in a foreign language, gasping and groaning at the way your walls clench around his cock.

“Bid pel bal piryc par ni.” he growls in between sighs. He sounds even hotter when he speaks what you assume is his native language. There's something about the way that ancient language of warriors sounds that fits him and his husky voice so well. You don't understand a word, but you can tell by how pleased his voice sounds that he's praising you and the way you feel around him. You too are enjoying his cock so much. Maker, the pleasure he is providing you with is one you’ve never felt before. You’re forced to take him in any way he wants, completely subjugated by him and his desires, and it’s so perverse and thrilling that you’re already addicted to it.

You feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he thrusts into you, hitting your clit at just the perfect angle, building your pleasure gradually, until you feel on the edge - your breathing is getting laboured, your body starts to shake, you’re just there… but he takes it out and you feel like you’ve been robbed of air from your lungs.

You're so desperate, your whole body is shaking, your handcuffs rattle against the ladder behind you in protest and you let out cries. You must look pretty pathetic to him, who is enjoying the sight of your desperation and the sound of you whimpering by viciously stroking his cock in front of you, letting you see and hear how wet you've made it, his helmet is cold and won't betray any emotion. You can only arch your back and roll your hips begging for him to put his cock back into you.

When he's satisfied and has seen you beg for him enough, he slides it back in, the both of you moaning at the same time at the feeling. He immediately picks up his rhythm and grips your throat in his hand, forcing you to look at him while he’s choking you.

"Mircet'ad." he growls as he thrusts into you. "Ner mircet'ad" rasps again.

You look at him, not sure about what it means, but his voice is hot like lava against your skin as he speaks that foreign language.

"Yes, that's what you are. Do you know what it means? I want you to. It means slave. My slave. Ner mircet'ad. That's the only way I'll be calling you."

He made a point of what you are to him - nothing more than a sex slave that he will use when he comes back after his hunts, to let off steam after catching his quarries. Bounty hunting is tough, and you'll be his relief, something warm and giving always waiting for him with open arms and legs and that will make him feel so, so good any time he wants. His Mircet'ad. That word keeps echoing in your head and you drench yourself at that thought. He feels the way you're spasming around him and how aroused that made you.

"Do you like being called like that, little whore? You like being used?" he wraps his hands around your throat even tighter.

You nod as you look at him with needy, lustful eyes.

When he sees that, he goes crazy and just starts jackhammering you, digging his fingers in your hips as leverage, making you lose control over your mind and body, completely overwhelmed by the way he's fucking you brainless.

"What a fucking slut. Feel how wet you get when I call you my slave. Fuck, you’re such a whore. Wanted to fuck you so badly since I saw you. Do you think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me, whore? Made me walk out of there rock hard, thinking of the things I'd do to you. Gonna fucking wreck your pretty cunt. You feel so good, ner mircet’ad." his voice alone could make you come, and you both feel the way your pussy reacts to him, uncontrollable spasms of excitement that further add to the already overwhelming pleasure, hoping he maintains that promise.

He takes it out again when he feels you're on the edge. And again, your body begs for him. You know he's enjoying seeing his slave begging for him.

"Fuck. Killed so many people to fuck this little pussy. Let me enjoy it. Let me hear how much you want my cock." he pants as he looks at you.

Your back arches and you let out desperate moans as the hand wrapping your throat grips your jaw instead, blocking your face in that position, letting him look at your face.

"Beg for it like the needy slave that you are." he lowers the gag from your mouth.

"P-please, please put it back in. I want your dick inside of my pussy. Please, I need it." you let out in a pleading voice on the verge of tears.

"Hmm. Go on. What do you want me to do to you?"

"Anything you want. I am your whore. I'm here to please you. I want you to wreck me and fill me with your cum. I want to come on your dick so badly, so fucking badly, please! I want you to make me scream until I beg you to stop. I want to give it to you any time you want and hurt for days. I want you to use me, please! I want to be your slav-"

He slaps you in the face, stopping that flow of obscenities from coming out of your mouth.

"You are my slave." he snarls as he grips your jaw tighter, bringing your face so close to his helmet. You look at him right in his visor, so heavily aroused by the rough way he's handling you, asserting his dominance and ownership. You are his slave. His slave. The thought of it sends a thrill of arousal down your spine and turns you on so much.

"What a filthy little mouth you have. Let me use it before we're done." he growls as he takes a good look at you.

"Damn you're pretty. Wanna ruin this beautiful face. Look at these perfect lips. Can't wait to see them wrapped around my cock." he says while tracing your lips with his thumb.

He positions himself over you, with his dick right in front of your face and you can't help elongating your neck towards it, sticking out your tongue to lick the salty slick of your arousal from its shaft, making him grunt as he feels how hot and velvety your tongue is.

"Yes, yes, lick it. Feel how wet you've made it, ner mircet'ad." he slides his wet cock inside your mouth and you welcome it, brushing it with your tongue, tasting yourself on him, adoring it.

He gasps at the feeling and goes on sliding all of his length in. You take it in greedily, keeping your gaze on his visor. He pushes it in your throat without resistance on your side. The Mandalorian is amazed at the way you take his cock.

"What a greedy whore you are. You want it all, don't you?"

You moan at that, sending vibrations to his cock, making him throb and choke a sigh as his hand grips tight to the ladder.

He loses it completely at how obedient you are and starts thrusting into your throat, making you feel used like an object for his own pleasure - you can feel by the way he's panting that he's loving it… and you are, too. When he takes it out it’s completely drenched in your saliva, and he grabs you by the hair and looks at you.

"Ner mircet'ad, I knew your mouth would be perfect. You take my dick so good. All of it, deep in your throat. Good girl, you deserve to be fucked so hard." he praises you, then he positions himself once again kneeling in front of you, lifting the gag over your mouth.

He grabs his cock in his hand and slowly slides it back inside of your desperate, throbbing cunt, letting you feel every inch of him.

"Oh, fuck, you take it so good" he lets out in a low, pleased whisper.

He immediately starts to rail you once he's buried deep inside of you, making you uncontrollably moan and tremble.

"Bet you never had a cock this good. No one's ever fucked you like I am right now. Gonna give it to you anytime I want, and you'll be taking me like the fucking whore that you are, ner mircet'ad." he buries his cock deep inside of you and he stops, as he’s close to his own orgasm this time. He’s panting and shaking as he grips tight to the ladder with both of his hands, towering over you with his broad figure. You can see the outline of his biceps from under the thick layers of duraweave and Maker, it's such a delightful view. You roll your hips against his so as not to stop stimulation, moaning provocatively. It’s so good, you don’t want him to stop just now.

“S-stop it.” he grunts as you keep moving your hips, disobeying him, getting even more aroused by the way his voice sounds when he's restraining himself.

“Fuck. Greedy slave, you want all of my cum, don’t you? You want me to fill you up and drain me, to be my cum slut, huh? If you k-keep moving like this I’ll - I’ll - fuck” he lets his dick slip out of you with the very last inch of self control he has left. His whole body is trembling and he is panting as you beg for him with your muffled voice.

“Fuck, you’re a temptress. An insatiable slave. A fucking cocksucking, cum addicted whore. Stars above, if you want it so badly, I’m gonna give it to you. You make me want to fuck you so hard and fill you so deep. Damn, take it.” he puts it back in and starts to rail you at a debilitating rhythm, making you shake your legs out of lust and roll your eyes because of the pleasure.

"Shit. I'm so close" he grunts as you look at him with pleading eyes, making your handcuffed hands rattle on the ladder.

"Do you want me to make you come, mircet'ad?"

You frantically nod your head.

"Yeah - bet you did. I will make you come. If you ever make it out alive from my ship, I wouldn't want you to say that the Mandalorian didn't satisfy you. It would be bad, wouldn't it?"

You keep nodding your head, feeling your cunt throbbing with need and lust at the thought.

"Get ready, I know you're close."

The angle at which his cock is hitting your clit is sending you to heaven, just as the thought of him restraining from his own orgasm to give one to you first.

"Let me hear you. Let me hear how fucking good I'm making you come" he finally frees you from your gag and you can finally let him hear your desperate, loud moans.

A few more thrusts of his thick cock inside of you and you feel the devastating force of the orgasm blazing through your body, making you burst. Finally, after a never-ending edging torture, he lets you come. From the position you're forced in, with your legs completely spread open, the power of your orgasm seems even more shattering than ever, nothing like you've ever experienced before. You can feel your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his cock, making him grunt as you let out the hottest, headiest moans he's ever heard.

"Fuck. F-fuck. How can you feel so good?! M-maker you're tight. Fuck. Killing me. G-going to fill you. Fill you with my cum. N-now. My slave. F-fucking mine." he snarls and fills you with his hot load, his cock pumping it deep and hard inside of you as you groan loudly and sensually and won't stop looking at him. He tries to muffle his own moans by gritting his teeth, and Maker, he sounds even hotter when he gives up, letting those heady moans out, losing control, wholly abandoning himself to that overwhelming pleasure. He grips tight to the ladder with both of his hands, preventing his body from collapsing on yours, burying his cock deep inside of you as you both slowly come down from your high.

“I’m your slave.” you softly whisper in your post orgasmic haze, smiling.

"Ni gar mircet'ad" he teaches you. He trails his fingers on your mouth and you kiss them sweetly, looking at him in the visor.

“Ni gar mircet'ad, Mando” you repeat in a sweet, tender voice.

“Gar serim, ner mircet’ad. So fucking hot when you speak Mando’a to me.” he lightly wraps his hand your throat once again.

"You too." you reply.

"Oh, you like it when I speak Mando'a to you?" he lets his hand trail all over your body, making you sigh when it stops between your legs and starts rubbing your clit.

"Yes. So hot. You're so hot." you go on praising him in between moans as he picks up the rhythm of his fingers.

"'lek, ner aikiyc mircet'ad, k'olar tug'yc par ni bat ni cere. Come for me again on my fingers." the sound of his dark voice, sweetly whispering those words while touching your clit drives you wild and you can't help obeying his order, coming again after a few rubs of your clit, so unbelievably aroused by that. His visor is locked on you, on your eyes that uncontrollably cross and roll because of the pleasure, on your mouth letting out filthy sounds of pleasure, all while he keeps speaking his native language throughout your orgasm, encouraging you.

"'lek. 'lek. Jate, ner mircet'ad. Bid mesh'la. K'olar par ni."

After that second orgasm you feel completely debilitated and just collapse, exhausted but so, so satisfied.

When he slips out of you, he enjoys seeing your exposed cunt slowly leaking his cum out, wrecked and still spasming in aftershock. He uses his cock to gather all the seed that escaped from you and push it back inside of your hole. When he’s done, he looks at you in the face, his cock is still hard.

“Will you clean it for me, mircet'ad?” asks gently as you have already opened your mouth wide open for him.

“Good girl.” says as he slides his cock in your mouth. You taste both of your orgasms in your mouth and hum, sucking it avidly and licking it clean.

“Damn you’re perfect” says as he tucks his softening cock back into his pants.

"So hot when you come for me. Taking my cock like a hungry whore. I will keep you here on my ship. You'll be my slave. No one except for me will ever lay one finger on you. You belong to me now. You're my property.” he tells you as he frees you from the handcuffs and ropes. You swear you are so tired you could fall asleep right there, right now, but he picks you up in his arms and lays you down in a cot - his cot, you will learn later.

Translations:

I have used mandocreator.com as reference.

- Bid pel bal piryc par ni = So soft and wet for me

- Gar serim = Yes, that's right

- 'lek, ner aikiyc mircet'ad, k'olar tug'yc par ni bat ni cere = Yeah, my desperate slave, come for me again on my fingers

- 'lek. 'lek. Jate, ner mircet'ad. Bid mesh'la. K'olar par ni. = Yeah, yeah. Good, my slave. So beautiful. Come for me.

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter one

well it's love, make it hurt series

one: sharpen your teeth, sink into me

series masterlist | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: You touch yourself when the Mandalorian is away, and he punishes you for the first time.

