messy

@kenobifitz horny corner 24 ⋅ she/her ⋅ 18+ mdni x reader fics and thoughts

[goonbarisi]

about me

hello, i'm kel, she/her, 24. posting here what im too shy to post on my other blog basically, this is a freak house where i write x reader fics and share or reblog some of my icky thoughts.

strictly 18+ blog!! MDNI.

stuff: guidelines & masterlist ♡ ao3

more about me down here!

i speak english and spanish and i'm a master of making typos, so my bad if there are any. i think way too fast sometimes. adhd. i like going to the gym whenever my knee is not annoying me, so that's also a big interest of mine <3

bisexual. big age gap and bdsm enthusiat yay!

besides having a barisi parasite in my brain, i'm a big star wars (obi-wan kenobi my husband), criminal minds (bad down for spencer reid since i was old enough to watch tv on my own) , doctor who, ncis, stardew valley and mario bros games enjoyer. i'm in a bunch of fandoms so don't be surprised if i end writing din djarin, reid or hotch x reader fics too at some point.

[reidloverr]

JUDGE, JURY, & EXECUTIONER (playing dirty pt. 3) ✧˚ · .

thrill me, chill me, fulfill me ♠

part 1 | part 2

pairing: spencer reid x reader (no use of y/n)

warnings & tags: MDNI, sub!pervy!spencer, loser!bush-lover!spencer, hotel sex, pegging, oral (f & m receiving), facesitting, edging, makeshift gag, spanking, degradation, praising, overstimulation, squirting, throat fucking, mentions of m masturbation, crying during sex

summary: after a long day of working (and getting sidetracked with some cards) at the LAPD, you end up sharing a hotel room with Spencer—which gives you the perfect opportunity to fulfill your promise of ruining him.

w/c: 7.5k

a/n: this is just a collection of my filthiest thoughts and idk how to feel about it...

and thanks to the beautiful @hotchnerss for being the judge of this :)

10 of hearts, Jack of diamonds, Queen of spades, 4 of spades, and a 10 of clubs. Those were the five cards splayed out on the table between you and Spencer in the middle of the freezing conference room the team had gotten cleared out at the LAPD to work on a case. 

At this point, it was 10 pm, and everybody’s brains had turned into mush. 

“Do you need some help?” Spencer asked, the pitch of his voice slightly rising in inquiry and a hint of condescension.

“No. I know what I’m doing,” you lied, holding the cards up to your face to where he could only see your taunting eyes. 

You slowly shifted your gaze up to him, wanting to seem more confident with your small collection of cards than you actually were. 

You had learnt more about playing poker by watching the team play friendly games on the jet. You’d always sit close by, half-asleep, focusing mostly on Spencer just because he hated when you watched him play. 

You’d try to get a glimpse of his cards for no reason other than to mess with him, because what would you use that information for? 

Today, you officially had your first six poker games against Spencer. 

“Come on, just show me your cards,” he sighed, reaching over to the cards in your hands. 

“Absolutely not!” you hissed, bringing the cards flat against your chest. 

“I’m actually gonna kill both of you if you don’t put those cards away.” Emily groaned, picking her forehead off the hard wood, glaring at the two of you, and covering her ears to block out every possible sound you two were making. 

“Don’t be a party pooper, Em.” you playfully rolled your eyes at her, glancing over, and taking in how terribly tired she looked. 

“You’re yelling in my ear,” she rubbed her eyes harshly before dropping her head back down on the table with a dull thud. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, politely pulling your lips into a thin line. 

You took in a deep breath, catching your top lip between your teeth in deep thought before leaning your elbows on the table. 

Although the two of you agreed to no profiling during the game, that was nearly impossible to avoid—the only signs of how the game was going you could rely on as an amateur were his microexpressions. 

You couldn’t help but catch the slight twitch of the right corner of his lip when the queen of spades hit the board, so you took a leap of faith to conclude that you'd helped him somehow. 

You didn’t know the exact math, but you knew that Spencer could destroy you right now if he wanted to. 

Instead, his fingers idly traced the edges of his cards as he stared at your chest where you’d held the papers a few moments ago, unable to peel his eyes away. 

Staring at every inch of your skin was a habit that slowly grew over the past few months—undeniable proof that Spencer had become a dog at your feet. 

He’d fuck you with nothing but that filthy look of his eyes—mapping out your body shamelessly when he thought no one was looking. 

“Do you have a nine?” he finally looked up to your eyes after staring for way too long. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure of how truthful you wanted to be, “Yes.” you nodded. 

“And do you have a king?”

“Why’d you look at my fucking cards?” you whisper yelled, furrowing your brows as you leaned closer to him from across the board. 

“I didn’t.” 

You’d missed a very easy win—a straight. It was a hit to your ego, even though Spencer hadn’t rubbed it in your nose that you missed such an obvious, basic move when he usually would. 

You placed the two cards in the small space between you two. 

Spencer always had an unyielding need to overpower you intellectually during working hours, because that was the only way he could keep a lick of his dignity anymore.

So his so-called help didn’t seem right. 

“What cards do you have?” you tilted your head, having a certain feeling that he’d managed to trick you so he could win. 

Spencer folded his cards over onto the board, hiding them close to his side before taking in a deep breath, “You won.” he simply said.

Your brain was nearly entirely fried that you didn’t register his words immediately. 

“First win after six rounds,” he sounded smug, “I see great potential.” the words that left his lips miserably failed to hide his disgustingly beautiful smirk as he gave you a nod of mock satisfaction.

There it was, his undying need of proving that he’s superior.  

Spencer told himself that he’d let you win purely out of pity, but deep down he knew that one of his many guilty pleasures is seeing you so self-satisfied after scarring his pride whenever you got the chance.

 And he was giving you a tiny chance at that, missing your shit-eating grin after six rounds of beating you. 

Winning didn’t taste as good as losing to you. 

“Pack it up,” Hotch announced, stepping into the room, the heavy click of his dress shoes filling the quiet space, “We’re heading to the hotel. We have to share rooms due to some last-minute booking shortages, so pair up.”

“Reid.”

Spencer only hummed, looking up at Hotch.

“I don’t wanna see those cards tomorrow.” he warned, raising his brows up for a moment. 

“Yes, sir.” Spencer buttered, slight embarrassment evident in his voice. 

Emily practically bolted upright at the word ‘hotel’, her eyes instantly losing their dead glaze, “Thank god,”   

“My beautiful Emily-” you clasped your hands together, tilting your head to the side with the sweetest look you could muster. 

“I love you so much,” Emily slowly stretched her arms up after they’d been wedged under her head for too long, “but I cannot bear your voice for another second. I’m going with JJ.”

“Ouch?”

“That’s what you get for blabbing the entire time we were playing,” Spencer shook his head, stiffly packing his cards back into their small cardboard box, avoiding eye contact entirely. 

“You’re not any better, Reid.” Morgan quickly picked up his file off the round table, turning to the door as if he’s trying to evade the question Spencer was certainly about to ask him. 

Of course, Derek wouldn’t pass up on the only single room available. 

In no time, you and Spencer were the only ones left between the four sterile white walls, “Looks like you’re stuck with me.” you murmured, forcing his eyes to flicker up at you. 

Spencer’s hand faltered, a single card slipping from his fingers onto the table. He didn’t respond, but the faint shade of pink tinting the tips of his ears told you everything you needed to know.  

--

You headed to the shared hotel room before Spencer, leaving him behind as he trailed along with Hotch and Rossi—most probably interrogating them about the sudden booking issues that came up. 

And knowing Spencer, he was certainly begging one of the two to switch rooms with him but the pair were inseparable. 

You lazily dropped your go-bag on the twin bed tucked in the far left corner of the room, and unzipped it. The long day of working on a case with little to no leads had sucked out all your energy and left you frustrated and exhausted with a barely functioning brain.  

Being neat was the last thing you cared about at that moment, so you took out some of the bag’s contents as you looked for a change of clothes for the night, throwing them on the bed. 

After finding a pair of cotton sleep shorts and an oversized tee shirt, you reached underneath your skirt, hooking your fingers into the waistband of your panties, pulling them down, and stepping out of them before carelessly tossing them next to the open bag. 

You grabbed your clean clothes and slipped into the bathroom to wash up and change. 

The sound of the door clicking shut was the signal of Spencer’s arrival, reminding you of what hell you had to deal with tonight. 

A few minutes passed and there was no movement in the room. 

You had no idea what Spencer was doing. 

The red fabric of your used panties was like a trap, making him stand weirdly close to your side of the room, tilting his head slightly forward, trying to get a better look at the delicate fabric as he shamelessly licked his lips.

Spencer was under a spell, his tall frame facing your bed, standing a few feet away from it. 

The unadulterated hunger that crept into his chest was borderline sinful, and he hated how a piece of fabric had such an effect on him. 

All he could do was picture you, taking off the fabric, completely bare like he’d seen you many times before. So perfect. 

The image of you had burnt itself in the back of his eyes ever since the first time he got to see your naked body. It was a visual that made him more grateful for his eidetic memory than ever. 

He had used the mental image of you so many times in the past few weeks. Obsessing over it when he couldn’t fall asleep at night, jerking off to the crystal-clear replay of you dismantling him before coming embarrassingly fast. 

The things he’d done to you in his head were nothing short of depraved, and he’d drop dead if anyone ever found out about his guiltiest pleasure—you. 

You swung the door open, stepping into the room with no intention of being met with a paralyzed Spencer. 

“What are you doing?”

Spencer whipped his head to your direction—feeling like a deer in headlights. 

“Nothing.” he lied, almost stuttering over the few letters leaving his mouth. 

He was caught. 

You placed your fists on your hips, tilting your head to the side as you made your way further into the room, “What the fuck are you doing, Reid?” you demanded an answer he clearly didn’t have. 

“I was just- I didn’t-” he pointed at the used panties then a random direction as if that would help him out. 

“You’re a total pervert, you know that?” A satisfied smirk cut across your face as you watched the crimson flood his neck, “I leave you alone for two minutes and you turn into a dog salivating over my underwear. Is that what you are, Reid? A little dog?”

He quickly shook his head, trying so hard to suck in the panic that was seeping through his pores, “N-no, my eyes just drifted, I swear-” he choked on his own breath as you took another step closer. 

“Oh, and you’re trying to lie to me too?” you raised your eyebrows, slightly bringing your chin in.

“You’re really racking up your debt with me. It’s like you want me to ruin you. Is that it?” you tipped your head back a little to get your face closer to his, “You’re acting out because you’re starving for the punishment I promised you?”

Spencer’s adam’s apple bobbed hard as you took a step closer, making the backs of his knees hit the edge of his bed. The only reprieve from your soul-sucking body he was painfully trying to resist was sinking down onto the bed. 

Spencer looked up at you, naked fear bubbling in his wide brown eyes. He was a condemned man staring up at his executioner.

No one’s ever made an effort to pick him apart and analyse his every move—but that’s exactly what you did, so you became his drug of choice. 

To Spencer, it didn’t matter that your attention was sick and completely reliant on using his most depraved desires for your own pleasure. All he could see was that you were using him. You were choosing to use his mind, body, and soul. 

You’d think that Spencer is smart enough to know that you don’t care about him, but that wasn’t the case. 

How could your overbearing consumption of him mean nothing? It certainly meant that he was seen. 

You’d look at him and not miss a thing—down to the invisible quiver of his lips. 

Spencer was two people in one, or maybe he was one split into two—torn between running to save his sanity, and pressing his throat harder against your blade. 

He understood that everything about this was wrong and it ate him alive. But to a man who’s been emotionally starved his entire life, cruel attention is still attention, and the guilt was worthless when all you do is pin him down and dig into the filthiest corners of his mind. 

You could easily map out the fractures in his psyche and use them as leverage. 

And god help him, he was letting you. 

Spencer was completely paralyzed beneath your gaze, waiting for your next move. 

“You’re a disgusting man,” your fingers roughly gripped his jaw, “now strip and get on all fours on the bed and I’ll give you what you deserve.” you murmured against his lips before dropping his chin as if his very skin repulsed you.

Spencer immediately obliged, his fingers trembling as they flew to the buttons of his shirt. His eyes followed you as you gracefully padded to your bed, rummaging through your unzipped bag at the edge of the white sheets. 

His hands grew clumsier as he started frantically unbuckling his belt, hoping to get in position before you walked back to him so he wouldn’t have to face you again. You’d make him speak—and that’s something he was incapable of at the moment. His long limbs shook as he shed his clothes and crumbled them up onto the corner of the bed. 

You had asked him to be in an exposing position that he’d never been in—offering himself blindly while his heart hammered against his ribs, almost cutting through the bones to jump out. 

Spencer pushed himself onto his hands and knees, his spine straightening as he shivered. 

When you finally plucked the small bottle of lube out of your bag, a wave of satisfaction settled in your chest. You had packed it before you left Virginia, long before the booking shortage forced you into this room, because you had planned on having fun and punishing him on this trip--Spencer just happened to hand you the perfect excuse on a silver platter. 

You picked up the pair of panties Spencer was ogling earlier, then turned your head to him to find his eyes fixated on the mattress beneath him—focusing on the space between his flattened hands on the bed. 

You walked up behind him—the sight of his backside entirely exposed just for you made excitement ripple straight to your core. You didn’t touch him yet. 

Instead, you draped the red cotton panties right in front of his face with your index finger. You leaned to the side to get a good look at his face as you dangled the fabric, making him instinctively raise his head. 

His glassy brown eyes zeroed on the maroon fabric that branded him disgusting in your eyes, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath, greedily breathing in your scent, unable to restrain himself.  

“I didn’t know you had it in you, Reid,” you said softly, flicking the panties away from his face, watching him involuntarily chase it, “Underneath the proper act you’re just a filthy little pervert who has to steal glances at a woman’s underwear to get off. Look at how hard you’re already getting.” you shook your head. 

From this angle, you could see the curve of his erection dangling beneath him, straining against his stomach, the pink tip already swollen and wet, weeping with a sheer glaze of precum. 

Spencer let out a ragged breath, his head bowing slightly under the weight of your gaze, but you gripped his jaw, forcing him to look back up at the fabric, “Very tempting, right?” the corners of your mouth turned up in a smug, teasing smirk as you shot your brows up. 

“I can’t help it,” he whispered, his throat bobbing. 

“I know it’s very easy to get you off, but this is really pathetic, Spencer.” you purred, your fingers scratching the stubble on his chin. 

“Stop,” his head grew heavy against your hand, the humiliation slowly getting to him, making him wonder why he’s letting you do this.

“Remember your safe word?” you whispered, your fingers carding through the curls at the nape of his neck, soothing the shiver running down his spine. 

He nodded, giving you his glassy puppy-dog eyes he knew you liked. 

You leaned down, pressing your soft lips onto his, “Good, because you know I have to fuck all the disrespect out of you.” 

“I know..” he breathed out quietly, “I know..”

“Good boy,” you patted his cheek lightly before pushing yourself of the bed, “pick a number,” 

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he stared down at the white sheets, “For what?”

“For whatever I wanna do to you,” you said simply, your tone matter-of-factly as you slid the thin tee shirt over your head before stepping out of your shorts and new underwear, leaving you completely bare at the foot of the bed behind him. 

His mouth parted slightly as he instinctively turned his head to look at you, “Ten.” 

A slow, wicked grin spread across your face as you took a step closer to the bed, your thighs hitting the edge of the plush mattress. 

You reached down, your fingertips feathering across the soft, pale skin of his round ass, “Let’s find out if your pretty ass can take ten strikes,”  

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice completely stripped of any argument, “I can take that,” 

Spencer’s words sounded like reassurance for himself—a quiet murmur to keep himself calm and still. 

“I want you to count for me,” you instructed, your hand flattening on his bare cheek, giving him a moment to brace himself and take a deep breath. 

The brief pause after your words was the only warning he got before you raised your hand just for it to quickly come down and connect with his flesh. 

The loud, raw sound of the slap filled the quiet room as Spencer’s frame jolted from the impact, wincing before blurting out, “One.” 

