Welcome to Mandomera Week 2021! This is a community event dedicated the relationship between Din and Omera. It will run from March 8th - 14th. Mobile links: About | Prompts
Hello again everyone! We finally have our official prompt lists for Mandomera Week, which you can find here (mobile link). We also have a few other details to share:
The event will run from Monday, March 8th - Sunday, March 14th.
All fan content is welcome - art, fic, gifs, edits, playlists/remixes, etc. However, given the limited amount of screentime Omera and Din have together in the show, prompts are geared towards fic and art specifically. That said, you are more than welcome to make gifsets and edits for this event!
This event has two prompt lists - a gen list and a NSFW list. You are welcome to mix and match between the lists, but please indicate somewhere in your post if your content is NSFW so the mods can mark it as such.
Contribute to this event by posting your content on your own blog and tagging it with #MandomeraWeek2021 so that we can reblog it here! We also encourage people to @ this blog somewhere in your post, as tumblr’s tag function can be a bit finnicky.
You can look at our About Page (mobile link) if you have more questions, and you can also send us an ask!
Again, you can find the full Prompt List here (mobile link)
Thank you to everyone who has given us feedback and encouraged so far! We encourage people to reblog this post so we can spread the word. Please reach out to us if you have any questions or concerns!
Omera reaches up to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth in response.
But before he knows it, they are seeking each other out, his lips finding hers in desperation, her hands threading through the ends of his hair as she pulls him down to her. He moans into her kiss and wonders if it is always going to be like this between them. This spark. This fire.
Summary: Someone comes looking for Omera during a Sorgan Holiday but Din isn’t ready to share her attention yet. He pulls her into a shadowy tool shed and intent on making sure she throughly enjoys her evening of celebration if she can stay quiet… (oral sex - female receiving; semi-public sex; clothed sex)
for @mandomeraweek Day 6 - NSFW: Hush!
Savras Eve was the longest day of summer, a celebration day on Sorgan. In Omera and Winta’s village it was even more special. The weeks leading up had been a flurry of activity and endless work, preparing barrels, filtering spotchka, gathering and preparing the additives that were carefully measured and inspected by the eldest brewer in the village. It was the day they interred the newest barrels of spiced Spotch’koak and brought out those that had completed the five years of maturation. Most of it would be sold in the port town or to the surrounding villages but one cask was always opened on Savras Eve and shared by all the adults. Suffice to say that there were very few sober people in the village that night.
Din and Omera were not exempt. They were far from inebriated but the night was still young, only the brightest stars were out in the deepening twilight. Their sobriety was probably thanks to Din. He still wasn’t comfortable removing his helmet before anyone but Omera and her daughter, and Omera refused to drink without him. So they took their cups down to the edges of the krill ponds across town and sat in a stand of reeds watching the stars coming out and sipping the Spotch’koak mixed with the carbonated bitter water that Sorgans preferred.
“I admit,” Din said, inspecting his depleted cup, “this goes down… very easy.” Omera looked up at his beautifully flushed cheeks and smiled.
“Don’t drink it too fast,” she warned him, and drained the last of her own cup.
Hello everyone! Thank you so much to everyone who participated in this event, whether you made content for it or shared the content showcased on this blog. We didn’t expect such a large response and we’re so happy with how this event turned out!
This blog will remain up as an archive (and maybe we can do this again next year!) to catalogue everything people have made for it. A few notes:
If we haven’t reblogged your content here yet, please let us know and we’d be happy to do so!
If you’re posting a late entry, please @ mention this blog in your post somewhere so we can be notified and reblog it here.
If you’ve written anything for Mandomera Week, please make sure you add it to our AO3 Collections page (instructions on how to add a work to a collection can be found here).
If you have any questions, please send us an ask on this blog! Thank you again to everyone who participated in this event - perhaps we’ll see you around next year!
For Day 7 of @mandomeraweek. The prompt was “Bounties.”
