#i won't tho i don't have the spoons to do star wars research alfjdslfj

[exuber]

Day 02: Against a Wall - The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Female Reader || pre-canon/pre-The Mandalorian plot line

Summary: You are a private sex worker, and the Mandalorian -- your favorite client -- pays you a visit.

Warnings: 18+ only, p in v sex, language, sex work/prostitution, sense deprivation (sight, doesn't go too into detail), rough sex

A/N: sorry, i know this is nearly 2 days late!! i've had a very busy weekend ;; also this is like 1,430 words long oops.

“You know the drill.”

The familiar modulated voice sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine. The voice alone makes something giddy and sweet stir low in your belly. Your legs clench, briefly, before you finally turn to face your favorite client.

“Hey, Mando. Been a while. Work taking you far away from me?” You pout, playful, as you rummage through your drawer for the blindfold. Mando, meanwhile, says nothing, but you don’t miss the slight twitch of his gloved fingers. It’s satisfying to think that you have even an ounce of the impact on him that he has on you. Because, if you’re being honest with yourself, the sight of the Mandalorian standing at your doorway is already making you wet.

He’s tall, and broad, so broad. Sure, he’s not the tallest of your clients, but that doesn’t matter, because no one else exudes danger the way the Mandalorian does. You can’t read his expression behind his beskar helmet, the t-shaped visor giving nothing away. His rust-colored armor is worn, his dark cape tattered, the arsenal of weapons strapped to his body a constant reminder that he is not to be fucked with.

He approaches you, gait slow and swaggering, and reaches his hand out, palm up. You drop the piece of fabric into his hand, eyes trained on his visor the entire time. The blindfold is just a precaution, you know. He’s never taken his helmet off with you; you don’t think he takes it off for anyone. No one is allowed to see the man behind the helmet. You think it has something to do with his creed -- he’s never told you, and you never ask. The first time he paid you a visit, he snatched your wrists up in one gloved hand when you traced the planes of his helmet. It was a warning, one you heed more out of respect for your client than the fear of your life.

Besides, the helmet has become… something of a turn on for you.

Before you can blink, he whips you around by your hip so that your back is to him. The sudden movement makes you gasp, but like he said before, you know the drill. You close your eyes as Mando brings the blindfold over them. Once tied, he guides you forward to the nearest wall and pushes you up against it. You place your hands on the wall in front of you to brace yourself when you feel his hands leave your body.

This is the part that kills you, the part that thrills you. No sight, and you can’t hear anything but your breathing. So quiet you’d think he up and left if it weren’t for the way the hairs on the back of your neck stood. You could feel him hovering behind you, the very threat of him being so close, of knowing he’s watching you… it makes the very core of you ache for the bounty hunter.

“You’re shirt. Take it off”

You gulp, and slowly bring the shirt over your head before dropping it to the ground. A shiver passes through your body, both from the chill gracing your bare skin and from anticipation.

“Touch yourself. Don’t turn around.”

The command halts your movement as you begin to turn away from the wall. “Don’t you want to see, Mando?” You wiggle your ass a bit, teasing. It’s worth it when you hear the static-y sound of a grunt.

“I can see just fine. Touch yourself.”

You bite your lip and trail your hand down your stomach and into your pants. Your whole body quakes as soon as the tip of your middle finger brushes against the sensitive bundle of nerves. It’s enough to spur you on, and you continue to play yourself, rubbing small circles around your clit. You arch your back so that your clothed breasts are pressed up against the wall and your ass juts out even more -- for Mando’s viewing pleasure, beckoning him to just touch you already.

A couple of excruciating moments pass with Mando watching as your moans escalate, until, finally, neither of you can wait for the other any longer. He presses up against you, pressing you more firmly against the wall, and you can feel him through the fabric of both your clothes, how enticingly hard he is against your ass. It sends a thrill right through you and you moan at the contact, excitement spreading through to your already wet underwear.

The hand you were using to pleasure yourself finds its way back to the wall to steady yourself. He ruts up against you, none-too-gently, and you beg without words to feel him without the obtrusions. He tears off the garment supporting your breast first. The sudden contact of the cold wall against your stiff nipples stings, making you hiss in pleasure. You abruptly throw your hip back to meet his next thrust, impatient, because you can’t fucking wait anymore, you’re ready for him, you need him inside you. Your pussy is absolutely throbbing at his absence.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from beneath the helmet, and by the way he tightens his grip on you, you know you’re about to get what you want.

There’s a brief struggle as you both come to undo your pants, and you can’t tug them down fast enough. At some point during the fumbling of garments, he must’ve unzipped his own pants because you feel his erection, hot and hard, sliding up against your backside.

“Please, Mando, please, what are you waiting f-”

The words stutter to a stop when you feel the tip of his cock against your entrance. And then he’s sliding in, widening you, and it’s effortless because of how wet you are but still gradual -- he’s just so fucking thick and your walls tigthen around him, welcoming, welcoming, full until he presses up against that delicious spot and your eyes roll up into your skull-

“Oh, stars--!”

He pulls back slowly before thrusting back in again. He repeats the movement, gradually increasing the pace with each thrust and making you sing in bliss. But he’s not one to savor once he’s inside you. No, all the torture was done beforehand. He makes you ache with want just by looking at you. He’ll drag it out as long as he wants, as long as he can. But once he’s inside you, his impatience matches your own and it’s not long until he’s fucking you, truly fucking you into the wall with rough quick motions.

Tears sting your eyes, you’re so close, it’s building and building and he feels so fucking good inside you, you can never have enough of him. He pants behind you, the sound coming out static-y and it makes you clench down and around him. His movements become jerky, short, quick, but still rough rough rough, his grip tattooing itself into your skin. And then you’re cumming, head thrown back as a ragged shout escapes you.

One, two, three more delectable pumps and he’s joining you, releasing himself inside. He’s pressed entirely up against you now, completely crowding you against the wall. His helmet comes to rest on the wall beside your head -- you can feel the cool of it on the left side of your temple -- as he continues to cum. The pulsing of his throbbing member makes you whimper; you’re spent, legs shaking, full to the brim with the Mandalorian’s cock and his seed but your cunt has the audacity to crave more.

When he finally pulls out, you feel his cum and yours drip down your inner thighs. Before you can collapse into a quivering heap, he’s pulling you towards your bed with a gentleness that reminds you why he’s your favorite client; He’s intimidating and rough when he visits but he doesn’t treat you like an object to be discarded despite this being a job for you and a release for him.

You lay back on the bed and try to catch your breath. Mando, still standing, tries to do the same, though more subtle. The rise and fall of his chest is barely perceptible; he’s already building back up the stoic armor that was briefly displaced just moments before. He’s already tucked himself back into his pants. You try not to be disappointed that you couldn’t taste him today.

The Mandalorian fishes some credits out of one of the pouches strapped to him and places it on the table beside your bed. You smirk up at him.

“Always a pleasure, Mando.”

He nods once and turns to leave without looking back.