#dark!din djarin smut

[fallenbratfiction]

✦ PEDRO PASCAL MASTERLIST ✦  

✦ minors do not interact with me, my blog, or my posts

• 🌒 dark •🧸 fluff •🩹 hurt/comfort • 🔥 smut • 💔 angst 

✧ ┈┈┈┈┈ *.⋆ ✧ ⋆.* ┈┈┈┈┈ ✧

˗ˏˋ Pedro Pascal ˎˊ˗ 

• **The parts you’ve been taught to hate**  

��� pedro reassures you• comfort 

• **Birthday Gift**  

→ in honor to pedro’s birthday • smut 

• **Does your mother know?**  

→pedro pascal + mamma mia + white lotus• smut 

˗ˏˋ Joel Miller ˎˊ˗ 

• **Fences and Cities**  

→ dad’s best friend • slow burn series (hiatus)

• **Gym Crush Part 1**   • **Gym Crush Part 2 **

→ older! joel is your gym buddy • smut

• **Daydream in Blue**  

→ two strangers in a motel • smut 

• **Stay put**  

→ joel takes care of sickly you• comfort 

• **Mrs Miller**  

→ blurb/snippet of fanfic • fluff

→ married life with joel • fluff & smut

• **Safe Haven**  

→ you and joel are each other's safe haven • dark & smut

• **Bambi**  

→ joel and tommy miller's sweet lil shared thing • dark & smut

˗ˏˋ Marcus Acacius ˎˊ˗

• **The senator’s daughter**  

 → marcus acacius forbidden love• smut

˗ˏˋ Harry Castillo ˎˊ˗

• **His assistant**  

 → you’re the richest and hottest man’s assistant• smut

˗ˏˋ Javier Peña ˎˊ˗ 

• **Mustache Deal**  

 → javier lets you ride his mustache only if you study• smut

˗ˏˋ Reed Richards ˎˊ˗ 

• ** Constants & Variables **  

 → reed comforts and reassures you mid crisis at the lab

˗ˏˋ Dieter Bravo ˎˊ˗ 

✧ ┈┈┈┈┈ *.⋆ ✧ ⋆.* ┈┈┈┈┈ ✧

✦ this took time, love, & late-night agony ✦ reblogs are cherished. comments fuel me.

✧ do not copy, translate, or repost my work ✧

[honeybunnyale]

Limitless l D.D.

art by Maciej Kuciara

w.c : 5.6k

t.w. : Dark fic, Smut (with a robot that looks like Dinny Din Din >:)), Breeding Kink, Angst, Din and reader are both insane for each other

a/n : Please read warnings for all of my works before reading. 18+ only!

Summary : You always wanted something more with your Mandalorian companion, luckily a new advancement in Coruscant may help fulfill your desires. 

“A memory wipe is protocol after a session.”

You nod slowly, staring at the blob-like droid in front of you.

Mando frequents around this part of the planet, always looking for parts, stocking up in supplies. You’re sure there were other planets around the galaxy that offered the same thing, even for a cheaper price but he always made the trip back to Coruscant.

You knew the area like the back of your hand now, or you thought you did until you saw an advertisement. A slip of paper made its way into your pocket. Obviously, it was a secretive business, the droids were advanced and the prices were high.

Whatever you desire could be yours…

It sounded promising and when you had approached the building in curiosity, hiding as a lodging rental building, and stride over to the front desk with your hood firmly in place asking for a more detailed description, your heart leapt at the prospect.

The possibilities are endless…

He had gazed at you weirdly when you kept on refusing to buy anything from the markets of the other planets you ventured into. You’d usually buy plenty of food, trinkets you kept in your small makeshift bunk you had built in the hull and clothing Din would nod in approval. They were usually bought to get his attention, although you’re not sure if some of your fashion choices ever had an effect on him, not how you wanted at least.

All those bounty credits he split with you went somewhere and there usually wasn’t anything left by the end of the month. Still, it was like he encouraged it, sometimes even going as far as taking you to the good markets of planets he’s already been to and gesturing where the best prices would be.

“What? Nothing?” he teases, bumping his arm with yours, nodding his head to the sweets of the stall, knowing you had a particular interest in candied and spiced fruits. You shake your head, smiling when he responded with his own, a sigh of exasperation making you chuckle quickly afterwards.

You both stand near a food stall now as you take a bite of chewy mystery meat off of a kebab stick. You wince at the pungent taste. You should have spent a few extra credits on the crowded vendor’s instead of the one stocked full. Mando noticed. 

He presses a finger against your shoulder teasingly, his arms crossing at the way your nose scrunched in reaction. He was slightly worried by your sudden lack of spending and the way you would zone out constantly. Like now, just chewing on a burnt piece of unidentifiable meat and staring into his chest. 

“Are you saving up for something I don’t know about?”

You refocus as if he had popped a bubble of your daydream. For a moment, he can see the way he had caught you off guard, he leans in closer, interrogatively. Your face heats up quickly and you shake your head.  

Your cunt throbs at the thought. You were saving up on a lot of things. Trying to memorize every piece of his armor, analyzing and watching his every move, along with saving up credits, of course. The “experience” wasn’t cheap, and you’d be damned if you couldn’t at least have it once.

“Maybe,” you reply, avoiding his gaze, knowing he must be smirking under that helmet.

“For the last time, I don’t want you to get me anything for Life Day-“ he starts.

“It’s for me,” you interrupt sharply. 

His head tilts, his hands shift to his hips. You knew he was aching to know what you could be possibly saving up for but you keep on walking ahead, as if nothing had been said.

…

“Anything? Even metal?”

It stares at you, its robotic voice echoing around the room. You were led to a private suite, the room pristine and clean in comparison to the outside. It really was worth every credit, the suite even came with a bathroom as well, the shower large and the amenities stocked to the brim with luxurious products.

“Yes, of metals found around the galaxy, although it is essential to understand that they do not contain the same properties-“

“Okay.”

You hum, shifting from foot to foot, unsure of your next move. You’ve never been to a brothel before, never having paid anyone or anything for those types of services.

But you were desperate, you felt yourself ache with just his proximity and it was starting to get distracting. Just the other week you had barely missed a knife to the stomach, too focused on the way Mando grunted with each hit directed at his enemies.

He was always a sight to see, but you’re sure all he will ever see you as is a friend, at most a dear one.

“You may start,” the droid says, gesturing its hand out to you, its skin shining a light transparent blue from the gel-like coating of its outer layer.

Your lips twitch, wanting to spit the words out but finding yourself at a loss of courage. How humiliating, you thought, you were about to ask a shapeshifting droid to transform into your companion and fuck you.

“You may start,” it repeats.

Your hands wring together, your eyes closing tightly as you mouth the words.

“A…” you shake your head and press your fist between your brow. You exhale shakily.  

“A Mandalorian.”

You could hear the gel like skin shift, your lungs aching as if they wanted to compress into themselves. You opened your eyes to find a Mandalorian, standing in front of you, helmet tilted down in a stare.

Your skin pricks with bumps. You frown, the armor was vibrant in color, the pieces different from your Mando’s.

“Silver armor, unpainted, shines enough to see a reflection.”

It shifts color, you start to breathe heavily at the implication. Just the familiar tone of silver made your thighs clench together.

You move closer, hesitantly reaching a finger out to touch. It was cold, hard and thick. It felt close enough to the real thing.

“The helmet needs to be longer, no rangefinder, and narrow the vertical length of the visor.”

It looks down on you and you almost flinch. You give the rest of the descriptions your eyes avoiding its gaze, almost as if you were afraid Mando would actually come to life in front of you. You even placed the mudhorn signet on his right pauldron, the skull gleaming in the light as it shifted closer to you to confirm that it was how you wanted.

Orange tipped gloves, leather strap coming from his left and going down to his right hip, his blaster at his waist and a belt… Taller, his hands larger, his thighs thicker, shoulders so much more broader.

You stare for a few moments, amazed at how much the droid had listened to your instructions, how well it had taken in your requests. It looked like him, as if he were staring right at you.

Then it speaks.

“Is there anything else you would like me to do?”

It made you flinch. You frown and then you pull your comm from your pocket, almost letting it slip from how much you trembled in anxiety.

“Can-“ you almost choke on your spit, “c-can you upload recordings into your system?”

It nods silently, you almost let out a whimper from how much that reminded you of him. His armor ticks with each step, his hand now distended towards you, wanting to take the device and pair it with himself.

“It will only take a moment,” he says cheerily.

You hold his other hand as you wait, your eyes traveling over his body, commenting on the little things that seemed out of place and watching as he morphed into whatever you wanted.

His body was warm. You intertwine your fingers together, feeling his hand tighten over yours slightly in reciprocation.

It felt just like him, whenever he tangled his hand in yours if only for a few seconds in a sign of reassurance. Your heart thumps, this time he doesn’t pull away, this time he leans in when you press further.

It doesn’t flinch at your touch, or pull away whenever you try to get close. You felt pathetic, your yearning had made you helpless and made Mando irritated with you. Sure he was still kind, respectful and at times very humorous, but that was how he normally behaved with anyone.

So you thought. 

You realized that your crush might have made you delusional. Hope blinded you to conjuring up his tenderness. 

Tenderness that dissipated quickly. 

He was acting differently with you, before you might have even imagined he was flirting, bumping into you and grabbing at your waist in passing, squeezing you into his hold when inches away from certain death or injuries during your hunts.

Now, every interaction you have feels dulled, he limited his touches to pats on your shoulder, he doesn’t speak to you with the same timber and suave. He even… You cringe at the memory. He even rejected you, which started the whole ordeal.

It had left a hole in your heart, when he shoved you away, the you who was barely even tipsy with spotchka, finally finding some courage in yourself. Your hands were roaming too much on his arm, he gripped them and shook his head.

You squeeze the droid's hand tighter, avoiding looking into the vizor it had created. Just thinking about it made your heart shatter in two again.

“I like you a lot Din-” He had told you his name the night before, just landing on Sorgan, finally finding some peace of mind for just a few moments as you laid together in the same bed, the same hut. You thought it meant something more.

“You’re drunk,” he said in a huff, sounding angry.

“I’m not,” you argued softly, feeling your shoulders deflate.

He sighed, pushing your hands onto your lap. He stared into the fire, scooting away and crossing his arms over his chest.

You had stared at the reflection of his armor, staring at yourself, trying to find what was wrong. Then his helmet tilted up, and your gaze followed only to find Omera, and she was beautiful, dancing along with the children, kneeling down to play with Grogu and her own daughter around the campfire.

“Oh,” you had whispered, brows furrowing in pain before you composed yourself. You couldn’t cry in front of him.

You sat up straighter, staring into the ground and festering in the awkwardness. You left quickly, after he just settled into silence.

The next morning you acted as if you didn’t remember a thing, even if your first cup was a third empty, you said you had just gotten so drunk you probably blacked out. 

You went back to calling him Mando, which made him think you might not have been as truthful as you claimed

That was the end of that, but try as you might you still couldn’t let him go.

The weeks before the appointment you had managed to find ways to record him, as well as saving any messages he had left for you through holo and comm. You hope it was enough to show a bit of Mando’s personality.

At least the old one.

“Please feel free to enjoy yourself while the data…isss…t-transferred.”

It startles you how much the voice distorted, the body stiffening and locking into place.

You sit on the bed for a while, watching it, at times it’s body twitching. It was in a stance, shoulders hunched, legs spread and hands at its sides. His muscles strain against his flight suit and you could see your reflection on the chest plate, your widened eyes staring right back at you.

You lay down on the bed, pulling your tunic off, shoving your pants down and only leaving yourself in your breast band and panties.

Your hips rock lightly at first, against the edge of the mattress, keeping your eyes on the droid turned your very own companion. His hands twitched at his sides, his helmet pointed in your direction predatorially.

You pull your underwear up slightly, the fabric bunching over your slit and tightening over your clit. You moan lightly.

If he were to see you like this now how would he react, how would he feel? Disgust, you think. He would be disgusted by how far you were willing to give for just one night with a sex doll made in his image.

Somehow that made this whole thing hotter. You were doing something you weren’t supposed to, morally. Judging by the way his chest heaves in front of you, powerful and full, you’re sure it would be worth all of your credits.

Your fingers play with your erect nipple, sticking out onto the band in nubs from the cold and your arousal. They were tight with tension, pulsing with your heart from how tender they felt.

You close your eyes, your other fingers moving down to swirl over your throbbing clit over the thin fabric of your underwear. You were already so swollen, your pussy clenching with barely there stimulation.

Your body falls back into the bed, legs spreading wide and your head lifting only for a second to see his figure still firmly planted in front of you, helmet angled, making you pulse at the thought of him watching.

Movements slow, hips undulating with every breath out. You feel yourself slide against the fabric of your panties, folds squelching with each move.

“Mesh’la…”

You startle up, pressing your tunic over yourself, as if you were caught in the crest. You stare for a few moments. His helmet tilts, the glint almost blinding you from the position of the lights above which dim the longer he stares, making the room glow in a sensual orange-red.

“Were you touching yourself?”

You shiver, that was his voice, clear or clear enough with the crackle of his modulator.  It was teasing, deep, and enchanting.  A flash of electricity rips past your spine, he steps closer, his armor clinking together with each strut. You swallow thickly, aching when his helm tilts in question.

“Y-yes,” you practically whimper. He hums deeply, satisfied with your answer. His hand twitches and you stare on, open mouthed. It was one of his ticks, what he does when he anticipates something, or is nervous. His fingers flex and he shakes it off, tapping his crotch after a few moments.

“Cock or pussy?”

He chuckles, your shocked expression must have been amusing. You’ve felt him before, you fell on his lap, his hands tightened over your waist tightly to keep you from falling over when you had stood from your seat in the crest. You had rubbed over him, until he had hardened slightly.  It was all accidental, you didn’t mean to make him react in that way, more occupying thoughts were in your mind at that moment, like the several ships flanking you suddenly. This was at the beginning of your partnership as well, so it was brushed off quickly, never talked about again.

“Cock.”

A bulge rises in the front of his flight suit, zipper straining against the mass forming underneath. He palms himself over it, the thick outline of it squeezed by his hand.

“Can you-“

You cut yourself off before you could finish, biting your lip in contemplation. He stands closer, his crotch now in front of you, his hand smooths over your face and you sigh, mouth parting and eyes closing in bliss. His gloved hand was so warm, he smelled like gunpowder and leather, the slight tang of metal.

“Tell me what you want, sweet girl.”

You let out a moan, breathy and throaty. You wanted to dip your fingers into yourself. His fingers tip your head up, leather gloves pinching your skin and making it pucker and shiver. He only ever calls you that teasingly, you guess he was finding all of the pet names in the data he had transferred.  You barely recognized how strange that might be, having a whole record on Mando, files upon files, saved messages and conversations from your comms.

“Thicker… he’s thicker.”

You didn’t really know that, but the way he stood and sat gave you the idea that he was. You lick your lips, he was busy unzipping the front of his pants, pulling himself out.  You watch as he pumps himself, the mushroom tip of the cock leaking, dribbling down the sides from the jerk of his still gloved palm.

“You can touch me.”

Again, a hint of humor and tease, so much like him that it gets you out of your doubtful mind. His hands tug at your bicep, dragging up to your forearm and your hand, making you shiver when he places it directly onto his shaft. It stiffens further, thickening under your touch.

“Would you like me to react audibly?”

“Yes.” An almost immediate response.  You wanted this to feel as real as possible.

“How?”

“Not too loud, more grunts and groans… desperate, like you can’t hold it in anymore…”

He hums again, his hips slightly jerking in your direction all of the sudden.  You stare up, his vizor trained on your face.  His groans sounded pained, the edge of his helmet meeting his chest plate as he continued to watch you pump him.  A brush of your thumb over his tip makes him keen, his back arching, his hand tightening over your shoulder. 

He was pulsing in your hand, sticky with pre-ejaculate, lube you assume. You shake your head before exhaling shakily, your cheeks warming at what you were preparing yourself to say next.

“I want to suck your cock.”

He thrusts in the air, his cock so close to your mouth you could smell the musk from his body. You use both hands, a slick sound forming with your increase of pace.

“So g-good,” he breathes heavily. 

You couldn’t stop yourself before you put him in your mouth, tongue curving around the head, swirling over the tip oozing with his slick.  It tastes good, artificial and creamy. You moan, closing your eyes tightly. Like candy, a tangy fruit you’d come across but can’t recollect the name of.  His hand moves to the back of your head, his groans raising slightly in volume, you could hear him swallow thickly, your mouth enveloping further down his shaft. 

You were getting wetter, your lower half building heat. The thought of bringing him pleasure makes you want to crawl out of your skin and into his.

You moan when more of the taste enters your mouth, making you salivate naturally.  You drool, now pushing yourself to your knees, arching your back as you scoot further into the bed, making him shift closer to the edge.  It makes you gag, your throat flexing over him, making him pulse, the veins becoming prominent enough for you to lick when you let go with a pop and a string of saliva connected to his dick droops down to the floor in a splat.

He caresses your face as you catch your breath, leaning down, making you sit up and start to lean back as he crawls over you.  It was so damn hot, goosebumps rose on your skin, your legs started to spread when his body slid closer.

“Let me make you feel good.”

“I already do,” you whimper.  He groans as a response. His head leans down your stomach, the lip of his helmet grazing over your belly and making you shiver.  His hand caresses up your calf, moving up to your thighs and squeezing possessively. His head tilts, asking you a silent question, what should I do next?

His hands stay put, caressing over your thighs, moving down further to pinch your ass.  His shoulders were so broad they casted a shadow over you, his body so large you had to spread your legs wide to accommodate his torso. You catch the glint on his helmet and your head swirls. 

You’ve thought about it before, how he would be able to see your bare pussy on the vizor like an invisible wall, see it glide back and forth as you grind on his helmet.

It was your call. Whatever you desired.

He positions himself on his back, helping you crawl up his body, patting your ass playfully when you hesitate to sit fully.  You were hovering, your hand on the headboard, biting your lip, unsure. He tugs on your soaked panties. 

“They’re sticking to you, you might have to get new ones.”

You chuckle, repositioning yourself and allowing him to pull them further to the side, your lips bare to him, your clit peeking through your folds, pulsing in anticipation. 

“Are you sure?”

His head adjusts on the pillows, he nods.

“Yes, I am.”

His fingers, thick with his gloves, breach your slit, circling over the rim, flicking over your clit. Your fingers tighten over the wooden headboard, you hold in a moan. He looked to be getting impatient, his hands moving to your hips after a while, making your knees involuntarily buckle with the way he plays with your pussy. 

“I’m not going to… crush you?”

He makes a sound of annoyance.

He had read Mando well. He had inherited his lack of patience it seemed. He made you sit, pulling you down, already moving you to grind against his vizor before you could think to do it yourself.  Your thighs tremble from the cold of the sides, your clit bumping against the ridge of where the dark glass and metal meet.  It was just like you imagined, a little colder and a little rough but once your slick had spread along the front it had felt heavenly.

“You have such a pretty pussy.”

It rumbles, his voice makes the helmet vibrate.  It must have been the modulator.  Your eyes roll to the back of your head, you clench uncontrollably, grinding harder than before.  He helps you, slotting his arms around your hips, pushing and pulling when you feel as if you couldn’t move your cramping legs.  He praises, talking to keep you stimulated.

“Clenching around nothing, look so tight, mesh’la. Can’t wait to have you on my cock.”

Your moans and gasps fill the room, he grunts on occasion, humming whenever you have stopped to catch your breath.  His hand suddenly squeezes up to your breast, pinching your pebbled nipples, making you cry out from the slight pain.  

You haven’t touched yourself in a long while and Mando has been turning you on almost every day. 

Embarrassingly quickly, you cum, grinding furiously, making your clit bump against the ridges of his helmet.  You lose yourself from this point, you couldn’t and didn’t know where reality and your own creation began or ended.  This was Mando and you had fully succumbed to your ruse.

Lifting yourself off you sit beside his head, trying to steady your breath, moaning in the aftershocks of your orgasm and watching with diligent eyes as he rises up to his knees. His thumb caresses the underside of your knee, pressing into the sensitive part of your skin.  His helmet was covered in your slick, a sticky mess on his vizor. 

“Cyare, get on your back.”

…

He grunts, “mmh, good girl.” He slots his thighs against the back of yours, your calves mid air. His cockhead teases you, his knees rocking so that it catches on your opening but doesn’t go further. It has been years since you’ve had anyone. Ever since you joined the Mandalorian in his quests. 

“Please just-“

You wanted to cry out in frustration, but he was strong and his body was on top of yours like a block of stone.  You could only shift your hips and wrap your arms over his shoulders, tugging at his cowl in anticipation.

“Anything you’d like me to do, I’m here to please you, sweet girl.”

He buries his head on your shoulder, once again teasing you, urging you to ask for more, to beg for it.

“I-I want you to breed me.”

He had a database of almost everything in the galaxy, he knew a lot about Mandalorians and their culture.  It was easy to adapt parts of it to make the experience that much better.  His goal was to make you feel good, and you had requested to be sated by a Mandalorian. He’d give you just that.

He holds your body close so that you wouldn’t shift so much in bed, his hips slam into you ruthlessly, pounding the breath from your chest, making you squeal. His cock was so lifelike, so warm and girthy and his body on top of you was almost suffocating. 

“Breed you full of warriors.”

You let out a moan, your back arching and your breasts pressing up onto his chest plate.  The cold stiffens you, it makes you twitch. You couldn’t stop the sounds coming out of your mouth.

“Oh-Man-do-”

He moans, his hands gripping you tightly, as if he couldn’t get enough of the way your cunt sucks him in.  Suddenly his head lands heavily on the pillow beside your head, he slows achingly.  His voice sounds ruined, his moans and grumbles held back but ultimately failing.

“N-need to fill you up. Need to last longer.”

You bring your foot under his thigh, using it as leverage to flip him over.  He lands with a bounce, his hands on your hips. You looked crazed, your eyes so blown they were almost pitch black.  You sink into him, knees on either side of his waist, eyes closing from the immense pressure from the new angle.

“Beautiful, strong girl, need to fill you up with my seed.”

Lights seem to dim, you were in the cockpit, arms wound tight around his shoulder, and grinding. You’d keep him warm, your cunt tightening as he drives the ship. He’s swatting your ass, grabbing a handful and jiggling it whenever you distract him. He would be aching for you to move.

“Bounce on my cock, take it.”

And you do, your chest grazing his vizor with each thrust, your breaths coming out in puffs. It felt like your cervix was bruising, his cock spearing into you.

His thumb rubs against your clit, at times pinching. You close your eyes so tightly you see stars, you feel them in your gut, festering and building, gaining momentum with the feel of his armor, his gloves, the sound of his poorly contained moans.

It almost burned, you couldn’t breathe. You cum so hard your whole body ceases movement and locks up, wetness making a squelching sound between you both as he continues to thrust up.

He whines, whimpers, and his head falls back. It sounds like he sighs in pain.

He cums, cums so much you almost feel bloated. It was thick and spilling over the sides of his cock, accumulating over his still pulsing balls.

You open your eyes, his hands running up your sides, his breaths making his chest rise and fall exaggeratedly.

He cups your jaw.

“You are so beautiful, cyare.”

You squirm under his gaze, his gloved hand caressing over the apples of your cheek. His cock softened inside you, you moan when he adjusted under you, sitting up against the headboard, pressing deeper.

“Thank you…” you murmur, not quite sure what to do, much less say.

“The most beautiful woman in the galaxy.”

You chuckle awkwardly, he attempts to pull your head closer to his. To bump into his. You know what it meant, it means something special for Mandalorians, something Mando never does with you.

You don’t think he ever will.

“Stop.”

You should have just told him to be quiet, to shut the hell up. He kept up with the praises, saying things you knew weren’t true. At least not to the real Mando. The shame and embarrassment was rising within you again, the haze of your mind clearing all too quickly. This wasn’t him, this was just a puppet being told what to do by its coding.

His hands move to your hips, caressing soothingly, squeezing your skin lovingly.

“Want you to have my children, sweet girl, to be part of my clan.”

You scoff, pushing his hands away, leaning back so that his leaning head wouldn’t meet with your forehead.  He continues, his hands traveling to your overstimulated clit making you jump and hold in a whimper, the other was at your breast, cupping its weight as if he were analyzing your body.

“I need you, just let me take care of-“

You shake your head, furiously.

“I said stop it.”

His hands stop, body slumping to the headboard.  His voice becomes monotone again, still Mando’s but more robotic. 

How could you forget?

“Why? It’s my job to flatter you, that’s what you paid for.”

What you paid for… It circles through your mind repeatedly, all in Din’s voice. This is what you paid for, to feel something with him, to make believe if only for a night. The tears fall before you even notice your eyes blur and despite feeling horrible about yourself, you still lean into his touch, his quiet whispers to calm you down.

“I am sorry if I had said anything to offend you.”

You ignored it, he wasn’t really sorry, you're sure it didn’t even have emotions, it was just reading your behavior, translating it to whatever circuit brain it had and doing what it was programmed to do.  The gentle rub on your back helped though, the way he lifted up the soft and heavy comforter over you made you sigh and finally close your eyes from exhaustion.

…

“It’s never accurate.”

You hum in question, gripping your welder, and lifting your shades. He stands a few feet away leaning against the ship, his arms crossed. He looks down on you.

“It's a small repair… doesn’t need to be accurate…” you mutter, irritated by his implication of your welding and ship repair skills.

He shakes his head and steps closer, gesturing for you to drop your tool to the ground. You do.

You look away, feeling your body go hot at the sight of him nearer. You choose to ignore his sudden conversation, he’s been acting weird lately, more talkative than usual.  You purse your lips, shaking your head and arching your brow. 

“I’m busy Mando, what are you even on about?”

He sighs.

“There’s always something off, a birthmark, the curve of your nose, your eyes…”

A long pause, your face starts to fall and your eyes widen. You calm yourself with the thought that he couldn’t possibly know, that he was just being cryptic or he had ingested some drug that got him thinking crazy. 

“What?” you blurt out. 

He liked to tease, you first saw it when he hunted, how he made them nervous, staring at them, knowing that they knew they were his next prey.  He stares at you, his hands unfolding, moving to his hips and leaning closer.

“Why do you think I stop in Coruscant every few weeks?”

