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It all starts when he drags that trussed-up Wookiee on board. But wait, you’re getting ahead of yourself.
In truth, your fantasies involving the Mandalorian and his knot tying abilities may have started then. But you’ve lusted after him for far longer than that. Because there is no question about it. Mando is sexy as hell.
You see him around now and then. At guild headquarters mostly, but also out and about on the dirty streets of various crime-infested planets. He’s been an object of your desire since you first laid eyes on him, but he has always remained aloof and unattainable.
Is he more or less attractive to you because of the battle-worn armor that covers his already imposing figure? It makes him look even larger than he already is and twice as dangerous. So…probably more attractive. You want that broad chest pressed against yours. Does he fuck with all that armor still on? You’d like to find out.
You’ve been acquainted with him for a while, but you’re just that. Acquaintances. Nothing more. Occasionally, the two of you will both have a puck for the same job when the target is wanted dead or alive. You specialize in dead. He specializes in stealing your quarry out from under your nose. But all’s fair in love, war, and bounty hunting.
You are a well-trained assassin, but you occasionally take bounty pucks when work is slow. You pick your target off from a distance and bring their head back as proof of a job completed. Unfortunately, decapitation is necessary because carrying the dead weight of an adult body onto your ship is usually not physically possible. It’s distasteful, but it’s a payday and you need the credits.
But here you sit without even a head in a bag. Completely alone and wallowing in the sad fact that you no longer have a ship. It was stolen from a shitty docking yard here on Nar Shaddaa. Gone without a trace, the tracking beacon disabled. Kriffing Nar Shaddaa. You should have known better. The criminals here are quite talented, you’ll give them that. That’s why they call it the Smuggler’s Moon. Thieving scum everywhere here.
Mando finds you attempting to drink your troubles away. You’ve posted up in the sleazy cantina next to the port that no longer houses your ship for lack of anywhere better to go. You barely hear him approach.
“Hey.” His deep, modulated voice breaks through your haze of alcohol and self-pity.
“Hey,” you bite back glumly.
“You look like a mess.”
“Thanks for pointing that out, Mando. You really know how to make a gal feel special,” you snark as you toss back the last of your drink.
You sigh as you slam the glass back onto the grimy surface of the bar harder than intended. “Sorry to disappoint your aesthetic sensibilities. I’m not in the mood for lipstick and eyeliner at the moment. Actually, I guess I don’t even have makeup anymore. Or anything else for that matter.”
The alcohol is making you far more loquacious than usual. But you’ve just lost everything. Losing your filter is the least of your worries. Angrily, you press the heels of your hands against your eyes to force the prickly feeling in your tear ducts to subside.
“My ship was stolen. I’m stranded on this hellhole of a moon and I didn’t even take out my target before she left her hideout and went off-world. She’s probably on the other side of the sector by now.”
At some point during your sad story, Mando takes a seat on the barstool next to yours. When you look up from your empty glass, he’s leaning on the bar, helmet tilted slightly as his visor points your way. He’s quiet for a while, just observing you silently. Eventually, he speaks.
“Guess you could use another drink. It’s on me.”
The Mandalorian signals the bartender, a surly-looking Vodran in a stained apron, and orders you another round. Nothing for him of course. His helmet is a real buzzkill.
“Thanks,” you mutter, feeling utterly pathetic under his unyielding gaze. The two of you sit quietly for a while as you sip spotchka from a chipped cup. Silence is a state that neither of you minds. Your professions require discretion and you’re both used to keeping your thoughts to yourselves.
Abruptly, the screech of Mando’s barstool being pushed back over the sticky floor shatters the stillness of sulky, miserable introspection. He stands and puts his rifle on his back once more.
“You need a ride then. I’m headed to Nevarro. I have a few jobs to do first, but you can come if you want.”
You look up at him, surprised by the offer. Mando has never struck you as the type to give assistance unprompted. He’s such a loner, you’ve never even seen him in the company of others for longer than necessary. In fact, Karga complains about his brusqueness every time the bounty hunter leaves his cantina. Yet here he is, inviting you onto his ship.
“Oh. Well, yeah, Mando. That…that would be great. Thanks.”
“Let’s go.” He gets up and strides away without looking back, leaving you to scramble to catch up with him in your significantly buzzed state.
