KO-FI: https://ko-fi.com/molz333 - At the moment I write for Din Djarin, Abe Sapien, Prince Nuada, Adrian Chase, The Bad Batch and Thunderbolts* REQUESTS: OPEN KO-FI COMMISSIONS: OPEN
Summary: Takes place during The Mandalorian: Chapter 18. Din is prepping for his journey to bathe in the living waters in the mines of Mandalore. However, he will not let you accompany him. Confused and frustrated, you go to meet Peli on Boonta Eve to discuss business. While you are there Din says something to her that takes you by surprise. You confront him about it that evening with surprising results that bring a new meaning to your relationship.
Warnings: Miscommunication, Mentions of Arguing, Light Spice, Implied Smut
Tags: Din Djarin x Female Reader, Established Relationship, Mentions of Arguing, Miscommunication, Peli being the best babysitter, Light Spice, Mentions of Smut but nothing explicit, Din is a big softy for the reader and Grogu.
There was a stark contrast between the atmosphere of Mos Eisley on Boonta Eve and the apprehension swirling around your own mind as you exited your ship. Your gaze locked onto where your mandalorian was waiting for you, Grogu safely nestled in his arms. No words were spoken as you joined him and began the short walk over to hangar 3-5.
Typically, the three of you would be traveling together. Except this time you would not be leaving Tatooine as a group. Din was stopping off to see his old contact to inquire about a Droid part and to tune up his N-1 before proceeding to Mandalore. There, he hoped to find redemption within his covert and to take Grogu along on the adventure to teach him more about the galaxy and the mandalorian ways.
You, on the other hand, would be remaining on Tatooine. When you had left your previous visit with Din's covert, you had received a transmission from Boba Fett and Fennec. They were looking for some reinforcements to combat a crime gang that had attempted to conduct business within the city parameters. You had initially thought that Din would postpone your trip to Mandalore to offer assistance. However, he surprised you when he promised only your services to Fett, while he and Grogu continued on to Mandalore.
The discussion that you'd had after Grogu had gone to bed that night was heated. You couldn't understand why he wouldn't want you to come to Mandalore with them. You had both been present when the covert spoke of how dangerous the planet had become since the Purge. The air was rumored to be poisoned and the ground was unstable at best. It seemed like a task that would require both of you, even if only so that you could watch Din's back.
Naturally, Din did not agree. He insisted repeatedly that he and Grogu would be fine, and that they would take a droid with them to assist with testing the air quality and overall integrity of the planet's surface. You had argued all the way to where you were picking up Din's N-1. As the ramp of your ship opened, he spun on his heel to grab your arm. His helmet was inches from your face, the heat of his stare seeming to pierce through the visor.
"You are going to Tatooine, and I am going to Mandalore. No more discussions." His tone was sharp, words clipped as he left no room for you to object.
"The coordinates for hangar 3-5 are already in your navigation. Land outside the city walls and I'll meet you there."
Before any other words could be spoken, he had dropped his hand and headed off to his fighter with Grogu in tow. You had been left to stew in your frustration and fear the whole way to the outer rim. Now that the three of you were together once again, it seemed as though the tension between you and Din had not dissipated.
Despite the circumstances, you could still feel your excitement rising as you entered Mos Eisley. The city was in full swing of its Boonta Eve celebrations. Vendors and travelers from all corners of the galaxy crowded the streets. Cheers, shouts, and laughter could be heard from all directions, sending the typical hustle and bustle of the population into overdrive.
The prospect of meeting Peli was also intriguing to you. Din had spoken of his unlikely friend that he'd made almost by accident several times. You knew she was a character, to say the least, but that Din also trusted her intrinsically. The fact that he allowed her to watch Grogu unsupervised for any length of time told you all that you needed to know.
Upon arrival to hangar 3-5, you received as warm of a welcome as you expected. You smiled softly when Grogu leapt into Peli's awaiting arms. Her and Din discussed his need for a droid to take to Mandalore as you observed idly. Finally, once the arrangements had been made for her R-5 to go with them, Peli's eyes rested on you.
"And who is this pretty thing you brought with you this time?" You smiled and held out your hand while telling her you name.
"I'm.."
"My wife." Din finished your sentence for you.
Your turned your head to look at him so fast that it could have come clean off of your shoulders. Din's helmet was facing straight ahead, not even so much as tilting toward you. Meanwhile, Peli's eyebrows rose nearly up to her hairline as her eyes darted between the two of you.
"Your wife?!" She exclaimed. "First you bring me your kid without mentioning it and now your wife?" She laughed, a knowing smirk playing on her lips.
"Who knew you had a heart underneath all that armor?" Din sighed in exasperation as his hands went to his hips, offering no further explanations.
"Tell you what," Peli continued. "I'll prep R-5 for the journey to Mandalore and watch the little guy. You two lovebirds should go enjoy the festivities for a while before you ship out. And I'll tune up your ship. No extra babysitting fee required."
There was a pause before Din stepped closer to your side.
"Fine, we'll be back in a few hours." Your mind was still reeling as one of his large hands splayed solidly against your back. He turned you both around until you were heading back out of the hangar. Din still did not so much as spare a glance down at your face.
If he did, he would have seen the way your eyes were glazed over and your mouth was hanging slightly open. You were utterly dumbfounded. The two of you had fought for your entire journey, not said a word to each other since landing, and now all of a sudden you were his wife? It had taken a long time for yours and Din's partnership to turn into a trusting friendship, and even longer for that friendship to blossom into something deeper. These days, your relationship could probably be described as close to a marriage that you could get. You were raising a child together after all. However, up until now neither of you had yet to even mention the idea of a real marriage, much less make that kind of commitment.
You were drawn away from your confusion as Din's arm slid around your waist.
"Stay close," He murmured, his head staying on a swivel as he scanned your surroundings. You quickly realized that he was leading you back the way you had come, away from the main part of the city.
"I thought we were 'enjoying the festivites'," you questioned, parroting Peli's words from earlier.
"We are," Din confirmed kurtly. "Just away from prying eyes."
It didn't take long before you were out of the city and back on your ship. Din wasted no time in getting you in the air, flying you low over the planet's surface. Only a few minutes passed, and you were landing once again. You didn't wait for him before descending down the ramp.
The view that you were met with upon exiting the ship was nearly enough to take your breath away. Din had landed you atop a ridge not far from Mos Eisley. It was high enough that you could get a full view of the city and its celebrations. There were fireworks lighting up the desert, making it look like a large ship floating across the dune sea. You could vaguely make out the cheers of spectators and the consistent hum of podracer engines. Smoke from the food vendors rose up to create a mysterious shroud over the skyline above the buildings. This was seeing Tatooine like you never had before. It looked almost magical, and nothing like the dry, backwater outerim outpost that it was on any other day.
"I told you we'd still be partaking." Din's voice from behind you once again brought you back to reality.
"Just from a different vantage point."
You turned around in time to see Din spreading a blanket onto the ground. He then retrieved a bottle of what looked to be wine and two cups from behind a rock before taking a seat.
"How did you know this was up here?" You asked, sitting down across from him. "And since when do we have wine on the ship?"
"The tuskens showed me this on one of my jobs. They use it as a lookout during their patrols." He explained while pouring some wine into the first cup and handing it to you.
"The wine is from Greef. It's from Corellia, expensive. He said to save it for a special occassion."
You took a sip before meeting his visor with a quizzical look.
"So, you just happened to have this whole date planned?"
Din's fingers went to the lip of his helmet so that he could lift it just enough to take a drink. Even though you were alone out here, you still averted your gaze to the night sky on instinct.
"It was an idea that I was also saving for a special occasion." You huffed a laugh.
"Like Boonta Eve?" He placed his cup back on the blanket before meeting your eyes.
"Like before we are going to be apart for the first time since you started traveling with me."
That made you pull up short. You placed your cup down beside his, sighing heavily as you looked back at him with weary eyes.
"I don't want to fight with you." You spoke quietly, as though you would scare him away with any sudden move. "But I was there, I heard what your covert said about Mandalore. It's not safe. What if something happens to you? To Grogu?" Your voice began to waver as you tried in vain to swallow down your emotions.
"I've been there with you through everything. If I don't know what's going on or whether or not you're safe, how am I supposed to live with myself?"
"I think the same things about you." Din replied, his voice quieter now through the modulator.
"I want you to stay here and help Fett, not just because he's our ally but because I know that he will watch out for you." You made a disgruntled sound.
"I just don't understand why you have to go to Mandalore now. You can't wait until this job with Fett is over so that we could all go together?"
"No." His solemn reply was immediate and absolute. "I have to go bathe in the living waters and be redeemed. As soon as I am Mandalorian again we can return to the covert to tie up our loose ends."
Your head tilted slightly as you regarded him. "What loose ends?"
Din paused for a moment to look out over the sand below.
"You know that I have been training Grogu in the Mandalorian ways." You nodded slowly.
"Once I am redeemed, he can become my apprentice and be added to the song. Then he will no longer be a foundling, and it will be my job to take him on adventures across the galaxy and teach him, just as I was taught."
Din's helmet turned to face you once again. You heard him swallow thickly as his gloved hand slid across the blanket to settle beneath yours, your fingers dwarfed by his large palm.
"I was hoping that once I am redeemed, you and I could take vows. And you could be added to the song as well...as my wife."
Your eyes widened as you stared through the black 'T' of his visor to where you knew his eyes were.
"Your....wife?" You stammered as you felt your heart rate pick up.
"Yes." Din confirmed, grasping your hand and bringing it up to rest on his beskar over his chest.
"Is that something that you want, Cyar'ika?"
Your eyes began to fill with unshed tears as you let out a breath that you didn't even realize that you had been holding.
"Din," You spoke his name reverently, like a prayer.
"I'm already your wife in every sense of the word. You, me, Grogu...we're already a family. You don't have to risk your life traveling to Mandalore to prove that to us."
"I know that." He quickly agreed. "But, I've already done so much against my creed to keep us safe...I just want to do this one thing the right way...just this once."
You nodded, giving him a watery smile as you inched closer.
"Then that's what we'll do." Din sighed, his hand leaving yours to rest it on the side of your face. You leaned into the touch, allowing your eyes to close as you felt the warmth of his skin radiating through the leather of his glove.
"Is that why you told Peli that I was your wife?" He huffed quietly.
"Yes, and to prevent further questions. It's better that way with her, trust me." You laughed softly as your eyes opened.
"Does this mean we're engaged?" Din chuckled, a warm, happy sound that made your heart flutter whenever you heard it.
"Mandalorians don't have engagements or weddings. We take vows, and then our unions are added to the song so that we can acknowledge the furthering of our lineage. However, by your definition... Yeah, I guess we would be."
You shook your head, taking the opportunity to close the space between you and slide into his lap. Your knees bracketed his hips as your arms moved upward, hands sliding into the cowl around his neck. His helmet tilted upward to meet your eyes as he moved to hold onto your hips in kind.
"I can't believe you proposed to me at Boonta."
Din snorted as he gave your belt an affectionate tug.
