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themandhoelorian · 3 years

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Dincember - December 2: December (Ariana Grande version)

summary: Your plans for Life Day include getting dressed up, going to the cantina, and doing anything to stop thinking about the Mandalorian that’s been frequenting your repair shop. But when he shows up with a broken heater, your plans quickly go out the window as you work to keep him warm.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn! reader (but they have long hair)

warnings: *spicy* themes (reader throws that ass back ahaha, some shoulder touching, implied smut), mentions of drinking, a little bit of swearing, heels and a minidress probably deserve a warning considering the pain they’re caused me, a lot of Yearning (TM)

word count: 3.8k

a/n: I had never heard this song before writing this, and let me tell you, it was NOT AT ALL what I was expecting. I never thought a xmas song would inspire so many Thots in me, but here we are I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . Hope you enjoy!

***

Maker knows there’s no good reason for you to be wearing this dress.

You wanted to wear something at least a little bit festive to celebrate Life Day, but the shimmering silver frock you picked is admittedly a bit fancy for going to a party that’ll just be Nevarro’s shadiest figures getting plastered in the cantina.

You’ll probably freeze because of it too, the lacy edges of the skirt barely grazing your mid thighs and the thin straps doing nothing to protect your shoulders from the wind.

It’s so damn impractical, you’re not even sure there’s an event that this would be an appropriate outfit for, but you haven’t had a reason to get dressed up in so long that your wardrobe has dwindled to the few plain jumpsuits you work in.

And for some reason, this tiny piece of satin.

So without much hope of finding something better to wear in the small market, here you are, tugging down the edges of this too-short dress, trying to make yourself look a little more sensible before you head out the door.

It’s far from ideal, but you figure it’s worth it if it means you’ll finally be able to go out for the first time in Maker knows how long.

It has to have been at least a year, before things started picking up so much at the shop that you barely had time to sleep, never mind going out and doing anything for pleasure. You’d chosen to set up your repair shop on Nevarro knowing you’d have a steady stream of business from the bounty hunters returning with their always damaged quarries and usually damaged ships, and for the first few years, that’s exactly what you had. Enough work to keep yourself fed and the shop running, but not so much that you never stepped outside to see the light of day. It was the perfect work-life balance you’d heard so much about.

But then one day, a certain Mandalorian landed his cruddy ass, pre-Imperial, piece of crap ship on your dock, and you haven’t gone out since.

When he first started coming in, you thought you had lots of time to take on another client, but as you’d quickly come to realize, Mando is no ordinary customer.

For one thing, no one else returns to Nevarro nearly as often as him. Give your average Guild member half a dozen pucks, and he’ll be back for his payment in about three months.

Mando’s back in a matter of weeks.

Just the sheer frequency of his visits in addition to your original clientele is enough to keep your hands full, but on top of that, there’s his sad excuse for a ship, always seeming to be on the verge of falling apart, that you have to deal with.

You’re not sure if it’s because the Razor Crest is a prehistoric relic or if his quarries actively hack away at the frame while he drags them into the carbonite or if Mando is just totally incapable of maintaining even a base level of functionality on his ship, but every time he comes back with his half dozen frozen bodies, his ship has just as many repairs for you to complete.

Honestly, it’s a little ridiculous how often Mando is in your shop, how many times you’ve had to rewire the same parts, but you can’t say you’re ever upset when you see the sputtering thrusters of the Crest dropping onto your dock. He pays you well, always tipping more than you probably deserve, and he keeps you company if you’re still working when he returns from getting his next round of assignments.

At first, he would just watch silently as you showed him how to perform routine maintenance on the part you were fixing. You didn’t mind, it was nice to have someone there when you were alone in the shop most of the time, but once you’d explained every part twice over with no fewer damages to the Crest, you decided maybe it’d be better to talk about other things instead.

For a while, he kept up the steely mystique, only grunting out a few words if you asked him a question, and you thought he was getting irritated with how often you tried to coax him into conversation, wondering each time he flew off if that would be the last time you did business with him.

But he kept coming back, kept hanging around whenever you patched up his ship, and slowly, you got him to talk. He started with stories of his most recent hunts before working backwards through the memories of his distant past, showing you a dry wit and smoldering tenderness you found yourself growing fond of.

As more and more of his deep, filtered voice replaced the silence you’d come to expect from your job, you found yourself losing more and more of the free time you’d become used to as well, for reasons that had nothing to do with the fragile machinery of the Crest.