You look on mortified, mouth agape.

“My blaster was on the wrong side, mesh’la.”

You step back when he starts closing the distance between you both.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“Your hips were right,” he chuckles lightly, “I measure to make sure your body is precise.”

The look of confusion and shock amuse him. He corners you against the side of the hull, pressing on until your back is flat against the metal panels.

“It started off as a one time thing, and then I wanted it again, and again and again… it’s an obsession to make that thing as accurate to you as possible. I’m sure you would have gotten through the process too.”

Your breath stutters, some part of you was delighted, another mortified. His hands twitched to your face, leaning forward until his helmet almost met your head. Your heart races, you shiver at his implications. 

“What process?” you sputter out.

His head tilts down and up again. Predator.

“I know every inch of your body, mesh’la.”

He taps his vizor, the side of the helm.

“I take note of every little thing you do even if you think I’m not there. When you said you wanted me to breed you it took everything in me not to storm in and do it myself.”

Your gaze was fixed against his shoulder, your body warms at the thought of him watching everything.  He must have seen you break down too. You cringe, closing your eyes tightly, refusing to believe any of this was happening.

“But I’m no hypocrite, I let you have your fun.”

This was wrong, what he was doing was wrong. Spying on you, watching you when you thought you were alone. His hand grips your forearm, tightening when you refuse to look up. When you finally do he connects his head to yours, your eyes stuck in the pools of black, unable to look anywhere else. 

Would you have gone that far? To start recording his every interaction, wanting to perfect an AI to be exactly like him. Who knows… you might have gathered enough credits again, visited the brothel and came in with new material.

The droid was a bit off, you’re sure you would have done something to fix it.

His helmet was spine chilling against your head, he leaned down, his hands smoothing down your sides and squeezing as if he couldn’t believe he was finally touching you the way he wanted.

“Didn’t think you’d want me the same way I do you…”

--------------------

Thank you for reading! Comment and Reblogs make authors happy! My asks are requests are also open. Chat with me as anon if you want!

-Alejandra 💋

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

hey, hey, hey! it is february and i'm in the mood to do another poll fic. this time around, i'm thinking of playing around with a fairytale... but making it spooky and very slutty.... there will be multiple rounds of voting. this is the first round.

if you have any ideas (plot, trope, kink, thots, etc.), then please send them my way and i’ll include them in the following polls! 

if you wanna get notified for the next poll, then click here

[uselesssomebody]

𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲'𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 (18+)

the do's (rules & information):

readers must be over 18 reading these drabbles

all works will be under or roughly a thousand words

thirty-one days of smut drabbles

ten days are open to requests for the kinks

ten days will include dark content (will be properly tagged)

five will include a dominant reader

the don'ts (what i am not interested in writing):

i only write fem!readers, with all involved characters being over 18

the kinks i'd appreciate you don't request are anything to do with anal penetration, bodily fluids (besides blood and cum), and certain dom/sub dynamics like age play or ddlg

otherwise, ask away, and i'll see if i'm comfortable writing your request!

the kinks and the characters

october 1: shower sex w/ frankie morales

october 2: ball worship (dom!reader) w/ eddie munson

october 3: sex pollen (dark) w/ din djarin

october 4: consensual non-consent (dark) w/ miguel o'hara

october 5: threesome (ffm) w/ marc spector & layla el-faouly

october 6: requested kink & character

october 7: breeding kink (dark) w/ duke leto

october 8: somnophilia (dark) w/ eddie munson

october 9: mutual masturbation (dom!reader) w/ steven grant

october 10: threesome (mmf) + double penetration (in one hole) w/ frankie morales and santiago garcia

october 11: titfucking w/ javier peña

october 12: requested kink & character

october 13: exhibitionism w/ poe dameron

october 14: dacryphilia (dark) w/ joel miller

october 15: temperature play (dom!reader) w/ din djarin

october 16: phone sex w/ jack daniels

october 17: corruption kink (dark) w/ dio morrissey

october 18: requested kink & character

october 19: edging (dark!dom!reader) w/ basil stitt

october 20: recording/blackmail (dark) w/ jonathan levy

october 21: mask + glove kink w/ jake lockley

october 22: hate + mirror sex w/ javier peña

october 23: cockwarming (dom!reader) w/ steven grant

october 24: requested kink & character

october 25: overstimulation w/ jake lockley

october 26: size difference w/ miguel o'hara

october 27: knife kink (dark) w/ bucky barnes

october 28: free use (dark) w/ joel miller

october 29: sex toys w/ natasha romanoff

october 30: requested kink & character

october 31: period sex/blood kink w/ santiago garcia

the characters (you guys can request)

from stranger things, i write for eddie munson, robin buckley, billy hargrove or steve harrington

from marvel, i write for bucky barnes, steve rogers, natasha romanoff, jake lockley, marc spector, steven grant, layla el-faouly and miguel o'hara

from star wars, i write for poe dameron, or din djarin (the mandalorian)

from triple frontier, i write for frankie morales and santiago garcia

miscellaneous oscar isaac characters i write for include basil stitt, jonathan levy, duke leto, kane and orestes (agora)

miscellaneous pedro pascal characters i write for include joel miller, javier peña, jack daniels (agent whiskey), dio morrissey

if you want to request another character, don't hesitate! i will see what i can do.

notes

guys i know i haven't written in like 1200 months but i wanna get back into the mood with the short smutty stuff

besides, i've never done kinktober and every other one i've seen bangs so hard i simply couldn't resist

side note - dark fics will be only available on my adjacent dark blog: @darkuselesssomebody, but will be linked on this masterlist. if you wanna read the dark drabbles and future dark work, give it a follow!

i am also willing to take non-kinky & halloween themed requests, so if you have any, let me know!

𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

[pedroshotwifey]

Dark!Recs (Pedro Characters)

Joel Miller

Bullet For You, Darlin' by @kewwrites Ongoing Series - Raider!Joel x AFAB!Reader

Sunshine by @kewwrites Ongoing Series - Dark!Joel x AFAB!Reader

Caught by @toxicanonymity One shot - Dark!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Give an Inch, Take a Mile by @thatmrmiller One shot - Dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

Twisted Love and Cruel Love by @cool-iguana Two part series - Dark!Joel Miller x reader

Unnamed Mean!Joel Drabble by @marsswann Drabble - Dark!Joel x Crybaby!reader

Perfect, Wake, and Shopping by @notjustjavierpena One shot series - Mean Sugar Daddy!Joel Miller x reader

Left in Lincoln by @toxicanonymity Series - Softdark!Joel Miller x virgin!reader

I Can Be Your Pretty Girl by @walkintotheriveranddisappear Series - Darkish!Joel Miller x fem!reader Joel is a manipulative, pushy, and pervy asshole... and I go for it every time.

Hate by @notjustjavierpena One shot - Mean!Joel Miller x f!reader

Smother by @beardedjoel Series (ongoing) - Creepy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Close Call by @toxicanonymity One shot - darkish!Joel Miller x f!reader

All I Did Was What I Had To by @corazondebeskar-reads Series (more parts tbd) - Mean!Joel Miller x f!Reader

No Soul To Sell by @atticrissfinch One shot - dark!ex-boyfriend’s dad!joel miller x fem!reader

Rebound by @springdandelixn on ao3 Short series (complete) - Dark!dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Din Djarin

Whispers in the Dark by @kewwrites Ongoing Series - Dark!Din Djarin x Reader

Memento Mori by @kewwrites Ongoing Series - Serialkiller!Din x Reader

To Touch Darkness by @djarincore one shot - Dark!Din Djarin x AFAB!Reader

Partners by @pedge-page One shot - forceful!Din Djarin x f!reader

Javier Peña

Gonna Make You Sweat by @mypoisonedvine One shot - Dark(kinda)DBF!Javier Peña x reader

Like the Girls in the Movies by @walkintotheriveranddisappear One shot - Pervy!Javi x afab!reader

Frankie Morales

On The Waterfront series by @beefrobeefcal Ongoing Series - Dark!Frankie Morales x Fem!reader

No Eres Tú (Soy Yo) by @iamasaddie One shot - Dark!Frankie Morales x f!reader

UPDATED 12/3/23

[stardustrebels]

Seasons of Life

January 2025 Writing Challenge - Masterlist

I'm taking part in the @fanfictionoverload January 2025 writing challenge by @lady-bess and @berryispunk!

I'm very excited to start- I've never ever done anything like this before, and I'm hoping it'll kick start 2025 for me as I mean to go on- writing my little heart out :D

Ratings/ warnings: Each fic will have individual warnings and ratings at the start, but I'm just going to put a blanket 18+ MDNI warning on them anyway, just to be safe.

You can also read these over on Ao3 Hope you enjoy!

WINTER

Snow - Joel Miller

Scarf - Marcus Pike

Cosy - Javier Peña

Fireplace - Joel Miller

Hot Chocolate - Frankie Morales

Freezing - Din Djarin

Marshmallow - Marcus Acacius

SPRING

Blossom - Din Djarin

Spring Cleaning - Javier Peña

Footpath - Marcus Acacius

Rain - Din Djarin

Book - Joel Miller

Joy - Marcus Pike

Cake - Javier Peña

SUMMER

Tidal wave - Dave York

Camping - Joel Miller

Lake - Marcus Acacius

Ice Cream- Agent Whiskey

Heat- Javier Peña

Heavenly - Din Djarin

Aviators - Agent Whiskey

AUTUMN

Leaves - Dave York

Puddle - Frankie Morales

Rain Boots - Marcus Pike

Pie - Joel Miller

Blanket - The Thief

Melancholy - The Thief

Pumpkin - Joel Miller

[darkuselesssomebody]

𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝟛 - dark!din djarin x fem!reader

complete masterlist | kinktober 2023 masterlist

kink || sex pollen

taglist || @silversprings-mp3

fandom || star wars (the mandalorian)

a/n || this is my first real dark fic, it is genuinely quite fucked, please don't judge me

➵ warnings for specific content before the divider

➵ din is quite ooc in this, set prior to the events of the show.

➵ comment/message if you'd like to be added to the taglist

warnings || smut/dark (dddne)

➵ kidnapping

➵ use of sedatives/aphrodisiacs

➵ mild choking

➵ unprotected sex

➵ slapping/mild violence

➵ some overstimulation

➵ degradation

credits had been low that month.

din was a damn good bounty hunter - every member of the guild knew it, but the universe had been unusually peaceful these past few weeks. he'd spent most of his earnings on fixing up the razor crest, leaving him with little left. he was fiending for a bounty.

so when some backwater guy in a backwater planet told him of a thief who'd stolen a host of items from him, din had agreed in the blink of an eye. the pay was good, the target was simple enough - exactly what he needed to get back on track.

"careful." the client warned before he gave din the tracking fob, "she's feisty and slippery. doesn't put up any meaningful fight, but a pain in the ass to keep secured."

so, when din passed a shady market on his way back to the razor crest, he found a guy selling sedatives - better, for dirt cheap. knowing most sedatives go for at least twice the price, he figures it must just be a bit mild, but decent for this situation. din doesn't miss the man's leer as he walks away.

"have fun..." he says in a knowing, slimy tone, and din's confused, but doesn't question it. his mind's on the bounty.

she wasn't difficult to track, nor to find alone. she's living in some dingy abandoned hut in the edges of a black market, likely trying not to draw attention to herself. there's not even a lock on her door, and din walks in while she's sleeping. she's on her stomach, the faintest hint of a snore emitting from her half-blocked nose, and din takes out the pre-made injection with the sedative. he flips her over for better access, covering her face with his broad, gloved hand, as he pushes the needle into her skin, injecting her bloodstream with the sedative.

at the sharp pain, her eyes snap open, and she whimpers, but it's all muffled by his hand. she tries to claw at his hand, and din can commend her for at least trying to fight back. but, it's fruitless, as her eyes start fluttering, and she goes limp, passing out. he picks her up, lugging her along under the cover of darkness to his ship.

a job well done, he thinks, as he sits her limp body in the passenger seat in the cockpit, before sitting on his own. he powers on the ship, taking flight, before turning on the autopilot. knowing she's well-strapped, he's ready to go ahead and take a nap, when he starts hearing small whimpers coming from his side. he turns around curiously, to see her - though still asleep - fidgeting and moving her legs.

his eyes widen behind his visor. is she fucking grinding on the seat? he immediately sits up, pants growing uncomfortably tight at the little show of arousal. he gets up, kneeling in front of her chair, as he waves his gloved hand over her face, to see if she's awake. her mewls are sweeter up close. fuck, he's hard.

she's still in her sleepwear. the planet he picked her up off is hot - thank gods - and her legs are only clad in sleep shorts. his gloved fingers force her thighs apart slightly, morals blown to the wind in the pursuit of soothing his cock, and the leather fabric finally reaches her wet - correction: dripping - cunt, as her mouth lets out the sweetest little moan.

it morphs into a scream as she awakens, though, trying to close her thighs instinctively. his grip is harsh, squeezing the life out of her thighs, as he forces her legs open even wider - muscles stretched almost uncomfortably. her lip quivers in worry at the intimidating mandalorian in front of her.

"don't resist, and I won't hurt you." his modulated voice is cold, and rough, and she doesn't dare disobey. her eyes travel down to the blaster at his side, before running back to him. whatever he injected her with was still coursing through her veins, making her brain foggy and her cunt pulse. she can't help the moan she lets out as her fingers brush against her clit again, her entire body jolting violently. it contradicts with the tears in her eyes: stemming from her fear of the man in front of her and the fact she'd have to have sex with the strange, terrifying bounty hunter.

din pauses for a moment, to turn back to the - now empty - bottle of the sedative he'd bought earlier. it had coagulated from the oxygen it was exposed to, and had turned a deep, cherry red. an aphrodisiac, he realizes, now understanding why the sedative had been so cheap. it had been cut with an aphrodisiac, likely supposed to work as a date rape drug. he sighs, placing the bottle back. might as well make the most of it.

he stalks back towards her, and she's looking up at him with fearful doe eyes, upset at her predicament, and at her inability to disguise how badly she needed to be taken care of by her captor. she only squeaks when he harshly forces her calves up to bend her body in half. her mouth parts in soft, breathy whimpers, and it makes his cock pulse.

he forces a hand to her throat - if only to keep her still - but her eyes widen horror, making his lips curl into a smirk. he squeezes once, just for the fun of it, before reaching down with his free hand to force his pants off. his cock stands, hard and scary, and the sight of it makes her body twitch in anticipation and excitement, and a ragged breath leave her lips, eyes wide in anticipation and fear.

he forces her ankles over his shoulders, leaning down against the chair to really cage her in and force her body in half. he pulls her shorts up to her knees, not bothering to pull them off completely, as he already has access to what he wants.

"you don't have to do this..." she whimpers, though her cunt pulses for him, her blood on fire - from both his heat and the drug. he stays dead silent, before roughly stuffing two covered fingers into her, making her squeak out in pain and pleasure. he forces them in deep, wiggles around for just a second, making her eyes water, before pulling them out, and smearing the liquid over her cheek.

"but you want it so bad." it's worse because his tone doesn't sound mocking, but more observational, as if it wasn't him violating her, but rather, her own body. before she can protest further, he pushes his cock into her, and she's more than wet enough to just slide right in.

she can't help the high-pitched, needy moan that tumbles from her lips, his fingers flexing around her throat as he hisses through gritted teeth at the sensation of her tightening and pulsing walls hugging his cock. he was half-sure it was the fear that made her so tight, only amplified by the drug in her system, and fuck, did it feel good.

he doesn't wait, fucking into her roughly, unleashing his frustrations of the slow month into her needy cunt, as he saw her protests overshadowed by the increasing sounds of her moans.

he fucks through a few of small, quick orgasms which were spurred by the drug, and she'd gone fully dumb, not even bothering to protest, and just letting her eyes roll back and her moans ring out in the cockpit. he's close, and can tell something deep is building in her too, as she's unable to ground herself, leg muscles flexing as she desperately tries to survive the wave of pleasure about to overtake her.

just to see her eyes widen in worry once more, he brings his thumb down to her clit, pressing on it harshly, in a way that was only pleasurable once you got through the pain of it. as he wished, her eyes stare up at his in indignance and pleading - begging him to stop the action - as she writhed in pain, before her breath caught in her throat, and she cums so hard around him, she thinks she's passed out.

when she finally opens her eyes back up, panting and drooling, he's stilled inside her, pumping her full of his cum, making her wince as he pulls out. the effects of the drug are gone, and the reality is sinking in.

she looks at him with anger, disgust and dread, which makes him smirk under his helmet. for the fun of it, he delivers a smack - though not too hard - to her cunt, making her whimper and jolt, before getting up, and returning to the pilot's seat.

he starts landing the razor crest to deliver the bounty. maybe he'll use the credits to deep clean the chair she's creaming and crying over.

[honeybunnyale]

Welcoming Home l D.D.

w.c.: 2.8k

t.w.: Dark-fic! Smut, happens in season 3 of The Mandalorian, reader is part of the covert, Jealous, Possessive, implied crazy Din, reader is also jealous, fluff (? lmao), angst, implied they are in a religious cult

A/n: Please read all warnings for all of my works before reading. 18+ only!

Summary: Din comes back to the covert newly repented.

Relief floods his body, his chest finally deflates in a sigh. He looks beside him, glancing gratefully at Bo. Everything else had become blurred, he was accepted again, he was part of the covert. He was Mandalorian once more.

Suddenly he was crowded, Bo-Katan too, and for a moment he was confused. Then he realized they were welcoming her along with him, having bathed in the waters and not taken off her helmet since. It filled his chest with pride, he had brought an ally, someone who can further the protection of the covert and strengthen numbers among their community.

She was welcomed warmly, without hesitance and he could sense her slight discomfort. He imagines the almost awed expression on her face as she’s patted on the back, everyone taking turns to show their appreciation of her for just being part of their community.

Then you came up to her and he almost wished Bo had reacted properly. To be touched on the bicep, your hand squeezing in a sign of reassurance, to hear your voice, tumbling through her ears, he would have felt euphoric.

“Welcome, you are one of us now.”

Instead of nodding in thanks, she stared at your shoulder, the mudhorn on your pauldron, and briefly glanced in his direction, ignoring your remark.

You nod as you step back, allowing others to greet her. Din tries to keep his focus, waiting for the moment you would come to him. He nods stiffly at each member, glancing around when he had lost sight of your form.

It wasn’t until the last of the Mandalorians in the room had greeted him did he realize you wouldn’t be presenting yourself to him.

He finds you afterwards in a small hut, windows closed shut and door locked. He knocks and a shuffle could be heard. You were caught off guard, you barely had time to prepare yourself for his arrival. His transmissions were left unanswered, as were the rest of his messages, updating you of his journey, the adventures with the child, how he was coming back with a new member by his side. 

Princess of Mandalore, a past heiress to the throne. And now she was converted into one of you, she was to walk the way with all of you. 

You had panicked. 

The knock made you sigh, ever since his departure and his breaking of the creed the Armorer had been giving you lectures, coming into your space of hiding and reciting the creed, making sure you understood how if he doesn’t find a way to the mines, you would be forced to let him go. 

The possibility of also being accused of apostasy was always looming.

“A'lor- please, not right now-“

“It’s me.”

For a few seconds he stands in silence, he could imagine your surprise, how you were deciding whether or not to let him in. Maybe you were nervous, fixing your hair, or appearance, although you know he doesn’t really care for that anyway. The door unlocks hesitantly, his hand already at the edge, ready to push in. He startles you from how quickly he barges himself into your vicinity, not caring for the way you attempt to close the door quickly if anyone else were to see your face bare of beskar.

He eyes your space, finding that his belongings were still with you, although hidden out of plain sight, all stuffed in an overfilled crate. Your bedding was smaller, only accommodating one person instead of two. You watch nervously as he starts to place his helmet and armor on a small desk by the side of your bed, he pauses for moments, expecting you to help him, like you always did with each other. 

You often forget how large your husband was. How his presence was domineering in the small spaces the covert would occupy itself in at the time. His frame blocked the door to your makeshift hut, his shoulders square off as he lets his chestplate tumble to the floor heavily. 

His long missions would make you crave those broad shoulders, his expansive chest. Now, all you feel is dread building in the base of your stomach. 

You looked on, eyes and lips swollen from your repetitive biting and your urge to cry.  The air between you both was frigid, he only wished to close the distance but you shuffled back instinctually. He speaks first, knowing that you were stubborn and that communication was never something you were good at. 

“You didn’t-“

It was stupid, childish. This was something that would be said in a schoolyard, children barely able to discuss their feelings being hurt. He takes off his gloves and faces the bedside table, tossing them on the bed haphazardly. 

He glances at you, you can feel his disappointment as he speaks.

“You didn’t welcome me.”

You sigh, finally stepping forward, your hands flexing nervously at your sides. Childish.

“I am ashamed,” you attempted to say confidently, but your voice shook and your throat bobbed with a thick swallow afterwards.

He steps close to you, you blink in flutters as you inhale sharply and take in his scent. Leather and metal, a unique musk that only you were capable of identifying. He watches your chest rise and fall quickly. His hand lifts to caress your cheek. He missed you. His wife. 

He cups your face to lift, and yet you still avert your eyes, your body preening at his touch, your cheek nuzzling further into his palm. They water, tears threatening to fall when he hushes you.

“Why are you ashamed?” he asks softly, leaning his head down to get closer to you. His forehead meets yours, nose nudging your cheek. 

He knew why. He just wanted you to admit it, that you caused heartbreak and pain. He wanted you to look him in the eye. 

“I didn’t follow you. I should have followed my Riduur.”

He swipes at your cheek, his lips pursed. It felt as if he was struck when you had shunned him, turned away when he was claimed to be Mandalorian no more. He’d extended his hand to you, asking you to accompany him to find the child, to find a way to redeem himself from his sins.

You had only taken a step back, shaking your head firmly as you stood beside Paz. As he left with a final glance he saw the way he had rubbed your shoulders in pity, your helmet pointed to the floor and your hands in fists behind your back.  Paz stared at him, shaking his head. A shameful man to come back and only disappoint his wife, bringing the darksaber but not being worthy enough to call himself a Mandalorian.

“I understand if…” you start. 

You stare at your hands, agonized, your lips wobbling stuck on the next words.  He freezes, tilting your head forcefully to face him, and when your eyes didn’t meet and your gaze couldn’t even connect to his face his fingers tightened over your chin, pressing into the bone of your jaw and making you wince in discomfort.

“Shuk’la Riduurok…” (divorce)

He snarls, his mouth forming a scowl so harsh it makes you shiver. You look down again, lips breaking apart to gasp a sob. 

“Is that what you want?” he grits out. 

You shake your head, and his arms pull you tightly to his chest, his hands rubbing over your back soothingly. He holds you, breathing in the scent of your hair, arms strong in their hold as if he never wanted to let go. You stay together, your arms wrapping around his back as he sways. You match your breaths with his, you press your ear to his chest and hear his heart thrum strongly. 

You had chosen him for a reason. Amongst the other prospects, the other offers, he was the most resilient. Stubborn, A’lor had said, he refused to back down amidst your act of disinterest. But was it really an act at first? You couldn’t quite remember. That didn’t matter anymore, at least until you had fallen in love with him after his constant presence.

You sigh in relief, your mind calming. You haven’t been sleeping well, you’ve barely eaten. You could finally be at peace, your husband at your side.  

“I would have taken you…”

Your breath stutters. He rubs your back, thumbs digging into your muscles. 

“Shoved you in front of the whole covert and lifted your helm to make you an apostate like me.”

You freeze. His arms still crush you to his chest, holding you in place as he stares down at you in determination. You slowly tilt your head up at him, a mix of surprise and bewilderment muddles in your eyes. 

“Din-“

“I would have come back for you, understand? I was always going to come back, creed or not.”

He stares down at you, urging you to answer him. Your eyes widen and you nod. His face relaxes, a stark contrast to the deep frown from before. He kisses you gently, his hands cupping your lower back to press you further against him, your hands being forced to wind around his shoulders to keep your balance.

It gets rougher, his teeth pulling your bottom lip, sucking. His facial hair rubbing against your soft skin and making it tingle as if ants were running over your flesh.  You shiver when he taps your feet with his boots, urging you to step back to the small cot. 

His hands were juxtaposing. When you had laid in your bed, watching him climb on top of you to straddle your waist, they rushed to pull your pants down, almost bursting the buttons from their stitchings and ripping the fabric in two.  When your legs smoothed out of the rough texture of your pants his hand gently caressed from your ankle to your thigh and squeezed further up to your hips where they grasped at the softness of your underwear.

He ripped them too easily, he grins at your shocked gasp, your heady moan when he pushed them out of the way.  He buries himself between your legs, his hands holding your knees apart, pressing them to your chest.  His nose grazes over your mound, his eyes flicker to yours, his mouth inches away from a kiss to your lower lips. 

His breath makes you whiny, you squirm as he teases you, his tongue flicking to catch your clit, enough to get you feeling a pulse go down your spine and to your cunt. He leans his head on the side of your thigh, lips kissing the sensitive skin.  He stares at you, and you stare back, waiting for his next move.

Then he leans away, his eyes narrowed at your heavy breaths of anticipation. He crawls over you, hands working with his belt.  In your impatience you help him, your hands shaking. He grips them tightly, roughly pushing them above your head, your arms raising.

From the candle at the small table from the side of the hut, you watch as his cock bobs, getting impossibly harder as he pumps with his other hand.  He kisses you again, pressing himself against your entrance and slowly entering. 

The frame for the cot shrieks, each thrust producing a high pitched whine accompanied with your heavy breaths against each other. Everyone would be able to hear, anyone close by that is.  The walls were thin, not enough to stop the echoes of your wanton moans from reverberating throughout. He was driving home a point, that just because he was gone, it didn’t mean you still weren’t his.

You missed this, the closeness of your bodies, finally skin to skin in privacy. You wanted to hold him closer. You try to twist your hands out of his grip, but his cock keeps on hitting that spot inside you, ramming harsher than all of the other times, and you find yourself growing limp.  You were at his mercy, your legs spread on their own as he pressed himself deeper.

His lips curl into a scowl, his hips still flexing into you, your hands being shoved into the pillows above you.