"Keep it up and I won't marry you until next Boonta." You rolled your eyes.
"You're the one who wants to marry me so bad, Djarin. I don't think you could wait for me that long if you tried." He hummed as his hands began to slide up your back, pulling goosebumps from your skin as they went.
"No you're probably right." Din leaned in toward you as your eyes darted from his visor down to the bottom of his helmet.
"Promise me something," You whispered before you could become carried away.
"Anything." Din murmured, his fingers already going to the rim of his helmet. You squeezed your eyes shut before he even had to tell you.
"Promise me you'll come back." The hand on his helmet paused for a moment as the other tightened at your waist.
"You have my word, cyare." He swore, voice deep and unwavering.
"I'm going to be redeemed, and then I'm going to come back and marry you." Your breath caught in your throat as you nodded, silently willing the tears that had begun to gather at your lash line not to spill over.
"Then you can also have mine." You promised. "I will stay with Boba and Fennec until you and Grogu return. You have my word. I'll wait for you."
You felt Din's shoulders physically relax as he exhaled. The next thing you heard was his helmet depressurizing so that he could close the distance and finally press his lips to yours.
The kiss was passionate and consuming as Din's lips laid claim to yours. His tongue slid into your mouth as his hand left your waist to cradle the back of your head, twisting into your hair. Din had always been a man of action. His body often told the story that his words could not. It was in the way that he held you, firmly but still tender. It was how his lips moved against yours, like he couldn't stop if he tried, like you were oxygen and he would suffocate should he let go.
You moaned softly in the back of your throat as your fingers found where his curls had begun to poke out from beneath his helmet. You gave the strands a tug as you pressed yourself impossibly closer against his armor. Din groaned in response but pulled back, leaving you a bit disappointed as you heard the familiar hiss of his helmet clicking back into place.
"Cyar'ika" He sighed, sounding more out of breath than you anticipated.
"We can't do this out here, we're too exposed." Your eyes fluttered open, smiling as you took in the steady rise and fall of his chest.
"Well," you began, glancing at the chrono on your wrist. "I think Peli can watch the kid for a bit longer if you wanted to take this inside the ship. Unless, there's some Mandalorian tradition against sleeping together while engaged that I don't know about."
Din groaned, this time in exasperation, before throwing you over his shoulder and standing up in one swift motion. Your responding yelp devolved into giggles a you playfully hit the armor on his back.
"Come here you," He said in an amused tone as he walked you both back onto the ship, the Boonta celebration long forgotten as you had your own celebration in the dark of your bunk.
Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader
Rating: T/ PG-13
WC: 1.6k
Challenge Masterlist | Main Masterlist
A/N: Day 6 of my Din Djarin one shot solo fanfic challenge! Touched-starved man gets touched. It’s my kryptonite I stg. Also, my headcanon is that Din Djarin smells like Good Karma body wash from Lush- that's what I was imagining when I wrote this. I think this is the most self-indulgent one I’ve written so far. Enjoy!
Tags: Get loved, loser. Get absolutely adored. Touch starved!Din Djarin, medical treatment of wounds (implied), acknowledgment of scars, (mention of) canon-typical violence & death, vulnerable!Din Djarin, (physical) hurt/ comfort, soft!Din Djarin, emotional vulnerability, conveying love through touch, non-sexual intimacy, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptions of reader, she has hair that can be brushed off her shoulder.
Divider credit: @saradika-graphics
You’d never seen a man flinch from kindness before. You’d watched this one battle beings twice his size, run in to the middle of a shootout without a second thought, and kill bounties before they could blink. Yet here, in the safety of the hull of the Razor Crest, with his armour scattered around him and his flight suit rolled to his waist, Din Djarin seemed almost afraid.
You turned to him again, bacta-soaked gauze in hand, and saw the way the muscles in his back tensed. You knew he could handle the pain, he was bracing for your touch. The scorched, angry wound below his shoulder blade, above his ribs and just out of reach had already been sealed.
He’d staggered back to the Crest no more than twenty minutes earlier, leaving a wet, muddy trail behind him. He’d launched the bounty in to the carbonite unit with a slam, turned and thrust the field cauteriser in to your palm before you even realised he was injured. He’d stripped off his layers— gloves first, cloak, then armour and you tried not to watch, eyes darting anywhere but to him. You moved to stand behind him to give him some semblance of privacy as he peeled the flight suit down and around the wound with a hiss. You’d pressed the cauteriser to it while he gripped the edge of the bench with pale knuckles, the only sound that left him was a low groan, bitten back, it sounded like, through bared teeth.
Now, the adrenaline had ebbed and he sat too still.
As though his mind had caught up with his body and he had realised just how much of himself he’d let you see. It was more than you’d ever seen before— the expanse of his back and around his middle and the map of battles etched into his skin. Scars littered like constellations. Your hand hovered just below his shoulder blade, the gauze poised just above where a new mark would bloom once the redness had faded.
You were ill-prepared for the sight of him like this— golden-toned and real, sitting bared before you in the low light of the hull, the muscles in his broad back tensing as you pressed the gauze to his skin. Heat radiated from him, warmer around the wound, where the tanned skin was flushed and taut. The smooth rise of his shoulders fed in to a tapering waist, more pronounced now than it ever had been beneath layers of duraweave and beskar. You let your eyes wander as you pressed harder against the gauze, taking in the way the old scars were scattered, some trailing his spine in ghostly forms like rivers run dry from up above, a view from just below clouds. There was one that looked like it had torn across his side— long, white and raised. Another just beneath it, shorter, messier, the exact length of a vibroblade.
You allowed yourself to imagine the face that would match this body, and knew that it would be just as beautiful. A strong jaw, perhaps, soulful eyes and a mouth made for few words, none wasted. There would be lines, probably, but only from time and injury. You wondered when he last turned his face in to the sun, when he last let the warmth sink in to any bare part of him. You blinked and realised that your idling thought had allowed your fingertips to wander, brushing gently against the edge of his ribs where the gauze had slipped. His skin was warm— he didn’t seem to need the sun.
He tensed.
“Sorry.” The apology left you in a whisper. Had you tried to speak any louder it would have cracked.
He shook his head once and turned his helmet toward you. “It’s okay.”
Your hands stilled a moment before you spoke again. “Which one was first?”
He shifted on the bench to face you, lifted a finger and tapped just below his right shoulder, where a faded mark curved around his scapula. “Blaster graze. First job I took alone.”
You inched closer, worried that he’d baulk if you went any faster. Your fingers reached out, tentative. He didn’t stop you as you traced the edge of the scar with the tip of your index finger.
It was small. Smaller than you’d expect for something that must have felt monumental at the time. Something so memorable. The skin had puckered while healing, paler than the rest of him. You tried to imagine him younger. Reckless. Maybe desperate.
He’d stopped breathing, body entirely still under the whisper of your touch. You chanced a glance at him and his visor was fixed on you. Finger drifting away from the first scar, you paused when you caught another, smaller, neater one just beneath the curves of his ribs.
“What about this one?” You asked, voice still hushed.
His head dipped slightly, as if recalling it took a mighty effort. “Bounty in some dive bar on Kaddak. Got messy.”
You let out the smallest breath of amusement through your nose. “Messy,” you repeated, tracing the shape down and sideways, fingertips barely grazing skin as they traced faint lines across him. Pausing here, hovering there. He breathed brief origins of each one you stopped at. Your hand led as you moved closer, following the curve of his ribs and round to his front until you found yourself standing between his parted legs.
You’d never been so close to him.
You were so close the heat from him was sinking in to you, making your throat dry. So close the scent of him filled your lungs. Sweat, from the chase and ordeal of being injured. Soap, from the small tin he kept in the ‘fresher, the one that smelled like rich, earthy spices and far-sourced citrus fruit. Your hand shifted, lifting away from old wounds— over the firm plane of his chest, where you could feel his heart, fluttering close to the surface, betraying how calm he seemed on the outside. You mused that without the beskar, he couldn’t hide so easily. You wondered what else he hid from you.
You didn’t dare meet the visor as your fingers continued their journey, along the path of his skin, cartographers of a strange new world. Maybe if you mapped enough of him you’d find other hidden wonders, understand how a man who wielded death so easily could tremble and falter under the soft touch and remain unflinching when faced with a blow or blade.
His breath hitched audibly through the modulator.
You froze, hand resting against his collarbone, fingers curled in the crook there.
You swallowed. The air seemed thick and unwieldy as you forced a breath down in to your lungs and urged your hand not to shake. “Should I stop?” You asked, barely above a whisper.
There was a long pause. Long enough for you to wonder if you’d ruined the moment by speaking, knocked him out of the moment enough to see sense. You tensed, waiting for him to push you away, to create space between you that you’d never close again.
He did move, but not to push you away. His hand lifted from where it rested on his thigh and found your forearm, fingers skimming upwards with an almost painful care. The nerves under your skin burned with want as he traced the line of your arm, past the crook of your elbow and up to skim the curve of your shoulder. He brushed your hair back with the softest drag of his knuckles, and let his fingers come to rest on your collar bone— a mirror to where yours were on him.
You faced him head-on with glossy eyes and parted lips, staring in to his visor. The plea for more written across your face. He moved his hand up to cradle your cheek and you leaned in to his touch so quickly it felt like a confession; like you’d spilled every secret thought you’d ever had about him out in to the tiny space between you, and he’d given you his own in turn.
“Close your eyes.”
The galaxy narrowed down to nothing but the heat of his hand against your skin, and his thrumming pulse beneath your palm as your eyelids drifted closed.
You felt the subtle shift as his other hand moved through the air on your left. Time stretched, seconds morphed in the silence and you felt weightless. Like you’d been shoved out of an airlock and in to the abyss of space, suspended in the moments of awe and wonder before everything you knew before came to an abrupt and unchangeable end. There was a soft hiss, and a puff of breath crashed over his fingers against your cheek.
Then his lips met yours.
He didn’t rush. Why would he when it felt like time had stopped? The unexpected scratch of his stubble against your skin sent a ripple of raw electricity down your spine, lighting every nerve on the way. He tasted unbearably sweet; of nectar that deepened with the kiss that you knew you would have to taste again.
He deepened the kiss but only a little, seemingly unsure how far you wanted him to go. When he pulled back, you sensed the restraint coiled just beneath his touch and your knees almost buckled. One hand shot to your waist to hold you steady, his grip there tightening gently in a silent question. You okay?
You gave a shaky nod and smiled, eyes still firmly closed as he rested his forehead against yours, and basked in the silent promise of what lay between you now.
He rose just enough to guide you backward, crashing his lips against yours again, sure this time, more intense. Spurred on by the fact that there was nothing left to hide and everything to gain, frantic in his need for more. And who were you to stop him?
Prompt: kissing each other to prove there’s nothing there, even though it’s a lie, and the kiss proves it
Pairing: Din Djarin/Reader
Word Count: ~2200
Warnings: potentially ooc, reader is shorter than Din, idk please please please lmk if i’ve missed something that you feel needs a warning!!!
