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@wonder-harley
good things will happen 🧿
things that are meant to be will fall into place 🧿
THIS ONE FUCKING WORKS. REBLOG IT.
this for real fucking works
Apparently this one fuckin works, and who am I to argue with the collective agreement of tumblr. Will report back if good things happen.
We’re finally seeing cowboy Mando’s hat ❤️🔥
Bolo tie
Belt
Fancy boots
Space cowboy Kickstarter
We’re slowly going up the Cowboy Mando
Belt here 👀
Fancy boots here
And the Space cowboy enamel pin Kickstarter
Cowboy Din II
Fancy boots here
And Space cowboy Kickstarter here 🥰
Peanuts, November 13, 1964
i wish i could walk around in clothes like this daily
BILLIE EILISH | 2023 Met Gala
LEGS —
under the moonlight - pt i
mand'alor!din djarin x royal!fem!reader
warnings: arranged marriage, age gap (reader is well over being legal age), some fluffy feelings, sweet mando, enemies to lovers, slight talk of sex, next part will be 18+
word count: 2,770
a/n: the translations for mando'a are very rough translations so if i got something wrong im sorry! and i know this doesn't follow almost anything canon so just bear with me :) im going with the theory that everyone on mandalore takes of their helmets.
also this is the dress i based the wedding dress on
Your heart was in your throat. You felt light headed as your ladies in waiting helped you into your dress, one foot at a time. They were mumbling back and forth about how beautiful you looked and how exciting all this was for them, not realizing that your life was about to end. Your home world had always had tensions with Mandalore and your parents thought the perfect way to ease those tensions was to send you off to marry the new Mand’alor of the planet.
Din Djarin.
Ever since he won the darksaber, rumors had been flying through the galaxy at lightspeed on who he was and how he became the new king. Some say he stole it and others vouch for him saying he won it fairly in battle. He was known in the bounty hunters Guild as the best hunter in the parsec, ruthless in all things. You have obviously never met the man and your brain was turning over every single possibility. Because he was a part of the Old Ways, he had never taken his helmet off and no one had ever lived to tell the tale if they did see his face.
On top of your new fiance being a total mystery, you had left behind your entire life back on your home planet. Your family, friends, and everything you knew. When your parents, the king and queen, brought up this arrangement you didn't believe them, thinking they were trying to scare you into not misbehaving anymore. Sadly, they were not bluffing, so here you stood on a strange planet in a strange palace getting ready for your wedding.
You had to admit, the traditional dress that the staff had made for you was exquisite. Beautiful dark fabric flowed around your body and there were beskar details all around the top, made to look like amour, all accompanied by the small crown your mother wore on her wedding day. It also showed off the traditional family tattoo that covered most of your back, something that was very common among royalty on your home planet. You truly felt like royalty, even though you always had been, this made it all feel real. As they put on the final touches to your ensemble, you look a long look in the mirror to try and calm your racing heart. You always thought your wedding day would be a joyous occasion, but now it just felt like a war meeting you were forced to go to. The ladies who had helped you settle in over the past week had caught you up to speed on the traditions of a Mandalorian wedding. Men and women are seen as direct equals in Mandalore, the ceremony and society reflected that, this being the only thing that brought you any comfort. You refused to be shoved in the corner like some trinket for him to conquer. You wanted to be an equal ruler, not a trophy.
When the time came, your ladies led you down to the throne room. You stood in front of the massive double doors, staring at the intricate details of the large handles. Panic started to bubble up in your chest, once those doors opened, your life would change forever. You were about to walk down the aisle to a man you had never even met, not once, and he was to be your husband. The word sounded odd in your head, let alone coming off your tongue.
Husband… and wife.
You were to be someone's wife. You thought you had more time, you were still fairly young, just starting to live your own life. Trying to, at least. You froze as two men in more armour than you had ever seen in your entire life opened the doors. The dazzling light of the throne room nearly blinded you as it seeped out towards you. You looked around to find the room filled with people, all but a few unfamiliar to you. You had been introduced to a few court members, such as the royal advisor and the ones that run the day to day of the palace. Of course your parents were there, no doubt to make sure you didn't run away, standing up near the dias in all their sparkling attire. Your breath caught in your chest as your eyes met the man standing up at the end of the walkway.
King of Mandalore, Din Djarin. The man in shining beskar. The killer.
You tried your best to swallow the lump in your throat as you took a shaky first step into the room. All eyes were on you as you walked under the canopy of what felt like a million candles and ornate tapestries hung on every wall. It was late afternoon and the sun was starting to fall into the horizon and bathed the room in an orange glow through the large windows. You made an effort to hold your head high as you slowly walked towards your future, refusing to be seen as weak in your first official appearance.
Until you got to about halfway down the aisle, your fiance had not looked your way. Once the thin black visor turned to you, his hands dropped to his sides from in front of him and his shoulders relaxed from their tense state. No one could tell of course but his mouth hung open in awe as he witnessed his bride for the first time. He had seen a picture of you but nothing compared to seeing you in person, especially looking this beautiful. He tracked your every movement as you gracefully moved down the decorated aisle. To you he just looked like some unfeeling wall of metal but on the inside his heart was racing faster than when he would run after bounties.
You tried to keep your eyes straight ahead to not meet the gaze of the scary Mand’alor. When you reached the raised dias the beskar covered man stepped closer and reached his hand out to help you up the steps. You hesitated before lightly placing your hand into his gloved one. The rest of the room settled into their seats as you took your place next to the king. You knew that to make you feel more comfortable, the court would incorporate some of your native traditions into the ceremony, you were given a short run down but didn't remember everything. You were trying to mentaly scan through the list and the man next to you saw your unease. You were shoulder to shoulder with his hard armour as the officiant went on about the union and peace and prosperity and blah blah blah…
“Just follow my lead, you'll do great,” a deep rumble of a voice suddenly shook you out of your anxious spiral. You looked over to meet the inhuman looking face of the metal helmet looking down at you. You weren't sure if your heart picked up its pace or if it stopped completely when you heard the gravel filled tone of his voice. You went through the ceremony without messing anything up, listening to the officiant say what he needed to say. Apparently every day weddings in Mandalore are not this extreme but this is the king getting married and it’s always a big deal.
“Now please face each other and join hands.”
You took a deep breath and faced your partner. His hands cradled yours perfectly, his much larger but somehow very gentle, even covered in leather. An extravagant ribbon was placed over both of your heads, connecting you both and almost closing you off from the rest of the room. You kept your eyes glued to your hands in his, admiring the metal covering his arms.
“Repeat after me; ‘Ni Kelir cuyir de gar eso akay ner kyr'am’,” the officiant instructed.
You both said your vows in Mando’a and some in Basic from your home planet before the rest of the ceremony was continued. You knew it would be a long ceremony but this felt like forever and the weight of everyone's gaze on you was starting to make you fidget. You felt like you were about to burst until the officiant announced you were officially man and wife.
“You may now solidify your marriage with a kiss,” you knew this was coming but now that the moment was here you were starting to panic. This was by no means your first kiss but this was your first kiss with your now husband. He gently dropped your hands to reach up to the edge of his helmet. Ever so slowly the warmth of his skin was exposed as he lifted the metal off his head. When he handed his helmet to another man you got a good look at his face and you couldn't help the small inhale as you took in his features.
His lips were perfectly parted and looked softer than silk. His eyes were warm halos of amber that melted into a rich mahogany brown. There was dark scruff covering his face in the most beautiful way. You couldn't deny it, he was gorgeous, not that it changed how you felt about the situation. He tried his best to smooth back his helmet-tousled hair and he took your hand in one of his. The other reached up to cup your cheek and looked at you with a questioning look, making you realize he was asking your permission. You nodded slightly and he began to lean down to your height and at the slowest pace imaginable he slotted his lips against yours. It almost felt like he was waiting to gauge your reaction, so suddenly feeling bold, you wrapped your hand around his wrist that was at your cheek and deepened the kiss before quickly pulling away.
The sudden roar of the crowd reminded you that you weren't alone and you had to keep up the performance for the rest of the evening. The next few hours were a blur of celebration and congratulations, tons of people offering their blessings and gratitude. You were seated at the largest table reserved for the bride and groom and other important members. At a certain point your brain went into a fuzzy state, being numbed by the constant human interaction and not getting a moment of silence. As dinner came to a close, the party started to liven up as people took to the dancefloor. You quickly learned that night that Mandalorians liked to drink, alot. Everyone was quite rowdy at this point, swaying to the music and talking with friends. When you saw Din talking to a council member you decided now was your chance for a small break.
You wandered around the outskirts of the large ballroom until you found an exit leading to the garden. Keeping your head low, you found a glimmering fountain and perched yourself on the edge, slightly dipping your fingers in the cool water.
“Not enjoying your own party?” The voice pulled you out of your own mind. Turning around, you found your new husband glowing under the moonlight in all his beskar. As you took in the sight of him he came to sit next to you on the edge of the water.
“It’s lovely, just lots of…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words.
“People?” You were glad he said it so you didn't have to. “I feel the same way, I don't do well at large things like this,” he waved his hand towards the party. You took comfort in knowing you weren't alone in that feeling. After a somewhat awkward silence, the large man rummaged around in his pockets and pulled out a small box wrapped in velvet. He explained it as you opened his gift to you. “We don't usually wear rings in marriages here but I know in your home world it's customary,” you opened the box to find an intricate gold band that held up a glistening red jewel. It was definitely beautiful and matched the red tones in your wedding crown. A small smile tugged at your lips at his thoughtfulness. If this wasn't an arrangement you would almost think he cared for you.
After you stared at the ring for what felt like forever, Din was worried you didn't like it. “You don't have to wear it, I just thought it might make you feel like you have a little bit of home with you.” You looked up to match his gaze. He left the helmet off for the rest of the night and it was obvious he wasn't used to it. He wasn't sure where to look now that his face was fully visible.
“It's beautiful but… you don't have to do this, I know you don't want this anymore than I do.”
Now he looked truly defeated, in his mind he was only trying to make you as comfortable as possible in this situation, not offend you. “I'm sorry if-- I just wanted to… I don't know,” you could tell he wasn't good with words, he was a bounty hunter afterall, not a king. He hung his head, trying to fix whatever he might have ruined.
“Wasn't all of this your idea?” you asked with a harsher tone than you meant.
“Not exactly, my advisor is very… pushy, he thought this alliance would make me look good as a new king,” you could see the sincerity in his eyes, thank the Maker that helmet was off. “We can go about this however you want, I’ll do whatever necessary to make you comfortable.”
“I appreciate that, I do, it's just… I was ripped away from my home, everything I knew, without my choice,” you could hear the anger in your own voice and it scared both of you. You knew that this wasn't necessarily his fault but when you looked at his face you couldn't help but think that he stole you away from your world. “It will take time for me to… stop being angry.”
“I understand, just please tell me if there's anything I can do,” he slowly turned away from you and headed towards the party again. You remained there, under the light spray of the fountain, cooling your heated skin. You turned over the ring in your hands, looking at its beautiful color, trying to accept your new fate.
“Oh! My lovely daughter…!” Your mother stumbled over to you, obviously enjoying the spoils of your wedding. “Wha-what are you doing out here? You should be dancing with your handsome new hus - hiccup - husband!” At least someone was enjoying themselves.
“I just needed air Mother, there is alot going on in there,” she plopped herself down next to you and placed a hand on the soft dress covering your leg. She immediately spotted the shiny ring in your hands and a loud gasp escaped her drunken lips.
“What is this?!” She grabbed it from your hands, holding it up to the moonlight. “Oh my, it's lovely! I thought they didn't wear wedding rings here?”
“They don't, he had it made for me,” you took it back from your mother, the last thing you needed was for her to drop it in the fountain. You closed the box and placed it on the other side of your lap.
“Oh darling, that's wonderful… you're a queen! My daughter is a queen!” She said the last part more to herself, she always wanted her children to have the same fate as herself. You loved your mother but she could be quite unfeeling when it came to other’s feelings. “Oh that reminds me! We need to speak about your duties as a wife… tonight is your wedding night darling and I want to make sure you do what needs to be done,” your heart dropped. You knew of what she was referring to but it completely slipped your mind in all the wedding festivities. “The people and court will expect an heir very soon you know,” she took a long swig of the wine glass she snuck out there with her.
Not only would you have to get used to this new lifestyle and your new husband but now you had to think about making an heir with him. “Yes mother, we had this talk when I was younger, let's go back to the party…” You led her by her arm into the dazzling room full of strangers, trying not to think about what the night would hold.
—————
ni kelir cuyir de gar eso akay ner kyr'am - i will be by your side until my death
PT II HERE
MASTER LIST
cutting it close | the mandalorian
mando x fem!reader
word count: 11.4k
warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (oral f receiving, mxf intercourse) swearing, canon typical violence, din clubbing deserves its own warning guys.
a/n: a labour of true love. i wrote half of this so long ago, but was inspired by an incredible source to continue.we are really living up the the user name in this one bc WE ARE GRIPPING BESKAR FOR REAL. shoutout to @everybirdfellsilent for being the BEST person to bounce ideas off, catching all of my grammar errors (there were many) and helping me figure out how someone whispers in a helmet. you are a real one and i love you!!!!! okay enjoy goodbye.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“Are you sure he’s in there?” You ask the Mandalorian, who even through his helmet looks as uncomfortable as you are. He just holds up the tracking fob and it beeps rapidly, hardly making a sound over the thumping of the bass in the club in front of you.
“Guess so.” He yells over the sound. If you can barely hear him out here, you don’t even want to imagine what it’s like inside. The sound vibrates through the concrete and you can hear the high pitched sound of girls singing somewhere in the back, blue and red lights flicking out underneath the door you both stand in front of.
“I’ll go. You can wait out here. Your shiny head’s gonna reflect the light too much and give me a headache.” You go to take the tracker from him but he yanks it away. Rolling your eyes, he just leans and opens the door for you, and there’s no point in arguing as you walk inside, the music instantly flooding your senses.
Keep reading
the space between us | the mandalorian
sometimes i just wish that when you go, you will finally ask me to come with you.
type: one-shot word count: 13.4k (cant help myself) pairing: the mandalorian x afab!fem!princess!reader warnings: mature language and content, mature written sexual content (read at your own discretion), 🔞⚠️ summary: in four acts, a senator's daughter finds her true standing as her mandalorian ally discovers what is truly important, above all else. complete masterlist
act i: the introduction
It was raining. The clouds were dark and hovered over heavily, and the grounds of the landing bay were wet and slippery.
You opted for much more practical clothing today. Dark trousers tucked into your boots, a blade fitted into the sides of both. A warm long sleeve, of soft material, keeping you warm from the elements, with your waist defined by a corseted belt of dark leather. Your hair was up and out of your face, and you wore no jewelry. You blended well with the crew, but they recognized you easily, bowing out of your way as you admired the ships docked.
