#this is weirdly kind of from din’s pov bc i’ve missed being in his head

[yoditorian]

the real question is does din consult rebel or does he buy it without their knowledge and return home like a man truly too deep into a midlife crisis knowing they can’t do anything about it and he’ll just have to bear the consequences

he’d never admit it but din djarin is a man in his 40s and this starfighter is his ferrari

about this post i made about the book of boba fett

hello this is months old and i’m only just posting it leave me alone

lacuna’s masterlist for context

“What the fuck is that?”

“Hi.” He’s still got the helmet on, the shutters to the workshop are still flung wide open to welcome the last of the afternoon sun, but he knows the set of his shoulders gives him away.

Din Djarin is nervous.

He watches carefully as you narrow your eyes at the starfighter on the landing pad behind him, scanning the smooth edges of the ship for - well, he’s not sure what. But you’re obviously looking for something.

“Where did you find a piece of shit like this?” Your eyes are wide, clouded with disbelief. It’s clear this can only go one way or another.

He considers his answer carefully, folding his hands in front of him and stepping aside as you wipe the grease from your own on the rag hanging from your pocket. You move slowly, purposefully, and maybe it’s not a great time to admire the way you poke at the mechanics behind panels like they’re speaking to you. But hey, he married you. He’s allowed to fawn a little.

Your gaze pierces his visor over the open canopy, eyebrows raised as you wait for his answer.

“Tatooine.”

And there’s the eye roll, he knew it was coming.

“You’re joking.”

“Peli found it for me.”

“Fucking Peli,” you run a hand over your face in exasperation, “How much did she take you for?”

Okay, that’s something Din really doesn’t want to tell you. He knows he gave her more credits than this bucket of bolts is worth, not even counting the sweat he put into getting it together - and he doesn’t even want to think the amount of maintenance it’s going to take to keep the thing running. Maintenance that’ll land on you, because if you can’t go with him you’ll insist on at least making sure the thing won’t blow up mid flight.

His silence is enough of an answer for you to aim a halfhearted kick at the nose in frustration, at least none of the panels fall off with the jolt. It’s not like you’ve never flown on fumes and prayers alone, though Din knows you’d call desperate times and pull the rebellion card on that one. He can practically hear your defence already, how you’re a responsible adult with their own workshop now. You don’t have to snatch up the first thing that looks like it has half a chance to get you almost wherever you’re going, you have options. And so does he, though he’s always hard pressed to admit it. You’re convinced it’s a Mandalorian thing.

“What about your bounties?” You grunt as you pry off a panel over the left thruster, “Unless you’re planning on strapping them to the roof.”

“Fett has a job for me. Wanted to visit you and the kid before I head back there in a couple of days.”

You raise your eyes from the open panel, nimble hands paused in their delicate work.

“How is he?”

Din tilts his head in confusion.

“Fett?”

“You got a brain in there, oh great Mand’alor?”

He huffs a laugh, you have to make light of the situation. Neither of you can handle the sinking feeling in your stomachs at the sight of the empty chair at the dinner table alone. So he spares you the pain of knowing the truth, spares himself the guilt of being so close only to turn away.

“Terrorising every frog he can find, but he’s doing well. I think he misses you, the masters say he won’t leave his room in the mornings until someone’s tied that shawl around his waist.”

“That ratty thing, I can’t believe you let him take it back with him.”

“He loves it because you made it, cyar’ika.”

“Hardly,” You snort, “But until I find someone who can teach me to sew, that’s all I’ve got.”

Din rounds the pointed nose of the ship to hover over your shoulder. You’re focused on the wires, checking connections and tugging on joints to make sure the thing won’t fall apart in the sky. And he knows it isn’t because you don’t trust his work, he knows it isn't because you think it was actually a bad decision. It's about the number of pilots you've watched come crashing down to earth, its about the second empty chair that now sits at the table. So he lets you tinker.

Your shoulders deflate with a heavy sigh as you turn to him, tapping on his k’arta beskar with a pilex driver.

“Take the yellow dish in the fridge over to the farm, and I’ll start pulling this apart. I want to get a good look at it.”

“What?”

“You heard me." You step away to lever another access panel from the ship.

“I flew it here, it’s fine.”

“Get gone, Djarin.”

He moves to crouch over where you’re hunched in the dust, pulling at the hyperdrive motivator release, and lifts his helmet just enough to press a kiss against your sweaty temple.

“I love you.” Din’s words are a whisper by your ear, but never less sincere than the first time you heard them.

You turn your face up and away from the engine, just quick enough to catch his lips before they disappear back under the lowering helmet.

“I love you. Come back so I can tell you again.”

#this is weirdly kind of from din’s pov bc i’ve missed being in his head #i’m not saying peli n rebel have a history of daylight robbery n spare parts but #also i accidentally made it a little bit sad i’m sorry in advance #lacuna #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #liz does words #ellie tag💛