Chapter Text
Anxiety isn’t something that Din is used to.
Stress? Sure. Hunting bounties is taxing, and fighting is still a gamble despite years of training. All it takes is one good hit. Din has been scared before; he hates it. He also worries. About the kid, about you. About if he’s going to wake up one morning without either of you. About all of it being some sort of dream. But anxious? This is not a feeling he wants to be acquainted with.
It isn’t hard to follow your steps, almost laughable how easy. But it means you’re not trying to hide from him, nor that you were taken abruptly. It does mean, strangely, that you’ve left of your own accord. Din doesn’t know what to make of that. This just isn’t like you, wandering off on your own without a word. That’s what makes him anxious, because there’s nothing obviously wrong except you not being next to him. The kid whines from his cradle and that doesn’t help the unease. Din knows you’re fond of the kid, and he of you. It almost feels foolish to realize that Din isn’t the only one who worries for you, who misses you when you’re gone. Someone else who might be anxious over your sudden disappearance.
“Hey,” Din begins calmly, turning to kneel in front of the kid’s carrier. “It’s okay. She’s okay. We’ll find her.”
It will never cease to amaze Din how small the kid’s hands are compared to his own. Small, blunt talons curve around his thumb with the slightest of pressure. It’s not clear who is comforting who at this point, maybe the way he rubs his thumb along one of the green fingers is helpful to them both.
Din doesn’t let go until those claws ease up.
~
Some time before, in the timeless expanse of hyperspace
He didn’t expect to find you again.
Ever.
So many strangers that become distant memories. A few have stuck around, but the galaxy is unbelievable in its scope. People come and go, often never to reappear.
But you did.
Again, and again. It wasn’t supposed to feel warm, seeing you. But as soon as Mando found you, or heard your voice, a strange warmth came to him. Which doesn’t make sense since you told him once that you’re both cold. It didn’t make sense then and it still doesn’t.
There’s nothing cold about your smile, or the breathless way you say his name. Not even in your anger, just bursts of flame and fury, a molten rage that seizes your focus until you’re you again. He’d seen it when you leaped from the cave mouth, throwing yourself after the shipping crate. Had seen the determination on your face, the unflappable assurance as you concentrated on the impossible.
Even when you stood in a ring of fallen Stormtroopers, a pole in hand and a blank stare, it still wasn’t cold.
This recurring warmth you bring him has thrown Din askew. Even as he sits in the pilot’s seat, going through his routine of checking navigation, the various systems, then navigation again, he feels restless. Down in the hull, Din can hear you playing with the child. The other being he didn’t expect to see again. Another source of warmth. The child gurgles loudly and that’s when he hears it. Hears you talking, just chatting away with the kid. Din can’t say why it makes his chest ache.
The navigation and systems don’t need his attention right now, they’ll hold up for a while. And it’s easy being quiet, especially in the Crest. And you both are too distracted to notice the Mandalorian anyway.
“Look here,” you say with all the authority you can muster. The child is nestled among your crossed legs and is trying to reach for the drill bits that you’re showing him. “This is a step bit, see. It sort of looks like it’s got steps to it, hence the name. See how it’s completely different to the rivet bit? You can use both on metal, but they do different things so keep that in mind. Now this one sort of looks like the rivet, but this is the one you’d use on glass. It cuts nicer and it’s pretty good in high heat.”
The kid gurgles with a tilt of his head, trying and failing to get a hold on the pieces you show him. You tuck your chin to your chest to cast a warm smile down at the kid, before he looks back up at you with a smile of his own.
“Pretty cool, huh? Can’t wait till you can help me out on wires.”
The kid’s smile drops with an uneasy whine.
“What, you don’t like wires?”
For the next hour or so, you got through every piece in your mismatched toolkit. Din hadn’t noticed it the first few times you’d found him again, it wasn’t until he’d had you on his ship, all your few possessions stuffed in a corner, that he saw it. It wasn’t anything impressive, just a small leather roll that remain tucked along your belt.
Some pieces come with stories of how you came to acquire them. Others you don’t remember but you spend a bit more time talking about what they do and why you keep it. The few other pieces come with memories of people. A group as eclectic as your kit, and some of them don’t even sound real. One of the stories earns a mumble of ‘too-lucky-for-your-own-damn-good’, that he isn’t sure if you’re pleased or pissed about. It’s only now that Din realizes how far you’ve travelled, how much distance across the galaxy you can claim to have been. How many people who found you at some point in your life, only to be kept as an anecdote.