“Two!” Spencer’s voice grew smaller, swallowing the next sob as your hand slapped him again. His hips twitched, an instinctive urge to pull away from the sting pulling at his muscles, but he forced himself to stay put. 

“Don’t be such a crybaby, I’m going very easy on you right now,” 

Spencer’s eyes flew wide open at the third spank as you came back with more force, watching a patch of crimson bloom across his skin. “Oh my- three!” 

You looked down at your palm, the skin plump and red, feeling like it’s on fire. 

“No one told you to pick such a high number,” 

“Please, please, please,” he whimpered, his voice breaking almost as if he was on the verge of tears. 

You cut off his pleas with a harsher slap, pulling a wince from your own lips at the contact. 

A sudden sob left Spencer’s lips as he buried his face down into the fluffy pillow, his fingers tearing at the sheets, “Four!”

You reached forward with your good hand, tugging on his hair just enough to force his face up from the pillow, “Shh, don’t bury your face away like a coward. We still have six more to go. Get up and take it like a man.” 

You softly brushed the red mark on his skin, soothing your flaring palm along with his sensitive ass. The slight tremble in his hips every time you traced your hand onto his skin made your stomach turn, almost feeling bad for him. 

You leaned down, pressing a soft, wet kiss against his burning cheek, lingering there until his ragged breath slowed down. “You can handle the rest, baby. I know you can.” you whispered against his skin, your cool lips turning up into a faint smile. 

Spencer sniffled, his thighs flexing as he took a deep breath, mustering up all his strength for you, “I’m trying.. I really am,” he breathed out. 

“Fuck- five!” he hissed, his voice raspy as he heaved, “can you kiss me again- I promise I’ll be good but it burns so bad,” 

“Give me two more and I might soothe the burn,” you whispered, giving him the sixth firm spank, the sound of his breath hitching as he tried to be quiet made a tight knot form in your core. 

“S-six! six!” he choked out, his toes curled. 

You didn’t give him a second to recover, your hand coming back down again with a sharp snap, landing right on top of the flaring mark on one of his cheeks since you alternated between them. 

“Seven!” he gasped, his back arching as his entire frame trembled. 

True to your word, you didn’t give him the eighth strike yet. Instead, you leaned down, pressing your wet mouth directly onto the angriest part of the crimson patch, “See how nice I am when you’re behaving?” 

You dragged your tongue over the overheating skin, drinking in the throbbing sting.

You let out a pleased hum as he twitched beneath you before relaxing. 

“Are you ready for more?” you said with an open mouth, spreading your saliva onto him. 

“No...” he moaned, shaking his head, “no, this feels so good..” he shifted his hips back to you. 

“I know it does,” you cooed, your breath fanning over the wet trail you left behind, “but we’re not done yet. And you don’t get to be picky. This is your punishment and I gave you a grace period because I wanted to.” you pulled your lips back with a gentle pop. 

The sudden loss of your coolness drew a desperate whine out of him, his hips instinctively trying to follow your retreat, but you placed your hand on the small of his back, pushing him back in his place. 

“How many do we have left?” you tested. 

“Three,” 

“Good job, Dr. Reid. You can still count.” you chuckled, your hand teasing the hypersensitive skin in front of you. 

A chill ran down his spine as you gave him the eighth blow, “Eight!” he was yelling louder now. 

“You want everyone to hear you getting spanked, Spencer?” you pinned his hips in place with both hands as he shook. 

“No- no I’m sorry,” 

You responded with a harsher strike, making his elbows give out once again as he pressed his face down into the pillow, muffling his sob, “Oh my god- nine!” his broken voice vibrated through the mattress, tickling your nerves in all the right ways. 

Your palm came down with the sharpest snap yet, burning your own hand as you felt like your skin was almost falling off. “Ten!” he cried out loudly, “ten..” he repeated, whimpering and breathing heavily into the lenin covered pillow.

You turned your palm up, examining the swollen skin before shifting your gaze to Spencer’s scarlet-marked ass, a rush of heat pooling in your stomach. “Such a good boy.” 

“Stay like this,” you pecked the side of his hips before picking the bottle of lube off the floor. 

You poured a generous amount of the cool liquid onto your flaring palm, watching his shoulders tense at the soft click of the cap. 

The contrast between the coldness of your palm and his raw skin sent a sharp shiver up his spine, making him jolt and arch into your touch. 

You splayed out your fingers as you delicately rubbed the lube onto him, desperately needing the stinging to stop just as much as he did. You massaged his plump, bruised flesh, your fingers slightly digging in as if that would help put out the fire in your hand. 

“It would be a shame to waste how worked up you got over my underwear.”

Spencer’s small gasps and whimpers of relief surprisingly did a good job at soothing your skin, the sounds twisting the pain into something far more pleasurable. 

“Feel better?” you whispered, slowly pressing your thumb along the dip of his crack, feeling the tight, trembling muscles melt, surrendering to your merciful touch. 

Spencer hummed in response, finally letting go of whatever bit of pride he was holding onto, accepting your merciless care and the way you were feeding off the ruined sight of him. 

“I’m gonna stretch your pathetic little ass now, Spencer,” you purred, watching his hips instinctively twitch in anticipation, “to make sure you never forget the price of being a weirdo who looks at things he’s not supposed to.” 

You slid your slick thumb lower, pressing it flat against the tight, puckered rim of his asshole, “But I’m sure that’s what you wanted, right?”

Spencer whined at your simple touch, the sound compelling deep desire to twist its way around your bones like ivy, quietly spreading everywhere. 

“Take a deep breath and push against my thumb, Spencer.” you commanded softly.

You saw his chest expand before he did what he was told. 

“There you go. Keep pushing.”

A broken gasp left Spencer’s lips as he forced himself to unclench against your finger that circled the tight ring of muscle to prep him. 

“Shh, just let go, Spencer. You’re too tight.” you rubbed the base of his spine with your other hand as he answered your words with a loud whine. You shifted your gaze down to the red panties next to Spencer’s knee before picking up the fabric, tossing it right in front of his face so you wouldn’t have to pause your rhythm. “Put this in your mouth, you’re already very noisy and I haven’t done anything yet.” 

Spencer’s trembling fingers bunched up the fabric, holding onto it for dear life as if it were a precious gift, before greedily biting down on it, muffling a deep grunt as you pushed you switched your thumb with your index finger before pushing past the barrier of his entrance. 

You held your finger still inside his pulsing heat, letting him adjust to the sudden intrusion, “Come on, Spence, let me see how much you can take.” 

You drew a muffled, high-pitched sob out of his pretty mouth as you pumped your finger deeper into his hole, slightly hooking your finger against the tender walls.

Your eyes drifted to his balls, twitching beneath his leaking cock. You slithered your free hand down the sensitive skin of his thighs, capturing his balls in a firm grip, playfully tugging on them, making his hips buck in a helpless search for friction. 

Your fingers lightly brushed against the base of his painfully hard dick, teasing him with nothing more than occasional soft brushes as your index finger continued its assault. 

You made an effort to tug on his pubes, rolling his aching balls between your fingers, keeping his dick completely out of reach, “Your poor dick looks so lonely, Spencer. So useless while I ruin the rest of you.” you smirked, sharply yanking his pubic hair just to hear his pretty squeal against your now chewed panties. 

You deliberately rolled your middle finger next to the slightly stretched hole before inserting it slowly, careful enough to make the pain feel good. 

“I know you let me win.” 

You pushed your two digits deeper into him, curling them against his prostate, watching his elbows start to shake beneath him. “Why’d you let me win, Spencer? Do you like how mean I am when I beat you?”

“Hm?” you let out a stifled hum, matching his own choked whimpers as you reached over, pushing your panties deeper into his mouth as you applied more pressure against his gland. 

None of Spencer’s words were comprehensible, but you knew he was begging. 

“I asked you a question,” you held your fingers still against the most sensitive part of him, allowing him to drop his head onto the soft pillow as he gave a hesitant nod into the fabric. 

You smirked, resuming a cruel, heavy thrust, sinking your fingers all the way to the knuckles, “That’s what I thought,” 

Spencer held himself up on his shaky hands, arching his back, aiming to please you so you’d let him come. 

“Are you close, baby?” you jutted your lip out in mock sympathy, watching him nod and turn his head to look back at you, barely-there tears glistening on his flushed cheeks. 

You ran a finger down his shaft, feeling the prominent, pulsing veins along his length, tracing down to his weeping tip without giving him the relief of a full grip. 

“You really thought if you arched that needy ass high enough for me, I’d let you finish? You’re a lot smarter than that, Spencer.” you watched his face twist in beautiful agony. 

Once his whines got louder, you fully withdrew your fingers, leaving him cold and empty as he buried his face back into the sheets, letting out a small cry. 

You grabbed some tissues from the bedside table, wiping your fingers clean as you stared at Spencer’s damp hair, getting the sudden urge to sink your hands into the soft curls and soothe the trembles right out of him. 

“You took me so well,” you sweetly whispered, plopping down on the bed next to his head, pressing a gentle kiss on the crown of his head. 

Spencer turned his head slowly, dropping his jaw to let your soaked panties drop out of his mouth. 

“My body feels like it’s on fire,” he admitted. 

“I’m sorry,” you bit back a smile, but the edges of your mouth twitched, giving you away—you were satisfied. 

“You’re evil.” 

You raised your brows, letting the smile take over your mouth, “You think?” you teased, wiping away the strands that stuck to his forehead, brushing through his sweaty hair. 

Spencer rolled his eyes, letting out a long, shuddering exhale as he leaned his forehead right against your thigh. 

His eyes wandered between your legs, staying silent for a few moments before speaking, “You didn’t shave,” he blurted out before he could think better of his words, his face immediately turning into a deeper shade of red. 

You furrowed your brows at his bluntness, staring down at him, “Is that a complaint?” you asked, tilting your head to the side. 

“No- no that’s- it’s good.” 

It’s good. 

His words made a genuine laugh bubble in your chest, what a weird way to put it. 

“Is doctor Spencer Reid turned on by pubes?” you teased, using your thumb to trace the burning flush on his cheekbone. 

He picked his head off your thigh, uncomfortably sitting straight, “It’s completely normal by the way,” he shot his brows up, nodding as he defended himself.

You deliberately shifted your weight on the mattress, leaning your back against the headboard as Spencer continued talking, now taking his spot across from you, “y’know scent and pheromone retention in pubic hair increases arousal, so it’s just a basic neurological response to- to find it attractive…” 

“Hm, really?” a soft blush started flooding your cheeks as you propped your legs up, keeping them apart to display your core, watching as Spencer slowly trailed off, his eyes hopelessly locking onto your heat. 

“You’re so easily distracted,” you rested your head back, sliding your fingers down your stomach, admiring the sheer desperation in Spencer’s eyes. 

Spencer’s eyes widened, his irises completely swallowed by his blow-out pupils as your hand lightly brushed against the hair beneath your lower stomach, slowly making your way to your clit.  

You tilted your hips up, getting yourself in a more comfortable position as Spencer slowly tipped back on his heels, sitting further away from you as if the temptation would turn him feral if he stayed close. 

You let yourself melt by swirling two fingers on the tight bundle of nerves at the top of your folds before sliding your fingers down your drenched slit, coating them in your juices as you admired Spencer through your lashes—sitting all pretty and ruined before you with his mouth slightly agape. 

You dipped your fingers into your entrance, already aching with need, tightening your core muscles as you let out a soft moan. 

You looked down to Spencer’s leaking dick that was completely abandoned, and the sight made you push your fingers deeper to feed your arousal. 

Spencer’s self control was impressive, and it turned you on, because you knew how much effort it was taking for him to not completely come undone. 

You sunk your fingers deeper into your hole, pulling out more juices every time you withdrew your fingers just to pump them back in and curling them against your upper inner wall with more force. 

Spencer leaned down, bracing himself on his forearms at the same level as your pussy, letting out small whimpers in sync with your own pretty noises. 

“You’re very pretty,” he whispered, his soft breath travelling to tickle your legs. 

“Spencer…” you whimpered in response, your eyes fluttering shut as you moaned out again—his name becoming the only word your mouth could say. 

You desperately wanted to get yourself off, but Spencer was right there and you had to make good use of such a beautiful thing. 

“Come here,” you murmured, your fingers slowing down, unable to hold back from hitting your g-spot a few times before pulling out completely. 

Spencer crawled to you on his sore knees and forearms, looking up at you with an eager, reverent look as his face reached your inner thighs. 

You parted your legs wider for him, “Look at how wet you made me, Spencer,” you whispered, your hips giving a small, encouraging twitch against the mattress. 

You tangled your wet fingers into his messy hair, gently guiding his mouth right to your soaking center. 

A ragged gasp left your lips as his tongue finally made contact with your swollen folds as he let out a starved groan. 

Spencer tucked his hair behind his ear, pressing his tongue flat against your wet folds, burying his nose into your messy bush as he lapped at you with beautiful hunger. 

His long fingers blindly reached out to grip your thighs, spreading them wider to plunge his tongue deeper into you, feeling your walls pulse at a steady rhythm. 

Your moans only made Spencer bolder, sucking on your hypersensitive skin, grazing his teeth against your folds as his muffled grunts vibrated against your wet flesh. 

You tugged his head back by his hair, taking in the sight of his drool—evidence of how ravenous he was. 

You pulled him up to your face, needing to taste the mess smeared on his face. Spencer sloppily tipped forward, bumping his teeth against yours, pushing his tongue past your lips to share the sweet taste of your arousal with you.

He desperately sucked on your tongue, pulling it between his teeth just to reach into the depths of your wet mouth and pull needy moans out of you.

You pulled away with a wet pop, blindly pushing your slick fingers against his mouth to slow him down, making him focus on your eyes.

“God, I wanna ride this pretty face,” you heaved, cradling his face with both hands, your eyes unable to stay steady as they darted all over his face, every feature more beautiful than the other. 

What have you done to have such a pretty angel between your wicked hands?

“Please do,” Spencer begged, nodding as he suckled on your fingers because that’s all you were giving him right now. 

“Lay down,” you replied, gently pushing him off of you so you could make space for him to lay flat in the middle of the bed. 

Spencer’s lanky frame immediately stretched out flat on the now-wrinkled sheets, his eyes never leaving your bare body that he craved so badly.  

Shifting forward, you crawled over his chest, peppering open-mouthed kisses across his feverish skin to cool him down. 

When you finally reached his head, you turned around, switching your legs to opposite sides so you could face the rest of his body. 

Spencer’s slender fingers clung to your thighs, his nails sinking into your skin to lower your heat onto his face, but you kept your hips hovering atop his face. 

“So greedy.” You shook your head in faux disappointment—in reality, his greed to take everything you gave him amplified the tension in the pit of your stomach. 

Spencer chased your dripping pussy, desperately sticking his tongue out to reach you despite your teasing. 

“Please..please, I’ll make you feel so good, I promise,” he choked out, his voice vibrating through the tiny space between you two, making your hole clench around nothing. 

Spencer’s utter desperation broke your self control, urging your hips to drop down, your pussy connecting with his honeyed, parted lips. 

His jaw snapped open instantly, running his tongue up and down your slit, closing his lips around your hole as he applied unforgiving suction before pushing deep into your tight depths.

It was a filthy exchange—his mouth mimicking a deep, hungry french kiss by focusing his tongue on your pulsing walls to find your g-spot as his lips worked against your outer folds. 

Spencer let out a muffled, wrecked whimper against your flesh as you began riding his face, your hips rolling in heavy circles, burying his nose behind your entrance, breathing in every part of you. 

You felt him mix his spit with your fluids, pushing it into you along with his tongue that kept flicking at a quicker pace, giving you more and more friction, urging you to grind down with more force. 

You leaned over his long torso, Spencer’s hands flying to steady your hips and hold your core in place against his face. 

His cock was practically bouncing against his lower stomach, beads of precum leaking onto his belly. 

You couldn’t help but lick a short trail on his skin, the taste of his arousal making you want more of him. 

“You’re about to explode,” you barely managed to get the words past your lips. 

The sheer sight of his dick, heavy and throbbing after everything you’d put him through made you unable to hold back, quickly wrapping your lips around his swollen, pink tip. 