“You didn’t think it hurt, watching your spouse call you an apostate, casting you out as if you weren’t always on my cock begging me to breed you like this,” he murmurs, almost hissing with his words. His hands tighten over your wrists, you turn your head when he mouths over your throat and your legs shake from the pressure building in your lower stomach. 

You yell out in pleasure, now setting a brutal pace with his cock, his teeth biting into your skin and making it burn.

His tongue soothes the ache, the sharp prickle of pain that makes you tremble. He groans.

“You sided with Paz, were you going to move on so quickly with a worthy man if I never came home to you?”

He was making you feel even worse about it. He was egging you on, trying to tease but it still hurt, you were defensive. He insinuated you as unfaithful. You grit your teeth. Your hands unwound themselves from his grip and push against his chest. 

“Like you and Bo-Katan? A-a dar’manda with another, a lovely match-“

He stops, slowing to grind on your pelvis, rutting into you. He looks down on you, eyes narrowing, chest heaving. 

“I can have whoever I want. I’m the Mand’alore.”

Your eyes widened, a chill runs down your spine. He knew you knew it wasn’t true, Mandalorians only listened to who they wanted to, they only obeyed leaders who they deemed worth following. Having the darksaber means nothing without a clan and pacts and he had nothing before today. Your body goes limp, you close your mouth tightly, attempting to hide your moans, despite the squeezing of your heart.

He didn’t mean it, you knew, he’s too loyal to even think about looking at another person other than you. You still feel tears falling from your eyes, slipping past the sides of your face and down behind your ears. 

He licks them away, he almost regrets his words, but he was angry and he usually never had a filter for when his emotions rose so quickly. He kisses over your face, his hands gliding behind your back, letting yours finally roam free.

“Only you,” he whispers, lips meeting yours after he had pecked over every feature of your face. Your eyes closed tightly. You barely reciprocate.

“Only you.”

He lifts your legs against his waist, he makes you gasp, thrusting at a faster and deeper pace. He finally slithers his tongue in your mouth, you moan, his hands cupping your face lovingly.

“Only you,” he breathes, groaning when he feels you clench around him. He buries his face in your neck, sucking bruises, making you cry out.

Your body finally entangles over him, hands gripping onto his tunic, your ankles locked over the small of his back.

You didn’t know how long you’ve been interlocked this way, your back arching, throat raw. He’s made you cum several times, your body was starting to cramp.

“One more, one more and I’ll stop.”

You shake your head, whimpering.

“Din-“

He hushes you, his thumb rubbing over your swollen clit, circling over it harshly. It was a subconscious punishment, for not following him, for abandoning him when he was at the lowest point in his life.

He groans when your cunt squeezes around him tighter, more wetness gathering at the base of his cock. Your stomach pulses, your whole body pulled taught and releasing like a string.

Your mouth was open in a silent yell, you gush, your body heating incredibly, and your nails digging into the skin of his shoulder.

You slump, your head lolling, breathy moans escaping you when he finally finishes inside you, as if he were to soothe the ache in your cunt.

You blink up at the ceiling, staring at the way the orange flicker of the flame illuminates the dried clay roof.

You imagine you would move to another planet in the next few years, tear down the walls of your hut and make a new one somewhere else.

Din’s breaths are in sync with yours, his head resting at your chest, hands buried under your body.

“I was afraid,” you whisper.

Your hand palms at the tufts of his sweat slicked hair. He kisses your clavicle.

“Why?”

You shift, his leg tangling around yours to keep you in place.

“The covert is all I’ve ever known. I can’t bear the thought of ever being seen as an outsider.”

He understood, almost too well. He wouldn’t want you to feel the way he had, ever, even though your rejection had made his strength to go on falter.

“You’re coming with me everywhere I go, from here on out.”

You nod, burying your nose further into his head.

--------------------

Thank you for reading! I've been editing these last few posts for a while now. That's why I'm postin a lot lately lol. Let me know what y'all think 🌚.

-Alejandra 💋🐇

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

february poll fic, voting round 2

results from previous polls: what fairytale is it gonna be a dark retelling of? beauty and the beast

if you have any ideas (plot, trope, kink, thots, etc.), then please send them my way and i’ll include them in the following polls! 

if you wanna get notified for the next poll, then click here

[pedroshotwifey]

Din Djarin Recs

Joel Miller Recs

Javier Peña Recs

Ezra Fic Recs

Dieter Bravo Recs

Dave York Recs

Marcus Pike Recs

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels Recs

Frankie "Catfish" Morales Recs

Marcus Moreno Recs

Dark!Fic Pedro Character Recs

Non-Pedro Recs

MORE RECS/CHARACTERS TO COME (Updates once a month)

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡The Way｡⋆.

Din Djarin x plus size reader

You don’t know your place in the verse and he’s lost his way. 

Warnings: smut, labelling this dub-con just because Din is a bit forceful, this has a lot of angst, mostly relating to awful self-image and hate towards one's own body, restraints, Din doesn’t know how to deal with emotions, possessive!Din, ownership kink, breeding kink, blindfolds, forced marriage (reader doesn’t fully understand what the vows mean but she accepts after), drinking, no foreplay, creampie, fluff WC: 5.3k Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The market was bustling in the late afternoon light. The child cooed over the many bright colours and shiny objects in the vendor’s stalls, little hands reaching out to touch every time you got close. Big brown eyes reflected the lights perfectly. You smoothed over the whips hairs on top of his head, making him smile and snuggle closer to your soft chest, content in being held in your thick arms.

“We should go soon. I don’t want to be here after dark.” The modulated voice easily identifiable in the chatter of the crowd. You tilted your head up slightly, the Mandalorian’s armour glittering the same way as his son’s eyes. 

“Just need to pick up one more thing and then we can go.” You reassured but still hurried along, struggling to keep up with the taller man. He grunted, sounding annoyed but with a large hand placed on the small of your back, you knew he was just tired.

You took your time sorting through the fabrics on the cart, allowing the baby to feel some of them. You kept the softest fabrics in your hands, intending to make more clothes for him since he had quite the nasty habit of destroying them beyond repair. “What a beautiful family.” The vendor cooed, “I’ll even give you a discount so you can take care of that baby of yours.” You opened your mouth to protest but were quickly stopped by your companion.

“Thank you.” You felt your entire body flush as he stood closer, taking credits from his own store to pay for you. As he led you away, you spoke up. 

“You didn’t have to pay for me, Mando. I do have my own money.” He didn’t respond at first, humming under his helmet. 

“It’s my money cyar'ika, I spend it how I wish.”

Your heart pounded as you looked upon the powerful warrior, strong body towering over you, glowing in the light of the setting sun. 

Silent tears fell as you kept your head down, listening as goodbyes were said. Your heart broke as you heard the Jedi begin to walk away, the boy you had grown to love as your own giving a small cry, calling out for his father. There was a whispered ‘I’m sorry’ from Mando, his voice clear without the modulator in his helmet. 

You didn’t speak as you followed him back to the Crest, your heart broken, your arms empty without the little one in them. Mando climbed into the cockpit, slamming the door behind him. His rage and anguish filled the ship, only compounding your own sadness. You lifted up one of Grogu’s little tunics, the colour meant to emulate his father’s armour, that had been laid out on the table as you did laundry. 

Sobs ripped through your chest as you clung to the small outfit, collapsing onto the metal floor, bending over yourself as if it would sooth the incredible ache settling in your chest.

——————

Mando hadn’t spoken to you in a week, taking all his meals in his bunk or the cockpit, grunting in acknowledgement when you told him of the dwindling supplies in the ship’s store. You were no better. That little boy had become your son over the months he had been in your care but now he was gone and you found yourself struggling with your purpose.

You were hired to take care of him when Mando was on a hunt, nothing more. You were just a live-in nanny for the boy, you knew Mando chose you because you weren’t a threat. You were big, sure, but soft, your hands absent of calluses. You weren’t a danger to him, never posing a threat even in those rare occasions where you became furious, usually when Mando had unnecessarily risked his life.

You mothered both of them, keeping them fed, making sure the ship and themselves were clean. And giving Grogu lessons that Mando would sometimes listen in on if they were traveling between worlds and he had nothing else to do. It was what you loved, caring for others. But now, there was no one to care for.

Mando could handle himself, and now that the child is gone, he could easily get rid of you, not having to worry about another mouth to feed, another person to protect. He could easily leave you on some planet somewhere just like when he found you.

It wasn’t like you had any other use. You weren’t even pretty to look at, let alone fuck, no matter how much you yearned. You had, regretfully, developed an overwhelming, devastating crush on the bounty hunter pretty much as soon as he hired you and that had turned into full blown, heart-stopping love. 

Every moment you spent with him was torture but every moment without him was pure agony. But you knew he would never look at you, not when he had women like Omera. Small women with pleasant faces who could actually keep up with him. Not someone like you with a stomach flap and stretch marks and acne on your breasts. Not someone who could barely run and got winded after multiple trips up the ladder to the cockpit. You didn’t deserve him.

Your bags had been packed, all your things collected and carefully stored, you were just waiting for the day when the Crest would land on some stretch of planet and he would tell you to leave, maybe you would even get a thank you for your job, but you doubted it.

The ship vibrated beneath you as you sat on one of the many crates, a ball of yarn sitting between your folded legs as you used your fingers to crochet a little bantha. Making little toys for Grogu was a habit you still kept even without his presence. You already had a small box full of the little stuffed creatures in some kind of hope that Mando would bring them to him if ever he saw him again. Or maybe, you’d just sell them to get some credits when Mando kicked you out.

You hummed under your breath, being hyper aware of the volume of your own voice, not wanting to annoy the bounty hunter, even if he was locked in the cockpit. The soft yarn tangled around your arm as you put the finishing touches on the animal. Using the small pair of scissors from your sewing kit, you snipped off the extra yarn and winding the ball back up.

With a heavy sigh, you kissed the little head of the bantha before slipping to your bare feet, a shiver rolling up your spine from the cold metal, and wandered over to the small collection of things for Grogu. You carefully pulled the cover off and delicately laid the plushie on the top of the ever-growing pile, quickly shutting the lid before you could cry again.

“We’ll be landing soon.” Mando’s deep voice broke the silence of the hull, pulling you out of your self-deprecating spiral. 

“Yeah, ok.” You muttered, keeping your head down as to not look at your boss, knowing that one glance at his berserker would send your mind reeling, wanting to beg him to let you stay but you just shuffled off to your make-shift room to gather your things.

The cockpit door slammed shut once more and the rumbling beneath your feet increased as the ship entered the atmosphere. You sighed and checked your things one more time, sitting on your cot and pulling on your boots, waiting for the next stage of your journey.

Your breath was caught in your throat but you forced yourself to take a deep inhale, filling your lungs completely as the Crest settled down, jostling you slightly. You steeled yourself for the doors to lower. When they did, a frighteningly cold wind whipped through you, almost knocking you off your feet.

In the distance, you could see the dark outlines of buildings against the horizon. It would be a long walk but perhaps it would give you time to think about what you were supposed to do next. With one last pleading look up to the shut cockpit door, you stepped off the ship and drifted off into the dusty plateau.

“You haven’t asked any questions about the armour.” You looked up from the collection of educational holo programs you had been organising and met the mandalorian’s steel gaze. There were times, you felt, where he could see directly through you, observing your every emotion and thought you tried desperately to keep locked away.

His favourite blaster was half disassembled on the table in front of him, something he only did when the kid was asleep for fear of the little womp-rat stealing pieces for his own amusement. He seemed to fill up the limited space of the ‘kitchen’ with his bulk yet you couldn’t bring yourself to fear his size when he had been so gentle towards you since the moment you were employed.

You cleared your throat and occupied yourself with the various videos before you answered the man. “I don’t think there’s anyone that doesn’t know at least something about a mandalorian’s armour, even if it was just an unfounded rumour they overheard once. Besides, it’s not really my business to ask questions about your wardrobe or lack thereof.” You giggled to yourself, just barely catching the huff of annoyance from him.

“Just because I wear this armour, doesn’t mean I don’t change my clothes beneath it cyar'ika.” You levelled him with a knowing look, one that was far more brave than you felt.

“I think you’re forgetting which one of us does the laundry here.” He grumbled something unintelligible, making you laugh as you turned back to your work, a comfortable silence settling between you. From the corner of your eye, you could see the bounty hunter shift in his seat, said armour glittering beneath the warm light of the Crest. 

He grunted as he finally settled, his back against the wall, his thighs spread. You grinned in his direction, your chest warming with the domesticity of the moment. “You gonna tell me about it then? The creed?”

His head dipped towards you, his fingers still skillfully cleaning the barrel of the blaster. “Mask stays on, I fight, I build something new with a clan of my own.”

“Poetic. Seems like you have it all figured out.” The holopad beeped with an alert, pulling your attention away from him and just barely missing the sigh of disagreement that escaped him.

“Could I get a room for the night?” The inn-keeper gave you a look but complied anyway, snatching the small pile of credits you left on the counter.

“All the way down the hall, last door on the right.” 

The walls of your room were bare save for the cracks in the brick and a singular window that seemed an afterthought to whoever built the inn. You sighed and threw your bag onto the bed, it wasn’t like you would be here for long. Surely there was another ship out there willing to take you on as an extra hand or at least give you a ride to somewhere that would. You’ve made due before, this time wouldn’t be any different.

You chose to ignore the ache in your chest at the thought. 

Noise from the cantina next door drew you from your spiral of self-misery. You knew it was never going to last but for some stupid reason, you had hoped it would. Mando had never hesitated when it came to you, he didn’t underestimate your abilities nor your drive like so many others had done, maybe that was why you had stupidly let yourself believe that he actually liked you.

Maybe a drink would help. Or twelve.

The dense smoke that filled the cantina made your eyes water as soon as you stepped inside, burning your nostrils in a way that pulled your mind from the pit in your stomach for the first time in days. Even on a planet as desolate as this, the bar was crowded, bodies filling every available space as they clambered for drinks. You pressed through the throng, the allure of something that could burn a hole in your throat calling to you. 

You didn’t care that it was probably made out back of the cantina in a distillery that hadn’t ever been cleaned, nor that if the mixture was wrong it could turn you blind. You just wanted to feel something other than the gaping void in your chest that the child and Mando had occupied. 

A credit slammed onto the dusty counter earned you a glass of the fluorescent green liquid that would make you forget, for just a moment at least. The glass was drained in a second and then slammed back onto the bar, another credit joining it. The bartender didn’t even give you a look, all-too-used to the sight. You would think about consequences tomorrow, about how you would have to start over yet again, to be at the mercy of another employer who would most likely berate you, remind you over and over again of your worthlessness. Eventually, you would forget about the Mandalorian, tucking him away into the recesses of your mind for nights when you would succumb to your weakness and fantasise about what could have been.

The blaring music began to fade into the background as you lifted your third shot, intending for it to follow the first two but you suddenly stopped, the rim of the glass resting on the fullness of your bottom lip. The hairs on the back of your neck raised as you felt the crosshairs of a predator’s gaze settle on you. You looked out of the corner of your eye — No one else seemed to notice the target suddenly scrawled on your back.

As nonchalantly as you could, you lowered the glass back down, pushing it to your right, where it was snatched up by the patron next to you. You weren’t in any real danger, somewhere in your hind mind assured, but you had seen what Mando could do when he was pissed and you doubted your hasty departure had made him happy. Though, you were surprised he noticed this quickly, maybe he had wanted something from you before he left the Crest.

People stepped out of his way as the hulking mass of beskar walked towards you, crossing half the length of the room in only a couple steps. “Cyar'ika.” His nickname for you, which he had not uttered in what seemed like forever, almost stopped you, but you couldn’t waver now. A woman close to the door moved closer to her companion, opening up your escape.

You ran.

Dust kicked up under your boots, no doubt leaving a trail for him to follow, but you hoped that he would get the hint. He had to have known that your time aboard the Crest was done, his child was gone, there was no use left for you and you had to leave before he figured it out and kicked you off himself.

You slipped into the now abandoned inn, silent save for the sound of you trying to catch your breath. This is what you wanted.

In your spiral of self-induced misery, you didn’t hear the heavy footfalls of the bounty hunter until it was too late, maybe if you did, you could’ve gotten away before he reached your door. Just as you thrust the ancient key into the lock, a huge hand landed on your shoulder, the strong fingers gripping the bone tightly, almost enough to make you wince.

“Why did you go?” His modulated voice was cold like the armour he wore, unyielding as you blindly tried to reach for the handle.

“It was time for me to leave.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look back. You tried to pull away but he held you tighter. 

“You want to leave me?” If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve swore he sounded sad. Your head tipped up to meet his gaze.

Without the filter of your wholly sober mind, your thoughts spilled from your lips. “We both know I’m just a burden to you. You’d be better off without me.” 

“No.” He sternly replied. 

“No? What do you mean ’no’?” 

“I mean no.” The door opened with a slam that made the thin wall tremble and suddenly, you were shoved into the dusty room, trapped with a man who you gravely misunderstood. Mando appeared as stoic as ever, all while he shut the door behind him, the lock snapping into place once more.

“You won’t leave me too.” He snarled and you gasped but it was quickly cut off as Mando spun you around, pressing your soft body into the hard wall of the inn.

A massive gloved hand clamped down on your hip as the other was planted by your head, caging you in, unable to escape the huge mandalorian. “You’re mine.” 

His chest heaved against your own, keeping you pinned in place as you struggled to breathe around the lump in your throat. He had never gotten this close to you before and it was entirely confusing. The cold metal of his chest plate pushed into your breasts making your nipples harden with the chill. Fear crawled up your spine quickly as his helmet tilted in the way it always did when he was observing a bounty.

“I fucking own you cyar'ika or did you forget about our contract already.” The leather of his gloves creaked as his grip tightened on your hip. You swallowed down a wince, unable to have a single thought other than how large he seemed like this. “You don’t get to leave.”

“Contract?”

Faster than your empty mind could comprehend, your employer’s hand flew to the belt that sat across his slim hips and pulled, drawing your gaze downwards. Though the plates on his thighs and the cup between them remained firmly on, from this close you could see the way his flight suit strained behind it. You forced your eyes back up to the dark line of his visor as he pulled something from one of the pockets on the belt before dropping it carelessly to the floor.

“Arms up.” He barked.

You balked, remaining frozen when you finally saw what was in his hands. A pair of cuffs.

“Up. Now.” Mando grabbed both your wrists in one massive paw and forced them above your head without so much as a peep of resistance from you. The cuffs closed around your wrists with a hiss that made his shoulders ease ever so slightly. His other hand remained on your hip, his thumb pressing into the bone like he was trying to ground himself.

“Mando what-“

“You were gone. I came down and you had taken off. I thought you were hurt or lost, but no, you were running away from me.” His head tipped down, scanning the length of your soft body that wasn’t pressed against him. “And now, you’re saying that I don’t want you, need you.” He kneaded the plush flesh of your hip as he stepped closer, now the whole length of him pushed against you, blocking your view until all you could see was him.

“You were wrong.” You tried to protest but he chose in that moment to press his leg between your own, forcing a whine from your lips before you could even think of smothering it.

“You belong to me.” The world flipped on its axis, knocking the wind from your lungs as the bounty hunter flipped you onto his hard shoulder. You almost expected him to throw open the door and carry you back to the Crest but the Mandalorian tossed you onto the bed in the center of the room, leaving you breathless and very confused.

“I-I can give you back the credits you gave me if that’s what you want.” He yanked at the fasteners on his forearms, letting the armour fall to the ground with a clatter. “Or something…” You trailed off as the beskar on his legs followed, somehow hoping that this was going in the direction you had wished for and it wasn’t some cruel joke he was playing to get back at you.

Mando scoffed beneath his helmet as the chest plate joined the rest of the set, leaving him standing over you in the dark grey flight suit you had seen dozens of times before, but never like this. The front was pulled tight by the heft of his cock pressing against the suit’s seam, a darker patch slowly growing where his bulk ended. 

“You haven’t seen it have you?” With your wrists still bound, you were pliant to his touch. His hands pulled at the shirt you wore, examining it before he suddenly gripped it tight and ripped the fabric apart.

“Hey!” Fear raced through your veins as your body was exposed to the man you had fallen for, you knew he would turn away, find you so wholly disgusting and unattractive that he would leave you on this bed in an inn that could barely be called that on a planet you didn’t know, taking your heart with him when he did. 

“Mesh'la.” His whisper crackled with the modulator in his helmet, but you heard it all the same.

“Please Mando, I’m sorry I left but we both know my usefulness ran out a long time ago. There’s nothing else of me that you want.” You tried to lower your arms over your stomach but he caught your wrists once more and forced them back over your head, keeping you exposed to him.

“I want all of you.” He tugged at the zipper of his suit with his free hand, slowly revealing his own lean body to you. Dark hair speckled his tanned chest, leading down to a soft stomach littered with scars that only added to his beauty. You knew he was strong, immensely so to get his job done, but seeing his strength laid out so plainly to you almost had you drooling. He ripped away the rest of your shirt without much more protest, tearing the fabric apart until all that remained was a thin strip in his hand. “This stays on.”

With more delicacy than you thought him capable of, Mando wrapped the fabric around your eyes, binding it behind your head, blinding you and then removing his touch from you entirely. “Mando, I don’t understand.” Your voice had grown weaker.

“You will.” He assured before another dull thud rang through the room. “I’ll make you understand just how badly I will always need you.” It took you a moment, disoriented from being blindfolded, but you suddenly realised that there was no modulation in his own voice.

“Mando?” 

“Trust me mesh'la.” It was then that his touch returned, burning hot and trembling with desire that you had never felt before. He touched your body with reverence, the tips of his fingers tracing each mark and marr with a soft admiration. “You don’t know what you do to me. So gentle, so soft, so perfect.” Lips followed each careful brush of his fingers.

“I’m not-“ You choked on the protest, tears burned behind your covered eyes.

“I tried to stop myself. I cannot give you the life you deserve but I couldn’t let you go, not after- You are my greatest sin. And my saviour.” Your pants slid down your legs before the weight of the bounty hunter replaced them, your skin flush together, no barriers between you. “And I am never letting you go.”

You tensed in surprise as he pressed his cock against your pussy, letting the heat between you grow unbearable. “I’m not any of those things. I’m not enough.” He froze, though he didn’t pull away.

“You think I’m lying to you.” Anger seeped from his pores. “I don’t lie to you, cyar'ika. Ever. I know you can feel how hard you make me, I’m always like this around you.” His hips pulled back, the tip of his cock falling to notch at your entrance. Even barely pressed into you, you burned with the stretch.

“It’s too much.” 

“You’ll take it.” And with that he blissfully, tortuously, began pushing into you. “You were meant to.” Your back lifted from the thin mattress, arching into him as you took more and more, the length of his cock almost never ending. Your hands curled into fists, your nails biting into the flesh of your palm.

Pain swirled with pleasure, muddying your mind more than any alcohol or spice ever could. Your jaw dropped open as he finally reached the hilt and stopped. “Remember to breathe.”

He drew back and then punched into you, forcing your body further up the bed. You didn’t even get a chance to draw in a breath before he did it again and then again and again until the frame beneath you shook with his power, threatening to collapse if you didn’t move with him.

You yanked your arms down, planting your hands on the solid muscle of his chest like you could steal the air from him in return but Mando grabbed the cuffs and pulled them back up over your head. “Breathe.” You gasped at the reminder, the pain suddenly morphing into blinding ecstasy.

“Please!” You begged, not knowing if you were pleading for mercy or for him to give you more. His lips descended on your neck, coarse hair scratching at the sensitive skin that only fed into the growing feeling in your stomach. His cock hit at something deep inside of you that set your nerves alight.

His body moved against yours perfectly, a dance of pleasure he somehow knew all the steps to already.

“I need you.” You lamented, the words flowing from you like a dam burst inside you. “I was so scared, I needed you and I couldn’t lose you too.” Tears wet the makeshift blindfold, making the fabric darker with each one that fell. 

“I’m sorry, it was all my fault.” He kissed up your jaw with each word. “You were my responsibility and I failed you, both of you.”

“He was mine.” You cried, chasing his lips. You thrust your bound hands into his hair tugging on the thick curls until you could feel the tip of his nose brush yours. “Please, I need-“ He smashed his lips to yours but then quickly pulled away, his voice ringing through your ears once more.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde”

“What’s it mean?” You slurred but instead of an answer, you received a snarl of frustration.

“Repeat it.” His hand pressed down on your stomach like he was trying to feel his cock pounding into you beneath the layer of fat but he only succeeded in adding more pressure to the already building mountain inside of you. You wailed, thrashing beneath him in some vain attempt to escape the pleasure he was inflicting on you but he didn’t relent for a second. He growled and threw one of your legs over his shoulder, forcing himself even deeper inside you.

“Repeat it.” He hit your g-spot with every thrust, brutally pushing you higher and higher. 

“I can’t! I don’t understand!” You sobbed.

He groaned as you tightened around him, your pussy desperately trying to suck him in. “Repeat this; We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.” 

“We are one when together.” The cuffs unlocked and your fingers tangled together with his. “We are one when parted.” Your legs wrapped around his waist. “We will share all.” One of his hands cupped the back of your head, pulling at the knot on the blindfold.

“We will raise warriors.” He repeated with you before he yanked off the fabric. The light blinded you for a moment before he became clear. A halo of warmth surrounded his head, illuminating the delicate, harsh features of his face, a face that had not been seen since he was a child.

“My riddur, my wife.” He cupped your full cheek, wiping away the tears that had been steadily leaking from your eyes. “Say your husband’s name when you cum. Let me feel it.”

Your hips rolled upwards, matching his gentler thrusts as you squeezed his hand. “My husband.” His smile punched a hole right through you, tying the knot in your stomach even tighter.

“Din.” He supplied with a moan against your lips. Your legs wound tighter around him, pulling him into you.

With one more deep roll of his hips, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock brushing your swollen clit, you fell, succumbing to mind-numbing pleasure as you howled his name over and over again. Din shuttered above you, desperately trying to keep up his pace to ride out your orgasm for all its worth.

“Kriff.” He gritted his teeth, his hips catching as his own end barrelled into him. Your thighs sealed him into you as he let out a growl. “I’ll make sure you remember you’re mine with my child in your belly.” Din pinned you to the bed with his hips as molten heat exploded within you, filling you with everything he had. 

Your breaths mixed as you both finally came down from your highs, leaving you sore but pleased. There was so much left to ask, to say, the air was thick with it, but there was only one assurance you could utter to the man above you, in you.

