#devin writes

Din had landed the aircraft in a secluded meadow on a small, backwater, Maker-knows-where planet a few days ago in pursuit of his latest bounty. You’d absently kissed the side of his helmet before he left, assuring him that you would be more than able to keep yourself occupied while he was gone. There was a small river nearby for you to do the laundry that had been accumulating while the two of you had been in hyperspace, and the climate was conducive to line-drying everything once you were done. Not to mention the mending you knew was piling up (Din was notorious for ripping the arms of his flight suits, much to your dismay), plus you needed to replenish the first aid supplies, and buy food, and…

Even through the impenetrable beskar, you could feel Din’s eyes glazing over as you rattled off your prospective to-do list, and you smirked up at his visor.

“Go on then, I’ll be fine.”

“Be careful while I’m gone.”

“That should be my line.” You glanced over your shoulder and narrowed your eyes at the growing pile of clothing that threatened to spill out of your broom closet bedroom and onto the main deck of the ship. “At least I know that your dirty socks probably won’t kill me in the meantime.”

“Hmph.” The modulator made it hard to tell sometimes, but you thought you could hear the faintest smile in Din’s voice. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I know.” A beat passed.

“Close your eyes.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, scrunching your eyebrows as you did. A faint hiss let you know that Din had removed his helmet with one hand, and you felt him gently tilting your chin up with the other. Soft lips pressed tenderly against the crease in your forehead, and your heart clenched in your chest at the sweetness of this gesture –the sweetness of this man – you couldn’t see. You tilted your chin up instinctively in an attempt to catch his mouth with yours. Din snorted, and a warm puff of air landed across your nose, causing you to adjust course in your path upward; you sighed into his mouth when you reached it, and your arms snaked up past Din’s scruffy jaw and twined through his soft curls. The two of you stayed like that for a long minute before Din, finally, broke away. You sighed at the absence of his touch, but patiently kept your eyes closed until you heard the hiss of Din’s helmet repressurizing around him. You waited another beat before opening your eyes again, just in case.

“I’ll be back.”

—

Maker take your kriffing to-do list. You had known it would take a while to mend all the holes you'd noticed lately in Din's clothes (plus one you'd found in your favorite work shirt last week), but you had severely underestimated the amount of time it would take to wash all the dirty laundry you and Din had piled up over the last couple weeks. By the time you’d scrubbed and wrung out every article of clothing to within an inch of its life – and hung it out to dry on a makeshift line attached to the tie-down hook under the wing – the sun was only a handswidth above the treeline and you were never going to make it to the market today. The nearest village on this skughole planet only convened three days a week to sell and barter, and you’d just missed the second day; you hoped Din was safe, wherever he was… and that it would take him at least another day and a half to return, so you could (hopefully) replenish the pitiful store of first aid supplies, caf and food remaining on the ship. It didn’t help that the majority of the bounties whose pucks Din picked up all seemed to have the brilliant idea to hide out on the most miserable planets in the galaxy. Couldn’t one of those kriffing mudscuffers decide to camp out somewhere like Coruscant or Scarif? You supposed you should be thankful, at least, that Din had yet to pick up a puck on a bounty hiding on a planet like Hoth. But still. You were tired of trying to refill supplies on backwater planets that didn't have half the items you needed.

With that, you stomped up the ramp and onto the main deck, the clipped, metallic thunks matching your mood. Food – you needed to eat. You spun left and ducked into the galley – also a glorified broom closet – crouching down to peer into the tiny cabinet and see what options you had. Shit. You really had needed to make it to the market today, as your inspection revealed three ration packs that ranged from slightly to very out-of-date. You picked up the least-expired packet and eyed it suspiciously for a long moment, then shrugged. Beggars can’t be choosers. You dropped the packet into the nano-heater, flipped the switch, then stood up to pull a bowl and spoon down onto the tiny counter.