You ran your tongue along his weeping slit, feeling him whimper against your pussy, adding to the pleasure before you pulled back. 

“God, Spencer.. You’re gross. So messy." you panted, admiring his completely ruined cock—Spencer obviously on the verge of spilling his entire load. 

“I-I’m trying not to be.” he whined, his hips giving a helpless involuntary twitch beneath you, “Please.. just put your mouth on me. I’ve been so good.” 

You obliged by giving into the goodness of your heart, granting Spencer some mercy so he would enjoy this too.

“Oh god..” Spencer gasped before nipping at your folds, losing all coordination, “just like that.. Oh my god.. I’m- please I’m so close,” 

“You don’t get to come before me-”

“Then I won’t. I promise I won’t.” he quickly cut you off, desperate to get his cock back in your warm mouth. 

You were eager to test how long he could last, and if he could push you off the edge before he broke.

You let his dick push past your slightly parted lips before your tongue worked to spread his slickness and your own spit across his length before hollowing your cheeks and pushing yourself down on him. 

You bobbed your head, stuffing your mouth with his thick cock, gagging as you pushed yourself harder just to hear him get louder beneath you. 

Every thorough, rhythmic drag of Spencer’s mouth pulled an unravelling sob out of your chest, muffled by his girthy shaft, making you cough against him without pulling away. 

Spencer was kissing you raw—turning your delicate flesh bruised and tender under the relentless force of his mouth, until the tight knot in your core violently snapped. 

Your walls clamped around his tongue as a heavy wave of fluid broke from you, squirting straight into his open mouth and drenching his face. 

Your entire body was shaking, your back arching to press your front against Spencer’s torso as you cried out around his cock. 

Your messy juices that sprayed all over his face and pillow didn’t make him pull away or raise your hips away from his face. 

Instead, he moaned along with you as instinctively swallowed the hot gush of your release, licking your inner thighs to gather every drop of you.  

You lost control over your body, completely going limp as your face sunk down, letting Spencer’s cock fill you to the brim as his hips stuttered, thrusting up to hit the back of your throat repeatedly. 

Your jaw ached as Spencer hammered up to meet your heavy head, fucking your throat until his own orgasm was triggered after a long night of holding onto the thin thread of his sanity. 

A loud whine was ripped out of his lungs as he emptied his seed into you, making you swallow all his hot release. 

Your throat bobbed as his cum was now crowding the narrow airway, making hot tears form in your eyes, blurring your vision. 

You both heaved, flushed, glistening faces completely dazed and overwhelmed as you pressed your cheeks against the closest part of each other. 

You slowly raised your ass off of Spencer’s face, feeling him press soft kisses against your thighs, somehow making you sink deeper in the hazy afterglow and odd affection. 

You dropped beside Spencer, your muscles giving out, forcing you to lay completely flat. 

As you stared up at the ceiling, you felt small, almost as if you’ve shrunk into nothing without a single word of degradation from Spencer. 

Your ribcage felt raw, completely ripped open and empty, but that was probably exhaustion. 

You stared up at the dark hotel ceiling before slowly turning your head to Spencer who was already staring at you with a patient glint in his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” you asked, just like you’ve done many times before. You were always the first to speak after the two of you hooked up. 

“I think so.” he nodded, the lack of physical touch in the moment made space for nerves to creep back into Spencer’s head—yours too. 

“You’ll be very sore tomorrow,” you lazily smiled, looking very pleased with what you’ve done as you traced a finger on his damp chin. 

If Spencer were in his right mind, he’d come up with something witty to downplay the pain and try to defend his dignity, but he wasn’t in his right mind tonight. 

He swallowed hard, his eyes briefly dropping to the sheets before flickering back up to yours as he pouted, “I know. It’s already throbbing,” he admitted.

You fell silent. Your body giving you no power to do anything other than admire the beautiful creature laying next to you. His face was peaceful. Calm. Gorgeously holy, even. 

“We should change the sheets,” he muttered, his raspy voice slightly breaking, “You seem very tired, I’ll get a towel or something to clean you up and you can-”

“It’s okay, I really needa shower anyways,” you let out a small grunt as you sat up, stretching your back before slowly standing up, your legs still a bit shaky. 

“You can have those,” a small, raw smile crept up your lips as you gestured toward the damp panties next to Spencer’s pillow. 

You didn’t wait for a response, turning to the bathroom, because—of course—Spencer would want to have them. 

“Um.. did I do okay?” Spencer whispered, almost as if he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted you to hear him. 

You turned your head to look at his beautiful bare frame that you won’t get to see for who knows how long, “You were a lot more than okay, Spencer.” 

After a much-needed shower, you stepped back into the room; no trace remained of anything the two of you had done. Spencer was half-tucked into bed, seemingly waiting for you without a clear reason. 

The maroon panties were gone now—tucked away safely where not a single soul would ever see them, including you. 

“I brought you some extra pillows,” he pointed to your bed, were two new perfectly fluffed pillows sat next to your bag. 

Was this his excuse to wait for you? 

“Thanks,” you placed a thin towel on top of a single pillow, preparing the perfect headrest for your wet hair, “Goodnight, Spencer.” you whispered. 

“Goodnight,” he replied quietly, turning his back to you as he comfortably curled up to sleep. 

[the-scandalorian]

Unfettered

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 7.4k Warnings: sex pollen, use of restraints, sex-pollened!Mando gets scary, 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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gif by @bestintheparsec

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.”

***

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[withmyloveasyourgarden]

— IGNITE

DIN DJARIN x F!READER

Summary: When a hunt goes wrong and you're drugged with an aphrodisiac, Din goes to extreme lengths to keep you safe before giving you what you need. [5K]

Warnings: 18+. Dub con due to the nature of sex pollen but both people do consent. Drink spiking. Mild gore. Murder. Semi-public sex. Fingering. Piv. Multiple orgasms. Porn with feelings.

This isn’t how he had pictured it.

All the times he lay alone in his cot and envisioned how soft you would be beneath him, the warmth of your skin flushed with pleasure as he stretched you open on his fingers–as his mouth determinedly worked you towards delirium, ready for the slow slide of his cock sinking to the hilt.

He thought it would be sweet. That despite everything he was, all of his sharp edges and brute strength, he could make the memory of the first time he took you one that was untouched by pain and violence and all the other harsh things that came with being hunters.

But then this job had landed in their laps and they had been too damn quick following the first lead to the mark they got instead of doing some real digging on the guy like you usually insisted.

I don’t like surprises, you would usually tell him but this time exhaustion held your caution behind your teeth. The result of running on the fumes from too many hunts and barely any time to take breaks until all of that ragged bone-deep weariness had begun to creep in, leaving you itching to get this job out of the way so you could finally rest.

And of course, in the end, it bit you in the ass.

You had entered the club with only the knowledge that your mark frequented the place and it had all gone to shit almost ridiculously fast.

The drink that had been brought to your table, the server announcing cheerfully that first ones of the night are always on the house, had been laced. The effects taking hold of you the moment the last drop passed your lips.

And Din had watched, confused, as your eyes had become glazed. Lids heavy and gaze transfixed on the writhing bodies that crowded the glittering dancefloor.

He had asked you a question, 'any sign of the bounty?', and it was like you couldn’t hear him, like he was calling to you through water when he raised his voice to say your name.

Instead, you’d remained rooted in place at the edge of your seat– white-knuckling the smooth leather until he hesitantly placed his hand on your knee and then you had jerked. Snapping out of a trance like he’d burned you, a gasp caught in your throat and your chest heaving whilst you blinked at him.

“What–what is it?” You had demanded breathlessly and if he hadn’t been suspicious that something wasn’t right before, he certainly was then. There was a tremor to your voice he had never heard before and where his gloved hand still remained curved around your knee, heat seared through the worn leather and scorched his palm.

"Are you okay?" He'd asked, his gaze raking over you in a way he'd previously refused to allow himself.

You were wrapped in a silky little dress the colour of the midnight sky. The neckline dipping to reveal the swell of your breasts and the hemline short enough that the bare skin of your legs had seemed endless when you'd first sauntered towards him as he'd waited for you outside the crest.

Din hadn't been able to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time because he knew if he took any longer he wouldn't be able to think clearly.

He wouldn't have been able to concentrate on the job with the image of those legs wrapped around his waist blaring through his skull–that lipstick-stained mouth parted around a moan of his name as he imagined rutting into you.

But he let himself stare then– shoving down those thoughts so he could assess the situation properly. His heart dropping to his stomach as he took in the sweat that beaded at your hairline, the weak tremble of you hand as you lifted it to your forehead in an attempt to swipe the moisture away.

You glanced at him nervously as you did so, chewing your lip. “I don’t feel right, Mando.” You murmured. “Everything feels too tight, like I’m about to burst.”

He had scooted closer then, slid right along the plush seat of the booth to fit himself to your side as his thumb rubbed small circles over the flesh of your knee.

It was supposed to be a comfort, an unspoken gesture that he was there–that you were safe.

But instead you had groaned like he’d shoved his hand through your chest and gripped something vital, the sound of it nearly making him choke on his damn tongue as he thanked the maker that his helmet hid the way he’d had to sink his teeth into his lip to bite back a moan.

“Don’t stop please.” You begged, pressing your own hands over his when he went to remove it. “It hurts when you’re not touching me.”

His eyes had narrowed at that.

It sounded familiar– wisps of old tales floating around in his head before he remembered one about a poison that made you crave others, that made your blood boil beneath your skin until you found someone to offer the pleasure necessary to sate the all-encompassing need.

But how?

You hadn’t been out of his sight all day. You hadn’t ingested anything the two of you hadn’t personally made, except…

His gaze snapped to the glass you had recently drained, remnants of the shimmering liquid still clinging to the edges and he can smell it as he takes it in his hand to inspect it closer. That sickly-sweet smell, the strong blend of fruit and something synthetically syrupy.

He could suddenly feel eyes on him and when he looked up the server that gave you the drink is staring at him with wide, terrified eyes– face paling as Din’s suspicion brewed to a blinding fury that gathered around his head like a storm.

It had been intentional then. No doubt the bounty had caught wind that they were on his take and had taken measures to slow them down.

He would kill them for it–both of them. Would rip them apart and leave the mark of his violence behind in the mess of their insides as a warning should anyone else even think of coming for them in the future.

No one touched her and lived.

His vision had seeped red. His blood spitting in his veins before it surged with panic as your hand flew to your stomach and your expression crumpled into something agonised.

“Fuck.” He hissed when you hunched over beside him with a sharp cry of pain. “I need to get you out of here, now.”

“What about the bounty?” You panted, looking up at him through the fringe of your lashes that were wet with unshed tears.

You had looked so small in that moment– a far cry from the ruthless hunter people would whisper about after you had swept through their town. It made his chest ache, briefly drowning out that insatiable temper of his as he gathered you to his chest and raised a hand to cup your cheek.

“What’s happening to me, Mando?”

“Your drink was laced with an aphrodisiac, he probably knew we were following him.” He said as gently as he could, thumb stroking the swell of your flushed cheek as alarm rippled across your features. “I don’t think it’s lethal but I need to get you back to the ship before the effects get any worse. Can you stand?”

Instead of an answer you fucking whimpered. The needy sound of it shooting heat straight through his gut as your eyes grew dark beneath the flutter of your lashes and your fingers curled tight into his cowl.

Was it his touch or his voice that had prompted such a reaction?

Whichever it was you suddenly looked like you wanted to devour him and Din had to swallow down the fierce sweep of desire that urged him to let you.

To drag you onto his lap and lay himself at your mercy, the words 'use me, take what you need, whatever you want it’s yours' clawing savagely up his throat whilst he grit his teeth and wrenched his face away from yours to scan their surroundings.

They would have to exit through the back. The club was too crowded, with too many bodies between them and the main entrance, all packed tight, and when Din had stood to get a better look, another sight had stopped him dead.

Guards at the door.

One’s that definitely hadn’t been there when you both entered and he’s almost certain are slyly watching every move he makes as he quickly tugged you to your feet and bundled you into his side.

He wanted desperately to believe it was paranoia.

That it was in no way related to the poison working its way through your systemn, that the two of you were going to get outside and be able to make your way to the ship without an issue.

He’d never wanted to believe something so much in his life.

**

It was a trap.

Deep down, Din had known it as they’d stumbled into the quiet of dark corridors– the lingering thump of the music pulsing beneath his boots.

He’d known it when your legs had buckled and he’d scooped you up in his arms, cradling you to his chest like a newborn babe before he’d broke out into a run and nearly kicked the door of its hinges as they’d reached it.

But he hadn’t truly allowed himself to acknowledge it until he’d come face to face with the steel fence chained shut and the sound of a dozen footsteps descending upon them.

When he'd heard the door shut, the decisive click of the lock, and his rage had soared. You were sick and though he was sure it wasn’t lethal he couldn’t shake the feeling like he was running out of time to get you help.

And they were stood in his way.

So he lowered you carefully to the ground, his lungs tightening when a weak groan rattled from your throat as you sank back against the fence and hugged your knees to your chest.

“Did you really think you could take me down in my own club, Mandalorian?”

He needed to swallow down all that burning anger and think, needed to focus on the best way he could take them all out without letting a single one near you.

But then the bounty had made the mistake of looking past the vengeful mass of him to where you were curled up on the ground and any thoughts of a quick and calculated fight were snatched right out of his head.

“Pretty partner you’ve got there.” He’d leered, dragging his tongue over his lip. “She must be dying for someone to fuck her right about now. Maybe after I've killed you, I'll keep her as my whore and fuck that pretty pussy right next to your corpse.”

A terrifying sound had followed–something dark and ragged, drenched in a murderous brand of fury, and then Din’s vision swam black.

Just as the saber ignited in his hand.

**

When he came to, he was panting.

And in the aftermath, there was a mass of bodies, slack mouths and bulging, glassy eyes caught in the horror of their final moments. The air stained with the stench of singed flesh and the metallic tang of blood.

He stared at the carnage he created in a daze until you croaked his name and his gaze shot to where you're sat, wide eyed and trembling, staring at him in disbelief.

Or maybe it was fear.

He had totally lost his head after all, had been absolutely unhinged in the way he took them apart, piece by piece– limb by limb.

Maybe you wouldn’t be able to look at him the same now that he’d discovered what he was truly capable of when it came to you, the darkness that lay in wait ready to gorge itself on violence and spilled blood.

He approached you slowly with hands splayed wide in front of him, hesitation etched in every rigid line of him, as if one wrong move would send you scurrying away. But then, to his utter surprise, your lips quirked–voice cracking with a rasping chuckle.

“I’m not scared of you, Din.”

When he knelt before you, you reached for him easily. Lacing your fingers through his and pressing his gloved hand to the dewy skin of your cheek. “I was scared for you. I've never felt so fucking useless but then you– you did that and I–fuck–”

His voice went low before he could stop it, thick honey over gravel, a wicked flare of heat licking through his belly as your eyes suddenly burned dark. The black of your pupils drowning out their colour. “You what? Tell me.”

There was a second where you simply stared at him, lip drawn between your teeth and the admission weighing on your tongue as the space between you began to crackle and spark.

But then you took a long, shuddering breath and–

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” You whispered. “Seeing the way you ripped them apart for me, I liked it.”

Fuck.

He clenched his jaw, his free hand, his entire goddamn body. Everything he could to remain from lunging at you and burying himself inside you right there. It had to be the drug talking– it had to be.

At least that's what he was painstakingly trying to convince himself.

Because there were still remnants of that hungered energy within him, desperate for somewhere to go, and there you were telling him you had liked it, that you enjoyed him killing for you, when he was trying his best to be fucking honourable.

He tried to say your name, tried to curl his tongue around the letters in a way that wasn’t dripping want, but then you’d gasped and your heated expression dissolved into something frighteningly pained, tears springing into your eyes as you folded in on yourself.

His arms were around you in a second, his tone bleeding panic as he frantically scooped you up “We need to get you to the ship now.”

“It’s too late.” You sobbed as your body convulsed, arching and bending until he had no choice but to set you on your feet. His body pinning yours to the fence and his hands clamped around the curves of your hips to hold you up. “It hurts so much– please, Din–"

"We can make it. Let me carry you–I'll run and we'll get you the help you need. Some medicine or something."