Title: Nice Work If You Can Get It
Pairing/Characters: Din/Omera, Winta, Grogu
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 400
Content/warnings: no real warnings, just a little bit of lovey-dovey kissing and touching. Takes place post-Season 2 and imagines them in some not-so-distant future time as a nice little happy family. Extremely soft and sappy.
He’s collected hundreds of bounties over the years, and he’s seen it all by now. Some of them come in easy, some put up a fight, while others start to cry or try to bribe him to look the other way. He’s inured to it all, for the most part, keeping his eyes on the prize and on the code of his profession and bringing in each asset as efficiently as he can.
But he’s never encountered one quite this… giggly.
Rating: Teen (Implied/Referenced Violence Towards Children)
Pairing: Din x Omera
Summary: Hungry for revenge, Xi'an finds where the Mandalorian disappeared to, the lovely wife he settled with and his oh so innocent daughter. All that’s left is to wait for him to return, to take from him what he took from her: family. But Xi'an has made one serious miscalculation…
For @mandomeraweek Day 7
“Omera?” Din called, closing the door to the house behind him. The hallway was dim with the last glow of the sunset coming through the curtained windows. He leaned his rifle— a lower powered but serviceable replacement for the Amban Pulse Rifle he had lost— against the wall beside the coat rack. Then he released the seals and took off his helmet, setting it on the side table at the door just for that purpose. It was becoming easier and easier, feeling more and more natural every time he did it; return home, remove the helmet, kiss his wife, kiss his daughter. Less and less he felt the crawling feeling of shame when the cool air hit his skin. Less and less the breath would catch in his lungs with the ghosts of old fears he had left behind.
“Omera? Winta?” He called again, rubbing his hair to unstick it from his scalp. It was stiff with sweat after the long jet-pack flight from town. He was looking forward to a bath and a hot meal. Maybe Omera could even rub the tension of the journey out of his shoulders before they turned in for the night.
“In the kitchen,” Omera called to him softly from down the hall, something off about her voice. A faint light, probably just the coals of the cooking fire, showed under the curtain that covered that doorway. Strange for her to work in such poor light, Din thought, frowning, and followed the sound.
thank you @fanfoolishness for beta reading this ;_;
content: Din gives head for the first time
*
Omera’s smile is as gentle as always. “You don’t have to rush into it.”
“I’m not,” he says. “I want— I want it. But… some instructions may be needed.”
The way she tilts her head says more than anything else. “I don’t have a problem with speaking my mind, don’t worry.”
Din smiles at that and moves on the bed to settle between her legs.
Armed with a hazy memory of a holomovie he’s seen years ago and a few comments overshared by some of his fellow bounty hunters, he has a general idea of how eating someone out works.
“You have to tell me if I do something wrong,” Din says firmly.
Omera snorts, hand covering her face. Din almost falters, but then she sits up and presses a quick kiss to his lips. “I don’t think you can go very wrong here,” she says.
Her face is so close to his he can count every one of her long eyelashes. Din forgets what he wanted to say next.
“Well,” she continues, “don’t bite me down there. Other than that, just do what I tell you and it’ll be fine.”
Right, teeth. He didn’t even think of that.
She drops down on her back and licks her lips, waiting for him to make the first move.
Din is a practical man, so he tackles it like any other challenge.
Omera has explained that good loving takes time, that sex is something to to be learned, practiced; it’s a skill you need to hone. But he doesn’t just want to try something new today, doesn’t want her to amuse him with a lesson.
Din is practical and determined. Once he decides on something, it’s going to happen.
And he’s just decided that he’s going to make her lose it.
His hands settle on her kneecaps, spreading her legs apart. Omera watches him, no bashfulness in sight, just curiosity. One of her hands settles between her breasts, long fingers caressing the skin there.
The quick learner that he is, Din thinks back to what she was doing to him just an hour ago and why it made him forget how to speak Basic. She didn't go straight for the kill. Instead, her hands and lips teased a thousand pleas before he even got fully undressed.
So, he turns into a discoverer, touring her body with his mouth and hands.
