#din you little fittie
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Let's settle down for the night.
Quick summary: Youāve been each otherās for a long time. You trust him with your life, your body, you time, and he trusts you with his. Sometimes, though, you find yourself craving a quieter kind of intimacy. Without the helmet.
Word count: 6.3K
Warnings: A lot of fluff š©š©; may be inaccurate ācause, I gotta say, Iām a Star Wars fan but I did not proper hyperfixate on it like with some of the other stuff Iāve written about (buffs, please help me out here); kind of angsty??? like, readerās an orphan etc; allusions to smut (under the shirt stuff amiright amiright); explicit mentions of smut.
A/N: What a fittie, guys. Bound to happen. This one goes out to @manicdream for giving me a lilā prompt where you and Din are in looove aaaandāI guess youāll have to keep reading for the fluuuff and feels! I really had fun with this one! Love this stoic, brooding, dramatic lad, and I enjoyed exploring love languages, their communication, etc, etc. i have no idea when this would take place, so just try to follow along, I guess??? I hope you enjoy this short, little story! I think this is gonna be just one part by the way. For all you Pedro Pascal sluts out there ššš, I do think Iām gonna write a smut thing for Joel Miller TLOU. NO PROMISES, THOUGH. Just finished the latest episode and what the fuck ššš it just gets more and more traumatising huh. Anyway, please enjoy this happy fic!
ą©ā©ā§āĖ
Weāve been walking for a while, now. Muscles aching, legs straining. The low, sloping sands of the Tatooine desert are pink in the setting suns, stretching on for years and years.Ā
The light flames up brilliant red and orange and bright white in his beskar, and I have to squint my eyes when I look over at him. From this angle, he looks like heās all armour. When the suns finally go down, heāll be a silhouette. That time of day always suits him best. You know how people you meet just seem like things sometimes. Dinās like rich soil, the kind that you can sink your fingers deep into with one singleĀ push. Or like a rock ā with how little he talks, I used to think he was a rock. Heās also dusk. Dusk happens to be my favourite time of day.Ā
My feet are dragging again. If I were with anyone else, Iād never let my guard downābut itās just us, and weāre in the middle of nowhere, and weāve got a whole bunch of credits in my pack thatās almost enough to finally buy us our own ship. Wonāt have to put up with sceptical glances on commercial flights anymore, or getting bashed about by produce on cargo ships weāve had to sneak onto. Maker, I miss the comfort of the Razor Crest. But, yāknow, itāsāitās what it is. Lucky for us, transportation is the worst of our problems ā itās been a relatively quiet trip over the planet; no troubleāyet. Quietly trading with sketchy contractors in isolated taverns. We never ask questions about the high-paying ones, whether weāre implicitly tipping the scales of some political bantha shit, but Iām always curious.
A dry gust of wind cools my stifling skin, a break from the still weather.
āYou alright back there?ā
Din has his head angled slightly back towards me. His grainy, modulated voice curves my mouth up into a smile, and I stare fondly over at him as he slows his pace a little to fall into step with me. I urge him not to slack with the jerk of my head.
āYeah, āfācourse,ā I assure him, tongue buzzing with foul saliva. Canāt drink just yet, though, ācause I already chugged about half of my waterskin way back at sun-up. Heās offered me the rest of his, but I refused to take it. Though, right now, grimacing at the bile in my mouth, I am thinking hard about changing my mind. āWeāre safe,ā I say confidently. Weāve been careful.
āI know.ā Yeah, I know he knows. āI was just wonderinā cause, yāknow, youāve been a little quiet.ā
Playfully, I nudge into him (damn that beskar) and laugh as he shoves me back. āWhat, so youāre saying you want my āmindless chit-chattingā back now, huh?ā
Iām talking out of my ass, of course. Weāve had a thing going for a while, now ā itās been just us for a while. I know he doesnāt mean any harm when he teases me like that. It takes a lot for him to hurt my feelings, and he never does. Maybe at first, when neither of us would admit that we were happier being together than apart. I donāt know why I didnāt just tag along with him sooner. If I had known that those gruff, little grunts heād make during conversation when weād cross paths during jobs meant that he was enjoying himself?āwell, I wouldnāt have wasted so much time in asking him to be my partner. In all senses.