“We will get him back, I promise.” You pressed your lips to his, the scruff of his facial hair poking your skin yet you reveled in the feeling, you may never feel it again. He sighed into the kiss as he slowly softened inside you.

“Do you remember that day in the market? That was the day I knew you were mine, my aliit, my clan.” 

You smiled at him. “That’s the day I knew too. I never thought you’d feel the same.” He kissed you again, his lips unsure but eager against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping him close for just a few seconds longer.

“It’s time we go, find our son.” He pried himself from you and began to gather the discarded pieces of his armour as you attempted to recover from his attentions. The silence and occasional grunt of exertion as Din forced the cold metal back into place, eased your mind. He was here, he came for you with no hesitation and he proved that you were the one he wished to build something new with.

You threw your legs over the edge of the bed, shakily standing as he donned the last of his beskar. You reached for your pants but instead picked up the final piece of his armour. He swung his head around, far too much like Grogu used to when he had lost something, taking a hesitant step further from you in his search. You cleared your throat, immediately bringing his big brown eyes back to you as you lifted the helmet.

“You ripped my shirt.” You reminded him with a smirk, looking down at your bare chest. 

With a sheepish look on his face, Din yanked off his cape and bundled you up in it, making sure you were completely covered before taking the helmet held lovingly in your hands. His smile was the last thing you saw on his face as he placed the helm back onto his head, once again becoming the Mandalorian. He swept you into his arms, keeping your body tight to his chest as he stepped into the hall.

“We will get him back.” He repeated, holding you closer. 

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[freakrenaissance]

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

Acting out

(Din x f! reader one-shot)

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

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

Wordcount: 2.7k 

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

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

ao3 // masterlist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[decembermidnight]

Beskar and Pearls

Summary: Wearing the luxurious gift the Mandalorian gave you while accompanying him on a business trip turns out to be a pleasurable torture.

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ MDNI, teasing in public, Dom!Din, sub!reader, possessive!Din, lots of dirty talk, Din being a sexy arrogant asshole, glove kink, masculinity kink, humiliation kink, hair pulling, unprotected rough sex, mentions of exhibitionism kink, multiple orgasms, multiple creampies (wtf is a refractory period), a hint of overstimulation

A/N: the most coherent thoughts I have while ovulating. I have no excuse. This is FILTHYYYY I hope you enjoy it! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!! Also a big thank you to @thefrogdalorian for making sure it's written in decent English and to @saradika-graphics for the perfect divider 💕

Masterlist - Read on Ao3

The Mandalorian has just landed his ship on Nevarro after spending an entire month catching quarries in the outer rim. He has been away most of the time, but he made sure he'd make up for it every time he came back, too proud and stubborn to admit with words that he missed you, but demonstrating it by spoiling you with luxurious gifts and his body.

You look at him in reverential adoration as he dresses in his armour – a blend of his Mandalorian heritage and the many trophies he acquired from his victims, dark red in colour and dented after many close encounters with death.

He's just finished strapping weapons everywhere on his marvellous body when he addresses you.

“Hey. Got this for you. Wear it. We’re going to the market, I have some business to attend to,” Mando says as he hands you a small drawstring pouch he was hiding in his utility belt.

You immediately open it and its content leaves you speechless. It’s the sexiest piece of underwear you’ve ever seen – an expensive-looking black lace thong with just a string of pearls meant to go between your pussy lips.

If he wants you to wear it while in Nevarro, a lawless planet full of dangerous bounty hunters, you will wear it under the shortest skirt you have. The mere thought of his eyes glued to your ass, hoping to get a glimpse of it while being vigilant of other men at the same time, makes your head spin. You let out an aroused sigh and look at him, impassive as always behind the dark visor.

“That should keep you busy,” Mando chuckles and tilts his helmet.

You immediately wear it along with that short, flowy dress that also happens to be his favourite one on you.

“Let me see it,” he says as his hands grab you by the waist. He brings you closer to him and immediately lifts your skirt. He kneels before you and lets out a satisfied hum when he sees the tempting way the pearls disappear into your slit. The Mandalorian lingers there, dark visor trained on that heavenly view as his gloved hands caress your thighs. The sharp contrast between the coarse leather and your delicate, soft skin gives you a thrill of pleasure. You guess – you hope – the trip won’t take long.

His chestplate rises and falls as he struggles to catch his breath and maintain his composure at the sight of your perfect cunt dressed in pearls. It’s incredible to see how something so dainty could turn out to be so perverse and sinful.

“Come on. Let’s go now,” he says as he stands up. Now at his full height, his imposing figure resumes towering over yours. You admire him in awe, taking in the broadness of his body and the way his armour magnificently highlights it.

He offers you his hand to descend the ramp and as soon as you start walking, you understand why he said that it would keep you busy. With every step that you take, the pearls pleasurably rub against your clit. You can feel yourself getting wet already. There's an aroused expression on your face that Mando does not miss.

"Are you enjoying it?" he asks teasingly.

"Yes," you answer and bite your lip.

"Good,” you can hear how pleased he is seeing you like that after you’ve barely taken a few steps out of the ship. You know the thought of you being so aroused in public while having to control yourself is making him hard. You decide to play his game, see where this leads.

Mando is walking right behind you, strutting proudly as he stalks you like a hunter follows its prey. You feel his gaze trained on your butt, so you accentuate the swaying of your hips to get more friction from the pearls and to seduce him even further, hoping to get a reaction from him.

"Shake your ass as much as you want, you're not getting anything until I'm done here. You're only getting this scum to see how pretty you are. I like it," he slaps your ass and chuckles. You bite your lip to muffle a whimper.

"See the way they're looking at you? If they dare even think of touching you, their dead body will touch the ground before they lay one finger on you," he whispers in your ear as he grabs your hand and positions it over his blaster.

"You are mine," he growls in your ear as he wraps his other hand around your waist. He pulls you close, until the flustered, naked skin of your back touches his cold beskar chest plate. A thrill of excitement traverses your whole body and goes straight between your legs.

No one would be so stupid to touch you, not when a Mandalorian is claiming you as his, not when you can feel his erection against your ass. The whole thing is making you light-headed with arousal, so much that you start to shamelessly rub your ass against his cock. His hand tightens its grasp around your waist as your head rolls back to rest on his shoulder. You sigh in his neck and his hand trails up and wraps around your throat.

"Behave now," the Mandalorian growls as you feel his fingers tightening their grasp, trying to restrain himself from giving into lust already.

“I want you,” you whisper in his neck.

“I know,” he replies confidently before releasing you. What an arrogant motherfucker. You want to make him so hard he’ll want to bring you back to the ship and fuck your brains out, putting his desire for you before his stupid pride and his business. You want him to surrender to his carnal instinct.

The more steps you take, the more desperate you become for relief from this agonising, yet pleasurable torture. The pearls are stimulating your clit mercilessly, without ever getting you close to an orgasm. Your cunt spasms and clenches and what's worse is that he knows. Mando has spent so long quietly studying his bounties that he can tell by the irregular way you're breathing that you're struggling with the sensation. You bet he's enjoying every second of it, smirking under the helmet.

Just before entering the market area, he pulls you closer to him one more time, making you gasp.

"Now be quiet. You wouldn't want to fuck up my business. Be a good girl," he whispers softly in your ear as you feel his hand on your lower belly—close, so close to where you want him the most. Maker, he’s rock hard. You can feel it. You can’t think of anything else when his erection is pressing against your ass and his arm is tightly wrapped around your waist. He lets you go and you enter the market area together.

You try to divert your attention on whatever item they’re selling in the stands but it’s mostly weapons and things for bounty hunters that you couldn’t care less about. You can feel your arousal starting to drip down your legs, making your inner thighs slippery. Your swollen clit is pulsing and begging for attention, but Mando has been clear - you’ll get nothing until I'm done here, and you know nothing could make him change your mind, unless you play your cards right.

He grabs a seat in a beat-up wooden booth, his legs spread wide due to the massive erection trapped in his pants. There is an undeniable air of confidence and arrogance to him when he sits like this, looking so imposing and authoritative. You wish you could just drop to your knees and please him in any way he wants.

"Be my good pretty whore and sit here," Mando invites you to sit on his thigh and you immediately comply. You're so damn wet, you can't keep your legs closed.

"Hmm? Sitting here like this with your legs spread open? Do you want everyone to see your pretty cunt? Better let them know to whom this belongs, don't you think?" he coos in your ear with his husky voice. He knows you're both perfectly concealed and no one could see what's going on under that table. He's doing that just to prove a point—that you belong to him.

You nod mindlessly as his hand cups your cunt and stays there, still, without moving.

"Mando. Mando I need–" you whisper in his neck in a trembling voice.

"Oh. I know," he says, pleased when he sees how flustered you're getting. "Not yet," he growls as one of his gloved fingers trails your slit. He stops right before your clit, making you whimper and grip his arm tight in response. You dig your nails in his flightsuit as he feels how unbelievably wet you are.

"Hey. Behave now," he whispers as a Rodian approaches the booth and takes a seat, greeting him with a nod of his head. He immediately hands Mando a puck.

You have no idea what they’re talking about – you can't focus on anything else apart from the way Mando’s gloved hand holds the puck. You look at his fingers with pure lust, thinking of them touching your clit, pumping inside your cunt, the coarse leather caressing your skin. 

You let your hand trail on his inner thigh and he stays surprisingly calm, not flinching one bit as your fingertips slowly slide higher, until they finally meet his cock. He is so unbelievably hard, you feel him throbbing underneath your fingers as you trail them all over his length. The Mandalorian won't betray any emotion, which turns you on even more. He's perfectly calm and collected on the outside, but you bet he'd love to throw you on that table and bury himself in you.

As soon as the Rodian hands Mando a handful of credits as an advance, he leaves.

"Please. Please, I need you," you whisper in his neck.

"I'm not done here. Be patient."

The throbbing need between your legs causes you to ache so badly that you don’t notice another man has approached and taken a seat until he begins speaking with the Mandalorian.

They're speaking in a foreign language, and Mando’s interlocutor does not seem happy. Judging by their tones of voice and gestures, they appear to be negotiating the fee for Mando collecting a certain bounty that the man needs capturing and he is displeased that Mando commands a high price. You’ve learnt over the time you’ve spent with the Mandalorian that there's not much room for negotiation with him. He has leverage since he's regarded as being the best bounty hunter in the outer rim. The way he speaks is so confident, it makes you even wetter how he does not lose composure while the other man is basically yelling at him. 

He starts running his thumb on the string of pearls digging in your slit, feeling how wet you are for him as he keeps talking to his client while you're sitting in his lap, doing nothing but looking pretty. You're his slut and he wants everyone to know it, but you have to act cool even as he teases you under the table. You have to control the way you breathe, you can't let even the smallest whimper out. Why is this so hot? Why is he so hot?

In the end, the man hands him a hefty amount of credits and rises from the table with a huff, muttering and cursing as he goes.

"Please, take me back to the ship and fuck me. I won't ask for anything else, please," you whisper sensually in the crook of his neck.

"I'm not done here," he tries to appear impassive, but as soon as you resume your touching between his legs, he jerks slightly. You smirk, satisfied.

"Mando…" you trace the outline of his cock with your fingers, feeling how hard his erection is while purring in his neck. His pants are thick, but as you stop right at the tip, drawing circles on it with your fingertips, you can feel the fabric getting slightly damp.

“You’re so hard…” you sigh sensually as you keep rubbing his cock. You hear a choked grunt from him, now that he can’t focus on his job anymore, now that he’s at the mercy of your teasing. You’re so tempting, acting so shameless in public, the thrill of someone noticing the two of you drives him insane and you know it. You’re finally getting your revenge. You can bet he's close to losing control. Mando is twitching in his pants, his breathing getting heavier and heavier...

"Fuck it." He grabs you by the arm and you rush out of the market and back to the ship.

The Mandalorian doesn't even wait for the ramp to close behind him to bend you over the first crate he finds, kicking your legs open with his feet and freeing his throbbing erection. His gloved hands run up your skirt and position themselves around your hips, keeping you steady for him as he slams into you all at once. He meets no resistance from your drenched cunt whatsoever, leaving you breathless as you exhale in a loud moan. You're crushed between the crate and his beskar body, pleasurably forced to take his thick cock. You're only able to let out ragged groans and clamp tightly around him as he finally gives it to you just like you wanted.

"You. Fucking whore. Couldn't wait for me to finish my business. Wanted this dick so much, hm? Are you happy now?!" his thrusts are furious and relentless, his hips crushing your body against the crate with a devastating force. The angle at which he's hitting you is deep, so deep that you can't even prop yourself up on your shaky elbows. You're just getting brutally fucked without dignity.

"You get so disobedient when you want this cock. Maybe I should just tie you up and gag you?"

You can't even mumble words, too absorbed by the feeling of his cock thrusting inside of you, so aroused at the idea of him using your body for his pleasure.

"You're so wet. Damn. It must have been such a torture, right? To be so wet and turned on? Hearing you beg like that made me so fucking hard. Feel it. Feel what you do to me," he rasps as he rails you deep and hard.

The way the pearls are rubbing against your clit and the perfect rhythm of his thrusts are driving you close to the edge already.

"Mando, Mando, I'm–" you can barely mumble as you helplessly drag your hands against the crate.

"Yeah. Come. Seems like it's the only thing that will make you obedient. You wanted it so much, you can have as many as you want today."

'Thank you, thank you, tha–" your blissful chant is abruptly cut as the orgasm takes control over your body. Your cunt clenches hard around his thick cock and your legs jerk uncontrollably, barely touching the ground as he keeps you still and never stops drilling into you as you ride your high. The pleasure is so intense, it leaves you breathless as your cunt keeps involuntarily spasming around him in aftershock. You're panting against the metal crate beneath you, overwhelmed and reduced to a trembling, feeble mess, the coldness of it is a relief against the hot, flustered skin of your body that won't stop begging for him.

"Is this what you wanted, hm? For me to stop everything I was doing to come here and take care of you? Needy girl. You desperately wanted attention, hm?"

You can only mumble in assent, feeling the way he takes out his rage on you.

"Bet you would've let me fuck you in a dirty fucking alley if I wanted to."

"Y-yes–" you reply in a breathy groan, drenching yourself at the mere thought.

"What a slut. What if someone heard you screaming like that? What if someone heard how wet this pussy is when I fuck it? Fuck, you're dripping!"

For a man who barely speaks in normal circumstances, he sure does like to run his mouth when he's buried deep inside of you.

"Yeah. I bet you'd like it if someone saw me fucking you like the slut that you are," he pants and you start whimpering and clamping around him at the idea.

"I knew it. You're such a whore. But you are mine, and I won't let anyone hear these pretty moans and see this perfect cunt. They belong to me. To me," he growls.

"Yes – yes. I fuck–ing b-belong to you," you repeat mindlessly.

"Does it get this much to get you this wet? Just a string of pretty pearls? Looking so fucking good. So fucking good. Are you enjoying it?"

"Yes, Mando!"

"Shit, you're so tight. You're making me come," he says in a broken voice. His thrusts get erratic, as does his breathing "This cunt is so perfect, so fucking perfect," he emphasises the very last word before bursting, spilling hot and wet inside of you in a ragged groan, whining at how good it feels. His muscles tense and he gets rigid behind you, his head rolling back in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck! You're so hot. Spill all of your cum inside of me. Like this, yes!" you cry and start touching your clit, so turned on at the sight and feeling of his orgasm.

The sounds he makes as he comes are the hottest ones you have ever heard. The infamous Mandalorian – stoic, imposing and menacing – is getting lost in the overwhelming pleasure you’re offering him. Your drenched, tight pussy is making that dangerous warrior crumble. You’re so aroused, you need more.

"Please, please don't stop fucking me!" you dare asking him.

"I won't," he grunts as he keeps burying his dick deep, so deep inside of you.

"Don't stop. Don't stop. Oh, fuck, I need you to fuck me harder, please!" you plead as you feel his cum starting to drip down your hole. "Maker, please!" you say as you start frantically slapping and rubbing your clit as you hear the obscene, sloppy sounds of his cock thrusting in and out of you, of his hips slamming against your ass.

"I won't stop. Fuck, I want more. I can't stop. You drive me fucking insane!" he growls, resembling a wild beast, completely overwhelmed by lust. You feel his cock still pulsing inside of you as you get even wetter.

"Look at this perfect cunt. You're so full of my cum, damn, you can't ever get enough of it, can you? Fucking cum slut. Look what you make me do. Just came inside of you but I can't stop fucking this perfect cunt. You want to drain me. Are you proud of yourself, hm? Making me so fucking hard in public and teasing me like the whore that you are."

"Fuck, yes, I'm your whore. Your slave. I'm so close, please–" you mutter deliriously while your fingers and the pearls are rubbing against your clit in a wet, nasty mess of your fluids and his cum. You come hard around him once again, strangling his spent, sensitive cock in your tight grasp and hear him grunting, his grip on your hips tightens and his whole body jerks, but he really can’t have enough.

"Yeah. Yeah. Come on my fucking cock, whore. Let me feel it." he encourages you, gritting those words between his teeth, fighting his own oversensitivity, so addicted to the way you feel around him.

He doesn't stop fucking you, not even after your orgasm. He keeps railing you relentlessly. You bring your hand to your mouth and suck your fingers, tasting the bitterness of his cum blended with the slightly salty taste of your fluids on your tongue. Its taste is addicting, the scent heady and intoxicating in the best way possible.

"You taste so good, Mando. We taste so good together," you drawl, overwhelmed by pleasure.

"Yeah, I bet we do," he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls it to lift your head up, giving it to you even harder, making your eyes roll back in your head. You are screaming, completely entranced by the way his cock is still pumping hard inside of you.

"So damn loud. You like being fucked like this, hm?"

He hits even harder from this angle, keeping you nice and still for him to use as he pleases. You're so busy screaming that you can't even reply to him.

"Yeah. Scream as loud as you want. Let me hear how much you want it. I like it."

You can feel his cum dripping down your legs with every thrust, hearing the sloppy, squelching sounds your bodies make. Mando can't even restrain himself anymore, he’s moaning and sighing at how much he's enjoying it. Your cunt is spasming around him, turned on at the way he sounds.

"You like it, hm? To reduce me like this?" he says in between thrusts.

The truth is that yes, you do. You love making the Mandalorian falter with your teasing, making him so desperate and boiling with lust, he has to leave business to fuck you hard, so hard that any coherent thought leaves your mind. You love it when you can feel the man under all that beskar, when he makes you feel like the most important and beautiful thing in the galaxy.

"Yeah, you do," he answers himself as he slows his rhythm, slipping out of you completely only to slowly bury himself inside of you to the hilt, enjoying the view and feeling of his cock entering into your cunt dripping with his cum.

You bite your lip to muffle your screams just to hear him moaning and sighing as he feels the welcoming warmth of your cunt.

“Mando. Mando, please,” you beg as you feel your legs impatiently shaking as his shaft rubs that perfect spot inside of you with each thrust.

“What?”

“Harder. Please?” you beg, subjugated by that perfect teasing.

He slams into you so deeply that you feel it pulsing against your cervix.

“What? Like this? Hm?” he says as he starts to jackhammer you.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you chant as you resume touching your clit.

“Greedy whore. Ready for another one? I'm not stopping.”

“Mmmm,” you can only reply as you feel another wave of overwhelming pleasure approaching.

You hear him panting as he gives you a few more violent, deep thrusts, driving you over the edge one more time.

“Yeah. Take it – fucking t-take–” he grunts when he feels your walls clenching around his cock, your orgasm pushing him over the edge, too.

A loud, violent snarl rips through his lips as he comes, filling you with his white, thick load once again. The grip of his hands around your hips turns to steel, your eyes roll up so high all you can see is pitch black as he keeps pumping his cock into you as you both ride your high. The feeling completely obliterates you, turning your body and mind into a helpless, exhausted mess.

A huge, satisfied grin forms on your face as you feel him slowly slip out of you and his cum starts dripping down your cunt and legs.

“Good work," he pants "now be a good girl and wait for me while I go back there. Don’t move one muscle and maybe we will pick up where we left off,” he says as he tucks his spent cock in his cum stained pants, not giving a shit about it, looking at the mess he made of you, disrupted and leaking with his seed. Wrecked, used, marked. His.

[ak-vintage]

I'd Like To...

Pairing: Modern DILF Din Djarin x Plus Size F!Reader

Summary: Din has always struggled to prioritize his own happiness, even more so now that he is a single father. When some well-meaning friends create a dating app profile for him without his knowledge, he finds himself on his first date in years with a woman who seems determined to bring some much-needed softness to his life.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Present-day AU, dating app AU, dual POV, no use of Y/N, private security Din, photographer reader, reader is a plus size woman but otherwise minimal descriptions provided, age gap (unspecified but enough to be noticed), Grogu is a human toddler, Cara is the ultimate wingman, good dad Din, touch-starved Din, fluff, SMUT – exhibitionism, semi-public acts, brief oral sex (m! receiving), protected p in v sex, dirty talk, rough but sweet, switch-y vibes for both Din and reader

Word Count: ~18.3K (I have no excuse...)

Written for @hellishjoel's Hot DILF Summer Challenge. I am unforgivably late to this event, and I’m so, so sorry. I hope the truly preposterous length makes up for it – it really got out of hand!

Dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

Cara Dune had never been good at subterfuge.

She was loud, decisive, commanding – a “do no harm but take no shit” kind of person who wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty in a risky situation or to stick her neck out for what she believed. Cara didn’t have the constitution for stealth. She didn’t do subtle or – god forbid – sneaky; it simply wasn’t a part of her DNA. All of her colleagues were well aware of this, of course, so why, out of all of the consultants of Fett Security, Inc., she was the person that the group had selected for this particular mission was something she would never understand.

But, as a former soldier, if there was one thing Cara knew how to do, it was follow orders, so when the task fell to her, she took it on the chin and threw herself into it headfirst.

Which was how she found herself awkwardly hunched over at her desk, broad shoulders rounded protectively around her phone as she scrolled through various social media accounts, screenshotting as she went. A suspicious behavior for anyone, but even more so knowing that the images she was grabbing were all of the same man – her best friend and coworker, Din Djarin.

Nearly a decade ago, Din had been one of the first people Boba Fett had recruited to join his private security firm, and ever since, he had been the kind of man who ate, slept, and breathed the job. There was no doubt that Fett Security owed a great deal of its growth and success in the industry to Din’s expertise, but that hadn’t left him with a lot of opportunity for a full life outside of work. Or, perhaps more accurately, Din simply hadn’t made such a thing a priority.

When pressed about it, he would say that it hardly mattered; all of his friends eventually came to work for the firm anyway, Fett collecting them all like trading cards over the years, so he saw them plenty. What more could he need?

Of course, he came to eat his own words about a year ago when he rather unexpectedly became the foster parent – then adoptive parent – of a little boy, a tiny thing with no living relatives in a part of the city that had had a severe shortage of foster families for years. Din himself had grown up in the system, a fact he talked about rarely, but nevertheless, the experience had shaped him in a fundamental way. He had jumped at the opportunity to take in the kid, and overnight, he transformed from a man who buried himself in his work to a man who lived for the whim of a little boy with floppy, sandy-brown curls, wide, dark eyes, and comically large ears.

It was clear to anyone who knew him well – Din had been meant to be a father, and as his closest friend, Cara had found a great deal of joy in watching the new role shape and soften him into a version of himself that felt truer and more authentic to who he was at his core. But all of his friends agreed: when it came to his personal life, having a child had done nothing but exacerbate the problem. He was still working just as many hours as he had before, only now, when he did have time to himself, he rarely left the house without his son in tow. He had stopped joining the team for drinks after gigs, his appearances at company barbecues were fewer and farther between, and who knew how long it had been since the man had been on an actual date?

Din was lonely – Cara could tell. He loved his job, and he adored his son, but it wasn’t enough anymore. There was a hollowness to him, a shadow around his eyes. Something had to give, and so during their last group outing, the team had come together and formulated a plan. A plan which involved Cara harvesting a selection of photos of Din from various corners of the internet, writing up a quick bio, and creating an online dating profile for him.

Without his knowledge.

Cara hardly relished keeping this secret from her friend, but she knew that if she or anyone else had broached the subject with him beforehand, he would have dismissed it out of hand. He would have made up some excuse about doing just fine on his own, that he didn’t need anyone else when he had his son; she could almost hear his low, rasping scoff now. His refusal would be swift and final, and that would be the end of that.

But sometimes, being a good friend meant doing something in the best interest of the other person even when that person would disapprove.

And Cara had found that sometimes it was better to ask for forgiveness than for permission.

Sending a surreptitious glance around the open office space, Cara breathed a quiet sigh of relief at Din’s empty desk. The man didn’t have any of his own social media accounts, finding the whole concept frivolous and a little bizarre, so she was stuck scrolling through her own and those of their friends in an attempt to harvest a few that would be acceptable for a dating profile. It was taking longer than she had anticipated, and she still had to set up his age, gender, and location preferences and write up a brief bio for him before she was due at a job in an hour. The time crunch had her clenching her jaw as she worked.

Tonight at the bar, she planned to recruit some of their friends to help her get Din set up with a selection of matches. And all of them would owe her a beer for her trouble.

 Din, the profile read. 45, 5’11”, Private Security Consultant.

Hardworking, outdoorsy, handy. Love vintage cars and motorcycles. Former boxer, teach self-defense classes at the community center on the weekends. Single father to a little boy who is my whole universe. Looking for someone to give me an excuse to get me out of the house, curb my workaholic tendencies, and show me the softer side of life.

“‘The softer side of life?’” Bo smirked around the rim of her beer as she read, Cara’s phone in her hand sticky from being passed around all night. “Cara Dune, you’ve been holding out on us. Who knew you were such a romantic?”

The crew gathered around the end of the bar all laughed as Cara rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her own drink. “What can I say? A bitch contains multitudes,” she replied with a shrug. “But the profile’s good, right? We can start swiping?”

The redhead nodded, neat bob brushing her sharp jaw as she passed the phone back to its owner. “Yeah, I think you’ve got him down.”

“Good call including the bit about the motorcycles,” Axe quipped with a grin. He waggled his dark eyebrows significantly, adding, “Ladies love that stuff. Speaking from experience.”