It’s only now that Din realizes just how unlikely, in the unending expanse of the universe, you two should have found each other. Of all the places, of all the people, of all the time and space, somehow, you’re here. In his ship. With his foundling. With him.
Din doesn’t know who or what to thank for this. Doesn’t really know how. So, he leaves you there. You stay with your ‘little green bean’, and all the material evidence of your travels. He goes back to checking the comms, the navigation, the rest of the systems. Anything to ignore the warm ache in his chest.
~
Din hears them long before he rounds the corner. It’s not your voice, he’s certain of that. There’s something to it that is deeply unsettling, a sort of gravitas to the tone that reminds him too much of an old enemy. Anger bubbles up faster than it should. It becomes almost suffocating when he rounds the corner.
Because there you are, facing off against a squadron of Stormtroopers. And a woman wearing an old Imperial uniform, with a Lieutenant insignia.
Every. Single. Instinct. is screaming at him to run. To drag you behind him and start picking the troopers off one by one. You had been completely rattled last time; it took you days to even look at Din again. But this time… The scowl on your face is unmistakable, teeth bared and head shaking slightly. You’re disagreeing with each word the Imp says. Every time the Imp mouths off, you snap some scathing remark back. He can see from here the irritation on her face. The surge of pride that fills his chest is as surprising as it is warm.
Now isn’t the time. But it isn’t like Din can help it. In almost all that you do, there’s a warmth that contradicts what you’d said to him months ago. He doesn’t feel cold, not even the fury and anxiety in him at this; you against over a dozen armed foes. It’s just warmth and you and these fools trying your patience.
~
One night among many
He finds you in his bed. This sight sets a different kind of warmth in him, one that spreads further than just his chest. Din likes having you here, curled up in his blankets, resting on his pillow. In…in his...
“That’s my shirt,” he says without meaning to. Your eyes shift from the datapad in your hands to him slow enough to make him think he’s annoyed you. But then there’s that mischievous grin on your face that makes his heart stop.
“It is.”
Din stops to look at you a little longer. It takes him a moment to realize. “You like wearing my shirt.”
You nod with your grin pulling wider. “Mhm. Do you like me wearing your shirt, Din?”
He copies your nod and Din feels like he’s overheating.
“Do you like having me in your bed?”
It’s like you can read his mind. Or maybe you’re just able to feel the direction his thoughts are going. Din takes a step closer, till he’s at the very end of the bed, and your foot reaches out to nudge at the top of his thigh. He can’t help but reach down to hold your ankle. A gloved thumb begins brushing back and forth as he watches you looking at him. The pleased hum that escapes you elicits a staccato in Din’s chest. Such a warm sound.
“…my girl.”
There’s no thought, really. Just a desire, an overwhelming need. The squeal you let out doesn’t deter Din for a second. When he yanks you closer to him, it’s with an unbridled strength that is usually reserved for hauling in bounties. Your hands are restless while his hold is steady against your thighs. It is there, with your legs draped across his shoulders and his goal so teasingly close, that a thought comes.
“Will you do something for me?”
Din gets a needy “yes. Anything!” It sends his mind spiralling as he orders you to close your eyes. Between the uneven breaths and shifting fabric, Din doesn’t even register the pneumatic release as the helmet comes off.
What if you just opened your eyes, right now? Just look up to see him flushed and feverish above you? Would you kiss him? Or would he become another character from your past? But then your thighs are tightening around his hips and doubt loses its hold. There’s no sign of panic when he slides the helmet on your head. Your body is calm as you begin to breathe with it.
“Fuck… is this thing even on? How can you see anything in this?”
A warm chuckle, then, “it’s a setting. For planets close to their star.”
“Ah. Good. Makes sense.
Din slides a hand along your side, an attempt at soothing. “You good?”
“Y-yeah… do I look good?”
Yes. As plain and honest as possible, yes. With his helmet on, despite his just shirt draped over your bare body, you look like a Mandalorian. Like his Mandalorian. Part of his creed. His clan. Thoughts begin to spiral as he wonders if you’d say the words. If you’d repeat a promise in a foreign language just for him. If it would mean you’d stay.
“Din?”