But still, he feels the need to explain: āAh, you know I was justāā
āYeah, yeah.ā
I suppose that, after so long needing to be strong and tough and brave and coarse to get on with life and work, he likes being soft. This is soft for him: letting me walk ahead just slightly, his shoulder behind mine, so that heās always got my six; teasing me about things heās told me are his favourite qualities of mine; secretly watching me from behind the security of his visor. I donāt tell him I love it, and I donāt tell him I notice, but he knows, I think.
He turns away to complete a quick scan of the horizon on his blind side, and I do the same for mine, before we turn back to each other. Heās tired ā I can tell by the way heās leaning in towards me, like he wants to be held. The privacy of this big, wide desert must be a comfort to him. I know it is to me.
āHowās your day been?ā he asks me lowly.
I laugh. āYou mean the day weāre currently spending together?ā
He nods. āTell me about it.ā
Stars, Iām glad itās getting dark, because my cheeks start to glow with warmth. Not necessarily just his voice or even the words. Consistently, he always asks about my day. Yesterday, it was in a dingy tavern, after avoiding a bar fight (some prick tried to trick me out of a drink the contractor bought me fair ānā square). The day before, it was in the dead of night, looking up at the stars, with the bounty, unconscious, lying between us.
āI liked it.ā He scoffs. āI did. Thereās been no trouble, and, yāknow, I grew up on a desert planet like this.ā
āBantha farmers, right?ā
āUh-huh.ā
He grunts.
I laugh again. āYou bastard! Youāre so judgemental. Honestly worse than those Coruscanti pricks we worked for ages back. Remember how they looked at us when we traded? Tried to underpay us? Bet theyāve never risked even chipping a nail.ā Bounty hunting is a little more difficult these days without the assurance of carbonite freezing, without the security of the Guild ā weāve had to complete ten times as many jobs for five times lesser rates just to get where we are now. Reminds me of when I first started out: bounties fighting back, trying to make a run for it. But what else are we supposed to do?ātake up a job where?
The suns slip below the horizon, and everything is washed a low, gentle violetāand Din is that silhouette, now, and everything seems peaceful, like it all fits together just right. Even though, of course, it might not fit together just right when I try to haggle the price of that gunship down a few credits or so and the vendor absolutely obliterates me with the most personal, cutting insults in the entire galaxy. Dinās no help in the communication sector there ā the stoic type ā but, if anything, heāll be able to stand behind me with that armour and steel glare and weapons of his to try and intimidate that damn stubborn seller all the way to fuckinā Bargain Town. Because, damn, weāre relying on it. Peli, bless her soul, doesnāt have anything large or powerful enough to support the three of us on our run from the Empire.
Speaking of the three of us, the kidās absence, I hate to say it, is kind of nice. Of course, I worry about him, but I trust that heās being well-looked-after at the garage. Safer than he would be with us. But I havenāt had Din to myself in what seems like years. Last time he touched me wasāwasāa long time ago. Too much stress. Not enough time to savour it. And heās all about savouring those kind of things, those moments, dragging them out as long as possible.
I can feel his stare on the side of my face. My sweaty, greasy, clogged face ā stars, I canāt wait until we reach a water supply.
āAre you looking at me right now?ā I ask, amused.
He does another strategically-timed scan of the area, turning away from me even though I canāt see his face. I wonder if he blushes under that helmet, if itās really obvious. āYouāre looking at me.ā
I roll my eyes and smile softly, lowering the scarf around my nose and mouth and tucking the fabric beneath my chin. āHow was your day?ā
āGood.ā
āGood why?ā
āāCause Iāve got your mindless chit-chattinā to keep me company.ā
Forcing a laugh, I glare at him again. āHa-ha, youāre so funny, Din. Real knee-slapper right there.ā
It goes quiet again ā he becomes like that, sometimes, after I use his name. The first time I spoke it was in the dark hull of the Razor Crest, in hyperspace. He sat and stared straight ahead at the streaking silver, motionless, wordless. Here, the desert air is still and calm. His shoulder is still brushing up against mine.