From her place tucked into his side, arm wrapped around his waist beneath his leather jacket, Koska offered him a tongue-touched smile and butted her head against his chest affectionately. “You’re not wrong.”

Paz returned from the other end of the bar then, shouldering his way through the crowd with six overflowing pints balanced in his massive hands. “What did I miss?” he asked as he passed each of them out to his waiting friends.

Fennec curled her lip in mild disgust as he sloshed a portion of her beer down the side of her glass, soaking her hand. She sat the pint down on the edge of the well-worn bar and drug her fingers demurely across her black jeans as she said, “Nothing, we’re just about to start picking matches.”

“Good.” He downed half of his own pint in a single glug, thick neck working in the low light. “Let’s do this. The guy needs to get laid.”

With a mock-salute of his glass, Axe groaned his agreement. “Maybe if he loosens up a little, he’ll get off my ass about taking over the Organa account. I swear to god, if I have to spend one more fucking charity dinner trailing after those stuffed-shirts, I think my head is going to explode.”

Fennec shot him an icy, closed-lipped smile. “We both know that was my suggestion, not Djarin’s. You’re a good fit for it, Woves. The sooner you learn how to play ball with the politicians, the sooner we can start putting you on more high-profile jobs.”

“Yeah, babe.” Koska’s dark eyes flashed teasingly. “Maybe then you can come join me and Bo on the Skywalker account. Finally start playing with the big boys.”

Bo snorted into her beer, sending a fine spray of the stuff flying as the rest of the group broke into peals of laughter.

“All right, all right, settle down,” Cara urged, passing Bo a napkin. “This has nothing to do with any of us, right? This is about Din. He’s busted his ass for every one of us for years – it’s his turn to catch a break. So let’s stay on task, okay? Now…” With a few taps and a swipe, she brought up the app once more and flipped to the matches tab. “What do we think of her?”

“Dune.”

“Djarin.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

The dark-haired, hawk-eyed woman quirked an eyebrow at him, phone in hand, the thing still extended toward him, waiting for him to take it. “I could do that. But then I’d be lying, and we both know that doesn’t fly with you.”

Din Djarin gritted his jaw and turned his back to her, focusing instead on tossing his towel, lifting gloves, and empty water bottle into his gym bag and slinging it over his shoulder. It wasn’t unusual for Cara to join him for his daily pre-shift workout. She was a reliable spotter, and he liked the playlists she piped through the Bluetooth speakers in the company gym, but there had been something off about her that morning – something cagey and distracted where she was normally the picture of focus. After one too many attempts at getting her attention had resulted in a distant “huh?”, he had decided that enough was enough and demanded an explanation.

With only the faintest traces of guilt shadowing her gaze, she had made her confession. A dating app. She had signed him up for a fucking dating app, and apparently, the whole team was in on it. The bunch of traitors.

“You can go ahead and delete it,” he growled, casting a scathing glance over his shoulder as he made for the locker room. “I’m not interested.”

A strong, blunt-nailed hand wrapped around his elbow, pulling his retreat up short. “Oh, come on, lighten up a little,” Cara entreated. “When was the last time you went out with someone, huh?”

He shrugged her grip off of him. “I go out with you and the team all the time.”

Behind him, his closest friend groaned dramatically. “You know that’s not what I meant. But, while we’re at it, you haven’t exactly been doing much of that, either, big guy. In fact, maybe if you did come out with us once in a while, you could meet a nice girl at a bar or a sporting event or a festival like a fucking normal person, and I wouldn’t have to resort to mining photos of you off our friends’ socials and making you a dating profile in secret.”

“That isn’t fair,” Din snapped, whirling around to face her. “I can’t just be out until all hours of the night anymore. I have my kid to think about. I thought you understood that.”

“Of course, I understand that! No one expects you to be there every time. Not even most of the time! But Din…” Cara let out a sigh, and he watched as that contentious spark fizzled out of her dark eyes, fading into something softer and more earnest. “You are an amazing father. Anyone who has ever seen you with that little boy knows that. But that isn’t all you are. Just like work isn’t all you are. How long have we known each other?”

He ground his teeth and ran his hand through his sweat-damp hair, pushing it back from his face. “About eight years.”

“Eight years,” she echoed, nodding. “I know you, Din Djarin, and I can tell. You’re burning out.”

Something squeezed in his chest at the raw honestly of his friend’s words, and he found himself having to look away. She was right, of course, as she often was. He had always struggled with giving too much of himself – first as a boxer in the ring, then as one of the founding members of Fett Security, then as one of its most senior consultants, and now as a father. As a younger man, he had thrived on it; the busier he was, the harder he worked, the more he proved himself, the better he felt.

But now, knocking on the doors of middle age, he found that the breakneck pace of his life was starting to fray him at the edges. He felt worn through in places and dangerously thin in others, and although he would never admit to anyone, his bed had never felt colder. The small handful of meaningless, one-night flings he had permitted himself over the last few years had left him feeling ill-used and unsatisfied, and when he took his son out to a new restaurant or to the zoo or to the beach, he couldn’t help but feel the distinct absence of another person.

There ought to have been another person holding his kid’s other little hand in the park, patiently walking the unsteady toddler between them. There ought to have been another person feeding the boy ice cream afterward, singing him songs, telling him stories, settling him down for a nap.

There ought to have been another person in his bed – holding him close, playing with his hair, whispering his name in the dark as soft lips traced down his neck…

Fuck. Din Djarin was lonely.

“Listen, I’ll tell you what,” Cara said eventually, pulling him out of his musings. “We’ll get the app set up on your phone, you can log in to your profile, and you can just…take a look at the matches we already got for you. You don’t have to go through any on your own, just the ones we’ve already found. And if you hate them all, we’ll delete your profile and be done with it. But if any of them look even remotely interesting, I really think you should try to connect with them. There has to be more to your life than work and your kid. There has to be, or you’re going to run yourself into the ground. I’m not going to let that happen on my watch.”

Her words hung in the air for a moment, blunt and painfully sincere, and then Din was squeezing the pressure points on the sides of his nose and releasing a reluctant sigh.

“Fine,” he groaned. “I’ll take a look at them over lunch. Happy?”

She grinned victoriously and cuffed him on the shoulder, the gesture warm and fraternal. “Ecstatic. Now hit the showers, Djarin, you stink.”

Cara was at his desk at noon on the dot, barely waiting for him to finish sending off an email to a potential client before she was closing his laptop, dragging him bodily out of his chair, and escorting him out of the building and across the street to their favorite sandwich shop. A few minutes later, equipped with a pair of overstuffed Reubens and a couple bags of chips, the two were settled into a back corner booth with Din’s phone between them.

“Okay, there you go,” she proclaimed, sliding the thing across the table to him with a triumphant grin. “App’s installed, and you’re all logged in.”

The man wiped a napkin across his face and fought the urge to sigh. “Let’s get this over with.” Thumbing through the interface, he fumbled for a bit before finally landing on the tab that contained his list of users with bright pink heart icons next to their profile pictures.

“Now these are people that already matched with me?” he asked, suddenly feeling a bit out of his depth.

“Yep! Me and the crew did some swiping for you the other night.”

Din simply blinked at her. “Swiping?”

Cara’s mouth twisted into a thin line, as though she were attempting to swallow a smirk and failing miserably, and he felt the distinct desire to melt into the plastic cushion of the booth and disappear. “It’s how you indicate whether you’re interested in matching with someone. Swipe right for yes, swipe left for no.”

“So these are the people you…swiped right on?”

“Not quite,” she clarified with a shake of her head. “These are the people we swiped right on who also swiped right on you.”

Din’s brows nearly met his hairline at that. “They wanted to match with me, too?”

“Yeah, dumbass, they did.”

“Hey. Watch it,” he growled, jabbing a finger in her direction as he felt his hackles raise. “You know I don’t know anything about this shit. Cut me a little bit of slack, okay?”

Cara sighed, and her expression shifted from needling to softly exasperated. “Yeah, no kidding, I’m aware. I didn’t call you a dumbass because you don’t know anything about online dating. I called you a dumbass because you act like you’re surprised that people want to match with you.”

Oh.

Cocking his head at her, he replied, “Why wouldn’t that surprise me?”

“Umm…” All of the softness in her face disappeared, and instead she glared at him like he had just grown a second head. “Have you seen yourself? I don’t even like men, and I recognize a DILF when I see one.”

“A DILF?”

Cara smirked lasciviously. “Yeah, a dad I’d like to – ”

“I know what a DILF is, Cara, fucking hell, can you keep your voice down?” Din instinctually ducked his head, his gaze darting around the sandwich shop as he prayed to whatever deity might be listening that no one had heard them.

The woman let out a bark of laughter, dark hair swinging and eyes crinkling with mirth. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist, old man. No one’s paying any attention to us back here.” Gesturing at the phone in his hand, she added, “Now quit stalling and start scrolling. I think we ended up with ten or so matches before we called it a night? And we were really picky about it, too. There’s gotta be at least one lucky lady in there that tickles your fancy.”

“Hmm.” He hummed dubiously to himself as he opened the first profile in the list, a blonde woman a couple of years his junior with her head tilted back, face in the sun as she posed on some tropical beach. Pretty. Nice smile. Looked friendly. “Suppose I just didn’t think so many women would be interested in dating a single father.”

“Like I said,” Cara shrugged with a wink. “Ladies love a DILF.”

Nearly an hour later, and Din couldn’t help but feel a bit…underwhelmed with the selection of matches his friends had chosen for him. Not that any of them were bad choices, per se. They were lovely women, all of them, with their sunny smiles and their glossy, perfectly-posed photographs and their quippy bios. They were from a variety of backgrounds with a variety of interests, though all struck him as approachable, intelligent, witty. He couldn’t find a red flag in the bunch, which he supposed was a credit both to them and to his friends for sifting through the masses so thoughtfully.

No, it wasn’t the women. It was him, he was sure. What else could explain the…nothingness he felt when he looked at them? The utter lack of interest? Perhaps he had missed his opportunity for such things, he thought to himself. Perhaps he had waited too long, been too content with his own company for too many years.

He could feel Cara’s eyes on him across the table as he came to the last few matches, could sense her impatience at his silence, at his steady, unenthusiastic scrolling. Their plates sat picked over and abandoned between them, chip bags empty and crumpled, sodas drained dry. They were due back in the office any minute, the lunch hour quickly expiring around them, and as reluctant as Din had been to agree to this entire endeavor, he somehow still felt a twinge of guilt at leaving Cara to report back to the rest of the group empty-handed.

But at least he had held up his end of the bargain. No one could say that he didn’t give the idea a chance. It simply wasn’t meant to be.

Of course, that was until he reached the second-to-last match on the list.

Absently, Din tapped on your picture, opening your profile, and almost immediately, he felt himself straighten in his seat.

You were…stunning.

Wide, bright eyes. A warm, mischievous smile that teased him through the camera’s lens, as though you had a secret you were taunting him with, daring him to ask, to figure it out. Your photos were unique – mostly candids, the focus soft, enhanced with a touch of grain and flawlessly lit. And you had a lot of them, more than any other profile he had viewed. As he swiped through them, he came upon one of you in an easy, flowing blouse, hair windswept around your face, a DSLR camera with a colorful, well-worn strap slung around your neck.

He quickly scanned your profile header, taking in your name, your age, your distance from his location. Photographer, the profession field indicated.

And…shit. You were young. More than a decade his junior, on the very edge of what he would consider an acceptable age difference in typical circumstances. The gap wasn’t enough for it to be an immediate disqualifier, but it certainly was enough that if the two of you were to walk down the street together hand-in-hand, others might take a second glance.

He should un-match with you. It would be the right thing, the responsible thing to do.

And yet…

Din swiped through a handful of your other photos. Fuck, but you were sweet. Full, soft curves with wide, plush hips, heavy breasts, thick thighs. Little glimpses of soft skin peeking through comfortable clothing, airy cottons and silky satins and well-loved denims that his palms itched to touch. He wanted to feel the texture of you under his hands, the lush and the give of you beneath his fingertips…

Your last photo was one taken of you at sunrise, your soft body clad in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a pair of barely-there spandex shorts. Your limbs were stretched and bent into some strange configuration he recognized as a yoga pose, your leg pressed back near your face at an angle that had blood rushing to his cock, his head immediately filled with images of your body contorted in a similar position as he pressed you into his mattress.

New to the city, looking for someone to show me all the best places to get a couple drinks and people watch. Professional photographer living my dream of documenting the most important moments of people’s lives. In my spare time, I like to get out in nature and go hiking, practice yoga, and travel. Excellent home cook, terrible at karaoke. Love dogs, love kids. Let me take your picture so I know it’s real.

Damnit.

You were perfect.

“Okay over there, Djarin?”

Din’s gaze snapped up to meet Cara’s over the table, taking in the quirk of her brow, the suspicious twist of her mouth, and he felt a flush of heat rush up the back of his neck and settle high on his cheekbones. He had been staring. Really staring, and with his mouth open, he realized, mortified. He slammed his jaw shut, his teeth clicking unpleasantly in his skull, and he shifted in his seat.

“Uh,” he muttered dumbly. This throat was so dry, his voice crackled around the syllable as though he hadn’t spoken all day. He cleared it quickly and nodded once. “Yeah. Fine. Uh – ” Flipping the phone around to face his companion, he slid it back across the laminate tabletop. “Her,” he said, tapping the screen with the tip of his finger. “I’ll go out with her.”

Had he not already been blushing, the cat-like grin of victory that Cara sent him certainly would have done it.

“Gonna have to message her first, big guy. Think you can figure out how to do that, or you want me to show you?”

Din’s flush darkened as he yanked the phone back toward himself, feeling a muscle in his jaw tick. “I can manage,” he snarked, and she scoffed a laugh.

However, as it turned out, as he opened the messages tab from your profile, he discovered that you had already taken the initiative and messaged him.

hey din – such a cool name! looks like we have a few things in common. i’d love to get to know you if you’re interested! 😊

Short. Sweet. Polite. Direct.

He swallowed thickly, feeling something suspiciously like butterflies take up residence in his gut. Scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck, he looked back up at Cara sheepishly.

“Actually…yeah, maybe I could use some help.”

You were sitting cross-legged in your oversized office chair, headphones on and iced coffee leaving a ring of condensation on the surface of your desk, when you saw the dating app notification pop up on your phone screen.

1 New Message, it read.

You glanced back and forth between your phone and your computer screen for a moment, debating. You had promised yourself you would be heads-down today, having started to accumulate more of an editing backlog than you typically preferred. The shoot you were working on this afternoon – an engagement session taken in the gardens outside the local art gallery – was due to the clients by the end of the week, and if you wanted to meet that deadline, you couldn’t afford to get distracted.

And yet you couldn’t help but wonder whether the message was a response – finally – from the man you had matched with a couple days ago. The one with the unusual name, the dark curls and even darker eyes, the strong nose and the sharp jaw and the soft, gentle smile. Broad shoulders, big, masculine hands, and a handful of pictures featuring a little boy, no more than two or three years old, his face either turned away from the camera or covered with a little green frog emoji for privacy.

Din the security consultant. Din the vintage car enthusiast. Din the self-defense instructor.

Din the DILF.

You had fired off a message to him as soon as you had gotten confirmation that he had liked you back, and he had been taking up space in your mind ever since. You had always preferred your men a little older, a little more experienced, and the fact that he was a dad, and a proud one at that, had gotten your motor running immediately. He looked like the kind of guy who knew the best bar in town to get an old fashioned and how to grill a good steak. He looked like the kind of guy who would open your car door for you, who would drive one-handed while the other rested calmly, possessively on your thigh. He looked like his palms were calloused and like his skin smelled good even fresh from the gym.

He looked like he had a big –

Fucking hell. It had been a long time since a man had given you this kind of brainrot without ever even meeting him. It was embarrassing and very much not consistent with your independent woman-about-town image you wore like a suit of armor. But you had never been the type of person to deny yourself. If you saw something you wanted, you went for it – full speed ahead. And Din…you definitely wanted Din.

If there was even a slight chance it was him…

Before you could overthink it any further, you saved your progress on your current edit, dropped your headphones around the back of your neck, and scooped up your phone. Tapping the notification, you brought up your messages tab and found one unread message staring back you.

It was from him.

Hi there. It’s nice to meet you. You seem like an interesting person. I would like to get to know you, too. Where is your favorite place you have traveled?

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, smothering a grin as though others might spot it and tease you despite being alone in your apartment. Something about the way he wrote – the dry punctuation, the complete, grammatically-correct sentences, the lack of emojis – all of it screamed someone who didn’t spend much time communicating electronically, let alone online dating. It was a refreshing change from the men you typically met on the apps, the whole thing endearing rather than off-putting and doing nothing to discourage your impression of his “dad” persona.

Poking out your tongue a little in concentration, you tapped out a quick response before you could lose your nerve.

ooo good question! hard to pick a favorite, but if i have to choose, i’d say thailand. i went there with some friends after we graduated college and we got to volunteer at an elephant sanctuary for a few days. coolest experience of my life hands down! what about you? are you a traveler?

His response came much faster than you expected, certainly faster than his response to your initial message.

I used to be. When I was first getting started, I used to travel a lot for work. I have been all over. I am more settled these days. It’s difficult to travel with a toddler on my own.

You nodded to yourself. That made sense. His boy looked young, and he was a self-described single father. You wondered what the story was there, but that was a level of personal that you didn’t need to dive into just yet. For now, your focus was on making sure this conversation didn’t fizzle out.

Frowning slightly, you realized he hadn’t really included anything in that message to prompt much of a response. However, before you could begin to fish around for something to send in reply, another message appeared.

Your profile says you’re a photographer. Your pictures are very unique. I don’t know much about photography, but I can tell that you have an eye for it. What made you interested in that field?

With a huff of a laugh and a mortifyingly strong flush, you closed out of Lightroom and abandoned your headphones on their stand. You weren’t getting any more work done for a while – you could already tell.

The two of you messaged back and forth several more times that day, then again in fits and spurts over the next three days.

You shared how you got your start in photography and the way your best clients were the ones who embraced your photojournalistic style. You didn’t care for shots that were staged or overly posed, you told him. You liked capturing people’s authentic feelings in the moment, and he quipped that he had never been comfortable posing for photos anyway, so you should get along just fine.

You talked about how both of you desperately wanted a dog but neither of you were in a place where getting one would be a responsible choice. You compared your favorite local hiking trails and determined that although he had lived in the area for far longer than you, you had significantly more experience trekking through the nearby national park. You learned a lot about the ’81 Honda Goldwing that he had lovingly restored, how he used to ride it to and from work every day but that now it sat under a protective tarp in the back of his garage most of the time. It wasn’t exactly a toddler-friendly form of transportation, he explained.

In a moment of vulnerability, you confessed that you had moved to the city as a result of a breakup, in an attempt to get a change of scenery far from the place where you had made a home with another man. He confessed that he had never really made time for relationships in the past, but that his son had made him realize that there was plenty of room in his life for love. He finally felt ready to try, and you finally felt ready to try again.

You told him you thought he was stupidly handsome, that you had no idea how he was single if he didn’t want to be. He told you that he had thought the same about you.

Except I would call you beautiful. Not handsome. I guess unless that’s what you prefer?

no lmao, you wrote back. beautiful is fine. beautiful is perfect.

On day four of…whatever this newfound acquaintance was, you spent the full day shooting a wedding – from getting ready to first looks to family photos to the ceremony to the reception. You swore you could feel your phone burning a hole in your pocket the entire time, but you managed to stay professional and present throughout the length of your contracted hours. By the time you stumbled into your apartment, you were so exhausted, you couldn’t have been more eager to pour yourself some wine and melt into the couch with some trashy reality television. You were changed into your pajamas and a glass and a half deep by the time you allowed yourself to check your phone.

Buried beneath all of the other notifications you had gotten throughout the day, there was a single pop-up from your dating app.

1 New Message, it read. Received four hours ago.

Skipping past all of the other demands on your attention, you opened that notification first.

Hi sweetheart. I know you were photographing that wedding today, so don’t let me interrupt you. We can talk tomorrow, but if you could please message me when you’re done for the night? It would make me feel better to know that you made it home safe.  

Hi sweetheart, he had said.

Sweetheart.

A rush of heat passed over you at his words, and you swallowed thickly, wine burning its way down your throat at the thought of Din at home thinking about you, worrying about you. Had this been any other man, you might have found the message a bit overbearing, especially this early on, but rather than feeling controlled or stifled, instead you felt only warmth and safety. You felt…cared for. Protected. Important.

The sensation had you shifting in your seat, gulping down the remainder of your glass in a single go as you felt the apex of your thighs pulse with interest.

Din was so fucking hot, and he had no idea.

Setting your now-empty wine glass on the coffee table, you typed out a rapid reply and hit send.

heyy! made it home okay, thanks for checking in!

Fatigue pulling at your eyelids, arousal burning low in your belly, quickly-consumed wine flushing your limbs with a soft weightlessness, your thumbs seemed to move of their own accord as they tapped out a second message.

din idk how much longer i can keep this up without meeting you. i wanna see your handsome face in person. can i take u out sometime soon? please say yes.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, then immediately tossed your phone to the other end of the couch as though it had burned you. It disappeared into the stack of throw pillows there, and you breathed a sigh of relief. You couldn’t look at it, couldn’t stand to wait for his reply knowing that it was after midnight, knowing that he likely had been asleep for hours and wouldn’t see your messages until morning. Taking a deep, calming breath to steady your nerves, you forced yourself to refocus on the television. One episode, you promised yourself, and then you would get some sleep.

Less than 10 minutes later, you felt the faint vibration of your phone travel through the couch cushions to where you sat, and your show was abandoned without question.

You tossed several of your unnecessarily large throw pillow collection onto the floor in your hasty search, and though you knew you would be annoyed at having to tidy them in the morning, in that moment, you could hardly bring yourself to care.

1 New Message, your phone screen read as you recovered it from the pile. With something akin to nausea roiling in your stomach, you opened the notification and resisted the urge to physically cross your fingers.

Glad to hear you made it home safely.

…

That was all. “Glad to hear you made it home safely.”

Your stomach sank like lead in your abdomen, all of the soft, fuzzy warmth of the wine and your arousal evaporating from your body like sweat on a hot day. Only exhaustion was left in its place – exhaustion and the surprisingly poignant hurt of rejection sitting heavy on your limbs. You had come on too strong, it seemed, stated your desires and intentions too boldly and directly. You ought to have held back more, ought to have waited longer before asking or maybe couched the question in a joke or a suggestion of something more casual first. Or maybe you shouldn’t have asked at all and instead waited for him to ask you out. You supposed men probably preferred that – to be the one to initiate, the one to take charge. Fuck, you were always so impatient, so goddamn eager –

In your sweating palm, your phone buzzed once more, interrupting your string of self-curses.

Nerves roiling beneath your skin, you risked a glance down at it.

1 New Message

You had no control over your body as you opened it, watching the action from inside your own mind as though walking through a dream.

As for your other message, of course my answer is yes. I want to meet you, too, sweetheart. But be warned. Even though you did the asking, I WILL argue with you if you attempt to pay for the whole date yourself. It’s against my personal creed to let a lady pay my way without contributing.

All of the breath left your lungs as you took in his words, reading them over and over again until you could recite them from memory.

He wanted to meet you. He wanted to go out with you.

A high, breathy laugh bubbled over from your chest, spilling through your lips into your quiet apartment like the glistening champagne tower at the wedding this evening. You laughed as you typed, as you hit send. You laughed as you turned off your TV and as you completed your evening skincare routine. You laughed as you crawled into bed, as you burrowed under the covers, delirious and giddy.

i think i can allow it just this once. wouldn’t wanna violate your creed.

It took a handful of messages to determine the best place to meet. Din had offered to pick you up, wanting to treat you right, to be a gentleman, but he did not hold it against you when you turned him down. He understood that meeting a stranger from the internet, particularly as a woman, came with a particular set of risks, and he had no desire to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. He was happy to simply meet you there instead if that would make you feel safer.

Eventually, you settled on a moderately popular restaurant not far from your neighborhood. Din had never been there before, but over the last several days, he had discovered that the two of you shared a love of spicy food, and you had promised that the “modern Mexican fusion” menu did not disappoint.

they also have the cutest patio so we can sit outside if the weather’s nice 😊 , you had said, and he had been sold.

Under the assumption that Din would have a difficult time finding a sitter on a weekday evening, you agreed to wait until Friday to meet. However, the moment he had attempted to discretely broach the subject with Cara while on a jobsite, he immediately had three additional volunteers in Bo, Koska, and Axe, all of whom assured him that they hadn’t been eavesdropping and insisted that he had just been “really fucking loud” with his question.

So perhaps finding a sitter would not have been as challenging as he presumed.

Regardless, the two of you continued to chat throughout the week leading up to your date, first using the dating app’s messaging platform and then, eventually, via text. Din had grown weary of the limitations of the messaging interface days before, but he had been concerned about coming across as too forward if he were to ask for your number. But he needn’t have worried. You offered it freely late one night when the two of you were deep into a discussion about your favorite music artists, and something about getting to put your name and phone number into his contacts made the whole situation feel startlingly real. It had felt…personal, almost intimate. And it was nice.

If he was being honest with himself, it made him nervous – how much he liked you, how quickly he had begun to think of you as part of his daily routine. A text good morning after his pre-shift workout, when he knew you were just rolling out of bed. Checking his phone over lunch to find a whole stack of little videos you had found on the internet during your morning scroll, watching every single one of them as his coworkers rolled their eyes and laughed at how quickly he had fallen into line for you. Countless late-night conversations after he had tucked his son into bed, his tired body sprawled out on the couch or propped up against his headboard and wishing you were there with him.

He wanted to experience the laugh that went with that stunning smile from your photos. He wanted to hear you talk for hours on end about whatever crossed your mind while he just…listened. And fuck, did he want to touch you. It had been almost two weeks since he had first matched with you, and that need he had felt deep in his gut that first day he had seen your pictures had only gotten more acute over time. He had to know – for certain – whether the skin at the small of your back was as soft and warm as it looked. He had to know whether your plush thighs and generous hips would give beneath his hands.

He wanted you in his arms, in his lap, in his bed. He wanted you in his life, and he had never even met you.

