Hard Edges || Mandalorian X Reader

|2| All Fun and Games

It's been 6 weeks since the dreaded shower incident and it's safe to say the embarrassment has faded. That's the greatest part of a shipmate who hardly talks, no one brings it up.

You have been able to get a few scraps of conversation out of him, which means you can answer a few of your questions. The kid is a foundling, so no green ears under the helmet. He apparently hasn't taken his helmet off in front of anyone since he was a kid. And the phrase "This is the way" is apparently a great way to avoid questions.

You've also discovered that he is very good at what he does. Six weeks and he's already collected half his bounties, frozen in blocks and hung like trophies in the corner of the cargo hold. The fear and defeat in their eyes as he silently walks them up the ramp only adds fuel to what you can only describe as a feral fascination at this point. You should probably see a therapist about it really, but instead you bite down on the back of your hand at night to hush your orgasm, imagining how you might weasel your way out of being turned in if you were a bounty.

Again, therapy.

At first you though you were a perfect little spy, like he had never noticed how you always seemed to be in the right place to see him perform some brute feat of strength, how you stared at his hands as he piloted the ship, or how you'd smile behind your hair as he reluctantly yet tenderly attended to the kid. Except things have started happening and you can't decide if it's real or if your mind is playing tricks on you. Surely a deadly serious mercenary wouldn't indulge in teasing you over a silly girl crush? Right?

The first time was three weeks ago now. You were working on the main power grid, it was a mess but you'd gotten most of the cable management sorted out. A serious underestimation of your upper body strength meant you were struggling rather embarrassingly to get the heavy panel back into place. Out of no where a large leather hand shoved the panel up into place with such little effort it was almost offensive. Mando had given you help with things like this before but this time he didn't immediately retreat. And for what seemed like an eternity he just stood there, arm reaching over your shoulder, hand on the panel, body trapping you between two walls of steel. His breath barely audible but steady and even through the modulator. You weren't sure which was more pathetic - the way your breathing suddenly was the exact opposite or the much too high pitch of your voice as you looked over your shoulder to give a quick "thank you" before you couldn't take the tension and scurried away.

You had just managed to spend the next week convincing yourself you had imagined it when it happened again. You were on your knees, upper body in the small crawl space trying to replace the converter wiring to stop a small power drain you'd noticed. You backed out of the small space to grab your hydrospanner only to see a pair of  familiar boots where your toolkit was sitting. You peered up at him and he, too slowly for Mando, lowered himself into a crouch and handed you your tool. He was close enough you could see your dazed reflection in his visor. Maker be damned if in that moment you didn't forget everything you'd ever learned about engineering.

Then, just as slowly, he raised himself back up helmet still trained on you - on your knees between him and a wall. You curse yourself as you gaze drops forward and you're left staring directly at his crotch. As if on cue, your tiny green helper smacks a wrench into your arm and snaps you out of your trance. You smile down at him, and when you look back up Mando is gone. It's not until later it dawns on you that he must have been watching you, on all fours, ass in the air.

That thought you take to the fresher that night.

Two more weeks pass of these same scenes. Honestly, you think maybe you should start taking cold showers because this ridiculousness you've concocted in your head is out of hand now. Get real. You weren't even sure if Mandalorians are allowed such encounters. Most religions you knew of involved celibacy, and those ones didn't involve having a helmet permanently attached to your head. You try to ground yourself in reality. I mean, it's a small ship right? Close quarters were to be expected right? Sure when he resupplied the ship there was still only one bar of soap in the fresher - but like, maybe it's hard to come by? Sometimes though, you'd swear that you would catch the visor lingering on you as well as you worked. Subtle shifts in your direction anytime you stretched your body out after being crammed into crawl spaces all way working.