You pulled your hood up as you stood back a bit to look at a ship you didn’t recognize. It was an older model, archived as far as you knew, but here it sat in all its pre-Empire glory in your landing bay. You watched as a few crewmembers patched up a hole on the side of it, another few tightening loose bolts along one of the engines. The ramp was down, giving you a glimpse of the inside, and you made your way up slowly, your eyebrows raising as you smoothed a hand over the panel by a chamber in the back. A carbonite chamber. Your fingers grazed over a few buttons, and then you left to find another panel, curiously pressing a few switches there. A hiss sounded behind you, and you turned to see a closet, an arsenal, of weapons on display. You stepped closer, admiring them. A few different blaster models, detonators of many sizes. You had fond memories of training with many of them.
You reached for one of the vibroblades. It was crafted carefully, curved from the short handle into a deadly point, with a few inches of serration along the sharp edge. You lifted it off of its holder, twirling the blade between your fingers with ease, letting the weight of it grow comfortable in your hand.
You jumped with surprise when the cabinet doors suddenly swished closed. You turned around quickly, twisting the blade in your hand until the handle was firmly in your grasp. You made a move, swiping over your left, but your forearm was blocked easily. You made another move, swiping at them with your free hand to get your arm loose before using your heel to kick their knee in, forcing them onto their knees.
A modulated grunt of surprise came, but just as quick as you won an advantage, you lost it. Yanking your still out-stretched arm, you were flipped over their armored shoulder, bruising your side before you were slammed onto your back on the floor of the ship. You let out a sigh of discomfort, dropping the blade and putting your arms in front of your face.
“I yield!” You said, breathless. “Stars—” You groaned a bit as your side throbbed. “I yield…”
You dropped your arms, blinking up until you got a better look at the figure kneeling over you. Your eyes were focused on a cuirass of strong steel, colored a curious shade of red. Your eyes raised to meet a helmet made of the same material but in shining silver, a dark visor trained right on you, tilted to the side in an unamused manner. You did not need to see their face to know they were not happy at all finding you here, let alone being swung at with a sharp blade.
“Oh—” You let out a soft breath, relaxing back against the floor. Your side still throbbed dully. “Is this…this is your ship, isn’t it?”
You felt warm with embarrassment, feeling guilty for snooping in his clearly very private space. You were met with silence, but the silence was affirmative. This was indeed his ship, and you were definitely invading his privacy.
You sat up, level with him as he remained on his knee to glare at you up close. You gave him an apologetic smile, trying to ease the tension in the air. You had not meant to meddle in his things; and your reaction was pure instinct, nothing more.
He continued to remain silent. You apologized softly for intruding, holding out your hand and giving him your name to introduce yourself. He said nothing still, and you dropped your hand when you realized this armored man was going to say nothing of value, maybe nothing at all. You let your eyes run over his impressive armor, the collection of weapons that he practically dripped with, and the iconic shape of his helmet. You tilted your head yourself, gazing at him curiously.
“A Mandalorian,” you concluded with a soft voice. “One of the greatest warriors in the galaxy, then.” You raised a brow, looking him up and down a bit. “I don’t know. You fell on your ass pretty easily.”
Silence again. Then he stood, looming over you. He held out his hand for you to take, and you did, wrapping your hand in his and trying not to think about how easily he was able to lift you off the floor. You were level with him now, but it didn’t make him any less intimidating.
“Well,” he quipped. “It wasn’t me who yielded.”
You laughed, smiling wide as you felt the air relax immediately. You hummed in agreement, finally letting go of his hand as you bent to pick up the blade and hand it to him.
“I guess I won’t argue there,” you sighed, your smile staying as you looked around, away from him. “I…I’m sorry for snooping. Your ship is just…I’ve never seen a pre-Empire model before. I was…curious.” You shook your head, “I-I mean it’s old and…it’s definitely seen better days—” He tilted his head to the side in warning, “—b-but it’s such a classic…geez, I’d love to ask you about the—”
“I’m on a tight schedule,” he interrupted you. You pursed your lips, laughing nervously as you nodded in understanding.
“Uh…right,” you shook your head, “yeah, I…you’re super busy. I’ll get out of your way. I’m sorry.” You smoothed your sweaty palms along the front of your pants, meeting the visor again and trying to give him your kindest smile. “It was nice to meet you, Mandalorian. Safe travels.” You reached over and put your hand against his elbow, squeezing the unarmored fabric there. He was warm, you noticed. The Mandalorian dropped his gaze to where your hand laid, fingers curled so gently there. No one ever touched him, not like this; he had only really ever felt hands that wanted to hurt him, choke him, even kill him sometimes. But as quickly as you touched him, your hands were back at your sides, and you were walking away from him.
You made your way out of the ship, careful not to slip on the wet durasteel of the ramp. You waved down the nearest crewmember, motioning to the Mandalorian’s ship.
“Refuel his ship and send him on his way. No need to charge for repairs,” you told him. You did feel bad for invading his space; the least you could do was try not to get on his bad side, even if he was just passing by your planet. You hoped it would smooth over any ill impressions and instead replace it with a sense of hospitality and kindness.
“But—”
You gave the crewmember an amused look, daring him to argue with you. He nodded his head, blushing as he mumbled a gentle apology. You saw the Mandalorian staring at you from the top of the ramp, and you smiled at him again, giving him a little salute. He watched as you pulled your hood up and walked down the length of the landing bay and back towards the palace; he noticed immediately how every crewmember bowed as you passed, acknowledging you even if they were occupied with busywork. He swallowed hard, tilting his head curiously, picking up the scope in his belt and zeroing in on your figure in the distance. There, on your left hand, was a golden ring he had missed, stamped with the signet of your house, the only jewelry you were wearing.
Gods…who the hell had he just met?
act ii: the duel
“Yield! Yield!”
You released the royal guard with a huff, pushing your hair back as you stood up from your position over him. You offered him your hand, and he took it, getting up with difficulty as he grunted with exhaustion. He was bruised, you could tell, holding his side as he leaned against the post next to him in the yard. Your eyes roamed around the yard, watching as the other guards in training had stopped their sparring to watch you. When you asked for another challenger, you were met with silence.
“No one wants to challenge you, Your Highness,” a familiar voice laughed behind you. You turned around, seeing the Senator’s advisor walking into the yard with a recognizable bounty hunter trailing slowly behind him. “The embarrassment alone is enough to make any man think twice.”
“There is honor in being bested in combat,” you replied simply. You turned to look at the guards around you, acknowledging them with nods. “You should never be embarrassed by it. There is no shame. It is an opportunity to learn. To fight better.”
You took a deep breath, looking over at your new company. You smiled at the Mandalorian, a mischievous glint in your eye. He was looking exceptionally pretty today, perhaps he had polished his armor. He leaned against a post in the yard, his arms crossed in front of him as he watched curiously. Your eyes fell over the broadness of his shoulders to the cinch of his belt around his waist, then down to the ammunition around the calf of his boot and back up again. The air around him even seemed to be filled with a bit of smoke and even a little fire. He seemed content here, in the yard filled with the sounds of blaster fire and grunts of scuffles. He belonged, and his posture was one of ease and familiarity.
Stars—the Mandalorian was indeed pretty.
“Hello, Mandalorian,” you greeted him softly. You stood a bit straighter, eyes never leaving where you hoped his were. You liked the staring contest. “It’s been some time.”
He nodded at you, but he said nothing. You continued to stand in the sparring circle, lifting up the staff you had dropped onto the ground some time ago. You twirled it in your hand for a moment, looking him up and down again, this time not hiding the way your eyes roamed him. You wanted him to know you were sizing him up, looking at him; you were certain though, that a man of his skill had already noticed you do it the first time.
“I challenge you,” you offered. “First to yield wins.”
“Your Highness, no,” the royal advisor stopped you. He was about to step further into the yard, but the muddy ground would have dirtied the velvet robes he wore. He laughed nervously, shaking his head. “The Mandalorian is here on official business, a guest of the court—”
The Mandalorian just walked past him, hitting the advisor with his arm as he passed. You smiled knowingly, watching as the Mandalorian stepped into the circle with no hesitation. You liked him even more like this, preparing to spar, preparing to show off what he knew best, the thing about him that came as natural as breathing.
The Mandalorian had warfare in his blood; he slept with a blaster strapped to his thigh, a blade on his person. He had been in this position many times, and it was his consistent winning that had gotten him this far. In some way, it pleased him deeply that he would get to show you just how he earned his reputation. He wanted to show off. He wanted to show off to you.
You could only imagine how Mandalorians spent their days. You did not know much about their culture, but it was no secret that they did nothing but polish their weapons and spar until they could spar no longer. They were fighters from the inside-out, until their second nature was refined combat and a mastery of any weapon they could get their hands on. They gained honor and respect through trials of difficulty and danger, and they took their principle to the grave. Their Creed was an invisible hand that guided them through their life, steering them onto paths of righteousness, noble deeds, and at the end, hopefully, a warrior’s death.
With this knowledge, you knew it would be practically un-Mandalorian to turn down your challenge. You knew he was probably itching under that armor to fall back into the familiar routine of daily sparring, challenging his peers until he heard that sweet sound of their yield, of their plea for him to stop, to know that he had won.
You were in need of a true adversary; he was in need of…perhaps a certain release.
The royal guards who were just watching nearby suddenly showed interest. They seemed to abandon whatever they had been doing to watch as you and the Mandalorian stood across from each other in the circle, marked by a ring of misshapen stones. More guards started to gather around; some of them crowded around the circle, others were perched up along the walls of the palace and watching from the ledges above and around you.
“First to be forced out of the circle or to yield loses,” you said to him. “The only rule.”
“Are you sure?” He tilted his head to the side, standing with his feet spread, his arms at his sides as his hands came in and out of fists. He seemed to gesture to the array of weapons he had strapped to his person—detonators, perhaps a hidden blade in his belt or his boot, the blaster on his hip.
You laughed a bit, “I wouldn’t worry about that.” You licked your dry lips, moving the staff you held from one hand to the other, rolling out your neck. “Would you like to take the offensive?”
The Mandalorian stayed still now, the only movement being the cape draped behind him blowing in the slight breeze. He nodded once in agreement.
You began to walk around the perimeter of the circle. The Mandalorian copied your movement, his visor trained on you as you both began to move. You started to walk towards him, passing by him as your gaze never left his. You almost made it past him, but then you felt his hand wrap around your wrist and yank you backwards. You used the momentum of him pulling you backwards to twirl under his arm, breaking free of his grip. Behind him, you lifted your leg and kicked at his back hard, throwing him forward.
The crowd let out a few gasps and hollers as the Mandalorian stumbled back to his feet, turning to face you. There was a hint of a smile on your face, amusement at his underestimation of your skill. Mandalorians were not the only warriors in the galaxy, didn’t he know that?
You raised a brow with a huff of breath as he came at you again. He threw a fist that you blocked, and when his other arm came under to try and undercut you, you managed to barely knock it to the side after dropping your staff. He was fast for being so much larger than you, and you hadn’t anticipated the quick advances. You struggled for a bit to keep his hands away from you, but eventually your grip loosened enough for him to draw his elbow back and shove you backwards. You caught your footing just in time to catch another throw of his fist. This time, he expected your hold on him. He went for your legs, throwing you off balance and onto your back. He waited, not coming at you again, and it gave you time to grab your staff and knock him over the head with it, forcing him back a few steps so you could scramble to your feet again.
He hesitated. Is it because I’m a girl?
“You’re going soft on me, Mandalorian,” you panted, grabbing another staff out of a bystander’s hand and tossing it at him. He caught it easily. His beskar gleamed, his chest heaving as he realized he had a true challenger and not just an apprentice. “It’s insulting.”
Gods, he looks so good. Full of fire. This is where he feels the most himself, in a ring of few words and pure instinct.
He shook his head angrily before coming at you. He swiped at you with the staff, and you dodged. Left, right, left, and then you caught his arm, swinging under it and twisting it, forcing him onto his knees as you slid with ease until he dropped the staff. He caught the staff with his other hand, using it to knock you backwards, and you let out a growl as you fell to the floor. As he was about to bring the staff down on you again, you rolled out of the way, lifting your foot and kicking at the back of his thigh. His staff met the dirt ground as he lost his balance, and you started to crawl to get back to your feet.
You let out a surprised noise as you heard the swish of some release, a cord wrapping around your ankle and yanking you backwards. As you slid, you flipped onto your back as you watched the Mandalorian reeling you in. You grabbed the cord and yanked, but it did nothing as you neared him fast.
Geez, how many surprises does he have under all that armor?
You ducked under his waiting arm, keeping the momentum and yanking his body with you as you went under his legs. You twisted in your moment of advantage, swiping a leg under his head and forcing him up until both of your thighs could close around the unarmored thickness of his neck, squeezing tight. You tried hard to secure him, but with the cord still around your foot, he retracted it again, forcing your leg off his neck. You rolled off of him with a grunt, but the Mandalorian was too fast. He wrapped both arms around your neck, dragging you back and on top of him as he locked you in easily, threatening to choke you.
“Yield,” his modulated voice growled out. “Yield!”
You were never good at yielding. You abhorred losing, and you abhorred it even more in combat.
And there is some horrid, bubbly nagging inside of me that wants to impress him; and I won’t if I lose.
“Never,” you coughed, using the heel of your palm to knock him upside the helmet and then braced down your elbow against his unarmored side. He let go of you just enough for you to roll off of him, swiping the blade you saw poking out from his boot and sticking it against the side of his neck. If you were able to see his neck, you would have seen the slight cut you had nicked into his skin with the tip of the knife. You panted as you laid there beside him, your eyes lit with vigor and your insides hot with adrenaline, with excitement, with wonder. “Yield.”
The Mandalorian panted just as hard, relaxing against the ground as you both laid there and tried to take deep breaths. You both stared at each other, breathing in the warm air and the searing feeling coursing through your veins. There was nothing like a midday spar to get you right onto your toes, right into that sweet spot of amusement and delight; but you knew this feeling was not just the result of sparring with an opponent like a Mandalorian.
No, that can’t be it. He is not just a silent hunter, a curious visitor—I find his eyes on me often, and he finds mine on him.
You smiled a bit at his silence, and he nodded once. The crowd around you began to cheer, whooping and hollering as you slowly got up to sit. The Mandalorian was up before you, standing as he rolled out his shoulders. He offered you his hand, which you took gratefully. You stood slowly, twirling the familiar blade before handing it back to him. It was the same blade you had stolen from his ship when you first met. You smiled wide, sweat glistening across your chest as you moved your clothes back into place.
Does he know that I look for him when I find out he is here?
“You are a worthy opponent,” you said softly as he took the blade back from you. “You’ll have to teach me some of those moves, Mandalorian.”
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” He asked, and you tilted your head to the side, shrugging a bit. You liked the mystery between you. It made each new encounter with him exciting.