You started taking longer to complete even the simplest tasks when he was there, getting too caught up in thinking of a snappy response to his teasing comments to care about being efficient about snapping the ship’s broken parts back into place. And then, without fail, every time you thought you were finally done, several hours behind schedule, he’d suddenly remember that there was just one more thing he wanted you to look at, keeping you working for an extra hour or two as the sky turned dark outside.

If anyone else asked you to stay past your listed hours on such a regular basis, you would slam the door in their face without a second thought, but for Mando, you’re always a little too willing to do the work for him.

After all, if you turned him away, you’d just end up where you always do after a long day in the shop, curled up in bed, thinking of him even long after he’s gone as you work the tension from your body. You’d remember how he looked, what his voice sounded like that day, and inevitably your mind would drift to wondering what his broad chest would look like hovering over you as his gloved hands fist your sheets, what his voice would sound like growling that nickname you don’t understand into your neck.

You know it’s wrong, but what can you say? You need some kind of release from working so damn much and it’s his fault you don’t have time for a more wholesome form of self care. It’s only fair that he be the one to help you, even if it’s just in your head.

Not that you don’t wish he’d help you for real too.

Maker, you don’t know how this happened, but somehow, Mando’s managed to take over your entire life. When he’s here, you spend all day flirting with him while you fix his ship, when he’s not you spend all day wishing he was, and at night, well, you’re definitely still thinking about him then. You’re in desperate need of something to distract you from him, somewhere to go that isn’t this shop and someone to talk to that isn’t covered in beskar.

So when you ran into Karga on your last run to the market and he invited you to a party at the cantina for Life Day, you immediately accepted. You usually don’t like parties, much preferring to stay in for the holidays, but you figured going out for a big celebration was exactly the chaos you needed right now. Talking to strangers mindlessly all night to distract yourself from your thoughts and drinking enough to drown out the rest sounded like the perfect plan for Life Day.

Especially when the alternative is staying here alone, cold and miserable, as you imagine what it’d be like to spend the holiday with Mando.

So you closed the shop early today, giving you lots of time to dig through your closet for the most festive (and apparently shortest) piece of clothing you own and get ready for the party at a leisurely pace. You felt overindulgent spending so much time on your appearance, and you’re almost certain you’re going to show up severely overdressed, but hey. If it makes tonight feel as far from your everyday life as possible, you’re all for it.

You’re just about to head out, checking yourself once over in the mirror as you slip on a pair of strappy heels, when the comm in the control room starts beeping.

Kriff, you swear you had turned everything off when you locked the landing dock, but even if you hadn’t, you don’t know who the hell is trying to get their ship fixed on Life Day. For the few hours you had the shop open today, not one person showed up, and even yesterday, only one customer had dropped in for a quick oil change. Everything always seems to freeze around the holidays, the galaxy in silent agreement to leave business aside for a couple days, but apparently the dumbass waiting outside your shop didn’t get that memo.

You let the beeping run, figuring whoever’s trying to get through will eventually leave on their own, but it never stops, the blaring persisting as you struggle with the buckle of your heel until it’s just too much to ignore. You storm into the control room, the unsecured sole of your sandal slapping against your foot as you slam the speak button on the console.

“It’s Life Day. We’re closed,” you snap, returning to your heel before you can even check the source of the frequency. You finally fasten the strap and start to back out of the room, but then a smooth, modulated voice comes through the comm that makes you freeze.

“Even for me, mesh’la?”

Maker, of course it’s him. Of course he has to show up the one time you’re absolutely not supposed to be thinking about him.

“Especially for you, Mando. You’re already in my shop too much, you can’t be here on my one day off too.”

You try to sound irritated. You should be irritated, he’s actively messing up your plans right now, but you know you’re not fooling anyone when just the sound of his voice makes your heart flutter.

“It won’t take long, it’s just my heater this time,” he reasons. “Are you really gonna let me freeze, mesh’la?”

You think that maybe you should. Maybe if you left him in the cold he’d be so upset that he’d stop coming to you for repairs. Maybe then you could finally stop thinking about him.

But really, you know that would just make you more miserable.

“I showed you how to fix it last time, you can warm yourself up,” you challenge. “Or did you really forget already?”

“I remember. I just wanted you to do it for me.”

That makes you pause. Why would he come to you for something he already knows how to fix? Mando’s not exactly one to waste credits on things he doesn’t need, and he’s considerate enough that you wouldn’t expect him to bother you on Life Day with something he could take care of himself.