Summary: Peli’s meddling leads to some kissy kissies. Shy Mando. Giving me season one vibes honestly??? Imagine season one setting (literally just the Razor Crest) with season 3 relationships. Hope y’all enjoy!!!
five times he wordlessly knows what you need and one time words are all he has — din djarin
˗ˏ✎ synopsis: a collection of moments between you and din that show your developing relationship and his ability to know what you need without so much as a word.
˗ˏcontent - pre relationship, slow burn, mutual feelings but they go unspoken, little bit of angst in the final part (reader is surrounded by mercenaries), canon typical violence, cute mando family moments
˗ˏwords - 882 + 1018 + 765 + 849 + 827 + 1438
˗ˏnotes - i started this in dec and got alll the way to the last part and my ability to write for him just disappeared... but im back babey (semi inspired by a conversation me and @stevebabey had before christmas)
one, the blanket —
Another shiver rakes your body, your skin prickles with bumps as it tries to help warm you, but you're too drawn into what's in front of you to notice. The child is ready and waiting for his last meal of the day, and as he stretches his little arms out towards your hand you see his mouth open with the tiniest yawn you've ever seen, and your heart sores. The little man is tired, you can see it in his movements—much slower than usual and lacking their typical cheekiness.
"It's okay buddy, you're almost there now, just a couple more bites and I'll get you all wrapped up for bed." You yawn, the child's tiredness is infectious, and you laugh a little at the way his eyes light up when you mention bed.
It’s not long before your promise is fulfilled. The child ate up every last bit of his dinner and he was so polite and well mannered that you gave him a glass of warm milk before tucking him into his soft sheets. He asked—although perhaps asked is the wrong word—for a bedtime story and of course you happily obliged. You read a short one, one of his favourites, and he was out like a light before you even made it halfway through the book.
You had wandered back to the makeshift dinner table and were now clearing up the plate, spoon and cup that had been left behind in the wake of the meal. There wasn't a lot of mess, so you let your mind wander as your hands got to work wiping and cleaning and washing. You spare only a second thought to the mandalorian, you know he's up in the cockpit at the moment, he so rarely shows himself during the child's dinner time—he proves to be a distraction more than anything else, to both you and the child—but it's clear to you that he wishes to be more present during meal times. Sometimes you think about how heavy the weight of his creed must be, and how it must hurt that he can't sit and eat with his family—the child... and you hope yourself—at mealtimes.
A deep thudding stirs you from your thoughts, your eyes feel heavy and the whip of wind is rattling against the outside of the crest—you must have landed somewhere, too preoccupied to notice. You turn your head towards the sound and you see the mandalorian disappearing down the hallway. He pokes his head through one doorway, as silently as he can, checking on the little one. You can hear the lightest of snores if you listen closely, and a smile graces your features at the thought of the mandalorian watching over the child as he sleeps.
The door to the child's sleeping quarters shuts softly, and the mandalorian spares a quick glance over to you—although you don't believe he will actually be able to see you properly, you still smile—before turning the other way and disappearing down the hallway. You lose sight of him quickly, and although you hear the far away sound of a door opening and closing you don't give it much thought.
You've just about finished clearing up when the sound of footsteps comes back into focus again. You don't turn to look this time, you've just got one last glass to put back in its place and then you'll be free to put yourself to bed for the night. You hear the mandalorian scuffling around behind you, then a soft pat, and then the sound of footsteps continues and he's leaving again, disappearing back down the hallway as fast as he had arrived. You're puzzled, but don't pay it too much mind. He's tired, and you all have a busy week ahead, you need all the rest you can.
You sigh, a good sigh, one that says ah, finally, I have finished my little tasks and I'm free to rest. The wind whips against the side of the crest again and it sends another shiver over you.
God, when did it get so cold?
You stretch your arms out in front of you, trying to get your muscles to relax a little and–my god, my hands! they're freezing!
You turn, intent on getting yourself into bed as fast as you can, when a flash of blue invades your periphery. You look around, as if trying to find the owner of this mysterious blue square or perhaps looking to make sure they wouldn't catch you as you wander slowly towards it. (Of course, you know who the owner is, if it's not yours—and it isn't—then there aren't really many other options for whose it can be). It’s possible, you suppose, that it could just be an old rag used for cleaning, or maybe discarded material from one of the mandalorian's old capes, although it's more likely to b—
Oh.
Oh.
It's a blanket. Soft, navy, and a little tatty on the edges, but it's definitely a blanket.
You shiver again.
But... Did I forget that I brought that out with me? Surely I would've–
Oh.
A second realisation hits you.
Your cheeks warm and suddenly all of the Mandalorians shuffling and disappearing into doorways makes sense.
He was looking for this blanket.
Looking for this blanket, for you.
two, the breakfast —
Your eyes flutter open, and the gentle, warm light from the corridor floods your vision as you slowly sit up in your bed. You blink at the clock on the shelf next to your head, and it blinks back at you:
0822
You yawn. It's not late by any meaning of the word, but it's enough of a lie-in that your heart thumps a little faster than normal at the thought of the child patiently waiting for you to get him his breakfast. Mando would be busy by now; flying and plotting a course in the cockpit, talking with people about possible jobs on the spare comm-link in the far left side of the crest, cleaning his weaponry, or one of the other hundreds of things he busies himself with on the days he finds himself without a bounty to chase. You know he'd love to spend his mornings with the little fellow, talking with him and feeding him and cleaning up after him. But Mando's never been one for slow mornings, always preferring to get up and immediately start trying to provide.
You burrow to the bottom of the small cabinet by your bed, rooting around for a fresh set of clothes. You suppose it's possible that the child won't have even woken up yet, last night wasn't the easiest night for him. It was the first night in a while that bedtime had fallen while the crest was still mid-flight, which meant that Mando was tied up in the cockpit and you were on bedtime duty solo. And, to be fair to the little man, he had done well to begin with, you barely even noticed a change from his normal bedtime behaviour until the crest went through what you can only think to describe as a heavy patch of turbulence and then it all went a bit lopsided from there.
His blanket slipped out from his grasp, just as he was drifting off. The chill must have woken him up and even though the blanket was only separated from him for a few seconds it had snapped him back to being wide awake and you had had to calm him down once the ship began to shake again. The metal walls had been creaking, it had been loud enough to freak you out as well, so you tucked yourself up next to the child and ran your hand soothingly up and down his side while reciting to him his favourite type of story—a story about the brave, strong Mandalorian who fights bad guys and keeps his family safe on his big, fun spaceship.
You think you managed to get yourself to bed at just after 3 o'clock this morning. Mando was still flying the ship when you tucked yourself into your own bed and you had wondered briefly about when he planned to sleep before your tiredness had overtaken you and you had drifted off.
The smell of food is the first thing you notice as you slip out of your room. It's not strong, nor is it a burning smell, but it's there, and it's food, and it makes you uneasy.
Your emotions hit you in waves, first, the panic (that the child has somehow gotten his way into the kitchen and is making food on his own), then the anxiety (that he will end up hurting himself and all because you had slept in), next the guilt (that you had allowed yourself to be selfish and now the child was potentially in danger) and then, finally, the relief.
You sigh heavily when the kitchen comes into view. There is the child, happily playing with his homemade spaceship toy, there is a three quarters empty plate lying an arms length away from him on the table and there's a glass of juice placed next to it.
He is fine.
"Morning." Mando says. His voice is deep and it sends heat across your face.
"Good morning." You reply, smiling at them both.
Your eyes meet Mando's visor and he nods at you before turning away, busying himself once again. You walk gently towards the child and he coos as you sit in the seat next to him. You now realise that the scattered bits of food left on his plate are bits of pancake, blueberry pancakes by the look of it, and you feel your stomach pang with jealousy.
"And how was your breakfast this morning little one?" You run a finger behind his ear, which earns you a delighted giggle. "It looks delicious."
You turn your head back towards Mando, about to ask him if he has had anything to eat yet, and if he managed to sleep last night at all, but when you look over to where he was a moment ago you are surprised to find that he has disappeared. Your eyebrows furrow, a question ghosts your lips, and you're about to stand when your eyes glance upon something perched on the table.
A full plate of food is sat merely an inch from the tip of your fingers.
You glance around the room again, but you know Mando has already slipped away to some remote corner of the ship. Your stomach growls, and you suddenly realise just how hungry you truly are.
The food is for you, there's no question. The plate is coupled with your favourite caffeinated beverage and the pancakes are garnished with a singular piece of fruit—the one you had ogled at during your last market visit.
You didn't know Mando had gone back for that...
You had wondered that afternoon why he had left you and the child at the baked goods stall, he so rarely leaves the two of you unattended while you are out. You had thought maybe he was getting word on a bounty and didn't want the child to overhear. But as you stare now at the mouth watering piece of orange fruit in front of you, you can't help the warm feeling that blossoms in your chest.
I never even told him this was my favourite fruit. How did he know?
three, supply run —
There's something wrong.
You can't quite put your finger on it, but in the last few weeks you have felt… off. The bed you sleep on that usually has you drifting off within minutes now feels lumpy and hard. The blanket that never fails to give you comfort now makes you agitated and irritated. Your favourite part of the day, meal time during the evening, now leaves a sour taste in your mouth (and it's not the food).
Something is wrong. You just feel wrong.
And you know Mando has noticed. You catch him staring at you when he thinks you're not looking, when he thinks you're too preoccupied to notice him. He's always watched over you and the child, he's your protector, and he knows that if you’re safe then the child is safe too. But it's different now, not bad, just... different. His gaze isn't fleeting anymore, you think it watches you as you move about the crest, just trying to go about your day—help the child, prep the crest, sort through the mess of Mando's inventory—and it makes your chest ache.
You feel something tickle your cheeks as you move silently towards the cockpit. Tears sweep across your skin, as warming as they are confusing. The child is resting peacefully in his cot and it gives you some extra time to mull over your supposed wrongness. And, unsurprisingly, that makes you feel worse.
You can tell by how the crest is moving that you're about to land somewhere, you should probably pause and take hold of something for balance, but something deep inside you is spurring you forwards, telling you to keep moving towards the cockpit. And so you do.
The light is harsh as you enter through the doorway, it takes your eyes a second to adjust to the change. Mando huffs out a small greeting and you do the same. You take a step forward, about to ask where the pilot has landed the crest today, and what his business will be here, when your eyes finally pay attention to the view in front of you.
"Mando... are we in my hometown?" Your voice is thick with emotion, you swallow hard in an attempt to regain control over your voice, but your waterline is already lined with tears and they're threatening to fall fast.
He doesn't look at you, still fiddling with the controls as he docks the ship and sets her to park. "I–" He coughs, something burns within his chest. His focus is still on the console and so his words tumble out in a rather clunky way. "I... I–it was just an–uh, yeah–I thought that it'd be a good stop for supplies." He finishes. His cheeks feel hot and he's worried that he just made a complete fool of himself, but when he turns to face you—the crest now completely still and parked—he finds your eyes are still trained on the view from the window.