āAre you tired?ā
Yes. My legs feel like theyāre about to fuckinā fall off. Here, walking along the plain, is good, but earlier, climbing over dunes and rocks and boulders, was hell. But we need to be getting back to the kid as soon as possible. As much as I trust Peli, I need to see him and make sure heās okay. So, I shake my head and say, āItās only a little ways up till the next settlement.ā
āItās a lot further.ā
My heart drops. āOh.ā Wishful thinkingās just got me forging fake memories at this point. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me.
āDāyou think we should stop?ā
āNo, we canāā
āIām tiredāā he abruptly comes to a halt, apparently deciding that this little patch of sand will be a nice bed, āāletās stop for the night.ā He beckons me to him, coming in close and retrieving the lamp from inside the sling-bag, setting it down.
Well, if he insists.
You know, itās moments like these where I just let myself be fond of him. I let myself stare freely at him, admire the shape of his body, the sleek, smart make of his helmet, let myself wonder if his face is any bit as handsome as he sounds. Everything about him is rough. The way he fights, the way he bargains, the way he pilots. His hands. I think about the texture of his hands as I sit down. I remove my gloves and stuff them away, gliding my skin across my skin to just try and simulate that touch.
āYouāre not cold?ā
I untwine the bag from my shoulders, setting it down and retrieving our remaining food for this day. āIām not cold. I have, like, five layers on.ā
He eyes me doubtfully. āOkay.ā And he sits down on the opposite side of the lamp, facing me, one leg propped up as a rest for his arm. The pulse rifle lays by his side, ready.
I offer him a hardening clump of bread and a few stout, odd-looking, white-and-purple vegetables (generously given to us by a farmer we passed a while back)ābut Din shakes his head and urges me to eat as much as I can. I bite back a remark about that helmet of his ā he must be starving.
āWeāll get something better to eat when we get to the city.ā
I snort. āItās hardly a city.ā
āYou know what I mean.ā
Stupid Din always making stupid decisions and rationalising them because he thinks itās for me. He knows I can take care of myself, that Iām good at it, but that doesnāt stop him from dropping everything to try. Itās nice for someone to have my back, for that someone to be as wonderful as him, but, holy kriff, heās so stupid sometimes.
I tell him flat-out, āWe donāt have enough credits,ā because we donāt. We have barely enough to cover a scrappy, little ship. We definitely donāt have enough to purchase any food. Weāve relied on favours and luck for long enough, and we can go for longer until weāre off-planet. Peliās gotāedible foodāprobably. I donāt trust it wonāt make me shit my brains out as soon as weāre in hyperspace, though.
He shrugs like itās no big deal, though. āWeāll get a worse ship.ā
āDin.ā Stupid. I toss him a chunk of bread, swivelling around to give him privacy.
He protests, āIām not hungry,ā and reaches over and taps it against my shoulder ā I shrug him away.
āIām already stuffed, so whatāre you gonna do about it?ā
He sighs in exasperation. āThought you might say that.ā
āāCause Iām just so predictable?ā
āYouāre stubborn.ā
Snapping my head over my shoulder, I scoff and give him an incredulous look. āIām stubborn?ā
He tilts his head to the side as if to goad me further. āYes.ā The warm light of the lamp glows along the strong planes and clean lines of his armour. His hand leisurely dangling from his knee, he rubs his gloved fingers together, and Iām suddenly jealous of a clothing item. I know he must notice the slight catch in my breath.
I turn back around to face him, the sand moulding easily beneath my smooth movements. āAnd thereās not a brooding Mandalorian sitting across from me now, refusing to eat.ā
The first few years of working with Din, I never once saw him eat or drink a thing. It was like he was a droid (donāt tell him I said that): always working, working hard, but fuelled by seeminglyānothing? Obviously, I figured he had to eat some time. When I became his partner, sharing the Razor Crest, heād retreat to his bunk to eat. And when I asked him his favourite food, he said he didnāt really hate or love anything ā as long as he could consume it and it wouldnāt kill him, heād tolerate it. Over the years, though, Iāve learned he tries to steer clear from any kind of berries. Doesnāt trust āem. And heās not a fan of fish, but the kid is, and I am, so we have it more often, now.