Warnings: BDSM, d/s dynamics, dom!Din Djarin and sub!reader, soft dom!Din, masturbation (f), anal sex, pussy spanking, crying, dacryphilia, no y/n

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 10: Anal/Crying. Inspired by @absurdthirst’s Kinktober 2023 prompt list

also on aO3

3 ABY, Summer

You were a little feral. Alone for a very long time, gnawing and clawing for survival. An effective hunter, lethal and quiet, but wound so tight. Always coiled and waiting to run. Not bound or beholden to anything.

He, however, had been beholden to the Creed for as long as he could remember. All the choices he made were in service of his people. He wouldn’t change that, didn’t harbor negative feelings—but it made a particular flavor of power intoxicating. Hunting was an essential part of his life, but also, when he flexed an upper hand and manipulated the situation to his favor? Well, that was everything.

So the way you just… fell together? It made sense.

One day, when he had you pinned against the wall of the Crest, three fingers deep in your pussy, he tilted his head to the side to study you and said, “I’d like to try something.” You were up for almost anything, and so, he had cuffed you and teased you, used you, watched you realize you had nothing, that you had to beg and plead, and—

Well. It was hard to explain. Something had come undone inside you that day, like he had cracked open your ribcage and taken out the rabid mynock that beat against your chest all the time.

It had only escalated from there.

Needless to say, your sex life was leagues better than it had been on Cantonica, you made about 20% more with the bounties you could take now, and best of all—you finally got to see some of the galaxy. Even if most of the planets were seedy at best.

The one thing you missed, though, was some fucking alone time. Mando was always there. And the Crest was not private. You got about five minutes to yourself in the fresher, but otherwise, he could just pop up any time.

And he did.

Silently.

It was unsettling, actually.

So when you landed on Sullust, a planet you had very little interest in exploring after the first five minutes, you skipped the market trip. You didn’t need anything, and Mando was looking for some part for one of the many systems in the Crest held up by hope and frantic welding during an emergency. With more money coming in, he could afford to fix things before they broke (again).

With Mando gone, you sprawl out on your bed and pull out your datapad. You had started a book, months ago, but hadn’t had a chance to continue. Not because you didn’t get time to read, but because Mando had a terrible habit of appearing over your shoulder, and you didn’t want him to see you reading a romance. It would hurt your reputation.

And also, it was mostly sex.

It wasn’t like you meant to break a rule. It was so new and the habit so old that slipping your hand into your leggings and leisurely stroking your clit was automatic. A muscle memory. It had been, for a time, one of your only physical comforts after long days and nights on the hunt.

Far sooner than you expected, the ramp opens with a hiss. You rip your hand out of your pants, breathing ragged and face flushed. You shove the datapad into the crack between your bed-crates and the wall.

How the hell was he done that fast? Oh, kriff, did it smell like pussy in here? Why were you worrying that the man who was fucking you on a near-daily basis would know you had touched yourself?

That’s when you remember the rules.

Fuck.

“Did I wake you up?” he asks as he enters, noting your messy hair and rumpled blanket.

“Um, no, it’s fine,” you say.

He sets down the hunk of metal and a handful of wires—oh, you should really learn more about ship maintenance if you’re ever going to own one, you think, trying to puzzle out their purpose.

You may have been distracted by the parts, but he was distracted by you. The flush spreading down your neck. The faint sheen of sweat on your brow and between your breasts, the soft, utilitarian tanktop doing nothing to conceal them.

“What did you do while I was gone?” he asks.

Oh fuck, he knows. He absolutely knows. You look down, away, anywhere but his intense stare.

“Cyar’ika, I expect an answer when I speak to you.”

“I—nothing?”

He puts his hands on his hips. “You want to try that again?”

Getting trampled by a Bantha would be preferable to admitting you were afraid. Maybe nervous was a better word. You're sure he wouldn’t really hurt you. But when you had agreed to this—enthusiastically—you hadn’t asked what happened if you didn’t follow the rules.

There weren’t many, and they were purposefully vague. Not in a way that would trap you into misbehavior but allowed for flexibility. Be respectful. Follow orders. And no pleasure without permission. That was his to enjoy, he explained.

“I forgot.”

“You forgot what?”

“I forgot, you know. Um. I forgot I couldn’t…” Maker, was he really going to make you say it?

He sighs. You were so, so new to this, and while so eager to please, he could see you looking for an exit. An escape.

Should he soothe you? Gift you platitudes and reassurances? Grant you a one-time pass? No, it was too soon. You wouldn't be able to trust him to take care of you if he didn't enforce the rules.

Or should he prey on you, taunt you, and make you beg his forgiveness?

No. As much as he wanted to, no. That would have to be for later, when you had let go of your pride and defensiveness, when you stopped suspecting his attentions were a cruel prank.

“Stand up and bend over the bed,” he says, crossing the room to approach you.

For a second, you hesitate.

He holds a breath, letting you choose what happens next.

You work your jaw from side to side and then grit your teeth, something sharp taking over your eyes. You hop off the bed and bend over it, balling your fists in the sheet.

Relief spreads, tickling goosebumps down his arms. “Good girl,” he murmurs, setting a hand on the small of your back. “You were about to tell me what you did?”

“I touched myself. I forgot about the rules.” You were talking into the mattress.

“Where’d you touch yourself, pretty girl?” he asks, stroking your hair.

You squirm. You don’t want to say it. You aren’t a prude, but the weight of his focus makes you feel raw.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to assume it was everywhere.”

“No! No, I promise. It was just my pussy, I promise.”

He hums, continuing to pet you while he thinks. “I’m going to give you a few choices. First, obviously, is that you can use your safeword, and nothing happens other than a discussion of what you do and don’t want. Second: it’s late and you’re tired. We can pause this and handle it after we get the bounty. But I won’t fuck you until then, either.”

You whine a little, and he shakes his head.

“Or the third option: I punish you now and fuck you after.”

“That one,” you say after a minute of real consideration. You are a little scared, but the idea of waiting, possibly days, to find out what would happen made you feel a little sick.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

He smiles. “Spread your legs more, baby.”

“Oh, fuck,” you moan into the sheet, sliding your feet apart so he had full access.

One hand still resting above your ass, he brings the other up to cup your mound through your thin, damp leggings. “Why do you need to be punished?”

A whimper. “Because I was bad.”

“Need you to be a little more specific than that.”

You take a deep, trembling breath.

He fights the instinct to demand an answer, a sudden jolt of excitement as your brow furrows. It's been a long time since he met someone who really wanted to do this, truly wanted to submit and not just have rough sex, who wouldn’t just say what they thought he wanted to hear so they could get to the “fun” part.

“I took what was yours,” you say softly after a minute. “I disrespected you by only thinking of myself.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” swept from him on an exhale.

Later, he would recognize the way it hurt for a minute, the way the rush of affection seemed to tighten around his lungs rather than his cock.

For now, he rubs his hand on your back. “I think,” he say slowly, “that since you gave yourself pleasure, I have to take it away.”

“Okay.” You feel like you're shrinking, like your body is folding in. His hands, despite the gloves, burn through your clothes where they molded to your curves. Every contact point between you is alight.

“Ever had your pussy spanked?” he says.

You had suspected that was his intention, but the blunt question has you sucking in a sharp breath. “No, sir.”

“Okay. Then you don’t need to count this time. Just take it.”

Before you can reply, he pulls his hand back from your cunt and brings it down.

“Fuck,” you bite out, momentum lurching you forward, the edge of the crate biting into your stomach.

He gives you a moment, watching as your face contorts. It certainly wasn’t a hard hit, but he hadn’t gone easy on you, either. Couldn’t. Your first punishment had to be memorable.

“Do you need to use your word, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you huff through gritted teeth.

So he hits you again.

You had tried to brace yourself, but it stings, and you yelp.

This time, he doesn’t wait. He smacks you hard, back-to-back, with no reprieve.

You squirm and writhe to get away, but his hand on your back keeps you pinned. It's only ten, but you're shaking when he finishes.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he said, guiding you to standing with a hand on your shoulder, pulling you into him. You cling onto him, fingers clutching the top of his chest plate, arms pinned between your bodies, and face buried in his cowl.

“Are you crying?” It's apparently the wrong thing to say, because what were quiet tears turn into full sobs. “Hey, shh, it’s okay. You did so well, cyar’ika.”

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are.” He holds you tight and lets you cry it out until you quiet, sniffling a little. “Feel better?”

You nod. And then you shake your head, and his stomach drops.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t even get punished without—without—”

He doesn’t mean to, but he laughs.

You reel back as far as his arms let you.

“No, no, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I just should have realized sooner. It felt good, didn’t it?”

“No, I mean, I don’t know. It hurt a lot.” You don’t look at him, shame twisting your lips into a scowl. Your streaked, raw cheeks and watery eyes make his dick throb. “It just—I had to try so hard not to cum.”

The Mandalorian’s self control is as strained as his cock. “I’m not mad, sweetheart. Fuck, that’s good to know. Would it make you feel better if I told you that was only half your punishment?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide, and tears threatening to spill. “Oh.”

“I said I’d fuck you. But I don’t think your greedy little cunt deserves any more pleasure today, do you?”

“No, sir.”

He wonders if you’d hate him if you saw the way he smirked behind the helmet. The way he wanted to grin, wild and teeth bared, and pick you apart just so he could put you back together.

He thinks you’d probably like it.

“You took that so well, sweetheart, I’ll tell you what. You can choose. You want me here…” he brushes a finger across your lips, which part sweetly for him. The tip of your tongue peeks out to greet his glove, and he does grin, then.

“... or do you want me here?” he slides his hand down your back and over the crest of your butt.

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper.

“What’ll it be?”

You take a shuddering breath, another tear falling as you squeeze your eyes tight. “I want whatever will please you most.”

He shakes his head, something fond and soft clawing at his ribcage. “That’s sweet, but if that’s what I wanted from you, I wouldn't have asked. I want you to choose.”

“Okay. Then the second one.”

“Then what? Ask nicely.”

A whimpered moan escapes you. You mumble something.

“Gotta speak up, cyar’ika, or I’ll think you don’t want to be fucked at all.”

“No!” you squeak. “No, please. Um. Please—” Your right leg jitters a little as you chew on the words before spitting them out. “Please fuck my ass, sir.”

“Of course,” he strokes your cheek. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shake your head and let him turn you back around, pushing down between your shoulder blades until you’re bent flat across the bed.

“Anyone had you here before?” he says as he rolls your leggings down to discover you aren’t wearing any fucking underwear. He helps you step out of them.

“No,” you say, arching a little as he rubs a gloved hand up and down your leg, stopping just below your cheeks.

“You sure you want me to?” He pauses his caresses, weighing his restraint. He’ll have to go slow. Maybe he should just fuck your mouth, where he can take as much as he needs from you.

But then you speak. “Yes, please, sir. I want it to be you.”

He has to ball his hands into fists and release a few times, trying to stay rational and not just give you what you’re so sweetly begging for.

“It doesn’t have to be now. We can wait, and I can make it better for you, when you’re not being punished.”

You turne your head to the side against the mattress, and he can see your bottom lip trembling.

He sighs. “Just tell me first: are you trying to punish yourself more?”

“No, I want it. Please. I’ve wanted it for months. I—please.”

“Okay, cyar’ika. You tell me if it’s too much, though.”

“Yes, sir.”

You hold very still as he peels off his gloves. You won’t be able to see, and there's no way he was doing this with the gloves. Not this time, not with the gift you’re giving him.

When his warm hand rubs over your ass, you gasp. He draws away reluctantly to pour a generous amount of lube into his palm, warming it carefully before coating his fingers.

He sinks to his knees. With your legs spread, he brushes a finger over your hole, watching the way it twitches and basking in your quiet moan. He rubs soft circles, working the lube around before gently pressing in. The first finger goes in so slowly, and you keen low, muffled by the sheet. Your thighs shake with the effort of holding still.

