Miss You

Kiss Your Scars

Din Djarin x Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Part of the Equal Partners series. Link to masterlist in bio.

Warnings: Smut, oral (m & f receiving), body worship, slight praise kink, first time together, tender smut, soft!Din, the Child being adorable

Thank you to @tintinwrites​ for giving this a beta read!

~

“Alright little guy,” you held the child in your arms as he cooed and giggled, “You’ve had enough excitement lately. It’s time for bed.”

Din watched with amusement as you took care of the child. It had only been a day since the big battle and blowout on Nevarro, and ever since then the child seemed more lively than ever. But, you took such good care of the child, and Din felt his heart swell with emotion as he watched you with him.

Just as you turned to set the child down in his little cot, Din called your name, “Will…” he started when you turned around to face him, “Will you stay in my quarters tonight?” he asked as he was uncharastically nervous.

You smiled softly at him as you felt your heart pound in your chest, “Of course,” your voice was soft as you felt equally nervous. 

The two of you had just recently confessed your feelings that you each had for the other, and things felt different since then. It wasn’t a bad different, but unsaid words hung in the air between you and neither of you had addressed it yet.

Din nodded and watched you tuck the child in before you turned back to him, “Let me just clean up first, ok? I’ll be there in a few.”

“Alright,” he almost sounded disappointed, but he didn’t say anything more.

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Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 7.4k Warnings: sex pollen, use of restraints, sex-pollened!Mando gets scary and feral, SO MUCH dirty talk, sedation, injections/iv hydration, descriptions of previous injuries and blood, reference to violence, oral (m-receiving) while Mando is chained up but no longer drugged Summary: When Mando is drugged on a job, he begs you to restrain him because he knows he won’t be able to keep his hands off you. Notes: Thank you to @fisforfulcrum for being the best beta and enabler in all the land!

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You were sitting on a crate in the hull, cleaning your disassembled blaster when the ramp jolted and started to lower with a mechanical whir. You knew it was Mando returning from his solo job—the nav had beeped a little bit ago to announce that he was in range—so you didn’t bother looking up from your task when he strode into the ship.

He slapped the control on the wall and kept his hand pressed firmly to the panel, frozen in place, as the ramp closed slowly. You caught the limited movement in your periphery while you worked, thinking vaguely that he must be exhausted.

“How’d it go?” you asked, rubbing an oily rag along the barrel of your blaster.

Mando didn’t respond. No sigh, no grunt. Nothing.

That grabbed your attention. Mando was never talkative, often relying on one-word rejoinders, but he always answered direct questions, especially from you. Lately, he was even initiating conversations during the long stints in hyperspace between one bounty and the next.

You looked up and were surprised to see that there was no quarry in sight—it was just Mando standing at the far end of the hull, his gloved hand still pressed to the control panel like he couldn’t bring himself to move. He looked… agitated. You could read the tension in his body; the fist hanging by his side was clenched and his shoulders were drawn up.

“Mando?” you asked, the confusion apparent in your voice, as you set your blaster down and got to your feet.

“No.” Without moving from his position, he whipped his head around and held up a palm to halt your advance. “Don’t… Don’t come any closer.”

“What—?”

He pointed a threatening finger at your chest. “Stay. There.”

You were so shocked by his unexpected command that you obeyed, staying rooted to the spot.

That’s when you really took in his appearance: he was shaking, the hand pointed at your chest trembling slightly. His armor was dirty—smeared with what was unmistakably blood—and his cape had a new ragged tear up the side. His chest was heaving as if breathing alone was a herculean effort.

When he saw that you were listening to him, he nodded stiffly and wrenched his hand away from the wall. With leaden steps, he walked over to a large storage crate and dragged it into the middle of the floor. Each of his mechanical movements looked like it required every ounce of his control to execute.

“Why—?”

He grunted, ignoring your question again. You watched in stunned silence as he stripped off all of his weapons, even his vambraces and spare ammo, with stunted, jerky motions and dropped them into an unceremonious pile on the floor next to him. Mando usually spent hours caring for those weapons, so it was jarring to see them discarded carelessly like that.

He crouched and ripped the lid off the crate, letting it clatter to the floor. He rooted around and when he straightened a moment later, he was holding chains—thick, hefty chains with menacingly large iron links—in his gloved hands. You watched in confusion as he set down the heavy tangle on the floor with a clank and hunted through the strands until he located the ankle restraints. He extracted them and began to fasten them around his own ankles, one at a time. Your jaw dropped.