Din jerks his head and allows me to toss him one of those weird vegetables. Having already finished my chunk of bread (on the brink of mouldāso yummy!), I take a large, eager bite right out of the vegetable. My mouth is flooded with its bitter juice, and I squint my face up a little at the greenish tang.
āHowās that taste?ā he asks.
āLike dirt.ā I chew the mouthful slowly, careful not to judge too quickly, and eventually hum in contentment. āButāā I retract, āāsorta sweet underneath. You ever tasted a beet?ā
āNo.ā
āWell, itās sorta like that.ā
He watches me for a few heartbeats, calm in the steady, amber light. I smile at him.
āTurn around,ā he tells me brusquely.
I wink at him and do as Iām told, shuffling around again and turning to back the blue and purple horizon, the lamp and his gaze warm on my back.
Iām silent as he unseals his helmet with a quiet click and hiss. I try to imagine him again. Every single time, I feel guilty over it, because I know how dedicated he is to his religionābut, oh, I canāt help myself. I run my tongue over my teeth, enjoying the remains of that bite, before taking another, crunching down into the flesh. As I do, I hear Din do the same. My heart stops a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.
āItās nice.ā
Stars. Stars, that voice. His voice, unfiltered by the modulator. Slightly hoarse from lack of water, scraping a little in his throat, but smooth in its low, rich tone. Like dirt you can sink your fingers right down into.
I set my hand flat on the sand my by side before pushing them vertically down, down, down, past the cooling surface and to where the glowing spirit of the day lingers.
Calm yourself down. Itās just a voice.
āYou should have the rest of it,ā he continues, and thereās the tap of the vegetable against my shoulder again.
Oh, stars. He hasnāt got his helmet on. He hasnāt got his helmet on. If I turned, he could be right there. Just him. I think about clamping my eyes shut to avoid the temptation of looking at him, but I canāt really co-ordinate myself at the moment. He taps again, encouraging me to take it back. My fingers hook up inside the sand, and it slips around me to my satisfaction.
āIf you like it,ā I say dryly, āyou should eat it.ā
The vegetable disappears from my peripheral. Another crunch, and another, and another. We sit in silence as he finishes it. The horizon is finally flat and unwavering in the cool of the night.
He gives my shoulder a squeeze when heās done, hiking up the scarf around my head so it doesnāt slip too far over my hair. When I turn around, the helmetās back on.
I wonder if he saw the colours of the sunset earlier. I had my head turned up for hours, watching every single shift in pink and orange and blue with wonderstruck eyesābut Din was striding on ahead, uninterested. Iām no engineer, alright? I donāt exactly know what heās seeing in that helmet of his, or why. Infrared sensors for tracking, like in a rifle I once had that ā that was one of the best damn weapons I ever owned, guaranteed to locate and hit your target, and I loved it to bitsāuntil it got fuckinā stolen by a bunch of fuckinā Jawas. Point is, isnāt it just black and white in there? Sort of a purple-y black and white, and you can see changes in tone and depth and all, but black and white nonetheless. Red for footprints, though. Is that what he saw when I told him to look at the sky at sundown? Black and white? What is he seeing as heās looking at me now? Me, Iām admiring the regal gleam of his beskar again. But he wonāt be able to interpret the warmth of the lampās light on my face the same way as I did for him. Iām not the prettiest in the galaxy by a long shot, I know, but isnāt he missing out? On the beauty of the natural world? I think Iām prettiest at sundown ā something in my undertone, I dunno ā but heās only seen me in that greyscale. Imagine if he just thinks Iāmāokay-looking.
Overthinking it again. Din doesnāt waste time with things he doesnāt think add to his life. He doesnāt think Iām just okay-looking.
āYouāve got a good voice,ā I tell him, grinning widely.
āYouāve heard my voice before.ā The raw clarity of his words are lost once again behind the modulator. I shift my position, wriggling away from my disappointment.
