din djarin x reader imagines

dirty mouth

Now he's turning around, standing up, moving towards you with deadly fluidity. He moves so quickly that you have no time to process it. He shoves you backwards, hard, until you're pressed between the metal of his cuirass and the metal of the wall.

The moan you let out as he crushes you against the wall is desperate, and utterly obscene. You can't pass it off as fear – it's a sound of wanton submission.

He knows it, too, and stills.

"Me'bana?" What's this? He murmurs to himself, a gloved hand moving from bracing against the wall to grazing against your upper arm. You've only worn a thin and short-sleeved shirt – bulky clothes were harder to move with – and you can feel him keenly against your fevered skin. You're burning.

"I- please-" You don't know what you're asking for. You can't look at him, instead fixing your eyes on the hyperspeed-blurred stars visible out of the front of the cockpit.

He's having none of this. The hand against your arm moves to the nape of your neck, grasping the hair there and steering your face to look into his masked one.

"I won't touch you unless you want this." He says, tone even but timbre deep and coarse. He steps back, hand moving to your collarbone. It's on your right side, or his fingers would be brushing the blaster burn on your neck. You shiver at the thought of him pressing where you had when you'd been so close. He'd press even harder, you thought. He would make it bruise. Make it hurt even better.

You press your legs tightly together, rubbing your thighs. He doesn't miss this, and curses softly under his breath.

"Gedetir'la par bic." You're begging for it. His voice is barely a murmur, but you catch what he says and the words go straight to your core.

You can't keep this up, can't pretend that your cunt hasn't been squeezing around emptiness for the last few minutes, hours, days, because of him. You know you're dripping down your thighs now, know your chest is flushed, nipples painfully hard, pupils blown with a mad, all-consuming need. Your whole body wants this – breasts heavy, aching for his hands on them, legs desperate to wrap around him as he thrusts-

"Yes, please, I want this, Mando." You gasp desperately.

The change is immediate – he goes from stoic to predatory in the blink of an eye. He removes his gloves, and you swallow thickly.

One hand grasps the nape of your neck again, wrenching your head back so he can see your face, as the other dips mercilessly between your legs. You're wearing pants, but you know he'll be able to feel your wetness, and screw your eyes shut with embarrassment.

"You're soaking." He's practically growling now, and your pussy flutters.

And then it clenches, because suddenly he's slapped you, hard, on the inner thigh. "Open your eyes." You obey, loving the stinging of your thigh but unwilling to risk another slap. He gives you one anyway, and a moan leaves your mouth before you can stop it. Kriff, you sound so slutty.

"Etyc dala'ika." He grinds out, and you may just die from arousal. Filthy girl.

He chuckles blackly as you arch against him. "Don't even understand what I'm saying and it still turns you on, eh, veridurr?" A thrill moves through you, half because he's underestimated you, and half because he's pressing you against the wall, calling you whore.

His hands are all over you – roughly unbuckling your belt, squeezing your thighs, running roughly up your waist, thumbs just catching the sides of your heaving breasts. Your head falls back against the wall, mind reeling from how good it all feels.

He shoves your pants down, pulling them off along with your boots and socks. Oddly, he's left your underwear in place.

He's not so respectful of your shirt, ripping it off so that the buttons clatter across the floor. He pushes the shirt from your shoulders so that it's hanging off your bound arms, chest exposed. He rips off your bra, tearing the fabric and flinging it across the cockpit in his haste to see all of you. You moan, long and low and so, so desperate, as he pulls it off you, stepping back to look at your body where you lean against the wall of his cockpit.