“Mando, what the fuck are you doing?”

He whipped his helmet up to look at you and commanded: “Help me with this.”

You scrunched your eyebrows together: “Why?”

“Just do it.”

“I’m not going to chain—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, he snarled: “Just shut up and fucking help me.”

You stood there, dumbstruck, and cycled through several emotions in rapid succession. Your initial shock was immediately replaced by irritation as you registered his rude words. Anger flickered brightly across your consciousness, but it was quickly supplanted by confusion: he had never spoken to you in that tone of voice, let alone told you to shut up. Finally, fear settled in, thick and weighty, like a fog threatening to choke you.

You approached him slowly, kneeling on the other side of the tangle of chains.

“What happened to you?” you asked gently, reaching out to touch his arm.

He jerked away immediately, so quickly that he almost lost his balance. He thrust out an arm to steady himself on the wall behind him.

“Don’t—don’t touch me. Please.” His voice was suddenly small, almost quavering.

Your heart rate kicked up again.

“Mando, you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s going on.”

He looked up at you, voice slightly softer but still firm and urgent. “Help me with this, then I’ll explain.”

You stared at him.

“Please,” he repeated—beseechingly.

He was begging you. That was when the real fear sank in.

Without another word, you helped him get the wrist cuffs in place. Then, standing beside him, you followed his directions as he instructed you to secure the ends of the four chains: two to bolts on the wall, and two to bolts on the floor. The two on the wall were affixed to his arm restraints, the two on the floor to his ankles. Initially, you left slack in the chains, plenty of room for him to move, but he insisted that you tighten them enough so that his back was almost flush to the wall and he couldn’t extend his hands out any further than the natural reach of his long arms.

He sighed, shoulders slumping in relief, when you clicked the last restraint in place.

You looked up at him. Mando was strung up against the wall of this ship, arms hanging by his sides, suspended about a foot away from his body, and his legs were splayed slightly in a wide stance, boots a couple feet apart.

It was quite a sight.

If you weren’t so worried about what was happening, you’d definitely be having some... ideas. They were completely inappropriate ideas, especially considering the stark reality that the two of you were nothing more than hunting partners.

“Th-thank you,” he breathed. “Now, p-please, step away from me.”

You reluctantly complied, taking several careful steps backward, keeping your gaze trained on his visor.

“Okay, I did what you asked. Now tell me what happened.”

His breathing was still labored. “H-hit with a bio-dart, aphrodisiac drug. Strong... Heard of them before, but never encountered one until now.”

You gave him a skeptical look, raising one eyebrow, “...An aphrodisiac drug as a weapon? I thought that was a myth.”

“Apparently not.”

You surveyed him again as the reality of the situation washed over you.

He continued, words spilling out of his mouth in a rush like he was running out of time to explain: “H-had to get back to the ship. Didn’t trust myself. Left the body there. I’ll go back for it later. No-no time to bring it back. I had-had to—before I—”

His whole body tensed suddenly, cutting off his own sentence, and he threw his head back as an ugly, feral sound tore from his chest.

You stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Fuck, are you okay? Does it hurt?”

You panicked, desperately trying to think of some way to help him as he flailed.

He writhed for another moment then thankfully stilled, slowly raising his head to look at you again. He sounded wrecked when he spoke again: “No, no. It doesn’t hurt, not exactly. Not yet at least. It’s—it feels like...” He trailed off, glancing toward the floor.

You prompted him: “Like what?”

Before he could answer you, another wave wracked through him, and he thrashed against the restraints. You fought the urge to cross the space and soothe him. Even in the most stressful, life-threatening situations, Mando was always the picture of composure: calm, collected, calculating. So, it was unnerving to see him like this—overcome and out of control. You were itching to touch him, to ease his discomfort somehow. After another moment, he recovered.

When his visor found your face again, he rasped: “It feels like if I don’t fuck you right now, I’m going to die.”

His words hit you like a slap in the face. You swallowed hard, staring at him... all thoughts suddenly gone, mind completely blank.

He filled the fraught silence, straining forward slightly, his voice dipping an octave: “I want to fuck you so badly, baby.”

Your heart dropped at the unexpected pet name, a wave of wetness unapologetically gathering between your thighs.

Fuck. This was not at all the situation you had imagined—Mando drugged and chained up—but you had definitely dreamt of him saying some version of those words to you... on a regular basis, like maybe every night you ever spent with him on the Razor Crest.