He notices the tear stains on your cheeks, and the way you are trying too hard to steady your breathing, but he says nothing. He brushes past you on his way out of the cockpit and his breath hitches, his fists tighten and you apologise in a dazed way as he steps around you.
The opening beeps of the cockpit door snap you out of your trance and your eyes flick around the room wildly. You brush your tears away, hoping that Mando didn't see them—but deep down, knowing that it would've been impossible for him not to—and your eyes meet his visor again. You're shocked to find him already looking at you, or more accurately, you're shocked that he didn't turn his head away when he saw your head moving around to face him.
"Supplies, you say?"
Your voice already sounds brighter to Mando's ears, and he smiles to himself—thankful just this once that you can't see past his metal headgear. You are able to read him better than anyone else he knows, and a little voice in the back of his head is telling him that the look on his face right now would be impossible to read as anything other than what it is—adoration.
Mando nods before turning away, leaving you alone in the cockpit while he preps the few things needed for a market visit. And you sigh, mind reeling over the possibilities of showing Mando your home again, already feeling lighter than you had a mere 5 minutes ago, and your wrongness is now being drowned out as you follow the mandalorian's footsteps and exit the cockpit.
four, the chores —
You finish wiping the blade and place it down gently onto the fabric you had laid over the table. The pile of assorted guns and daggers, along with the three spears and singular pulse rifle, is rather large now. The two small, circular shields (that you've never once seen be used by anyone) are also polished, although you were unable to pop out the large gashed dent that covers almost the entire left side of one of them.
You feel a slight twinge in your foot, the beginning of a cramp, and you jump up quickly, shaking your leg wildly and trying to stop the string of curses that are desperate to leave your lips. The room is oddly silent, apart from your grunts of pain, the music box sits an arms length away, you must not have noticed when the record stopped... You hesitate, torn between hitting replay and leaving it silent, but the decision is made for you when you look at the clock and see just how late it is.
I've been working for... how long?!
Your heart suddenly thumps wildly, your foot cramp long forgotten, and you move quickly from the table to the weaponry, your arms full with as much as you can manage to carry.
God, how could that have taken so long? I've still got to change the sheets on all of our beds, give the child a bath, wipe up the cooking area and oil up a few of the door hinges!
Your movements are hurried, and you manage to get everything back into its rightful place within 5 minutes (although you do almost lose a finger once or twice). You rush towards the basket that holds your bedding... but you don't see any.
Huh?
You bury your hands between the odd capes and spare blankets, searching for those familiar sets of bedding, and your hands come back empty. You huff, confused and a little ashamed that you've somehow misplaced the bedding, and you decide to just go to the kitchen and start wiping up instead, to take your mind off of it.
But when you get to the kitchen, the whole place is spotless! The cooker is polished and the plates and bowls from breakfast and lunch are all clean and placed back in their spots in the cupboard (and you definitely know this, because you checked each and every cupboard and counted the number of dishes... twice!). Even the sink is empty!
You spin around on your heel, deciding to go find the child, who should be in his playroom this time of the day, and take him to the washroom for his bath. Safe in the knowledge that at least this will be one thing you are actually able to do, and still confused as to why you haven't been able to complete anything else on your checkless since lunchtime...
But the child is not in his playroom. And now you're really worried. You race around the ship, sticking your head into every room you can think of, only to find the child is not in any of them. Your feet refuse to stand still and they carry you (almost subconsciously) towards the washroom, and as you get closer and closer you begin to hear the familiar sounds of an excitable child and the splashing that comes along with said child in a bath.
The door opens with a whack! and you grimace at how loudly the sound echoes through the room. Mando turns towards you, he is kneeling next to the tub, his armour is nowhere to found and he instead dawns a loose undershirt, a pair of dark trousers and his beskar helmet.
"Sorry." You whisper, as if trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Your eyes flit from Mando to the child, and back again. "You're bathing him."
Mando nods.
"You didn't ha—"
Oh.
And that's when it dawns on you.
"And you also changed the bed sheets?" You question, although you think—hope (dreading the potential embarrassment that will come if you’re wrong)—you already know the answer.
"Yes." He replies. He's not looking at you but it feels like his eyes are looking straight through you.
"And the kitchen..."
"Yes, that was me."
"Oh. Okay, thank you." Your voice is small, but it's hard to fight the smile growing on your face.
Mando turns to look at you briefly, "you don't need to thank me," and then he's gone again, back to giving his full attention to the little guy hiding amongst the bubbles.
"I-" You start, but you don't know what to say. Thank you anyway? I owe you one? You didn't need to do that for me?
Your thoughts swirl. There is so much you could say to Mando right now, and lord knows there are plenty of other things you could busy yourself with, but the look on the child's face when he saw you enter had your heart glowing and the opportunity to sit and enjoy a nice—if slightly wet—moment with Mando in relaxed mode was something you couldn't turn down.
five, babysitting —
Breathe... Just breathe. You tell yourself over and over again.
She's not even technically late yet, you and Mando—Din, to you now—had agreed on a midday pick up and here you were at... a quarter to the hour freaking out over nothing. He trusts her, he's known her for years at this point and hell, even you've met her– what... 2? 3 times now?
Everything is fine.
So why do you feel so on edge?
You hear the familiar clanging of the ship door as it opens, followed by echoing footsteps and the beeps of the door closing. Din comes to rest next to where you stand, his shoulder almost touches yours and you know, even without looking, that his eyes are trained on you right now with that familiar tilt of the head that he does so often.
Din can sense your nerves, even before he saw you he could tell something was different this time. He usually comes down to the bottom of the ship and finds you tinkering with something during the last few minutes of the child's miscellaneous playdates. He usually walks out of the ship door with you and wanders down the ramp while you perch on the edge with your legs dangling down beneath you. Sometimes he strikes up a conversation, other times you ramble about the child, and occasionally the two of you wait in a comfortable silence.
But not this time.
He felt uneasy when he came towards the ship door and he didn't spot you, even more so when he came outside to wait with you at the bottom of the ramp and you didn't say as much as a word to him.
He sees the anxiety you feel, it's written on your face as plain as day. You keep readjusting how you stand—left foot crossed in front of the right, then both feet facing straight with your knees in line and then back to left foot in front of the right—and whenever you do pause your movements Din can see your ankle bouncing up and down. You've had your arms crossed in front of your chest since he came to join you and your finger keeps tapping your elbow in a rather rhythmic pattern.
Tap. Taptaptap. Tap tap.
You know you shouldn't be as worried as you are, after all, you have no legitimate reason to feel so scared. Peli is a perfectly safe person for the child to be with, she invited him over for a playdate with her two young nieces—and you've actually met them, and they are quite sweet, if not a little excitable (but what kid isn't?)—and she's even babysitted him before as well, when you and Din have had to go away for a bounty together.
The thumping in your chest begins to get louder and it feels as though your heart is about to leap out from your throat. You can barely breathe. Your chest starts to heave and your knuckles turn white from how hard you are gripping onto your shirt sleeves. You don't know what—
Something touches your arm and you almost yelp in surprise. You glance to your right, ready to jump or flee or fight. But all you see is Din's helmet, head tilted, looking at you. You can only imagine the expression on his face—pity? Confusion? Sympathy?
You straighten your head. His hand doesn't leave your arm.
You take a deep breath.
Just beyond the nearest hill the faintest outline of a person begins to appear. They walk slowly, but undoubtedly in your direction, and they seem to be holding two things. One is a bag, you think. And the other is...
"They're back," you sigh, your voice is small but excited, and full of relief.
The tension is already beginning to lift from your shoulders. Din's hand is still resting on your arm, and if you hadn't been so distracted by the figure in front of you, and if you hadn't been wearing such a thick jacket, you would have felt his thumb rubbing small circles delicately across your arm. He only does it for a few short seconds, but he does it nonetheless.
Once Peli comes into better view you give her a wave and a smile, she waves back and then the child's hand peaks out of his sleeve and he waves back as well. It's enough to cause the smile on your face to widen, and you even let out an almost silent chuckle. Din slips his hand from your arm wordlessly, thinking that you probably wouldn't want his touch any longer and he takes a step away from you just as Peli arrives. He gives her a quick nod and then leaves the two of you to exchange pleasantries, quietly sneaking off to the crest's ramp and not so sneakily opening the crest door—the clanging is an issue; he wonders briefly if he should ask Peli to fix it soon.
six (one b), the bad job —
Din knew something wasn't right with this mission from the get go. There was something shifty about how the guy had spoken, demanding repeatedly about how both Din and you were necessary for what was needed. The man—Din has forgotten his name now, like it even mattered to begin with—had approached him just after he'd been turned down by another barman when he'd asked about possible jobs. The man was fast. Too fast. But Din had brushed it off at the time, too keen to get the job, too keen to earn some money again, too keen to get you and the child off this godforsaken planet.
Too keen to notice when the barman had signaled to the guy sitting at the table by the door, a small wink and a thumb pointed unsubtly in the Mandalorians direction.
“Din–Din, please. Are you there?” You curse, smacking the comm link against the wall and hoping the whack isn't hard enough to break the stupid little device.
“Ar–there–I–ca–hea–” Din’s voice hisses through the comm, followed by a high pitched whining noise that makes you jump back in surprise.
A strangled laugh escapes your throat, it’s thick with fear, and a half conscious thought flits across your mind—that if someone was listening and trying to find your location that the sound of your laughter would be a dead give away, and you’d be… well–dead.
You smack the comm against the wall twice more, for good measure.
“I’m here, Din, please–Maker–please hear me.” You beg, your voice is hoarse.
Multiple nearby blaster shots cause your head to snap upwards, sure that if you could just see the end of the alleyway, hear the sound of people milling around the market, smell the fresh baked goods at the stalls, your heart wouldn't be beating as fast as it is right now.
But the thing that would reduce your anxiety the most, allowing you to take a breath or a moment to recompose yourself, would be if you were able to see Din.
"I hear you, I'm here." Din's voice breaks through the blaster noise.
Another shot lands to your right and you retreat further into the corner between the wall and the crate that you're crouched behind. Your dominant hand holds your blaster tightly, your knuckles are pale. The cool metal against your palm keeps you focused, as you rise onto your knees to get a better aim another shot races past your ear. You waste no time in firing a returning shot and the stupid bastard goes down within 2 seconds.
Serves him right for not ducking down after firing at me, amateur.
“Cyar'ika?"
You're about to respond when you hear a loud crash. The loose pebbles on the street floor start to vibrate, sending a shiver down your spine. The noise is almost loud enough to drown out your own thoughts. Your resolve cracks when you realise the reason for the sudden lack of shots fired.
They've got a heavy repeating blaster cannon. And they're somehow pushing it down the alley you're trapped in.
"Din, I-" You cough, a lousy attempt to get your voice under control. "I don't want to die."
Your voice cracks on the last word, your mouth is suddenly as dry as a rock in the desert.