"No, I can't wait that long." You whimpered. "I can't–I need you–I need you to touch me."

There was something close to defeat in the way he held himself as your hands came to cup the cheeks of his helmet, the gentle touch pleading. He didn't want it to have to be this way but stars, he didn't think he could handle you being in pain much longer either.

He should have protected you better, moved faster, fought harder.

He should have got you back to the ship the moment he realised something wasn't right, and then maybe you wouldn't have had to beg a man you had no interest in to violate you.

“This isn’t what you want, sweet girl.” He sighed, guilt bitter in his chest. “Trust me, as soon as the effects fade you'll regret what you are asking of me.”

You frowned then, sweat-damp brow wrinkling in a way that made Din ache to smooth out with his thumb as you peered up at his visor. “You think this is just the drug?” You murmured. “That I don’t know my own mind? Stars, Din, I’ve wanted you to fuck me from the moment I saw you.”

His hands spasmed at that, clamping tight as a startled groan slipped from throat before he could choke it back. Were you trying to kill him? Did tou not have any idea how close his restraint felt to snapping from that confession alone.

“Fuck–you can’t just say something like that.”

But you were too far gone, pushing up against his armour and curling a hand around the nape of his neck to wrench him down so you can whisper in his ear.

“I think about it all the time, think about how good you’d feel.” Your fingers brushed over the fabric covering his swelling cock and he jolted. “Wondering how you’d fuck me, if you’d make me come on your cock over and over until I was ruined mess.”

Shit.

His brain had turned to liquid, he was sure of it.

He caught your wandering hand, grunting as you palmed at him before he could drag it away and pin it to the fence at the side of your head. Your breath hitched softly as his other hand drifted down, ghosting past the edge of your dress, the scrape of worn leather on your bare thighs making your hips jump against his hand.

He could fucking smell your arousal and it was driving him insane–his mouth watering as he parted your thighs with one of his own.

“Pretty little thing, is that what you want?” Din asked, voice hoarse. “You want me to ruin you?”

His fingers dared to slip further, dipping past the soaked material of your underwear and when he slid a knuckle through your folds, you gasped.

“Yes.”

**

It was all too overwhelming the moment he broke.

The second your simple yes cracked him open and his breath hitched before he was burying you further into the fence. His fingers grazing the peak of your clit whilst obscene noises burst from your throat, wild and desperate.

If felt so fucking good that you were almost blind with it. All that heat and need swirling to a central point in your belly that could explode at any moment, burning brighter with every rough stroke of Din's fingers and the low rasp of his voice in your ear.

"That's it, mesh’la– let me help you."

You didn't know any words after that– none other than his name at least and the gasping chant of don't stop don't stop don't stop.

When he snatched his hands away you thought you would actually cry, a devastated wail brewed from the depths of your lungs before he hushed you gently. The cold kiss of his beskar soothing against your sweat-slick face as he nuzzled you before a different sensation against your thighs startled you.

Skin. Calloused and warm and completely bare.

In the midst of your babbled pleading you had missed him tearing the gloves from his hands and if you had thought the contact had been electric before then this was something else entirely.

His skin against yours felt cataclysmic. The moan you made when he hitched your leg over his hip and sunk those thick fingers deep inside you, unhinged.

"I want to be able to feel you when you come for me." He told you lowly, purred it in your ear, and you choked as he pressed his thumb to your clit in the most maddeningly perfect circles until you spasmed. Soaking his hand as the tension in your lower stomach snapped violently.

You were lost then.

Boneless against him whilst he curved himself over you and continued stroking your pulsing walls so all of that swirling pleasure became flame again, burning hot and wild enough that it made you let loose a desperate sob. Burying your nails in his neck, the other hand fisted around his cloak as another climax slammed through the dying breaths of the first.

“Oh maker, Din.” You cried out, hips jerking into his hand, thighs trembling whilst he eased you through it. His touch gentler this time, sweet, like he could sense anything harsher would fray you apart at the seams.

There was the cool press of his helmet touching your temple, a calming gesture that clashed with the rapid rise and fall of both of your chests. “That's it,” he murmured, pride equal parts soft and heated on his tongue, “good girl.”

You could hear when he removed his fingers from inside you. The liquid slip that would have made your cheeks flame under normal circumstances but only made you burn for completely different reasons then.

Your own fingers darting out to circle his wrist before leading the slick digits to the tempting plush of your mouth.

He made a low, feral noise–the sound of your name rumbling from deep within his chest as you let the tips of his fingers rest against your lips. Waiting for him to take the next step which he did without hesitation, pressing down until your mouth parted for him and he slid his fingers into soft, wet heat.

You were still aching, still throbbing like a raw, open wound, but it was slightly more bearable now. The orgasms that Din drew from you taking the edge off just enough for you to have this indulgence. A hint of worship.

The slow lave of your tongue against his skin as he shivered. Hips rocking into the cradle of your pelvis, making you whine around his fingers when his clothed cock caught you just right.

He dragged his fingers from your mouth with a hissed curse, rubbing the spit-shine of your lip in a daze whilst the hand on your thigh flexed and tightened its grip.

“We shouldn’t, not here.” Din muttered, swearing under his breath when you deliberately rolled your hips. “You deserve better than this and it isn't safe.”

But you heard what he left unspoken.

We shouldn’t but I will if you want it. If you don't tell me to stop, I’ll fuck you right here– surrounded by the bodies I killed for you and regardless of who might come looking.

You would die before you asked him to stop.

Even if you weren’t beginning to tremble again, your heartbeat picking up to a gallop and cunt fluttering around nothing as each nudge of his cock against your sex swept a blistering need through your veins.

Even if the reminder of the lengths he was willing to go to keep you safe didn’t make you maddeningly desperate for him.

“I don’t care.” You breathed as your stomach clenched. “Please don’t make me wait that long, I need you inside me.”

He inhaled sharply then, his broad chest heaving whilst he cupped your chin and peered down at you. A split-second hesitation before he gave in yet again.

“You’re going to be the death of me begging like that,” He groaned and then his large hands were skimming over your belly. Stroking down until he reached your underwear and tore it from your body with a brutal yank before wrenching you against him as the remains fluttered to the ground.

You made a soft noise of surprise and he chuckled, rough and deep and utterly addictive. The sound of it making heat swell beneath your skin and between your thighs, your head going dizzy.

The desire you had for him was an unhinged thing. Even without the drug you knew that you would still feel like this, like he could unravel you completely with the simplest touch or glance. Your hands shaking as you fumbled with his belt whilst he watched intently.

He let you stroke him, once then twice. His length hot in your palm, throbbing beneath your fingers when the pad of your thumb dragged over the weeping head.

It stole a rough moan from somewhere deep in his chest and then he was on you. Hands wrapping around your thighs to lift you against the fence, thin metal biting into your back but any hint of pain drifts from your mind like smoke as his tip caught at your entrance.

He took it slow at first. Let you feel every inch of him stretching you open as he bit back a wrecked noise, your cunt gripping him like a hot, slick fist, until he sunk to the hilt and your eyes rolled back.

Oh. Oh fuck.

It was a lot.

It was so much that it felt like he’d reached something devastating. That when he drew his hips back to drive into you again, you screamed– back arching violently as your vision turned white.

You nearly bit through your tongue whilst he continued to move. Each bruising snap of his hips punching you further up the fence, fucking you into it, the shrill sound of metal ringing through the night air as it shook beneath Din's strength.

You had practically begged him to ruin you and he was without even trying.

You would feel him for days after this.

Maybe weeks.

You would feel him in the marks his nails would no doubt leave on your thighs from his unrelenting grip, the hard edges of his armour that were embedded in your softness as you wound yourself around him. The way he was carving you open with each frantic thrust, creating a space inside you that only he could ever fill.

The tendrils of pain that had began creeping through your system from the drug snapped to pleasure immediately. You could feel it coiling unbearably tight, growing molten, white hot sparks making your blood catch and your stomach twist in knots.

“Fuck.” You sobbed. Nails scraping down his back, desperately trying to find some kind of purchase as your head falls to his shoulder. “Din, I think–”

“I know, baby.” He grit, shifting slightly until the harsh spear of his cock suddenly hit something catastrophic over and over and over. Your breasts bouncing with every thrust and his body shuddering as your cunt tightened around him. “Come for me, that’s it. Shit–let me feel it.”

You fell apart with a ragged cry. Bursting hot and wet around him as his pace slowed to a hint of something less punishing so he could stare, dazed, at the place where you’re joined. His skin and his armour that was dripping with your release.

For a moment there was only the strained sound of his breathing through the vocoder and then he groaned. Low and filthy.

"You're so fucking perfect." He praised hoarsely, the rough scrape of his voice making you even more boneless as you trembled in his arms. "Maker. I want to taste you. After I'm done fucking you I'm going to carry you back to the ship and taste every inch of you, clean you up with my mouth, and then I'm going to fuck you again."

That scorched you. It made something in your belly stir again despite how sated you had felt only seconds ago, made you clench helplessly around him and Din choked at the feel of it. “Would you like that?” He asked, breathless. “Think you can give me another?”

His cock pulsed inside you and you found yourself wholly incapable of response, beyond words and thoughts and anything that wasn't trembling moans as his pace turned brutal. The wet squelch of your cunt taking him deep, almost embarrassingly loud in your ears.

He bore down on that place inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes with a savage focus and all too soon there was lightning snapping in your blood. The sensation of it flaring hot and sharp, gathering into something furious and terrifying as his name bubbled up past your lips in a weak chant.

“I can’t–fuck–Din, I need–”

He slid his helmet along your cheek, tipped his head down until his forehead rested on yours. The skin of his neck felt just as flushed as your own when you gripped it to hold him there against you. The dark curls that escaped his helmet tickling your fingers.

“Touch yourself, mesh’la. Come for me again and I’ll give you anything you want.”

You shakily dropped your hand between you, spreading your fingers around the place where his cock was punching up into you before your fingers slid up to brush over the crest of your sex.

Stars, you were soaked.

All swollen and slippery and the moment you circle your clit you snapped. Bursts of energy crashing through your body so violently that your head spun with it, your lungs squeezing achingly tight, and your nails sinking in his neck as you cried out.

It made Din go rigid–a wild noise tearing through his throat as you yanked him brutally into his own release. His vision faltering and hips stuttering before they fused against your own whilst he spilled deep inside you.

**

You were exhausted– beyond spent and over-stimulated as the burn of the drug died down enough that you could feel the ache of every muscle creeping in and the kind of sleepiness that would see you comatose for days.

Your eyes were in fact already beginning drooping when Din carefully set you back on your feet. His hands warm and clasped gently around your arms, holding you up so he could peer at you whilst you were trying your hardest to sway back into the comfort of his broad chest.

“Are you okay?” He murmured, concerned. “I didn’t go too hard did I?”

You blinked up at him stunned, silent for a beat as you recognised the flicker of nervousness in the way he spoke, the way he held himself.

You cradled his face then, or where the helmet sat above his cheeks, and pulled his forehead down to yours. “No, it was perfect.” You reassured him and he let out a soft breath before melting against you ever so slightly.

“There is a slight problem though.” You laughed quietly, thumbs absentmindedly stroking over smooth beskar as Din tilted his head.” We’re locked out here and there’s no way I can climb that fence. I can barely feel my legs.”

He chuckled then–the sound of it brushed smug as his fingers stroked down your arms. “Leave it to me, sweet girl.”

He rest you gently back against the fence and your eyes slipped closed almost immediately before popping back open when you heard a loud thrum followed by the short screech of tearing metal. Chains hitting the ground with a clinking thud.

Your breath stuttered as you watched him stalk back towards you, saber in his hand, gleaming beneath the haunting light of it.

It made him look even more powerful than he already was. And the memory of what he did for you with that weapon, the evidence of it still strewn across the dirt, slammed to the forefront of your mind and made your mouth run dry. A weak flutter stirring in your belly despite your exhaustion, that he in no way helped by pulling you into him and swinging you up in his arms.

You made a soft noise of surprise and it only encouraged him to hold you tighter. Sealing every inch of you against him that he could as he carried you back to the ship– his voice brimming with promise as he murmured,

“You’re safe, cyar’ika. I’m going to take care of you.”

[hauntedinkk]

the helmet stays on ~ d.d

tags: mdni!! smut, husband!din x wife!reader, reader and mando are trying for a baby, rough ish sex, age gap (late twenties/ early fourties), helmeted sex, mask kink, unprotected p in v sex, breeding kink, mutual orgasms, creampie and aftercare.

summary: you ask mando to keep the helmet on tonight.

grogu’s soft cooing filled your home as you cooked the meat over the stove. he sat perched in his hover pram, his curious face eyeing you thoughtfully as you cooked the nerf meat in the pan, din’s favourite.

nevarro was quieter than your life before it and although din’s work still had risks, you both had a permanent home here. a place to settle down together with grogu and, as you’d both had planned, a baby of your own.

you both weren’t necessarily determined, it was more of a case of if it happened, it happened. if it didn’t, you still had a son in grogu.

and it was fun too — having sex without any precautions, it made you feel like a love sick teenager again.

you finished off dinner and dished out food between the three of you, leaving din’s up for him for whenever he decided to arrive home.

dinner was peaceful as usual, filling the silences with conversation with the child although he couldn’t necessarily answer you. you liked evenings like these and they made you wonder how grogu would be if you and mando’s plans go well. you weren’t too sure how he would act around a human baby, you hoped it would be positive.

shortly after, you took grogu to his bedroom, bonding with him a little before putting him down for the night and today, he didn’t give you much hassle while doing so. he rarely did anyway.

and just as you made it back out to the living room, you were met with the sound of the front door clicking shut and then, the heavy steps that were revealed to be your husband as you turned around to see him in the hallway.

“hello, cyar'ika,” mando greeted, meeting you in the kitchen and removing his helmet with a heavy grunt, one that told you that it had been a long day.

you slid your hands up his armoured chest, relieved to his handsome face after the hours of not seeing it. it was moments like these that made your life as beautiful as it was, just the simple things. you leaned in for a kiss, pressing your lips to his in a loving kiss before pulling back to whisper. “i’ve missed you.”

din’s eyes softened on you — they always did in gentle moments like these. he dropped his large, gloved hands down to cup your waist, smiling softly when you melted into his touch. “i’m sorry i was so long, darling,” he sighed, allowing his forehead to fall against yours. “it was only meant to be a short job, things just got busy.”

you hummed, tracing the metal over his chest, a playful smile forming on your lips. “i’m sure i can think of a way you can make it up to me.” you said suggestively, wiggling your brows and eliciting a laugh from din.

he licked his lips, his grip on you getting slightly tighter. although mando was a man of few words, you could tell when something you’d said settled deep in his core. “yeah?”

“uh huh,” you bit your lip. “grogu is asleep. out like a light,” you brought your hand up to run through din’s curls — the dark hair feeling soft between your fingers, curtesy of that shampoo you insisted him on using. “maybe you could eat your dinner.. and then we could head to the bedroommmm?” you drawled out, giggling.

“hm,” mando grunted, the corners of his lips twitching as if he were fighting off a smile. “or we could just go straight t’the bedroom.” his hands squeezed your waist tightly, making your squirm a little beneath his hold. you giggled and reached up to wrap your arms around his neck, shifting a little in a hint for him to lift you up.

“you’re not hungry?” you asked, leaning in to graze your lips off his jaw, his stumble tickling your mouth charmingly.

din’s hands slipped down your body before lifting you up against his own, wrapping your legs around his waist and keeping a firm hold underneath your buttocks. he started to walk towards the bedroom and you squealed as you bounced slightly in his arms with each heavy step. “i am. just a different kind.”

your back hit the bed before you could even register that you were in you and your husbands shared bedroom. din worked frantically across from you, standing at the end of the bed while you sat up and watched him remove his armour, stepping out of his pants and working on taking his top half off.

you chewed your lip, twirling a piece of fabric from your night dress around your finger. he looked so good in his armour and part of you wished that he didn’t have to take it off. you wanted his cock, of course you did after a long day of not seeing him, but you wished he could just fuck you while wearing it. the metal accentuated his muscles so beautifully, making him look like a sculpted, chiselled piece of art just for you.

but then, an idea popped into your head.

it wasn’t necessarily his entire uniform but it was something at least.