He spoke again, trembling as he said: “This is fucking torture, you standing there, looking like that. And I can’t even fucking touch you. Shit. Shit. Shit. I want to—I want to touch you.”

Without your explicit permission, your feet moved you one step forward.

Mando shook his head back and forth violently, helmet jerking like he was trying to clear unwelcome thoughts by sheer force. “Dank ferrik, this is really fucking with my head. I’m-I’m sorry—I’m not myself.”

Only one question came to mind, one thing you were desperate to know.

“So...it’s just the drug?”

You waited, holding your breath, hoping he knew exactly what you were asking him.

He snapped his helmet up, meeting your gaze. He sounded surprisingly sober for a moment. “No. It’s not,” he stated bluntly. “I always want to fuck you. It’s just now I... I can’t control that urge.”

Suddenly, the drafty hull felt hot, suffocatingly so. You inched forward again.

His confession flooded you with courage. “What if... what if I want you to fuck me?”

Mando whined, body convulsing, shoulders collapsing forward as far as they could against his arm restraints. You were so shocked by the foreign sound that you actually took a step back—you’d never, ever heard him make a noise remotely close to that. You’d cauterized gaping wounds for him, removed a jagged blade from deep in his thigh, witnessed him take a blaster bolt to the side, sutured countless lacerations with no local anesthetic... but you’d never heard him whine. It was high and needy, desperate and pathetic as it grated through his modulator.

“Don’t-don’t say that, please don’t fucking say that to me right now... please... I c-can’t handle it.”

The chains creaked ominously, the links clanking together as he shifted against them.

“But, I mean it. I always want you to fuck me too,” you continued, ignoring Mando’s feeble requests.

You squeaked and flinched back again when Mando suddenly lunged forward, hands gripping the chains and pulling hard. His arms and legs were immediately wrenched back, his torso straining toward you. He panted: “Gods, you don’t know how long I’ve dreamt of you saying-saying that to me, mesh’la.”

Even through his visor, his stare was scalding, his gaze scorching your skin as he surveyed you, helmet trailing all the way down and back up your body.

You stepped toward him.

He jerked his head to the side suddenly, tearing his gaze away, and whined again—more quietly this time, more resigned. When he said the next words, you could hear how tightly his jaw was set: “Not like this. I-I won’t fuck you for the first time like this. I-I won’t forgive myself if I hurt you.”

You took another, much larger step forward.

“You won’t hurt me.”

He whipped his helmet up to watch you again. His voice was dangerous now, menacing, as he growled: “Yes, yes—I will. You don’t understand what this feels like. I can’t control myself—it’s a fucking miracle I didn’t take you the moment I walked back onto the ship and saw you sitting there—so kriffing gorgeous—and it’s only gotten worse.” He let out another frustrated growl, then continued: “I don’t just want to fuck you, I want to wreck you, I want-want to wreck you until you can’t walk and then fuck you again. I want to tear you apart. Ruin you with my cock.”

He said those words like a threat, but you couldn’t help the way they sent heat coursing through your veins, a shiver down your spine. You stepped toward him one more time. You were almost within his reach.

“DON’T,” he ordered, voice deadly serious. “Really, I can’t control myself. S-stay back.”

Even as he told you to stay away, though, he reached a hand out for you, legs and arms straining forward, trying to get closer to you. His mouth was saying one thing, his body begging for another.

You stayed where you were, just out of his reach, and asked: “How long will this last?”

“I don’t know... I hope no longer than a few hours. It’s already been at least an hour since I got hit. But it’s-it’s gotten worse.”

You could hear the exhaustion and exertion in his voice. He was barely holding it together, and you knew you needed to do whatever you could to make this easier on him, not harder. So, you shoved down your own selfish desire and with great reluctance, stepped away from him. You sat back down on the crate across from him and said, “Then, I guess… we’ll wait it out.”

He nodded vaguely, leaning against the wall behind him with a loud sigh.

You sat in uncomfortable silence for several long minutes. You busied yourself by reassembling your blaster. Every so often, the restraints jangled loudly when Mando was wracked by a brutal surge of need and struggled violently. You tried your best not to flinch every time it happened.

Eventually, he disrupted the silence by saying your name.

Before you even looked up at him, though, you knew—you knew that Mando was gone.

His voice had dropped several octaves, and it sounded different... honeyed, charming, drawling, depraved. It was fucking sultry. When you looked up at him, you immediately noticed his body language. You couldn’t quite put your finger on what exactly had changed, but something about him was off.