It feels like eternity before you hear Din's voice again, your only company the static sound from the comms and the low rumbling as the cannon makes it way closer to you. There's nowhere for you to run, you can't press yourself any further backwards, you have no jet pack, no grenades, no fire blaster and you never even said goodbye to the kid. God.
Tears fill your eyes, you bring a shaky hand towards your face, about to confess through the comm link something that you wish you'd had the guts to confess when you weren't 2 inches from death, when the familiar static is interrupted.
"You're not going to die, cyar'ika, I won't let that happen. I'm going to get you out of this, even if it kills me."
"Din, please-" You start, about to beg him to stay away, to tell him to think of Grogu. He can't lose his mother and father figure in one day, he just can't.
"Don't tell me to stay away." He interrupts, his voice hoarse, "this is my fault, if I'd been more careful, done my duty, then you would never have been put in this position-" He cuts himself off, you hear him take a deep breath.
"But-" You try.
"No," his voice is firm, "I'm coming for you and I'll be leaving this planet with you. The child still needs you and... I still need you."
If you had the capacity to think about anything other than the group of mercenaries currently moving towards you, then you might have questioned the last part of Din's sentence. You might have blushed and wondered at what he could mean, you may have even considered the possibility of him returning your feelings... But the sudden silence around you had your thoughts billowing towards one conclusion, and it wasn't good.
"Din... The cannon–god, help me–the cannon–they"ve stopped pushing it. I can hear them readying it."
You gulp and ready your blaster, not willing to go down without a fight.
"When I tell you to duck, you duck, okay?"
"What?" You question.
"I told you, I'm getting you out of here." Din curses and you hear the sound of blaster shots again, but this time they're coming though the comms link.
"Din, what are you doing? Maker! I told you to protect the child!" You try, pleading to the stubborn mandalorian.
"The child is safe. It's your turn now." He states, giving you almost no room to argue.
Almost.
The blaster shots continue over the comm link. You hear the mercenaries up the alleyway begin to ready their cannon, but before they have a chance to fire—
"Duck! Now." Din demands.
You obey immediately, falling backwards onto your ass and tucking your head between your knees. Your blaster still sits in your hand.
The muffled sound is hard to place but the vibrations through the floor and the dust movements between your legs are easy to follow. You lift your head and rise to your knees just as a dark figure emerges from the cloud of dust. You drop your gun immediately when your anxiety ridden brain finally allows you to recognise the familiar glint of beskar in front of you.
You jump to your feet and slam yourself against the mandalorian with no regard to your body. His armour is hard, it almost knocks the wind out of you, but no pain or threat of attack could have stopped you from seeking out your chosen solace once you locked eyes on him.
"I'm here, cyar'ika, I'm here." He pauses and hesitates for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you.
From what he can see of you you seem to be mostly unharmed, just a few small scrapes across your arms and a large bruise across your cheek. He knows you'll need a cool press against your face soon or you'll run the risk of the bruise swelling badly, but the cuts are manageable and he'll be able to leave them a little longer before dealing with them.
"You're okay," he whispers.
You're unsure if he's reassuring you or reassuring himself, but you nod.
"Yeah, I'm okay. We're okay." You whisper against his chest.
Din swallows, his fear about your safety finally easing, his chest suddenly feeling not as tight as it had 5 minutes ago.
"Hold on, it's time I take you home."
You nod again, squeezing your arms tighter around Din's waist and looping them through the holsters and belts he wears at his sides. As the two of you begin to rise you manage to catch a glimpse of the alleyway. It's as you expected. The bodies of the four mercenaries lie surrounding their weapon, and the weapon itself has been blasted into several small pieces, one of which is lodged into the chest of the one that was closest to it.
You shudder, turning your head away from the mess as you continue to rise higher and higher.
The higher you fly the more the ache and anxiety in your chest eases. And when you land aboard the razor crest and lay your eyes on Grogu you find the only pain left is physical, and you're finally able to take a breath—unaffected by the anxiety and adrenaline of battle, safe and content with your family once again.
Summary: You were only supposed to help Din Djarin with one bounty. But after the mission, you stuck around — teasing, flirting, testing the waters. He never reacted the way you hoped, always hiding behind practical words and stoic silence.
Or five times you thought Din was dense and one time you realized you were wrong.
Tags: Fluff, 5+1 things, miscommunication, SFW, Din Djarin is oblivious, he's trying his best, one sided, or is it???, idiots in love, protective Din Djarin, Din Djarin being soft (in his own way). No descriptions of reader. No mentions of Y/N.
A/N: I know it's a lot shorter than my other Din fanfic, but I hope you'll enjoy this one as well. If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.
Word Count: 2.7k
masterlist
1.
You stretched your arms above your head, letting out a sharp sigh as the bounty’s unconscious body thudded to the floor of the Razor Crest’s cargo hold.
“That’s one way to say job well done,” you muttered, brushing space dust from your jacket sleeve before slinking into the co-pilot’s chair.
Behind you, Din Djarin closed the ramp and began checking the carbonite chamber, ensuring the target was fully frozen and secure. He hadn’t spoken much since you reached the ship — not that he was ever particularly chatty — but you chalked that up to the Mando brand of "taciturn charm."
“Well, that was fun,” you said brightly, spinning halfway in the chair to face him. “You always do jobs this entertaining, or was this just to impress me?”
His helmet tilted slightly toward you. “It wasn’t supposed to be fun.”
“No? Shame. You looked pretty good out there.” You gave him a teasing grin and leaned back, resting your boots on the edge of the control panel.
He turned fully toward you now, helmet glinting in the light of hyperspace pre-jump. “You almost got shot.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t let that happen.” You pointed a finger at him, lazily. “Knight in shiny beskar and all that.”
“…I hired you for your recon work. That’s all.”
You shrugged. “Sure, Mando. I’m just saying, you throw a girl against a wall to shield her from a blaster bolt, she might start thinking you care.”
He walked past you to the cockpit, flicking switches like nothing had happened. “We leave in ten.”
You laughed under your breath and leaned back further, hands behind your head. “You’re cute when you pretend I don’t fluster you.”
No response. Just the cold silence of a man fully immersed in his pre-flight check.
Not even a head tilt this time.
You pursed your lips, then smirked.
Alright. That one might have been too subtle…for him.
But you weren’t going anywhere just yet.
2.
You leaned against a stack of fuel canisters, watching Din as he crouched next to the hull of the Razor Crest, speaking low and serious with Peli Motto. Something about coolant lines or hyperdrive relays—you weren’t listening. Mostly because he’d taken off his gloves again, and there was something about watching his fingers flex against a piece of machinery that scrambled your thoughts like eggs on a Tatooine skillet.
Grogu was toddling near your feet, cooing up at you. You bent down and gave his ear a little scratch. “He’s lucky he’s got you, kid,” you said. “Shame you’re the only one in this partnership with any emotional intelligence.”
Grogu blinked at you slowly, then burbled in agreement. Or maybe hunger.
“Mando!” you called out, hopping off the crates and sauntering toward the ship. “Since we’re stuck in Mos Eisley for a bit… how about I buy you a drink?”
He didn’t even look up from where he was tightening something under the ship’s belly.
“No.”
You arched an eyebrow. “You sure? Could be a bonding moment.”
“No.”
You sighed, pushing your tongue against your cheek to hide the smile. “Are you afraid I’ll drink you under the table? Or that you’ll have fun?”
“I don’t drink on the job.”
“We’re not on a job,” you replied smoothly. “We’re in between. There’s a difference.”
He finally looked up at you, visor catching the Tatooine twin suns. “We don’t need to bond.”
You opened your mouth, but then shut it.
Instead, you gave a mock salute and walked off muttering, “Alright, Casanova, loud and clear.”
Later, you were helping Peli hook up a new motivator coil when she snorted and said, “You’re wasting your time, sweetheart.”
You turned your head. “Excuse me?”
“With him,” she nodded toward Din, who was now sitting on the ramp with Grogu in his lap, feeding him a little packet of something green and mushy. “You’ve been laying it on thicker than Bantha butter, and he’s just… nothing.”
You groaned, flopping back onto the sand beside her. “Is he dense, or just emotionally stunted?”
“Both,” Peli replied cheerfully. “Don’t take it personally. I’ve seen rancors with better romantic instincts.”
You covered your face with your hands. “Hopeless.”
“Yep.”
You peeked through your fingers, catching sight of Grogu now waddling toward you with food smeared across his mouth.
“Well,” you murmured, sitting up and letting him crawl into your lap, “at least one of them likes me.”
Peli patted your shoulder, greasy handprint and all. “That’s a start.”
3.
The alley was narrow, the kind of cramped, shadowed crevice that smelled like rust and desperation. You ducked in first, tugging Din’s arm behind you just as blaster fire cracked against the duracrete wall.
“I told you that guy looked too twitchy to be a clean drop,” you hissed.
“You waited until we were already inside to tell me that,” Din replied, voice flat but calm as ever. You could practically hear the slight raise of his brow under the helmet.
“Call it a hunch,” you muttered.
Another volley of shots whizzed past, and Din shoved you further into the shadows. He followed in right after, pinning you both against the wall as the enemy patrol ran past. There was barely a breath between you. His arm was braced next to your head, his chest pressed fully against yours, armor cold even through your clothes.
You tilted your head up slowly, voice low. “You know, if you wanted me pressed up against you, Mando, you could’ve just asked.”
His helmet was angled so close you could see your own smirk reflected in the beskar.
“Stay quiet,” he said.
“That’s all you’re gonna say? Really?” You leaned in just a little, voice all honey and trouble. “No comment on the close quarters? The dim lighting? The way your knee is pressed against my—?”
“I said quiet.”
You let out a long, exaggerated sigh, head thudding back against the wall. “I’m just saying, most people would at least acknowledge the tension here.”
Din shifted his weight slightly, and you thought maybe—maybe—that you’d finally gotten through.
Instead, he pulled back just enough to glance outside the alley. “They’re gone. Let’s move.”
And then, just like that, the warmth of his body was gone, his cape brushing your arm as he slipped back into the light.
You stood there for a second longer, staring after him.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered, jogging to catch up. “I was practically breathing pick-up lines in your face, and you gave me nothing. Not even a grunt.”
4.
It had been a long day. The kind that sank into your bones and made even the air feel heavy.
The bounty had fought harder than expected, and Din had taken the brunt of it — bruised ribs, a split lip under the helmet, and a noticeable limp that he stubbornly refused to acknowledge.
Now, inside the dim hull of the Razor Crest, the silence between the two of you felt comfortable. Grogu was already asleep in his hammock, snoring softly like some tiny, ancient gremlin.
Din was sitting on the edge of the cot, working one-handed to undo a section of his chest plate. You noticed the stiffness in his shoulders, the way he winced every time he shifted his weight.
“Here,” you said gently, crossing the space to kneel in front of him. “Let me help.”
He started to protest, of course. “I’ve got it.”
You gave him a look, one you knew he could feel even if he couldn’t see your face. “I didn’t ask if you could. I said let me.”
He hesitated… and then let his hands drop.