Does he know I wait for him when I find out he goes?
“All in due time,” you said, patting him on the chest gently. “I think you have some appointments that I’ve made you rudely late for,” you laughed as the advisor tried to move through the crowd of guards, calling for the Mandalorian to hurry back. “Until we meet again.” You touched his helmet this time, rubbing a thumb along the edge of it before going to grab a drink of water. Somehow, the touch felt even more intimate than the first time you touched him, with your fingers against his elbow, feeling his warmth. You had touched his beskar, caressed it even, and he found his helmet following your finger eagerly, even though he could not feel it. A few of the royal guards patted your shoulders as you walked by, bowing their heads in respect and complimenting your skill. You gave them polite smiles as you passed, shaking some of their hands before disappearing behind a corner.
The Mandalorian could not put a reason to why he felt so warm still, so intense. He didn’t know if it was your intelligence or your quick wit. Maybe it was the glow of your smile or the shine of your eyes or the unique beauty of your features. Perhaps it was the way you held a weapon, how your nimble fingers fought with ease and your body moved with a fluidity and grace in the sparring ring that had his mouth watering with admiration and curiosity and utter heat; the way you anticipated offensive moves and responded with bite when you were knocked down truly had his head on a swivel.
The Mandalorian was watching you, his eyes unable to leave until you had gone from his sight. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake the feeling in his chest. The feeling did not leave him.
It never would again.
act iii: a gambler’s debt
The hallways of the palace were quiet. Black drapes fluttered with the winter breeze, and candle’s wax dripped onto the floor, illuminating the walls in warm yellows and low lights. The solemn that had fallen over the court was not lost on the Mandalorian as he made his way from the landing bay into the yard. Royal guards stood wearing black uniforms, flags flying low as even the guards themselves couldn’t find words to instill conversation.
The guards paid the Mandalorian no mind as he made his way through the yard and the halls with ease. In fact, some of them even gave him cold stares and odd glances. They had been expecting him for a few days now; in their eyes, he was late, much too late. It was not a secret that the Mandalorian was welcome company for their princess, and many in the court had come to appreciate his visits. He had been present for many hardships at court, and he had handled conflict with the ease and control of a true Mandalorian; often times at the aid of the princess the guards adored so much.
But the Mandalorian had been gone a long time; everyone had noticed.
He found you sitting in the grass in the royal gardens. You were leaning over the edge of the trickling fountain there, staring into the flowing waters in silence. There were new adornments on you; jewelry that you surely hadn’t placed on yourself. He knew of your discomfort wearing such things. You complained often that royal jewels were heavy and impractical, and that they only suited special occasions, but you never wore them then either. The most eye-catching piece was the gold headband holding back your hair, the middle of it coming to a point at your forehead with the signet of your house pressed into the metal.
A crown. He had never seen you wear a crown.
Your eyes raised, and you saw him standing there between two large stone pillars of the palace. You lifted your head up, your eyes watering as soon as you saw him. All the feelings of resentment and betrayal and anger began to disappear just at the sight of him. You stood up from where you were sitting, moving towards him. His beskar was your magnet, and your feet were not pulling you fast enough to him. He could see by the way you were hurrying towards him that he needed to brace himself. He was glad he did; as soon as he was in reach, your arms flung around his neck, and you were hugging him tight, your face buried into the space between the helmet and his shoulder.
You were relieved to see him. The past few days had been nothing but solemnity and quiet and fear, and just seeing him calmed the feelings that had been overwhelming you. The Mandalorian made you feel so secure and so safe; he was not around as often as you would have liked, but he always seemed to appear when you needed him the most.
“Din,” you let out softly, your voice breaking. He had not heard his name since he had last visited, and he put one hand on the back of your head to keep you close, to keep his name a whisper against him. You planted a soft kiss on the fabric there, nuzzling your face into him as much as you could. “Din…I-I missed you…”
He smells so good. He smells familiar. He smells like home.
The Mandalorian let his other hand smooth down your back, holding you close to him by the waist. When he had heard of the Senator’s death, a successful assassination on your father and an unsuccessful attempt against you, he never even finished the job. He had tucked the fob he carried into the back of his belt and switched the coordinates on his ship without hesitating.
He had left you a princess. He had returned to a queen.
You lifted your head from his shoulder, your eyes wet and big and sad. You seemed heavier, your muscles tense and your shoulders tight as you felt a deep burden against them. The pressure and the weight felt a little lighter in his arms, but something still held onto your shoulders, something still was biting at your heels.
“What happened?” The Mandalorian asked. He had been itching to know. He had not listened to the transmission sent to him by your advisor long enough to investigate. Between the crackled admission of the Senator—killed and the princess—found—still alive, the Mandalorian had already started the jump back to the Core Worlds to get to you. He had burned through most of his fuel, and he nearly got arrested for flying too close to commercial ships, but he didn’t let anything slow him down. He knew he would not be able to rest until he saw your face. He needed to see for himself that the attempt was really all it had been—an attempt.
It had indeed been an attempt. You had a fading bruise against your jaw and a healing cut above your brow, but you were as beautiful as you had always been, and you were still breathing.
You shook your head, “we knew…we knew we were riling up the people at court,” you admitted. “We got a proposal for excavations along the southern hemisphere, and it was…” You swallowed hard, “it was so much money, Din. More than my father and I have ever seen in many generations. It would make us…we would be a royal force.” You closed your eyes, sighing deeply when the Mandalorian cupped your face with one gloved hand, encouraging you to continue with soft touches. “B-But I begged my father not to. The damage it would cause…the sickness it would spread…I begged him to say no. And…and he did.”
The Mandalorian didn’t need to hear more. Your father had refused a wealth that would make this court rich, hundreds of times richer than it stood now, and you never wavered. No amount of credits or wealth or reputation would make you give up your people, not for anything, and in that moment of true nobility and goodness, your father had seen in you what he had yet to see in any sovereign before him, even in himself. Bleeding the planet dry of its only resources for a lick of credits was not the way to earn respect, to appreciate the place you came from, to live and not just survive. The vultures that resided in your court did not have those burdens on their shoulders. They only had to think of themselves.
None of them carried the selflessness that was required of people like you. If you made the wrong decision, you might not even have a planet to reign over. It would be foolish to look the other way, to let it happen willingly. But no matter how noble the decision may have been, there were people that would lose much because of it. The itch of fame, of power, of money, it sickened people to their cores—it drove them to do unspeakable, inhumane things. Vengeance never truly brought the peace that one sought, but perhaps they could make others wallow in their same misery.
Perhaps they could make a Senator pay for listening to the cry of his daughter’s wishes.
It had come suddenly. Your father had asked you to his study, and you had only spoken a few words between each other when the room was broken into. There were five of them, but there was only one of you. You had fought honorably, but when you had seen your father with his head lulled to the side, the rage had blinded you. For all of your training and your skill, you had never fought with the breath of death against your neck. You were grateful that its presence didn’t slow you down or cloud your instinct—no, you let it fuel you, guide you, consume you until you could hold your father’s head in your lap and pray he would open his eyes.
What remained was only one of you.
“They failed,” you whispered shakily, your eyes running over the Mandalorian’s visor. There was an ire in your eyes, a look of pure indignation and determination that he had never seen before. Normally, you were alight with a sweetness and a playfulness and an innocence that followed you like a shadow. It was gone, all gone. You had not died, but they had killed something in you that the Mandalorian already missed desperately. “They may have killed my father—” You sucked in a deep breath, “but they did not kill me. They failed—” You put your hand over his on your face, soft tears coming down your cheeks. You closed your eyes, kissing the palm of his hand.
The Mandalorian let his hand fall a bit, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he sighed deeply. He leaned closer, the metal just brushing against your skin. If the Mandalorian had been a gambling man, he would bet that if he lifted his helmet just enough, you would let him kiss you. You would let him press his fingers under your chin and draw your face even closer, perhaps even let him lick into your mouth and drown you in the taste of him. If he was a gambling man, he would give and give and give, spend and spend and spend, until he was giving what he didn’t have and spending what he didn’t carry until he was consumed in you and only you.
The Mandalorian was not a gambling man. But he did have just a little to give.
“I will not let them come near you again,” he said lowly. It came out modulated and cracked, but the vocoder did not disguise the anger and the possessiveness in his voice. “They will fail every time.”
If it was any other day, you would argue with him. You were not a damsel in distress, and you never had been. You had held a weapon in your hands since you were strong enough to carry one. There was not a soul you trusted more than your own in combat. There was no need for a protector, for a guard of any kind, because they would never be as quick as you could be. But now, at this moment, this was what you needed to hear.
You needed to hear that there was another being in the galaxy that had your back. The Mandalorian was neither a diplomat nor an advisor. He did not have ulterior motives, he did not care of fame or fortune, he did not lie to you. He was a warrior of the highest esteem, led only by a Creed stressing honor and family and the hardships that shape the most avid fighters, and he was motivated to aid you by nothing more than the way he felt about you.
And stars, what I feel for her…
The unspoken air, the timid area of space that still existed between you and the Mandalorian—it was impossible to ignore yet impossible to acknowledge. The soft kisses you left on his person and the way his hands touched you had only been the first breaks in your distance. It was as if you and the Mandalorian had been dancing around your feelings before one day giving into the small desires that guided your hands. Often, you found yourself kissing his hands, the beskar of his pauldron and the side of his helmet. Other times, his hands would slide over the curve of your back, wrap around your waist, tug your relaxing figure right into his lap. Sometimes, you fell asleep with the Mandalorian at your back and his voice in your ear, just like the time when he was telling you his name for the first time as you sat under the stars.
“Thank you,” you said softly after a moment. You stood up on your toes, closing your eyes as you touched your forehead to his. There was a small clink as the gold of your headpiece touched the beskar, and the Mandalorian closed his eyes as he relished in the sweet kiss you offered him. He wondered, just for a moment, how wonderful you would look with a headpiece of similar fashion, not in gold—but perhaps in the steel that he wore all too well.
He was giving already. He was giving too much, spending all he had, and as he drank in the sight of you and the feeling of you, he realized he was losing when it came to you. At the thought of your life in danger, he had forgotten all sense and found himself not being able to think clearly until you were in his line of sight. All those years of training and discipline and restraint were obsolete when it came to you; you were the one in control, and he was deep in his own crumbling debt as he drew you in as close as possible, until your body was flush against his. His palms pressed against your back, memorizing the feeling of you drawing breath and the warmth of you and the way you molded into him despite the layers between you.
Alive, she’s so alive.
The Mandalorian had no way of repaying the debt he was finding himself in; but the reward was all too sweet.
act iv: the redeemer (18+)
You leaned forward, grunting as the handmaid behind you pulled tightly on the laces of your dress. You closed your eyes as she kept tightening, despite the pained look on your face, fastening the back of your garment until the waist of it was secure. You stood up straight again, letting out a deep breath and smoothing down the fabric at the front of the dress. It really was a beautiful piece. Your father had kept it in a safe place in his closet; the sentiment of it helped make the discomfort of wearing it worth it.
It had been your mother’s dress. It was a bright shade of red made of silky, heavy draped fabric that swept low to reveal just enough cleavage and then tightening around the waist before falling in a flattering, flowing skirt to the floor. The fabric was cut along one leg, enough so that the glittering silver of your shoes could show. They were elegant, with straps that wrapped around your leg, so long the ties disappeared under the high hem of your dress.
You looked at yourself in the mirror as the woman worked on your hair, lifting it up and off your face. You wore no jewels, and now she was painting along your eyes. Swirls of silver that curled over your face beautifully, accentuating the curve of your eyes and the color of them. She had brought your hair out of your face; but oddly, she left your hair bare of any decoration.
You stood when she finished, about to leave, but she assured you that you were not finished yet. She went towards a side table in your bedroom, picking up a small cloth that laid there that you hadn’t noticed until now. She came close again, putting the cloth down and untying it. In the middle of the fabric laid a beautiful brooch in the shape of an animal and a headpiece, both made of a spectacular silver metal that shined like a star, glittering as if it was moonlight. Your mouth gaped open a bit as you reached over and touched the pieces.
“Stars, I’ve…I’ve never seen these pieces before,” you breathed, picking up the brooch. “They’re…goodness, they’re so beautiful. Has this always been in our collection?”
“No, Your Majesty,” the handmaid blushed a bit. “T-These were a gift. F-From the Mandalorian.”
Your head snapped up to her, and you frowned a bit. Just the thought of him had your heart racing, and you found yourself flooded with a plethora of emotions at the sound of his title. Longing, need, desire, tenderness, comfort.
“W-What?” You asked. “W-What do you mean? He’s here?”
“Y-Yes, Your Majesty. He asked if you could wear these tonight, h-he said it was very important,” she told you. She seemed nervous, her eyes deep in thought as if she was trying to remember exactly what he had told her. “B-But he didn’t want to see you until…you were ready. Oh—! And…he…he also wanted to give you…this—” She held out timidly a recognizable vibroblade, the same one you had used a few times against him. You took the blade from her, moving it over in your hand for a moment before swallowing hard.
You were an educated royal. You had studied many cultures and learned the customs of many people. Accepting this gift in particular was a statement for a Mandalorian. You did not hesitate as you hiked up your dress and fastened the blade into your leather holster.
You let out a little laugh, swallowing back light tears, standing beside her as she helped you put the finishing pieces on. She took a loose drape of fabric and curved it over your waist, pinning it with the brooch. It was strong, holding the heavy fabric easily with no indication of moving. You sat again for her to fit the headpiece on. You noticed the headpiece was a bit different than the one you normally wore. There were two points along the forehead, with two different signets—one of your house, and the other of the same shape of the animal that was pinned to your waist. You smoothed a finger over the two symbols before letting her fit it into your hair and secure it.
You looked in the mirror, letting out a shaky breath. The pieces were the perfect touches. You sparkled in them, and you couldn’t help but realize how much more you preferred yourself in silver rather than gold. The silver was so pretty, glistening, and you had no idea how you were going to thank the Mandalorian for making you feel so beautiful.
You had no idea what you were going to say to him at all.
The handmaid bid you goodnight and left the room, and you looked down at your hand at the new ring that sat there now that you were alone. Your father’s ring, a piece handed down through generations of others in your place, and now it was on your finger. You ran your thumb over it before standing, making your way out into the hallway.
The palace was decorated for the celebration. The colors of your house were shades of red, like your dress, and it was decorated to match. Red flowers hung along the walls, fluorescent plants littering along them to light up the hallways. There were red candles lit everywhere, and there was upbeat music playing, coming from the grand hall. You smiled at the guards you passed who bowed in response. Once you neared the hall, you were greeted by the array of guests invited. Creatures and beings of many races and species, all bowing and greeting you with delight as you made your way by them. You had invited many from the capitol city, extending invitations to city residents when you realized there was more room for many.