“Good girl,” he croons, withdrawing his finger to add a second. He repeats the slow, cautious process, pressing in and out. “Breathe, cyar’ika. Relax.”

Relax? How did he expect you to relax? The sensations were so intense you thought you might shatter.

When he finally adds a third, you cry out. His fingers are so thick, and you are so, so full. You startto doubt you’ll be able to take him.

But Mando is a patient man, even with his cock angry and leaking. He doesn’t stop until he's sure you're ready. When he withdraws his fingers from you and stands up, you whimper.

“Scared?”

“A little,” you tell the sheet.

“I’ve got you, cyar’ika. You’re doing so well for me. Still want to make me feel good?”

He waits until the first “please” before notching himself at your entrance and pushing the very tip in. Anything else you had been trying to say is choked off.

He had prepared you well, but you were still hot and tight enough that he almost loses his composure. Almost shoves hard into you until his hips slam against yours. But instead, he grips them, sure to leave bruises behind.

You hold your breath. The burn is agonizing, but the wait is worse. When he's settled fully in you, he holds himself in place while you squirm.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper. It was the only thought left in your brain other than “Mando” and “full.”

Despite his iron grip, his hips jerk a little. When he speaks, it's around a clenched jaw. “Can I—fuck—can I move?”

“Uh-huh.”

He pulls back, a loud groan in time with the tug of his cock. His hips jerk forward immediately, seeking your soft warmth.

“More,” you grunt through a thrust. “Please, sir.”

That was the end of him. Or at least of the calm, collected Mando. Your sweet voice begging snaps something cerebral, and he snarls, pulling out just to slam back in. He sets a rough, rushed pace.

With one hand on your hip and the other pushing down on your lower back, he takes. He takes and takes until you don’t have anything to give, your hands desperately clutching the edge of the crate just to stay where he had placed you.

Each thrust leaves you raw somewhere behind your sternum. You're crying again, hot tears running sideways across your face to the sheet, scrunched and already soaked with spit.

“You can cum if you can do it like this,” he says between pants. “Don’t touch your clit.”

You couldn’t reach even if you dared to, only able to hold on and accept him. To be used and cared for.

You know you won't be able to. It feels good, but the pain is just on the wrong side of sharp. You don’t want him to stop, you might die if he did, but it wasn’t going to happen like this. It was kind of him, anyway.

And there was something pleasant about just existing there for him to fill. It made you dizzy to think about.

“Want it inside, sweetheart?”

You nod desperately, the rough linen scratching at your raw cheeks.

It only takes a few more thrusts until he grinds his hips against you, pushing as deep as he can, crooning praise.

“So good, cyar’ika, perfect fucking girl. Taking me so well, letting me have this. Fuck,” he whimpers as he begins twitching inside you, wet ropes of cum flooding you and leaking out around his cock.

He eases out carefully, scooping you up before sliding to the ground against the crates.

“Hey,” he murmurs, helmet resting gently on top of your head. “Are you okay?”

You tremble but nod against his chestplate. “I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“All is forgiven, sweet girl. I promise. You took your punishment so well.” He holds you tight and refuses to acknowledge the ferocity gnashing its teeth in his chest. Something that felt dangerously like devotion.

*title from "Sink Into Me" by Taking Back Sunday

[a-coffee-addict-613]

Din Djarin x Reader - Drabble

a.n : this is my first ever fic post on here, hope you like it. maybe i'll write the rest of this story, maybe not. who knows ? not me.

content warnings : SMUT, sub!din, handjob

"Kriff !", he breathed out as they both laid back on the sheets, their skin glistening with sweat, heaving breaths mixing as they kissed.

"Tell me how it feels Din, to have your hand wrapped around your own cock as I watch ? You love it, don't you, I know you do, I can see it on your face, don't even try to deny it, meshla."

It was hypnotizing, the way his hand glided along the tanned skin of his cock, the contrast it was with his red tip, already leaking all over him. The poor thing was just so desperate to cum, but he needed more, he needed her. Now that he knew what it felt like, the feeling of her silken walls wrapped around him, squeezing him, the way her moans made shivers travel along his spine each time he hit that one spot, deep inside her, his own hand was not enough, not when she was laying next to him, her naked body glued to his side. He could feel her sleek on his thigh, a reminder of what he desired but couldn't have. He tried closing his eyes, to imagine it in his mind, hoping, praying that it would be enough for him to reach the ecstasy he was craving. He began to go faster, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten, his lips fell open, whimpers falling from them like a river. And she leaned over, bringing her own lips to his, drinking from them as if they were her salvation. His pleasure only continued to rise, now that she was touching in some way, his hips rose up to meet his fist, he was so close, simply so close.

"Stop", she whispered against his lips as she pulled back from their heated kiss, a devilish smile apparent on her lips.

"No.. please, cyare..", he begged, he no longer cared, this was no longer the tough mandalorian or the strong bounty hunter, he was reduced to a desperate man, whose only care in the world at this very moment was only the orgasm he had at the tip of his fingers, only slightly out of reach.

"I said stop." She repeat firmly this time, her voice echoing around the metal walls of the small room he called their bedroom. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, the firm grip reminding him of what he promised, a promise to fully surrender to her. And so he stopped, his whole body shaking with frustration, his chest falling and rising rapidly, heaving with need.

She waited, patiently for his breathing to slow, and then she guided his fist to start moving again slowly around his length. She leaned down his body, brought her lips close to the weeping tip, so close he could feel the ghost of her lips, and she let her spit coat him and his hand, making it easier for it to glide along. And so he began his ascend again, the rise of pleasure building up in his body, that familiar knot in his stomach tightening.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Hi! Can I please request Namo x reader for kinktober with the size kink please? Maybe reader is either an elf or Maia and Namo is bigger than them, and reader loves how big he feels when they're having sex? Thank you!

Well hello! As for Mr. Doomsman being generously proportioned... Why not?

"Made for me"

Pairing: Námo x Fem. reader (elf/second person POV) | Location: Halls of Mandos

Themes: Smut (Lemon)

Warnings: Size kink | Dirty talk | Explicit language | Kissing | Penentrative sex | Rough sex | Cream pie

Word count: 1k words

Summary: Námo is never content with one round or act of love making.

Rating 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

It was a rare thing to be asked to be a companion for one of the Ainur. And rarer still, for that Ainu to be none other than the Doomsman himself.

Much like everything else in his long existence, Námo chose his companion after a great deal of care and deliberation, observing all those who fluttered around him like pretty little moths flapping their wings. When one particular elf caught his eye, he made his choice. And he had been well pleased with it ever since.

"I could spend many a glorious hour between your legs." Námo sighed wistfully and drew back, his lips and cheeks already glistening with your slick. He had feasted on the sweetness of your folds, but that had not been enough. Another appetite needed to be satisfied.

His praise was a heady thing, and pleased you greatly. "You have done so already, my lord. Many an hour, I might add."

Námo moved to rest on his knees before grasping yours with those large, soft hands of his and pulling them apart. "True," he admitted, "but those delightful hours are not even the blink of an eye for one such as me."

"Indeed," you agreed, your lips twitching at the corners. "But do not tell me you did not enjoy them."

"I will not lie, my love, when I say I did enjoy them. I enjoyed them immensely." He chuckled sweetly, slipping his arms around you and rolling you in one swift motion. When he stopped, he was beneath you, and you were above him. "Go on, little raven. You know what you have to do."

It was too much, even from this position. Námo was exceedingly tall and well-made, even when he had taken the form of an elf. You had to take him into you inch by slow inch, your body tensing and clenching from his welcome intrusion. You grew lightheaded, dazed even. That rigid part of him filled you so much that it was almost painful. And so wonderful. Námo closed his eyes, trembling with a quickened gasp when you sheathed him, your hands splaying over his chest. His hands ghosted your hips, the tips of his fingers tracing delicate lines over your flesh.

Everything was forgotten. His duties and yours, the softness of the sheets against his back, the chilly air dancing over your skin. All that mattered was the sweetness of him inside you, of your warmth undoing him in ways he never thought possible. And you shook—Eru alone knew how much you shook—when skilled hands gripped your hips in a way that was all too familiar to you.  

The first cry tore through him when you rolled your hips. His hands moved, gliding and caressing, setting you ablaze where they touched. He cupped the swell of your breasts, toying with nipples that were already stiff and sensitive. Your moan was intoxicating to him. It made him crave more.

"You were made for me. Only you could make me forget myself." Námo made himself open his eyes, so eager was he to drink in the sight of you taking him into you again and again and again. "Do you understand this?"

His hair had spread all over the pillows in a spill of brilliant pewter and silver, glittering in the dim candlelight. His eyes, black to the center and specked with gray, had been fixed on yours; the sheer beauty of them and the devotion they held took your breath away.

"I do." You hoped and prayed that you did. Námo was not one of those Valar who made their choices without a care in the world. He weighed and measured each decision after a great deal of thought, even when it came to the matter of his chosen companion. That he chose you out of all those who gathered around him was a wonder in itself.

"Good." His hips moved in time with your movements, his thrusts pushing his cock deeper and deeper into your cunt. It made you see stars. You welcomed it—the pain and ecstasy both—every time he sank his length into the wet heat of your sex. Námo took command as he always did, setting a relentless pace, pulling your hips down harder and harder. You nearly lost balance and grabbed onto his arms for support. He moaned. Nothing in the world sounded as sweet as that.

Heat gathered and pooled in your lower belly, your entire body tensing like a string drawn taut. Your grip tightened, your hips undulating in sync with his movements. Námo lost himself in your flesh, in the wild euphoria that rose to claim him. His movements were frantic, desperate, wanton. His eyes flashed, the silver in them gleaming like tiny stars.

Again, it was all too much. The bliss that came with him sliding his shaft inside you, the sparks that surged through your veins—it was too much. The tightening in your belly finally snapped, even as you dissolved into pleasure. Time slowed down as your vision faded to dark, aftershocks still gripping your body. Námo held onto you, keeping you steady, fucking you through your orgasm. He shattered beneath you, your name on his lips, a wave of his spend spilling even as he finally went still.

Slow, carefully, you opened your eyes, as if you were waking from a most glorious dream. Námo was still beneath you, now completely satisfied. He knelt up in bed, taking you with him, bringing his lips to yours. His kiss was tender, sweet as the wine he had for dinner, and slick with the essence that still lingered. His breath mingled with yours, his silken hair brushing against your arms when you slid them around his broad shoulders. Námo finally sighed.

"That was beyond everything I could have imagined." Trembling hands found their way to your hair, your cheeks. "Have I hurt you, little raven?"

Your body ached, your lips were puffy and bruised. And all of it was a mere trifle to the exhilaration he drowned you in.

"You have not," you returned, pleased to see the relief in his eyes. Námo may be stern at times, more than a little aloof, but he was never cruel, and took no joy in inflicting pain, even during moments such as these. "I would not trade one moment of what we just shared for anything."

tags: @cilil @edensrose @asianbutnotjapanese

[winniethewife]

Kinktober Day 11

Day Eleven: Blindfold (Din Djarin x reader)

Warnings: smut under the cut, nsfw, 18+, FemBodied, oral sex, fingering, P!inV!, Unprotected sex

Minors DNI

Words: 1017

“Are you sure about this?” Djarin asked carefully tied the strip of fabric around her eyes.

“Of course I am, cyar’ika.” She says quietly as she adjusts the fabric to fully cover her eyes. This was the first time that they were going to be… intimate together. They had a long conversation about it before hand, how to do this without violating his dedication to the creed. She admired the dedication her lover had, she would do whatever it takes to make this work.