Your fingers moved carefully, familiar now with the clasps and locks of his beskar. You worked slowly, undoing the armor piece by piece — chest plate, gauntlets, pauldrons — setting each one down beside you with reverence, like they mattered. Like he mattered.
His undershirt was dark with sweat and streaked with grime. You resisted the urge to reach for a cloth and clean him up. Instead, your hands hovered near the edge of his vambrace.
“You always take care of everyone else,” you said softly. “Let someone take care of you, just this once.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then: “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” You smiled faintly, not looking up. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
You unlatched the vambrace slowly. His forearm tensed beneath your fingers, the bare skin warm.
He didn’t say anything to that. But he didn’t stop you, either.
When you finally looked up, you found his visor fixed squarely on you. The silence stretched between you like a held breath.
If he felt anything—warmth, tension, the way your fingers lingered against the edge of his wrist—he didn’t say.
Just a small nod.
And then: “Thank you.”
You nodded back, lips curled in the barest smile. “Anytime.”
You stood and walked past Grogu’s hammock, brushing a hand over his ears as you went.
From behind you, you could feel the weight of Din’s stare following you the whole way.
5.
The Razor Crest creaked under the weight of frost, a low groan echoing through the hull as wind battered the exterior.
You were both grounded — a storm too thick to fly through and a bounty who was likely just as frozen as the damn planet. The heating system, true to its usual charm, had sputtered out three hours ago.
You were curled into yourself on the floor of the ship, back against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around your knees. Your jacket was decent, but nothing short of a portable sun was going to fight the kind of chill creeping into your bones.
Grogu was warm in his little insulated pod, snuggled deep in his blanket nest, occasionally letting out a snore.
Across the room, Din sat on a crate, sharpening one of his vibroblades like it was just any other night. No sign of discomfort. No sign he was feeling the same way your teeth were chattering.
You didn’t say anything. You weren’t sure if it was pride or exhaustion, but the silence stretched.
Until finally, without looking up, he spoke.
“You’re cold.”
“No kidding,” you muttered, breath puffing visibly in front of your face. “What gave it away? The blue lips or the full-body shiver?”
He didn’t rise to the sarcasm. Instead, he reached into the compartment behind him and pulled out a heavy, worn blanket.
“Come here,” he said, scooting to the edge of the crate and patting the space beside him.
You blinked at him. “You’re inviting me to share body heat?”
“Purely practical.”
You snorted as you stood, dragging yourself over. “Right. Not because you enjoy my company or anything ridiculous like that.”
He didn’t answer, just opened the blanket as you sat down beside him.
It was warmer than you expected. His armor had retained some heat, and beneath it, his body was a furnace. The blanket went around both of you, his arm loosely draped behind your shoulders to keep it up.
The silence settled again.
Then, a little softer: “Better?”
You tilted your head toward him. “If I said no, would you let me shove my hands under your shirt?”
He didn’t so much as flinch. “No.”
You laughed, but it was quiet. Tired. The kind of laugh that cracked into something tender. You leaned your head against his shoulder, your voice dropping low.
“...Thanks, Din.”
He didn’t say anything. But you felt it — the shift. A subtle lean into you. The way his fingers adjusted the blanket more tightly around you both.
And then Grogu stirred in his pod, peeking out, blinking at the sight of you nestled together. He blinked once. Twice. And let out a soft, amused coo.
You met his gaze with a smirk.
+1
You stopped calling him Din.
Not on purpose. It just… slipped away.
It had started subtly: the teasing softened, the smiles dimmed. You kept your hands to yourself more, kept your jokes to Grogu instead. You still worked with Din, still followed him into the fire and out again, but the space between you felt wider than it ever had.
And maybe it was for the best.
Maybe you'd crossed a line, misread something. Maybe your flirting had made him uncomfortable, and he was too kind—or too stoic—to say it outright.
You hadn’t realized how much it hurt to pull away until you were halfway across a frozen plain, following behind him in silence, and he didn’t say a word about the wind biting at your skin.
He always offered the blanket before. Always stood just a little closer.
Now?
Nothing.
You tried to tell yourself it was fine. You were fine. You weren’t here to fall in love with a man who never showed his face. You were here because you wanted to be.
You didn’t expect him to care.
Then one night, as the ship drifted through hyperspace and Grogu was snoring softly in his hammock, Din stood in the middle of the hull, hands loose at his sides. Watching you.
“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked.
You blinked from where you sat on your bunk, caught mid-polishing your blaster. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
You looked down. “I just figured maybe I was… pushing too much. Saying things I shouldn’t have. Being… flirty.” The word stung coming out of your mouth. “Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
There was a long pause. You expected silence. Maybe a brush-off. But instead:
“You weren’t.”
You glanced up. He stepped closer, the quiet clink of his armor unusually loud in the quiet. “I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
He hesitated, then said carefully, “I was flirting back.”
You blinked. “You what?”
He tilted his head. “You remember the first job? When we caught that bounty together, and I told you to leave right after?”
You nodded slowly.
“I made sure you got a full share. Paid for your passage off-world. Protected you during the shootout. I don’t do that for strangers.”
You swallowed. “That’s not—”
“And on Tatooine,” he cut in, voice quiet but firm. “You asked me to bond over a drink. I told you we didn’t need to bond.”
You furrowed your brow. “Exactly. You turned me down.”
“No,” he said. “I said, ‘We don’t need to bond.’ What I meant was—we already do. I didn’t think I needed more than what we had.”
Your mouth opened, then closed.
“In the alley,” he continued, stepping even closer, “when I had you pinned against the wall… You think I didn’t want that? That I wasn’t aware of how close we were?”
You felt your pulse jump.
“I wanted it,” he said simply. “I just couldn’t say it then. Couldn’t risk you thinking it was anything less than mutual.”
You sat up straighter, the air tight in your lungs.
He took another step, now close enough that you could feel the shift of his weight. “When you helped me take off my armor… I don’t let anyone do that. No one touches it. No one touches me.”
“Din—”
“And the blanket? On the ice planet?” His voice gentled. “That wasn’t practical. That was me finding the only excuse I had to hold you. To make sure you were okay.”
Your heart thundered in your chest.
“I thought I was being clear,” he said, finally. “But I guess I’m not great at… this.”
You blinked rapidly, trying to catch up. “You… you’ve been flirting this whole time?”
“As much as I know how to.”
There was a beat of silence.
And then, softly—warmly—he added, “So. You gonna keep pulling away? Or are we finally gonna admit we’ve been on the same page since the beginning?”
You stood, moving toward him until you were close enough to touch his chestplate.
“You could’ve said something.”
“I just did.”
You smiled, helpless and stunned. “Guess we’re both kind of hopeless.”
His hand brushed your arm, hesitant but deliberate. “Maybe. But not anymore.”
And just like that, all the quiet tension between you—weeks of half-meant jokes and unspoken affection—finally settled into something real. Something shared.
And just like that, all the quiet tension between you—weeks of half-meant jokes and unspoken affection—finally settled into something real. Something shared.
Summary: Din saves you after your home is destroyed, giving you both a chance to finally come clean about your feelings.
Warnings: language, descriptions of death/violence, longing/pining, hurt/comfort, angst, smut (18+ MDNI), fingering, unprotected piv sex, dirty talk, reader wants his baby real bad
WC: 5.9K
---
He knew something was wrong before he even landed.
Naxore was never what one considers a paradise, but the dusty planet never looked as ashen as it did from this distance.
It was small, but it managed to house about one thousand citizens. From his experience, they're good people. They mind their own business and require very little from the galaxy. Most of what they eat and use gets produced right on the planet itself. It's small, ugly, and hardly a blip on the radar. This never stopped the people who live there from loving it with their whole hearts.
When he first arrived all those years ago, ship in desperate need of repair and Din in desperate need of hiding, the citizens welcomed him. They fed him and cleansed his wounds without a second thought. They put their lives and their little planet in danger to keep him safe. And when he left, the doctor who tended to him and gave him a bed said, Keep Naxore a secret.
And he did. But whenever Din had the chance, he would stop by and pay them a visit. He brought goods and wares from other planets, trinkets and toys for the children, and anything else he could think of they might find useful.
He always stayed with the doctor, whose wife passed on before Din had ever arrived, but still had a daughter.
You.
He told himself he was being kind, that the reason for his visits were virtuous, but deep down he knew it was you that kept him coming back. After every visit, he became more and more infatuated. Less and less time would pass before his next trip, just so he could get a glimpse of you, and when he was away, his thoughts were consumed with your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes sparkled when he unveiled to you whatever little gift he brought. He thought of you constantly. He longed for the conversations you would have, all alone, late at night around the fire. He grew hooked on your every word, eager to learn as much about you as possible. You would tell him stories of your mother, of the children at the school where you taught, how worried you were for your father as he aged.
You never once spoke of a partner, and he never asked. It would be considered too forward. Besides, what sort of life could he offer you if he tried to make you his? A bounty hunter, living a life of danger with no real home?
No, you were safer with your father.
Still, he enjoyed his visits. It temporarily satiated his thirst to be near you, to listen to you speak, to watch the way your nimble fingers worked to mend clothes or knead bread.
Din didn't have many pleasures in life, but that was certainly one of them.
So as he began his descent and saw your little planet was barren, his heart sunk. He discovered once he stepped off the Razor Crest that what little trees and foliage you had are burnt to a crisp. Everything is grey, death looms everywhere. Corpses, nearly skeletons now, litter the streets. Buildings collapsed, rubble crunch under his boots, and the entire town is silent, yet he still follows the familiar path to your father's house. He knows what he's going to find, but he can't stop himself.
Sure enough, when your house comes into view, his suspicions are confirmed. The entire building is leveled to the ground. He stumbles a moment, fighting the pain swelling in his chest. Not much is recognizable, but there is a chair that used to be in the sitting room. The same chair you used to sit in while he regaled you with his stories.
He falls to his knees then, and dips his head, fighting the urge to cry. He isn't even sure why he bothers. No one is alive and he still has his helmet on, yet he still blinks back tears.
You were so young and beautiful. You had your whole life ahead of you. You were kind and thoughtful and patient with the children in your class and with your father.
His gloved hand digs angrily into the dirt, fingers curling like he could find some answer for his pain. If he just visited more — if he took you with him, like he always wanted — maybe you would still be alive.
He feels sick. Enraged. His heart splits in his chest and his body folds over, slowly, as if the weight of his agony was trying to bury him.
Just then, there's a noise. It sounds as though someone's walking over the rubble, albeit much softer than he just did. His breath stalls and he scans the area, freezing with his hand on his blaster when he spots the source.
He can hardly believe his eyes. Yet, there you stand. Dirty, ashen, hair a mess and clothes torn. But still, you're there.
He blinks and a tear slips past his defenses. He's convinced at first he must be hallucinating, but then you move again, looking at him like you must be thinking the same. Like he's a mirage.
When you get closer, his hand falls from his waist and he slowly brings himself to his feet. He refuses to tear his eyes away, afraid if he does, you'll disappear.