First, he settles his palms on her knees, lets her think he’s going to bring them lower, before bending down and replacing one of them with his mouth. His lips slide over the smooth skin on the inside of her right thigh. His knuckles find bends on her kneecaps. Lips and nose get ticked by the rough hair on her calves, knowing the sensation is mirrored by his stubble on her skin. Her skin smells uniquely of her. He knows it all too well: the scent haunted him when he was staying at her barn that first time, chased after him in the form of a blue blanket she gifted him when they parted. To breathe it in now, to even be allowed it, makes his head spin.
Omera stirs, gasping when he returns his attention to her thighs. He takes pride in every breath that comes out quicker, more shallow, cut off. He lifts his head and Omera’s eyes meet his. He moans softly under the weight of the stare. Her long fingers run over her breasts now, pressing into the soft flesh, rubbing circles into her nipples. It gives him... ideas.
Din moves up her body until he reaches her lips. Her legs wrap around his waist without warning, making him gasp into her mouth and break away with a wet smack. He’s getting hard again, against all odds, and all it takes is being close to her.
Omera chases his lips with her own, but he knows he can’t afford the distraction. He parts from her, lips never fully leaving her skin as he moves over the edge of her jaw, to her neck, biting into the skin there, teeth grazing it until he sinks them in again.
Her mouth is so close to his ear, the soft moan she makes is as much a sound as it is a gust of hot air. It proves to him he’s on the right path. His right hand cups her breast, runs a finger over the nipple, in preparation. And when he puts his mouth on it, his first victory arrives.
Omera swears. Low, under her breath, but he knows he heard it. He smiles against her in satisfaction. His lips seal over the sensitive tissue, catching it between them, and he tugs, until it comes out of his mouth with a wet smack. That elicits a curse that’s way more audible.
One of Omera’s hands gets tangled in his hair, the other flies between their bodies, fingers burying themselves in the folds. Not wanting to stop what he’s doing, Din only registers what she’s doing in the corner of his eye, but it still makes his whole face feel hot.
His moves get more frantic, sucking at her breasts, biting the soft flesh of her stomach, licking over the smooth scar between her ribs. His hair is pulled, forcing him to lean up and look at her. His gaze is met with wide eyes, pupils blown.
“Lesson number one,” Omera says, her voice rough. “Eating someone out involves putting your mouth on their pussy.”
He determines instantly that he loves her like this. No longer the soft spoken mother she presents herself as to the village, but instead deprived, desperate, demanding. Still, no please has been in use, but he forgoes expecting it, deciding instead to just give her what she wants.
He moves back down her body, grabs the hand she’s been using by her wrist. Omera whines in frustration at the interruption, but it dies in her throat when he brings it to his mouth. Without thinking, Din sinks his mouth down her index finger. He moans around it, revering in getting the preliminary taste.
He wants more.
The start is messy, no technique, no plan. He just laps at her entrance, presses his face as deep as he can to fuck his tongue in and out, his patchy beard scratching the delicate skin. He hears Omera gasping, her hand returns to grip his hair and she’s saying something, he realizes over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. She guides him higher, here, more, harder, she tells him and he complies instantly.
Din pulls her folds back and seals his lips over her clit, sucking it in.
And he’s hard, a painful distraction he can’t allow. He can feel the precum leaking from his tip and fuck— if he just touches himself now, he’s going to come.
He breaks away only to nibble around the clit, slide his mouth down to her opening and back up again before he returns to enclose the bud. His tongue works it relentlessly, until Omera pants, until his jaw burns. He’d like to stop to give himself a moment to massage away the soreness, but he won’t allow that. Mandalorians don’t quit easily.
So he doesn’t.
When she comes, it’s with his name on her lips. The sound dissipates into a low groan that alone is enough to make his cock twitch. He wipes his face with his forearm and settles next to her; both panting and dazed.
When he sees her gaze focus, he catches his breath long enough to force out, “Room for improvement?”