You’re about to point it out and turn him away, but then he sighs your name, warm and rich even through the comm, and you feel what little resolve you have left evaporate into the temperate air.

“Come on, I’m kriffing cold.”

“Fine,” you mumble as you punch a passcode into the console. The ceiling of the shop whirrs open, revealing the familiar sight of the Razor Crest descending onto your dock.

You have time, you decide. If it’s really just the heater, it should only take 15 minutes to finish, still leaving you lots of time to get to the party, and you figure it’d be a little cruel to let Mando to spend Life Day cold and alone on that sad hunk of metal, even if he can technically fix those problems by himself.

Besides, he’s already ruined your plans of not thinking about him today, you might as well let yourself see him too.

By the time you grab your tool kit from the closet and step out of the control room, heels clacking loudly against the worn duracrete, Mando’s halfway down the ramp. He’s about to greet you, but as you approach, his already rigid stature tenses, his visor trailing over the exposed skin of your chest and legs.

You can’t help but smirk, knowing he’s probably shocked at seeing you like this, in a dress with your hair draping over your shoulders, a drastic contrast to the way you usually only wear plain jumpsuits and keep your hair pulled back in a messy knot.

“I should make you pay extra for making me work when I look like this,” you joke.

You strut past him into the ship, heading straight for the heating system in the corner of the hull you’d come to know so well.

“Yeah,” he rasps out, following behind you. “Sorry, uh, were you about to go somewhere?”

“No, I just hang around the shop like this when you’re not here.”

He cocks his head to the side when you look back at him, like he’s rolling his eyes at you under the helmet and waiting in annoyance for an actual answer. You give him a playful grin as you hand him the tool bag.

“I got invited to a Life Day party. Figured I should probably try to dress up a little bit.”

“Oh. It-- well, you look good.”

You scoff as you turn back to inspect the pipes, squatting with your knees pressed together, one hand holding the back of your dress down.

“I’d look good in anything compared to what you usually see me in.”

“No, mesh’la, you always look good. But this…”

You’re not sure if he stops mid sentence or if your brain just isn’t comprehending what he’s saying anymore because hold on-

Did Mando just say you always look good?

You turn back to him and raise your eyebrows, silently urging him to elaborate, but he just stares at you with that impossibly intense gaze, making your stomach flip and giving you absolutely no indication as to why he just said that.

Well if he’s gonna be like that, you guess you’ll just have to figure out what he meant for yourself.

You walk towards him until you’re mere inches from the tool bag he’s cradling against his chest, holding his gaze as you slowly pull a wrench from the assortment of tools. You linger there for a second, looking up at him through your lashes, before you make your way back to the heater.

But this time, instead of squatting tastefully to reach into the panel, you bend over, sticking your ass out towards Mando as the short skirt of your dress rides up your thighs.

Mando coughs behind you, so you look over your shoulder at him, arching your back more to maintain your position. His grip on the bag tightens while he growls out your name in a warning that goes straight to your core, and it takes all your willpower to keep your composure as you blink innocently at him.

“What’s wrong, Mando?” you mewl.

He actually grunts at that, shifting his weight from where he was leaning into one hip so he stands completely upright. He looks even broader like this, so strong and domineering that you know you should be intimidated, but you just feel incredibly hot watching him squirm.

“Just- stars, just fix the kriffing heater already.”

Your lips turn up into a wicked grin as you turn back to finish the repair.

“Okay, Mando. Whatever you say.”

As you make quick work of the damaged pieces, you can’t help but revel in the feeling of Mando’s gaze burning into the expanse of your thighs, relish in the knowledge that the ever stoic Mandalorian is flustered at just the sight of you.

You can’t lie, this feels good. Really kriffing good. After months of thinking about him every time you laid in bed and trying desperately to forget those sinful images every time he’s near you, to know you have that kind of effect on him too is sending warmth all over your body, along your chest and through your stomach.

With a final twist of the wrench, you flip the switch to turn the heater on, the old pipes creaking and small puffs of vapor shooting out of the system as it hums to life. You admit, it’s not your best work, but in your defense, you’re not usually trying to, well, present yourself to your customers while doing a repair.

And honestly, you couldn’t give a damn about how well the finicky heater’s working when Mando is right there, so clearly enticed by your show, and you’re as close as you’ve ever been to getting what you’ve been dreaming of.