“baby?” you asked softly, a little sheepishly even.

“mhm?” he paused, pulling his top half over his head, leaving him in just his underwear.

“uhm..” you sat up, getting to your feet nervously and watching how din peered back at you in confusion. “just.. wait here.”

din sat on the bed, looking up as you started to walk toward the door. “wh-”

“just wait!” you called back, breaking into a quick walk down the hallway and into the joint kitchen and living room. you scanned the space before your eyes stopped on the item you wanted.

his helmet.

you grabbed it and held it behind your back, making your way back towards the bedroom and standing in the doorway, a nervous grin tugging at your lips.

din was now stretched out on the bed, laying comfortably against the cushions, his underwear tenting for obvious reasons. the sight made you tingle. “what’s that you’ve got?” he asked, brows furrowed.

you rubbed your lips together, taking the helmet in front of your body and holding it up. you chuckled a little awkwardly. “i just.. kinda thought it would be fun for you to wear your helmet..”

a smile broke out on mando’s face and he sat up, patting the bed as you started to walk toward him. you placed the helmet on the mattress, climbing up along with it.

“you’d be into that, ka'rta?” he asked, rolling over on top of your body, covering yours with his as he helped you settle comfortably against the pillows. “you want me to fuck you with my helmet on?”

“mmm..” you hummed, still giggling as he grabbed the helmet, planting some sloppy kisses over your neck, almost as if he were savouring the taste of your skin before he wouldn’t be able to kiss it anymore. “just a little though.”

“just a little?” he asked, voice turning into that grumbled drawl as he placed the helmet over his head, covering every last piece of his face. you let your hand travel down to his soft underwear, your hand squeezing the outline of him gently through the fabric. you could hear the way his breath hitched, even through his helmet.

“well.. maybe a little more than a little.” you answered, smirking as you felt him push his hips forward, almost as if he were silently encouraging you to take him out of the confines of him draws.

you took the hint and accommodated him on pushing the clothing down his thighs, watching as he kicked them the rest of the way off. the sight of him was so erotic and you were sure — even as good as you and din’s sex life already was — that you’d never done anything hotter than this.

“god, din,” you moaned, your head falling back as you rocked your hips upward, your clit throbbing uncomfortably beneath the silk bed-wear. you weren’t wearing any underwear — you never did underneath pyjamas — and you were sure your thighs were coated now. you could feel it, your skin uncomfortably sticky. “you’re making me crazy,”

“okay, it’s okay love. i’ve got you.” he could tell how worked up you were getting. as your husband, he was very in-tuned to these sorts of things. the past two years of making love to you, fucking you ever so gently to take you to that place of bliss he knew you needed after a long day. or sometimes, he was a little rougher. bending you over the panel of the razor crest, pounding his cock into you with little care for how overstimulated you were getting. you act up like this? you take it cyar'ika. from all of that, it was pretty easy to tell what you wanted and needed. and he wasn’t about to deprive you of it.

he reached down and flipped the skirt of your night dress up, the soft, familiar silk feeling comforting on his hand. as he revealed your lower half, you hissed. the room temperature air on your glistening cunt hitting you like a truck. you whimpered, dropping your head back, completely surrendering yourself to mando for him to do with you as he pleased. he always did know how to please you after all.

silently, he reached for your cunt, running his thumb through your slit to feel just how wet you really were. and god, you didn’t disappoint. his fucking girl, his wife. always so ready for his cock.

he brought his thumb back up to the top of your slit, pressing down on your clit gently to gauge a reaction from you. immediately, you whimpered again, reaching forward to clutch his arm. “so ready, love. yooba solus mesh'la, goddamn.”

you smiled hazily, nodding and lifting your hips up into his hands. “ngh - yeah,” you gasped. “please — fuck, din. stop teasing.” you whined, desperation evident in your voice.

“c’mon, let’s get this pussy nice and full.” he groaned, reaching down to grip his cock in one hand while using his other to spread you open to his liking. mando was always relatively quiet during sex, he wasn’t a talker at the best of times, anyway. it didn’t bother you much, certainly not now anyway, when he was prodding his drooling cock at your entrance, his own breaths breaking into an uneven moan when he felt your wet entrance on his sensitive glands.

the first push in made you gasp. it always did, what with mando’s size. he always filled you so good, his tip kissing your cervix as he settled inside of you fully. your walls hugged him comfortably, a warm embrace that made him drop his helmeted head into your neck. “fuck, honey. so warm.” he mumbled.

you nodded, eyes falling shut as he rocked his hips just once in an experimental way, testing your readiness. for a split second, you wished you could feel his lips on your neck, nipping and sucking in the way he knew you loved. it was like a secret language between the two of you, one only the two of you were aware of and it felt a little disappointing not to feel it right now.

but.. you could really deny that view. not with the way he looked in this fucking helmet, face buried in your neck while he rocked into you gently, his hand fumbling down between your legs to your clit. his rolled it between two fingers and you clenched down on him, the two of you groaning in perfect unison.

and although you were enjoying his ministrations, you are growing somewhat frustrated at his slow pace. you whined in a mix of impatience and neediness. “please din, need it harder.” you moaned, your hands travelling up his back, nails digging in slightly when he drew gentle, pressured patterns on your bundle of flesh.

you could practically see the smirk through his armoured face. something he didn’t do often, mostly only in moments like these. “harder? is that what you need? ya need me to put my baby in you tonight?”

you hiccuped, chest tightening at his lewd words as he pulled his face back from your neck, letting it hover over your own. “y-yes. god — just.. want a baby with you so bad,” tears sprung to your eyes and you weren’t sure if they were from pleasure, frustration or the genuine wish to have another addition to the family you and din already had. “a baby brother or s-sister for grogu.”

you clung to his back tighter now as if it were your only lifeline. like if you dug your nails hard enough or squeezed his muscles tight enough, he’d grant you this. one hand stayed on your clit while the other cupped your soft belly. “I’m going to give that to you, love,” din told you, voice firm with determination but you could hear the way it cracked slightly with that underlying emotion. something deeper than he’d ever fully expressed to you while you’d both talked about a baby. “going to give it to you just right and give you that baby.”

you nodded but before you could form an answer, din drew back far enough that just his cock head was sheathed inside you before slamming back in, just how you’d asked. it made you cry out — sharp and sudden, the air being forced from your lungs. it rattled your insides in the most satisfying way and nudged that sensitive spot nestled deep in your walls.

“tell me how bad you need this, ka'rta. tell me how bad you need my cum.” and his voice sounded pleading. like if he didn’t hear you describe this thing for him, if he didn’t hear your struggling, pleased voice, that he would never be whole. it was the kind of desperation that he reserved only for your ears and the trust in that made you even more aroused and even more emotional, your moans and gasps turning into sobs fairly quickly.

he set a steady, yet brutal pace all the same while you frantically searched for the words that suited exactly how you felt right now. it was so perfect, his fingers on your sweet spot, his cock on that even sweeter one inside of you, dragging through your walls and your ears drowning in the sound of steady slapping of skin.

“need — oh that’s it, right there, i.. god i need it so bad, baby. just need to be full of you. wanted it all — all day.” you stuttered, voice high pitched as he stimulated you.

you opened your mouth to continue babbling about whatever you thought of quick enough but nothing came out. you lost your vocalisation skills pretty quickly when the only thing your ears could hear and your brain could concentrate on were din’s moans and groans and grunts as he fucked his cock in and out of you.

you were both a sweating mess, both bodies rocking and bouncing slightly with ever thrust and right now? it was just you two. just the two of you in this whole planet. in this whole galaxy. nothing and nobody mattered outside of this life you’d both built for yourselves.

and you were right there.

right where mando needed you to be.

“s’right there, din,” you sobbed quietly, clutching his body loosely as your control started to slip. and din knew what was coming. you always got like this right around now when he fucked you dumb on his cock. whiny, messy, a little teary eyed. he knew you like the back of his hand, you know? the way your body reacted in moments like these — when he hit that special spot.

it was so beautiful, watching you cry and whinge from the impact of his cock on your g-spot. “i know, baby. i know how to take care of your special spot, you just lay back and relax. you about to cum?”

“i.. y-yeah.. m’gonna cum. gonna.. m’gonna — fuck, din!” you gasp when his hips pick up the pace, your hips rolling almost as if they had a mind of their own — your only focus now, being your climax.

mando smiled. you looked so damn adorable like this, all desperate and glowing. “come on, mesh'la. i know your holding back, you’re clenching. just let go for me, my love. let me feel you.” his voice sounded muffled through the helmet yet his words landed right in your core, encouraging you to stop being stubborn and just allow yourself to feel that sweet release.

your stomach clenched, your walls twitching and with one deep exhale paired with a sharp cry, you shattered. your walls rippled around his length, sending a charming tingle up din’s sensitive cock, your convulsing only contributing to the ache building in his balls. his stomach simmered with a warm, dangerous heat, his cock starting to twitch as he let you cry it out.

you sobbed loudly and all thoughts of grogu next door completely left your head. mando wrapped both arms around your waist and sat back on his heels, pulling you up into his lap while he did. he gently pulled your face into the crook of his neck, pacifying your cries. he grunted while he fucked up into you and your gasps turned broken, shaky.

“din — din, baby.. I can’t..” you sniffled into his bare shoulder, your teeth sinking into the sweat damp flesh to control yourself.

din grunted and moaned, hissing as he felt his balls draw up. “it’s coming, you can take it, baby.” he gritted, his cock spurting thick ropes of cream inside of your walls, hopefully swimming towards your womb if you were lucky. mando’s face dropped into your neck, the metal feeling odd on your hot skin.

the next two minutes consisted of the two of you mushed together, the fluids of one another dripping onto skin and the sounds of ragged breaths. you leaned back looking at the way dins head flopped down, bowing as it moved from your neck.

it made you giggle — how exhausted he seemed and you reached forward, pulling the helmet off of his head and revealing his red, flushed face, his hair tousled from the armour.

you cupped his cheeks and he looked up at you with those loving, brown orbs of his. “hey,” you whispered, voice slightly giddy from that post coital comedown.

both his arms lazily tightened around your waist and his lips twitched as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips. “hey.”

hope you guys enjoyed my first mando fic! I had a blast writing this. please consider reblogging, liking or even dropping a follow if you enjoyed :)

[dollerinna]

GOD COMPLEX ꔫ COCK COMPLEX

𝓖regory house ੭୧ fem! reader ┇ p in v ⋆ dėgradation ⋆ prone bone ⋆ spānking

GREGORY HOUSE was the worst part of your sex life.

Because he was also the best.

He fucked like he argued, all sharp edges and ruthless timing, always a step ahead and never kind enough to warn you. Cruelty came easy to him because of this, honed on the whetstone of your need, wielded with the same finesse as his cane. And right now, that very cruelty had you reduced to a mess of limbs, utterly soft and cock-dumb beneath him.

“God, you’re loud,” House muttered near your ear, his weight branded down along your spine as he hammered into your sweet cunt, prone boning you like a metronome with a vendetta. His fingers snarled stiff in your hair, knuckles grinding against your scalp as he shoved your cheek down into the rumpled sheets. “Bet your neighbors think I’m carving you open with a steak knife. Or auditioning for CSI: Bedframe Homicide.”

You didn’t even get the whole sentence out.

“F-Fuck off! I’m not—”

He cut you off with a thrust so violent it jarred straight through your bones and rattled the headboard. All air and pride stolen clean out your lungs, driving you flat into the mattress with merciless precision.

“Not what?” House drawled from above you, breath scorching the nape of your neck, every syllable a lash. “Not an attention-starved cumslut who gets wet the second I treat her like trash?”

“Please, you came the first time I called you a waste of potential.”

He punctuated his words by sheathing himself balls-deep into your weeping sex, forcing you to feel the sheer, staggering girth of his fat cock twitching inside you. You writhed beneath him. The heat it sparked between your legs splintered sharp and low, a throb that seemed to beat in time under the brutal onslaught of his pelvis meeting your rear. After all, House never moved fast when he could move mean.

The bed creaked, springs whining in protest as he pinned you down with a hand braced between shoulder blades. The hypnotic plap-plap-plap of his hips colliding with your plush ass bounced off the walls, melding into a chorus of your pretty mewls and his animalistic grunts.

Fuck. You hated how your pussy was drooling nonstop for this limp, spiteful son-of-a-bitch.

You gritted your teeth, fighting for some semblance of pride, even with your face smashed into his pillow. It was threadbare, scratchy, reeking of cheap aftershave and whatever brand of arrogance he sprayed on just to offend people in elevators.

“Agh! You’re such a fucking—-”

“Amazing lay? Genius? Local humanitarian?” He cut in, again—so fast it made your blood boil. There was that familiar curl of satisfaction at the corner of his mouth as he quickened his pace, practically bullying your brain through your cunt at this point. “Come oooon. Say it. You’ve never had trouble using that mouth before.”

And there goes your traitorous insides twisting tight around his cock. Pathetic.

Whatever snark you’d been choking out died somewhere in your throat once he yanked you back onto him, the grip on your waist bruising as he rutted into you faster on a series of vicious snaps and grinds, like a greedy mutt claiming something he didn’t plan on giving back—hellbent on teaching your gummy walls exactly what shape they were supposed to take around him whether you liked it or not.

“Because from where I’m standing—”

Thrust. Your body jerked, sweat sliding down the valley of your back.

“You’re dripping on my sheets—”

Thrust.

“And still trying to argue like you’ve got a leg to stand on.” House leaned in, his tone silk-wrapped blade. “Newsflash: you gave up that moral high ground as soon as you started creaming on a misanthropic drug addict.”

Your fingers curled in the tangle of sheets, knuckles bone-white. God he was insufferable, yet you still rocked helplessly to his rhythm while his cockhead battered that hypersensitive knot in you to a raw pulp again. And again. And again.

Why? Because deep down, House was right. Obnoxiously, inhumanly, always-so-goddamn-right. And worse—he knew you knew it too.

“Look at you,” he chuckled, blue eyes darkening as they drag over where you were joined. Slick shine glistened along the veiny base of his shaft, your arousal clinging in obscene webs every time he pulled back. Smug didn’t even begin to cover what he felt. “Squirming like I just dug up your favorite trauma and fucked it into a coping mechanism.” He smirked, lips ghosting down the arc of your clavicle, the scrape of stubble pricking at your skin.

“Lemme guess, daddy didn’t call you a good girl either?”

You choked on a sound—half sob, half moan, your frame wracked with white-hot sensation, caught between shame and delirious want.

“House—”

“Mmm, there it is,” he crooned mockingly, teeth grazing your pulse point. “That’s the real you, huh? Not the mouthy brat—this one. The one that only comes out when she’s pinned under a miserable bastard with a limp and zero respect for her boundaries.”

He let up just long enough to deliver a smack across your ass—hot, piercing, a crack that lit your flesh on fire—before he rammed back in, fucking you down hard into the mattress, dick jabbing so deep you swore he rearranged something vital.

“Mmmf—- ohmygod!! F-Fuck!” You cried out.

“Keep selling that ice queen act to idiots who buy it,” he rasped, voice laced with a razor-edged venom. “But judging by the mess you’re making on my cock? I know exactly what gets you off.”

His thumbs dug back harder right below the tender spot of your ribcage—almost punitively—enough to leave crescent evidence blooming there and make you wince. It only made the ache worse. Your cunt stretched taut around him, pleasure ricocheting through your core until it felt like your whole body was tuned to the point of shattering.

“And lucky for you, I’ve got the bedside manner of a goddamn saint.”

֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ ۪ ﹡ㅤ ֗ 

divider creds: @/cafekitsune , @/suupersonic

[dollerinna]

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

──────𝑡𝚑𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑝𝑖𝑠𝑡! 𝑗𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑠𝑜𝑛 ۶ৎ 𝑓𝑒𝑚! 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ◞ therapist & patient dynamic. p in v. power imbalance. creampie. comfort sex… but toxic. tabletop position. dacryphilia. semi public setting. crying. emotional manipulation. praise. icky soft dom wilson.