āI know.ā
A chill passes brightly through the air, and I tug my cloak tighter around myself, bringing my knees in close. Din doesnāt move a muscle, though, and he sits there and observes me a little longer.
Weāve been each otherās for a long, long time. Weāve been through a lot of shit together. And Iām not exactly thinking critically, and Iām not sure where Iām going with it, but I find myself asking, āWhen Mandalorians get married, they can take their helmets off around their partner, right?ā
The mortification immediately sets in.
Holy kriff.
Din looks at me carefully. Then, he nods the slightest of nods.
Holy kriff.
āIām notāā I stutter out, eyes darting away, over there, over here, anywhere but his constant, steady, shameless attention, āāām not asking you to marry me, Din. I wasāI was just wondering ācause, yāknow, I think you mentioned it to me once, ages back, andāand I was just thinkinā that maybeāā you pause, glancing up at him; he doesnāt move a muscle, and thereās nothing that gives away any kind of anything he might be feeling, āāmaybe Iād like to seeāwhatāyouālookālike.ā
Wow. Wow, Iām almost amazed at how slick I am with these things. God, Imperial spies could learn a thing or two from the master.
I clear my throat, deciding to embrace the grave Iāve dug for myself. āBut Iām not asking you to marry me, so you can stop looking at me like that, now, alright?.ā
He says nothing, does nothing.
I situate myself with untying my waterskin from beneath my cloak, hiding my face in my shoulder and cursing, āDamn voice. Gets me too damn stupid-excited,ā under my breath, like itās a secret, like he canāt hear every fuckinā word Iām saying on a planet seemingly stripped from all other noise.
Seething at myself, I crunch back into my vegetable, then tearing off a piece of bread to stuff in alongside it, taking a careless swig from my waterskin to wash it all down. Honestly, at this point, Iād rather die from dehydration than address the awful, awful statement I just made. Stars. Probably scared him right off. Weāre as close to married as the real thing anyway. Dinās more of an actions-over-words kind of guy ā I donāt need to call him my husband. Itās not likeāwell, marriage is companionship, and we have that already. Marriage is trust, and we have that already. I donāt need to call him my husband. Heās justāmy guy. My person. Would be nice to have it on paper, I guess. Proof that heās my person, that he wants to be my person. Bless him, but for every single thing he does for me, every action, I still crave him saying those words. Not shit to do with marriage, exactly. Just: āYouāre my person. Iām yours.ā Words arenāt his forte.
āIād marry you.ā
I swallow the hard lump of bread with difficulty, scrunching my face up into a grimace. āHmm?ā I ask, drifting back to the present.
āIād marry you,ā he repeats, and my eyes go wide. Oh. āRight here. If you want me.ā
Huh. Huh. I dunno what the appropriate reaction is here, so I just continue staring unblinkingly at him. My stomach is erupting in flutters, and I just stare at Din.
Then, I look around us, at the barren desert. And look, yeah, I grew up on a planet very similar to Tatooine, and, yeah, sure, I have fond memories of my childhood. And then they get not-so fond. I scrunch my nose up in disapproval. āNot here.ā
āWhere?ā
I shrug, brows knitted together in deep consideration. āI dunno.ā And I really donāt, becauseābecause I didnāt think we were the marrying type. Just the together type. Growing old and pissy together, living together, fighting together, figuring it out togetherātype. Mandalorians value community and strength and The Way over everything else ā not necessarily love. Didnāt take him for the marrying type.
I screw my mouth together and exhale deeply. āJust somewhere prettier, I guess,ā I decide on. āNot this quiet, but still pretty quiet. Yāknow, somewhere with trees. Proper, green trees. But not the kind where thereās stuff in there waiting to kill you.ā I want there to be as many colours as possible, in the sky, in the flowers, so he can see me and see all that beauty all together at once.
He tilts his head. āLike, with mountains?ā he asks.
I smile. āYeah, I wouldnāt mind mountains.ā
He glances down at the sand, tracing some kind of pattern into it with his forefinger. āWe could go to Takodana?ā
Stars. My smile widens. Stars, is this a proposal? Did I just propose to him? Did he just propose right back? Thatās actually quite funny, that is. In the middle of nowhere, running out of water, running low on food. Romantic.