You stand up, smoothing down the back of your dress as you turn back towards him. He hasn’t moved at all since you went back to work, still standing with his back perfectly straight and gripping your tool bag just as tightly as he was a few minutes ago.

“Well, that should do it,” you muse, looking into the steely visor. You’re expecting him to make a move, say something or step towards you or really just do anything, but he just nods, keeping the painstaking tension in the rest of his armored body.

For a while, neither of you move, frozen as you try to anticipate what the other is thinking. From what Mando has told you, you think this is what hyperspace must feel like, each moment seeming to stretch into infinity as the energy of a million stars spins around you. The two of you look at each other, unmoving for what feels like ages, willing the other to close the gap first and let the galaxy of suspense you’ve created collapse around you.

You wait and wait, but at some point you remember this is Mando you’re dealing with, the man so stubborn his head is literally made of beskar. Mando, the reason you’ve abandoned the Life Day plans you were determined to follow through on because he wouldn’t take no for an answer when you said you were closed.

Maybe it’s persistence or maybe he just knows that if he waits long enough, you’ll give him whatever he wants anyway, but regardless, there’s no chance he’s going to be the first to give into this standoff, no matter how bad you both want it.

No, if you want this, you’re going to have to work for it.

But you’ve never minded having to do a little extra work for him.

You stride towards him, returning the wrench to the tool bag before taking it from his arms and placing it on a crate behind you.

“While you have me here,” you say, turning back to him with wide eyes. You take another step towards him, bringing yourself so close that you can hear the soft hitch of his breath come from his modulator.

“Is there anything else I can do to help you stay warm?”

He brings his hand up to brush your hair off your shoulder, exposing the thin strap of your dress. You shudder as the worn leather of his gloves barely glances across your skin, the small touch charged by the way he keeps the rest of his body so static.

“Yeah, mesh’la. There is.”

You gasp when he hooks a finger underneath the strap of your dress, his touch feather light as he traces a line from your collarbone to the top of your shoulder.

“Yeah?” you whisper. “Tell me, Mando. Whatever you want.”

“Don’t go to the party tonight,” he hums, his voice thick and dripping with desire, making heat pool in your stomach. He fixates on the strap, rubbing the satin between his index finger and thumb. “Stay here instead. Let me take this pretty thing off you. Show you just how grateful I am that you always keep me warm.”

“Okay,” you exhale a little too quickly, but he just keeps studying you, staying completely still besides the hand playing with your dress. You don’t know why he’s still holding back, not sure how much clearer you need to be for him to know you want this, but if he needs another reassurance, you’re more than willing to give it to him.

You’ll give him anything if it means he’ll finally touch you the way you both want.

You bring your hand up to cover his, stopping the rhythmic movement of his fingers as you guide his gloved fist down your arm. The strap of your dress slips off your shoulder, the neckline hanging dangerously low on your chest, and you lick your lips as you stare straight into his visor.

“I said whatever you want, didn’t I?”

And then finally, finally, he gives in, pushing you back against the wall and peeling the dress from your body. His hands run over every inch of you, his grip firm and electric on your skin, and he doesn’t stop until you’re crying his name as you come undone beneath him.

***

Hours later, you end up where you always do after a long day in the shop, curled up in bed, thinking of a certain Mandalorian.

But today wasn’t just another day in the shop. Today was Life Day.

Today was supposed to be different.

Maker, you can’t believe you let Mando ruin your Life Day plans, let him take over the one day that you were absolutely not supposed to think about him. You can’t help but feel a little pathetic thinking about how much of a grip he has on you, how you can’t manage to have a life outside of him for even one day. It’s driving you so crazy you think you won’t be able to sleep-

But then he shifts next to you, wraps an arm around your torso and pulls your back to his bare chest. He mumbles something in your ear that you don’t understand- cyar’ika, you think he says- his voice sounding so affectionate even though it’s thick with sleep.

Your heart swells as he holds you, the even breaths coming from the modulator easing the worries from your mind, and as you drift into the sweet lull of sleep, you think maybe it’s not so bad that you let Mando mess up your Life Day plans.

You’d let him mess up all your plans if it meant you could end every day like this.

#dincember #trying this again b/c it didn't show up in the tags the first time smh #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin #emi writes #if you need me i'll be in h*rny jail byE #also i didn't know tumblr tags post if you even like mention s*x and shit wtf #like this is nothing compared to some of the shit on this site lmao bye

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