You took your time, shaking hands and greeting people warmly. You swelled with warmth when you interacted with others, especially your people. They were welcoming and kind and grateful, and when you had greeted everyone you could, you asked a guard to make sure everyone left with sizable gifts to bring home.
You made your way out of the hallway and into the grand hall, where the music was playing, and guests were eating and dancing. You smiled as you greeted more people, shaking more hands and lending your ear to a particular woman who asked you nervously for a favor. You held her hand in yours as she recounted a troubling story about the building she lived in within the capitol, and you put a hand on her shoulder as you assured her you would take care of it. You beckoned a guard your way, asking him personally to attend to it.
“I see you’re handling the new position well.”
You broke out into a smile at the voice. You turned around quickly, your eyes meeting a familiar face—well, helmet. The Mandalorian stood just aways from you, leaning against the wall to watch you. Your smile faded however, into a face of pure disbelief, as your eyes ran over him. It was like seeing him for the first time again; another Mandalorian entirely stood in front of you.
His armor. The Mandalorian did not stand before you in faded red beskar. No—he was glittering practically, adorned in the most beautiful set of silver beskar you had ever seen. His shoulders were broader, his posture stood taller, and his entire figure was more menacing and more intimidating than it had ever been. The sight in front of you had you speechless for a moment, and your lips parted a bit as you took him in again and again. Your eyes were so wide; if you thought he had been pretty before, you were mistaken. The warrior in front of you—kriff, he is so hot.
“Mandalorian,” you cooed softly, finally finding the words to speak. Your body moved before you could really think about it, coming near as quick as your legs would allow you, as if he had beckoned you to him. He was drawing you in without even saying a word. You wanted to touch him, feel him, tuck yourself under his arm and tell him just how pretty he looked. “I-I was looking for you, I—”
You stopped after your eyes fell to the pauldron on his right side and its new addition. There, imprinted in beskar, was the shape of an animal that you recognized easily. It was the same animal you wore at your hip and on your headpiece. You lifted your hand curiously, touching it gently. Beskar was so well-known, a sacred resource of the Mandalorian’s people. It would be impossible not to recognize it, and yet the thought had missed you entirely. You watched as the Mandalorian’s hand reached over and touched the pin at your waist, and you swallowed hard as you met his eyes through the visor.
On the stars…I’m wearing beskar.
“Din,” you whispered, just for him to hear. Your eyes watered a bit, your hand smoothing over the signet on his shoulder again. “What…I’m…I-I don’t understand.”
He tilted his head to the side, his hand skimming past the brooch and resting lightly on your hip. His eyes roamed over your face, the signet that rested on your forehead, the silver makeup that coiled along your eyes and made your skin sparkle. You were a vision in his eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel as if you were dressed and polished just for him.
It was a dangerous and possessive thought, but he let himself simmer in the feeling of it. His hand slid up a bit to rest at your waist, taking in the curve of you. The dress only accentuated all of the parts of you that he admired most, and he cursed under his breath as his gaze went over the swell of your breasts against the silky fabric of your dress.
You were a vision—a vision of elegance, of perfection, of undeniable beauty. The Mandalorian had never been privy to this kind of spectacle. He had never seen you in a dress like this, radiating the refinement and grace and splendor of a queen in her court, but the sight of you made you all the more desirable. He knew just how easily you could overpower him even in the confinement of your corset, and his mouth watered just a little at the thought of you twisting a blade in your soft hands. He thought about the blade he had gifted you and how it matched your dress quite nicely.
There was a strange word hanging off the tip of his tongue. It tasted good.
Mine.
He itched to keep touching you. He ached to lift his helmet and kiss over the soft skin you were showing. He wanted so badly to kneel at your feet, slip his hand under the hem of your dress, and hear your voice say his name as he touched the prettiest parts of you. He could see your leg peeking out of the slit in your dress, and he choked a bit noticing the silver of your heels, how the fabric curled up your leg and disappeared. You had to be teasing him.
She has to be.
“It’s a long story,” the Mandalorian said lowly, finally finding it in himself to speak. “But I have earned my signet. This…is the symbol of my clan.”
You swallowed hard. You had thought the blade a representation of a request of courtship. This was something entirely different.
“B-But I’m wearing it,” you murmured. “I-I…I’m wearing your…” You lifted your hand from his shoulder to the side of his helmet, caressing where his cheek might be. You let out a gentle sigh, shaking your head, “stars, you’re going to be the death of me, Din.” You wanted to say more, wanted to wound your arms around his neck and give him a tender kiss, but there was a gentle tug on the skirt of your dress that had your head turning away from him. There was a small child staring up at you, wearing red plainclothes with a nervous look on his face as he glanced between you and the Mandalorian. You smiled warmly, kneeling to the child’s level as you took his hand to listen to his soft request.
The Mandalorian helped you back to your feet with a firm hand when your conversation was over. You kept holding the lost child’s hand and smiled at the Mandalorian, giving his gloved hand a gentle squeeze.
“Duty calls,” you said softly, intertwining your fingers for a moment. “I’ll be back, I promise.”
The Mandalorian simply nodded his head, taking his place near the wall, comfortable as he watched and waited. You guided the child to the table of food, helping him secure a plate for dinner before taking him to sit at an empty chair. The Mandalorian watched as you soothed the child, wiping his tears and helping him eat as you spoke gently to him. He could see the child relaxing visibly as you talked to him, nodding his little head and even mustering a laugh as you knelt in front of him and kept speaking. The Mandalorian could feel his chest building with warmth and admiration, the same kind that always rested in him by watching you; the way you treated other people despite your station and listened to their problems and addressed them with a sense of importance was a quality that he had not seen in many others. There was a reason you had earned these people’s love and respect. There was no issue too small and no creature less important than another, not to you. There was not a doubt in his mind if he had made the wrong decision. There was not another being in the galaxy that he desired more than you, in every way.
There was not a being more worthy of wearing his signet; there was not an individual more fitting to be a part of a Mandalorian clan.
It was later in the evening when you finally came back to him. He remained by the wall, leaning against it and letting his visor follow your figure shamelessly throughout the night. You adored the way he couldn’t look away from you, and anytime you found his eyes (or at least thought you did), you smiled his way. After a long night of dancing and celebrating and eating, you could feel your toes ache in your shoes and your eyes fluttering closed every so often. The party was far from over, but all you wanted was to be alone with the Mandalorian, to tell him how much you missed him, to ask him why on the stars he had sacrificed precious Mandalorian steel just for you.
His helmet never moved as you walked towards him. When you were within reach, his hand extended, curling around your waist and guiding you to him. You smiled, your palms resting against his chest as you looked up at him.
“Will you escort me to my room?” You asked softly. “These shoes are killing me…”
He nodded once, letting go of you reluctantly. You curled your arm through his, resting your head against his pauldron as he guided you out of the hall. You smiled and waved at any guests you passed, and you did not miss the way they stared at the pair of you in awe. You secretly liked the whispers that sounded.
When the bedroom doors shut behind you, you couldn’t keep your hands off of the Mandalorian. You took his hands in yours, walking backwards until your back hit the wall, and you slid your hands over his forearms and the inside of his elbows and over his shoulders before moving down his chest. You sucked in soft breaths as you leaned up on your toes and put your forehead to his, letting your lips brush against his helmet; you even managed to let out soft whines as his own hands moved along the curves of your waist and your lower back. The Mandalorian had never been anything but respectful, but the ghost of his fingers over the curve of your lower back was cheeky at best.
“I missed you so much,” you whispered, kissing his helmet where your lips touched. “Din, it’s been so long…” You closed your eyes, “I was worried. And now you’re here…And gods, Din, you look incredible…” You hooked your fingers into the space under his cuirass and tugged him away from the wall, guiding him until he sat on the edge of your bed. You stood between his thighs, lowering until you were seated on one of them, the beskar of his tassets supporting you as you leaned against him in his lap. You shook your head, “Tell me what happened.”
So he did. With one arm around his shoulders and the other rubbing along the nape of his neck, he murmured in your ear about the long journey he had endured in his absence. He explained how he earned the signet on his pauldron, and he told you of the Child he had found and lost all over again. With your hand on his helmet, he told you, shamefully, how he had removed it and how he was a Mandalorian no more. You listened, never letting your attention falter, not once. Your eyes remained on his, your touch soothed him when his voice cracked, and he found comfort in the closeness of you.
“Oh, Din,” you whispered when he had quieted. “What a lucky child he is…that out of all the bounty hunters in the galaxy, you were the one to find him.” You smiled wide. “If he is as smart and as wise and as capable as you describe him to be—” You put both hands on either side of his helmet, keeping his head level with yours, “—he will come back to you. I should know.” You laughed a bit. “It is impossible to be away from you for too long, Din Djarin.”
A beat passed. And then he said your name.
“I came back,” he swallowed hard, “I came back for you.” You tilted your head to the side, encouraging him to continue. “He…he made me realize what was important to me. And now that he is gone…I-I had to come back for you.” You looked away sheepishly, but he put his fingers under your chin and forced you to look at him again. “There is nothing I have to offer you. I am not even a Mandalorian any longer. All I have is…myself. But I would be a fool not to make this proposal to you.” You hummed softly, smoothing a hand down his chest. “The gifts I’ve presented to you…I…”
Stars, he’s so nervous. I wish I could see his eyes.
“Din,” you stopped him gently. “If you are asking for my hand…” You laughed a bit, “you should know that it’s yours. It’s always been yours.” You squeezed his hand in yours once you found it, then you moved your hands to either side of his helmet and moved his visor to face you. You hoped your eyes were looking into his; the Mandalorian was almost afraid of how quickly you found them when you had no idea where his eyes really were. “If you’re asking me to be a part of your clan…to accept your gifts and wear your signet as well as my own…” You smiled nervously, “well, I…I accept.”
His helmet dropped, the front of it resting against your chest. You wrapped an arm around his neck, holding him there, soothing him quietly. He squeezed you tighter against him, until there was no space between you, none at all.
You stayed that way for a little while, just letting yourselves breathe each other in and find your ground again. You slid off his lap when you finally pulled away, sitting up against the headboard of your bed as the Mandalorian continued to sit on the edge, facing away from you. It was a strange sight to see him so apprehensive. He was a warrior of hardened discipline and seasoned experience in many things; he knew many different languages and never seemed out of place in any situation. But here, on your bed, you could tell this was not a place he had ever been before; he did not know how to sit, where to put his hands, or what to say next.
He's sweet.
“Din?” You called out gently, and he turned his helmet a bit to acknowledge you. “Could you help me?” You reached over and lifted the hem of your dress a bit, revealing the intricately tied heels you were wearing.
An invitation, a bold one. An invitation into your space. An invitation for him to touch you, in ways he had not before.
Not an invitation. Closer to begging.
He nodded, standing and moving to sit closer to you, facing you now. You lifted your leg for him, and you pursed your lips to keep a soft sound from escaping as he smoothed a gloved hand up the side of your leg, looking for where the knot of it was. There was static in your mind clouding your decent thoughts as he did this slowly. He stopped as he met the edge of the slit in your skirt, silently asking for permission. You nodded, and his hand disappeared under the hem, his palm warm against your upper thigh. His fingers found the knot, pulling at the ties gently until the coiled fabric became loose around your leg.
Oh, not sweet…no, not sweet—he’s making my head spin touching me like this.
He bent your leg at the knee, fitting his finger into the swirling fabric and pulling, watching the ribbons fall easily. He took a hold of your ankle, easing the heel off your foot and letting it fall to the ground. You started to breathe heavier as he did the same to your other leg, his touch wandering as he did so. Ghosting over the bone of your ankle, up along your calf, over your knee. His touch was sizzling, raising the hairs on your body as he traced the skin of your thigh. When he found the holster with the blade fastened, he only paused for a moment before removing it. When the other shoe and the holster dropped to the ground with a thud, you both stared at each other, unmoving as you swallowed the lump in your throat.
It was now or never; you decided now sufficed.
You leaned over and took his hand, pulling him enough that he was forced to either let go or climb over you. You hummed when he chose the latter, your eyes on his visor as he moved close enough over you to touch his forehead to yours. The clink of metal made your lips tremble; it was a soft touch of beskar against beskar, and it was such a pretty sound. You closed your eyes, gasping with relief when his gloved hand found the slit of your dress again and wandered under the hem, disappearing between your widening thighs. You were warm and wet already, a heat radiating off of you since the moment you laid your eyes on him and got a look at his iridescent armor, sturdy and new and solid just like the foundations of this new feeling.
Gods, I was so wrong. He’s good at everything; there is no skill that he lacks.
The Mandalorian had no trouble hooking his fingers into the edge of your undergarments and discarding of them. He wadded the silky fabric in his hand and tossed it aside, his other arm moving behind you to wrap around your waist and yank you towards him. You made a surprised yip at the harsh tug, whimpering at how he crowded your space with his broadness. The surprise died into a moan as two of his gloved fingers plunged deep into you without warning.
The Mandalorian never waited for anything. He was impatient, and he was always on the clock. Even now, even with no timer on when this night should end, he couldn’t wait. He had waited too long for this, and not hearing your sweet voice hissing in pleasure for even a second longer would not do. You were a coveted being he had lingered upon for far too long—he would not let his newfound fortune go to waste.
Your hands held onto his shoulders for support, moving up to wrap around his neck as you let out another moan of relief. Your head fell back a bit, your eyes fluttering closed as your thighs closed around his hand. He dropped the hand on your waist to wrap your leg around his middle, keeping you spread for him. His fingers, despite his glove still on, were making you tremble. The slickness of you allowed him the ease of a gentle pace, and he watched the expression of your face as he effortlessly relaxed your tightness as he stuffed you full.
“That’s it,” he muttered, feeling you relent to his touch, and you whined at the sound of his voice. The Mandalorian rarely spoke; the only words he ever said were purposeful and carefully chosen. This slip of a phrase was just a testament to how not in control he was, to how impatient and needy he was becoming for you. His fingers moved slowly, deep and heavy as they slid achingly well in and out. Even through his gloves, the Mandalorian could feel how tight you squeezed him, how your body begged for more of his touch. His thumb waved over a plump, wet bundle of nerves, and you jerked a bit in his arms, pressing your mouth to the front of his helmet and muffling a moan into the beskar. His fingers retracted, and you cried out with need, but you noticed him discard the glove to the side.
Oh, gods—it was like seeing him naked.
You saw his skin for the first time, but you weren’t able to focus on his fingers long enough before they were pushing past your plump bottom lip and sinking into your mouth. You moaned around them, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you sucked gently on them. It was only for a moment, because then his hand went under your dress again, and you were grinding pathetically against the palm of his hand, two fingers deep inside of you again. Like a machine he knew all too well, as if he was tuning up his blaster or tightening a bolt in his ship, the Mandalorian was learning you, memorizing you, claiming you between these four walls. The Mandalorian was well-versed in many things, and he prided himself on these qualities—he would not rest until he held the same semblance of knowledge on you and what places inside of you made you weak.
