din djarin x reader imagines

a partnership, of sorts

He stood quickly, and your hand felt cold again.

"I should let you rest."

He was gone before you could get another word out.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was only a day later when you found yourself able to walk again, albeit slowly, carefully, and very painfully. The wounded flesh of your stomach strained with every movement, and tempted you to sleep longer simply to forget about the pain. But you needed water, and Mando – or Din, you corrected yourself with a small smile – hadn't come in to see you since leaving food for you that morning as you slept.

Tossing the sheets from your body, you shuddered slightly. You felt heavy and immobile, numb in protest but moveable all the same. Clad only in an old long sleeve shirt that was clearly fitted to Din and not to you, you felt exposed and cold, your skin prickling with sensitivity that was visible through your top. You noted absently that you were wearing your own underwear, but not the same kind on the night of the accident, and chuckled wondering what Din must have looked like rooting through your belongings in the search for undergarments.

Your reflection in a mirror-like panel on the wall confirmed that while you felt rather horrible, you were healing quite nicely. The scars across your torso were dark and obvious, but clean and improving quickly, likely to leave a lasting mark, but already ignorable from underneath a shirt. Bruises littered your legs and arms, cuts of different lengths cleaned and bandaged up by someone who clearly had experience doing such things. Your face was left with a shallow scrape up your cheek and a bruised lip, something that would likely be nothing but a memory within the month.

"You look good."

Any other voice would have had your reaching for your blaster. But you knew his now, and it registered faster than what you would like to admit. You didn't turn to face him when you responded.

"Oh, this old thing?" You asked, coyly.

He snickered softly, but failed to hide the hint of sheepishness that seeped into his wandering stare and twitching fingertips.

"Your wounds. They are healing well, I mean."

You laughed without contempt. "Don't you know how to make a girl feel special."

There was silence, but it was comfortable.

"We've landed. Food and better lodging for the night. Maybe a medic, if you want."

"The first two, yes." You answered, turning towards him. "I think you'll do just fine for the third." You felt self-conscious as his stare locked onto you, helmet clearly tilting up and down just enough for you to gauge that his eyes were raking over you. You crossed your arms over your chest, which was likely a leading cause for his stare with the coldness of the room.

"Can you walk?"

You nodded.

Approaching him, you braced your arm on the wall for support.

"Where are my things? As much as I appreciate the clothing, I might want to be more sufficiently covered if we are entering a city."

He cleared his throat. "Right."

Leaving the room for only a moment, he came back with a leather bag that held everything you owned. The latch was undone, and it was clear he'd gone through it, just as you'd thought. Your stare did not go unnoticed.

"I had to find some... things for you. I did not take anything."

"I believe you." You smirked. You wondered if he was the type to blush. Waiting a moment, you looked over him from the corner of your eye as you grabbed a pair of trousers and an undershirt from your bag, soaking in the seemingly rare yet currently repetitive shy and almost clumsy behavior the Mandalorian was exhibiting.