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍 fucking the sorrow out of you—his client—like it isn’t the most wildly inappropriate, professionally ruinous thing either of you have ever done.

You’re strung out across the very edge of his desk, legs crooked around his waist, spread wide and pliant as he rocks into you with a languid rhythm that borders on cruel. The desk creaks beneath the strain, file folders scattered to the floor in paper-thin flurries of shame. Somewhere, a forgotten mug trembles on the corner, half-full and barely hanging on. Like you.

Each movement lands with a soft metallic clink of his belt buckle tapping the wood, the wet slap of your bodies colliding, and the breathless, bitten-off whimpers you can’t quite swallow. You’re soaked—humiliatingly so—the squelch of his cock working in and out of your soppy cunt echoes through the hush of his office.

“We’re gonna get in trouble, Doctor Wilson… we should stop… I feel bad…” you sniffle, bottom lip quivering, blinking up at him with eyes too big and wet with grief.

Wilson hums in response, murmuring into the crook of your neck as if coaxing a frightened fawn into staying still.

“Shhh… of course you feel bad,” he whispered, voice tinged with a resonant, butter-soft timbre, the kind that could talk someone down from a ledge. Or into bed. “You’ve taught yourself to be ashamed of needing comfort. To flinch when someone’s gentle.”

Your eyes flicker down, wet lashes catching in the low light as your lips cinch into a pout. “Yeah, but…”

“No buts,” He gently cuts in. “We talked about this. That feeling? It isn’t real. That’s your nervous system replaying an old script. Trauma’s a terrible narrator. We don’t let her drive anymore, remember?”

You respond with a slow small nod, too wrought with feeling to find words.

“And you’re not doing anything wrong,” he cups your face, touch tender, his tone even more so—so gentle it doesn’t register as wrong. “You’re just… letting someone take care of you. That’s all. Let me take care of you.” He says, trailing kisses up the slope of your throat to the tender hinge of your jaw where tear-stained skin still glows.

But it doesn’t stop the crying. If anything, it makes it worse.

Your sobs hitch on a series of snap and grind from Wilson’s hips as he thrusts a little harder—cock driving into you just enough to jolt your frame back, where the edge of the desk bites into your flesh. Tears bead along your lashes, sliding hot and soundless down your cheeks. Not from the sex, not from the pleasure, but from the weight of what you told him just minutes ago. About feeling unwanted and unseen. A walking cliche stitched together by abandonment and father-shaped holes.

And now he’s inside you. Filling you. Cradling you with the tenderness of someone who thinks this might pass for healing.

So maybe it does, to someone as fucked up as you at least.

You press a hand to his broad chest, palm catching the rise and fall of his breath. Your fingertips caress the loosened knot of his tie—once pristine, now crooked and slack, nearly undone. Like him.

This was the same man who used to sit across from you, witnessing you sob through stories you couldn’t look him in the eye to tell. He shouldn’t be the same person pinning you to polished wood, stretching your cunt slow enough to savor it.

And yet, as he rocks into you, you can’t help but wonder… is he even getting off on you? Or is he getting off on the taste of your misery?

Doesn’t matter. The thought splinters the moment his hand curls under your thigh, hiking one leg higher as he folds you raw and open, slamming back in with a force that feels less like desire and more like penance. The new angle wrings a ragged gasp out your vocal cords, his thick shaft punches deep—too deep—right into that devastatingly nerve-rich cluster he’s already learned to find, over and over.

His thumb glides down between your slick folds and nudges at your puffy clit, circling at the nub like he’s tuning you to the right frequency, drawing out the helpless notes from the well of your chest until you’re mewling into his shoulder.

“Wilson—! …ah, ngh… please…” you cry out, spine arching hard off the desk you nearly knock that trembling mug to its grave. You’re loud enough that someone outside could potentially hear. Hell, they probably already have by now. You should care, but you don’t. Not when he’s wrecking your pussy, soothing your emotional wounds, and probably giving you brand new ones to unpack with the next poor bastard you call a therapist.

“That’s it, such a good girl,” He purrs, all syrupy-sweet and utterly knowing, his gaze never leaving the ruddied planes of your face as pleasure cauterizes the doubt from your marrow, burning it out of you one tremor at a time. “You don’t have to fight it,” he coos. “Just let me do the work, sweetheart. That’s what I’m here for.”

Wilson drags your knees towards him in a smooth pull, pelvis slotting bruisingly tight to yours, coarse hairs at the base of him scraping against your sensitive clit. His gaze dips, pupils yawning greedily wide at your slick heat drooling onto the desk, soaking loose papers and whatever’s left of your dignity.

“Mmf… you should see yourself right now,” he exhales, not quite speaking to you—more so a private awe he can’t hold back.

“You were just like this earlier. Sitting there with your hands in your lap, voice all small and shaky…”

A groan escapes him as his eyelids shuddered closed, a shadow of something jagged and ugly slithers through the cracks of the man he’s trying to be. “You were crying like the world was ending. And all I could think was how badly I wanted to touch you.”

“G-God, I got so fucking hard.”

Yet his words barely register, drowned out by an endless, fraying hum that crests and shreds when the head of his dick bumps too far in, grazing your cervix on the upswing that has your nails clawing grooves into the desk.

“…Sl-slow down, wait—I’m gonna—agh, I can’t—!” Your plea disintegrates mid-moan, a weak stammer hoarse and thinned out beneath the static flooding your skull.

Wilson’s rhythm falters, thrusts tapering off as tension snaps and motion ceases completely, his cock pulsing so hard it rips the world out from under you. The next breath you drag is choked with sensation as he finally comes, spilling into you in searing, viscous bursts.

He pulls out, chest heaving as he admires how his cum seeps in lazy white trails from your gaping, used hole. His tongue darts out instinctively, hand cupping your mound—two fingers lazily pushing his release back into you, curling with a pressure that’s more intimate than erotic now.

“…Hah… don’t waste it,” his words fled on an airless chuckle, hovering between humor and sincerity. Perhaps a bit too sincere. “Would be a shame to let any of it go.”

His other hand rests against your thigh, anchoring you with the weight of it, like he’s still pretending this means something clean.

“You’ll feel better soon,” he says quietly, brushing your hair away from your damp temple. “Sometimes it just… takes a little push to get there.”

𝐀/𝐍 ◞ the reader was a bit of a self insert moment SORYY LMAOOOO. my lack of father figure possessed me again, couldn’t help it guys- also I feel like this is kinda rusty but whatever it’s been awhile bleh

[slamminslamminmcgill]

james wilson the type to hold your hands while eating you out. and if you squirt in his mouth he’ll cum hands-free in his boxers. this is true god told me.

[cyberstrm]

house being affectionate

a/n: fallen head over heals for the sexist man

cws: none, minor hurt/comfort

GREG HOUSE is so not a words guy. he's very much a physical and acts of service guy.

GREG HOUSE will kiss you every chance he gets. he'll pin you to the wall and have his way with you, then leave like nothing happened, leaving you flustered and blushing. though, he's not opposed to soft kisses, gently placing them around your face and neck hnfkcjcnd

GREG HOUSE is not a hugger. but he is a cuddler, especially in bed. sleepy mornings where he can just hold you in his arms and touch you wherever he pleased are his favourite

GREG HOUSE who grabs your ass at any given opportunity (he loves your ass he can't help it)

GREG HOUSE who will quickly and silently do jobs for you because he wants to be helpful but not tell you

GREG HOUSE who teases you a lot, but it's because he loves you <3

GREG HOUSE who buys you flowers and insists that he did no such thing

GREG HOUSE who is insanely protective over you. his cane has been used multiple times to shield off men.

[goonbarisi]

Idk if you take requests, but I feel like you’ll appreciate the idea even if you wouldn’t write it! Stepdad! Sonny introducing you to his friends Det. Bruno and Det. Griffin and them all taking turns sharing you >:3c

hii yes i do!! <3 i really like this idea only im not familiar with griffin that much😩😩😩 may i offer velasco or raf or dodds or amaro for this? lmk i dont care about timeline in this household🫶🏼🫶🏼😋

[slowburningechoes]

office hours

Summary: After an unforgettable night, Wilson just can't seem to get his mind off you. It's a good thing you work at the same hospital, but it's too bad House is next door... right? (as promised @chardalton & @the-ultimate-obsessive-fangirl !!!)

Pairing: James Wilson (House, MD) x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: 18+ content (NSFW/NSFM) - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT / semi-secret relationship (only from House), inappropriate workplace behavior, semi-public sex, brief sexting, office sex, thigh riding, fingering, female ejaculation, secret lingerie, desk sex, exhibitionism, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), breeding

Word Count: 5.4k

Inspired by: this post

Here is a link to ao3 if that is your preferred platform.

It was midday when Wilson’s text came through: Charting is killing me. I could use a break... preferably with you on my lap. My office. Now.

You glance at your phone as you wait by the nurse’s station for your next psych consult. The directness of his request makes your cheeks flush as you shift your phone from the threat of any prying eyes. 

You move to lean against a wall (where you’re sure no one will see) and quickly type your response: You really know how to give orders, don’t you? Good thing I’m not feeling too disobedient today, I’m on my way.

When he calls your name to enter after you knock, you can tell from the strained tone in his voice he’s feeling impatient. As you let yourself into his office, it becomes even more apparent. Wilson’s hands are tapping across his desk and his facial features are even more defined from the tension in his jaw.

“Did you need a consult, Dr. Wilson?” you tease, tilting your head and batting your eyes. 

There had been numerous “consults” between Wilson and you since started secretly seeing each other about three months ago and dating for the last month.  House had only recently begun to get suspicious, but, of course, you’d already covered your bases, informing Cuddy and having a quiet chat with HR, just to stay ahead of things.

“Oh, hush,” he groans, his tone flirtatious but laden with desire. “Come here, darling.” Raising a finger and curling it, he beckons you over.

You obliged without hesitation, happily prancing over to meet him behind his desk.

As your message had said, you really weren’t in a disobedient mood today, though you did like to be bratty on most occasions. All day you’d been daydreaming about last night — how Wilson had devoured your pussy like a man starved before fucking you senseless in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom. Admittedly, you had been wet all day, pressing your legs together desperately, trying your best to focus on clinic duty… but the images always slipped in, corrupting your mind and making you throb with need.

“You’re being awfully cooperative today, aren’t you?” Wilson smirked, caressing his hands over your hips, which were level with his face as he sat in his office chair.

You nod eagerly, biting your lip in an attempt to conceal the depth of desire you’ve been holding onto all day.

“That’s so unlike you,” Wilson hummed, voice coaxing. “Have you been thinking about me, angel?”

He senses your restraint and places a soft kiss on the sensitive spot near the crease of your thigh, the one he knows drives you wild.

A sigh escaped you and your admission slipped out, breathless, “Yes… fuck, yes. It’s been driving me insane all day.”

“I thought so,” Wilson grinned at your confession before adding his own, hands roaming across your torso, but one moving to grip your ass firmly, pulling you closer.  

“I’ve been thinking about you, too. Trying to do all this damn paperwork…,” a small grunt comes from his throat. “It’s so hard to concentrate when all I can think about is this.” His hand runs up the back of your thigh, bunching up your skirt, fingers sliding under the sides of your panties. 

Your skin practically aches under his touch, desperate for any contact it can get. Breathlessly, you moan his name, “J-James…”

“I can’t stop remembering how beautiful you looked last night — my dick buried so deep in you… hair all messy, your mouth gaping open, crying for me…,” Wilson whispers with need, pulling you onto his lap in one fluid motion. You were straddling his thigh, your back flush against his chest, reminiscent of how you were positioned against him as he completely ruined you in front of the mirror last night. “I know it’s only been half a day, but I couldn’t wait anymore…I had to get my hands on my gorgeous girl.”

You rest your head back against his shoulder, the heat between you undeniable as you roll your hips down into his thigh, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his neck. “Then touch me, please,” you whisper, voice thick with need.

Wilson’s groan is low and strained as his hands slide underneath your skirt, fingers brushing against the soft fabric of your underwear. His touch is gentle, savoring every second of this tension between you. As he traces the intricate rose-patterned lace beneath his fingers, he stops suddenly.

“Oh?” His voice cracks slightly, full of surprise and lust, the weight of his discovery heavy in the air. “You’re wearing these… here?”

A rush of heat flooded through you, your body responding to the thrill of the secret you’d been carrying all day. You knew exactly what they would do to him when you chose them this morning. The sultry red lace, a cheeky cut pair of panties he nearly tore off you the first time you wore them.

Wilson's fingers begin to move once again, dancing across the meshed fabric before flattening against you

"You really walked around all day like this?" His voice is thick with disbelief and hunger as he lifts up the back of your skirt to reveal the trail of red trim that perfectly curves against your ass cheeks. Wilson muttered a few unintelligible words to himself before releasing a pained groan, “You sat across from me in this morning’s consultation, acted completely normal, while you had these on underneath? Knowing what they do to me?" His fingers press slightly harder against your still-clothed core, lace straining beneath his touch, applying enough pressure you can’t help but gasp.

You bite your lip, catching your breath before nodding earnestly. "I thought about telling you," you admit teasingly, rolling down into him again, your body aching for more friction. "But it was much more fun wondering if you knew."

He presses his thigh against the motion of your hips, almost as if he were answering your request. You feel his desire grow beneath you, making your throbbing need intensify. Wilson’s lips linger just below your ear, voice low and deep, “God, I should’ve known. You kept shifting in your seat, crossing your legs too tightly… I almost asked if something was wrong.”

You smirk, leaning into him until your neck meets his lips, “And if I had told you?”

He places a desperate kiss against your throat before lightly grazing it with his teeth, his hand finally sliding beneath the waistband of your panties. “I would’ve had you in here with the door locked before my first patient. I can’t believe you’ve been this wet for me all day.”

Wilson’s digits don’t hesitate to find your core, sliding between your folds and making small circles against your bundle of nerves. His touch electrifies your senses, sending shock waves through your body, hardening your nipples and making your clit pulsate, desperate for more contact. As his fingers dip between your labia, teasing your entrance, a pleasurable moan escapes your lips (louder, admittedly, than you had expected) in the heat of the moment.

“Shhhh,” Wilson warned, quickly bringing his free hand to clasp over your parted lips, muffling the sound of your moan. “You better stay quiet, doll,” he purred in your ear, the heat of his breath nearly distracting you from his fingers dipping into your heat, testing your restraint. “We wouldn’t want House hearing next door, now would we?”

You smirk underneath his touch, the threat of House discovering you both this way making you ache with need even more. But you can feel from the way his breath hitches, the way his hands tremble slightly against your mouth, and his twitching bulge beneath you, that the thought excites him too.

“Naughty girl,” he hummed, his smirk evident in his voice as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. His teeth scraped lightly over your pulse before he soothing the slight sting with his tongue. “You really get off on it, don’t you? Seeing just how much you can get away with before someone realizes just how bad you really are.”

A pitiful near-whine of “uh huh” is all you can manage as you buck your hips into his hand, his fingers now finding their rhythm pumping in and out of you. The pleasure was already overwhelming, but all you could think about was wanting more. More of his touch. More of that very unprofessional dirty talk flowing from his lips. More of whatever he had to give you.

Wilson obliged without the request even leaving your mind, curling his fingers inside you and mindlessly beginning to press his bulge harder against you, soft grunts falling from his lips  The circular motion of his thumb against your clit made your entire lower half numb with warm pleasure, forcing you to bite down on your lower lip hard to stifle the urge to cry out like you had the night before.

"You sat across from me today, acted so damn composed, knowing full well what you had on underneath," Wilson continues, voice tense and thick with the last bit of his restraint. "Now, you’re on my lap making such a mess, hoping that House will hear on the other side of that wall — aren’t you?” His fingers are still curled inside of you, picking up their pace until you feel pressure grow in your abdomen.