“Mmm.” He makes an affirmative sound. As he is a man a very few words, she’s gotten used to that, She talked enough for both of them anyway. She heard the metallic sound of his beskar being placed in the armor locker next to the bed as she sits on the edge of the bed. The sound of his disrobing already makes a puddle form in her lower regions. She bites her lips as she hears him come back over to her. Her senses filled with nothing but his scent, the sound of his breathing, his calming presence. He was nervous. He hadn’t been with anyone like this in a very long time. She was breathtaking, without his helmet on seeing her fully for the first time. It was something else.”

“Mesh’la.” He whispers as he takes her chin in his hand, noticing how soft she felt on his calloused hands. He tilts her head up to get a better look at her. A smile crosses her face at the soft sensitive touch, the brutal bounty hunter always had the gentlest touch for her. He kneels down and kisses her softly, a small moan escaped her lips as she felt his rough face on hers. She reaches up to touch his face running her fingers over every inch of his face, memorizing it with her hands, the face she had never seen, but wanted to know as if it was her own. Djarin adored the feeling of her fingers tracing his face, running through the stubble on his face as he softly kissed her, first her lips, her cheeks, her jaw, then down her neck. As he reaches her neck He nibbles on it softly leaving a couple tiny purple marks. Small moans leaving her lips as she feels his lips on her neck. Her hand leave his face to begin to explore his chest, memorizing every ridge of his muscles, every scar, the tips of her fingers doing the work of her eyes. She can almost picture him.

As they kiss Djarin puts his hands on her back holding close as he lay her down in the bed. His hands sliding down her body stopping at the waistband of her pants. He lowers himself down, kissing her slightly exposed stomach as he goes. He pulls off her pants and underwear in one go exposing her wet slit to the cold air of the Razor Crest. As she feels the sensation she lets out a soft gasp, every sensation heighted by the lack of sight. His immediate first reaction to seeing her pink puffy pussy was to lick along her slit, tasting her for the first time, a grunt leaving his lips as he goes in again sucking on her clit as he eats her out like he needs it to survive. Her moans fill the air and her hand go to his head tangling her fingers in his hair.

“Oh, Maker…That’s good...” Praises fall from her lips as he continues to thrust his tongue into her, bringing her pleasure in immeasurable amounts, she feels the buildup in her lower abdomen and she rolls her hips trying to get closer to her release. He places his hand on her lower stomach and pushes her down gently but firmly, holding her in place as he moves to focus on her clit as he slides his fingers into her, a series of curses coming from her mouth as he tightens around him, she’s almost there, he knows. He moves his fingers in deeper circling around her cervix and then hits the perfect spot causing her to throw her head back in ecstasy as her orgasm runs waves of pleasure over her body. He continues to move his fingers inside her helping her along her high.

“Djarin… I want to ride you.” She mumbles as she struggles to sit up. He was surprised to hear her ask that, so forwardly.

“You sure Mesh’la?” he asks and she nods enthusiastically. He stands and takes her hands and guides her to the end of the bed before lifting her to sit under her, placing her on his lap with care. He helps her pull out his length. She strokes it a couples times, trying to get some idea of his size and girth. She was surprised how large it was, but it wasn’t something she couldn’t handle. She reaches out for his shoulders to steady herself as he helps her onto him. As she slides on him he lets out a groan. The feeling of her tight pussy over him was perfection. She bites her lip as she feels him stretching her out, a small whimper escapes as he bottoms out inside her, they sit for a second, taking a moment to adjust, his lips on her shoulder, muttering reassurances. “You feel so good on me baby.” He mutters as he puts his hands on her hips. She rests her forehead on his as they begin to move together, her arms wrapped around his shoulder to keep her steady as she lifts her hips and he pulls her back down. Their soft moans and grunts fill the ship as they make love to each other. Mumbles of affection as he starts to move her faster, chasing his release as she leans in and starts planting kisses anywhere she could find. He found himself pulling her down one last time before he releases his spend in her. As they both sat panting, the blindfold soaked with sweat as it still covers her eyes, protecting his promise to the creed.  

~

Kinktober Masterlist

[awholelottayeehaw]

KINKTOBER DAY 5: Fucking Machine -Part 2 (Preview)

I'm so sorry everyone for being late on posting The Middle Part 1, between a doctor's appointment, having to go to the local courthouse to explain YET AGAIN why I can't participate in jury duty as a disabled person on welfare due to a low paying career, and my oven breaking on top of some of my students needing a tutoring session on Saturday, I've been exhausted but I plan on posting The Middle Part 1 by tonight and here's a sneak preview of another fic coming out this upcoming Friday as an apology and to give you something to look forward to!

You had many problems, and delayed responses were definitely a few of them.

You weren’t sure if too much time had passed, but the moment you decided to reciprocate Din’s touches and stares, the man pulled back. He stopped touching you and started to actively avoid any room you were in. It was as if that month of pining never happened, and the sudden isolation left your head and heart empty wondering if maybe you had done something wrong. It was so bad, some days when you came back from work you were genuinely surprised that The Mandalorian and Grogu hadn’t packed their things and left. But regardless, the rejection stung with a touch of humiliation that you’d never admit out loud but held close to your heart.

That isolation is what guided you to punch in the coordinates for the nearest planet with the lie on your lips of having a job there that would require your time for a few hours. You noticed that had made Din’s shoulders slump a little in relief, and that only added salt to the rejection and hurt. But the warrior's touches and stares had also left you horny and your fingers and the vibrator you had on your nightstand just weren't doing the trick. That’s how you found yourself at the only brothel on the planet, taken aback by the fact that it was run by droids with the only prostitutes available being the robotic kind, and embarrassingly staring at the droid before you that had the most realistic pussy you had ever seen on something that hadn’t been assigned female at birth.

After turning down another droid with a similar physique but with a, quite frankly, impressive erection instead of a vagina; the female droid led you to a section of the brothel where a private room was waiting for you. You couldn't help the heat that crept to your cheeks and ears at the sounds of sentient species coupling with droids or whatever they paid to be with as you passed rooms by. You also couldn't help the way it made your pussy pulse with need and grow wetter with each step, or how the clench of your thighs did very little to relieve the feeling growing within your groin.

To be released on Friday, February 17th.

Tag List:

@avatarkanemi @yourcoolauntie (MJ babe I couldn't remember if you wanted to be tagged or not so I'm including you just let me know if you want to be removed)

[brokenghostgirl1]

Kinktober give me some ideas guys lmk what u want and I'll write 2 of each

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 15th

Day 15: Hair Pulling // Glory Hole // Teasing

Mando x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Glory hole, anonymous pleasure, idiots, blow jobs, vaginal fingering, Mando being impatient, deep throating, cum swallowing

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Needing to be alone in that ship is a luxury neither one of you have. The sleeping shifts in the little bunk aren’t working. He can’t even take his helmet off without inhaling the scent of whatever soap or perfume you use. Filling his nostrils and making his cock ache in the darkness. He can’t even take himself in hand to relieve the problem. Too wary of you hearing his grunts and groans as he fucks his hand, you seem to hear every sound he makes as it echoes through the metal hull of the Razor Crest. 

Finally, he’s ready to return to Nevarro. To dump off the bounties that you’ve collected and gather more pucks. His rifle is left behind this time, not needed for where he will go after his meeting with Karga and he doesn’t want to have to store it somewhere else. The little storefront he will visit doesn’t allow rifles, just regular blasters. 

Running through the sandy alleys of Nevarro, you tread a familiar path. One that you slip off the ship and escape to every time you are here. Mando never asks any questions, never tells you where he goes for hours at a time. Both of you have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy about your time spent on this planet and you are happy for that. 

You had found this place by accident. Looking for a store that sold display arrays that you could modify to fit the Crest, you had walked into The Hole. Karga had mentioned it once, chuckling and telling Mando about the wondrous treasures that could be found within its hallowed walls. The wall of metal beside you had practically shoved you from the booth and told you that you were leaving, your questions about what kind of place it was left unanswered. 

You had assumed it was a junk store. A place where people deposit their junk that is treasures to someone else. You had gone looking for it when you were bored and discovered why the Bounty Hunter’s Guild leader chuckle was so dirty when he mentioned it. It was a Glory Hole. 

You love going. The woman’s side is alright, but after one experience with a Twi’lek’s fangs, you had decided to stick with giving rather than receiving. So you come here and sit behind the wall to suck a stranger’s cock, fingering yourself while you do it. 

The Sullustan that runs this place doesn’t mind it at all. He doesn’t pay you and he gets to have a paying customer pleased. For him, it’s a boon when you walk in the door and he makes sure that he always assigns you the first customer to come when you are in your little booth. 

Mando stalks down the street, his head turned straight as he walks with a purpose. He will just slip inside The Hole and lay down a few credits. Get some relief that is sorely needed to make another trip with you on his ship. The payment from Karga was generous, but half belongs to you. The pucks on his belt will be dealt with soon enough, after he’s lightened his load in the anonymity of the glory hole and finds you again. 

He doesn’t know who is on the other side, but he always imagines you. Takes fragments of expressions you’ve given him over the months together as he closes his eyes behind his helmet and lets the mouth around him suck him off. Already hard beneath the flight suit, he steps inside the door and finds the proprietor to give him the required credits. 

Waiting never takes long. You’re already slick with arousal, fingers rolling over your clit teasingly and lightly dipping inside your cunt as you kneel in front of the hole. The cushion for your knees is a lovely little boon to your aching bones from kneeling on the metal grate floor of the Crest when you are working behind some mech panel. You hear shuffling, cunt clenching in anticipation for the cock that will be fed through the hole and presented to your hungry mouth. 

The booth is private. Something that Mando appreciates, even if he doesn’t do more than pull his cock out of his flight suit. He can relax, enjoy the pleasure without worrying about an attack from behind. Shuffling inside and closing the door behind him, he works on pulling his stiff length out with a quiet groan. 

You freeze. Aware of that groan, that sound. You know who makes it and yet you can’t fucking believe it. Mando couldn’t have come here. There is no way he would do this. You break your own rule and crouch down, peeking through the hole and choke when the familiar flash of orange tipped gloves can be seen. 

Pulling back, you don’t know what to do. You should say something, stop him. You know that he doesn’t want you, he’s never made any move on you. Never given you any clue that he finds you to be anything more than adequate help and an annoyance. 

Before you can find your voice, the thick heft of his cock slides through the hole and into sight. It’s fucking gorgeous. Making your mouth water at the girth, the length. He’s more than a mouthful and you want to taste him. You swallow, still unsure of what to do. 

Mando looks down, his cock is in the hole and yet there isn't a mouth around him. Pulling his hips back slightly and pushing forward again, wondering if the worker isn’t paying attention. He’s already aching, the head of his cock nearly purple with repressed need and his voice is slightly impatient. “Suck it.” 

You shiver, the growl coming from the other side of the wall shoots straight to your core and you can imagine that impassive visor looking down on you mercilessly. This is your fucking dream come true and he doesn’t even know it’s you. 

The small drop of liquid built on the tip calls to you and leaning forward, you lap at the tip, eliciting a dark, deep groan from Mando on the other side. Tasting his very essence and enjoying the salty drip on your taste buds before you start to lick down the length of him. 

His head tips back, visor pointed up at the ceiling as the wet heat drags up and down his cock. He needs this. Perhaps needing a pussy more, he will take this blow job and imagine you on your knees in front of him. Taking his cock down your throat and looking up at him with those pretty big eyes of yours. “Fuck.” He hisses. 

Your cunt quivers, fingers slipping in the slick that is now pouring out of your needy hole and you take the head of his cock into your mouth right as you bury your fingers down to the knuckles in your pussy. 

His fist curls tight, resting against the wall as he feels the mouth take him deeper. Eyes rolling back in his head as he groans again. Letting the pleasure of this wet heat surround him. “Take it all.” He growls. 

Fuck. You whimper around his cock because the man will be the death of you. He gives dirty talk a first class name through that modulator. Doing as he ordered immediately and taking him deeper into your mouth, you hum around him and push your fingers in and out of your soaked cunt. 