He needed to rein it in, he knew. He didn’t want to come on too strong, and he didn’t want to dive headfirst into something without the proper consideration. It had been over a decade since he had last been in a relationship, and he was a completely different person now than he had been then. Not to mention his son. His boy was his top priority – the most important thing in his world. He would need to be cautious about dating anyone seriously with him in the picture.

But something told him that he had nothing to worry about with you, that you wouldn’t resent his priorities or demand things of him that he couldn’t give. And if things went well, and he liked you as much in person as he did online… If after a while, you earned his trust, his commitment…

You and the kid would get on like a house on fire. He could sense it.

But.

Before you could meet his son, before Din could welcome you fully into is life, he had to meet you.

Din beat you to the restaurant that Friday.

You wouldn’t describe yourself as the type of person who was chronically late (though some of your friends might have had a different opinion on the matter), but in your defense, you had had a new client intake call right at the end of the day that had gone on for longer than you anticipated. Thankfully, you had gotten yourself ready before the call so that by the time the talkative new parents were done describing in great detail their precise vision for their new baby photoshoot, all that was left for you to do was slip on your shoes, grab your purse, and run out the door.

The walk to the restaurant was brief but pleasant, the weather having worked out perfectly for an outdoor meal, and as you approached, you spotted him immediately. Tall and absurdly broad, posted up outside the restaurant’s main entrance with his hands on his hips and one leg popped in a stance that absolutely screamed “dad,” even from a distance. He wore a long-sleeved, charcoal gray henley with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows and a couple buttons undone at the collar, well-fitting, dark-washed jeans, and a pair of black boots with thick soles that you had a feeling he favored when riding his motorcycle. A classic pair of dark sunglasses perched on his prominent nose, and in spite of the warm weather, he had a black leather jacket grasped in one fist, hanging down by his side by its collar.

In the golden hour sun against the worn brick of the restaurant’s exterior, he looked like something out of a movie. Or maybe a men’s cologne ad – something clean but rugged, so masculine you could die. Taking a deep breath against a sudden wave of nerves, you made a mental note to bring your camera the next time the two of you went out. If he was going to look this fucking delicious every time you saw one another, it would be a crime not to document it.

You were in the middle of crossing the street when he spotted you, and you watched with heat rising in your cheeks as he visibly paused and swept you from head to toe with his gaze. His adam’s apple bobbed, and then he was straightening himself and eating up the sidewalk in a handful of long strides to meet you when you arrived.

“Din?” you found yourself asking as you came to stand before him, as if you didn’t know, as if you wouldn’t recognize that striking face, those powerful shoulders anywhere in the world.

He offered you a gentle half-smile, ducking his chin in a single nod, and you took notice of his free hand balling up into a fist at his side, like he was physically holding himself back from reaching for you. After a beat, he replied, “It’s…good to see you, sweetheart. Happy you got here safe.”

His voice. Low and rasping, worn and manly, strangely reminding you of metal scraping against leather. It was painfully attractive, and you felt your cheeks darken further even as a grin spread across your lips.

You had been right. The man was a certified DILF, and he couldn’t have been any more your type if you had designed him in a lab yourself.

“Same to you,” you said, your voice sounding a bit breathless even to your own ears. “Should we go get a table?”

Din made an affirmative noise and gestured for you to precede him down the sidewalk. “I put our names in when I got here. The table should be ready any minute.”

A small thrill went through you at the realization that he must have gotten here at least 45 minutes ago if your table was nearly ready. This place notoriously didn’t take reservations, and there was always a wait, especially for the patio. Which reminded you…

Before you could think better of it, you asked, “Oh, did you request the patio by chance? Sitting out under the lights is the – ”

“ – best part, I remember,” he interjected, his tiny smile quirking up in one corner. “Yes, I requested the patio. They should text me when the table’s ready.” No sooner had the words left his mouth and he startled unexpectedly, glancing over his shoulder as though to look at his own back pocket. He reached behind himself and pulled out his phone, the sleek, black thing dwarfed in his broad palm, and you caught a glimpse of his background picture as he unlocked it.

A little boy with floppy, too-long, sandy-brown hair, huge dark eyes, and big ears, grinning up at the camera with a toothy smile. He was adorable.

“Ah. Speaking of. It’s ready,” he said, showing you the automated text. “After you.”

He gestured again for you to walk ahead of him, and you drew your lower lip between your teeth as you acquiesced. Not a moment later and you felt the soft, warm press of his palm against the small of your back, the steady, unobtrusive pressure gently guiding you toward the entrance to the restaurant. The sensation had something low and hot simmering in your abdomen, the way the heat of it sank through the fabric of your dress into your skin, the way your body listened to his touch instinctually. It was protective in a way that felt comforting rather than overbearing, and it occurred to you that such a thing would be easy to grow accustomed to.

You had always needed to be the one to look out for yourself. How freeing would it be to be able to trust another person to carry that for you, even if it was only every once in a while?

Your restaurant recommendation proved to be a good one; the food was rich and delicious, the atmosphere was lively, and Din indulged in a couple of their house cervezas throughout the evening, which he found pleasantly light and refreshing. As the sun set behind the city skyline, casting long shadows across the flagstone patio, colorful strings of lights crisscrossing the seating area flared to life. The effect was charming, particularly the way the lights cast a warm glow over your face, arcs of gold and red and green streaking across your hair and illuminating your eyes. You were so pretty – even more than he had expected, even more than in your photos. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt “enchanted” by a person before, but he would say that was close to describing how he felt sitting across the table from you.

To his great relief, Din found that the time passed just as quickly while talking to you in person as it did over the phone. You were sweet, funny, and quite talkative, so even when he found himself dipping into introverted lulls or long silences, you were there to pull him back out of himself. You seemed to have an endless fount of things to chat about, which was perfectly fine with him, as it meant he didn’t have to wrack his brain for things to say, and he got to listen to your voice.

You also seemed to find him funny, snorting cutely into your glass every time he said something even faintly amusing, and he would be lying if he said that didn’t have his ego swelling a bit. He liked the idea of being able to make you laugh. And when your eyes flashed at him over the rim of your margarita, when you drug the tip of your slick, pink tongue across the line of salt there, when you offered him a slow, knowing smile with just the barest flash of sharp little teeth…it wasn’t only his ego that threatened to swell.

That was one thing he had not accounted for, he found, one facet of your personality that he had only barely glimpsed over text that was now staring him in the face as the two of you wrapped up your meal. You were powerfully, blatantly flirtatious in a way that felt completely foreign to Din after more than a decade of singlehood. Your lowered lashes, your intentional eye contact, your sweet compliments. Your little touches across the table, burning the backs of his hands and the insides of his forearms with the warmth of your skin. And that wasn’t even mentioning the surreptitious peeks at your ample cleavage your dress kept allowing as you leaned and shifted in your chair. That one, perhaps, wasn’t intentional, but it was still making it difficult for him to avoid embarrassing himself in the middle of this restaurant.

When it became clear that the two of you could no longer draw out your meal, the debate over the check began. Thankfully, you did not propose to pay for both your meal and his, seemingly taking his warning to heart. However, you did suggest that you pay for your own meal and drinks, and something about that still rankled. Eventually, after much back and forth, you compromised and agreed that Din would pay for the meals while you would cover the drinks. The waitress had looked at you a bit oddly when you made the request, but she hadn’t protested, and a handful of minutes later, the two of you had paid and were making your way back out onto the sidewalk outside.

Din wasn’t ready for the night to end. Spending time with you was the most fun he had had with anyone that wasn’t a coworker in…well. Too long. You were sweet and funny and full of life, and every moment he spent in your presence, he could feel warmth and vitality being breathed back into his lungs. He wasn’t ready to let that go just yet.

Thankfully, neither, it seemed, were you. Slipping one of your manicured hands into his, you said, “You know, there’s a park a couple blocks from here with a really nice walking path. You want to go check it out?”

He glanced down at your joined hands, dragging the pad of his thumb across the ridge of your knuckles almost absently as he reveled in the feeling. You were so fucking soft, just like he knew you would be, and the sensation of your skin under his almost distracted him from his response. After a beat, he nodded, and you hit him with a thousand-watt smile that Din couldn’t help but return.

You kept up a steady stream of conversation as you made your way to the park hand-in-hand. Din had proven just as easy to talk to in person as he had online, and although the evening had confirmed your suspicions that he was much more introverted than you, he was by no means reticent. He had matched you beat for beat all night, and even in the moments where he seemed to need a bit of prompting, you chalked it up to him simply being out of the game for a while and didn’t hold it against him.

More than anything, though, your impression of him as you made your way down the block was one of an old-fashioned gentleman. There was an earnestness, a seriousness about him that you had never really seen in a guy your age, and it made you feel like you were the only person in the world to him. It was a heady feeling, to be the center of such focused attention. You wondered if he knew that if he wasn’t careful, that attention was going to give you ideas. Ideas you weren’t certain someone with his sensibilities would be interested in on a first date.

Just when you thought you might need to pull him to the side of the walkway and give him a little taste of what you had in mind, his phone rang, and he dropped your hand to fish it from his back pocket.

You couldn’t stop yourself from taking a glance at the screen as he examined it. CARA DUNE, the caller ID read, and the photo that lit up the background was of a striking woman with raven black hair, sharp eyes, and smug smile.

Oh. You felt something in your chest deflate a little. Another woman.

Din pulled up short, looking at you with dark, apologetic eyes shadowed by the streetlamps. “I’m sorry, I have to take this,” he said, and you found yourself nodding your agreement even as your stomach sank further. And to think, you had been convinced that this man was nothing but a bundle of green flags held together by a gap-necked henley and a pair of slutty black combat boots…

Turning away from you slightly, putting one of his broad shoulders between you and the view of his phone, he swiped up to answer the call.

“Dune? Everything okay?” he asked, a flavor of urgency to his tone that had you frowning.

Wait – Dune? He was calling her by her last name?

You couldn’t hear what the voice on the other side of the line said in reply, but you watched as Din’s shoulders dropped from up around his ears, and he brought his free hand up to squeeze the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine, put him on.” A pause then, and he sighed deeply. “No, I don’t mind, really, you just scared the shit out of me. A call from you at this time of night? I thought something was wrong.” Another pause, and you could hear what you would swear were several voices talking over each other ringing from the phone’s speakers even as they were pressed against his ear. “Okay, yeah, that’s fine. Put him on.”

Din pulled the phone away from his face then and tapped the “video call” button on the glowing gray call interface. Half a breath later, the screen flared to life, blinding you a bit in the darkness, and the image of a little boy with unruly hair and dark, sleepy eyes blinked at him from the phone.

“Daddy!” the boy cried, a toothy grin splitting his chubby little cheeks as he seized the phone from whoever was holding it on his end. He was too close to the camera, the angle giving Din a spectacular view directly up the toddler’s nose, and you smothered a giggle as you watched the boy make faces at himself in the viewfinder.

“Hey, kiddo,” Din said softly, and oh, but you could hear the smile in his voice, could feel the fondness radiating off of him in waves even though you couldn’t see his face. Every sinking feeling that had taken over your body disappeared at the sound as you realized what exactly you were witnessing. The other woman was his babysitter.

“Are you being good for Aunt Cara? Hm?” he asked, and you could just melt at the gentleness in his low, rasping voice.

“Good!” the little boy replied, nodding vigorously in a way that bounced his floppy curls across his forehead.

Another face appeared on the screen, the same woman from the caller ID photo, and you watched as she scooped the squirmy kid up into her arms with an exaggerated, theatrical groan. “Tell him,” she prompted playfully. “Say we played with your airplanes and your cars.”

The little boy grinned toothily. “Yeah, cars!”

“And we wrestled with Uncle Axe and Aunt Koska,” Cara prompted, to which the kid giggled.

“I winned!”

Cara nodded with a fond smile. “That’s right, you won.”

From somewhere off-camera, another voice – this one male – called out in protest. “Debatable! I still say the ref was biased!”

The boy laughed again, the sound high-pitched and full of joy, and even the woman holding him seemed to be fighting back a chuckle as she plowed on. “And then Aunt Bo made dinner, and this little dude ate alllll his vegetables!”

“You did?” Din replied, genuine surprise coloring his words. “That’s great! I’m so proud of you!”

“Daddy! When you come home?”

From your angle slightly behind him, you could see your date’s shoulders fall slightly at the question, so sweetly and innocently asked in that little baby voice. On the other end of the line, Cara offered him what you would call an apologetic smile and shook her head. “Someone doesn’t want to go to bed without Dad.”

“Kiddo, Dad’s not going to be home until after your bedtime,” Din sighed. His words were slow and patient on the surface, but you swore you could hear a note of guilt underlying them, and it made your heart ache in your chest. “Remember, we talked about that before I left tonight? Aunt Cara is going to do bedtime tonight, and then when I get home, I promise I will come give you kiss, okay?”

The boy was clearly disappointed by this response, his eyebrows pulling up in the center and his wide, dark eyes shining pitifully through the screen, and he let out a wordless little whine that you were sure would have had you caving in an instant had it been directed at you. However, Din held strong. Voice low and gentle, he offered, “How about this – let’s say goodnight to each other right now instead. Is that okay? Just for tonight?”

He seemed to weigh that response for a moment, uncertain, but after a beat of silence, the kid tucked himself snugly under Cara’s chin and sighed. “Okaaaay.”

“Okay. I love you so much, kiddo. Get good sleep, have good dreams, and I’ll be there in the morning when you wake up.” Din’s words, so soft and intimate, sounded almost rehearsed to your ears, and you realized that this man was completing a long-standing bedtime ritual with his son via video chat in the middle of a darkened sidewalk on a Friday night. The thought had your heart swelling behind your ribs, the core of you warming and softening with a rush of fondness that you were helpless against.

Fuck. Din wasn’t just a DILF. He was also just a really good dad.

On the other side of the connection, Din’s little boy yawned widely and snuggled his curly head deeper into his babysitter’s chest. “Love you, Daddy,” he murmured sweetly, and you knew that if it were possible to die of cuteness, you would have done so that those words.

“I love you, too,” Din replied softly. “Good night, buddy.”

“Night night.”

Cara shifted the phone away from the kid’s sleepy face then, refocusing herself in the frame. “Okay, that should do it. I’m gonna go tuck this guy in while he’s still feeling cooperative.”

He was quick to nod his agreement, clearly not wishing to make this task any more difficult on his friend than he needed to. “Yeah, go. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

“Hey.” She sounded rather serious then, making intense eye contact with Din through the phone screen. “Take your time, ‘kay? I got this.”

“Have fun, Djarin!” another woman’s voice chimed from a distance, off-camera and seemingly getting further and further away as Cara carried Din’s son to bed.

There was a chorus of good-natured laughter, then the man’s voice from earlier returned. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do, eh?”

This, of course, was met with an uproar on the other side of the connection, none of which could be seen. All you could really make out was a stern woman’s voice, one you hadn’t heard before, groan, “Axe, I swear to god – ”

You laughed softly at that, hiding your smiling lips behind one of your hands and Din quickly started to fumble with his phone. “Oookay, that’s enough of that,” he muttered, and with a swipe of his thick thumb, he ended the call.

Slipping his phone into his back pocket once again, he finally turned back around to face you, guilt and embarrassment tightening the corners of his eyes. Even in the dark, you swore you could make out a flush high on his golden tanned cheekbones as he said, “I’m…sorry about that. My kid, he’s got some separation anxiety issues. He’s not used to me being out of the house at bedtime. Tried to talk to him about it before, but he’s not even three yet, and – ”

“Din,” you interjected, closing the narrow distance between the two of you and resting your palm on his arm. “You don’t have to explain. Or apologize. You’re a dad. Your kid comes first.” With a slow, sly smile, you slipped your hand into the crook of his arm, holding tight to it as you proceeded down the sidewalk once more. “Besides, that was an interesting look at your family dynamic. Or were those your friends? The one called Axe sounds like a character.”

He huffed a laugh at that. “Friends. Well, also my coworkers, but they were friends first. I’m an only child, so they’re the only aunts and uncles my kid has ever known.”

“How many of them are watching him tonight?”

“Four,” he replied with a grimace. “I had originally only asked Cara, but the others overhead and…wanted to support me, I guess. I think I mentioned, I don’t exactly do this often. I haven’t been on a date in…well. Let’s just say it’s been a long time.”

You smiled to yourself, feeling your cheeks heat at the idea that this man who didn’t date had decided that he wanted his first date in however long to be with you. You would be lying if you said that wasn’t going to go to your head a little. Leaning your forehead against his bicep so he couldn’t meet your eyes, you asked, “And how are you finding it?”

With a low, rasping chuckle, Din brought his free hand up to cover yours, wrapping his long fingers around the back of your hand where it cupped his elbow. “I’m thinking…if it means I get to spend time with you, I should do it more often.”

Not even an hour later, Din found himself in the back of a cab, arm around your shoulders, fingers linked together, your beautiful face flushed and grinning wildly as you traced the very tip of your nose along his jugular. Your voice breathless and on the verge of laughter, you gave the driver what must have been the address of your apartment, but he couldn’t have repeated the words you said if you had paid him. He was far too distracted, too overwhelmed with where the night was heading to pay attention to such details. You were so soft against him, plastered up against his side. Your mussed hair on his cheek, your breasts against his chest, your round hip snug against his, and fuck, your lips – plump and swollen and glistening with his kisses, the ones he had stolen under the lamp light during your stroll through the park. He couldn’t believe he had done that. He couldn’t believe you had asked him to.

When the two of you had planned this evening, he had had a firm talk with himself – he would keep the physical contact to a minimum, he would not allow his eyes to wander inappropriately, he would be a perfect gentleman, he would treat you like a lady. First of all, because it was the bare minimum of what you deserved, and second of all, because tonight would be your first ever in-person meeting, and he wanted to be very clear that this meant more to him than just some casual hookup. Din had had plenty of those over the years to know that what he felt for you ran so much deeper than that, and he was loathe to give you the wrong idea about his intentions with you.

The moment he saw you walking across the street toward him – backlit by the golden hour sun, hair dancing in the breeze, all your perfect, curvaceous softness swaying with your perky stride – all of that chivalry had nearly been abandoned by the side of the road. And he had been fighting tooth and nail all evening to keep hold of the reins of his desire for you.

But the two of you had meandered through that park for a while. You had stopped along the shore of a little pond to admire the water, and you had looked up at him with these wide, soft eyes, your long lashes casting intricate shadows across your cheeks, and god, it had nearly killed him to keep his hands balled up in the pockets of his jacket.

And then you had taken the smallest step forward, eating up what little distance still remained between you.

And then you had whispered, in a voice so low he could barely hear you, “Will you kiss me, Din? Please?”

How could he have refused you?

Now your breath was on his neck, your lips softly brushing his skin, and he was slithering his arm down from around your shoulders and instead pressing his palm to your thigh. His fingers dug into the softness there of their own accord, tucking the tips inward and brushing his thumb across the cap of your knee firmly, possessively. He felt you exhale against his collarbone at the sensation, the softest, faintest sound of need reaching his ears, and then he was ducking his chin, finding your mouth again, pressing his lips to yours with an urgency that ought to have felt out of place with the poor cab driver sitting right there but somehow didn’t.

Your kiss tasted like lime from your margarita, like salt from the rim. Your fingers threading through his hair felt like heaven. Your body under his hands melted like putty, warm and pliant and so fucking soft that it had blood rushing to his cock, the swell of it pressing uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans.

And it wasn’t enough. You needed more. He needed more.

Breaking the kiss with a soft gasp, Din pressed his forehead against yours, brushed the tip of his nose against yours. “Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and gravely in the hot, moist air between you. “We’ve got to slow down, or I’m going to embarrass myself.”

You shifted beneath his grip on your thigh, hips squirming in your seat, thighs pressing together, and when he met your heavy-lidded gaze, he was struck with how dark your eyes looked just now, how wide your pupils had blown. Shaking your head, you whispered, “Don’t care.”

He bit back a curse at the way his cock throbbed at your words, at the soft, panting tone of your voice. “Not going to fuck you in the back of a cab, baby.”

Giggling breathlessly, you tucked your face into the side of his neck to hide your blush. “You can’t talk to me like that and not expect me to be all over you, Din Djarin,” you huffed, the tip of your tongue darting out to taste the little patch of skin just beneath his earlobe. “S’not fair.”

“Not fair?” With gritted teeth, pure electricity running through his veins, he returned the favor and buried his nose in the soft, fragrant skin of neck. The scent of you there was intoxicating – warmth and musk with a touch of floral, a touch of sweetness. He wanted to sink his teeth into you, might have had you been alone. “Fine. You want not fair? I’ll give you not fair.”

Shooting a furtive glance at the driver, who mercifully seemed committed to keeping his eyes on the road, Din delicately slipped his leather jacket from where it had been tucked around your shoulders and instead draped it over your lap.

You pulled away from him slightly at that, meeting his gaze with bright, burning interest in your eyes as you realized what he was about to do.

“If we’re doing this,” he whispered, “you have to keep your eyes forward and your mouth shut. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

Din watched as you swallowed hard, your swollen lips parting with lust. You nodded wordlessly, and your thigh muscles tightened under his hand, now hidden by the drape of his jacket.

“Okay then. Not a sound.” He cocked his head toward the front of the cab. “Now face forward, behave yourself, and I’ll take care of you.”

He felt the sharp exhale of your breath against his face, and then you were obeying – shifting your hips square to the front of the car, turning to face the windshield, and balling your fists up at your sides. Din shifted, too, turning to face forward and tapping into every ounce of discipline his profession had ever instilled in him to school his expression into something carefully blank and neutral. Beneath his jacket, however, was a different story.

He started with a soothing caress of his palm from the cap of your knee to the top of your thigh, using the heat and the weight of his hand to ease your tense muscles. After a couple of passes, he could feel that softness return, and unprompted, your knees eased apart – not quite spread, not yet, just parted slightly as you relaxed into his touch. The realization sent a surge of satisfaction through him, and he could not stop himself from slipping his fingers down, down, down to the very edge of your knee and slowly starting to gather the fabric of your dress in his grip.

Din heard your breath catch for a moment as you realized what he was doing, and then it sped up, and your knees dropped even further apart. Before he could wrap his head around what he was about to do in the back of a cab car, he had hiked the skirt of your dress up far enough to slip his hand underneath.

Now it was his turn to not be able to breathe. Fuck, your thighs were soft – smooth like silk, supple and pillowy and forgiving as his calloused fingers traced slowly across your skin, seeking your warmth. He could feel a muscle in his jaw jump as his fingers drew higher, as you subtly adjusted yourself in your seat so you could open your legs even wider, permit him even closer to where you both knew you needed him. Every instinct in him begged him to go faster, to give you more, to whip the stifling cover of his jacket off your lap so he could take in the sight of his fingers reaching the smooth, cotton gusset of your panties with his own eyes. Instead, he pulled his face into a scowl of concentration and kept his pace measured.

By the time the side of his pinky bumped into the apex of your thighs, Din felt ready to combust with urgency. He could feel the heat of you there through the fabric, could feel the slickness seeping through it to dampen his skin, could feel the tension in your hips as you tried desperately not to arch into his touch. You were being so good for him, staying silent, never looking his way, just sitting there, the picture of innocence as you let him touch you. It had something hot and nearly feral rising in his chest, the fact that he could give you such impossible instructions in such an impossible scenario and you would drive yourself mad in an attempt to obey them.

It made him wonder what else you would do, if he asked, and just the question had his cock pulsing in his jeans. Unable to hold himself back any longer, Din tucked his fingers under the seam of your panties and slipped them softly, gently through your folds.

A groan bubbled up in his chest, and he allowed his eyes to fall shut for a moment as he collected himself. You were absolutely dripping for him – hot and wet and slippery, trim little curls sticky with it, underwear soaked against the back of his hand. It coated his fingers, and it took every ounce of restraint in his arsenal to stop himself from pulling his hand from under the jacket and popping his fingers directly into his mouth. But no, he told himself. There would be time for that later. Now, you were practically vibrating in your seat trying to keep yourself together, and he needed to watch you fall apart before the cab arrived at your apartment.

Din allowed himself to gently pet you for another moment, reveling in the feel of your soft wetness, and then he was seeking your clit, finding it swollen and puffy and begging for attention near the top of your folds. With the first delicate caress, you lost the battle with your own vocal chords and let out a quiet, breathless whimper, and a rush of pride raced through him at the thought that he had finally overwhelmed you to the point where you couldn’t keep silent anymore. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning over into your space and murmuring into your ear, “I said keep quiet, sweetheart. Or I stop right now. Understood?”

You let out a shaky exhale, and Din felt more than saw you nod your agreement.

“Good girl,” he growled, and he swore he felt your clit pulse under his fingertips at his words. Interesting. That was something he was going to need to explore more later.

For now, he offered you a few more gentle caresses, a few soft, tight circles around your clit as acknowledgment of your suffering, and then he dipped down to your entrance and slowly, sweetly slipped his middle finger into your throbbing pussy.

God, you felt incredible – hot and wet and so fucking tight that he could feel his cock leaking in his jeans at the idea that he might have the opportunity to be inside you with more than just his fingers. Your velvet walls fluttered around him in desperate little waves as he gently thrust inside you, in and out, in and out, pressing deeper on each pass, seeking that elusive spot inside that he knew would make you see stars. After a handful of strokes, he added a second finger, and your hips stuttered at the stretch, hitching against his touch in a way that felt both needy and overwhelmed. You were so tight, and his fingers were so thick; it was no wonder it was a shock.

Din turned and dropped a tender, comforting kiss to the crown of your head. Fuck, you were so good, just sitting there in the back of the cab, letting him touch you, letting him finger you, letting him make you feel good. The ease with which you gave it all up to him was driving him insane. How long had it been since he had been with someone like you, someone who seemed to know innately what he needed, who fit with him so perfectly it was as though some divine being had had a hand in your introduction? Had it ever been this good? Had he ever needed someone as badly as he needed you?

Grinding the heel of his hand into your clit, Din sped up his thrusts. In and out, in and out, pressing, stretching, seeking. Your knees fell farther apart seemingly of their own accord, as your eyes had taken on a faraway look to them, staring unseeingly out the front windshield as you took what he gave you. In your lap, his leather jacket began to slip, and one end of it fell suspiciously down between your spread legs. Although his hand and the apex of your thighs were still hidden, if the driver were to take a look in his rearview mirror, he would clearly be able to tell what was happening in his back seat.