Omera laughs, wrapping an arm around him and her answer gets lost in their kiss.
summary: after losing his ship and handing grogu over to the jedi, there is only one place din djarin wants to be. and maybe, once he can let himself feel safe, he can start to heal the hole in his heart.
rating: T (some kissing) [warnings: open discussion of grief and death, loss of a spouse, ANGST]
pairing: din djarin x omera
word count: ~3100
note: shout out to the love of my life @pedro-pastel for the beta! please forgive me for any formatting issues, i’m in a car and doing this on mobile and it’s the worst! but i’m too excited about this art/fic collab between me and @thepoisonofgod in celebration of mandomera week! and if you enjoy it, please please reblog because who knows if any of this will show up in the tags because, ya know, tumblr. and honestly, this is the first time i had to stop writing a piece and go cry about it. title comes from the beacon by a fine frenzy.
~~~
Mandalorian. Mando. Bounty hunter. Mand’alor.
Father.
Din Djarin had many titles. He didn’t want most of them, and didn’t know if he could really call himself a Mandalorian anymore. Not in the way he once had.
“You’re a Child of the Watch,” Bo-Katan had said when they’d met. He’d hated the pitying, pained expression on her face. He didn’t need anyone’s pity.
And he damn sure didn’t need to be the ruler of a planet he’s never stepped foot on.
The hurt, the grief, the turmoil inside of him proved hard to reckon with. And he was so angry with himself for feeling any of it--he’d known the mission from the beginning. Get the child back to his people; to the Jedi.
But he’d hoped, in the most far away recesses of his mind, that people could mean person. Could mean him. Somewhere along the journey, he had come to care more for Grogu than The Way.
Bo-Katan had pleaded with him. He was the Mand’alor now, didn’t he understand what that meant?
“You have to come back. We have to get our home back,” she’d told him.
“I don’t have to do anything. It’s not my home,” he’d spat, throwing the darksaber to the ground, ignoring her stricken face. “I don’t care what you do. Leave me out of it.”
“You don’t want to go to Mandalore, then?” Boba had asked him.
“Do you?” Din shot back.
“Maybe if they paid me,” he’d said. “Where do you want to go then? Or are you with us?”
No. There was only one place he’d wanted to go.
***
Omera felt the ship before she saw it when the earth shook under her feet. Grim fear gripped her heart as she stood up, balancing a basket of wheat against her hip. Ships rarely brought anything but chaos.
The last time a ship brought anything good was when the Mandalorian and his child had come to their village. Thanks to Mando, the village had defenses. All adults could adequately handle a blaster, and the watch was properly trained. It kept the peace, but was unlikely to hold against more than passing raiders.
Winta asked about the metal man and his green baby all the time, no matter how often Omera explained that they wouldn’t--couldn’t--see either of them again. She did not, of course, tell her daughter that the thought hurt her more than it should. After her husband’s death, she’d not let herself get close to many people. Especially men. The Mandalorian had been different, despite never learning his name or seeing his face.
Perhaps it was that gentle demeanor wrapped in a large, imposing package. Perhaps it was the way he’d asked her how to raise a child, as bluntly as asking for a recipe. Or perhaps it was the feel of his arms wrapped around her own, correcting her aim. She only knew that his mark on her heart was indelible.
The odd, oval ship took off a few minutes after it landed. Strange, she thought, but Omera relaxed again, and the children of the village cheered as the ship took off. She smiled at them, amused at their reaction, and went about her harvesting.
***
The sun was low in the sky when Din stumbled out of the darkening forest. He carried no possessions but a silver ball clutched in his fist. If he hoped to go by unnoticed, he’d failed. The children found him first, a cacophony of cheers went up, and dread flooded him. They’d ask about the baby; of course they would. He slipped the ball into his pocket.
But he saw her as she straightened up, her long, dark hair flowing down her back. For a moment, surprise registered on her face, followed by a broad smile; eyes searching, searching. The smile wavered when she didn't find what she was looking for. When she realized he was alone, Omera moved swiftly to him then, stepping in front of the children.
“Move along, go, let our guest be,” she said, kind but stern, shooing the rowdy group away. Complaints floated in their wake as they marched away. Only Winta stayed behind. Omera knelt down and whispered something in the girl’s ear, and Winta’s eyes grew wide. She reached out to Din with her little arms and wrapped them around his waist, then ran away before he could react.