He gets lost in the sensation. The soft sucking and the hollowed cheeks when the pull on his shaft is a bit stronger. The fluttering of the tongue around him and driving him crazy when that mouth pulls back and that tongue presses against the slit. Whoever it is has some talent and he still imagines that it’s you pleasuring him. 

You put everything you hand into this blow job. Your hand that isn’t buried in your pants is wrapped around the base of his cock, wanting to keep as much of him on this side of the wall and give him as much pleasure as you can. The fact that your fingers barely fit around the base makes you moan around him, trying to stuff a third finger inside your aching cunt while you bob your head. 

“That’s it.” He growls, his body tensing under the pressure of that mouth on the other side of the hole. “I’m gonna cum, cyar'ika.” He hisses. “And you’re gonna drink every drop.” 

You whine, wanting that more than anything as you plunge your fingers in and out, rolling your hips down onto your hand to ride it while you suck his cock. You want every drop, you want to drink him down and make him limp with pleasure. 

Your own pleasure is so closely linked with this moment that you feel your body starting to prime to cum when his cock starts to pulse. 

It takes just a moment, from the pulling of his balls against his body to the stream of cum that bursts onto your tongue with a low groan of praise that you can’t even hear because your blood is rushing in your ears as you start to swallow down great, greedy gulps of him while your cunt spasms around your fingers. Moaning Mando’s name around his length inaudibly, rolling your eyes at how much you love that this has happened. How you want it again already. 

Your name is poised on his lips, barely being able to hold it back. Riding out his orgasm with slow rocks of his hips as the mouth moans and whimpers around him. He’s never had such an active blow job before and he’s already wondering how fast he can capture those bounties so he can come back to The Hole to seek it out again.  

[eatommo]

Take it off [d.d.]{kd10}

Face sitting / lingerie

Cw: mutual pining, helmet comes off, porn with feelings, lingerie, kissing, implied oral sex

He walks into the room tired, exhausted from a long multi-jump flight shaking some Imperial remnant tracking you and the child across the galaxy. Your voice is a welcome sound, it soothes some of his mental burdens and reminds him of the small glimmer of happiness he always feel around you. I sit on the bed ready to talk the night away, not taking much noticing that you are wearing one of his cloaks.

Hyperspace is cold, and he’s grown used to the idea of you dancing and moving around the cabin in his T-shirts or even his underclothes in warmer weather, so what’s the difference of you wearing his cloak when you’re cold?

The difference is that you’re wearing an elegant lingerie set you got on a city planet. Secretly obtaining it by wondering off in lieu of needing a caf. Din isn’t one to ask a lot of questions, at least not while you’re wondering about looking for information or a bounty, but when you get him safe and comfortable on the ship it’s a whole other story.

You’ve quickly found out his rough and tumble life has made him an excellent fighter, his attention to detail makes him an even better lover, but he’s never been able to enjoy the joys of having a steady partner.

He’s found the late night conversations are some of the best parts, laying next to each other in his bunk with your legs tangled together, touching each other innocently at first opening up about how much he wishes he could have, about how much pain he’s suffered, and about the burdens he carries in his heart.

So you thought you’d be able to treat him to a small albeit somewhat selfish (knowing the absolutely deranged fucking you were going to get) gift after such a long complicated fight for freedom.

The cloak is warm, but you know once his flight suit comes off he will be just as warm too. “Tired baby?” You coo, standing just a foot or so away from his arms reach.

“Not too terribly,” he hesitated for a moment before admitting, “I somehow missed you while we were on the same ship.”

You can hear a little of the confession catch in his throat, he still gets nervous to talk about your undefined relationship. “I missed you too, you do such a good job keeping us safe.” You clear your throat a little, the anticipation already making your voice hoarse. “I thought I could surprise you to say thanks”

The helmet tilts, not entirely catching on to what is happening, you slide a hand across your chest, pushing one shoulder of the cloak down revealing just the straps and the top of the lace cups sitting beautifully on your skin.

“I want to show you what someone who cares about you can do to make you feel better.” You let the other should have the cloak fall but catch it just above your belly button, hearing him to take a sharp loud breath as your breasts come into full view.

You lean forward, changing the angle ever so slightly to reveal more of your skin. If you looked close enough at the helmet, you were sure you could see him thinking at lightspeed. You hold the bundle of fabric around your waist still concealing the lower even more skimpy portion of the set and let it fall to the floor.

It’s a lacy, barely there thong, you were sure if you shifted wrong you would slip right out of it.

He gently grabs your thighs and starts to caress them. Feeling the lace and the soft skin beneath it, starting to slowly move his hands and arms up towards your waist, taking in every detail of your skin beneath the intricate lace pattern, feeling every soft spot as his hands moves up your belly all the way to your chest, then back down to rest on your hips.

“Oh… I want to take this off so bad.” He slips his thumbs under both of the sides brushing across your skin softly but his other fingers dig slightly into the flesh of your ass.

“You can,” you start, taking a half step towards him and leaning slightly to whisper in the crook of his neck, “that’s the best part.”

His embrace changes suddenly, his arms sliding around you and herding you into his lap, and when his hands meet behind you the lights in the cabin fade to black, controlled by the remote on his vambrace.

You slide against him, settling against his lap pressed so firmly against him the edges of his thigh plates dig into your skin. His hands flutter up your back and disappear.

You hear a hiss and a thud, and with a still beat of your heart you realize his helmet is off. You’ve only partially seen him off with it once, it was a long time ago but you remembered so much about that night, and the sound of that hiss has been such a huge part of your fantasies, your heart skipped back into an impossibly fast pace.

You feel his warmth, inches from his face and the possibility of kissing him is very real and suddenly your confidence waivers. His hands find your face, pulling you in for a kiss, his lips are soft and you feel the roughness of facial hair as the kiss deepens.

He smoothes a thumb on your jaw, urging you to keep kissing him becoming dizzy with the sensation. His hand traces down your spine, feeling the delicate fabric against your skin before undoing it to expose you to him fully.

He continues to kiss you passionately as he feels your skin, the lace is off, and he starts to lay down on the bed still holding you on top of him, hands moving up and down your back and waist.

“You’re soft…. Delicate… beautiful. I can’t stop touching you” his kisses go down on your neck, “I don’t even want to stop kissing you.”

You tilt your head his lips are gentle yet sinful, leaving fire in their wake. “You don’t have to,” you feel his kisses venture to the tops of your breasts, voice dripping with desire “you can kiss me anywhere Din.”

“Mm be careful what you ask for Mesh’la.” He starts kissing your neck a bit more passionately, caressing your back and waist with warm hands, pulling you closer. His kisses start going lower down your neck. You feel my breath on your chest getting hotter and heavier as my kisses continue lower.

His hands reach your waist, pulling the scrap of lace off you and lifting your hips in an impressive display of strength. The idea of sitting on his face is certainly welcome, if not a little nerve wracking, he hasn’t even kissed you before today and now he wants you in a carnal, primal way.

You long to touch him, but he bats your hands away. “I’ll get my turn later, let me taste you.” You hear his boots shift along the floor he scoots further down on the bed, moving into position until the soft skin of your thighs is tickled by the stubble you are trying to fit into the puzzle of his face in your mind, before it’s scrambled by the warmth of his breath on your core.

[bi-geeky-fanboy]

Kinktober day 1 is posted! Here’s my fic for the prompt “fucked in a cage” :)

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter three

well it's love, make it hurt series

three: well it's love, make it hurt

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: You mess up a hunt and lose the bounty. You panic, afraid you've ruined the tenuous work partnership and blossoming, if unconventional, relationship between you and the Mandalorian.

Warnings: bdsm, bad bdsm etiquette, miscommunication, good intentions, dom!Mando and sub!reader, slightly brat tamer!Mando and brat!reader, protective!Mando, d/s relationship, d/s dynamics, blurred lines, power imbalance if you squint, reader is a badass bounty hunter, pre-purge (and slightly ooc mando), spanking, punishment, discipline, canon-typical violence, wounds, oral (f receiving), explicit consent, aftercare, Din Djarin takes the helmet off but does not reveal his face, playing fast and loose with the Creed

Originally written for Kinktober Day 5 - Body Worship / Facesitting. Inspired by this prompt list from @absurdthirst

also on ao3

3 ABY - Fall

The intel was bad.

You’d been made the minute you entered the cantina, and they even had the smarts not to show it. Playing along, letting you flirt and sweet talk your way to a private room.

The bounty, Skaad Droff, was supposed to be an easy target. A low level spicelord who gambled too much of his profits and got on a few bad ledgers. It was an okay payout, if a bit insulting to a team like you and Mando. You had only accepted it because there were two other bounties here on Kijimi, and it was going to be an in-and-out op. Extra credits for little effort. 

It had been your idea to take the puck. The others were enough to pay your way, but if you were going to keep this deal with Mando, you wanted to buy a hammock instead of sleeping on a shitty bedroll on crates in the hull. To Mando’s credit, he had offered you the bunk on the first night, but neither of you had really expected to continue to work together. 

But you made a good team. And having the Crest was nice. (And the… other part of your partnership was fantastic). 

So. You stuck around.

Droff, like most of the slimeballs you’d met, had a weakness for a sure thing. Mando hadn’t loved the idea but had been willing to defer to you. 

Maker, he was going to be so kriffing unbearable if you messed this up.

Which, given how the two bodyguards hidden inside the room had gotten your primary blaster and commlink, seemed likely. You had already missed one check-in, but that was the nature of undercover ops. Mando wouldn’t be worried yet (would he worry at all?), so you still had time to pull this off. 

So, three to one in a locked room. They make quick work of patting you down and find your other blaster and explosives. They even take your boots off and find your knife. They do not put your boots back on, which maybe pisses you off more than losing your weapons.

One of the guards is trying to pull your arms behind your back, and look, maybe you hadn’t been trained from birth to be a killing machine, and maybe you didn’t have impenetrable armor, but you still knew how to brawl.

And also bite—something dickhead #2 learned very quickly when he went to wrap a hand around your throat. 

Biting really only works the once. It catches them off guard, especially when you have no reservations about going for a chunk of flesh. That’s okay. Once is all you need.

The momentary commotion gives you the opening to yank one arm free, pull the pin out of your hair, and slam it into the guard’s other wrist so he releases you. There's a spray of hot blood when you pull it out. 

Okay, where the fuck is Mando? It has to be extraction time.

You scramble to snag your blaster off the long table in the center of the room, but the second guard had recovered his wits and seemed a little mad about the weeping teeth marks around his forearm. He tackles you, and the compact pistol skitters across the table and onto the floor on the other side. 

Kriff. 

Fine, whatever. 

You have bigger issues now, like the man who has you pinned to the stained carpet, one hand over your mouth and the other around your neck. And then you see it—your comm, having rolled off the table in the scuffle but just centimeters from where your arm is awkwardly bent under the guard’s weight. 

Rather than trying to conserve your strength for a better moment, you seize your whole body against his and manage to wiggle just enough to wrap your fingers around it. The edges of your vision are boxing in. You had gotten the comm, but now what? The buzzing in your brain drowns your thoughts, the last of the air in your lungs punched out in your fight to get the comm. 

If I die here, you think, he’s going to be so mad at me. 

“What’s that noise?” Droff snaps.

The guard looks around, easing just a fraction off you. 

The static isn’t inside your brain. 

It was coming from the comm. In your struggle to breathe, you had tensed, holding down the button and opening the line to Mando. 

A detonator shatters the exterior wall, sending debris and chunks of stone into the air. The guard leaps back, abandoning you, and you roll to your feet. From the new, more convenient entrance, Mando has his rifle aimed at the guard but hesitates. You were in his only line of fire. 

It didn’t matter. You reach the other pin at the top of your braid and lodge it solidly into the man’s throat. He sputters and chokes before joining his peer on the floor as they bled out. 

“Why didn’t you check in?” he snaps. 

“I had it handled, didn’t I?” you rsay, turning around—not to look at Mando, but to grab Droff. He was already halfway through the door, fleeing for the crowded cantina. 