āHave you ever kissed anyone, Din?ā I ask, more confident.
He grunts and shakes his head. āNot really.ā
āāNot reallyā,ā I mock him, deepening my voice and attempting to widen the shoulders. I laugh at my own impression, leaning back on my hands and huffing a strand of hair out of my face. āWhatās that supposed to mean?ā
He shifts, clearing his throat and adjusting to a more comfortable position. āI mean, Iāve kissed youābetween your legs,ā he tells me, nervous, like Iāve managed to forget how well he treats me, how eager he is to kneel down in the pitch-black and take care of me like that.
Heat blooms in my stomach. āGreat work down there, by the way,ā I tell him through a sly grin.
āThank you, meshāla.ā Is he blushing? Does he blush? I find myself wondering over that again.
I smile and stare at him.
āCould I kiss you?ā The suggestion just slips out without a second thought. I just think that, after some food and water and rest, I donāt really have to filter anything out anymore. I donāt have any complaints ā just some recommendations for fun we could be having.
Din doesnāt reply.
Ah, shit. Shit, what the fuck is wrong with me? Mandalorian, remember? Stupid, stupid. If thereās anything anyone knows about Din, itās that heās a Mandalorian first. Heās a Mandalorian before heās mine ā heād never say it out loud, but we both know itās true. Iād never ask him to choose because thatās cruel. Am I being cruel?
Either way, I canāt seem to stop, and I donāt seem to care: āIād keep my eyes shut,ā I blurt out, trying to keep my breathing from becoming heavy with lust, and failing a little more than a little bit. Stars, Iām turning myself on at this point; he just has to sit there and look pretty. āYou know Iād keep āem shut. I wouldnāt look. I justāwannaāā you sigh, āāI just wanna kiss you. Itās nice, I swear. Nice feeling. Iād keep my eyes closed. Orāor you could tie something around āem?ā
He doesnāt reply.
āStars,ā I curse. āIām sorry.ā I wipe my eyes from dust and dirt and blink hard. āI think Iām just tired.ā
āYouāre tired?ā
āYeah.ā
āIs ātiredā why youāre pressing onto yourself down there?ā
He flicks his fingers over to where Iāve got my hand stuffed between my legs, rocking softly against the heel of my palm. I swallow hard. Fuck, I didnāt even notice I was doing that. I convinced myself I wasāha!āI was just warming up my hands.
I shift my eyes sheepishly back up to meet Dinās, guilty as charged.
He sighs deep from within the chest. āYou keep āem closed and we tie something around āem.ā
Silent, I nod in agreement. My thighs squeeze together.
He jerks his head to beckon me over, and I go shuffling on over to him on my knees, probably looking like a right idiot, but, then again, I donāt really give a fuck because Iām about to kiss Din Djarin. Iām about to kiss my Mandalorian. Iām about to kiss my companion of almost a decade, more if you count all those shady bounties we used to end up competing for. My Mandalorian, my Din Djarin, mine, mine, mine. Iām not possessive, I donāt think, but, gods, Iļæ½ļæ½IāI canāt believe it sometimes. That I get to know him like this. That I get to know such an incredible person. That he wonāt say more than two words at a time to anyone, not even those weāre close with, like Peliābut, with me, heāll talk for hours. He jokes that heās just humouring me, but I know he loves it. He tells me so.
Din makes a motion with his hand to turn around, so I do, and I let him tie an old, folded food cloth around my head ā unsanitary, sure, but, again, I donāt care, and my headās reeling, and my heartās racing so hard, thrumming in my ears, and heās so close, and his fingers are tangling through my hair as he lowers my scarf, and theyāre brushing against the nape of my neck now, andā
āCan you take your gloves off, Din?ā I ask, and, unfortunately, the neediness seeps right through my voice. āPlease?ā Stars, Iām pathetic.
Behind me, thereās the shuffle and quiet groan of leather as he tugs them off, and then a quiet pat! as he tosses them to the side.