Omera watched her run away as she stood in front of him and said nothing; only gave a soft, sad smile full of unspoken understanding.
“I was just about to start making dinner. Would you like to join me?” she asked.
“I would,” he said, thankful that the vocoder didn’t betray the cracks in his voice. It was the first time he’d felt safe in weeks.
***
Omera took his gloved hand and led him through the village, golden sunlight dancing in her chestnut hair. The villagers waved, but they, too, noticed the absence of the little green child. If they were curious, they did not let on. Everyone in this village had lost someone. They knew that often the kindest thing was to let it be.
Her hut was cozy, and the afternoon sunlight streamed in through the open windows. She wanted to ask him if he was okay, if he needed anything, how she could help; she also knew that wouldn’t get her anywhere. He had to open up to her. So she set about the business of making stew. Washing and cutting vegetables, heating up the water.
“May I help?” he asked. Warmth flooded her chest at his request. Normally, Omera wouldn’t hear of letting a guest help, but he needed a task.
“Sure. Can you chop this?” she asked.
“I think so,” he said, unsure, a little boy presented with a new and complicated chore. She showed him how, slicing the round, green vegetable in half and chopping it longways, then into smaller pieces. The end product wasn’t as refined as her technique, but he stood straight and proud when she praised his efforts.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she tried her best to ignore the heat of his large body next to hers.
“Can you hold the pot just there?” she asked, motioning to a spot in front of the chopped vegetables. He picked it up gingerly with both hands and watched her slide the ingredients into the liquid. He shook his head.
“What?” she asked.
“I’ve just never done anything like this before,” he explained. She imagined a life with no meals cooked next to a loved one, and a deep sadness cut through her chest.
“Should be about an hour now. Would you like to sit?” she asked, and he nodded. A warm, comfortable silence enveloped the room, and his shoulders relaxed as he sat down. She swore she heard a contented sigh from under the helmet.
For a moment they only looked at each other, and Omera absentmindedly braided a piece of her long hair.
“My name is Din,” he said to her.
***
He expected surprise, shock--something.
Instead, she said, “Nice to meet you, Din.”
His name on her lips was more beautiful than it had any right to be.
Omera put her chin on her palm and waited, and he found himself wanting to speak. Wanting to put this feeling that he’d had for weeks into words.
“I found his people—well, they found us,” he said.
“Is he okay?” she asked gently. Din didn’t think there was anyone else in the galaxy that could make him feel this safe.
He told her everything. He told her about Ahsoka, about the Seeing Stone, about Moff Gideon, about the Jedi who saved them all and took his son. About how his son chose to leave. He talked until his throat hurt.
“I know that was the best thing for him. I know that. He needs to train. I just…why wasn’t I good enough? It’s stupid because he’s not really mine—”
“That’s not true,” Omera interrupted. “He is yours. It doesn’t matter what he chose, he’s your son. I saw that when you were here with him. He loves you, and you love him. Even when you didn’t realize it. Our children leave us, that’s the way of it. We do our best by them until they do. You kept him alive and cared for him and were willing to die to get him back to the Jedi. If you’re not a father, I don’t know who is.”
Her fierce eyes and conviction calmed him. Was she right? Omera reached across the table and placed her hand on top of his fist.
“You did good, Man--Din. You did.”
“I took my helmet off in front of a room full of people,” he said. He’d avoided saying it outloud. Saying it outloud made it more real. Omera’s strong, beautiful features twisted with concern. He remembered the last time he was here when she’d gone to do that very thing. He always thought that if the child wasn’t in danger, if she’d asked him again--he might have done it. For her.
“Why?” she asked.
“I wanted him to know my face,” he said. She squeezed his hand, then threaded her fingers through his. He reveled in her touch.
“When Winta was born, I birthed for 30 hours. She was stubborn. Didn’t want to come out. I bled for half of that time and the midwives thought I would die. When she finally came out, and I held her in my arms, I realized I would have gladly given up my life for her. We do things for our children we never expect, even when it hurts us.”