Heat floods your face as Wilson makes clear he knows exactly what you were thinking about.“I - I like that he could hear,” you admit, voice trembling with arousal as your clit and inner thighs begin to flood with heat. As you continue, you are practically babbling, mind consumed with numbing pleasure. Wilson’s fingers had found your most sensitive spot, knocking it over and over with just the right amount of force in his fingertips. “K-knowing that he could hear everything — how badly I need you. How good you make me feel. Him knowing what you do to me, how dirty I am — fuck...”

Your tangent comes to a halt as you feel your orgasm crash into you, one that was more intense than any you had experienced before. The pressure that had built inside of you was heavy and nearly painful, but the relief that washed over you as you released on his fingers was mind numbing. You rode out your climax on his fingers with a recklessness that was unfamiliar to you, driven by a hedonistic bliss that was desperate and raw. The satisfaction you felt made your entire body feel like it was on fire and — for once in your life — your mind was completely blank, drunk on some kind of animalistic ecstasy.

“Jesus Christ,” Wilson groans, his large hands on each of your ass cheeks, pushing you up to the edge of his thigh. “You just squirted all over me. Damn, t-that’s so hot…” He stares at his now-soaked slacks and your swollen pussy with wide-eyed admiration.

His trance is broken when you gasp, your sore clit grazing his knee, sending a shock of pleasurable pain through your upper thighs. Responding tentatively with care, Wilson brings you back to rest flush against his chest, pressing multiple tender kisses to your flushed cheek. “You did such a good job, darling. You were perfect, as always.”

Every part of your body is sensitive as he caresses your body, fingers dancing up and down your torso causing bumps to rise along your skin.

“But I hope you don’t think we’re done here, angel,” Wilson whispers teasingly, still gently caressing his fingers through your hair. “You nearly made me cum in my pants… and now, I want House to hear just how pretty you sound taking my cock.”

You whimper in response as your body melts into his touch, every muscle softening as he moves you to bend over the edge of his desk. It’s as if you’ve forgotten how to hold yourself up, hot cheek pressed against the cool wood as he hikes your skirt up around your hips and spreads your legs open for him. He pulls your panties down your thighs with careless want, the lace scratching against your skin before the fabric catches at your knees.

Wilson groaned at the sight of you laid out before him, completely pliant under his hands. His fingers trailed down the curve of your spine, slow and deliberate, savoring the way you shivered at his touch.

“Look at you,” he hums, voice thick with hungry admiration. His thumbs press into your hips, holding you in place as he leans in, lips ghosting over your ear. “So sensitive… needy… gorgeous...”

Wilson’s fingers are flat against you again, coaxing your body to open until all you can do is surrender under his touch. Your breath hitches as you feel Wilson’s swollen tip line up with your entrance perfectly before gliding through your folds, causing your pussy to instinctually clench around nothing. There is a deep wanting ache inside of you that hated his teasing, but your body numb with pleasure, could find no reason to complain, reacting with small jumps every time he brushed against your clit.

As you process the pleasure you feel as he continues to slide his cock through your slickness, Wilson’s left hand comes down to grip your ass firmly. Before you can process his touch, he releases his hold, only to apply a stinging slap that motivates a breathy cry to escape your lips. You were shocked at first, he had never spanked you before — even when you were being bratty — but the sharp burning made you become even more wet and desperate for him to fill you.

Wilson’s fingers brushed the warm, flushed skin of your backside. “Guess you really weren’t in the mood to be disobedient today,” the tone of approval in his voice made your clit throb harder. “So good for me… letting me take control like this. Letting me do whatever I want.”

You try to form a response, your mind still hazy and body trembling, but the words escape you. All that comes out is a soft, shaky (and admittedly, pitiful) whimper. You can feel Wilson grin from behind you, his confidence thick in the already charged air. 

“Normally, I love that bratty nature of yours,” he chuckles softly, lining himself back up with your entrance. “You’re always so sassy, testing me, ready with some biting comeback. But this…,” Wilson groaned, finally pressing his cock into you at (a still) painfully slow pace, “...seeing you speechless, so fucked out of your mind already… it’s doing something to me.”

As he bottomed out inside of you, you couldn’t help but moan, a sound coming out that was some attempt at his name. You had already come to know how wonderfully Wilson stretched you, but this heat from your first orgasm made you feel as if you were melting around him, perfectly molding against every vein ridge of his dick. 

Wilson began to move, thrusting in and out of you with small breathy grunts accompanying each movement. His hands braced against your hips, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh. You could feel his gaze drinking you in, flickering between your pussy gripping him and the expression on your face — cheeks rosy, lips slightly parted, and eyes heavy-lidded, rolling back every time he sank into you. 

For the first time in your slew of inappropriate work rendezvous, you didn’t (and truly, couldn’t) hold back the noises that escaped your lips, one cry coming out as some semblance of his name. Wilson’s tip hit against your cervix with the perfect amount of pressure, tapping it just firm enough that you nearly felt it in your stomach.

Your sounds made Wilson twitch inside of you, prompting him to pause briefly to keep himself from coming undone entirely. 

With a low groan, he leaned forward, his chest flush against your back and his lips hovering beside your ear. “Think House is sitting in there, pretending he doesn’t hear how wrecked you sound?” Wilson whispered, an almost mocking tone in his voice. His words send a chill of pleasure down your spine, as his hand comes up to wrap around your throat, pulling you from the desk, your back flat against his heaving chest. He continues, words still against your ear,“Or do you think he’s listening… really listening — wondering what I’m doing to make you come apart like this?”

The thought makes you gasp, the sound echoing , His fingers pressed slightly harder against the sides of your throat as you did. You clench around him, responding in absent-minded pleasure. “J-James,” is all you can whimper.

The idea of House, himself, hearing wasn’t what turned you on — it was the delicious anticipation of him discovering that his careful sensitive friend had completely lost control. The idea of Wilson, usually so measured and cautious, now completely undone, taking you raw, right here on his desk in the middle of the day, was intoxicating. It wasn’t just the thrill of it; it was the satisfaction of knowing you were the one who’d made him forget himself, made him lose his usual restraint. The tension between his normally composed, loyal nature and the raw, reckless abandon he was giving you sent a rush of heat through your veins, knowing it was all because of you. He’d never imagined being so reckless, and yet, here you were, the cause of his unraveling once again.

Wilson’s thrusts were becoming increasingly more sloppy, rutting into you at an uneven and needy rhythm. “God — you look so damn gorgeous, Y/N… letting me have you like this in the middle of the day…” his voice was breathy, trembling just like his legs as he fought to hold onto his control. “Y-you’re perfect… shit — you feel so, so good, my little secret… I - I  can’t…” You thought it was so cute — how he always started to ramble when he was close to cumming, every bit of sense escaping him.

A deep, shuddering moan came from his lips, hand dropping down from your throat, fingers digging into your hips, holding you against him like he never wanted to let go. Wilson’s cock delved deeper within you, so deep it was nearly painful as his hardening tip hit against your cervix with relentless fervor.

You whimper at the sound of his voice, the sensation of his touch consuming you. “James,  baby…” You felt close to the edge again, a familiar knot building within the pit of your stomach. “I-I’m about to…”

Wilson cuts you off with agreement,“I know, angel… me too.” His voice is rough, strained as he presses a gentle, reassuring kiss to your neck. “Let go for me,” he murmurs, nearly pleading, lips ghosting over your ear, breaths hot and uneven. “Come on, sweetheart… let me feel you cum on my cock, please.”

The way he says it, the way he’s holding you so tightly but with so much care — it’s all too much. Your body seizes, that coiling heat in your stomach rushing down your shaking thighs. “F-fuck…” A sharp, broken cry spilled from your lips as pleasure crashed over you. You didn’t care who heard at that point - House, Cuddy, anyone. Wilson groaned in response, as if the sound alone was enough to undo him… and it practically did.

His movements stuttered as your walls clenched around him, only to find euphoric relief as you became so soft and open for him. He was following closely behind you, hips thrusting once more until a guttural, shuddering moan tearing from his throat and you felt him release inside of you. He buried his face against your shoulder, forehead beaded with sweat and his whole body weak as he let go, completely and utterly undone.

Neither of you moves for a long moment, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure. Your breath is still coming in shallow gasps as you cling to him, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat slowing against your back. You both rest, regaining some composure in your muscles before breaking apart from one another.

Wilson presses a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to the curve of your neck. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

“Then keep taking me, James,” You hum, leaning into his touch, your fingers finding their way through his soft and, now, thoroughly tousled hair. He continues to place kisses along your neck as you speak. “Keep taking me like this, over and over… take all of me, until you’re completely satisfied… until you’ve had every part of me.”

“Oh, I’ll take all of you, sweetheart,” he assured, voice still rich with lust. His hands roam over your body once more, possessive and gentle at the same time, savoring the feel of your skin beneath his touch. “But I’m not going to let you forget how much you want me to… I’m going to take you until you’re lost in me. Until every part of you is completely mine.” His hands drift lower, his fingertips teasing as they glide across your skin, making your body hum with need. “And you’ll beg for it, every time, won’t you?”

“Mhm,” you reply, feeling the tension build inside of you once more. Just as you begin to beg him to spread you open again, reality creeped back in — the cool air against your heated skin, the quiet ticking of the clock, and the ever-present threat of someone walking in. A frustrated sigh escapes you as your fingers slid over his hand, which was cupping your breast, pressing it there for just a second longer before reluctantly stilling him. The disappointment of having to stop was palpable, a slow, burning ache lingering between you.

Wilson shifted behind you, groaning as he peeled himself away from your warmth. “We should… probably make ourselves look decent.” 

You stifled a giggle, watching him blush at the realization of what had just transpired. “Mmm, you think?”

His lips quirk as he reaches for his crumpled dress shirt. “Unless you want House walking in and figuring out why my tie is missing and my pants are all soaked.”

You adjust your skirt back down over your thighs before blinking quickly, confused. “…Your tie is missing?” When did that happen?

Wilson paused, his brows furrowed, equally as perplexed. His eyes look around the room, groaning when he finds it draped over his desk lamp. “Fantastic.”

Smirking, you remove the fabric and thread it under his collar, hands lingering against his still-heaving chest. Though the tension never left, it was palpable again. Wilson’s heart was thumping so hard in his chest, you could feel it beneath your trembling fingers. His eyes, gentler and warmer now, were still filled with lust and need as they admired you make the first loop of the tie knot.

The pulse of desire within the air, however, was so rudely interrupted by the unmistakable rap of a cane against the doorframe. Your heart skips, the rush of heat between your legs suddenly replaced by a sharp jolt of anxiety.

Wilson’s face falls, hand lingering on the edge of your hip, trying to hold onto the moment before reality rushes back in. You can feel his body tense as a whispered huff escapes him. “Damn it…”

House’s voice filtered through, ladened with an undeniably smug amusement. “Wilson! Open up or I start taking bets on what exactly I just heard…” Two more sharp taps from his cane shook the door. “My money is on ‘reckless desk defilement’, but I’m sure that Cuddy might have more creative ideas.”

A look of exasperation was plastered across Wilson’s face, eyes already rolling in annoyance as he reluctantly removed his hands from your side. As he moved to grasp the knob, he groaned in defeat, turning it until the lock clicked in release.

House didn’t let a second pass, stepping just inside the doorway with his usual aura of casual arrogance. He leaned against his cane, gaze flickering across the scene, taking in Wilson’s still undone tie, your messy hair, typically neatly placed desk accessories along the floor, and the undeniable tension that still electrified the air.

“Well, well,” he began, his lips slowly twisting into a cocky grin, “it seems I should have taken those bets. Could’ve made quite a bit of cash.”

“House —,” Wilson started, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying his best to regather a sense of control.

“Oh, dont ‘House’ me,” came the sing-song reply, teasing thick in House’s voice. “I heard everything… but I’m sure you already knew that.” 

You couldn’t deny that his acknowledgement of your recent activities made your core ache in some sick way. Your muscles stiffened, fingers wrapping tightly around the edge of the desk as you felt your cheeks burn. You were enjoying this more than you thought you would.

“Tsk, tsk, Wilson,” House drawled, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment. “I expected better from you. Mid-day debauchery in your office? Highly unprofessional.” He smirked. “And here I thought you were all about romance.”

 “House, please,” Wilson groaned, dragging a hand down his face, blocking his eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not judging,” House interrupted, waving a hand to stop him from continuing. “If anything, I’m impressed.” His gaze slid to you, eyes glittering with mischief. “And you, didn’t take you for an exhibitionist, but judging by that glow…” he gave a slow nod of approval, “you enjoyed this.”

A slow heat crawled up your neck, but you refused to flinch. Instead, you tilted your head, feigning consideration as your cheeks grew flushed. “Maybe.”

House let out a sharp, delighted laugh. “Oh, I like her, Wilson. Try to keep this one?”

“Can we please just skip to why you’re here?” Wilson begged, voice crackly just slightly, painfully embarrassed that his best friend and girlfriend were having such an exchange.

House gave him a pointed look. “Oh, I actually do have a reason other than just confronting your kinky lunchtime rendezvous.” House leaned against his cane, grinning. “Cuddy’s looking for you. Says it’s urgent.”

Panicked questions fell from Wilson’s lips with urgency, “What? Why?”

House’s grin turned wolfish. “Could be about a case… hmmmm, could also be about the very audible display of workplace misconduct that echoed through the halls.” He rubbed his chin. “Really, it’s a toss-up.”

Your boyfriend let out an exasperated sigh, “Fantastic.”

“Wilson,” House said, moving towards the door as he motioned to Wilson’s chest and leg with his cane. “You might want to check a mirror before you go. You still look…” His piercing blue eyes flicked toward you. “Ravished.”

Wilson shot him a murderous glare but didn’t argue, running a hand through his already-messy hair in a feeble attempt at damage control.

House clapped his hands together, proudly pressing them against his lips. “God, this just made my entire week.”

You rolled your eyes, smoothing your skirt. “Try not to enjoy this too much.”

“Oh, don’t worry… I am.” House said teasingly. “The best part is.. it’s our little secret now…”

Wilson’s face grew more red, hot with embarrassment and anger. But with that comment, House strolled out, casually whistling away as if he was innocent to anything that had just occurred.

Wilson exhaled slowly as he fell back into his office chair. “I am going to kill him.”

You grinned sheepishly, stepping closer to him “Later.” Your fingers brushed his collar before continuing to adjust his tie. “Right now, you should probably focus on looking less like a man who just fucked someone senseless.”

“You’re not making that very easy,” he insisted as your lips grazed the skin beside his collar, nibbling lightly on his earlobe.

“That’s too bad,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, “because I’m about to make it even worse.”

“Oh?” Wilson said, suspicion and interest laced in his voice.

You stepped back slightly, letting the moment stretch as he watched you with a mixture of curiosity and hunger, breath becoming uneven once again. 

Slowly, your fingers skimmed along the hem of your skirt, deliberately teasing. Your lips curved into a wicked grin when you saw his gaze darken at the sight. His breath caught as you slid your hands beneath the fabric, fingertips ghosting over your still-sensitive skin. And then, with unhurried precision, you eased your underwear down your thighs. The deep red lace slipped past your knees, pooling at your ankles. 

You stepped out of them with a playful step before gathering the delicate fabric between your fingers and holding them out toward him with a knowing smile.

“Thought you might need a little something to remember me by today,” you murmured, voice rich and teasing.

Wilson’s throat worked as he swallowed, his eyes dark and sharp as they broke from the gift and lifted back to meet yours. He took the lace from your fingers, the brush of skin against skin igniting another spark of anticipation between you. He didn’t say anything at first, rolling the thin material between his fingers before wrapping it in a fist. His expression is nearly unreadable as the silence lingers, jaw tense and lips pressed together tightly.

Then, in a voice low and rough, Wilson spoke, “You’re trying to kill me.”

“Noooo,” you insist sarcastically, smile deepening at his response. “Just trying to make sure you don’t forget me while you’re off being a responsible doctor.”

Wilson exhaled sharply, his free hand gripping the armrest of his chair firmly, visibly struggling to get himself under control. He tucked the lace into the pocket of his dress pants, fingers lingering there for just a moment, as if resisting the urge to bring them to his face, to savor the warmth and scent still lingering on the fabric.