His Razor Crest is a wreck of a thing, but beggars can’t be choosers. Once in the hull, he waves vaguely at a storage area in the corner. “You can sleep there. Blankets are in that crate. Taking off in five.”
With that, he heads up to the cockpit, leaving you alone to make a sad little pallet on the floor of the little nook. You lay down, trying to stop your head from spinning and your chest from aching. A stolen ship. Maker, could your luck get any worse? You screw your eyes up and escape from reality by willing yourself into a deep slumber.
***
It’s been a few standard days, but Mando remains as reticent and aloof as ever. You try to stay out of his way, both out of respect for his personal space in general and his creed in particular. You are also hesitant to interact with him because of the intense and completely unrequited desire he awakens in you whenever he’s nearby. He smells like blaster residue and leather and it’s somehow the most intoxicating scent you’ve ever inhaled. Even just the sound of his low, raspy voice makes your cunt clench with need. Yeah, you’ve got it bad. But it’s manageable. You can surely ignore your urges for the duration of the trip.
Enter the tied-up Wookie.
It is very big, very strong and very, very dangerous. And only wanted alive. Correspondingly, the bounty on it is worth a huge amount of credits. Which is why Mando had taken the puck. That and because Mando’s good at what he does and cocky because he knows it.
“That thing put up quite a fight,” the Mandalorian grunts by way of explanation after he finally succeeds in shoving the enormous walking carpet into the carbonite chamber. Mando leans against the wall of the ship to catch his breath.
A length of grappling wire had been tied around the quarry’s neck so Mando could lead it back to the ship like a mastiff on a leash. Yet it had still taken all his considerable strength to drag the huge creature up the ramp. The enraged Wookiee had fought him every step of the way. The beast’s hands had been snugly tied behind his back, loops of interwoven wire rope encircling every inch of its thick forearms. Its upper limbs were further restrained with additional grappling line. The wire was neatly tied into a series of perfect knots, each one placed beneath the next in a vertical line from the base of its neck to the top of its waist, keeping those large, hairy limbs pinned close to its body.
However, none of these artful restraints had prevented the Wookiee from thrashing around like a rabid bantha. So it’s not surprising that you’re now a horny mess thanks to the sight of Mando leaning there, panting, after manhandling his quarry onboard.
Your curiosity gets the better of you. “W-why…” You swallow to remedy the unexpected breathy quality of your voice. “Why did you tie him up? Instead of just cuffing him?”
Mando absently rolls his shoulders and flexes his wrists to loosen his overworked muscles. Apparently, this is just an average workday for him.
“He ripped off the cuffs before I could lock them down.” The bounty hunter sighs audibly before continuing. “Then he threw them through a fifth-story window. Had to improvise.”
“Oh.” You consider his reply, your mind returning to the expert way he’d trussed up his quarry. “Where…where did you learn to do that? To tie him up like that?”
A long pause stretches between you. Then Mandalorian shrugs and mutters,“It’s…nothing. Just learned it along the way. Helps to have additional ways of restraining bounties.”
He considers you for a moment, his visor tilting up and down ever so slightly, almost as if he’s letting his eyes drift along the length of your body.
“You ok?” he grunts as he finally stands up straight and walks past you. “You look kind of flushed.”
Does he know what he’s doing to you? He has to. He’s not stupid. Yet he shows no indication of considering your unspoken offer. Maker, you want him so badly. On top of you, between your legs, all over you, pounding into you. It’s not going to happen though; you can tell he’s not going to pursue you. Does he not find you desirable? Not to sound conceited, but men usually do. So maybe he just doesn’t want to complicate things while you're hitching a ride on his ship. Or perhaps he doesn’t want to seem unprofessional? He hasn’t been with the guild all that long and is still making a name for himself. It could be that he doesn’t want to sully his reputation by having a fling with another guild member. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s toying with you, making you squirm. Like a loth cat playing with his prey.
Regardless, you are left alone with your thoughts and a pair of very wet panties as he climbs the ladder to the cockpit. The Razor Crest creaks and trembles as he takes off and pilots through the planet’s upper atmosphere.