Omera removed her hand and stood to check the pot. He missed her touch as soon as it was gone.
“Soup’s on,” she said. “I’ll go bring a bowl to Winta so you can—”
“You could— you could stay,” he said, voice thick with hope and fear. Omera cocked her head, expression unreadable. She filled a bowl, lost in thought.
“Let me get Winta settled with the neighbor, and I’ll be back,” she said, balancing the full bowl of soup in both hands, darting through the door.
Dusk had settled around the little hut. He stared out of the window. What would it be like to stay here? To give up bounty hunting? To disappear? He hunted because it was all he knew, and all he was good at, not because he had a particular taste for it. He didn’t even have a ship now.
So lost in his thoughts, Din didn’t notice when Omera strolled back in.
***
When Omera returned, the sun had sunk even deeper. For a moment, she admired the purple and pink hues reflected in Din's shining silver armor. Were she a younger woman with no responsibilities, she might wish that he’d sweep her off her feet and take her on adventures.
Not wanting to startle him, she cleared her throat. He turned to her, slow and dreamy. Omera stepped to the counter to pour two more bowls of stew, and set them on the wooden table with dull thuds.
“Do you want me to turn around?” she asked, uncertain as to how this would work.
“No. I broke my Creed, it doesn’t matter anymore. I just...I think I need your help.”
Omera’s stomach lurched at his pain, and a desperate curiosity filled her.
“Why me?” she asked.
“Because you know,” he said. Not even the vocoder could
hide the tremor in his voice.
Omera stood and closed the distance between them. The hulking warrior looked up at her, but he was so small all of a sudden. Fear radiated from his body, his hands shaking in his lap.
“Do you want to do it, or should I?” she asked.
“Can you?”
Of course she could.
He reached somewhere on the side, and a soft hiss signaled depressurization. Omera placed two shaking hands on the side of his helmet, recalling the last time she had done this. Her movements were slow to give him time to change his mind. She felt his hands curl around her wrists and for a moment she faltered, thinking he wanted to stop; instead, he pushed upward.
Up, up, up went the gleaming helmet until she could see soft brown curls, flattened by his helmet. Sharp, twin intakes of breath filled the air, and he looked up into her eyes. And how her heart ached.
Omera had no expectations for his face, but he was beautiful, beautiful. Bright, expressive brown eyes gazed back at her, apprehension etched on every inch of his handsome face. A sharp, strong jaw framed plump lips, and a prominent, curved nose sat in the center. Thick eyebrows and patchy facial hair adorned his golden skin.
She reached her hand to his face and ran a thumb over his cheekbone.
“Wow,” she mumbled.
***
Din didn’t know what “wow” meant, but she was touching him, so it must have been good. It amazed him to see her so close without the black and white static view of his visor. Words failed him as he looked at her, smelled her without the helmet’s filter. He let himself inhale her presence, and tears sprung to the corner of his eyes, overwhelmed by all the sensations of her.
Omera moved closer and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, then bent down to press her lips to the top of his head. A simple gesture, the sort that one family member might bestow to another, but the tenderness of it broke him. He leaned into her body, wrapped both arms around her waist, and let the grief, the anger, the confusion, the loneliness—everything he’d been holding onto for the last few weeks—wash over him in hot waves of tears. She put both arms around him and combed her fingers through his hair, kissing his head, whispering reassurances, staying there until the last sob faded into her tear-stained apron.
“I’m sorry,” he gasped, pulling away and looking up at her. Omera frowned and knelt down in front of him, cupping his face with both hands.
“Never apologize for your grief. Forgive yourself for having it. And forgive yourself for doing what you had to do,” she said firmly, placing her hand on the helmet. Her eyes were wet with tears, too. He set his hand over hers and just...gazed at her.
“You lost someone, too,” he said.
“My husband,” she nodded.
“How do you go on?” he muttered, afraid of the answer.
“You just do. You find things to live for. And it hurts so much at first. Days where I couldn’t move. Days where someone else had to care for Winta. But you cannot fight it. You must feel it. And you must let people help you.”