“You do realize what this is going to do to me,” he muttered, warm eyes scanning across your body as you straightened your skirt back down your legs.

His breath hitched as you stepped in even closer, bringing yourself to rest against his still-damp thigh. “That’s the point,” you murmur, voice smooth and sinful. “You’re going to spend the entire day thinking about me. About how I feel when you touch me, about the way I sound when I come undone for you… about the fact that I’m walking around bare beneath my clothes, still full of your cum… and aching for more.”

Wilson groaned deeply, his hand grasping your hip as he attempted to still himself, exhaling hard.

“Jesus, Y/N… you know you’re making it impossible for me to function today, right?” he said, almost like a complaint — but there’s no real protest in his tone, just a quiet, tortured amusement.

Wilson curses under his breath, his hands flexing against his chair again, like he’s a second away from grabbing you again from locking the door and taking you out on the balcony this time. Instead, he tilts his head back slightly, closing his eyes for just a moment, trying to will his restraint back into place.

When he opens them again, his pupils are still blown, voice still rough. “You are so unfair.” 

“I like keeping you on your toes.” You pressed a tender kiss to his cheek before moving to stand.

Wilson huffed a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head as he glanced at the clock. “You better be waiting for me when I get home tonight,” he warns, straightening his tie. 

“Oh, James,” you smiled confidently as you backed toward the door, his gaze following you with a barely concealed hunger. “I’ll be waiting… but I won’t be patient.”

You let your hand hover over the doorknob for just a moment, savoring the tension and truly, not wanting to leave him. With a slow turn of your head, you glanced at him over your shoulder. He was still in shock, sitting so stiffly, like he didn’t trust himself to move… or simply couldn’t.

You smirk, admiring the devastation you’ve left in your wake. “Oh, and James?” you purred, voice cloyingly soft. “Enjoy your meeting with Cuddy.”

Wilson made a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a curse, running a hand down his face. “You’re evil.”

You took a slow step towards the door, tracing your finger up your thigh, bunching up the cloth just enough to watch his eyes flick down to your legs, reminding him that there was nothing beneath it.

“Have fun,” your voice dripped with amusement as you finally turned the knob to go, winking playfully at him as you skipped into the hallway.

Wilson let out a long breath, so deep it sounded like he had been holding it the entire time. As you stepped out, just before the door clicked shut, you heard him mutter under his breath – half frustration, half admiration — “She’s going to be the death of me.”

[fitzssarchive]

fitz being so sweet and gentle with Jemma post her maveth rescue like was already acting like like her unofficial caring boyfriend 🥺

[itberice]

[fitzssarchive]

stop acting so married for 5 seconds omg my babies

[xbook-bunnyx]

‎♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧Caregiver!Wilson & Little!House Moodboard♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

I've been watching House M.D for almost a month now and I immediately started shipping house and wilson and thought house is so an age regressor and wilson is his caregiver. Anyway they're now some of my favourite characters of all time.

[hoe4hotchner]

spare key!! hotch and breeding kink please i’m ovulating and i need that man carnally

- 🧚‍♂️ (i don’t have an icon or set anon bc i haven’t asked, but id love this one)

The things I would do to have this man breed with like a mutt in heat!!!!

Absolutely you can have 🧚‍♂️. Most of my anons don't have an emoji, so don't worry about that ;)

Join the 5k Housewarming celebration here

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | CW: Smut, breeding (no baby talk, just cum) | WC: 1k

Hotch doesn’t even wait for the door to fully close before he’s on you.

The second the lock clicks, he has you pressed against the wall, mouth hot and aggressive on yours, hands tugging at your clothes.

It’s been a brutal case.

Three weeks away

And the texts he sent you from his hotel rooms at 2 a.m. before the team packed up to fly back, promised exactly this kind of homecoming.

Rough. Desperate. Unrestrained. Almost feral.

“Missed you so fucking much,” he growls against your throat, teeth scraping the sensitive skin at the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet as he shoves your skirt up to your waist.

Your panties are gone in one sharp tug. He rips them clean off, faster than your brain can register. “Been hard the whole flight thinking about how wet you’d be for me. Thinking about filling you up until you’re dripping with my cum.” he murmurs into your ear. It sends a shiver down your spine.

You’re soaked, wetter than the ocean, thighs slick just from the way he’s looking at you—like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that can satisfy him.

He lifts you easily, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom, mouths fused together, breathing ragged.

Hotch throws you onto the bed and strips fast. Tie yanked loose—he doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the wet spot you left on the tip of his tie—shirt buttons flying, slacks kicked aside. His cock is hard, painfully hard, flushed, curving up toward his stomach, the tip glistening with precum.

You reach for him, but he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand as he crawls on top of you, while the other spreads your thighs wide.

“Look at you,” he rasps, eyes locked on your exposed pussy. “So pretty and ready. This cunt’s been waiting for my cock, hasn’t it?”

You whimper, nodding frantically. Hotch is a gentleman, so he doesn’t make you wait any longer, instead he lines up and drives into you in one brutal, yet smooth, thrust, burying himself to the hilt.

You cry out as he bottoms out, hips flush against yours.

He doesn’t ease into the thrusts.

He fucks you hard from the first stroke. His cock moves in and out of your pussy with deep and punishing snaps of his hips that jolt your whole body up the mattress.

The headboard slams against the wall in a steady rhythm following his movements, matching the wet slap of skin on skin. His free hand grips one of your thighs, holding you open as he dips his headso he can watch himself disappear into you over and over.

“Fuck, you take me so well,” he groans, voice ragged. “Tight little pussy sucking me in like it never wants me to leave again. Gonna feed her so good tonight. Gonna pump you so full you’ll feel me leaking out of you for days.”

Every thrust punches the air from your lungs, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

He releases your wrists to grab both hips, lifting you slightly and angling you so he hits deeper, dragging the thick head of his cock over the spot he knows drives you insane.

“Aaron... please—”

“Please, what?” He leans down, cutting you off, teeth grazing your earlobe. “Please fill you up? Please give you every last drop of my cum?”

“YES! FUCK, YES!”

He snarls and speeds up, pounding into you. Sweat drips from his temple onto your chest; his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes, making him look like a wild animal.

You rake your nails down his back, and he hisses, slamming in harder.

Your orgasm hits, your back arches off the bed, and walls clamping down around him fluttering in rhythmic pulses.

He curses under his breath, pace faltering for a second as you milk him, but he doesn’t stop, not yet.

He fucks you through it, drawing it out until you’re shaking and gasping his name.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come all over my cock. Get it nice and wet for my cum.”

The stimulation is almost too much, but he doesn’t let up.

His thrusts turn erratic, hips stuttering as he chases his own release.

“Gonna cum,” he warns, voice strained. You know he’s close. “Gonna fill this pussy up... FUCK!”

With a groan, he buries himself as deep as possible and cum hard. You feel it instantly. Thick, hot, flooding you, spurt after spurt, so much it feels endless.

He grinds against you through every wave, emptying himself completely, cock twitching inside your spasming walls.

But he’s not finished.

Still hard, still throbbing, he starts moving again. This time, his thrusts are slower and more deliberate. Pushing his cum deeper, as deep as it can go. Each roll of his hips forces more of it inside you, the slick sounds obscene in the quiet room.

“Not letting a single drop go to waste,” he mutters, voice rough and possessive. His hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing in tight circles. “You’re keeping all of it inside. Every fucking bit.”

You’re trembling, but the drag of his cock forcing his own release back into you is intoxicating. Cum leaks out around him with every thrust, smearing over your thighs, your ass, the sheets beneath you, but he just scoops whatever he can back up with his fingers and pushes it back in, growling low in his throat.

“Look at that,” he breathes, pulling out just enough to watch his cum drip from your pussy before slamming back in. “So full of me. So fucking perfect.”

He keeps going until you’re both shaking, until the mess between your legs is filthy and you’re clenching around him again, chasing another orgasm that’s been building slowly.

Only then does he finally still, buried deep, forehead pressed to yours.

His breathing is ragged, chest heaving against yours. He kisses you.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice softer now, though still thick with need.

You nod, boneless, thighs trembling around his hips.

He smiles—a small, sated, and still a little feral smile—and carefully pulls out. The rush of cum that follows makes you both groan. He watches it spill from you with hungry eyes, then gently pushes two fingers inside, curling them to keep as much in as possible.

“Stay just like this,” he says quietly, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “Let it soak in.”

[goonbarisi]

i kinda wanna rebrand and write for more characters because im too lazy to create another blog, gahdamn 🤔🤔

[fluentmoviequoter]

Always Like This

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

Summary: You get a special invite to a 20 squad barbecue and learn that your boyfriend's team is a family. One you fit into perfectly.

Warnings/Word Count: fluff, banter, Street gets bullied. 1.4k+ words, requested.

A/N: This is my 2,000th post. Thanks for reading and letting me talk so much.

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"A barbecue? In this weather?"

As if Mother Nature is agreeing with you, the wind howls and sends raindrops spattering against the window above the sink. Deacon smiles and offers a shrug in response to your question. You just recently met 20 squad — on the same day you celebrated your sixth month anniversary with David. So, the invitation to Hondo's house comes as a bit of a surprise.

"And you're sure he invited me?" you check without looking away from the food simmering on Deacon's stove.

Deacon sighs, the sound long-suffering but still loving, before he wraps his arms around your waist. He tugs you back from the stove, smiling into your shoulder as you collapse into him.

“Of course he invited you,” Deacon assures you.

“I don’t want to be that girlfriend,” you explain softly.

“That girlfriend?” Deacon repeats inquisitively, his hands wandering your hips and stomach as he begins to sway to the rhythm of the rain.

Shrugging, you add, “You know, the girl who assumes she’s invited everywhere but ends up interfering with a boys’ night or bothering you because you felt some obligation to not leave me out of something.”

Deacon exhales heavily. He knows that you’re not trying to make him feel any specific way, but he never wants you to think that he doesn’t want you close.

“I don’t want you to feel left out,” Deacon replies. “But regardless of what I think or want — and I’d rather stay home with you than spend another night with my team every time — Hondo’s mom invited you. Before she invited me, actually.”

You smile, turning just enough to see Deacon over your shoulder. “Really?”

“Don’t rub it in,” Deacon jokes. “Yeah. She wants to meet you.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were all really close,” you muse.

“No. And now you’re part of that family, part of our team. Street tried to pitch why we should adopt him this morning.”

Tipping your head back against Deacon’s shoulder, you laugh. Even though you’ve only met Street once (and received numerous TikTok links from him since then), you can picture that encounter perfectly. Based on what you’ve heard about his family, it might not even be the worst idea.

“So, what am I telling Hondo?” Deacon hums. “You coming with me or leaving me to fend for myself?”

“I’ll come with,” you answer, nodding as you trace the muscles in Deacon’s forearms. “Since you asked so nicely. Do I need to take anything?”

“No. Luca tried once. I won’t let you make the same mistake.”

You turn to kiss Deacon’s jaw before you step out of his hold to finish dinner. You’re lucky, you know.

“Not even-“ you begin.

“Nope,” Deacon answers before you finish.

You spend the rest of the week looking forward to Hondo’s family barbecue. Because of the winter storms battering Los Angeles, it has become an indoor gathering, but you understand that a Harrelson party is never hindered nor affected by anything. Though you’ve met 20-David squad, you haven’t met their families, significant others, or the neighbors you understand have an open invitation to the cookout.

So, you’re not surprised when Deacon has to park down the block from Hondo’s house. He takes your hand as you exit his car, keeping you on the inside of the sidewalk and under his umbrella as he leads you up the road.

“Why don’t you invite the team over for stuff?” you wonder.

“Because I’ve seen the mess we leave at Luca’s,” Deacon offers. “The guys have been over a few times; Luca and Hondo live in a more central area, I guess. I’ve also just never felt the urge to… I don’t know, entertain?”

Nodding in understanding, you follow Deacon up the walkway. Hondo’s house is pretty; it fits him well based on what you know about him.

“I don’t deserve you,” you muse as Deacon pushes the door open.

He stops in the doorway, his hand tightening around yours, still gentle as always.

“I’m not supposed to say that,” you murmur. “I know. Lecture me later.”

“Clearly it works so well,” Deacon grumbles.

“Not my fault you look good when you get bossy,” you defend.

“Hey!” Street yells as he walks into the hallway.

“Hi, Street!” you call, waving as he nears you for a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he sighs into the hug.

“That’s long enough, Street,” Deacon jokes.

“If that bothered you, what makes you think bringing her into Hondo’s house was a good idea?”

You chuckle at their bantering while following them deeper into the house. Music and overlapping conversations are audible from the kitchen, and you recognize most of the people as soon as they come into view. Luca and Hondo are in the kitchen, helping who you assume is Hondo’s mom, Tan and Hicks are holding cups while they look at a bookshelf, and Street finds his place by the window without hesitation.

“There she is!” Luca announces when he sees you.

“And she brought Deacon!” Hondo plays along.

His mother smiles, wiping her hands on a dishrag before she steps behind Luca to greet you.

“Mrs. Harrelson, thank you so much for having me,” you say before you introduce yourself.

“Sweetheart,” she replies kindly, “you are always welcome here. As you can see, manners and beautiful women are severely lacking.”

You chuckle, welcoming her hug as Tan and Hondo grumble arguments about having manners and ‘prospects.’ She ushers you into the kitchen, shaking her head when she sees the soft, love-filled look Deacon wears as he watches you go.

“Deacon tells me that this is a regular occurrence?” you ask. “It’s really nice of you to do this.”

“We’d go crazy if we didn’t get to hang out off duty,” Hondo explains. “It’s quite literally the least I can do. I like the chance to let loose, act like guys rather than cops.”

“He says that like it wasn’t my idea,” his mom whispers to you, smiling when you stifle your laughter.

“You’re the first non-SWAT guest to get a special invitation,” Luca tells you. “High honor.”

“I feel bad coming empty-handed, though,” you pout. “Deacon said-“

“That you’re not expected to bring anything,” Hondo finishes for you. “He’s right. We wanted to see you, not make you feel obligated to do anything for us.”

“The tables turn,” Deacon muses, approaching the counter with a cup in his hand. “Told you.”

“Be nice to her Deacon,” Luca warns, pointing a fork at him.

“You’re outnumbered, Deac,” Hicks agrees.

“Now I’m very glad I came,” you hum, smiling at Deacon.

“This is great,” Street interrupts. “Wait, I have the best idea!”

“Words that usually precede something incomprehensible or downright awful,” Luca warns you under his breath.

“We should do a team vacation,” Street continues, moving his hands as he talks. “Like go to the mountains for a week or a few days in a nice beach house in San Diego.”

The people around you fall silent, staring at Street like he just pitched the idea in a foreign language.

“Sounds fun,” you offer to break the silence.

“Ain’t no way Jim Street just said that,” Hondo exclaims.

“His first good idea,” Tan muses. “We should celebrate that alone.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Street deadpans. “Look, future Mrs. Deacon said it sounds fun, so you can’t hurt me now.”

“Future Mrs. Deacon,” Hicks repeats. He raises his brows as he glances at you. “Got something to share?”

“Not yet,” Deacon answers for you.

“I can help plan the wedding,” Street offers.

“No, you can’t,” Hondo, Tan, Hicks, Luca, and Deacon say together.

“Is it always like this?” you whisper to Hondo’s mother.

“Sometimes they get goin’ so fast I can’t follow what they’re saying,” she murmurs. “But it’s always fun. It’s nice to see them let loose like this.”

“It is.”

Deacon shakes his head as he steps into the kitchen. His hand finds your lower back as he sighs.

“Look what you started,” he grumbles playfully.

“Careful, Deacon,” Hondo’s mom warns, yielding a wooden spoon like a weapon. “Your next invite might get lost.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Harrelson,” he offers, tugging you against his side. “And sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it.”

“Sure, you didn’t,” you agree. “Just like I didn’t mean it when I said Street could throw your bachelor party.”

“Yes!” Street yells, thrusting his fists in the air. “Take that, Hondo!”

“Told you you’d fit in,” Deacon reminds you.

“Hey, you chose me.”

Deacon drops his eyes to your lips as he murmurs, “I did.”

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