Mine. She’s mine, she’s all mine, and she will never forget it.
You were flushed now, sweating a bit as you felt the heat and need of pleasure taking over you. The silver makeup around your eyes was smearing a little, littering your face in silver sparkles that was making you glow. The Mandalorian watched with a heavy pant as he moved his fingers quicker, the rising tone of your moans driving him to get you to that brink of ecstasy that you craved so much; it was clear in the darkness of your eyes and the tight grip you had on him that you were not far away. His fingers curled, spreading and moving and letting the squeeze of your walls guide him into a rhythmic pace that had you breathless and staggered—oh—Din—yes, please—!
You came with a frenzied whimper against his shoulder, your legs shaking as you rode out the blissful feeling with a grind of your hips against his hand. You barely let yourself rest, barely let yourself seethe in that heavenly feeling. You wasted no time, not giving yourself even a moment to bask in that pretty afterglow before you were pushing the Mandalorian onto his back, hiking up your dress as you straddled him.
“Wait—” he put a hand around your neck, holding you at a safe distance, but you whined in frustration, sitting yourself down on him and coaxing a harsh groan from him as you circled your hips.
The Mandalorian had no clue how close you were to breaking, how far past your own limit you had strayed. The control, the restraint, the checks and balances you had trained yourself to obey were falling and falling and falling, at a speed you could not keep up with, and you were finished trying to catch up.
If you were falling, the Mandalorian would catch you.
“Din, I swear—” you gasped, “you have no idea what you do to me,” you cradled his helmet between your arms, keeping your hips going at a steady pace against him. He put both palms against you from behind, squeezing the flesh of you. He was hard, so hard, and you angled your pelvis until you felt him perfectly against you, sitting between your folds with nothing but his pants to separate you. You were desperate, the heat inside of you too blistering to ignore, and you needed him to understand that you could not wait any longer. You had thought about this since you had met him, you had thought about how much you wanted to be his and only his and be surrounded by the essence of him until it was all you could ever know.
I want him to fuck me until it’s all I will ever know.
You stopped, slowing your hips and sinking down against him. You moved one hand and grasped his, guiding it up to the laces of your dress. You spoke no words, but he understood; he practically invented this unspoken language, and there was no need to explain.
Especially not when I can see the fire in her eyes.
So he obliged. He sat up with you, foreheads pressed together as he undid the ties at your back. You put a hand to your chest as the dress loosened around you, holding it up so it wouldn’t fall. You used your other hand and put a thumb to the bottom of his helmet, forcing it to tip down as you let go of the front of your dress, the straps falling as it pooled at your waist.
Mine. Mine, mine, mine.
You unpinned the brooch at your waist carefully and set it down beside the bed before discarding the dress onto the floor. You were bare in the Mandalorian’s lap, wearing nothing but the beskar headpiece he gifted you and a sheen of sparkly silver sweat. It felt almost sacrilegious to be like this with him; his Creed did not allow you to see any more of him, in fact you had most likely already seen too much, and yet you felt like he was wearing nothing at all either.
“Din—” You smoothed a few fingers down the side of his helmet, smiling a bit. “Do you like what you see?” You received a curt nod in response, and then a tight, possessive squeeze of your bare waist. “You’re so quiet…” Your voice fell to a soft whisper. “It’s sweet. But I don’t want you to be sweet, Din.” You raised the helmet with a few fingers, kissing the metal soft. “Not tonight. Not with me.”
So he wasn’t sweet. He unbuckled the utility belt he wore, and with your help, lifted it off of him and put it to the side. You gave him a shy smile as you reached for the cowl tucked into his chest plate, dragging it out and dropping it beside your discarded dress. You pressed your forehead to his as you laid on your back, bringing him with you as you both stared at each other knowingly. He was heavy, still wearing his armor and not even stopping to take off his boots, but the weight of him was not unwelcome. The metal was cold against your hot skin, but if anything, it cooled the desire in you just a little, offering some sort of relief because you were starting to lose your sanity with how badly you needed this man.
I can’t think, I can barely breathe…I barely remember my name, the only one I can really remember is his—
You were on fire. Burning, burning, burning up with need as he dropped his head onto the pillow beside you and sank until his hips were pressed right into yours. Your legs tightened around his middle, ankles crossing at his back as you felt him so deep. You angled your hips up a bit, your head falling back as you let out a cry. But you asked him not to be sweet, so he gripped your face with his still-gloved hand and rutted up into you after just a few moments of adjustment. You squeezed him in response, your body’s own way of telling him yes, more, give me more.
So he gave you more. In the quiet of your room, with no more light than some flickering candles littered about and the low moonlight coming in from the windows, the Mandalorian groaned in your ear and fucked you into the soft sheets of your bed. You kept your eyes where you thought his might be, your nails digging into his shoulders as you tried to keep up with him; but this was a useless attempt. He was so hard, filling you up too well, and he was making you dazed with pleasure as you laid there, helpless and letting yourself succumb to just him, him, only him. His thumb wiped across your face, brushing your needy tears away as he smeared more of that pretty silver makeup along your skin. He rubbed it along your bottom lip, aching to get that silver color on every part of you, even just a little. You were so beautiful, wearing nothing but beskar, and some part of him wished that you could mold with him just like this, beskar and flesh and hot breath and nothing more.
The Mandalorian thought that perhaps he could survive on just that.
“Din—” Your voice brought him back to you. You were close, getting so close, and you whined in surprise as he sat up and pressed you into the headboard, driving into you at such an agonizing pace. You didn’t think he could take up any more of you, you didn’t think he could make you feel any more, but he was hitting deeper, grunting as he used the weight of himself to tower over you and fuck you hard. You held onto him with a tight grip around his neck, sitting back on his thighs as the only sounds leaving you were small moans and the sputtered echoes of his name—Din, stars—mmph!
There was nothing in the galaxy that could convince you that he was a Mandalorian no longer. He was fighter inside and out, a man who only sought to move forward and not dwell on his past; he had faced too many adversities and prevailed when every odd was against him too many times to ever be anything but a Mandalorian. He had too much honor and too much love to give. His word was sacred, his hands were deadly, and he was motivated by nothing but his clan—if he was not considered a Mandalorian, then there was no one worthy of the name.
You could not see his eyes, but every touch of him and every snap of his hips against yours was enough to tell you that he thought of you no differently. There was no man or woman better intended for your station, no person more worthy of wearing Mandalorian steel, no being more deserving of love and stardust. You were perfection in his arms, your voice the song that brought him back to earth, and the way your body was succumbing to him despite the layers between you only convinced him further that he would not find another like you again.
Mine, mine, mine, she’s all mine.
He pledged to make you see stars until you understood the vows of his new life. You were his new life, you were the new armor that would hold him together, and he would have you just like this, under him crying out only his name, until you felt it in your bones.
The Mandalorian let out a satisfied grunt as you pushed on his chest, forcing him to sit back on his heels. You sat up in his arms, looking down at him as you kept up his grueling pace, your hair falling out of place but your headpiece not moving an inch as you became sloppy, unhinged, moving your hips carelessly as you chased your high all over again. Your forehead smacked against his, the beskar hitting each other sounding like a bell around the room as you wept out his name again and again and again.
He was stretching you, hitting the most precious places inside of you, fucking you as if it was a challenge. You yielded, helplessly, letting out the softest whimpers as you went limp in his arms, letting the strength of them hold you up and keep the rhythm. This was how it always would be, you were convinced; if you faltered, he would continue without a beat passing, and you would do the same. The Mandalorian wanted to yank your head back, put your eyes to the stars, and say Mandalorian vows to you right then.
We are one when together.
You cried out loudly, squeezing the skin of his neck as your eyes fell back in your head.
“Din—” You tugged helplessly on him, trying to get him as close as possible. “Din, I-I can’t…”
He reached a hand up, cupping your sweet face in his palm and guiding your eyes to his. Though you couldn’t see them, you could feel that you had his gaze.
“I have you,” he murmured, a low groan finally leaving him. You put your hands against the helmet, nodding wordlessly. “I-I have you.”
We are one when parted.
You pressed your face into his neck, his helmet tilted back to give you space to rest there. You tugged down the collar of his flight suit just enough to kiss him there, your teeth biting down gently as you finally saw stars, millions of them blinding your vision as you let him take you far away. You moaned powerlessly in his arms, your hips chasing his as you rode out some blissful high that left you wordless, hazy, dumbstruck with the taste, the smell, the feel of him. All five senses were Din, Din, Din, and you breathed it in until you could breathe no more.
We will share all. We will raise warriors.
You hissed with delight when you felt his hands squeeze you possessively, his hips faltering as he relaxed. You rested your face against his shoulder, closing your eyes as you settled there in his arms. There was no space between you; there was no force that could break you apart, not right now, perhaps not ever. You adjusted yourself just slightly, and you both moaned, feeling your thighs soak with each other, dripping along your skin and onto his pants, making a mess. You smiled at that, growing flustered as you pulled your head up and stared into his eyes sheepishly. He pushed your hair back away from your face, adoring the sight of you. You were not a royal made of glass; you were a woman made of steel, and he imagined it might be Mandalorian steel—impenetrable, protective, beautiful.
Mine. Mine, mine, mine…she’s mine, and that’s why she’s so pretty, that’s why I can’t get enough of her, that’s why nothing makes sense unless I see her, unless I can feel her, unless I am all around her.
You picked up the discarded clothes around the room, albeit on wobbly legs. You hung the dress up carefully, slipping into another a light silk dress to sleep in as you gathered the rest of the Mandalorian’s things off the floor and set them down on a table nearby. The room was warm, and the starlight was bright, and the sight of the Mandalorian shuffling around your space put you at ease. He belonged here. Not long ago, he seemed unsure of himself in your room; now he took up the places he stood in as if he always had been there.
The Mandalorian saw a reflection of himself in you. He had seen it from the moment you had boarded his ship the very first morning he had met you. The nimble way you held a weapon, the ease and comfort and grace you had when fighting another—he even saw it in the way you put yourself back together when one of your own tried to steal the goodness and kindness of your heart by killing it out of you. Like him, you were molded by grief and difficulty and honor; if he closed his eyes, he might have thought you were Mandalorian yourself. It was the kind of thought that prompted him to commission beskar pieces on your behalf; it was not a sacrifice of Mandalorian steel, it was an offering.
It was only now that the Mandalorian thought of redemption. As he came close to you and put a hand on your face, his fingers tight under your chin to look at you, he began to believe in redemption, in salvation, in the revitalization of who he was at his core. Because in your eyes, he could see the image of himself, the silver of his beskar and the darkness of his visor and all the parts of him that you loved so deeply, all the parts of him that you had no reluctance saying yes to.
“There…there is a way for me to be redeemed,” the Mandalorian murmured, smoothing his fingers up your jaw. Your eyes sparkled, and you put your hand over his, squeezing him gently. “If I bathe in the Living Waters, then I will be Mandalorian again. But…I have a few things to do before I can try.”
Your eyes shined, a smile coming over your face as you stood on your toes, level with his eyes. The Mandalorian saw something new in your gaze. Wonder, excitement, the rush of adventure all blurring into one. You moved both hands forward, touching both sides of his helmet, kissing the metal softly as you silently gave him your permission, your acceptance, your encouragement of starting something over. You had waited a long time for the Mandalorian to come back to you; you had waited even longer for him to ask you to come with him.
There it was, he saw it so clearly—stardust in your eyes and joy on your mouth and silver against your skin. You were a sight all too beautiful. He thought about kneeling, about dropping his head and telling a queen that there was no place in the galaxy, in the cosmos, amongst the stars that he would not go to for you. If the Mandalorian knew how inflated you were with the same feeling, he might’ve lost his balance.
“Well…”
Your eyes were still there, still full of starlight.
Mine. Mine, mine, mine.
“…then what are we waiting for?”
A Touch of Humanity - Din Djarin x gn!reader
re-edited (Feb. 2023)
Read on AO3 - Masterlist
Part III: Naboo
Part I | Part II
summary: A sobering abruption, a few weighty decisions, and a wandering scamp who thinks with his stomach. What lengths will Din have to go to in order to secure a future for his family?
word count: 8.8k
tags/warnings: fluff, angst, canon typical violence, Din is the Father the holy trinity is talking about, co-parenting, Grogu is so good at playing a damsel in distress, gift giving is Din's love language, the helmet comes OFF (actually), I used canonical places and history until there was no more to go off of and then made up my own to flesh it out
“Sola,” you breathe.
The grip you have on Din’s wrist would leave a bruise if it weren’t for the protective layers. Din tenses up. He steps forward, half in front of you. It’s a moment where the beskar stops being just Din’s and becomes yours as well. A wall of beskar between you and the sign screaming DANGER. Grogu sinks lower into the pouch when he sees Din’s stance. The movement places him out of view.
“Y’know, I really never thought I’d see you off Naboo,” she teases and starts clapping, “Good on you.”
Your nostrils flare as humiliation tears through you. If you weren’t frozen, you’d run. Frankly, you aren’t sure if Din will take the opportunity to collect another bounty. You aren’t sure if you’d want to stop him.
“I see you’ve been busy too,” her eyes travel up the length of Din in a way that makes your blood feel like acid.
“What do you want, Sola?” you question, your voice finding footing so it comes out firm.
“Geez, not even a hello, how are you? I guess I should lead by example as the older sibling,” she sighs dramatically, “How are you, Polliwog?”
The old nickname sears your skin. Your grip on Din’s wrist tightens further.
“I’m fine,” you answer through grit teeth.
“Good, that’s good to hear,” she says pleasantly.
Sola waits expectantly, still swinging her legs casually. When you don’t return the question she rolls her eyes.
“How are you, Sola?” She does a bad impression of you, “I’m doing great, Polliwog. Thank you for asking.”
“What do you want?” You repeat more forcefully.
“Word around the galaxy is I have a nephew. I wanted to meet the little bugger.”
“Who told you that?” you ask.
Sola waves a dismissive hand at you.
“It’s a small galaxy. Not a lot of Mandalorians are walking around with a Grizmallti and a baby. So, where is the little womprat?”
“You’re not getting near him,” you snap before Din has the chance to.
“C’mon, Polliwog. I know some people who are very keen to meet him and they’d make us rich for the honor,” she says it like she’s dangling a carrot in front of you.
“You should go,” Din states firmly.
“Oh, nice, the shiny one does talk. Here’s the thing, Shiny, this doesn’t involve you. This is a family matter,” Sola tells him condescendingly like she’s speaking to a youngling.
“This is my family.”
Sola’s eyes widen and she sits up straighter. She takes a second to look between the two of you, a smirk crawling onto her face.
“Well, now, isn’t that interesting? Of all the things to crack beskar, I never thought it would be you, Polliwog. Not with how soft you’ve always been,” she muses.