You lunge but catch your bare foot on a chunk of debris and go down. Hard. Your hand, rather than stopping your fall, gets caught between your body and the debris with a sickening crunch. 

It doesn’t hurt, so you push back up, but before you stand, Mando scoops you by the waist and tosses you over his shoulder like a dead womp rat. 

“What are you doing? Why didn’t you go after him?” 

“Why didn’t you follow protocol?” His voice is sharp and acidic. 

Neither of you speak again. You fume, hot tears of humiliation pricking at your eyes. He lowers you only to plop you down on the speeder, sliding in behind you and locking you in place with his thick, armored thighs. He reaches up around you and grabs the handles. 

By the time you had woven in and out of the tiny alleys and out of the city to the Crest, your rage had waned. The wind whipping at your face had graciously allowed your tears to disappear, and the few errant sniffles were lost in the rush. He dismounts and doesn’t allow you a moment to do so yourself before swinging you up over his shoulder and stomping up the ramp. 

He sets you down on your crate-bed and goes about closing up the ship for the night. You wanted to slink into the fresher and hide until he went to sleep, but now that everything has settled, now that the adrenaline has seeped out and left you shaking, the pain is making itself known.

Your throat is definitely bruised, possibly damaged. You taste blood, but your teeth are all accounted for, and while scraped and bleeding, both of your feet are fine. Your left cheekbone aches from hitting the ground, and a few ribs are sore but not broken. 

Your wrist definitely is, though. 

Bile burns up your aching throat. This was it, then. You fucked up a hunt, and now you're useless. The thought of being alone again, without a ship, scraping up whatever bounties were available on the same planet just to eat and sleep, sends your heart racing. 

Being alone had never bothered you before Mando. It had been such a mistake to get comfortable. 

Attached. 

Mando jumps back down from the cockpit and stalks over, still burning and ready to yell about it. But when he sees you trembling, staring at the floor with blank eyes, and cradling your wrist, the fight slips out of him. 

Medpack in hand, he kneels before you and pries your fingers away from your injured hand. You hiss through clenched teeth as he carefully evaluates the damage. 

“It’s a clean break,” he says, reaching down for a bacta patch. 

You twitch but held back from protesting. He adheres the patch around your wrist and wraps it with gauze before applying the spray that would harden the bandage into a cast. 

“Should only be a day,” he says. 

You still don’t look at him, don’t speak. 

“Where else are you injured?” 

“‘M fine,” you say to the floor. 

He narrows his eyes behind the shelter of the helmet at the croak in your voice. “Lift your head up so I can check, please.”

“I said I’m fine.” What you meant to be a frustrated snap breaks and squeaks, setting your lip twitching into a sneer. 

“I didn’t ask. Lift your head.” 

Somehow still defiant when cooperating, you jerk your head up and to the side, exposing the blossoming black and purple around your throat. He hisses, reaching a gloved hand up to brush against it, but you flinch away. 

“Stop moving. You need more bacta.” 

You want so, so badly to argue. Like a dying loth-cat, you want to scratch and bite and snarl. But it hurts to breathe, to swallow, let alone to pick a fight. So you hold still, looking anywhere but him, as he applies the spray. 

His eyes rove over your body, noting the other scrapes and cuts, cataloging them to check on later, but not pushing you to treat them now. 

Leaving you be for a moment, he moves around the hull to store his weapons. He mixes a bowl of hot water from the steamer with a packet of powder, stirring it into a thick stew, and brings it to you with a spoon. 

“No thanks,” you say. 

“Fine, then we can start talking about what happened.” 

Finally, finally looking up at him, you take the soup. You're glowering, but he takes the win anyway. 

He sits beside you on the stack of crates and waits patiently until you finish eating.

“We have rules—protocols, for a reason,” he says after you set the bowl to the side.

“The rules don’t apply out there.”

“You know what I meant. We have protocols for hunts. Not orders, not rules, but a system. It’s for safety—for both of us. We check in. We call for backup. We bail if the situation is out of control.”

“I had it handled.”

“You gonna keep lying, digging yourself into that hole?” 

A sigh. “No.” 

“Good. Why didn’t you call? Or leave?”

“I thought I could handle it,” you whisper. 

“Why was this bounty so important to you? We’ve bailed on bigger payouts before.”

Your heart sinks, self-disgust bubbling over. You used two bacta units. The cost of that alone was more than the bounty would have paid. “Doesn’t matter now.” 

“Hey,” he snaps, fed up. He grabs your chin between his fingers and forces you to look at him. At the helmet, at least. “None of this works—not out there, not in here—if you don’t talk to me.”

“Fine. I know. It doesn’t work. Will you at least drop me back on Cantonica since you’ll get the full payout?” 

It was his turn to sit in silence, head spinning. The conversation had gotten away from him very quickly. “You want to leave,” he says flatly after a minute. 

“Oh yeah, sure. I want to leave. That’s why I was trying to save for a real fucking bed.”

“That’s what this was all about? Why didn’t you just ask?” He's furious all over again. “We could have just taken that out of the maintenance budget. Why wouldn’t you tell me you were uncomfortable?”

You wrench your face from his hand, refusing to openly cry, blinking hard at the floor. “Dunno.”

“Stop lying to me.”

“Fine! I didn’t want you to say no. I didn’t want you to say there was no point wasting credits, that I couldn't stay. Okay?”

He clenches and unclenches his hands, gloves creaking, and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says, voice softer. Sadder. “This is my fault.”

“Ugh, Mando, that is not—”

“No, it is. I thought I had made myself clear with you, but obviously, I haven’t.” He peels off the gloves, throwing them to the floor before reaching up to unhook his armor, piece by piece dropping. 

You track each one with wide eyes. When he's down to his flight suit and helmet, he hops off your bed and makes room for himself to stand between your legs. 

“Do you think I’d do this with just anyone? You think I take my armor off every time I fuck someone?” He cups your face, sending a full-body shudder through you. “You think I take care of someone else like this?”

“I don’t know,” you whisper, sniffling. It wasn’t a lie, but a deflection this time. 

“Cyar’ika. I told you the only way this was going to work was if you trusted me. I’m sorry I didn’t show you that it went both ways.”

Whatever you were about to say dies between your lips as he lifts you and moves you over, and begins to peel your blood-stained clothes away, seeking the warmth underneath. You raise your arms obediently and bite your lip at how gently he extracts your injured arm from its sleeve. A firm hand pushes on your shoulder until you lie back on the bed, and you lift your hips when he hooks his fingers into your waistband, yanking your trousers and panties off together. 

“I need to know if you trust me,” he say. 

You nod.

“I need to hear you say it.”

You look up at him where he hovers. "I trust you."

“And I trust you,” he said, pulling the roll of gauze back out of the medpack. You hold still, confused, but compliant as he wraps it around your head, closing your eyes as he covers them. “I trust you to leave that on until I say you can remove it.” 

“Yes, sir,” you say, and flinch at a strange hissing sound. You exhale slowly, willing yourself to stay still and good for whatever he’s decided your punishment for all this must be. 

And then he kisses you.

You gasp, but it’s swallowed by his warm, wet mouth, his tongue that doesn’t wait for permission to seek you out. It’s rough and messy, and you reach up to wrap your arms around his neck but get distracted by hair. It’s shaggy, curly, and a little coarse. Your fingers rake through it and he moans into your mouth. 

“Wait,” you pant, but he presses forward for another kiss anyway, “no, wait, wait.” 

He reels back. “Sorry, I should have—I should have asked.” He sounds out of breath and a little broken.

“No, I... it’s just… your Creed—”

“Can you see me?” he asks rhetorically. He knows you haven’t even tried.

“No, I wouldn’t, I—”

“Exactly. Cyar’ika, the gauze isn’t there because I think you’ll look. It’s so you don’t have to worry about it when I’m making you cum.”

Your hips jerk against his where he straddles you. He takes that as an opportunity to dive back, aching for more. He kisses your lips again and moves down your neck, grinning against your breast as you convulse a little when his breath fans over your nipple. 

He takes it in his mouth, practically salivating to taste you, to make you cry for him. The moan that punches out of you when he sucks hard on the bud goes straight to his cock, and you can feel it grow against your bare cunt. 

He laves attention to your tits, alternating bites and kisses and murmurs of affection. “You’re perfect, cyar’ika; how could I not want you? Look at you; so sweet for me.”

His words and his mouth make you cry out. He kisses down your stomach and hips. 

Then he abruptly stands. “Sit up, sweetheart.” 

You do, cautiously, fumbling to hold on the edge of the crate. He helps you to your feet and makes quick work of his flight suit before hopping up on the bedroll and laying down. His hands tug at your uninjured wrist, pulling you over until he can lift you by the waist.  You scramble to slide your legs over him and move to grab his cock, beyond ready to welcome him inside you. 

“No,” he growls. He grabs your hips and tugs, lurching you forward. “Come here.”

“What?” 

“Get up here and give me your cunt. Now.” 

You hesitate, and he cracks a hand over your ass, albeit softly. You yelp and scoot forward, balancing precariously. He puts one hand firmly on your hip to help you stay steady. 

“Listen to me,” he orders. 

You hum, setting your hand against his chest to feel the rumble of his uninhibited voice. 

“I want you to stay. I want you to stay and be mine. But if that’s going to happen, I need you to be sure. And if we’re going to forgive each other, if you’re going to forgive yourself, then two things are going to have to happen.”

“I want to,” you cry immediately, “please, I don’t want to leave.”

“Good. Then here’s how this is going to go. You know you need to be punished.”

“Yes, sir.” The sob behind your answer threatens to waver his decision, but no. He has to, or you’ll hold this doubt in your heart forever.

“Why do you need to be punished?” 

“B-because I didn’t do what you said.”

“No, sweetheart. Hey.” He reaches up and strokes your cheek. “I promise. Nothing—ever—outside will affect you here. But if, and only if, you really want to be mine like this, then I have to punish you for lying.”

“O-okay."

“Why do you need to be punished?” he asks again, soft. 

“I lied to you about being hurt and upset.” It’s barely a whisper, but warm pride brings a smile to his face.

“Good girl.” He rewards you by pulling your hand to his lips for a kiss. You shudder again. 

“It’s been a hard day. So what I’m going to do is give you your punishment and reward at the same time. You’re going to scoot over here and let me eat your cunt. You remember your words, if you need me to stop?”

“Yes, sir.” 

He takes a moment to look at you, really look at you, bare before him for the first time with no visor in between. Your hair is a mess, half your braid fallen out with the loss of your pins. Your cheeks are splotchy and swollen from crying. “You’re so beautiful, sweet girl. You going to let me take care of you now?”

You nod, and he grasps both hips to settle you over his mouth. He can’t help but lick up into you right away, relieved to find you dripping. You cry out and waver, so he wraps one hand back around your hip and holds tight. 

He dives back in. You know he’s never done this before, and he’s certainly sloppy and fumbling, but the voraciousness of his tongue and the almost desperate way he digs in more than make up for it. It’s better than any of the men who’ve bothered to try before. 

He keeps going, licking, sucking, nipping at your thighs and lips, and though you’re tense with apprehension, waiting for the first strike, you find yourself on the edge of an orgasm very quickly. 

“Please,” you whisper.

You feel his lips curl into a smile, and he breaks away only long enough to grant permission before he’s wrapped back around your clit, sucking hard enough that you see stars as you fall apart. He moans, sinfully loud, and it pushes you into a second, smaller orgasm in quick succession. 

His licks get softer, backing off to let you breathe. When you’ve come down, pleasure warming your whole body, he pulls away.

“How many times did you lie to me tonight?”

You try to think through the haze. “Um.” You don’t want to be bad; you want to suffer for your sins and be redeemed through his will. You especially don’t want him to think you’re trying to lessen your punishment. “Um. Maybe six? Or seven? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

His thumb rubs soothing circles on your hip, and he raises his other hand to cup your cheek. “That’s okay, cyar'ika. Thank you for trying.” He strokes your cheek. “It was five.” 