Soon you're in hyperspace. After you feel the ship ease into autopilot mode, Mando drops down the ladder, his boots landing with a thud onto the durasteel floor. You hear him enter the fresher and turn on the shower.
Damn, he must look downright sinful in there. Enveloped in clouds of steam, naked and dripping with water. A bar of soap clutched in one of those large, strong hands. The muscles in his forearms flexing under his skin as he scrubs his hair. You don’t actually know for sure that he even has hair. But he just seems like he would. Thick hair, soft and pretty in contrast to his otherwise rugged persona. Blonde? Black? No. Brown. Dark chestnut brown hair that curls slightly at the ends.
You’re bored. That’s the problem. You have nothing to occupy your thoughts so your mind is just pointlessly revisiting arousing thoughts of the Mandalorian. With a huff, you flop down onto your pallet and dig through your knapsack for your data pad so you can distract yourself.
But then, as if by some strange twist of fate, your fingertips brush against the spool of red silk cord you had bought in the market earlier that week. It had looked so pretty, your favorite color, so you’d bought it on a whim. You’d planned to braid it into your long, thick hair and maybe trim the edge of your cloak with it. Or swap out your frayed bootlaces for the strong, pretty cord.
But another thought pops into your head, unbidden but alluring. Well, there’s no harm in it. Really, it’s just another field technique to practice. In fact, youngling scouts on your home planet even practice knot tying as one of their wilderness skills. You draw up your legs, rest your chin on your knees and tie the cord around one bare ankle and then tug on it. The material is stronger than it looks and the knot holds fast.
You weave the cord around your other ankle, trying to copy the design Mando had used on the Wookiee’s wrists. Over, under, around, and…
“What are you doing?” His modulated voice sounds sharper than it should.
“Nothing. Just bored.” You continue wrapping the cord around your ankles and shins.
A quiet, strangled sound leaves his helmet. You don’t really notice. He stands there, already clad in all his armor again. You’re too focused on getting the next knot to lay smooth and flat.
He clears his throat as he tosses his damp towel over an exposed pipe. “You’re doing it wrong.”
You huff in annoyance. “Thanks for letting me know.”
Irritably, you continue trying to get it right. Over, under, around—
You don’t notice that he’s crossed the hull to kneel beside you until his warm bare hand closes around your ankle. “Like this.”
Mando unravels your work and reties the cord tightly around your foot. You watch his nimble fingers curiously.
He speaks slowly, his deep voice curling around you like smoke. “I actually learned this from a, uh, friend who works in a brothel on Corellia.”
You laugh. “Strange skill for a brothel worker. Useful enough though...” You pause as understanding suddenly dawns on you. “ Oh. I see.”
You know that if you could see under his helmet right now, you’d be treated to the sight of him smirking at you. He stops and looks at you, his helmet cocked slightly to the side.
His voice is low and vaguely dangerous. But in a good way. A very good way.
“I can show you more. But it doesn’t look right unless you’re naked.”
You stare at him, lips slightly parted in surprise. He slides his warm hands up your shins and waits patiently for your response. You give him the tiniest of nods.
“Take off your clothes and lie down.” His tone brooks no argument.
Of course, you don’t really have to do as he says. But you want to. He sounds so demanding but there’s a soft hint of something there that tells you that despite all appearances, he’ll take care of you even as he makes you submit.
You slowly pull your tunic over your head, bare nipples pebbling in the cold air of the ship’s hull.
“So beautiful. Mesh’la .”
You lay back and lift your hips so you can peel off your leggings and panties. These are flung carelessly to the side.
His fingertips graze the inside of your thigh. Then he spreads your bent legs almost absently, but you know he is purposefully baring every inch of you to his hidden, hungry gaze. Suddenly, you feel shy under his unrelenting focus. You try to close your thighs, but he leans over and growls in your ear. He’s so close you think you can hear his real voice, deep and decadent, under the crackle of his modulator.
“No. Don’t. I want to see you, pretty girl. Anyway, I need you to stay just like this if you want me to show you how to best tie you up.”
He brushes his thumb over your lower lip and a tiny whine escapes your throat. His fingertips trace your jawline and drift down the column of your throat, pressing gently and pinning you to the floor. You take a shaky breath and let your bent legs fall open.
“Such a good girl. Perfect,” he sighs.