“Stop calling me that,” you tell her, anger seeping into your voice.
The name makes you feel so small, so helpless. It makes you feel like a polliwog caught in the current of the Dee’ja Peak river, not strong enough to resist being swept away. You suppose that’s why she uses it. Sola has always been big on making you feel small. She frowns, pushing out her bottom lip.
“You’re not even a little happy to see me?”
You exhale sharply through your nose.
“It’s nice to see you aren’t dead, but no, I’m not happy to see you.”
Sola sucks her teeth, clearly growing bored of the conversation. She pushes herself off the crates and lands easily on her feet. Din towers over her, but she isn’t phased in the slightest. Sola knows better than anyone that size doesn’t matter in a fight, just how hard you hit.
Her hair is pulled back into two braided buns on the back of her head, her clothes are tactical, and there’s a scar you didn’t notice when she was up on the crates. The scar is a few shades darker than the rest of her face but was clearly once a deep wound. It travels along the right side of her jaw, curving up around the corner of her mouth, and across her nose before tapering off under her left eye.
“Mind movin’ for me, Shiny?” she asks with a sweet smile, but her cold eyes stay on you.
“Yes, I do,” Din answers, voice ice under the twin Tatooine suns.
Sola’s eyes shift to Din, but only her eyes move. She arches an eyebrow and gives him another look up and down. Din knows she’s sizing him up, trying to decide if a fight with him is worth it. He flexes his hand on his blaster in a warning. The corner of Sola’s mouth quirks up. Din moves his head sideways to look over his shoulder.
“Go back to the Crest,” he tells you.
“What? I’m not let-”
“There are more important things to worry about than pride right now. Please, just go back to the Crest.”
You feel Grogu shift on your back and your stomach drops. You know what Din is asking of you. Go to the Crest, close the door, and protect the kid. As much as you didn’t want to leave him, he’s right. You need to worry about keeping Grogu safe. You need to trust Din to handle it like he always does. It’s Sola you don’t trust.
“Okay,” you agree quietly.
Sola sighs loudly.
“You know I can’t let you do that, Polliwog. We’ve been through this before, haven’t we? Just like when we were kids, give me what I want. You know I’ll take it anyway,” she looks at her nails bored as she speaks.
You start seeing red. Rage trembles through your bones. Not only is she calling Grogu it, but she’s also comparing taking him to sell to taking your toys as children.
“He’s not an object, Sola,” you seeth, “he’s a kid.”
“He’s worth a shit ton of money.”
Din has had enough. He whips his blaster out of its holster and aims at Sola’s chest.
“So are you. Looks like we’re at an impasse,” he says cooly.
Sola makes a round pop with her tongue on the roof of her mouth and takes a step back. There’s still a smirk on her face. It’s infuriating how when she doesn’t look bored she looks amused.
“Alright, this just got interesting. What are they offering you for me?” She jerks her chin up at Din as she asks.
“More than you’re worth.”
“Awe, he thinks he can hurt me. Cute. I’ll double it to forget you saw me.”
“You could triple it and I would bring you in for free,” Din angles his head down menacingly.
“Gotta say, I like this one, Polliwog. I figured you’d end up with someone more… cutesy, more your speed. A little hypocritical when you think of the talks you’ve given me, but I’m willing to let that go,” Sola smiles mischievously.
She’s trying to get in your head. You know that, but it’s still working. The rage cools into embarrassment. Heat floods your cheeks.
“You’re talking to me now,” Din asserts.
“Please, you’re not going to do anything to me for two reasons. One, I came unarmed. Sure, you’re a bounty hunter, but are you really a murderer? Two, Polliwog wouldn’t be able to look at you after watching that. Something tells me that would bother you,” Sola is patronizing but absolutely correct.
“How do you know I won’t kill you and collect the bounty now that I know you’re unarmed?” Din challenges.
“You Mandalorians tend to be pretty rigid on honor codes,” she shrugs with a smirk, “and I like to gamble.”
“So, what? You just came by to see if you could talk me into giving you a child to sell?” you demand incredulously.
Sola shrugs again carelessly.
“More or less. Believe it or not, I don’t actually want to hurt you. I figured I’d give you a fair warning.”
“A fair warning?” you furrow your brows.
“Yeah, if you don’t want to cooperate now when I’m asking nicely… Well, when I come to collect later I won’t be as nice,” Sola sounds like she’s deriving some sick pleasure from this.
“If you come back later, neither will I,” Din warns.
“Cute. You two are cute,” she seems to decide out loud.
With a smile, she stalks off into Mos Eisley. It takes Din’s firm grasp on your upper arms to make you realize you’re shaking. His gloved thumbs rub against your arms soothingly.
“I won’t let her touch you,” he promises.
You manage a weak smile. Din hates seeing the light of your face so dim. Like the flame responsible is close to flickering out.
“We should check on Peli,” you whisper.
Din nods, but he refuses to stop touching you. He takes hold of your hand and the two of you go find Peli snoring on a tattered couch.
***
“Din,” your voice is soft in the silence of the cockpit.
“Yes?”
“I… I think I want to go home.”
Din swears the floor of the Crest gives out beneath him. He swears he’s hurdling aimlessly through space with no hope of being found.
“Can I ask why?” He’s quiet. The words are only audible due to the sheer will to be heard.
“Sola found us because of me,” you say a half-truth.
You don’t want to tell him that you fear she’s right. That you’re too soft for Din. That you’re better off with someone more your speed. What if he realizes that you aren’t enough, that he needs someone more like Sola to keep up with him? Maybe not exactly like Sola, but similar enough.
“She would have found us either way,” he tells you.
“Din… let’s be honest with ourselves. I’m not made for all this. The one thing Sola was right about is that I don’t fit this. I don’t…,” you trail off.
I don’t fit you sits on the tip of your tongue. Din clicks on the autopilot. He crouches in front of you in the already cramped space. Grogu is asleep in his hammock, safe for another day.
“Nothing Sola said was right,” he insists.
You stare into the not-so-empty black of his visor and wish you were seeing brown. You wish you knew what kind of brown.
“I can’t keep up with you, with this lifestyle. I’ll only slow you down,” you poke another hole in his attempt to comfort you.
Seeing Sola always makes you spiral. Seeing her with Din and having her comment on your relationship with him is a special kind of spiral. The kind that feels too true. Din’s gloved hands cradle your face. It’s not quite the same as his bare hands, but it’s still undoubtedly him.
“Then I’ll slow down. I’ll come to a complete stop if I have to. Whatever you need from me I’m prepared to give you,” the words come out half pleading and soft.
You blink away tears. It takes extreme effort not to fall apart in his hands. When has anyone ever offered you so much? How could you accept so much? How could you not?
“Would you stay in Dee’ja Peak with me?”
“I would stay anywhere as long as it’s with you.”
With a quivering lip, you throw your arms around Din. The beskar is a strangely comforting feeling. The cold nip grounds you, and anchors you to him. His arms are sure this time. They wrap around your back and hold you against him firmly. You pull back to be able to look at his face. The face of his helmet which you know by sight, but also the face you know by touch that resides underneath.
“What will we do about Sola?” you ask.
“I’m not interested in the bounty on her head anymore. I understand the complexities of the situation, but if it comes down to her or Grogu-”
“Pick Grogu,” you say without missing a beat.
Din pauses in surprise. He expected you to be on the same page, but that he would still have to coax it out of you a bit. He nods in agreement.
“You’ll still be able to look at me if it comes to that?”
You place a hand on his beskar cheek. The smile that crawls onto your lips is proof the flame is gaining new life. It warms him inside out.
“I’ll always be able to look at you. You’re not the only one who understands the complexities of the situation. I just want Grogu safe. I don’t care what the cost is,” you tell him with all the tenderness you can muster.
The emotion that floods Din’s entire being is new and intense, but familiar and good. It feels like taking his helmet off after a long day and enjoying the air on his face. A rush of adrenaline mingled in with the high of joy. Something so similar to what he feels for Grogu, but yet worlds apart. That thought slides it all into place and Din knows. He knows he’s fallen completely in love with you. It overwhelms him until he can’t take it anymore, until he has only a single shred of self-restraint left that threatens to snap.
“Close your eyes, keep them shut until I say,” he gives the orders gently.
You do as he says. The hiss of his helmet being released is sharp in the quiet of the cockpit. You don’t feel his hands, so you assume the helmet is still in them. Din presses a deep, affectionate kiss to your lips. A thrill shoots down your spine and explodes into a million butterflies in your stomach. Too soon, he’s gone and you hear the click of his helmet fastening.
“You can open your eyes.”
Your eyes flutter open. The beskar is there like it was never gone. The ache for him still on your lips tells you otherwise.
“I really like doing that,” you chuckle lightly.
“Me too.”
***
Returning home after traversing the galaxy with Din makes everything look different. Dee’ja Peak feels like a completely different place. It occurs to you as you walk through the town to get to your house that, perhaps, it’s you that’s changed. You left here a lone traveler hitching a ride with the fearsome Mandalorian. You’re returning as someone who is loved, as a parent, and as a family.
Once someone spots you and calls out your name, you get swarmed by fellow Grizmallti. Hugs, kisses on the cheeks, and happy cheers get passed around. Din watches fondly with Grogu in the pouch on his front. Gus sees Din off to the side and approaches him. He sticks his hand out gruffly. Din stares for a moment before taking it in a firm handshake.
“I wasn’t sure of you when you started showing up and leaving the kid. I heard you were after Sola… wasn’t sure what you were getting at. You kept’em safe, though. Brought’em home. You have the respect of Dee’ja Peak for that,” Gus nods curtly.
“This was never about Sola,” Din tells him evenly.
Gus seems to size him up before deciding to believe him. Another curt nod to confirm it to himself.
“Good. That’s good. Thank you. I’ve been looking after’em since those two were younglings. Sola… I don’t know what happened. It was like something just went bad in her. It only got worse after their parents passed,” Gus sighs, “What I’m trying to get at is- I’m happy to know there’s someone else looking after’em too.”
Din nods, pride swelling his chest. He likes that it’s known that he protects you. That he watches out and keeps you safe. He likes that someone could look at the two of you and know you’re with him.
“I’m happy to.”
A hint of a smile appears on Gus’s face. He slaps a hand down on Din’s pauldron in a gesture of camaraderie, of acceptance into something larger than himself that won’t take so much from him. Then Gus is stepping away to rejoin the crowd welcoming you home.
You eventually make your way through everyone. Your house looms over you and anxiety strikes your heart. Din may think he’s okay staying, but what if that changes once he does? What if your house never feels like home again? What if Dee’ja Peak or Nabu never feels like home again?
“You’re worrying again,” Din comments from behind you after a beat of standing in silence.
You breathe out a laugh and turn around.
“I haven’t even said anything,” you point out.
“You don’t have to.”
It’s a humbling sentence. You don’t always have to speak. Sometimes your body does that for you. When your words fail, Din can still read you enough to know something is up. Feeling so deeply known is a luxury you have never had the privilege of experiencing before. Now that you have, you never want to go back.
“Are you sure this will be enough for you?”
Din can hear the unspoken question. Are you sure I will be enough for you?
“I know it will be because it already is.”
A trembling smile makes its way across your face. His words give you the strength you need to unlock the door and enter. Everything is exactly as you left it. Just a little dustier, but otherwise the same. Grogu coos happily as Din puts him down and takes off to cause a ruckus. It feels right coming home with them. It feels like it’s how it always should have been.
“I’m gonna throw my stuff in my room, maybe get changed,” you tell Din.
He nods and watches you disappear beyond your door. It’s a split-second decision that took weeks upon weeks of agonizing over. His heart is pounding so hard he’s surprised there isn’t a metallic sound from it hitting the beskar of his chest plate. He sits on one of the comfy cushy seats he’s secretly missed. Grogu comes around the seat with a cookie. Din chuckles and shakes his head.
“I don’t want to know where you got that from.”
He takes a steadying breath. Then the hiss of his helmet release and Grogu’s excited gurgling fill the room. Din places his helmet carefully on the ground beside him. Grogu reaches up for him and Din takes him into his lap. A little three-fingered hand meets his cheek gently, ears perking up. Din smiles softly at him.
“Oh, do you-” your voice stops abruptly.
Din freezes for a moment, a hot spike of self-doubt driving through his gut. He hears your shaky breath and can’t take it anymore. Din turns to you, eyes wide and nervous. You stand just outside your bedroom door in a new set of clothes. Your fingers barely cover your mouth as you process the shock of what you’re seeing.
It’s an agonizing five seconds of nothing. Of you taking each other in. Then you move forward slowly. You’re completely captivated by every feature. His eyes are the kind of brown that makes you think of soil and the life that springs from it. They send you feelings of hope for the future. As you thought, his facial hair is short, more of a stubble. His nose slopes downward in the most endearing way. Then there are his lips. His lips that you’ve felt on yours, but have never seen. Now you can appreciate the gentle bow of them, the way they part slightly as he watches you.
“Din?” you ask breathlessly, stopping halfway between him and your bedroom.
It’s a stupid question. Of course, it’s Din. Yet, you couldn’t get anything else out of your mouth. He nods at you, eyes still holding all his anxiousness. His face shows you everything he’s feeling. The hope, the nerves, the adoration, and the determination. You stand in limbo, wanting so badly to touch him, but not wanting to move too fast. Din watches, starving for your touch.
“Your helmet is off,” you state slowly.
“Yes, it is,” he answers with a little quirk of his lips.
Seeing his mouth move and hearing his voice come out of it doesn’t feel real. It feels like peering through the looking glass into your dreams.
“Why? You didn’t have to- Maker, did you feel like you had to becau-”
“I didn’t feel like I had to do anything. I did what I wanted to. What I’ve been wanting to do,” he assures you.
That voice washes over you, easing every tense muscle. You finally finish closing the space between you. He angles his head to look up at you and it hits you. This man, this face, this beautiful example of a human has been the one caring for you, buying you gifts, and kissing you like you’re his last chance for air before suffocating.
You reach out an uncertain hand toward his face. When your fingers brush across his stubble, his eyes fall shut. Din just sits there and allows himself to revel not only in your touch but the fact that it’s accompanied by your eyes on his face.
You’re exploding on a molecular level. Every square inch of you is becoming something entirely new. It almost hurts how happy you are. Not because you’re looking at Din’s face precisely, but because he’s offering you every ounce of trust he has. He’s telling you through the simple act of looking you in the eye that he is wholly and completely comfortable with you. You’re his family. You’ve never doubted it since he said it, but it feels so much more official now.
“You’re beautiful,” you whisper.
Din’s face flushes, bringing a reddened tone to his tan stubbled cheeks. You smile at the sight.
“So are you,” he whispers back, matching your smile.