Finally, you slowly raise your hands to cup your mouth. Your eyes crinkle and streaks of wet trail down your filthy cheeks and you call out his name with a broken sob.
"Din."
He closes the distance in a heartbeat. His arms wrap around you and he feels your body heave, bawling and shaking in his arms. He murmurs your name, tells you you're okay, and promises to take care of you.
You nod and continue to cry. Your fingers grab at him, searching for comfort. They slide over his steel armor, feeble fingers clawing at unwavering metal, and he never before felt so angry. Angry at whoever did this to your planet. Angry at himself, for not doing more. Angry at the promise he kept to remain hidden behind a helmet.
He doesn't ask. He leads you to his ship, slowly. Your shoes aren't as good as his and your body seems weak and malnourished. But when it starts to grow dark and you stumble next to him, he scoops you up in his arms. A squeal of surprise slips past your lips but your arms wrap round his neck, anyway.
"You need rest," he says by way of explaination. "I can carry you the rest of the way. I have food and a warm bed. You'll be strong once again, and you will be safe."
You simply nod and lean your head against his shoulder. He feels your warm breath on his neck through his cowl and he has to resist the urge to strip himself of his armor and press his body to yours the second he gets you safely on the Crest.
He feeds you and gives you fresh clothes. He shows you to the fresher, where you can wash up, and promises to wait just outside the door in case you fall or need help. You don't, but he never once leaves his post. When you emerge, your eyes look sunken and puffy. You're exhausted and he knows there was no use in asking you for details that night. He ushers you to his bunk and you crawl inside, collapsing into his cot with a deep sigh of relief.
"I'm going to get us out of here," he says. You just nod with your eyes closed. "Call out if you need me," he adds before flicking off the light. He gives you one more glance before he ascends to the cockpit. You look comfortable. You look at peace. And you look fucking incredible in his clothes.
He stifles a growl and heads up the ladder.
His priority is to get you to safety. Everything else can wait.
---
"If you never take it off, how can you eat?"
Din's eyes flickered up to you through his visor. It's been two days. You nearly slept for one of them. You look healthier and more like yourself now. The sight made him happy, more relaxed.
"I eat alone," he explains. You're sitting across from him at the small metal table that folds out from the wall. You are halfway through your meal, which is nothing fancy, just some freeze dried rations, but based on the noises you made since the first bite touched your lips, you'd think you're eating fresh tiingilar.
Your eyes drop to the plate in front of him, untouched.
"Oh," you say, recalling from his prior visits when he would retire to his room to eat. You always thought it was due to exhaustion or perhaps he didn't want to hear you prattle on about nonsense like you had a tendency of doing whenever he lingered in your father's sitting room. It was always so hard to read him when his face and body was covered in armor.
"What if I turned my back?" you offer. His head tilts and his fingers thrum against the tabletop.
"I can wait," he assures you, then asks, "Will you tell me what happened?"
Your face falls and you look down sadly at your plate. You push around the food and drag in a shaky breath.
"We were attacked," you say. "It happened at night. They ransacked the town while everyone slept. I remember—"
You choke on your words and he stiffens.
"I remember going to the window when I first heard the shouting. I... they were dragging people from their homes. They took the women and killed the men."
Din stops breathing. His jaw tenses behind his helmet. You sniffle, then continue.
"My father built a small bunker underneath our home when I was a child," you say, wiping a tear from your eye. "He hid me down there and I begged him to join me, but he wouldn't — I begged him, Din."
Tears trickle down your face now. He reaches out a gloved hand to stop you, rests it on top of yours.
He knows it's a long shot, but still he asks, "Do you know who these people were?"
You shake your head somberly, eyes drifting now to his hand. You think it over for a moment before lifting your other hand to place on top of his. Your thumb idly rubs the tough fabric.
"I never found another living soul," you whisper. Din's gaze is still locked on your hands. "I searched for days. I suppose it's fortunate my father was a paranoid man."
"Your father was a careful man," he corrects. You smile but it doesn't reach your eyes. He feels horrible because it's clear your heart is torn in two and filled with guilt, yet he sits across from you, brimming with joy and relief that you managed to survive.
"What will happen now?" you ask, "what will I do?"
He swallows and you must hear it because you tilt your head slightly.
"I can take you anywhere you want to go," he eventually says.
You laugh, but it sounds flat. You keep his hand sandwiched between yours when you say, "I have nowhere to go. I've never even left my planet before. I have no one. Well... except for you."
Your cheeks burn. You give his hand a little squeeze before letting it go and even through his gloves, he instantly misses the heat from your touch.
"Navarro is nice," he says, "I have people there that I trust. People who can help you get back on your feet."
"Oh," you breathe. Then you blink and drop your gaze to your lap, food long forgotten. "Yes, okay. That... okay."
He studies you through his visor. He can tell the idea makes you nervous. You're shifting awkwardly in your seat and anxiously chewing your bottom lip.
Then, he says something foolish. Something reckless and selfish.
"Or, you could stay with me. On the Crest. It's not much of a life, but—"
"Really?" you ask, cutting him off. You peer at him hopefully through your lashes and warmth spreads in his chest at being the object you chose to grace with that look.
"Of course. You're welcome here for as long as you wish. I just ask you listen to me," he tells you sternly. He wants to make sure you understand the seriousness of what he's trying to say, but you're practically bouncing in your seat from excitement. "It can get dangerous, at times. If I tell you to stay on the ship, you need to stay on the ship, no matter how bored you might be, or—"
"I will, I promise," you say before jumping up and rounding the table. He barely has a chance to blink before you throw your arms around him for a hug. It's clunky and awkward with his armor, but you don't seem to mind. You're grinning from ear to ear, the happiest he's seen you look in days. He inhales deeply, breathing in your scent through the filter in his helmet. It makes him dizzy. With his soap and clothes, you smell so good that it leaves him breathless.
"Thank you," you say softly. You pull back slightly to gaze up at him and for one second, he thinks you can actually see him. Your eyes lock on his and you hold it, and it all feels so real that it has his breath catching in his throat. Without thinking, one of his hands lifts to cradle your face. You immediately lean into his touch but your gaze never falters. Nobody has ever looked at him the way you did. It cuts him to the core in a way he never imagined.
The air between you grows too heavy and he can't resist quickly scanning your body. Through his visor, he picks up your heat signature is slightly elevated in your face and chest. And he tries to fight the urge, he really does, but he can't help scanning lower. He clocks the temperature between your legs and his cock stirs when his suspicions are confirmed.
"You said you've never left your planet."
His voice breaks the tension. You blink and nod with a smile before stepping back, creating some breathing room between you.
"You shouldn't hide down here, then. You're missing the entire galaxy. Let me show you the cockpit."
Your eyes flicker nervously to the ladder before slowly nodding.
"O-okay," you reply shakily.
Din frowns and reaches for your hand. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I think you'll like it."
Your shoulders square up. Your chin lifts confidently and he smiles when you say, "I trust you."
He climbs the ladder first, then reaches down to help you up. When you clamber to your feet and look around, your eyes grow wide and your lips part with wonder.
"Oh, my..." you breathe, gaze raking over all the lights and controls before settling on the huge windows. He can see the reflection of the stars in your eyes and he can't tear himself away. As he suspected, all traces of your earlier apprehension vanished. You're hypnotized by the way the bright stars stretch and swirl through hyperspace, completely enraptured.
"This view. It's... beautiful," you whisper, unblinking.
With his attention still fixed on you, he replies, "Yes, it is."
Your eyes dart to him and you try to bite back a shy smile when you realize he wasn't looking at the stars.
"I've never flown before," you tell him, "it's so incredible. I can't believe you can do this all on your own."
"Really? Never?" he asks, and you shake your head. "Then we should celebrate," he adds. Your eyes light up when he spins around to a small cabinet bolted to the wall and pulls out a half filled bottle of liquor. As he pours the dark red liquid into two glasses, he realizes he hasn't stopped smiling since you stepped foot in the cockpit.
"What is this?" you ask when you take the cup he offers you. You sniff it and your nose scrunches up.
"It's Mandalorian wine," he says, "try it, it's good."
You take a tentative sip then look up at him with surprise. "It's sweet."
"I don't have it often, it's hard to come by," he admits. Then his free hand unlatches his helmet and your eyes snap to the place his fingers hook under the edge. He swears he notices excitement flicker across your face for a brief moment before you turn around.
"I won't look," you promise.
He opens his mouth to tell you it was fine, that he was only lifting it a few short inches to take a drink, but he doesn't. He sips from his glass and allows himself to take you in fully without your heated gaze pinning him to the wall. He can just make out your reflection in the windows and you faithfully have your eyes squeezed shut, just in case you catch an accidental glimpse. He sips again and his eyes darken. He can feel his body responding to how obedient you are and it's growing uncomfortable.
He slips his helmet back down and when you hear the telltale hiss of the latch, your eyes open.
"Can I turn around now?"
A muscle flickers in his jaw. Fuck, you're such a good girl.
"Yes," he says, voice rough.
You pick up on his tone. Your face warms as you slowly turn around to face him and its imperceptible, but your thighs squeeze together in his fucking pants. It's a good thing you can't see him because underneath the helmet, he is fighting every urge to pull you into his arms. He's sure it's written all over his face. Maker, he wonders what it would be like to be touched by you, to be held by you, to be kissed by you. It's been so long.
You're nervous again, he notes, but not due to fear this time. Your gaze shifts around the cabin and you swallow thickly before pointing towards the controls.
"W-what do all these do?"
He follows your finger. You're pointing to the control wheel and dials right in front of his chair.
He sets down his mostly empty glass and sits. He begins to half heartedly tell you what certain switches and knobs do, and you nod along, sipping from your glass and leaning into the side of his chair.
You lean forward, across his lap, and squint at one particularly important looking lever.
"What about this?"
His eyes slide closed and he breathes deep. You're so close to him he can feel the warmth from your skin through the slivers of exposed fabric that lies underneath his armor.
"It— it's one of the controls that sends us into hyperspace," he mumbles. You hum curiously and take another sip, draining your glass. Your body still stretches over his lap as you study the control panel and he hopes you don't notice the twitching in his pants.
"One of?" you echo. Then your beautiful eyes find his visor. He swallows harshly, leather creaking over his knuckles.
"Yes," he rasps, "there's — well, there's levels I need to check first and a course needs to —"
He stops speaking when you straighten up and sidestep so that you're wedged between him and the control panel. He watches in a haze when your small hands wrap around the control column, right where his hands normally go to steer the ship.
His gloved fingers dig into the arms of his chair.
His legs straddle yours where you stand. If you sat, you'd be right in his lap. His hands twitch and his heart stutters in his chest. You're so fucking close, he could simply wrap one arm around you—
The ship hits an unexpected rough pocket and it jolts. It's small, nothing he would even wake up for, but you're not used to flying. Your knees give out and you fall back, right into his chest.
His arms circle your waist and you let out a squeak of surprise. Then your hands cover his. Instead of pulling them off your body, you tug them tighter and squirm a little in his lap, as if you're trying to get your bearings and stand, but it's taking just a little too long.