“I’m so sorry.” You don’t want to cry yet; you know it’ll be harder if you do. You’ll cry in the end, anyway. But you want to be brave.

“I’m going to give you five for each. You know the rules.” 

You nod, and he pulls his hand from your face to cup your ass. You jolt in surprise when you feel his tongue again instead. As he licks deep into you, he pulls his hand away and lands a firm spank. 

“One,” you gasp. It wasn’t a hard hit, just past tingling, and the combination with his ministrations is making you dizzy. 

The next one is harder, as is each subsequent strike. You count, none of the hits reaching the point of real pain yet. 

He cups your ass and rubs it soothingly. “Cum, baby,” he murmurs before sinking his teeth in around your clit. 

“Fuck, oh fuck.” Your hips jerk against his mouth and he chuckles, kissing and licking you through it. 

“Good girl,” he croons into your cunt and brings his hand down hard on your ass. 

“S-six,” you sob a little. It definitely stung more, but then immediately, he’s drawing cries of pleasure from you. 

He pauses again after the next four, soothing you and bringing you to the edge. He teases a little this time, withholding permission while you squirm, before telling you to cum. 

The next hit hurts. You choke back a sob, trying to spit out “eleven.” He delivers the next four rapidly, not allowing each hit to sink in before the next one. When he pauses again and refocuses on your clit, you realize what he’s doing.

It’s working. You’re so dazed from the pain bleeding into pleasure, you’ve started to moan with each strike. The way you burn from each slap makes the orgasm he rips from you more intense than you’ve had before. 

It makes you start to cry in earnest. You’re bawling and he freezes. 

“Check in, please. Are you okay?”

You nod frantically. “Yes, please, I’m okay, I can take it. Please.” You don’t have the words to tell him you’re only crying because you have no room left in your chest for your feelings. 

Later, you’ll ask him if you’re broken. If you shouldn’t feel so safe, so cared for, when he hurts you. He’ll tell you he doesn’t know, but then he must be broken too, since the way you cried for him, the way you gave yourself over and trusted him to catch you, is how he feels safe, too. 

The last two sets, the last two orgasms, are a blur. You feel faint, and delirious, like you’re floating away but also being held down tight. Anchored.

When it’s all over, he carefully slips out from under you and lifts you up, setting you up on your knees with your hand against the wall for support. He checks you over to make sure he didn’t go too far, that none of your wounds have reopened. When he goes to get a cream to ease the burn, you whimper.

“Don’t, please. I wanna feel it.” 

He hesitates. He just wants to take it all away. “Cyar’ika, you don’t need to punish yourself further. You took it so well; you’re such a good girl.” 

You sniffle but nod, and hold still while he takes care of you. He digs around and finds himself clothes, slipping the helmet back on, before gently tugging one of his tunics over your head, mindful of your wrist, and peeling the gauze from your face . Then, he helps you to your feet and opens the ramp.

You open blurry eyes, looking up at him. “What’re you doing?”

“We’re going to get a room for the night,” he says firmly, brooking no argument even though you know it’s not in the budget. “And tomorrow, we’ll go to the market before we leave and look for a bigger bed for the bunk. If you’d like.”

You can’t think of anything you’d like more.

*title from "Bonus Mosh, pt. II" by Taking Back Sunday.

[pedropascallme]

☆Kinktober 2024☆

Day 22: Jealous sex

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) jealous!possessive!Din, degradation (Din calls reader a whore), fingering, dirty talk, lowkey a lot of fluff, if I missed anything please let me know!

In the Cantina, he seemed tense. If you could even call it that.

Really, was there ever a waking moment where Din didn’t look at least a little robotic beneath his armor? Holding himself up with rigid muscles to support the way he already towered over contacts and passersby?

Greef didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. Most of his focus was on you, anyway.

“Always happy to have you around for a visit, little lady.” He’d said, the warm smile he always wore shining a little brighter when he’d seen you accompanying Din.

You tried to tune out their conversation. Per usual, it didn’t pertain to you—not in the way it did to Din, anyway; you’d know dates and times, but you didn’t much care to know whether a bounty would be brought in cold or not.

All that mattered to you was what system you’d be in and how long Din would be gone, and when that part of the conversation ended, so, too, did your interest.

But Karga always kept it interesting. Trying to include you, trying to include the kid; he cooed over the baby’s cradle, buying you a drink and offering to “buy Mando one just so you can have a little extra for coming all this way for business.”

Din’s hand never left your thigh, perched just under the hem of your dress.

And it didn’t really come off as anything out of the ordinary; on the contrary, it was one of the few subtle gestures of affection he allowed himself when outside the comfort of the ship.

But when you laughed at Greef’s jokes, Din’s fingers tightened; when you leaned in to listen to the hushed words Greef spoke over the table, Din’s hand moved upwards beneath the hem of your dress.

And that was new.

When you’d offered Greef a pat on the back that turned into a friendly hug goodbye as you prepared to leave, Din grunted out a low “Alright.”

And that was new, too.

When you began the trek back to the Crest, he was typically silent. There was no mention of what had happened at the cantina on Din’s part, and you followed suit, unsure if it was even worthy of bringing up.

He was certainly walking faster, though, as if the weight of the beskar suddenly disappeared. He seemed eager to get to the ship—which was understandable, meetings with Greef were always somewhat bleak, even when they were friendly.

After a drawn-out walk riddled with silence, the Crest was a welcome respite to your uncertainty.

You put the kid to bed, closing the top of his bassinet and letting it float idly in the kitchenette. You stood in your room, internally debating whether or not you wanted to find Din, wherever he had tucked himself away, or if you should give into the urge to fall asleep.

Your questions were answered when he walked in behind you, door closing after him.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.” It was sudden and terse, spoken like a true Mandalorian.

“Who?” You turned yourself to look up at him, furrowing your brow and pairing it with a soft smile. “Greef?”

Silence. Then; “It’s unprofessional.”

“It’s unprofessional to bring your partner to a business meeting.” You countered with a smirk.

“It isn’t funny,” Din wasn’t going to let this go. “I think it’s…negligent.”

“On your part or his?” You continued to make light of his comments. “Din—it’s just Greef.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“Only one I’ve noticed,” you sighed, “And he’s old, Din, he’s being nice.”

“I’m old, cyare,” Din took a step forward and you smiled. “And I’ve noticed. Can’t go anywhere without people trying to break their neck to get a good look at you.”

“He’s older than you,” you clarified, “And they’re staring at the kid and his funny ears. Even if they were looking at me—I don’t care.”  

Din huffed beneath his helmet, and you could only imagine that he was rolling his eyes, frustrated by your lack of regard to his worry.

“Din…” now you took a step closer to him, “Are you jealous of the attention I get?” Your lip curled into a coy smile, pressing a hand to his armor-clad chest.

“No,” he let you touch him, “Irritated that people try to make a display of what’s mine.” He placed his hand over yours where it sat on his chest.

“Then do something about it.” You looked at his gloved hand engulfing your own.

There was another pause, longer this time, and it made you shift on your feet in anticipation. But Din didn’t keep you waiting, grabbing you by the waist and maneuvering you onto your back on the cot. Your legs hung over the edge, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a good look of him where he stood before you.

“Do something about it?” He asked, but not for an answer. “Do you need a reminder, mesh’la?”

“A reminder of what?” You played dumb.

“Need me to remind you whose you are?” He leaned forward, pushing your legs open with his knee and slotting his thigh between your legs. “Who you belong to…”

“I could—I could use a memory aid.” Your breath hitched when he pressed his thigh firmly against your clothed cunt.

Din’s head tilted down to look at you. “Figured.”

He finally put his hands on you after what felt like forever; undoing the buttons that lined the front of your dress with haste, rather than ease. He fumbled over some of them, opting to stop when he’d exposed your chest.

“Just—” he took a step back, hands finding your thighs and pulling. “Lift your hips.”

You obliged, moving your hips to give him the space to hike up your dress and strip you of your underwear. He threw it onto the bed, not focused on where it would land, without removing his gaze from you.

“What do you want? My mouth? Huh?” He reached under the hem of your half-buttoned dress and pressed his hand onto your stomach, just above where you needed him. “Tell me. Tell me so I can remind you how good I make you feel.”

“Anything,” you mumbled up at him. “You can do anything.” You rested your hand on top of his over your rumpled dress.

“You’re a whore,” he huffed a quick laugh. His hand slipped from under your dress, moving to join his other in removing his helmet. “You’re a greedy whore.” Unmodulated, the words still packed no bite—he was jealous, yes, but he didn’t mean what he said; he just knew they’d turn you into putty in his hands and get you to say what he wanted to hear.

“I’m your whore.” You smiled when the weight of the helmet fell onto the cot, gazing at him in admiration and lust. His eyes were just as blown out as yours, his hair messy and sticking to his forehead.

Din, in all his glory. Riled up and needy and yours.

He didn’t grace you with a response, kneeling in front of you and bringing his face to your cunt. His hands pushed against the skin of your inner thighs, encouraging you to keep your legs open for him as he licked a stripe up your slit.

“Would you let them taste you?” He mumbled, his tongue reaching your clit and flicking at it gently.

You whimpered a response. It wasn’t as if Din never went down on you—in fact, when he’d first taken his helmet off in front of you, it’s all he wanted to do for about a week—but in this state, the way he teased and the need in his words made you feel a hot ache in your core.

“Would you?” He pushed, moving his hand to graze gloved fingers over your cunt.

“No!” You gasped when he pushed a finger inside of you; the leather of his glove was warm and struggled against your walls, even dripping as you were.

But your gratification of being filled countered any discomfort, and a brief glance down at Din proved that he was just as entranced by the look as you were by the feeling.

“Only me,” he looked up at you through lidded eyes, lips parted to allow the words to come out in a gruff whisper. “Tell me.”

“Only you, Din,” you reached for him, trying to find his free hand to ground you to him. He allowed you to grab at his fingers, lacing them with yours. “I only ever want you.”

“Yes,” he breathed, clearly satisfied. Part of him, though, still wanted more, and he pushed another finger into you to watch your back arch. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you reassured, “I’m yours. Always.”

He growled then, no longer interested in drawing this out and staking his claim—he knew his jealousy was unwarranted, knew that you would always be his and he, in turn, would always be yours.

He just disliked the idea of anybody looking at you with malintent; hated the voice that crept into his head that perhaps someday it would be someone that could give you more, and that you’d see him for the washout he thought he was.

But you didn’t. You wouldn’t. You were his, always.

You said as much.

He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over the swollen bud as he increased the pressure of the suction, curling his fingers into you.

You hooked a knee behind him, overwhelmed by the pleasure but still bent on feeling more of him. He grunted, increasing the pace at which he thrusted his fingers in and out of you, and your back arched off the cot in excitement.

“Cum,” he was practically begging, so eager to feel you clench his fingers and shake for him. “Cum for me. Show me you’re mine, cyar’ika.”

He pressed the pads of his fingers up and into the spongy spot he knew so well, watching you come undone for him.

“Din it’s—I—yes, yes…!” Your moans were breathy and barely coherent, focused only on the pleasure he provided. Your legs spasmed around him, walls squeezing his fingers, and he continued to lap at you through your high.

You tugged on his hair, overstimulated and exhausted. He took the hint, rising to sit on the edge of the bed and look over you.

“Would you let them make you cum like that?” He pressed a kiss to the exposed skin of your chest, licking over your nipple.

You shivered, cupping the back of his head.

“Couldn’t let them,” you sighed happily, “Nobody but you could ever make me cum like that.”

That earned you a soft growl, and he removed himself from your chest to kiss your jaw, stubble tickling your skin.

“That’s right.” He breathed against you, leaning back to lie down next to you sideways in the cot.

“Never have to worry,” you curled into him, “I’m yours, Din. There’s nobody else but you. There never will be.”