Once your food was ready, you climbed up into the cockpit — bowl held precariously in your dominant hand as you scaled the ladder — and ran a quick radar scan to make sure that your laundry would be safe outside overnight. You had made that mistake only once before, and the seething fury you felt re-scrubbing mildewy flight suits the next day was more than enough to teach you your lesson. Once you were reasonably assured that the weather would hold, you sat back in the pilot’s seat to consume your dinner and watched the sky fade from orange to crimson to indigo.

—

The next morning you woke up feeling miserable. You hunched over in your bunk, curling your spine to alleviate the pressure on your stomach, which felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out. The sudden movement made you clap a hand across your mouth, and you had a horrible moment where you considered whether you’d make it to the ‘fresher in time if you got up to make a run for it. You breathed shortly through your nose, willing the spell to pass. In-in-in, pause. Out-out-out, pause. After a long while, it did, leaving you to debate whether getting yourself some water was worth the struggle of sitting up and climbing off the cot. You stretched your legs out slightly and your stomach heaved a second time. Later, then. You retracted your knees to their original position and closed your eyes.

—

The next time you woke up feeling impossibly worse, with a headache now battling your stomach for your attention. Blergh. You heard footsteps and the distinct clanging of metal handcuffs against beskar get louder, then fade away. A muffled yell, a thump, a loud hissing noise – that would be the carbonite chamber; Din caught a live bounty, then – and silence. You heard Din call your name once, then twice; you groaned out a response that echoed around in your head far more harshly than you had sounded aloud. The footsteps grew louder, and your head throbbed. You heard the metallic slide of the door in its track as Din peered down at you lying in his bunk.

“Sweet girl, I– are you alright?”

“Hnnnnnngh,” you responded, eloquently.

“What’s the matter?”

“Stomach… hurts. Head hurts.” You winced at the sound of his footsteps as he stepped into the small space and knelt down, pulling one of his gloves off to check your temperature. He swiped a few sweaty hairs away from your temple, then gently laid the back of his hand across your forehead.

“You’re burning up. Hang on a second.” He stood up and backed out of the sleeping area.

“Wait,” you croaked, but you could already hear his boots thunking away toward the front of the ship. You laid your head back down.

A few minutes later, you felt rather than heard Din return. He cradled the back of your head up off the pillow slightly and whispered, “Drink.” You sipped hesitantly at the water he tilted for you; and when your stomach gave no signs of revolting, you gulped at it faster.

“Easy there. Don’t drink it too fast,” Din warned.

“Thanks,” you rasped. “Sorry.”

“Hey– it’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay. I got you.”

Once you had finished the cup of water, Din laid your head back down.

“Will you be alright on your own for a few minutes?”

“Yeah, ‘ll be fine,” you mumbled.

“You sure?” His helmet tilted slightly.

“Yeah… ‘m just gonna… close my eyes for a minute.”

“Ok then.” Din reached down to peel his glove off the ground, then stood up with the empty cup and padded away.

You lifted your head up just enough to watch him leave, and noticed that the Mandalorian was dressed in everything but his boots. So that’s how he came back so quietly. Your mouth quirked up at the sight of Din in full armor from his head to, well, slightly above his toes; but as your head dropped onto the bunk again, your heart lurched at the thought that he had taken off his boots just so he could walk a bit quieter. For you.

—

Outside, Din quickly pulled down the dried laundry waving along your makeshift clothesline. While the forecast yesterday had predicted clear skies overnight, he’d felt the air pressure lowering as he hauled his latest quarry back to the aircraft this morning. He’d been concerned when he saw your clothes still fluttering outside; the last time you’d left the laundry out and it had rained unexpectedly, everyone within a 5-meter radius of you had suffered the consequences for nearly a week. He knew there was no way you would have left anything outside in the increasingly overcast weather, and he had felt uneasy as he’d entered the ship earlier with the quarry in tow. It only grew worse when he’d called out your name and heard only a faint groan in reply; his heart had faltered under his breastplate, and he all but ran toward your voice. When you told him it was just a stomachache, he felt almost queasy with relief. You would be fine. He shook his head.