Oh, right. He hasn’t answered you. And he doesn’t, not with words. Din leans down to suck a bright mark onto your neck. The keening, the writhing underneath his bigger body, it’s both a confirmation and a question. A ‘Yes, and?’. Fingers curl into his hair and Din knows that you know. Uneven breaths turn frantic the lower her gets, skimming and teasing at the taught skin of your stomach, and your muscles clench as you wait.
He’s torn. All the needy little whimpers make him eager to please, but there’s something so gratifying in prolonging this. Din could play this out, keep you on edge for hours. He’s got the patience. But the kid could wake up, or something could break within the ship, or fucking hijackers could come out of nowhere. You might be able to hold off and ignore this heat, but Din can’t. Not now.
There will never come a day where Din’s chest won’t feel buoyant over the sound of you calling his name. Not when it starts as a shriek and dissolves into needy keen. He goes down on you until your fingers ache from the hold of his hair, forgetting about the time constraints completely. But time seems to lose meaning when your thighs are wrapped either side of his head. It’s just not enough. Two shuddering orgasms on his tongue will never be enough for Din, even if you beg otherwise. But then-
“Din, please! Put it in already!”
And how could he argue with that?
He has you on your stomach, lean hips pushing against the swell of your ass as he slides inside you. He can feel your muscles spasming, trying to accommodate him, keep his length all the way inside you. It takes Din a second to realize that you’re talking.
“…please! Let me t-take it off, I won’t look. I won’t. Please-”.
All he grants you is a hum in response, but it’s enough to have you moving. The helmet comes off and Din reaches to move it out of the way.
There will come a day that you don’t surprise him. It’s just not today.
The helmet stays between your hands, your fingers sliding and readjusting against the metal as Din continues to grind against you. You keep the helmet in front of your face, staring at it as breathy moans tumble from your mouth. Din doesn’t get in until you’re gasping his name and pressing open-mouth kisses where his mouth would be. It’s him. You’re looking at him while he fucks you from behind. Your Mandalorian.
“Fucking… you can’t-”
You can’t keep doing this to him, his heart really can’t take much more of it. But you do, and you don’t even realize.
His thrusts get more frantic. Short, sharp bursts that smack deliriously against your skin. It has you shaking and begging for it. Nothing direct, just ‘please’ and ‘more’. Then it’s just a repetition of his name and he knows this won’t last much longer.
“Sweet thing,” he groans, one hand snaking up your spine to press down on the back of your neck. “K-keep your eyes on me. Want you to look at me when you come.”
“Dinnnnn…” You keen, unashamedly, and press your forehead to his. That’s what does Din in. He knows it’s coming, and he barely manages so shove his hands beneath your hips before he comes. Rough fingers rub frantically at your clit as Din shoves himself into you and has you squeezing his cock like a spasming vice.
Both of you stay pressed against each other, too spent to move and too needy to separate. But it’s fine. Din gets to feel your heartbeat ease with his while your skin cools against him. He gets to feel your fingers scratch along his scalp as you keep his cheek pressed to your own. He gets to feel you clench around his cock until it twitches in interest.
“You want more?” He asks. You’re already nodding and rubbing your ass against his hips, causing Din to chuckle. It’s endearing how much you want him. How much you’re his. His girl, in his bed, wearing his shirt, all needy for him. And as much as Din realizes that you’re his, he realizes something more.
He’s yours. Utterly and irreversibly yours.
The word doesn’t come to him, it’s not something he was taught. But the feeling is certainly unmistakable, if the folks in far flung taverns who told sob stories about it are to be believed. Maybe one day he’ll learn the word, for you. Maybe one day he’ll say it just so you know, not that you have to say it back. But he hopes you do, deep down in that selfish little corner of his heart, he hopes.
And maybe he kisses you a little gentler this time round, and his hands might cling a little tighter when you entwine yours with his. It’s not the word, but it’s close; closer than he’s ever been to it.
~
This distance eats at him. Every nerve is begging to close it, to be at your side, or even in front. But surprise is a better weapon than brute force. They’ve not spotted him yet, commanded to look only at you and the way you stand with feet shoulder-width apart. There is a fight in you that Din hasn’t seen in real time, only the aftermath. It’s discomforting, and equal parts thrilling. He wants, all at once, to make it stop and let it play out.
But more than that, he wants you back at his side.
He wants this distance gone.