All you knew was that, suddenly, a dangerous stranger was standing across the hull from you. For the first time, you were truly grateful for those thick fucking chains.

His voice was smooth and calm when he said: “I need your help, sweetheart.”

You looked away from him, studying the silver sheen of the blaster in your hand instead. The way he rasped the word sweetheart would be burned into your brain for the rest of your life. It made your whole body feel hot.

“Come over here, beautiful,” he coaxed. “I’ve wanted you for so long, and now I know you want me too—you can’t hide from me anymore, princess.”

Princess. You didn’t answer. You just sat in silence and shrieked internally.

He said your name again—this time more urgently—then abruptly changed his tack: “Maker, this hurts so much now, it burns—I need you to make it stop hurting. Be a good girl and help me.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek.

When you didn’t respond, he tested a third approach, his voice pitching low and sensual: “Please, cyar’ika, don’t you want me? I’m so fucking hard for you right now. I’ll make you feel so, so good, make you cum again and again. Just-just let me touch you. Let me show you.”

You stayed quiet, trying to remember how to breathe. He was playing all the angles—appealing to your conscience and your libido. The second strategy was harder to ignore.

“Come here and feel how hard I am for you.”

Fuck.

His voice was pure sin, purring and growling for you. He was fucking luring you in with it. He said your name one more time, and your resolve cracked a little.

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

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

Against all odds, you stayed seated.

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

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

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

Sweet fucking hell.

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

He was going to kill you.

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

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

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

Mando roared and thrashed behind you.

You were halfway up the ladder when you heard it—an angry metallic whine and the pattering of several small objects hitting the floor. You whipped your head around and watched as the durasteel panel that his right wrist restraint was fastened to began to peel away from the framework of the ship, several of the bolts already missing.

The piercing sound seemed to jolt Mando out of his drugged haze. When you dropped down from the ladder and faced him, you could tell that he was himself again. He stepped back against the wall, putting as much distance as he could between the two of you.

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

Your jaw dropped: “Drug you?? More?”

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

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

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

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

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

His shoulders slumped in relief.

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

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

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

First, he tried appealing to your reason.

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

It almost worked for a second.

You took another step toward him.

Next, he tried bargaining.

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

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

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

You forced out one word: “No.”

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

Finally, he tried straight-up seduction.

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

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

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

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

“I have to know how you taste.”

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

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

He’d wanted you, too—all this time.

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

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

You did want to help him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, shit.

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

And so did you.

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

You took another step.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needed this.

Fuck, who were you kidding? You needed this.

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

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

Fuck.

You stilled your hand.

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

The seconds stretched on.

Mando broke first.

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

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

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

Ouch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another bolt clattered to the floor.

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

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

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

Mando bellowed: “NO!”

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

One. One single bolt remained in place.

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

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

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

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

Your finger hovered over the trigger.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mando?”

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

“How do you feel?”

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

“Good.”

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

“How long has it been?”

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

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

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

He looked down at his cut up shirt.

“Good thinking,” he nodded.

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

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

“Do you remember anything?”

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

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

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

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

You stayed where you were.

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

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

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

His sudden patience was all the confirmation you needed.

“I believe you.”

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

“Did you mean what you said?”

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

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

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

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“It wasn’t just the drug talking?”

He scoffed: “No, it wasn’t.”

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

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

“What are y—”

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

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

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

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

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

“I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuuckk—”

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

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

“C-close—”

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

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

“I’m—hnngh—”

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

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

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

You looked at each other at the same time.

“So... how do you want me first?”

“Unchain me, and I’ll show you.”

***

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

i had to do it

Tailor’s Masterlist

Updated 01/17/2021

Star Wars

Paz Vizsla

Din Djarin

Boba Fett

Captain Rex

Death Watch Mandalorian

Armorer

Bo-Katan Kryze

OCs/Everyone Else/Extras (You’ll find Axe Woves, Koska Reeves, and other background characters here.)

Other PP Characters (Max Phillips and Oberyn Martell for now.)

Star Trek

Spock

Sarek/Amanda

mando fights the droids, but a slowed version of “daddy issues” by the neighbourhood plays in the background

Insatiable - Chapter One: Let Me Taste You

Word count: 7.5k

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

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

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

Series Details:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course,” you turn, reassuring her.

“I’ll miss you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is my brother, Prince Oberyn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Very.” You reply, smiling up at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you appreciate the food?”

“Yes, I loved it!”

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

“The raspberries.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More,” you whimper, “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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