With a large pile of laundry now spilling up and over his pauldrons, Din stepped gingerly up the ramp and back into the ship. He dropped the clothes down onto a relatively clean crate, then took his boots off again to walk over to his bunk to check on you. You were dozing with your hands tucked around your head, curled in on yourself as if it would ease your discomfort. Under his helmet, Din frowned slightly; he felt as if he'd swallowed a heavy stone. Although perhaps his stomach only ached because he was hungry. After satisfying himself that you were truly asleep, he headed to the galley.

Maker help him. Beneath his helmet, Din scowled at the expiration dates on the two remaining ration packs. He’d told you not to worry about the credits when you’d gone out to buy food last time… was that three bounties ago, or four? Admittedly, he hadn’t been keeping as close an eye on these things since you’d begun handling them. He mostly ate when you were either sleeping or in the ‘fresher, which he only knew because you usually handed him the bowl wherever he was, announced where you were headed, and then left. He had always assumed you ate beforehand, but now he wasn’t so sure. He thought back to before he’d left the ship chasing this latest bounty. If he remembered correctly, the next market would be tomorrow morning. He could buy you proper food then. Din sighed, and turned toward the caf machine instead.

One depressingly watery cup of caf later, he stepped back into his –now your– sleeping area and gently set down some water next to the bunk. He paused for a moment, then spun on his heel to leave – and froze. Din tilted his head down to where your sleeping hand had reached out to grasp at the pant leg of his flight suit. “Stay,” you whispered. “Please.” His heart rate skyrocketed. It’s just the caf, Djarin; she must be dreaming. Calm down.

—

You’re fully awake approximately two nanoseconds after the words have left your mouth. Kriff. You’d been sure that you were dreaming, and dream you, apparently, had zero inhibitions about initiating the soft, fluffy, clingy things that awake you only fantasized about. The second your thumb and forefinger touched soft canvas, though, you realized your mistake. You always told yourself you had no ulterior expectations of your relationship with Din; you traveled with him, repaired his ship, mended his clothes, and so on, so that he could focus on hunting bounties. Sometimes he (and you, a voice chimed unhelpfully) needed physical release, and you helped with that too. Long days, weeks, months in hyperspace would do that to anyone, you told yourself. Don’t read into it.

Din still hadn't moved. Pleasepleaseplease don’t realize I’m awake; Maker, I will never let myself get carried away imagining us together during a really boring flight again, I swear— your internal plea to the universe cut off abruptly. He was moving… closer? You felt a gloved hand encompass yours, gently removing its grip from his pant leg and setting it down next to your pillow where the other one lay. No. You couldn’t take this. Kriffing Maker, just leave so I don’t have to keep pretending to sleep through this humiliation. You heard the soft swish of canvas again, felt the sudden, indistinct warmth of a large body hovering somewhere just above your head. You fought every instinct in your body to keep your breath light and even. If you weren’t so determined to keep up your pretense, you’re not sure whether you would be hyperventilating at the hot musk of Din flooding your senses right now, or completely frozen and not breathing at all. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. The warmth moved closer, past your shoulder, and solidified into a physical form easing into the bunk behind you. Din’s weight pushing into the fabric of the thin mattress caused you to slide backwards into his chest with a soft whumph, and this time you did freeze for a second. Exhale. Inhale. The two of you stayed like that for a long moment, your shallow breaths gradually slowing to match his until the two of you inhaled and exhaled in unison.

“Is this ok?” Din whispered.

You debated whether to answer him or not.

“If it’s not, I’ll leave. …I-I’ll sleep in the cockpit tonight.”

“No– yes, it’s okay– please don’t leave–” your words came out in a jumbled whisper.

“Sweet girl. I’ll stay.”