Din murmurs your name and you still.
"Cyar'ika, I'm a patient man. But you're testing me, and I think you enjoy it."
He can't see your face, only your back and shoulders, which tense at his words. There's a long pause as if you're trying to decide your next move and he holds his breath, hoping he didn't read things wrong.
Then, your shoulders drop.
Your fingers loosen around his hands but still remain in place, holding them to your stomach. When you tilt your face to the side and look at him over your shoulder, you give him a sly grin.
"Am I that transparent?"
He doesn't respond right away, but his cock does. It swells underneath you and a soft noise that has him forgetting how to breathe slips past your lips.
"Din—"
He shakes your hands off his so he can pull frantically at his gloves, one at a time. They drop to the floor, then his hands are back on you again. Your eyes flutter shut and you tip your chin up when you feel him — really feel him — for the first time as he explores the skin under your borrowed tunic. It has been so long since he's felt the warmth of another that it makes him weak. Under his helmet, his jaw drops open in wonder. You're breathing heavy, he can feel it, and it's making his vision blur.
He cups your left breast and you whimper before leaning into his hold. Stars, you're so soft and warm and perfect that he never wants to stop touching you.
Your body sags against his chest when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your back presses against his beskar and your head falls backward onto his shoulder with a loud thud. You wince and try to hide it, but he sees it.
"Sit up," he orders. He releases your breast and you whine but you do as you're told and lean forward so he can remove the metal that covers his upper body.
He eases you down so your back rests on his chest once again. Now, the only metal you have to contend with is his helmet and the plates on his thighs. When the back of your head comes to rest on his shoulder, you instantly twist so you can bury your face into the crook of his neck. You inhale deeply, like you're committing his scent to memory, before fumbling for his hand and guiding it down, past your waistline. His fingers dip underneath your pants and he bites back a groan. The fabric is oversized and loose, making it easy for him to find exactly what he's looking for.
"D-Din," you stammer when the pads of his fingers slide through your slit. Your head rolls and your lips part when you lift your hips off his lap, chasing his gentle touch.
You must hear how fast he's breathing. Even though the modulator muffles it, it's so loud it's impossible you don't notice.
"Maker, you're soft. So soft and wet," he murmurs. You preen a little in his lap, hips rolling so his two thick fingers slip through your cunt, spreading your folds and slick with each pass.
When he sinks both fingers past your entrance, your hand flies back, slapping loudly against the side of his helmet.
"Oh!" you cry out, fingers clutching uselessly at the metal. Your back arches off his chest with a wet gasp when he pushes in all the way to the knuckle, then he's shushing you. His distorted voice is trying to quiet you down but, as it turns out, you both want each other so badly that it's an impossible task, even for a Mandalorian.
"Do you know how long I've thought about this?" he asks, watching the way your eyes pinch shut and your jaw trembles each time his fingers drag in and out of you. Your backside writhes in his lap and he has to use his other hand to keep you still, wrapping it around your waist from behind and pressing his palm flat against your stomach.
"No," you shudder. You're coming apart so easily for him, heat blooming in your chest and cheeks the faster his hand moves down your pants — his pants. He's so hard, his stomach hurts.
"Years," he grits. "Each time I left, I dreamt of taking you with me. Dreamt of your perfect mouth, your beautiful eyes, your smile, your laugh—" He curses under his breath when you clench tightly around his fingers. He can't wait to feel you wrapped around his cock, squeezing him so tight and milking him for every last drop of his release.
"You came b-back for m-me," you stammer breathlessly. "Y-you — oh, f-fuck, Din—"
A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead. You're grinding down on his hand, back bowed and nails digging ruthlessly into his covered arm. You look so sweet, coming apart on his hand, moaning his name, that he wants nothing more than to kiss you, to taste you.
But, he can't.
So, he settles for driving you wild, for curling his fingers deep inside you, grunting in your ear, rubbing his palm against your clit until your lungs are empty and your entire body is pulled tight.
"Pl-please," you beg, "oh, please. Pleaseplea— I'm g-gonna come," you whine. You gasp hotly against his helmet, holding him so close with a hand still clutching at the back of his head that his visor fogs up.
"Come for me," he tells you shakily, even through the modulator. "Come for me and then I'll fuck this sweet little pussy, just the way I've always wanted."
That tips you over the edge. You moan his name so loudly that it echoes in the small room. You thrash your head around on his shoulder, body convulsing in his lap as he pulls every ounce of pleasure he can, and then your teeth find a small patch of exposed skin just above the collar of his shirt, below his ear. He swears when your teeth pinch him and his grip on you tightens, holding you steady until your orgasm slows and you relax in his arms.
He doesn't give you much time to recover. He can't. He's so pent up, it's making him dizzy. Sliding you off his lap, Din reaches down and pulls on his pants, lifting his hips and tugging the fabric down just enough to free his cock. You're still in a daze, slumped against his shoulder, chest heaving. When he tugs you back in place, leaning against his chest and sitting in his lap, he loosens your slacks, letting them pool to the floor.
In his crazed, lust-filled stupor, he manages to realize something through the fog. The position you're in — with your back pressed against his front — maybe...
His hand fumbles around until he finds the button he's looking for and he smacks it, probably louder than is necessary. You jump in his arms when the cabin goes black, the only lights filling the space are from some switches on the console, too dim to create a reflection. But, if you turn your head—
"Keep your eyes closed."
You open your mouth to ask the question, then clamp it shut and quickly obey. He regards you for a moment, just a moment. He trusts you. You wouldn't look.
A hand comes up to unclasp his helmet and it falls to the floor with a loud thud. You jump again but keep your eyes closed.
He says your name, voice clear to your ears for the very first time. You shudder in his arms and your brows pull together, like a blanket of warmth just passed over you. He smiles to himself, then his hand drops to grip his leaking cock. He presses the thick tip between your thighs and you twitch before spreading your legs as far as you can manage.
He can't wait any longer — his hips flex and you moan in unison as he slides inside your warm, perfect cunt. The way you clench around him, the noises you murmur in his ear — it all adds to the heat building at the base of his spine since you stepped foot in the cockpit.
"M-Maker—" he groans, "you feel so good."
Then you start to roll your hips, tight pussy gripping and fluttering around his length as you try to fuck yourself in his lap. Your legs drape over his thighs, feet dangling near his ankles, unable to graze the hard metal floor for support, yet you still try to work faster, just so desperate for him.
His hands grip your hips, helping you move. Your eyes are still squeezed shut but your mouth is open, gasping for air every time he pushes back inside to grind against a spot that makes you whine through your teeth.
"I've wanted you so badly, it hurts," you confess shamelessly. Something about not being able to see him makes you feel bold. "I would follow you anywhere, Din Djarin."
He groans and nips at your earlobe. You feel his chest rumble against your back and you smile. Your hand falls to where you're connected and your fingers spread, gasping when you touch him. He's thick and hard and soaked with your arousal.
"I always knew you must have had a nice cock," you whisper, still feeling emboldened with your eyes closed. "No one carries themselves the way you do without having the goods to back it up."
You cry out when his hips snap roughly against your ass, and your entire body is practically bouncing in his lap. If it weren't for his ironclad grip around your middle, you're sure you'd have fallen out of the chair.
"Keep — talking," he grunts. His wet tongue slides slowly up your neck before his lips pucker and he begins to suck a mark that will take days to disappear.
"I— I —" you stammer. He's fucking you so fast now, it's hard to think, let alone form a sentence. "I used to — to think about you — oh, f-fuck, right there—"
"Think about me?" he repeats, ignoring everything else.
"Yes," you hiss, then your hand reaches back to slide through his hair — it's thick and a little curly and you commit the feeling to memory before it's taken from you.
"I would think about you — wh-when I... when I would touch myself."
Your stomach muscles begin to bear down and your thighs go rigid. You're so fucking close, you can taste it.
"Yeah? You thought about me when you made yourself come? Thought about my cock in this tight pussy, just like this?"
His deep voice in your ear makes you shudder.
You nod with your mouth hanging wide open.
"Oh fuck," you whimper when the tip of his cock finds a sensitive spot deep inside. You writhe and roll your hips, eager to find the angle again, but Din knows. He knows what you need and he wants to be the one to give it to you, so his hands still your movements and he rocks upward. You're both breathless and sweaty, but it doesn't matter because he's there — he's right fucking there, right at the spot where you need him the most.
Your mouth creates a combination of noises and melted words. There's no sense to be made when he's fucking you like this. You push back, deepening the angle. You both moan so loudly, it echos, but you barely register it.
His fingers fall to your clit and he starts to swirl messy circles over the throbbing bud. Three, maybe four passes. That's all it takes.
You throw your head back violently, his name ripping from your throat as you cunt clenches around him, pulsing and squeezing. Your stomach flutters, the released tension rippling across your muscles.
He doesn't stop. His fingers move frantically and he fucks you through it until your body sags and you whimper when swatting weakly at his hand.
"That's it, that's my g-girl," he groans, abandoning your clit. He wraps his arm around you instead, keeping you upright so he can thrust into you as hard as he can. You moan and bite at his neck, his ear, his cheek... any part of him that's normally hidden by his helmet. You feel the stubble under your lips and you lick his skin, reveling in the sharp prickle across your tongue.
"Come inside me," you whisper. He makes a choked sound and shakes his head.
"Can't."
"Please?"
His movements grow erratic. He's losing rhythm.
"No, it's — too risky."
"Would that be so bad? Don't y— don't you wonder what it would — be like?"
You're babbling. You sound insane. You don't care.
"Please stop," he begs, then his teeth sink into your shoulder and he pulls out of you roughly, just in time to shoot hot cum all over your inner thighs. He's groaning your name into your skin and he's panting so heavily, you fear he may pass out.
"I'm not —"
Din swallows and then he drags in a deep breath. With your eyes still closed, you start blindly peppering kisses across his cheek.
"I know," you mumble, "I'm sorry."
Suddenly, his fingers pinch your chin and he tilts your head so his lips press firmly against your own. Your heart stops when you first feel what it's like to kiss him — never in your wildest fantasies did you think you would know what his lips felt like. The trust he must have for you makes you weak and you melt, getting lost in the taste of him when his tongue slides into your mouth.
"I wasn't going to give you my child without kissing you first," he murmurs when he pulls back, but he doesn't go far. His forehead rests against yours and he sighs when your hand lifts to get lost in his messy hair.
"Really?" you whisper in disbelief, but you're smiling like a fool.
"Is that something you really want? With me?" he asks. You don't need to see his face, you can hear the doubt — the shock — that you would pick him out of anyone in the galaxy.
You nod and peck a kiss to his lips. "I'm tired of waiting," you tell him. "We almost lost our chance... I don't want to waste another second with you."
He laughs and you grin when his soft exhale fans across your face.
"I will gladly devote my life to you, if you'll have me," he says.
And yes, it feels fast. But what's the point in waiting when everything you want is right in front of you? You very easily could have died, but you were given a second chance.