And then his hands are back. Rough, calloused fingertips ghosting over my ears, my hair, as he knots the cloth, then knots it again for good measure. Darkness is closed over my eyes, tinged the rich green of the fabric. My breath seems nearer this way, short, shallow, hot. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, still, as he cups the back of my neck, his touch cool.
I reach over my shoulder, taking a deep inhale as I run my fingers over the dips and hills of his knuckles. I fold my hands over his and squeeze, bringing them forward and kissing his fingertips gently. I feel the texture and thickness of his fingers, trace the lines of his palm. Din comes in close behind me, the solidity of his chestplate (cuirass? I dunno, once, he got all pissy ācause I didnāt call by itās actual name) pressing up against my shoulder blades.
I smooth my thumbs along the deepest crease in his palm. āYāknow, once, before I met you, I met someone who told me he could foretell my whole life, and my childās life, and their childās life, just from the lines on my hands.ā
āOh, yeah?ā His voice is right in my ear, low and intimate. Maker. āWhat do mine say?ā
āAll good things,ā you reply shakily.
āAnything about Takodana?ā
He twists his hand over, enveloping my right and rubbing circles into the back of it.
Then, heās letting me go, leaning awayāand thereās that hiss and click of him removing his helmet. I blink against the green cloth, my eyelashes dragging up slowly. If I hold my breath, I can hear him breathing.
āTurn around,ā he tells me, and I do.
Itās too dark for silhouettes anymore. If we were in daylight again, maybe I couldāve seen the vaguest outline of him. But weāre not in daylight. I blink again against the cloth, hard.
His hands reach out and grasp my hips, and theyāre warm and large and I never get used to it. The breath is still knocked out of my chest. He angles and adjusts me to face him, and I place my hands on his shoulders, fumbling around his armour before settling them instead on his neck.
His neck. Bare skin. I smooth my hand up the column of his pretty, perfect neck, feeling every inch of him. I already know the texture of his hair. When heās between my legs and kissing me there, I like to thread my fingers through it. Itās thick and wavy and slightly too long. But otherwise, I keep my hands to myself. Even though Iām not technically seeing him in the dark when he takes his helmet off to taste me, I donāt reach out and touch his faceābecause itās his. Itās his, and heās taken an oath to keep it that way. Heās never initiated a kiss, so Iāve never asked. Iāve been content. Iāve been patient.
But I guess my patience has reached a limit. Slowly, tentatively, I drift my touch up, up, and feel along his jawline, coarse with longer scruff. His breath hitches, and I smile and continue. I smooth my fingers right along his cheekbone ā Din gently circles his hand around my wrist, pressing his nose into my palm, then kissing it, soft, careful, dragging the tip of his nose along the line of the vein that trails over my arm.
Stars.
I blink hard again behind the green cloth, clenching my jaw down till my teeth grit together.
I feel along the jagged bridge of his nose, take note of how itās slightly crooked to the right, like heās broken it before (wouldnāt surprise me). I learn the shape of his brow, the broadness of his forehead. I feel the feather-light brush of his eyelashes against my wrist. Iām silentāand Iām grinning like an idiot, because what else can I do? Itās like Iām seeing his face. Iām not, but itās sure as hell the closest thing. The weight of his head in my hands, the cautious squeeze of his hands on my arms. I whisper some kind of babbling, incoherent request, and he relaxes his eyes ā I can feel the muscles in his face release tension ā for me to trace my middle finger over the shape of his eye. Iām not crying, but, fuck, itās getting a little moist up in this blindfold.
His eyes droop down slightly at the ends. I like eyes like that ā kind eyes. My mother used to say these types of eyes only belonged to the kindest of people. Stars. Donāt cry.
āYou look insane, meshāla,ā he whispers, close to me, lifting his hands to tenderly hold my face, like I might break.
āAh, bantha shit, baby,ā I retort. āYouāre loving this.ā
And I can feel him smile. I can feel it crinkle up the sides of his eyes, and I can feel the squint of them, and the way his cheeks lift. He smiles a little lop-sidedly, actually, the left corner of his mouth just a touch higher than the right. I try to memorise every single bit of information I discover, as urgent and as desperate as if my life depended upon it.