Insects sang in the night air and silence lingered between them for a long time. The food had grown cold long ago.
“Will you help me?,” he finally asked.
“If you’ll let me,” Omera said, and his heart leapt into his chest.
“I missed you,” he admitted.
“I missed you, too,” she said.
***
Omera’s heart hammered in her chest. Every touch was like fire on her skin. She had laid awake at night thinking of him for months, thinking of his touch, what he looked like, his warmth. He set her alight like no man had in years.
And now his brown eyes had settled on her lips and she knew--she knew what would happen next. Maybe she should have stopped, maybe she should have waited until the crack in his heart had started to heal; but she couldn’t. She couldn’t wait any longer— not after the dreams, not after the long nights she gazed out of her window willing him to return. He stood abruptly and reached a hand out to help her stand.
“Can I kiss you?” he whispered when she reached his level. She nodded because she was only human. He leaned forward and brought a hand to her jaw to tip her face to his. His lips were tentative, scared, clumsy— he hadn’t done this often and she understood that now. He was still salty with tears, and smelled like leather and oil and metal.
Stars swam behind her closed eyes and she tried to calm herself, tried to keep it chaste, but the more his lips pressed against hers, the more overwhelmed she became with him. A moan slipped out and he stiffened. Omera’s eyes flew open and she started to apologize, horrified that she’d moved too quickly, but Din only pulled her closer, one strong arm snaking around her waist and brought his other hand up to cup her head.
His tongue slipped out, begging entrance, and she obliged. She whimpered at his strength, at her bursting heart, at the little noises coming from the back of his throat. He only came up for air when she pulled the cowl around his neck, motioning to the bed.
He raised his eyebrows in alarm and gulped. She couldn’t help but smile at his expressiveness. The thought of a man who never learned to hide his emotions made her swoon. But she soothed him with a shake of her head.
“It’s getting late, why don’t you stay here tonight? We can talk some more. The bed’s more comfortable,” she said. He grinned, and she thought she might faint at the way his eyes crinkled into tiny slits.
“Can we do more of that?” he asked in a low, husky voice.
“Whatever you need, Din,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the bed. He set to taking off the rest of his armor, looking resolutely ahead as Omera changed into her night clothes.
“You can turn around,” she said, turning down the blanket and crawling into bed.
***
Din scrambled into bed. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. Kiss her? Hold her? Make love to her? He wanted to do all of those things, but most of all he wanted to talk to her. She sat up at the head of the bed and opened her arms, and he crawled into her embrace, head resting on her chest.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
“More than,” she said.
He picked up one of her hands, marveling at the idea of just touching her skin with his own, and slipped his fingers between hers, bringing them to his lips.
“Could we stay just like this?” he asked, looking out of the window, watching the dark night pass them by. He felt her lips on his forehead.
“Yes,” she murmured. He closed his eyes and breathed her in, realizing that he felt lighter. The heaviness in his chest had not dissipated, but for the first time since he had given his son away, he felt like it could.
as always, if you don’t wanna be tagged, pls let me know. also, if i’ve tagged you here and it’s not actually linking, you’ll need to go in and change your settings. <3
Din twisted his helmet in his hands, the only indication of his nerves as he stood at the edge of the clearing, watching the sky.
Omera smiled as she approached his side, taking one of his busy hands in her own and giving it a squeeze. Din smiled sheepishly and squeezed back.
“I just hope the little womprat remembers me,” he muttered.
“He will,” Omera smiled. “You’re his father. He can’t forget you.”
Din simply returned his gaze to the sky, searching for any sign of the expected ship.
Within moments, a hum filled the air and Din squeezed Omera’s hand tighter. She stepped closer to his side, unable to keep the smile from her face as she nestled her other hand into the crook of his elbow.
An X-Wing came into view, landing much too slowly for Din’s taste. His heartbeat grew quicker as the landing gear clicked out and touched the soft ground. He gripped his helmet tighter and let Omera’s steady presence at his side ground him.
The cockpit of the fighter slid open and, before the Jedi Din had sent Grogu off with could even get out himself, the tiny green alien was scrambling down the ladder at a speed Din had never known him capable of, and rushing toward his father.