“I know, cyare,” he wrapped an arm around you, tugging you into him and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m yours.”

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 31st

Day 31: Free For All

Mando x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Fight Club style sex, anal sex, mlm, voyeurism, exhibitionism, fucking and fighting, face riding, oral sex (female receiving), helmet riding, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The loud squeal brings your eyes back to the center of the floor, stopping the conversation between you and another armored warrior as you watch Paz Vizsla take his prize. The the ruby red back armor of his opponent bows, the body lurching forward while a cock that you swear is as thick as your wrist sinks into the man to the hilt, the blue heavy- armored warrior pawing at the black flightsuit of the man under him so he can wrap his beefy, leather cladded paw around the smaller man’s cock while he fucks into him ruthlessly. 

The sight is one that is common now, occurring every week after he challenges Dorin Fatuk and wins.“I don’t know why Vizsla just doesn’t enter into a Riduurok with Fatuk.” Magda grumbles underneath her helmet. Scoffing and turning back towards you while dismissing the very public coupling that is occurring as other Mando’s talk and watch. 

You snort indelicately, watching Paz’s frantic thrusts while Dorin moans and writhes under him like he does every week. Giving in and accepting the defeat with a certain frantic relief. You don’t miss the way Dorin starts to rock back against the cock hammering into his ass. It just further proves your theory that maybe the smaller Mandalorian wasn’t fighting as hard as he could when Challenged. “Because then the Armorer wouldn’t let them fight.” You hum knowingly, sending a smirk back to the purple and gold helmet of your friend, watching your reflection in the T of her visor. 

Mandalorians love to fight, you think they goad one another on purpose, to have them pull their blades and clash. It was why the Armorer had decreed that all fighting be done here, in the Pit. 

The Pit was a portion of the covert that is far from the large passageways that house foundlings and younglings. Wanting to keep the noises away from their tender ears and the sights from their young eyes. The Pit’s rules had evolved along the way until it was known as the Fuck Club. 

You had the opportunity to deny a challenge, no one would look down on you if you did. Beyond the usual shit talking that seems to be second nature to Mandalorians when one or more gathers together. You wouldn’t be forced to fight. 

If you did fight, there were two outcomes if defeated. You would have your helmet removed, disgracing you and breaking your Creed, or you would be fucked. Anyway that the winner wants, right in front of the entire crowd that had gathered in the Pits that night. It was public, dirty and often violently satisfying. Nothing was better than fighting and fucking to a Mandalorian. You don’t remember the last time someone actually had their helmet removed. 

“Vizsla’s always been a showoff.” Magda huffs, making you grin at the annoyance in her tone. “Guess we can add exhibitionist to the list of traits.” 

You hum, turning back and watching the scene unfold. Paz pulls Dorin upright, nearly lifting him off his knees as he continues to thrust into him. The other man’s cock dribbling pre-cum and looking like it’s about to explode. You can’t even imagine how it feels to have the fucking hulk of a man batter against a prostate. Although you swear you had seen Paz and Dorin huddled off in a corner of the tunnels before the fights started. Hopefully it was so that Dorin’s poor little hole could be prepped to take that fucking python. 

“Are you going to fight?” You roll your eyes at the question, hearing it every time you decide to come down to the Pits to watch. 

“I wear no armor.” You remind your friend, motioning to your uncovered face and the noticeable lack of beskar that covers your body. You aren’t a Mandalorian, you have not sworn the Creed, although you are allowed to live among them. Their protection and acceptance among their covert in exchange for going out and securing supplies and bartering for necessities so that they can remain relatively hidden. 

“And?” The indelicate snort coming from your friend makes you grin and shake your head. “You could still beat half of them, armor or not.” Just because you did not wear their armor did not mean the Mandalorians had not trained you to fight. You enjoyed the time you spent training. They had wanted you to be able to protect yourself when you went to the surface. 

“Still-” You break off when you hear another cry, watching as Dorin’s cock starts spurting ropes of cum and hearing the roar of the heavy armored warrior behind him as he thrusts deep one last time, obviously cumming himself. The cheering among the covert was loud, raucous as they thump their fists on the plates over their breasts, covering the sounds of the two men as they ride out their pleasure. 

The noise turns into a mixture of conversation, the attention no longer on the men in the center of the ring but on the figure that has moved away from the wall. 

Din Djarin. He rarely comes to the Pit. The shiny, silvery beskar reflects every light in the place. Drawing more than a few visors his way. 

He’s a bounty hunter, often away from the covert. Traveling the galaxy and traveling to places that you can only dream of. The most you see is the rough market in Navarro, going above ground for the covert so they don’t draw more attention to themselves than necessary. Often wishing that he would take you with him, but you know that Din Djarin doesn’t even know you exist. 

His steps are slow, almost a saunter as he walks into the center of the Pit. The almost lazy perusal over the crowd, as if he is searching for his quarry makes a shiver run down your spine. He looks imposing, even among the Mandalorians here. There’s a moment when his helmet stops on you it seems and your heart skips a beat when he lifts his hand and points at you, loudly announcing your name to the spectators. 

You, he challenges you. Your eyes widen and you can feel the hundreds of eyes suddenly on your helmetless face. Making you wish that you had their armor to hide your surprise and embarrassment. To have that shield from the world and make them interpret your silence or the tilt of your head. 

Everyone is waiting for your refusal, you can hear the whispers starting to rise through the crowd. Djarin’s visor is still fixed on your face, body completely still as he silently demands an answer to his challenge. 

Why you? There are others to challenge. Plenty of available women in the covert who would gladly fight or fuck him. Is it some sort of test?

When you stand, the crowd roars, their leather clad hands pounding together in a muted, yet impressive thunder of applause. Making you a little more sure of yourself as you make your way down to the center. 

The rules are simple. No bombs, no blasters, no blood. Anything else is on the table, although you don’t wear hundreds of weapons strapped to your body at all times. Your flight suit is plain. A blaster on your hip, discarded onto a table to be retrieved later, a vibroblade that you have tucked under your sleeve, and a throwing knife in your boot. 

Standing in front of him, you weigh your options. Wondering what kind of strategy to take. There are weapons available. Sticks and practice swords. Something that you imagine the younglings using when they are training, but these weapons never leave this room. 

He’s quick. Moving before you can even blink and making you feel like you are behind the curve as he jumps towards the table to grab one of the weapons. Knocking into his shoulder harshly and groaning at the solid weight of the man. He’s like trying to move a giant wall of beskar. 

The noise of the crows fades as your vision narrows. All you see is Djarin, watching his core, his footwork as you start to pummel each other. You have a longer staff, a spear that you are using to your advantage. Pushing him back and knocking him off balance in a feverish melee attack. 

He’s good, you have to give him that. He’s quick thinking and his skills are impressive. Taking hits equally as well as dodging them and your attack is quick if you do say so yourself. Despite not being a Mandalorian, you helped train the younglings at times. 

‘Crack!’ The sound of your spear snapping over his chest plate makes you hiss, rolling off to the left when he attacks, bringing the sword down where you had once been standing. Giving you time to leap to your feet and sucker punch him right behind the ribs. A weak spot between his chestplate and backplates. He groans and stumbles forward, clutching his side and you use his bend over frame to climb up his back, wrapping your thighs around his helmet and starting to squeeze.

Din is trying to throw you off, but you hang on. Making sure that his helmet was firmly in place but you apply pressure to the cowl wrapped around his neck, effectively using it against him. Making it where he is struggling to draw breath and you both fall down when he collapses. Tapping your thigh and effectively tapping out of the fight and yielding to you. Making you the winner of the skirmish. 

The crowd roars over the victory, and you reach down to grip the edge of his helmet to begin to lift it. He grunts, panting under his helmet and he grabs your hand, squeezing the back of it, although he can’t stop you. If you want to pull his helmet off, it is your right as a victor. 

You don’t. You expose just the lower half of his jaw as your other fingers drag the lower zipper of your flight suit down. Exposing your cunt to his mouth. 

You’re going to ride his mouth. Using him to get you wet enough and then you are going to fuck him. Once again, the roar of the crowd fades as you hold Din Djarin’s helmet and grind your cunt down onto his mouth. 

He licks through your folds, groaning at your taste, or in relief that you did not pull his helmet off. You aren’t quite sure, but all thoughts but pleasure flee your mind when his tongue starts to move. Caressing and flicking over your clit eagerly, and you know that everyone is watching you ride his face, even Magda, from her spot in the stands. 

The edge of his helmet grinds against your clit as your rock your cunt over his face, riding his mouth and his helmet at the same time. Smearing your juices over both.

Quickly working you up with the quick, harsh licks, you reach behind you and squeeze his cock through his own flight suit. He doesn’t wear a codpiece, but he’s as hard as steel when you grip him. Obviously turned on. 

When you pull away, his lower jaw is covered in your juices, the wetness of your arousal glistening through his stubbled hair. He apparently shaves under his helmet, but not everyday. It is sexy to see, because you’ve never really wondered and now all you will think about will be that patchy brown hair. 

The crowd is still cheering, some of them shouting what you should do with Din, others just wanting to see you fuck. Your hands slap his own leather covered ones away to reach down to the zipper yourself. You want to pull his cock out. This is your show, your right as the victor to touch him as you wish. To decide how you are going to fuck him. 

Din groans again when you reach inside and wrap your fingers around him. Like most in the Pit, most Mandalorians in general, he’s not wearing underwear. Letting you pull the thick, uncut cock free and moaning yourself over the sight of it. 

He might not be as big as Paz, but he’s thick. He’s long enough that you know you will feel him in your guts when you sink down on him. Quickly pumping him a few times as you straddle his waist again. 

“I’m going to ride you, Djarin.” You accounce, knowing that the second your mouth opened, every Mando in the place would go dead silent, straining to hear what you are saying. Especially since this is the first time Din’s fought. It’s also the first time you’ve ever accepted. 

“Your victory.” He pants back, yielding to you and it’s strange to see his mouth move since his helmet is still halfway off. It also prevents him from seeing clearly, his head tipping down slightly to get a better look. 

It stretches you, your walls parting at the intrusion of his thick cock when you start to sink down on him. The slow beating of fists on armor starts to echo around the room as you take him. All visors on you as you start to ride Din. 

Your eyes slip closed and you don’t push his hands away when they move up to grip your hips, tossing your head back as you move. Feeling him twitch and pulse inside you. “Mesh’la.” He moans, making you whimper at the term. 

You can’t believe you won, that you are riding him in for all to see. Hands slide up to your breasts, squeezing them as you bounce on his cock and then you gasp when he pulls your zipper down, exposing your tits to grope them. 

The pace turns frantic, harsh. Galloping on your prizes' hard cock as you chase pleasure. Feeling him completely fill you up and press against that spongy spot deep inside you. Every roll of your hips pushes you closer to cumming. 

“Fuck.” You choke out, feeling your pace falter for a moment and you look down at his still exposed lower jaw. Reaching down to stroke a finger down the edge of it. Feeling him pulse and jerk inside you at the contact. 

He squeezes your tits, bucking his hips up hard enough to make you squeal. “More!” You cry, knowing that even if he takes over, it’s still your victory. 

That order is all it takes, Din holds onto your tits as he starts to drive up into you from underneath. Pistoning his hips up at a nearly unhinged pace. Feeling just as desperate as you are as the crowd continues to thunder around you. 

The second you start to cum, your entire world goes white, the wild cries from the crowd nearly unheard as all you can hear is your own blood rushing through your system. Even your own scream sounds muted. 

You don’t even realize Din is cumming as well. That he’s still inside you, lifting you both off the ground as he paints your walls with his cum. All you can feel is the pleasure. The tight squeeze of your cunt around him as your entire body shakes in pleasure. 

Collapsing down onto the hard armor of his chest plate, you pant, trying to catch your breath. Feeling him relax under you as well as you try to come down from the bliss that had blown you into the atmosphere. 

Fuck, you love the Pit.