—

Din has a very long night.

Up until this point, everything the two of you had done had been purely physical. Certainly quite a bit of feeling in the moment, but no feelings, plural. At least at first. If Din was being honest with himself, he’d fallen for you a few weeks into your arrangement, and had been resolutely (and futilely) trying to avoid them ever since. But tonight… he knew he should’ve just left, since you’d probably been dreaming when you’d said the words. He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t leave, just as he couldn’t help the acrid pang of worry he’d felt when he’d returned to the ship. Just as he couldn’t help trying to ease your discomfort now.

Once he’d laid down, he could feel your heartbeat hammering away in your chest; you were awake, then. It had taken him a very long moment to work up the courage to ask you if this is what you had wanted. If he was what you wanted. When you hadn’t answered at first, his heart dropped. I knew it, I shouldn’t have hoped… He didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, though, and so he had spoken again. The speed of your response to his offer to leave was soothing, but. Don’t read into it, Djarin. It doesn’t mean anything. Just that she doesn’t want to be alone right now.

It doesn’t help him fall asleep any faster, though.

—

The next morning, you wake up to the faint clink of a cup being set down next to you.

“G'morning… what time is it?” You open your eyes blearily to see Din leaning over you, once again dressed in full armor (and boots, you notice).

“Nearly midday. Here, drink this. How do you feel?”

You nod to yourself and reach for the cup, then freeze. “Shit– the market–”

“Is almost over. Don’t worry– I got most of the stuff on your list.”

You blink at that. “You… what?”

The helmet tilts down at you. “They didn’t have the kind of caf you like, so I got something similar. I’m not sure what rootleaf is, either, and the locals didn’t seem to recognize it…”

“I… thank you.” You take a small sip of the golden drink in your hands. Whatever Din brought you is bright and pungent, but sweet; it burns slightly in the back of your throat. It’s good. You drain the cup. “What is this?”

“Uh… I’m not sure what it’s called. It’s made of a local root and some spices. I didn’t catch the names, but the woman who sold it said it was good for stomach ache.”

Your stomach flips at the thought of Din asking a vendor to make this for you. “Thank you, Din.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Better today. My back hurts, though. Not sure why.”

Din picks the now-empty cup out of your hands and sets it once more on the shelf beside the bunk. “Roll over.”

Doing as he says brings you face-to-face with the far wall of the small sleeping area. Din stands behind you, and you can hear the clinks and creaks of various pieces of metal and leather being unbuckled and set down. You hold your breath as you feel him ease himself down onto the bunk, and you exhale a little louder than you meant when you feel him place a hand on your shoulder. He slowly rubs up and down your spine, pushing at the tension in the long muscles of your back, and you practically melt into the mattress. When Din pushes at a particularly large knot below your shoulder, you emit a rather... forceful hnnnnnngh. To your embarrassment, you hear AND feel him chuff in amusement behind you.

“Does that feel good, sweet girl?”

“Shut– oooooooh. Shut up. Do that again.” Din’s hand doesn’t move. “Please.” The pressure instantly resumes, and you shudder an exhale.

“You know I’ll always make you feel good.”

That shuts you up for a second. You'll... always? No. Don’t read into it.

The two of you lie in silence, Din’s roving ministrations eventually slowing into long, featherlight strokes up and down your spine. Your breathing slows too, and you are just sinking into a hazy light-sleep when you imagine you hear Din whisper into the back of your head.

“I love you.”

I love you too, you think, dreamily.

“Say that again,” Din rumbles.

You freeze like you’ve just been doused in ice water. Fuck. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean- it just slipped o–”

“Say it again.”

“I… I said I love you.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

You’re glad you’re still facing the wall, because your jaw pops open into a comically round O. In shock, you dig your shoulder into the mattress and flip over so you’re now staring up into the impenetrable black T of Din’s visor. For the second time this morning, you’re at a loss for words.

“You… what?”