Grogu coos happily on Din’s lap. Both of you turn your smiles to him. He gazes up at you two with wide joyful eyes and ears perked up. You place a small kiss on the top of his head, causing him to close his eyes briefly when your lips meet his skin.
Before you get too far, Grogu places his hand on your cheek lightly. Then he looks to Din expectantly. Din lowers his face closer so Grogu can place his other hand on Din’s cheek. It’s a tender little moment of being connected to each other, of accepting each other. It’s Grogu’s way of telling you that he loves you both.
Once he’s satisfied that he got his message across, Grogu crawls down. That’s when you see the half a cookie in his hand that he has previously put down.
“Wait, where did he get that?” you ask.
“I don’t know.”
“Din, you let him eat a cookie that’s probably been sitting here for weeks?” you try to be stern, but you end up laughing.
“I’ve seen him eat much worse,” he shrugs.
This is the first time you see the expression he makes when he shrugs. His eyebrows go up a little and he gets a hint of a pout. Every expression he offers is a gift, but this one is especially endearing.
You ponder his words.
“Y’know, I have too,” you sigh.
You and Din watch Grogu. You watch him climb up the empty seat with the cookie in his mouth. Once he’s up there he settles in and continues munching. Crumbs are getting everywhere, but that’s something you can deal with later. You turn your head to talk to Din only to find his eyes already intently on you.
Din’s mouth captures yours in a soft kiss. He tugs on your arm to get you to come around the seat. Then he pulls you into his lap. The beskar is cold even through your clothes, but his mouth is so warm. You cradle his face as his arms circle around you. Breathing becomes a priority faster than you care to admit, causing you to pull back. Just like every other second you since stepping out of your room, you look into his eyes. Those unreal eyes are ready to nurture you, to care for you, and to remind you of that every day.
“I don’t know why I was ever worried that I’m too soft for you when you treat me so gently,” you mumble.
Din’s eyebrows furrow. It amazes you how expressive the face beneath that helmet has been this entire time. How many smiles has he returned? How many has he initiated?
“It’s why I love you,” he says it like it’s the one known fact of life.
Your breathing stops. Everything feels so hot. Sure, it’s not like you couldn’t guess, but it’s different hearing it. It’s different hearing it like it’s not even a question worth entertaining. The answer is etched in the bedrock of the oldest river on the oldest planet and has been since the beginning of time.
“You love me because I’m soft?” you keep your voice hushed as if being too loud will wake you up from this dream.
“I love you because you’re brave enough to be kind and caring in a galaxy that often isn’t. That often punishes those who are.”
Your eyes search his and find only honesty. A smile crawls upon your face. Again, he matches your smile with his own.
“I love you too, Din. Except I love you because you’re brave enough to be kind and caring after being raised in a culture that teaches you not to be.”
“You love me because I’m soft?” his smile grows amused.
“Yes, I do. You’re my soft,” you place a kiss on his forehead, “kind,” another on his nose, “caring,” and finally one on his lips, “beautiful man.”
Din looks at you like you handcrafted the universe. He’s never been described as any of those things. To hear them all coming from you is more than he ever let himself wish for.
“What were you asking when you came out here?” he asks, suddenly recalling how this started.
“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to rotate beds until we figured something out, but… sleeping next to you sounds a lot nicer,” you say, a smirk curling on your lips.
“Yes, it does.”
***
Waking up in Din’s arms is something you’re sure will get you giddy every time. Especially when his eyes are already studying when you wake up. Your eyes flutter open and a loving smile grows on Din’s lips. How did you go this long without that smile?
The two of you spend the day cleaning to get rid of the dust and any old food. Din does so in only his flight suit, armor safe and sound in your now shared bedroom. It’s a slice of domesticity that provides you with a peak at what’s to come.
What’s to come is you and Din working in effortless tandem as if reading each other’s minds, stealing stares and little kisses in the process. Grogu wakes up somewhere during mid-morning. Din had secured his little hammock across your still-empty closet. It’s perfect for his current size, but you’re sure it’ll have to be upgraded as he grows.
After feeding him a breakfast of warm oats, you set Grogu up at the coffee table with paper and crayons. He’s able to make shapes now thanks to your expert training. The crayons fill his tiny fists so much that finer detail is impossible, but you can see your little budding artist coming out. It’s the most pleasant morning you can recall having.
There’s a rare moment when neither of you has eyes on Grogu. You’re on your knees cleaning out the last kitchen cabinet. When you take one of your regular glances at Din he’s doing the dishes from Grogu’s breakfast. Which means both of your backs have been to Grogu. The silence you register outside of the running water becomes head-pounding. No little noises, no paper crinkling, and no sound of crayons against a hard surface.
“Din, where’s Grogu?” you ask as you stand up and look into the empty living room.
Din looks over his shoulder at where you’re staring. The spot Grogu is supposed to be in is empty. You do your best to tamp down the panic that’s threatening to rip you apart. It’s no use, Din can see it on you right away.
“Has he gone back to sleep?” he asks calmly.
His anxiety shows in how he turns off the water, immediately turning around to scan the room. You go to the bedroom expecting to find him curled up on your unmade bed. Except, the bedroom is empty too. The look on your face when you come back out makes Din’s stomach drop to his feet.
“Din?” you whisper anxiously, looking at him with wide eyes for guidance.
Din kicks into full Mandalorian mode in a blink. His face is stern, shoulders squared, and posture stiff. Nothing like the loose relaxed man that was just doing dishes quietly beside you. This is a man on a mission.
“Check the bathroom,” he doesn’t really order you, but you do it as such.
“Din,” you call out, panic fully breaking through the thin barrier you built.
He’s there, over your shoulder before you can even finish his name. The mirror that extends from the wall is flush against it. The window above the sink is open and there are crumbs trailing over the windowsill. The toilet seat is down, which gives Grogu the perfect landing to climb onto. All of that is bad on its own, but the worst of it is on the glass pane of the window. Neat black letters are written across from the outside in marker. Nothing personal, Polliwog. You might be sick.
“Stay here,” Din does order you this time.
You follow him to the bedroom where he starts fastening all his armor to his body. Tears are quickly welling up in the corners of your eyes.
“I’m coming with you,” you tell him firmly.
He gives you desperately pleading eyes. He’s begging you not to make this harder, never once stopping armoring up.
“I need you to stay here,” he says, softer this time.
“And do what? Just wait, not knowing if you’re going to come back?” you demand, voice growing louder the more you grow anxious.
Once everything, but his helmet is on he walks up to you. Both heavy gloved hands find your upper arms.
“Mesh’la, I can’t be worried about you out there. Please, stay where I know you’re safe. We will be back.”
“Where are you even going? We don’t know where they went.”
“I’m going to follow the crumbs.”
You stare stubbornly into his eyes. The mixed emotions of fear, anger, desperation, and love you find there cause you to sigh.
“Okay, fine, but if you aren’t back in a few hours I’m coming after you,” you cross your arms as you compromise.
Din gives your arms a little squeeze. He leans in and presses a brief kiss to your lips before securing his helmet. You stare into his visor, now knowing the expressions that lie behind it.
“Please, come back, Din,” you plead softly, “I need you both to come back.”
“We will, I swear.”
You walk him to the front door. It feels eerily like all the times you said goodbye. A moment where nothing has changed. Nothing except for everything.
“I love you,” he says to you.
“I love you too.”
After a beat of taking each other in, he’s gone. You drop into the seat where Din sat last night and bury your face in your hands. An ugly sob breaks through. Although you know this is no one’s fault but Sola’s, guilt begins to creep in. Guilt, shame, and knee-buckling fear. The guilt of not watching Grogu better. The shame of Sola being your sister and therefore bringing them closer to her. Knee-buckling fear that you’ll never see one or both of them again.
You drag your hands down your face, wiping away fat tears. That’s when you catch sight of the colors on the last page Grogu had been coloring on. Gray, blue, and green. It would be an incomprehensible image to anyone else, but to you, it’s clear as day. A gray rounded smudge of color represents Din. A blue rounded smudge of color represents you and the Corellian silk he must intrinsically associate with you at this point. A smaller green smudge of color represents Grogu himself.
Although fear is still very much present, an overwhelming wave of emotion forces you up. There’s just no way you can sit here for hours. There’s no way you can sit here for another second without doing something. What can you do, though? You’re just a soft little Grizmallti from Dee’ja Peak armed with nothing but the need to protect your family. That self-deprecating thought gives you a light bulb above the head moment.
Pulling on your shoes as you go, you run outside. You sprint over to Gus’s and barrel in. He looks startled by the rough entrance but relaxes when he registers it’s you.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as he gets a good look at your face.
“She took my kid. Sola took my kid.”
***
The crumbs lead to the woods, which doesn’t really come as a surprise. Sola must have been seen going into these woods at some point for the rumor of her running off in there to have spread. The woods means Sola has the upper hand. She knows the terrain, the territory, and what lurks in the shadows. Din is at a substantial disadvantage, but it doesn’t really matter. He doesn’t hesitate following the crumbs into the sea of trees.
The crumbs die off pretty quickly once under the canopy of foliage. Luckily, Din can still make out Sola-sized footprints in the soft mossy ground. He finds some broken branches from where she’s stepped or passed through. Clearly, she’s confident enough to not bother even attempting to cover her tracks. Din keeps his blaster at the ready. This time, he won’t think twice about shooting whether she’s armed or not. A line has been crossed that can’t be uncrossed.
“Oh, I was hoping it would be you to follow me,” Sola’s perky voice echoes through the trees around him.
He stops walking to glance around. Visibility is low thanks to the sky being blotted out by leaves.
“Why is that?” he calls back, constantly looking in every direction, listening for any sign of where she is.
“Well, I should have the talk with you, right? About your intentions and all that good stuff,” her voice carries a teasing edge.
“My only intention right now is finally collecting that bounty,” he answers sharply.
“You’re a lively one, aren't’cha, Shiny?” she chuckles, voice sounding just a little further away.
She’s baiting him, trying to draw him deeper into the forest. It wouldn’t work normally, but Grogu is with her. Din can’t not follow. What he can do is try to piss her off enough to show herself.
“I will be compared to you when this is over,” he bites in response.
Sola’s laughter echoes around him.
“Oh, you’re funny. I like that in a man. Polliwog better be careful, I just might take you too,” she teases, “I know for a fact I’m more exciting.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged,” she’s a little deeper in the woods now.
Din is getting an uneasy feeling in his gut. The sensation of eyes on the back of his neck sends a chill down his spine.
“So, do it then. Unless you’re scared,” Din challenges.
Sola lets out a dramatic sigh.
“Mm, that was a decent try, but I think I’ll wait for my friend to do the job for me,” she sneers.
“Your frien-” Din can’t finish the two-word question.
Something hard and heavy slams into his side, sending him flying into a tree. The tree lets out a CRACK as the bark splits where he impacts it. Din grunts and lifts his head to find a large set of teeth in front of him, sharp and dripping with saliva. The teeth belong to a creature Din has never seen before. It has two large hind legs, two shorter arms with razor-sharp claws, a nose like a bat, black eyes like a deep sea creature, and thin wiry fur sparsely covering splotchy skin.
Din uses the tree to help himself up as the creature breathes heavily at him, blinking vertical eyelids. He has one arm holding his torso, pretty sure there are at least a couple of broken ribs to take care of later. Hopefully. No, you promised. There will be a later, Din silently scolds himself. His other hand points his blaster at the creature.
“Sola, you’re taller than I remember,” Din grunts sarcastically at the thing.
“You haven’t even scratched the surface of what this forest has to offer,” Sola chuckles, sounding closer this time.
“I’d like to keep it that way,” he mutters to himself.
The creature lunges for Din again, but this time he’s able to throw himself out of the way. It slams its head into the tree, earning another CRACK. There’s a moment of silence, the creature stunned by the head blow. Then the tree lets out a groan.
Din takes the second he has to pull the trigger. The blaster hits the creature square in the back, but its hide is thicker than it looks. It just makes the thing roar angrily. The tree continues to groan. Din can hear Sola curse and pinpoints her in the tree that’s about to fall. He sees her moving fluidly through the branches like she’s done it a million times before. Right when she’s about to leap from the falling tree to the next, Din shoots her. The shot hits home on her thigh, causing her to fumble her landing.
She slips as her leg buckles from the pain, hissing. Then she’s hanging by her armpits fifteen feet off the ground. There’s a cloth bag hanging off her back that’s squirming. Din aims his blaster up at her head.
“Let him go,” he orders cooly.
“How much you offering for him?” she asks tauntingly, struggling to get herself up since she can’t swing her bad leg without crying out in pain.
Din must have hit bone. Good.
“Your life,” he spits.
“Not enough, gonna need more,” she grunts, attempting to use her full upper body strength on the branch that’s beginning to look precarious.
She must have only meant to hop onto and right off that branch because no way will it hold her weight long-term. Din opens his mouth to respond, but a low guttural growl stops him. He sighs and turns his attention back to the creature that’s recovered from its pained stupor. It readies itself to charge at him, but the tree is so close to falling. If Din can stall it, maybe he can trap it beneath the tree.
As it starts charging, Din begins firing his blaster at it. Each hit causes the creature’s footsteps to falter backward from the force. He’s too busy biding his time to hear the thud of Sola landing mostly on her uninjured leg. He doesn’t until the tree’s groaning finally becomes splintering as the tree falls forward, horizontal from Din’s current perspective. He’s waiting to let off one more blast, trying to time it to get most of the creature beneath the trunk. Right when he’s about to pull the trigger, white-hot pain shoots through his thigh.
His gaze snaps down as he grunts in pain. Sola has a knife buried to its hilt in the side of his thigh. She herself is on her stomach on the ground. Her leg is worse off from allowing herself to drop from the tree.
“Now we match,” she smirks, despite being in pain.
“Dank farrik,” Din hisses, pointing his blaster down at Sola.
The tree comes crashing down, missing the creature without Din’s final blaster shot. Its ferocious roar gains Din’s attention. He’s sure it’s over for all three of them. He’s sure Sola’s total disregard for her own life just doomed Grogu’s and his own. It’s a strange weightless feeling he’s experienced before, the certainty that he’s about to die. For once, it’s a feeling that wrenches his heart. It’s a feeling that leaves him distraught instead of numb acceptance.
The creature pounces, Sola is cackling from the forest floor behind him, and his last thought is the image of his little family together on that cushy seat at home.
Din’s eyes widen as the creature is knocked sideways when it’s only inches away. His gaze follows its limp body slide a few feet. What looks like a small harpoon is through its neck. In complete and utter confusion, he looks in the direction it came from, nearly dropping his blaster at what he finds.
A breath of relief rattles out when your eyes meet Din’s visor. You watch his shoulders drop in relief, his grip on his blaster going loose, and a tilt of his head that makes you think he’s on the verge of tears.