You’re not sure if he’s referring to the long lines of your legs, your bare skin, or simply commenting on your ability to follow his directives. A wave of slick drips from your aching hole. Your cunt is already burning for him
“So do you want me to? Show you?”
“Yes,” you whisper.
He hums softly and trails a fingertip from the hollow of your throat down to the valley between your breasts. “Good.”
You can’t suppress the soft whimper that escapes your lips.
“As long as you’re sure you want me to, mesh’la . You have to really want me to.” He pauses. “Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
“Y-yes.”
“The word for stop in Mand’oa is gev . Understand?”
“Yes. Gev . But don’t. Don’t stop.”
“I won’t. Unless you tell me to. Yeah?”
“Ok.”
Abruptly, he takes your foot and firmly presses it against the spot where your thigh meets the curve of your ass. The other hand loops the cord that’s already tied to your ankle around the crease between your hip and leg. He pulls it tight and expertly makes a tight knot, securing your bent leg in place.
He works swiftly, quietly, with the same intensity he brings to every task. The knife from his boot cutting the cord with ease when needed. One leg bent and bound. Then the other. He flips you onto your stomach and ties your forearms together. Then he pins them to your torso with a loop of cord encircling your waist. Knots are placed in rows up your body. You moan in the realization of their purpose when he grasps them so he can pull you up and into his chest.
“Is it ok? Not too tight?”
“No, it’s…perfect.”
He hums and gently ties your hair back. But then the other end of the cord is woven into the bindings along your back, holding your head back slightly.
He lowers you onto your back so you’re spread beneath him on the floor. He’s still in all his underclothes and armor while you’re bare, clad only in the pretty red cord.
“Fuck,” he groans as he looks you over. “So beautiful, all tied up just for me. You’d let me do anything I wanted, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes,” you whisper.
“Can I blindfold you? So I can look at you while I taste every inch of this gorgeous body?”
Oh, Maker. You had no idea that was on the table.
“Please, Mando. Yes, please.”
He grabs your thin blanket and easily tears off a wide strip. It’s secured over your eyes and the world goes dark. Now there’s only the feel of those snug bindings and his warm touch.
You hear his helmet depressurize with a soft hiss and then there’s a thud as he sets it down. Clink. Clink. He’s removing the rest of his armor.
And then he’s there, his muscular body pressed against yours as he ravishes your mouth with his. Holy hells. The man can kiss far better than anyone who constantly wears a helmet has any right to.
“Mando…” you moan as he nips at your lips, your ear, your neck.”
“Yeah?”
“Please. I need you.”
He groans softly and slides a hand between your legs. His fingertips gather your slick and explore your folds, but he doesn’t touch your swollen clit or clenching entrance.
“Do you? That’s too bad. You’ll have to be patient.” His hand draws away and then you gasp when his palm cracks against the outside of your thigh.
Mando’s mouth engulfs the peak of one breast as he squeezes the other. A light scrape of teeth and a pinch of his fingers have you moaning his name.
Mando laves his tongue over the strips of your exposed flesh, moving slowly down your stomach until you feel his warm breath at the apex of your thighs. “This what you want? My tongue between your legs?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” you practically sob.
You are rewarded with the flat of his tongue licking a long stripe up your weeping slit to your aching bud. “Mando!”
He laps at you again, sighing contentedly against the core of you. “You taste fucking delicious.”
His mouth feels so good that you want to tilt your hips up and chase the feeling of his warm, wet tongue. But you can’t. Between the loops of knotted cord and his strong hands holding you down, you can barely move an inch.
As if he senses the full understanding of your predicament that blooms in your mind, you feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin. “Sorry, pretty girl. You only get what I give you right now.”
He bites at the inside of your thigh. “So be good. Unless you want me to be very, very bad.”
With a light smack to your thigh, he goes back to burying his face between your legs, licking and sucking until you’re panting and moaning helplessly. The bright heat builds up in your core, twisting tighter and tighter, just like the cords pulling at your skin.
“Gonna come for me already?”
“Y-yes. Oh, Maker, yes, Mando, more, please…”
He slides two fingers into your needy cunt and curls them just so. You scream his name as your release rips through you, lighting every one of your nerves on fire. He expertly draws out your pleasure with slow licks and deep thrusts until you’re spent, your chest still heaving. It’s like he’s drinking down every last drop of your release. As if you have the sweetest nectar dripping from you and onto his lips.