Grinning wildly, heart lifting, Din kneeled and held his arms open. With a laugh, he caught the tiny creature as he flung himself into Din’s unarmored chest and clung tightly to his blue shirt. Tears filled his eyes as he hugged Grogu tightly.
“Hey, kid,” he said roughly. Din looked up at Omera, who was smiling at them with silver-lined eyes. “Welcome home.”
Grogu babbled something back, reaching up to tug on Din’s mustache. Din laughed and settled the baby into the crook of his arm. “Come on, buddy. Your sister, Winta, is dying to see you too.” At the mention of Winta’s name, Grogu babbled louder, earning a chuckle from Din and Omera.
Din slid his free arm around Omera’s waist, and the happy family turned back towards the village, ready for the next reunion.
Sorgan culture and Mandalorian culture were very different.
The people of Omera’s Sorgan village were farmers, weavers, and the finest spotchka brewers the galaxy had ever seen. They valued cooperation and a hard day’s work, and celebrated such things in full measure with after-harvest parties that could last for weeks.
Mandalorians were more individualistic, valuing personal achievement alongside the acts of the people as a whole. They were warriors and artists with a special knack for attention to detail.
One thing, however, that these two cultures agreed upon was the importance of family.
When Din first arrived in the village with his son, everyone accepted the two of them without question. The adults all watched The Child run with their own children and ensured that the small, green baby didn’t get into any trouble. He never went hungry, as everyone worked together to feed all of the children of the village, and he never was alone, having a dozen brothers and sisters by his side at all times.
When The Child and Mando left, it was like the village had lost two of their own. Everyone was quiet for days and, even months later, there was a bittersweet note in the air whenever anyone brought up their silver-armored friend and his son.
Thus, as you can imagine, there was a great deal of celebration when the aforementioned armored-man returned, even though his son was not with him.
Din had been surprised to recieve such a warm welcome, though he accepted every cup of spotchka the people handed him with a smile. He had hoped that everyone would welcome him back, but he hadn’t expected them to throw a party with dancing and music and colored lights.
He was glad for their glee, of course, but all of that paled in comparison to the smiled Omera wore when she saw him return, helmet off. The second he had seen her face without the layer of his visor between them, he had felt his heart fill to bursting.
Neither of them had really stopped smiling since.
In a quiet moment, when some of the elders were regaling everyone with their well-known tales of old, Omera settled herself next to Din, so close their shoulders were almost touching.
“I’m not sure if you could tell,” she smiled, humor leaking into her tone, “but everyone is glad to have you back.”
Din bowed his head. “I’m glad to be back.” He was quiet for a moment. “I was hoping my presence would be welcomed. I brought trouble last time I was here and I wasn’t sure-”
Omera clasped his ungloved hand in hers. “It doesn’t matter. You’re family, and we always welcome family.”
“I’m-” he cleared his throat, “I’m family?”
She laughed aloud at that. “Yes, you’re one of us.”
He smiled. “I know I said once that I don’t belong here but,” he took a deep breath and found Omera’s other hand with his own, “maybe I would like to belong here.”
“Maybe I’d like you to belong here too,” Omera spoke quietly, suddenly very aware of how close they were.
The rest of the village was too engaged, blessedly, in the campfire story to notice Din and Omera’s lips meet in a tender kiss, Din shuddering at the intimate contact, realizing what he had been missing out on under the protection of his helmet. As they pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers with a smile.
Despite all of the grief in his life, all he had lost, Din realized how lucky he had been to have so many people to call family. First, his biological parents. Then his Mandalorian clan. Then Grogu. And now, the people of Sorgan and the lovely woman he was pleased to find felt the same way about him as he felt about her.
He slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer as he turned his attention back to the elder’s story. He looked at the faces of the people around the fire, relishing in the closeness they all shared, a closeness he could be a part of, if he wished.
Yes, this would be his family. He would take Cara’s suggestion and settle here with Omera, allowing himself to appreciate a quiet life with his new family.