The same idea seemed to occur to you then, because in that moment, you broke his second rule – you glanced over at him with a fucked-out look of urgency on your face, and Din could swear he felt you starting to tighten. Fuck, this was turning you on. The near-exposure, the precarious position the two of you were in, it was making you drip around his fingers, making you clench around his thrusts.

You were a wild thing; Din had known it from the moment he laid eyes on you. Now here was the proof. You were going to come on his fingers in the back of a cab car, and then you were going to invite him up to your apartment and let him fuck you senseless –

“Here we are,” the driver said, his voice slow and unaffected, almost bored as he pulled the cab off to the side of the street and turned on his blinkers.

No matter how nonchalant his words, the sound of them sent a bolt of terror through the both of you, and in a flurry of limbs and fabric, each of you scrambled to put yourselves back together as the car came to a stop. Din yanked his fingers from your body, the quick withdrawal pulling a little hiccupping whine from your throat, but he paid it no heed as he tugged your skirt back down where it belonged around your knees. You gathered up his jacket and draped it over your arm, running your fingers through your mussed hair. By the time the car rolled to a complete stop, each of you were looking mostly put together, save Din’s raging hard-on tenting his jeans and your flush-cheeked, glassy-eyed stare.

Although he had already paid for the fare, as the two of you slid out of the back of the car, Din pulled a wad of cash from his wallet and discretely slipped it into the driver’s hand.

“Thanks for the ride,” he murmured hoarsely, and before the man could reply, he threaded his fingers through yours and followed your lead to the door of your apartment building.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t been hoping that this would be where the night would end – Din’s broad, calloused hand in yours, your dress askew and your thighs damp, the two of you moving with urgency down the hall outside your apartment, breathless laughter on your tongue. You had never been strictly opposed to sex on the first date, if the chemistry was there and you felt comfortable and safe with the person, and he had checked all of your boxes and then some from the moment you spotted him outside the restaurant that night. You had decided then and there; if the date went well, and he seemed to be on the same page, you would be taking him home with you that night.

You had worried that your advances might be a bit much for Din, but clearly, those fears had been unfounded. He seemed a bit overwhelmed, a bit in disbelief, but that hadn’t stopped him from jumping at every chance you had given him – holding your hand as you walked, kissing you down by the pond…

Giving you one of the hottest experiences of your life by stealthily fucking you with his fingers in the back of the cab while you struggled to stay perfectly silent and still…

Your pussy clenched at the memory of his thick fingers inside you, the perfect stretch of them, the way they had both soothed your ache for him while also somehow making it worse, knowing how much better it would be if it were his cock filling you up like that. Fuck. You needed this man, and you needed him now.

Thankfully, Din seemed to have no interest in stopping. When you finally reached your door, he wasted no time in crowding up behind you as you fumbled for your keys, hands slipping around your waist as he dropped hot, open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck. Your eyelids drooped at the sensation, your hands halting in mid-air, keys dangling from your grip, and you felt more than heard him chuckle against your skin.

“Don’t get distracted, sweetheart. Open the door,” he murmured, breath hot on the shell of your ear, making you shiver. What a little shit.

After another second of fiddling with your keys, you finally were able to work open your door, and the two of you nearly fell inside. He slammed it shut behind you as you tossed your keys onto the nearby countertop, and then he was on you – one hand gripping the swell of your hip, one hand slipping along the side of your face to cup your jaw, fingers tangling in your hair at the base of your skull as he cradled you. You could smell yourself on him, the scent of your arousal clinging to the hand that now held your face, and god, you could swear your insides turned molten at the idea. His mouth was covering yours before you could comment on it, and then every lucid thought evaporated from your mind.

For a man who claimed to have been out of the dating pool for a while, Din certainly knew how to kiss – he was passionate, meticulous, and completely relentless in the way he took you apart. His lips were soft, his tongue precise, and the single-minded focus with which he stroked your jaw, coaxed you open, and devoured you was enough to make you blush.

Almost absently, you realized his other hand had swept around the crest of your hip and taken a palmful of your ass, and you whimpered into the kiss, your hips hitching toward him of their own accord. His hands were fucking huge, warm through the fabric of your dress, callouses on his palms catching on the fabric. You needed them all over you – on your skin, in your hair, between your legs –

Pulling his lips away from yours with a gasp, he groaned, “If this is too much – if this isn’t what you want – ”

You shook your head, digging your fingers into his dark brown curls, pulling his neck down to your mouth so you could suck on the skin there. “I want it, Din. I want it,” you reassured him.

You felt a shudder pass through him, and then both of his hands were on your ass, dragging you closer, pressing the full length of your torso along his. “Know it’s early, know we just met, don’t have to do anything you don’t want – ”

“Din!” Yanking his hair sharply until he hissed, you watched as he finally seemed to focus on you, eyes darkening as he took in your flushed face, your swollen lips, your glossy, heavy-lidded eyes. “I want to fuck you,” you proclaimed bluntly. His mouth dropped open, just slightly, pouty lower lip trembling as he stared at you. “Do you want to fuck me?”

The man blinked a few times, seemingly taken aback, but he didn’t allow the question to hang in the air for too long. With a heavy, audible swallow, Din replied, “Yeah, baby, I want to fuck you.”

A bright, electric thrill of victory surged through you, and you couldn’t have smothered the grin that split your face if you tried.

“Okay, then fuck me. And don’t hold back.”

You winked at him playfully, and a dangerous smirk that had your pussy fluttering pulled at the corner of his lips. No sooner had you registered the expression and he was toeing off his boots, leaving them abandoned in front of your door, and driving you backward into the apartment. A breathless yelp followed by a laugh escaped you as you allowed him to push you into your living room, shedding your own shoes as you went, and then you were kissing again, and just like before, all of your surroundings melted away.

A rush of cool air met your thighs as balled fists pulled up the hem of your dress, gathering the fabric in worn palms as more and more of your body was revealed, and you let it go gladly. Lifting your arms above your head, you allowed him to pull the whole thing off over your head, and through the wild, fluffed-up strands of hair dangling in your eyes, you watched as he took you in – your blushing cheeks, your heavy, heaving breasts cupped in a black cotton bra, your soft, rounded belly, your thick thighs and wide hips, the narrow strip your black cotton thong completely soaked through and clinging to your pussy lips. You had no name for the expression on his face, but if you had to relate it to something, you would say it was close to awe.

Din was in awe of you, completely and utterly gone for you, and the surge of power that sent through your veins was like a drug.

“Take off your shirt,” you murmured, lip between your teeth, and as he rushed to obey, you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you don’t – ” he groaned, but your hands were already working his belt buckle open, already thumbing at the button of his jeans.

“But I want to.” Looking up at him through your lashes with wide, soft eyes, you held his gaze as you slipped his zipper down, as you felt the hardness poorly concealed behind it swell and surge against your palm. “So let me.”

He gave no further protests, simply watched as you tucked your thumbs into the waistband of both his jeans and his charcoal gray boxer briefs and shoved, pulling them both down around his knees in one, smooth tug. One more push and they were pooled around his ankles, and then Din was stumbling out of them, holding onto the back of a nearby armchair for support as he kicked them aside.

He was naked now, staring down at you with dark, heated eyes, broad, muscled chest rising and falling with every labored breath, and fuck, if he wasn’t the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Thick and strong with long, powerful limbs and a soft stomach, a fine dusting of dark brown hair from his bellybutton down, and miles and miles of golden tanned skin decorated with a heavily curated collection of black and gray tattoos that you hadn’t been able to see earlier. They looked like beautiful work, and you were eager to examine them later, but for now, something else was begging for your attention, and you couldn’t ignore it any longer even if you wanted to.

Inches from your face, long and thick and curved, flushed and leaking precum, his cock was just as beautiful as the rest of him, and you needed it in your mouth. Now.

Holding yourself steady with one hand on his narrow hip, one hand around the base of him, you leaned forward and dragged your tongue along the underside before taking the tip of him in your mouth and suckling gently. Slick musk coated your tongue, and you moaned at the taste, immediately surging forward and taking more. Above you, Din let out a colorful string of curses and dropped a hand to the back of your head, cupping the bowl of your skull in his palm as you worked yourself over him. He never put any pressure there, never thrust himself deeper than you were choosing to take him, but you could feel his restraint in the tension in his hips, in the grip of his fingers in your hair.

He was trying so hard to be a gentleman for you. You kind of wished he would give it up already.

Pulling back, letting his cock fall from your mouth, you took up your strokes with your hand and said, “S’okay, baby. You can take what you need from me. M’not gonna break.”

Din groaned, low and gravelly in his chest, and then he was using his grip on your head to coax you up and back onto your feet. “Need to fuck you, sweetheart – I can’t wait any more.”

Your cunt bottomed out at that, the swooping sensation deep inside you almost leaving you dizzy, and although you had been looking forward to sucking him off, you found yourself nodding your agreement anyway. “Where do you want me?” you asked, and the question had him tugging you forward into a hard kiss.

“On the couch,” he growled. “Just need to feel you around me.”

Pulling him deeper into the living room, you shed your bra as you went, tossing it who-knows-where in your eagerness. You could feel his eyes on you – on them – as your breasts swayed with your movement, and perhaps such direct attention ought to have made you self-conscious, but instead in made you bold. The moment the backs of your knees collided with the couch, you stripped your thong from your body while holding his gaze, and the pure, molten want in his stare had you feeling like the sexiest woman he had ever seen.

“Lie back,” he rasped, and you were quick to obey, laying down with your head at one end and your legs stretched out along the length of the couch. Snagging one of your many throw pillows, Din tapped the side of your hip twice, adding, “Lift your hips for me, pretty girl.”

You did, and he slid that pillow underneath your ass. Then he was clambering up onto the couch with you, all long limbs and big hands and sweat-damp curls, kneeling between your legs, urging one of them up to drape over the back of the couch, nudging the other down to drip limply onto the floor. You went where he guided you, happy to arrange yourself however he pleased as long as it meant you got to feel that gorgeous cock inside you.

But he started with his fingers first, coaxing and petting and caressing your dripping folds in much the same way that he had in the back of the cab, only this time, you were free to arch your hips into his touch and let out soft, breathy moans with every delicate stroke.

Din seemed to realize this at the same time you did, as he began to nod slowly, encouragingly as he slipped two fingers into your quivering, grasping pussy. “That’s it, let me hear you now. You don’t have to be quiet anymore, sweetheart. Let me hear you feel good.”

And fuck, but it did feel good – his fingers stretching you, filling you, pressing steadily against that soft, elusive spot inside you with every thrust, making you want to thrust against him, to drive him deeper, to take even more of him.

“God, baby, you’re so fucking wet. Is that good? Is that what you need?” he groaned, and you nodded furiously, too overcome to speak, just knowing you needed him to keep going…needed him to give you more.

Again, it was like Din realized what you wanted at the same time you did. Gently slipping his fingers from you, he used the thick coating of your wetness on them to stroke his cock as he shuffled forward on his knees. Pressing down on the blunt, swollen tip with his thumb, he dragged his length through your folds collecting your slick, starting at your entrance and sliding smoothly up to your clit. You let out a low, startled moan at the feeling, and you couldn’t help but grind against him, letting the tip of his cock press and circle against your puffy, throbbing clit. Shit, when was the last time you had hooked up with someone and been this outrageously turned on? You felt like you were on the ragged edge of your orgasm already, and he had barely touched you.

However, just as Din began to trail the head of his cock back down to your entrance, a shock of reality broke through your dazed, lust-fogged mind, and you found yourself pressing your hand against his stomach, stopping him from thrusting in.

“Condom,” you panted, sex-addled and breathless. “We need a condom.”

His dark brown eyes widened with a sudden wave of awareness, and you felt him pull back immediately. “Shit. You’re right, I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I wasn’t thinking.”

You let out a winded laugh and shook your head. “Me, neither. Did you bring one? I have some if you need.”

Din nodded, hopping up from the couch and crossing back over to where the two of you had abandoned his jeans. Digging his wallet out of the pocket, he slid a conspicuous foil packet from inside then dropped the wallet back onto the pile of denim. A moment later, he was settled back between your legs, perched up on his knees with his hands on your thighs and the condom tucked securely between two of his fingers.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asked, and you nodded urgently.

“So ready. Beyond ready.”

Your eagerness seemed to be all he needed to get back into the moment. With a few quick strokes of his cock, he ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth and slid it on. You watched with hooded eyes, lower lip trapped between your teeth, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to stroke him yourself as the latex stretched over his skin. Din groaned at your touch, and then he shooed your hands away and lined himself up with your entrance.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl. Want to see your face while you take me,” he groaned, and with one long, smooth thrust, he filled your cunt with his throbbing length.

“Ah! Fuck, Din!”

It took everything in you not to let your eyes fall shut as he thrust inside you. The stretch was incredible – just the slightest burn, but even with his size, it wasn’t too much after how he well had prepared you, how long he had teased you in the cab, how turned on you were. It was enough to feel truly full – stuffed to the brim, the weight of him absolutely gorgeous as he bore down on all your most sensitive spots. Above you, your date was gritting his teeth, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his nostrils flared, as he dug his fingers into your thighs with a grip so hard it would likely bruise. He seemed to be fighting very hard to keep himself together, and you immediately felt the sinister urge to clench around him just to watch him struggle. Instead, you chose to take mercy on him and simply roll your hips against his, driving him deeper.

“No – shit, baby, you can’t – ” he stammered, hands tightening on your legs even harder, hips surging forward in the smallest of thrusts completely out of his control. “I am…hanging on by a thread here, and if you – ”

“If I what?” you taunted, the power you had over him flowing through you like an aphrodisiac, making you bold, making you reckless. “If I do this?” You rolled your hips against his again, smooth and lazy, and you could actually feel his cock throb and twitch inside you.

Deep in his chest, Din released what could only be described as an animalistic growl, and in an instant, he had one hand tucked behind the back of your knee – the one up on the back of the couch – and the other gripping the couch cushion beside your head. Arching his broad, muscular body over yours, bringing his face down to your level, he pressed your knee back toward your head and thrust so deep into you, you couldn’t help but whine at the feeling.

“Naughty girl,” he rasped.

You nodded with a smile. “You like that about me.”

He huffed a laugh into the hot, humid space between you, shaking his head at you exasperatedly. “You’re right, I do. But right now – ” He pulled back his hips until just the very tip of his cock remained inside you, brows drawn low in concentration. “ – right now, I really just need to fuck you. Can I, sweetheart? Can I just fuck you?” He thrust back in, all the way to the hilt, and you could swear your cunt was literally dripping at the intoxicating feeling. Your body was writhing beneath him, completely out of your control, and you swore that if he didn’t just fucking rail you in the next three seconds, your head might explode.  

“I swear to god, Din, if you ask me one more time – ”

His mouth sealed over yours before you could finish your sentence, and then he was finally – finally – fucking you.

With swift, firm thrusts, he drilled you into the couch cushions, all hesitance and restraint fully evaporated. The angle was perfect, the extra height and the little tilt added by the throw pillow exactly what you needed to have his cock dragging against your G-spot on every thrust, and that combined with the way his pubic bone ground against your clit had you moaning and whimpering and digging your manicured nails into his shoulders in your ecstasy. Din was like a force of nature, the way he fucked – gripping your thigh, driving your leg back toward your head, holding your eye contact, watching with deep, unflappable intensity as you trembled and shook beneath him. Every once in a while, he would drop his gaze to trace over your soft, folded stomach or to watch the hypnotic bounce of your tits, but mostly, he kept his eyes on yours, and rather than making you self-conscious, it simply drove the heat between you higher, made it more powerful.

“Thought about this,” he confessed, a whine creeping into the edge of his low voice as his thrusts sped up. “All those fucking pictures of you – doing yoga – all bent and twisted and – flexible.”

A smirk made its way onto your face, and you ran your fingers through his hair, brushing his limp curls out of his eyes. “Yeah? You like a bendy girl, Din Djarin? How’s it live up to the fantasy?”

He groaned, leaning even further forward to press his sweaty forehead into yours, driving your leg even further back toward your face. Tucking your knee up onto his shoulder, the angle of his cock inside you deepened. “Even better,” he admitted. “You’re perfect – so perfect.”

“P-Perfect?” God, that soft, spongy tip was hammering your G-spot now; you could barely comprehend any of the words he said to you, let alone string together any of your own.

“Perfect body,” he elaborated, gritting his teeth, groaning loudly. “Sweet, soft, perfect p-pussy. Perfect – hnng fuck – perfect girl.”

“Din!” you gasped. That low pool of heat in your abdomen was starting to tighten, starting to pulse. You could feel it rising inside you, threatening to take you over. It felt…massive, life-altering in a way you hadn’t known orgasms could be, but fuck, if this one wasn’t promising to do it.

“Shit, baby, can feel you,” Din groaned. “You gonna come for me? Gonna come all over my cock? Hm?”

“Y-Yes, I’m gonna – you’re gonna make me – ” You hiccupped a sob, raking your fingernails down his arms in a move that had him hissing and his hips stuttering as he thrust. “Fuck, I’m so close!”

“What do you need? What’s gonna get you there?”

“My clit – can I – ?”

He cursed, dropping a wet, sucking, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Yeah, baby, touch yourself. Make yourself come. Need to feel it.”

Wiggling one of your hands into the tight space between your bodies, the tip of your middle finger found your throbbing clit and immediately began to play. You wouldn’t need much more – just something a little more direct, a little more concentrated, a little more –

“Yes! Fuck, Din, right there!”

And then you were gone – that tight, wet heat inside you bursting, dripping down his cock and flinging you into the stars on the edge of the event horizon. The walls of your cunt pulsed around him as you rode out your high, and Din was quick to follow you into his own abyss, unable to hold back anymore the moment he had felt you start to fall apart. With one final, deep surge of his hips, you felt his cock pulse and twitch inside you, and for a brief, wild moment, you regretted the use of the condom. You would have liked to have felt the warmth of him spilling inside you.

In the aftermath, Din was tender, as you had had no doubt he would be. After the two of you had taken a moment to catch your breath, he reached a hand down to hold onto the base of the condom as he pulled out. A low, husky groan escaped him as he withdrew, and you felt a sympathetic throb deep inside you at the sound. Even now, everything he did was unthinkably hot.

A moment later, he had removed and tied off the condom and retreated to your kitchen to toss it, returning with a warm rag he had clearly dampened in your sink. He was gentle and methodical as he cleaned you, wiping between and around your swollen pussy lips with steady hands before he moved on to cleaning himself.

He would need to go now, you realized. He had likely already stayed out later than he had planned, already imposed upon the generosity of his friends long enough. His little boy was waiting for him, and as much as you wished he could stay, you knew it would be unreasonable to ask him to.

So without prompting, you pulled yourself up to sitting, and when he came back from tossing the rag back into the kitchen, you rose to your feet.

You had to admit, you felt a bit exposed, a bit awkward, but even now, as Din looked at you, you could see all of the same warmth and affection you had seen in his eyes before the sex, and that eased your nerves a bit. The first real nerves you had felt since the start of the night, you realized.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, but I have to – ”

“I know,” you interrupted, giving him a smile you weren’t certain would reach your eyes. “I understand. It’s late. You have to be getting back.”

“I do,” he agreed. Crossing to stand just in front of you, he reached out a hand and traced the backs of his fingers down your arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. “Thank you for tonight. I had a great time with you. And not just…this.” He gestured awkwardly at the surrounding room, at his own nakedness that matched yours, at the trail of clothes between the couch and the apartment door. You giggled in spite of yourself, and he joined in, the whole mood lightening considerably as the two of you found your way back to laughing with one another.

“I had a great time with you, too,” you said, draping your arms around his neck. “I’d like to do it again sometime, if you’re interested.”

Din smiled, soft and genuine, and pressed a kiss to your hairline. “I’m definitely interested. And, ah, maybe next time I’ll call in a few favors. See if I can arrange an overnight sitter.”

You snorted, tucking your face into his neck as joy began to bubble beneath the surface of your skin, making you feel light and filling you with an impish energy in spite of the hour. “Hey, if you can swing it, I’m definitely not going to say no. I’d like to actually, I don’t know, make it to the bed next time? Maybe?”

He playfully squeezed your sides in response, and you let out a squeal. “Can you blame me?” he quipped. “Driving me insane all night.”

Offering him a tongue-touched smile, you pulled away and started collecting his clothing from around the room. “Again. You like that about me, baby,” you teased. With a wink, you dropped the bundle of clothes into his waiting arms. “Now get your cute ass back in these jeans. And go kiss your son good-night.”

A handful of minutes later, Din was fully dressed and hovering by the door to your apartment, the scent of you still lingering on his skin, his heart lighter and freer than he had felt in years. You had gone and gotten yourself a robe to cover up with while he dressed, and now you stood, hip leaning against your kitchen cabinets, arms crossed over your ample chest, watching him attempt to delay the inevitable of having to say good-bye.

He didn’t want to leave you – he hoped you knew.

He didn’t want to sleep away from his son, but he also didn’t want to leave you. An impossible conundrum, and one that didn’t bear examination seeing as this was only your first time meeting in person. It was far too early for the direction his mind was heading; he headed it off before it could travel any further down the road.

Instead, he gathered you into his arms one final time for the night, cradled your face in his hands, and planted a soft, gentle kiss on your swollen lips. “Good night, sweetheart. Can I text you in the morning?”

“You can text me anytime,” you replied with a smile. “You could even, um…call me. If you wanted. When you have some free time.”

Din drew back for a moment, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, if that’s okay with you. I’d like to call you.”

Your smile widened, and he could swear he felt a piece of his heart leave his body and lodge itself in you at the sight. “Great. Then I’ll look forward to hearing your voice again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he echoed, and with one final kiss, Din slipped out the door.

[villainsoftheweek]

no disintegrations.

explicit. 18+ only. - 3.5k+ - Din Djarin x f!reader

content: power imbalance, forbidden, mask kink, glove kink, smut, brat taming, spanking, degradation, praise, dirty talk, name kink, secret affair, dom!Din

a gilded girl plays with fire, and the Mandalorian burns through every vow to touch her.

It’s almost impressive — how little your father trusts anyone.

Except him, supposedly.

Not his advisors. Not his guards. Not even the blood-soaked mercenaries he sends out into the undercity to collect debts and leave warnings. Only the man in beskar. That’s what he calls him. Never by name.

Just the Mandalorian.

A silent blade. A shadow bound in steel. Hired to protect the only thing the old bastard actually gives a damn about: you.

You’re not supposed to know that, of course. You’re just the daughter. A pretty trinket to display, a bargaining chip wrapped in silk and guarded like cargo. But you heard the deal. Overheard it echoing through the comm wall late one night, static humming like breath between the words.

Your father’s voice, clipped and cruel:

“If she’s touched, she’s dead. If she’s killed, you’re dead. Do your job.”

And then the Mandalorian’s, low and composed beneath the modulator:

“No disintegrations. I know.”

That was weeks ago.

Now he lingers in the palace halls like a specter — never speaking unless necessary, never eating with the staff, never straying far from your side. He guards your door like death itself, stands motionless at the end of corridors, follows your steps with that slow, predatory grace that makes your skin burn under your robes.

He’s not friendly.

But you try anyway.

It doesn’t stop you from testing the limits eventually. You begin to leave your bedroom door cracked at night, knowing exactly where he’ll be standing. Bathe with the curtains flung wide, steam rising into the open air, the curve of your wet shoulder catching the moonlight. You saunter past him in barely-there silks, your perfume sweet and pointed, pretending not to notice how his visor tracks your every movement like a targeting system.

Sometimes you talk to him — just to fill the silence. Or because you like the way he doesn’t answer.

You’ve at least learned his true name, though you refuse to use it.

“You don’t blink,” you tease one night, sipping from a crystal glass as you lean against your doorway. “Do you even have eyes under there?”

Nothing.

“Maybe you’re a droid,” you hum, drawing closer, barefoot and bare-legged. “Or maybe you just don’t want me to see the way you look at me.”

Still nothing.

But he shifts — barely. A subtle shift in stance. A tightening across his shoulders, like a wolf scenting blood.

You smile — too sweet to be innocent.

“Scared you’d want me if you took the helmet off?”

That gets him.

He turns — sharp, sudden.

You see it, then. The snap of his restraint. The hint of heat beneath the armor. The danger.

And your heart skips.

Good.

You want him to break. You want to watch the man beneath the steel crawl out, teeth bared, control snapped. You want to be the one who makes him fall.

It almost happens three nights before you run.

You’ve just stepped in from the balcony, rain-slick and flushed. The silk of your robe clings damp to your thighs, hair dripping onto your bare collarbone. You’d gone out to clear your head, forgotten your datapad in the rush. When you turn back to retrieve it, the room is dark.

And he’s there.

Not outside your door.

Inside.

Where he’s explicitly not supposed to be.

He doesn’t move when you enter. Just stands there in the shadow, visor reflecting the faint city glow from the window.

“You left this,” Din says, holding out your datapad like it offends him.

But his voice is off. Rougher. Lower. The kind of sound someone makes when they’ve been trying very hard not to feel something.

Your breath hitches.

Because he’s not acting like a bodyguard now. Not standing with arms crossed and stance wide. He’s waiting.

He watched you on that balcony. You know it.

And the way the visor dips — not to your face, but to the damp silk plastered to your chest — tells you everything.

That isn’t protocol.

That’s hunger.

“Were you watching me again?” you ask softly.

Silence.

You let the robe fall from one shoulder. A bare slip of skin.

“You can come closer if you want.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” he rasps.

“But you are.”

You step toward him — careful, slow, as if approaching something wild. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. Behind that bucket. All those long silences. All that breathing.”

He flinches.

You smile.

“And you know what?” you whisper, so close now you can smell the heat of metal and leather and man beneath the beskar. “I think you like the way I act. I think you want to be the one who finally shuts me up.”

A crack in the air between you. Not sound. Not movement. Just tension — pulled taut.

His hand twitches at his side.

You don’t know if he’s going to shove you away or slam you into the nearest surface and fuck you breathless.

But then he speaks. Low. Gravel-sharp.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You tilt your head.

“Try me.”

He steps back. Just one step.

Enough to remind you he still has control.

Barely.

And that’s the night you decide to run.