“Good girl,” he purrs. He crawls up your body to crush his mouth against yours. “Ready for my cock?”
You gasp out an affirmative but soon realize you may have spoken too soon. When he notches the tip of his thick cock against you, your eyes fly open under the blindfold. Maker, he’s big. So fucking big.
But before you can voice your concerns Mando slams into you, sheathing himself completely inside you in a single stroke. It knocks the breath out of you and you cry out in surprise and then pleasure. It feels like he just spilt you open, but in the best possible way.
“Mando!”
He pulls away and then snaps his hips back into yours. “Yeah? Oh, fuck, you feel so good.”
Your words are forgotten, your mind wiped blank, as he starts to pound into you, so fast and hard it feels like he’s fucking you through the floor.
“You’re doing so well, pretty girl. All tied up and just taking it. Fuck,” he hisses in your ear. His fingers grip the ties all over you, moving you exactly where he wants you so he can continue his delicious assault. All you can do is whimper and moan beneath him. It feels so good. He’s hitting something devastating inside you, over and over again until your toes start to curl.
You wail his name as he keeps at it, bringing you swiftly up to the edge and then pushing you over it all at once. You clench around him so tightly he growls and pulls out.
“ Osik, mesh’la… I’m…fuck…not ready to be done with you yet,” he groans.
You’re so blissed out you barely process the way he flips you over. Your cheek presses into the cold metal floor and your knees push against your chest. Mando roughly pulls your hips into his and takes you from behind.
It’s just so much. All you can feel is him, his heated skin and sharp teeth and bruising fingertips. Too much to bear and not nearly enough. He’s railing into you, chasing his own high now, until sinks impossibly deep and you feel his cock twitch as his cum fills you.
The Mandalorian sighs your name into the crook of your neck and brushes his lips between your shoulder blades in the softest of kisses. He mumbles soft praises into your skin. When he pulls away, it feels like it’s with reluctance.
You hear him fumble for something and then suddenly your bindings are sliced through, dropping away from you with a whisper of fabric trailing across your skin.
“Was that…ok?” His question is as soft as his hands as he gently checks the spots where the cords had pressed against your flesh, stroking the faint marks gently.
“Yes,” you murmur. “More than all right.”
He pulls you against him and you rest there, your head on his chest, until the sound of his breathing lulls you to sleep.
***
From then on, the two of you spend every spare moment of the trip tangled up in each other on the floor of his ship. You don’t want to reach Nevarro. But, of course, there’s no avoiding it. When the Razor Crest lands next to that familiar city, the two of you walk down the ramp wordlessly. You reach the cantina with a heavy heart. But you only look over at him and smile wistfully.
“Thank you, Mando. For the ride. For everything. See you around.”
He nods silently, back to being the stoic bounty hunter you knew before. But to your surprise, he reaches out and briefly touches your hand.
“See you around.”
You turn and walk quickly up the crowded street. Somehow, you manage not to look back. You pass the afternoon at a friend's home, recounting the loss of your ship but leaving out the details of your journey back.
That evening, you and your friend walk to the cantina. As you crest the hill at the edge of the city center, you look towards the ugly swath of lava rock that passes for a spaceport. As you suspected, there’s no Razor Crest to be seen. He never lingers planetside. Just drops off his quarries, collects his money, and leaves with a stack of new pucks. You’ve seen him do it many times before.
When you step into the cantina, desperate for a stiff drink, you are quickly intercepted by a beaming Karga.
“There she is!” he bellows. You’re really not in the mood for him but you plaster a fake smile onto your face. He is sort of your boss after all.
“Come, come! I have your earnings here for you. Wonderful work, my dear! Very impressive. Looks like your guild rates just went up!”
You stare at him in confusion but he just blathers on. “When Mando said you’d earned half the bounty on that Wookiee, I was amazed but not totally surprised. You’re quite the bounty hunter, dear.”
He hands you a large pouch, heavy with credits. It’s a lot. As in “easily the down payment on a new ship” a lot. You can’t stop staring at it.
Someone has tied the pouch closed with a bit of red cord.