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My first emotion is shock, he removed his gloves. Why would he take off his gloves?

My eyes drift down to his hands but then consider that it might be against part of the Mandalorian creed for me to see his hands so I quickly look up again, my eyes snapping up to his helmet.

Although I only saw his hands for a second  I can still picture them in my head, his skin is a tan golden brown which surprises me a little given the fact that he wears gloves constantly. Even though I've seen his hands with the gloves on, the size of them surprises me, his hands are big with long, thin fingers that softly move every so often. His large, nimble-fingered hands fidgeted at the side of his body. He has beautiful hands.

I shake myself away from this distraction, but then I realise that because he's tending my wound that he's going to touch me. The thought of his long, thin fingers gently cleaning and wrapping my wound, the thought of his bare fingertips gently brushing against my own skin causes a strange rumble of nerves in the pit of my stomach.

The Mandalorian starts to walk back over to the place beside me that he was previously sitting in. I keep my eyes trained at his helmet to avoid the possibility of looking at his hands again. As the Mandalorian gets to the foot of the bed I realise something, maybe this is allowed.

I clear my throat softly and ask the question that is bouncing around my head "Is that... is this allowed?"

The tall, armoured Mandalorian doesn't say anything for a second and he crouches down in his previous spot. I only look at his helmet and the wall. My eyes flick between the two, I must look crazy. As he settles into his squatting position he finally answers.

"I'm not allowed to remove my helmet in front of anyone and my gloves are not my helmet. So yes, I'm allowed to do this"
His voice is deep and gravelly as he speaks.

For the one hundredth time today, I'm shocked, I'm shocked at the length and detail of his answer. Normally if I ask him anything at all the most I'll get is a nod or shake of the head or if I'm lucky, a one-word answer.

The Mandalorian speaks again interrupting my thoughts "I need to clean your wound and I thought my gloves would be dirty" I nod slowly in response, I take his answers as an okay to look at his hands. My eyes slowly shift down to his strong, tan hands rummaging through the basic black first aid box.

Anticipation starts to build up inside me as I watch him grab bacta-patches, creams and bandages out of the black rusted box and arrange them neatly on the grey blanket to the side of me. My nerves are racing and I try to take deep breaths to calm them down, it doesn't work.

As I'm counting my breathing in my head I see the Mandalorians hands slowly hover over the bandages that cover some of my pale torso. My rib cage gently moves up and down with my breathing, moving my torso with it slightly, which results in his bare hands getting closer to my skin each time I breathe. I notice his hesitation, not that it was hard to notice. I understand that he must be feeling awkward right now so I try to reassure him.

"It's okay, I've said it's okay" my voice is quieter then I expected but it's still firm enough to be understood. The Mandalorian nods stiffly and then closed the gap between my torso and his fingertips.

He gently eases off the beige bandages from the wound just above my right hip, even though he's extremely gentle, the feeling of the fabric peeling away from the deep gash in my skin sends sharp waves of pain up through my skin. I clench my teeth together to stop the audible exclamation of pain from filling the room, I try my best to stay still and silent but as the Mandalorian gives one less gentle pull on the bandages I can't stop the wince that escapes me. His helmet whips up slightly, looking into my face "Sorry" he says quietly.

Uncontrolled Love  {Din Djarin x female OC}Where stories live. Discover now