Quivering with want, I press my lips to the inner corner of his eye, firm and sure and needy, my hands grasping around his face. Din grabs fistfuls of my cloak, bringing me nearer to him.
He smells like dust and tastes like sweat and salt, but, Maker, this is good. Satisfies some deep, hellacious ache that would have otherwise consumed me.
I kiss the ridge of his cheekbone with the same fervour, and then I kiss the corner of his mouth, the left side, the side that quirks up when he smiles.
Only, heās not really smiling right now. Heās breathing heavily, almost panting, and stroking my hair away from my face and neck before mumbling out, āSo pretty.ā I press my nose against his, breathless with anticipation, heady at the warmth of his body. āSāgood. You look so goodālike this. Yālook good all the timeāā
But Iām kissing him already, frantic, fingers pressing into the back of his neck, into his shoulders, bringing him as near to me as humanly possible. I sob dryly as he reciprocates, nudging his nose flat against my cheek. He opens his mouth to suck in a breath, and I lick into him, taste him deeply, practically having climbed into his lap during my whirlwind pursuit. His cold hands slip under my cloak, arms wrapping around me in a second.
The kiss is dry and rough, and I wouldnāt have it any other way. It seems befitting of him somehow.
And when he makes a pathetic sound, a whimper or something, at the back of his throat, I almost melt right into the ground.
Closer, closer, closer ā thatās all I can really comprehend at the moment. Even with our bodies slotted together, even though I can feel each shaky breath he takes as his stomach flexes over my own, I feel hungry for more. Itās Din. My Din, kissing me, his hands on me, his eyes on me. My Din, grunting into me as I shift in his lap and squeeze my legs around him. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mineā
He grabs my face gently by the chin, urging me away from him for a few moments. I sit there, blind, his open mouth still hovering over mine. Oh, stars, I think of the softness of his tongue, and I kiss the corner of his mouth, wanting, asking.
Din angles my face to the side, coming in slow, warm, and languidly slides his tongue into my hot mouth, breath fanning out across my glowing face. Maker. I canāt control myself ā a helpless noise passes through me as I take it good and kiss him back, eager, wide open.
I guide his hand down the the base of my throat, just to feel his touch somewhere else. He squeezes there lightly.
His other hand manages to snake under my shirt, pressing flat across the small of my back, sliding up my spine and sending shivers all the way right through me.
Itāsāgood. Really good. Canāt-open-my-eyes-for-a-good-few-heartbeats type of good.
āMaker,ā he curses hoarsely under his breath as I pull away, still leaning forward for me, chasing my touch.
āGood?ā I ask him.
He presses a kiss to my cheek, smiling. āWe can do thisāmore oftenāāf you want.ā
āIf I want, huh?ā
He kisses me deeply again, his thumb slotted beneath the cloth over my eyes. He pulls it taut to the side over so slightly, and I can make out that beautiful, warm glow over the sand and his armour again. I shut my eyes as he tilts my head up, though, as kisses down to the hollow of my throat and back up again.
I slide my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close. āYouāre beautiful, arenāt you?ā I just know it. Everything about him is just beautiful. Itās just lovely, and I love it.
āMarry me and you can find out for sure,ā he mumbles into my neck.
I can hardly hear him, of course ā blood is pounding so hard in my ears that all I can understand from his words are that they rumble deep right through his chest, warm under the cool beskar.
I lift his head and press my nose into his cheek. āI can tell,ā I continue, words brushing his lips. Again, I smooth my fingers over his face. āYouāre so pretty, Din.ā
āMarry me,ā he urges, whispering against the fabric over my eye, warm.
I grin. āLater.ā
He curses, something in Mandoāa. āWeāre going to Takodana as soon as we get that damn ship, you hear me?ā
#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian x reader#mando x reader#rip razor crest#din you little fittie#din djarin fluff#the mandalorian#din djarin#meshāla is the cutest nickname š#grogu#is a little shit#but heļæ½ļæ½s perfect#iām feral for this man#star wars
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