Work Text:
It had been 10 standard months, 17 days, and 4 minutes since he had first met you. And only a few days short of that since you became his bounty hunting partner.
He wished he regretted agreeing to the partnership, but he didn't. Manda knows his life would be less complicated if he would have said no. But there was something about your eyes. They pulled him in. Drugged him. He wanted to jump into those beautiful depths and drown.
He needed to find the closest planet. Now. Before his thoughts became actions. Actions you obviously wanted no part of.
So he settled. Settled for pretending with someone else any time he couldn't keep his mind from wandering where it shouldn't.
The time between was becoming too short. To a point where he was stopping at least twice a week.
The next stop would make 3.
He was barely halfway through the week.
He used to be able to control himself better. He used to be fine with just a cold shower. His hand. Random strangers.
The strangers weren't doing it for him anymore.
Now he had to find the closest being that looked like you. Even if they were all wrong. Wrong hair. Wrong scent. Wrong voice. Wrong smile. Wrong wrong wrong.
Nothing worked anymore.
The parasitic guilt ate him up from the inside, out. You weren't his. But when he was with others…it felt as though he was betraying you.
But there was no way he was going to cross that line. He couldn't.
Could he?
A rustle had him whipping his head to the co-pilot's chair where you fell asleep, a quiet hum escaping as you settled, holobook you had been reading tilting precariously on your knee.
Din snatched it before it clattered to the unforgiving metal floor. Last time a book fell, he could swear you jumped 10 feet. Your scream still had his ears ringing from the memory. He thought you had been stabbed. On his ship. In the middle of space. Days into hyperdrive.
You were going to be the death of him.
He never understood why you wouldn't just go to bed when you got tired. His bed. He used the small cot down in the hull. Not that he minded as long as you were comfortable.
He should wake you. Should tell you to go to bed where you'll be comfortable so you won't wake up with another kink in your neck. Should stop staring at you like some creep. Still, he couldn't help but soak you in for as long as possible. Memorize every inch of you he could.
The worst part?
He hasn't told you who he really is. That he's considered a king. That he has a son. One he hadn't physically seen since he started this ridiculous mission.
There was no way you were the one feeding the Empire intel on where to find force sensitive children.
He groaned, resting his head in his hands. This mission was only supposed to last a month- tops. But he couldn't figure you out. You kept a respectful distance, didn't pry into his personal affairs, respected his Creed. What little he had left of it anyway.
Honestly, it had been a few years since he cared about keeping his face covered around strangers. Not that he would take his helmet off every chance he got. It was a part of him. His exoskeleton to protect his softer, not-so-beskar bones. He wasn't too proud to admit he enjoyed the intimidation factor his helmet gave him either.
Not that it seemed to affect you at all. From the moment he met you, you had never flinched away from him. Had always stood strong, facing him head on, always somehow made eye contact even though he knew you couldn't see through his visor. And you fought each difficult bounty together as if you had been partners for years instead of months.
At this point he thought it would be smarter to bring you to Mandalore and let Paz and Bo-Katan deal with you. At least then he'd get to see his son again.
But first, a pit stop.
The humid planet was rife with life. Trees, grass, water. The desert planets had nothing on this colorful place. The market was noisy busy, everyone shoulder to shoulder. One had to shove to get through the bodies. Which made it easier to slip away from you, knowing you'd be content for hours people watching and visiting stalls.