Because if he’s that close to snapping, then the only thing left is to make him chase.

You wait for a moonless night.

The kind that eats shadows and silences even the stars. The palace rests in its false peace, marbled corridors hushed beneath layers of silk and secrets. But beneath that stillness — power coils. Waiting.

The guards are useless. One slumps against the wall, already drifting into spice-dreams. The other hums along to music no one else hears, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he watches lights shift across the marble. Neither of them notices you pass.

But he will.

You’re not fleeing — not really. You’re summoning.

No comm. No shoes. Just bare skin beneath your robe — thin, translucent, tied loosely at your waist. The silk breathes with every step you take, cool air teasing your body, nipples peaking beneath the fabric. You left your door open just enough. You wore the perfume he lingers near when you pass. You knew he’d watch you leave.

You wanted him to.

You slip through a half-forgotten servant’s tunnel that smells of dust and age and things once hidden. Your breath fogs in the chill. The floor bites at your feet, and still you walk — faster, pulse rising, until you’re through the last gate and into the city’s night.

Below you, the city burns violet — neon slashing through fog, music trembling in the air like a held breath. You move through it like a ghost, drawn higher and higher until you reach a narrow skybridge suspended over nothing. No lights. No witnesses. Just wind, steel, and the hush before the storm.

You wait.

And he comes within minutes.

You don’t hear him. You never do.

But you feel the instant he arrives.

The air shifts. Pressure builds. Electricity gathers like heat behind your skin. Then — he's on you.

A gloved hand snatches your arm and spins you. Your back slams against the wall, the impact stealing your breath. His hand pins your wrist high above your head. The other curls around your throat — not tight, just there. Anchoring you. Claiming you. Feeling your pulse beneath his gloved hand.

The night pulses around you. His armor gleams like a beast's hide in the dark.

His visor lowers to your face.

“What the kriff are you doing out here?” he growls, voice low and dangerous through the modulator.

You smile, lips parted, chest rising fast.

“Mando,” you whisper, sweet and sacrilegious. “Did you miss me that quickly?”

His fingers tighten. Just a little.

He goes still.

Utterly still.

The kind of stillness that lives right before impact.

His grip on your throat flexes. You feel the beat of your own blood thrum against his palm.

“Do you think this is a game?” he snarls.

You tilt your head, lips grazing the edge of his glove. “I think you’re the one playing. All that armor. All that control. Always watching. Never touching. What are you afraid of?”

His silence is a loaded weapon.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he rasps.

You look up at him. Daring. Trembling beneath his touch.

“Then show me.”

He breaks.

A sound rips out of him — half snarl, half groan — and then you're spun, face pressed to cold duracrete, silk robe torn up around your hips. The breeze licks at your thighs. You brace yourself against the wall, breath caught, heart hammering.

He’s behind you in a heartbeat, crowding into your space. Heat radiates off his armor. The press of him is overwhelming, chest to your back, knees spreading your legs with deliberate force.

“This what you wanted?” he growls, grinding against you. You wonder if he’s hard, straining behind the tight beskar he always wears. “To tempt me? To run just far enough I’d have to chase you?”

“I’m not helpless,” you pant.

“No. You’re reckless.”

His hand falls across your ass with a sharp slap, and you jolt forward, gasping — a pitiful sound that breaks off into an even more pitiful moan.

Another follows. Then another — measured, rhythmic, sending heat coursing through your spine.

Your knees buckle. Your thighs tremble.

“Wanted my attention so badly?” he mutters, voice fraying at the edges. “You have it — you should say thank you.”

“Than —”

You’re cut off by his next movement. He shifts, and his hand slides between your thighs — testing, parting, finding.

You're soaked.

A low curse crackles through his modulator.

“Didn’t think you’d actually take the bait,” you gasp, hips tilting into his touch.

“Oh, I saw you. The robe. The scent. Leaving your door cracked — like an invitation.” His fingers thrust inside you, still gloved, slow and devastating. You cry out, eyes fluttering shut. “You’ve been aching for this.”

Your body answers him — grinding, needy, beyond pride. You ride his hand shamelessly.

“You act like you’re above it,” you breathe. “But you want me.”

His breath catches.

Then — armor shifts. Belt unclasps. The thick sound of fabric and gear moving.

And then — he thrusts into you.

One long, brutal motion.

You cry out, voice caught between shock and ecstasy.

He presses deeper, until you’re full — stretched, trembling, your body gripping him like a vice.

“Stars,” he hisses, voice wrecked.

He sets a rhythm — hard, driving, relentless. Every thrust slams you into the wall, his grip bruising your hip, his chest pressed flush to your back. There’s no gentleness here, only raw need, only him.

“Say it,” he growls against your ear. “Say my name.”

You moan, already close. “What?”

“Not ‘Mando.’ My name. You know it for a reason.”

Your voice cracks. “Din —”

“Again,” he orders, subtle desperation of his own behind his words.

“Din — fuck — Din, please —”

He groans like it guts him. One hand fists in your hair, pulling your head back, the mouth of his helmet hovering near your ear. His rhythm breaks — grows erratic, wild.

“Been watching you for weeks,” he pants. “Knowing I shouldn’t. Couldn’t. But you just kept pushing.”

Your walls flutter around him, tight and pulsing, and his grip tightens on your waist.

“Wanted you like this,” he groans. “Just like this.”

You’re nearly there — clenching, unraveling, eyes wet and mouth slack.

Then — you shatter.

Your orgasm rips through you like plasma, hot and bright. Your body convulses, hips jerking, moans punched from your lungs as you squeeze down hard around him.

That’s all it takes.

Din curses — shouts your name — and buries himself deep, grinding into you with a desperate, final thrust. His entire body locks. You feel him pulse inside you, release hitting him so hard he trembles. He clutches your hips, muscles trembling with the force of it, groaning into the crook of your neck through the mask he always wears.

It’s not quiet.

It’s not clean.

It’s messy, and loud, and real. And it’s everything.

He stays inside you for a moment after he finishes, his hand still clamped over your mouth, your body limp against the wall — breathing ragged, heart thunderous, your pulse echoing in the shell of your ears like the tail end of a battle drum.

You both exist in the aftermath like it’s the eye of a storm—still, suspended, unbearably charged.

Then slowly, he exhales. A sound barely audible through the modulator, but weighted. He withdraws from you with care, as though afraid the separation might break something delicate. And maybe it does. You sway, boneless, and he catches you before gravity can take you, easing you back into his arms. One hand cups your hip. The other steadies your chin, tilting your face up to him. The robe slinks down over your thighs again, hiding the bruised heat he left behind.

You expect reprimand. Expect that familiar clipped edge to return to his voice.

But he says nothing.

Instead, he just steps closer and lifts you effortlessly into his arms.

You let him.

One arm under your knees, the other beneath your shoulders. His chest is a broad, immovable wall of beskar against your side — but you press your cheek to it anyway and listen. Not to the city’s chaos, thrumming far below in its neon haze and filth, but to him. To that impossible stillness he wears like a second skin. A silence not empty, but watching. Weighing. Holy, in its way.

He carries you like you’re something worth protecting. Like he didn’t just ruin you against a wall. Like you’re fragile. Precious.

You shouldn’t like it.

But maker, you do.

By the time he reaches your quarters, the palace is a memory behind you. The door hisses open. The lock chimes. He crosses the threshold without a word and takes you straight to your bed. He lays you down gently, and you lie there — legs still weak, chest still fluttering — as he disappears across the room.

The moment he’s gone you want him to take a place by your side again. Fortunately, his absence isn’t for long.

He returns with a cloth, steam still curling faintly from it.

You want to say something sharp. Something clever. But the words tangle in your throat when he kneels beside you and touches your skin with that cloth — warm, damp, careful.

He starts at your inner thighs. Cleans away what’s left of both of you. You watch him work, hands gloved but reverent. Not clinical. Not cold.

Tender.

You shift. The robe parts again. Your knees open a little, baring yourself.

He stills.

“You’re not going to punish me again?” you murmur, voice low and silk-soft. “For making you chase?”

His helmet tilts slightly up toward you — you can feel his eyes burning into you.

“You’re lucky I did,” he says.

You hum. “It didn’t feel like luck when your fingers were around my throat.”

A pause.

His breath hitches. The cloth trembles. Then he sets it aside.

You let your knees fall fully open.

“I liked it,” you whisper. “But I liked when you held me more.”

Something in him breaks then. Silently. Irrevocably.

He moves — slow, deliberate. His hands slide under the hem of your robe, pushing it higher. His touch lingers on your hips, your waist, up your ribs. And then he speaks — low, quiet:

“Let me take it off.”

You blink. “What?”

He shifts back on his knees. Reaches up to his own armor.

“The plating. Not the helmet,” he clarifies. “Just…I want to feel you.”

You don’t answer. Just nod. A breathless little thing. Because yes. Yes, you want that too.

You watch, rapt, as he unfastens each piece. The chest plate first, then the pauldrons. His gauntlets. His gloves. His fingers are deft but not rushed. And each piece, once removed, makes him more real.

Not just a myth wrapped in beskar.

A man.

By the time his torso is bare, you’re aching.

He kneels over you again, bare skin against your thighs now, heat meeting heat. You reach up and trace along his ribs, feel the lines of old scars beneath your fingers. He shudders at your touch.

“You don’t have to be careful,” you whisper.

He lowers himself. His bare chest brushes your breasts — cool skin to flushed heat — as he enters you again.

Slow.

Deep.

You gasp. He groans.

The world narrows to the way his body molds to yours, the way his hips roll forward with perfect, devastating precision. Every thrust is deliberate. Devotional.

He doesn’t fuck you like he did against the wall.

He makes love to you like he’s never done it before. Like he’s terrified of doing it wrong. Like he’s trying to memorize you — every twitch, every breath, every helpless sound you give him. Every flutter and squeeze of your wet heat around him.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper.

Arms looped around his neck, your mouth presses to the edge of his helmet.

“Harder,” you plead, soft and aching. “Please.”

He obliges.

Not with brute force. With intensity.

He thrusts into you like he’s anchoring something — like his whole self might unravel if he stops. Your name breaks from his mouth in pieces. Ragged. Holy.

When you come, it’s with a full-body cry. A shattering bloom behind your ribs. You clamp around him, arms trembling, gasping out his name.

He curses — a low, broken thing — and follows you over the edge, hips jerking, spilling inside you with a groan torn from the very center of him. His body bows over yours, twitching, spent.

But he stays inside you.

Buried deep. As if leaving you empty would kill him.

Eventually, he shifts — but only to pull you into him, his bare skin warm and damp against yours, one arm around your waist, the other braced under your shoulders. Your leg remains hooked over his hip.

You touch his helmet again, trailing your fingers along its curve. The only armor he keeps between you.

“You should stay,” you murmur eventually, afraid of the answer you’re certain will come.

It doesn’t.

He doesn’t speak. But he doesn’t leave either.

You wake slowly in the golden light of the morning, tangled in the silk sheets, one leg draped over his hip still.

It’s quiet. Peaceful.

For a moment, you forget where you are. Who he is.

Only the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm anchors you.

Then the cold kiss of beskar reminds you.

He never took off the helmet.

Even in sleep, he doesn’t let his guard down completely. His arm is heavy around your waist, fingers curled possessively against your spine. You shift slightly, hips brushing his.

He’s already hard again.

You smile, drowsy and wicked.

“You’re insatiable,” you whisper. “Or is that just for me?”

He doesn’t answer. But his hand tightens, just slightly. As if your voice dragged him from the edge of sleep.

You lean closer, your breath brushing the edge of his helmet.

“I wouldn’t mind a morning fuck, you know,” you whisper, lips grazing beskar. “Could pretend last night was just a dream. Do it all over again.”

He groans — low and warning.

But he still doesn’t move.

Not until —

A sound.

Footsteps. Just outside your door.

Both of you freeze.

The hand on your back shifts instantly to your mouth — firm, silencing. His entire body goes still, coiled like a spring.

You hear voices.

Too muffled to make out — two guards. Routine patrol.

One of them laughs. Something about a locked room and “spoiled princesses who sleeps through anything.”

The other’s steps pause — too close.

Din’s head tilts toward the door, every instinct bristling. He’s already calculating: escape routes, shadows to vanish into, how to grab you and disappear before the door opens.

You know that stillness.

The one that means he’ll kill if he has to.

But the footsteps move on.

Fading.

The moment passes.

Still, he doesn’t relax.

His hand slips from your mouth — slowly, with just enough pressure to remind you who’s in control.

You exhale.

And grin.

“You were going to kill them,” you whisper against his visor. “For almost catching you in my bed.”

He growls — quiet but unmistakable. “You’re too loud.”

“You’re the one who made me scream last night.”

Silence.

Then —

He rolls you onto your back with a single, fluid motion. His knee between your thighs, body above yours, his weight pressing you down.

His helmet dips close. You can’t see his eyes. But you feel them.

“I should leave,” he mutters.

“You won’t.”

You press your hips up against him, slow and teasing.

And even though the danger’s passed, he still doesn’t move.

That same tension lingers.

Not fear.

Not exactly.

Something closer to inevitability.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says.

You reach up. Run a fingertip along the edge of his helmet.

“And you’re still here.”

His breath shudders.

Then he slips from the bed, fast and silent, collecting each piece of his armor like a ghost retreating into shadow.

He doesn't speak again.

Not as he fastens his vambraces.

Not as he returns his gloves to his hands, despite the desperation to feel your skin beneath his fingertips again.

Not even when you say, softly:

“Come back tonight.”

He pauses in the doorway. Doesn’t turn.

Just says: “Lock the door.”

And vanishes.

MASTERLIST.

[yeollie-plz]

Ever Since We Met, I Only Shoot Up With Your Perfume

Din Djarin x F! Reader

Synopsis: You receive a new perfume, Din really likes your new perfume.

Genre: fluff, smut

Warnings: pheromone perfume, its giving sex pollen without the sex pollen, p in v sex, unprotected sex, thigh riding

Gif credits to owners!

"Hey you!" A voice called out from the alley way to your left, you turn your head in search of the face that matched the sound. Meeting eyes with an older woman, her face hiding slightly in the shadows.

"You look like you're in love." This statement stops you dead in your tracks, how did she know that? You can't stop your eyes from widening slightly, your jaw turning slack at the woman's words.

You and Din had been traveling together for a while. You also have had a crush on Din for almost as long. Only recently has that crush came more to the surfaced, with his own confession of affection. It hasn't really turned it much yet, but yes, you were in love.

"He doesn't love you back...no wait-" She pauses, scanning your face "-He does...you're just taking your time." She smirks now, almost like she knows she's right. Its annoying that she is.

"I've got something for you." You still haven't replied to her, yet she continues to talk, and yet you continue to stay watching her carefully.

Pushing a small white bottle towards you, she shakes it, almost like she's tempting you with it. But you aren't swayed that easily, you stand there, defensive. She lets out a laugh.

"Take it, I got chased away from the market. It used to be a huge seller! But you, you need it. Take it." She shakes it again.

"I don't usually take things from ladies in alley ways." You finally speak, her eyes gleam at your words.

"Smart rule." She stands there contemplating her words, "Listen, its perfume. It'll-it'll help you with your... Mandalorian?" Her eyes snap up to the figure that has suddenly appeared behind you. Her words mirror her shock. Glancing behind you, you confirm that it is a Mandalorian. Your Mandalorian, in fact.

"Trouble, cyar'ika?" Din says, his tin-like words coming through his helmet. The sound shocks the woman slightly, she stumbles back. Uncharacteristic of the woman that was once so confident in front of you.

"No, no trouble." You turn to look at him, eyes soft as they stare into the beskar of his helmet. A hand comes up to touch his chest plate, a gesture intended to calm him down, but little do you know it makes his heart beat faster.

Turning back to the woman, who is now hurriedly gathering all her things. She shoves the bottle into your hand and rushes off as quickly as she showed up.

"I feel like she had a bounty out on her or something." You say more to yourself than to Din. He grunts in response, eyes trained to where the woman disappeared into the dark.

"What did she give you?" He is now looking down at the bottle in your hand. The concern very evident.

"Just perfume, said it would help me?" You shrug and push past his large form, making your way back to the ship. He follows behind you like a puppy, trailing on your heels. Despite your nonchalant reaction to the gift, Din can't help but be a bit apprehensive.

When you awoke the next day, you got ready like usual, but as you passed the tiny white bottle, it glinted in the sun. The shine drew your eye to the glass. It was almost as if the woman was whispering to you now, "Put it on." You shrugged and picked up the bottle, spraying a bit onto your wrist to test the scent. You sniffed the spot, trying to discern the smell. Nothing. It smelt like nothing?

No, that can't be it. All that just for it to smell like nothing. Maybe it was just mild, maybe you needed to put more on. Yes, that was it. You picked up the bottle once again and sprayed it all over you, making sure to use a good amount. Sniffing the air, you still didn't smell much. No way, you were scammed!

Well, you didn't actually pay her anything, so was it really a scam? You shook your head in disbelief. It wasn't poison, right? Your heart beat faster in fear, maybe it was poison and you just willingly covered yourself in it.

Shaking your head at your silliness, you ignored the pit in your stomach at the thought. Why would someone be trying to poison you? Yes, the old lady was very persistent, but somehow you trusted her. It just must not be that strong of a scent, that had to be it.

As you made your way to the helm, you found Din standing with his back to you, messing with something on the console. He turned as he heard your footsteps approaching him. You didn't know it but a smile formed on his face as you came into view.

Settling yourself into the pilot's seat, his helmet tilted at you in question. It was something the two of you would do almost everyday. You'd steal his seat, making yourself comfortable, until he grumbled at you to move. It was almost like a game at this point. He would never admit it but he liked the way you looked sitting there. He could just picture himself under you...

He shook his head, trying to get the image out of it. Pretending to go back to what he was doing, he slowly worked his way towards you. Din just wanted to be closer to you in any way he could. But as he side stepped in front of you, a new scent wafted towards him. It flooded his senses, vision blackened, lust washed over him. What was this?

"Uhm...did you use that new perfume?" He questioned. Your eyes narrowed at the back of his head, while he continued to fiddle with some buttons.

"I did, but it didn't smell like much so I don't think I'll use it again." You shrugged, looking down at your nails. He abruptly turned around, the speed of the action caused you to look back up at him.

"I think you should keep wearing it." He said definitively. Eyebrows furrowing, you tried to read his body language.

"Oh, okay then? I'm gonna go get some work done." You said, confused by his actions. You got up and wandered away, not sure what to do with the way Din was acting.

Almost a week went by, and at Din's request you continued to wear the perfume. The scent never seemed to get stronger for you, but your confusion did. Because every time you walked into the room, Din almost melted. As the perfume wafted towards him, all his reservations diminished. It took everything in him to not just take you the moment he smelt you. And every night he would touch himself to the thought of you.

He wanted to push you down on the console, have you like putty in his hands. Dripping all over him, fucking you so hard you forgot your own name. Anything to touch you. Anything to have you touch him. Anything to relieve this...spell.

"Din?" You questioned from the doorway. This finally snapped him out of his thoughts, as he turned to look at you. If the scent had him already begging for you, the way you looked right now had him on his knees. You were stood there in nothing but a nightdress, the material of which left almost nothing to the imagination.

"I've been calling you." You laughed, his body melted at the sound. You didn't seem to notice.

"Sorry, I'm just in my own world over here." He couldn't take this anymore, the push and pull was all too much for him. He needed to fell you and soon. His body craved yours.

Slowly he stepped closer to you, helmet dropped to the soft spot of your shoulder. The cold of his helmet sent a shiver down your spine, as he breathed you in right over your pressure point.

"You smell so good." He muttered metallically into your neck. Another shiver racked down your body.

"Din..." You whimpered, your own constraints snapping with his proximity. Although you had wanted it and thought about it for a while, it still scared you to take that step with Din. But you wanted him...needed him in this moment.

Its like he can read your mind, "Need you." He now mumbles out, still breathing in your scent.

"Me too." With this confirmation, he lifts his head. His visor meeting your eyes, trying to read them. You let yours bore into his, trying to work past the black to prove you really did want this.

"Need you." You mirror his words and that's all he needs before he is picking you up like you are nothing and carrying you into his quarters. He throws you onto his bed, hands instantly finding purchase with your flushed body.

Din starts at your stomach, letting his fingers move slowly up until they are kneading your breasts. Massaging them expertly, the soft material of your dress adding to the sensitivity. He tweaks one nipple, causing your hips to buck up into his thigh that is slotted between your legs.

His hands stop, "Careful, mesh'la."

That's all the warning you need to try and keep yourself in check. The darkness of his voice and his desperate actions making you realize he's not one to mess with tonight. Not that you're complaining, you want him to use you.

One hand returns to your breast, abandoning it's previous mission. The other continues it, making its way don your legs. It ghosts over your sensitive mound and you can't help but let your hips buck up again. He tsks at you through the beskar.

"Told you to be careful. But I know my baby is so desperate for me right now, so why don't you show me. Show me how badly you want this cock."

He backs off of you and you almost whimper at the loss of body heat. He takes off his chest plate and leg plates, leaving only his under armor. His body seemed so defined without all that heavy armor.

Leaving his helmet and arm plates, he sits on the bed resting his back on the wall behind the bed. He pats his thigh, showing you what he wants you to do. Complying almost instantly you saunter over to him.

Not sure if you should undress, you decide against it as to not get yourself in more trouble. Instead, you hike your dress up your thighs, flashing your panties to him before settling over his thigh. His eyes darken at the sight, if only you could see them.

Din's hands find purchase of your hips and start to work your soaked core on his thigh. He flexes it as you begin to gain your own rhythm, now only using his hands as support.

Your speed increases as you begin to near your peak. You can't believe you are this worked up just from him barely touching you. Kriff, the things this man does to you.

He continues to flex underneath you, the feeling makes it so much more heightened. You stroke your core against his muscles, knowing how much he wants this too. Movements begin to falter and Din seems to notice this. Using his hand to help keep your pace up, the other finds your breast again massaging it to help you closer to your orgasm.

You gasp out, hands pushing through your hair as you arch your back. Your orgasm finally washing over you. The feeling so intense after months of not having one. The initial shocks subside and you fall into his chest, his very warm and hard chest you note.

He lifts you up off his thigh and places you stomach down onto the bed. Ripping your panties off of your body, causing you to gasp. Your head looks back at him as he stands, looking down at the wet spot on his pants.

He tuts quietly, "Dirty girl, why don't you spread those legs for me? I need to be inside you."

Legs spread apart, revealing your dripping pussy to him. He strips his pants, revealing his own hard member to you. Your eyes widen at this sight, gulping down the lump in your throat. When you decided to fuck Din, you didn't know you were getting into something that big!

Stepping towards you, he strokes his dick, making sure it is hard enough. Although he knew that wasn't really a problem with all that has happened so far. He teases your entrance with his member, getting it a bit lubed up to make the stretch a little better for you.

"I'm gonna fuck you now. I'm only saying this because once I start, I won't be able to stop." You almost laugh at his warning, like you would want him to stop!

Even so, you give him his confirmation, "I want you, Din."

That's all he needs, pushing his tip into you. You can tell it's taking everything in him not to just force himself in past your walls. You appreciate the gesture, but in this moment you would take anything he were to give you.

Once he has decided that you have adjusted enough, he pushes in more and more slowly, letting you feel all of him. Bottoming out, he gives you just a second to adjust this time before he can't take it anymore. He's pulling out to his tip and fucking back into you roughly.

Your body jerks forward as he roughly fucks into you. He pulls out slowly just to push back in, hitting your cervix every time. Din lifts your hips to find a new angle in you. This new angle causes his dick to hit right on your g spot. The feeling has your whimpering and almost drooling, already rapidly approaching another orgasm.

Din can tell to as your cunt clenches onto his dick, "Gonna cum for me again aren't you, cyar'ika?"

You can only whimper in response as your pussy clenches once again, he chuckles at you. You don't have the time to be mad at his laughing, before his hand is making contact with your clit and your orgasm is washing over your body. Your vision turns white as you involuntarily shake with the force of your orgasm.

Before you have fully recovered from the feeling, Din is pulling out, instantly making you overstimulated. But he doesn't seem to notice the way you groan out quietly or the jerk of your hips. He is too busy flipping you over and moving your legs up to his shoulders. Pushing his dick into you again, he continues his assault on your now even more sensitive pussy.

His pace is faster now, a sign that he is also getting close to his peak. Hands holding onto your ankles, knowing you are too weak to do it yourself. His hips are rolling into your yours as he thrusts, hitting your clit while he fucks you.

"Next time, I'm going to taste you, mesh'la." He grunts while thrusting into you. The words and feeling cause you to moan.

"Come on, baby, one more for me." His pace has slowed only slightly so he can gauge your reaction. Your face reels with a bit of pain at the thought, but quickly recovers.

"You can do it." He urges and goes back to his previous pace. One hand now finding your clit, moving it in circles to draw you closer to your third orgasm.

Although your body was spent and you weren't sure you could do it, he was. And he was determined to do everything in his power to get you over your edge one more time.

His thumb continues to circle your clit, pressing on the bud roughly. With a clench of your pussy on his dick, he is moving his digit faster and fucking you harder (if that was even possible). That's when the wave washes over you once again. This time your eyes roll back as your back arches off of the bed. Hips meet his and head knocks back at the feeling.

The feeling of your pussy and the look at your pleasured body, throws Din also over his edge as he finishes inside of you. Hips beginning to stutter as he fills you with his spend. He bottoms out into you once more, keeping his dick there.

You are still coming down from your high when you notice that he is still inside of you. Head tilting in confusion at him.

"Making sure you know who you belong to." He says, knowing what you were gesturing at. Finally pulling out, much to his dismay, he helps you lets your legs relax. Knowing they are probably sore, he massages them lightly.

Both of you are laying there, now content and completely fucked out. When a thought comes to your head. You sit up quickly with a gasp. Obviously now very concerned, Din sits up too.

"I know what the lady was talking about now." You say, like it all made so much sense now.

"What?" He questions, obviously not getting it.

"The perfume lady! She said the perfume would help me! I get it now!" He sits there at your confession, still confused.

You sigh, "It must be some sort of perfume that only appeals to you! I couldn't smell it, but you loved it!" He hums, starting to understand it now.

"And it did help me!" You laugh, "It helped me get laid!"