Gus is breathing heavily beside you, his giant crossbow lowered. Melda is at your flank with another harpoon in her hands, Luka at hers with a quiver of them. A family that usually only deals in credits and sharp words has come together to help fight for yours. Sola curses angrily when she sees the group. Din lets out a breath that sounds a lot like your name. Grogu can be heard gurgling as he struggles against the bag on Sola’s back.
Sola heaves herself up onto her heels, her hand flies up, and hits the knife sticking out of Din’s thigh. He drops to his knee with a pained groan, giving her the opportunity to take his blaster. Melda is quickly reloading Gus’s crossbow that he already has aimed at Sola. Sola has Din’s blaster aimed between your eyes but doesn’t pull the trigger. She sees Gus’s weapon pointed at her fully loaded.
“Let’s put an end to this, Sola,” you plead.
Din looks helplessly between the three of you. If Gus lets that harpoon go it’ll impale Grogu with Sola.
“Maker, why do you care so much about this thing?” she groans in irritation.
“That thing is a child- my child,” you snap back.
Din is soothed by your voice and awed by your words.
“Please, it’s just some little beast you picked up off the street,” Sola snaps back.
Your nostrils flare, fists clench, and you’re ready to take over Gus’s crossbow.
“Let. Him. Go,” you demand, voice lethal.
“You’ll have to kill me,” she taunts with a smile.
“Sola, don’t do this. Just let the youngling go and no one has to get any more hurt,” Gus calls to her.
She sends him a nasty glare.
“You got the credits to convince me, shopkeep,” she spits.
“I got the harpoon to,” he gives his weapon a little shake for emphasis.
“Funny, you think I care about a little thing like livin’,” she snickers.
You shake your head in horror. Whoever this is in front of you isn’t your sister. No, she stopped being your sister long ago. You just didn’t know how low she had sunk.
“How did you get like this, Sola?” you ask, heartbroken.
“I’ve always been like this, Polliwog. You were just too soft to see it.”
So much happens at once. There’s the sound of the blaster, a shout, a scuffle, and the blaster again. When you blink you’re looking up at the trees. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion. As you start to sit up a whole bunch of people rush to your side forcing you back down. Everything feels slow and muted. You try to sit up again, a little annoyed, but gentle hands push you back down.
“What-”
“You need to stay down. Please, you need to stay down,” Din’s modulated voice tells you.
His voice makes everything snap into focus. The pain finally registers. You look down at your torso. Your side is bleeding where it’s searing in pain. It’s not a clean hit. It’s a nasty graze, but it’s bleeding profusely. Din is applying pressure with his gloved hands. You cry out as the pain takes over.
“I know, I know. The pain is temporary, I promise,” he assures you.
“Grogu,” you grunt out, trying to get up again.
“Stay down. He’s okay, he’s fine. We got him,” he tells you.
You stop trying to get up, allowing yourself to fully lay back.
“Sola?” you ask, but you have a feeling you know the answer.
“She’s… she’s gone.”
You just nod, numb to the grief. Luka helps to carry your weight once a tourniquet is tied around your torso. Gus has Din’s arm over his shoulder and Melda is holding Grogu. You reach your hand out to him when you see him. There’s a moment when he’s able to hold your finger and you smile at him.
“We’re gonna have a talk about leaving the house alone when we get home, young man,” you tell him tearfully.
You’re so relieved he’s okay. Din watches you take your hand back. He watches Grogu coo worriedly after you. He’s truly so relieved he could pass out. That could also be the blood loss.
“Don’t worry. Doc’s got bacta that’ll have you both healed up in a matter of hours,” Gus assures him.
Din nods, not having it in him to talk. The way out of the forest feels so much longer than it took to get in. Din understands why these woods are so dangerous, he hadn’t even known he’d gone this far. He’s just glad he’s on his way out with you and Grogu.
***
It’s been a week and it still hurts. You wish it didn’t. You feel guilty that it does. Sola kidnapped Grogu to sell him. She tried to kill Din. She tried to kill you. Yet, knowing she’s gone hurts.
When you fall quiet and gaze out the window, thinking a little too hard Din starts to worry. He worries you blame him for being behind the trigger. He worries you won’t be able to take being in the same space as him anymore. You assure him it’s the opposite on both fronts. Especially when he did it for no other reason than to protect you and Grogu. He never even collected the bounty on her.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers when you’re tangled up together at night.
“Don’t ever be sorry for saving us,” you whisper back earnestly.
Your hand caresses his cheek in the way you know he likes. Scratching his facial hair just enough for him to close his eyes in contentment. Once he eases enough you press a gentle kiss to his lips.
“I love you,” you tell him as you pull away.
“I love you too, mesh’la.”
***
Naboo is humid this time of year. It’s muggy, damp, moist, all the worst things to be when it’s so damn hot. It’s the type of boiling humidity that Din can feel creep across his skin under his armor. Yet, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
You’re set up at your usual spot by the river. Except now, over a year later, you know what lies beyond it. Grogu basks happily in the sun on a little blanket beside you. You’re painting an army of frogs that are on the riverbank, some in mud and some in the sun.
Din watches from a distance for a minute. He’s coming back from Theed, the planet’s capital. It isn’t too often, but now and then he’ll take up work there. Nothing too bad. Mostly he finds people subverting the Naboo government, but it pays well. He’s always bringing you things, which you can’t complain about. If he’s gone overnight it’s never for long, never more than a few days. Then when he’s back, he stays attached to you. Some part of his skin is always touching yours.
“Good afternoon, mesh’la,” he says when he’s close enough.
You look over your shoulder with a large smile. Grogu perks up at Din’s voice as well.
“Din, I thought you’d be gone another day,” you get up to hug him.
He’s only been gone a day, but any time apart feels like forever. Without a thought, Din takes off his helmet. His smile is dazzling. He kisses your forehead, then your lips, before putting his helmet back on. It’s been like this for a few months now. He won’t keep it off for long, but he’s more comfortable taking off the helmet briefly in public. Whenever home, the helmet is retired to the bedroom. Din has found a happy middle ground between the Mandalorian he was and the Mandalorian he hopes to be.
“Got lucky with a lead and it led me home early,” he explains as he scoops Grogu up.
“Let me pack up and we can head home.”
“Have you had lunch?” he asks knowingly.
“Grogu has,” you smile innocently.
“I’ll make you those noodles you like.”
Your smile turns warm and gooey. He helps you carry your things with Grogu on his hip. You tell him what the two of you have been up to, how Gus brought dinner the night before just to have a reason to check in. Din goes to the bedroom to remove his armor. You give Grogu his crayons and the little sketchbook you bought him. Once he’s set up at the coffee table, Din reappears in only his flight suit.
“What’s that?” you ask when you notice him holding something in his closed fist.
“I found someone in Theed who knows how to work with beskar,” he tells you.
You study his nervous features and nod for him to continue. He holds out his empty right hand. You place your left one in his open palm curiously. The cold beskar bites your finger for a moment before your skin acclimates. When his hand is gone there’s a shiny beskar band around your fourth finger, a perfect fit. Your wide eyes shoot up to Din’s face.
“This way each of us carries beskar. Even when we’re apart it’s a way for us to always be together,” he says softly.
Tears well up as you stare at him. You cradle his face and smile at him adoringly.
“I love you so much,” you say with a breath.
“I love you so much,” Din echoes your words and your smile.
Your lips meet in a frenzy. Both of you are desperate to be as close to one another as possible. The feel of his skin, of his lips, will never get old. Every time it feels new, sending shocks and butterflies throughout your body. This time is no exception.
Grogu cooing at your feet causes you to pull apart. He peers up at the two of you and brandishes the paper in his little hand. You pick him up, accepting the paper. He still works in scribbles, but they’re more intelligible now. A messy gray circle for Din’s head, and another for his body. Then a smaller green circle for Grogu’s head and a brown one for his body. Finally, there’s you with a blue head and brown body. Beneath the three of you is green grass. Between you are more scribbles to connect the three of you.
“A beautiful family portrait,” you compliment lovingly.
“It’s very accurate. That looks just like us,” Din agrees with a soft smile.
“I think this one should go on the wall,” you decide.
Din nods in agreement. Grogu gurgles joyfully. You use tape to stick the drawing to the wall amongst a collection of others Grogu has made.
“We’re going to need a bigger wall soon,” Din notes.
“It’s not my fault all he makes are masterpieces,” you whine.
Din chuckles.
“No, it’s not, but maybe we should consider finding something with more space,” he suggests.
You give him a surprised smile.
“Like a bigger house?”
“Yes, like a bigger house,” he nods.
It’s a heart-racing idea. You’ve already been living together for more than a year really, when you account for the time on the Crest. This is another level of commitment, though. Din really wants to put down deep roots with you. He wants to secure his life here and it fills you to the brim with joy.
“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” you agree.
Din takes you and Grogu into his arms. The three of you remain like that for a good while, a nesting doll of love. Din encases you encasing Grogu in a warm embrace. It feels like everything in the galaxy has come together just for this perfect moment to happen. This perfect moment for this perfect little family nestled in the Gallo Mountains of Nabu.
taglist: @a-rose-of-amber, @itzagoodthing
A Touch of Humanity - Din Djarin x gn!reader
re-edited (Feb. 2023)
Read on AO3 - Masterlist
Part II: Endor
Part I | Part III
summary: Din takes you to plenty of places, but there's something about Endor. Something that pushes the two of you closer together than ever. As you begin to accept your voluntary role as Grogu's second parent, Din makes some hefty realizations. You just wish you didn't have to leave Endor. Especially when you find what's waiting for you on the other side.
word count: 11.2k
tags/warnings: fluff, Dad of the year Din, my love for Ewoks prevails, Grogu the menace but also Grogu the matchmaker, domestic bliss, co-parenting, the helmet comes OFF (technically), gift giving is Din's love language, I used canonical places and history until there was no more to go off of and then made up my own to flesh it out, description of anxiety/panic attack
“I need you to breathe,” Din’s voice comes in distant and urgent.
Breathe, right. You need to breathe.
“C’mon, in one, two, three. Out one, two, three,” Din helps you count your breaths.
When the heaving of your chest comes to a stop, the Razor Crest ceases spinning around you. Everything is steady. Grogu looks up at you from your lap worriedly. Panic dies down to anxiety, allowing thoughts to once again process.
“Are you okay?” Din asks with his hands on your shoulders.
You didn’t notice him get out of his seat and kneel in front of you. His firm grasp anchors you in the Crest.
“Yeah, I’m good- I’m okay,” you nod.
Din is relieved to see your eyes focus again. One moment you were talking about how striking Nabu looks from space. The next you were hyperventilating.
“What happened?”
He doesn’t remove his hands. You don’t intend to ask him to. Not right now at least. For a second time, you wish you could see Din’s face. You wonder what his eyes look like, what color they are. Are they round, or almond-shaped? Are his eyelids hooded? Would their gaze cradle you in tenderness and convince you that everything will be okay the way his hands are? The Corellian silk cools the top of your head, grounding you further.
“Home is so far away,” you answer quietly.
Guilt strikes through Din’s chest. Maybe asking you to come was selfish. He took a fish out of the water and wondered why it couldn’t breathe.
“I can take you back. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he tells you gently.
You’re immediately shaking your head.
“Are you joking? This is everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s just… a lot. I think I need some time to adjust.”
Din nods.
“All you have to do is ask and you’ll be home.”
You give Din a warm smile. One of your hands comes up to cover his gloved one.
“Thank you, Din. For everything.”
Once again, he nods. Then his hands are gone leaving you to miss their weight. He’s back in the pilot’s seat in a blink. Grogu coos in your lap and gives you a tiny embrace. You hug him back, scratching behind his ears. He purrs at the feeling, eyes falling shut. It makes you chuckle. Din takes the sound as a final signal that you’re okay and begins the journey away from Naboo.
***
Tatooine is so much hotter than you expected. The Corellian silk on your head does an excellent job of keeping you from sweating into your eyes, but you still feel like you’re in an oven.
“I understand why you called this place a boiling Sarlacc pit,” you tell Din as you follow him through the streets of Mos Eisley.
“We won’t be here long,” he assures you.
Grogu is on your back. You fastened the leather pouch Din puts him in to act as a sort of backpack. The kid’s head is all that’s visible over your shoulder. He coos in your ear when you turn down a street with a stunning view of the Mos Eisley market. It’s a burst of color in an otherwise drab setting. Pigmented cloth awnings, bright fruits and veggies, and all sorts of curiosities to look at. Not to mention the wide array of people. You’ve never seen so many people in one place. Din halts when he notices you have.
“You think so?” you ask Grogu.
Another little coo. You nod and look back at Din.
“We’re going to camp out here while you get your next job,” you smile.
“Are you sure?” He asks, sounding extremely uncertain.
You pull out your spiral-bound sketchbook that had been looped through the straps against your back. The pencil slides out of the spiral spine into your hand and you hold it up.
“My muse is telling me this is the spot.”
Grogu gurgles in confirmation. Din hesitates. He glances over his shoulder at the market. Surveying the bustling crowd, he sighs. Mos Eisley is a strange new land for you, but you’re an adult. He trusts you in Dee’ja Peak. He has to trust you in Mos Eisley until you give him a reason not to.
“Keep an eye on things. Any sign of trouble go back to the Crest,” he orders.
“I can handle myself.”
“I was talking to him,” he nods toward Grogu.
Your mouth snaps shut. An indignant pout takes over your face.
“You’re really telling the kid to keep an eye on things?”
Din shrugs.
“He’s older than you.”
You scoff and cross your arms.
“He’s still a kid, though,” you argue.
Din looks to Grogu over your shoulder again.
“Watch this one,” his helmet tilts back so you know he’s looking at you, “respect your elders.”
Then he treks away to the sound of your laughter. You find a spot out of the way beside one of the many tan buildings. Grogu makes curious sounds as he watches you sketch out the scenery. As you begin to make everything more solid, you explain the different techniques you’re using to Grogu. You’ve decided to make an artist out of the tiny menace. Maybe then he’ll have an outlet for all that energy and won’t get into so much trouble.
You don’t notice when he drifts off. Once you’re satisfied with the sketch, you return your sketchbook to where it was. Din still isn’t back and you finally hear Grogu’s soft little snores. You decide to explore the market. There are so many things to see and try. The possibilities get your heart racing.
First, you try a strange bumpy green fruit. It’s juicy and sweet. Next, you happily eat a skewer of meat. After that, you’re nice and full, so you move on to the curios. The sheer amount of things to look at is overwhelming. Clothes, trinkets, antiques, and furniture. You even find a stand selling board games you recognize from Nabu. A surge of homesickness hits you, but it doesn’t last long. There’s too much excitement being on Tatooine.
“You must’a paid a pretty penny for that,” a Twi’lek merchant with purple-toned skin says.
You’re at her table looking over the case of different pigment powders she has displayed. Some of the colors you didn’t even know you could get like this. It would make mixing paint a lot easier and give you more colors to choose from. When the Twi’lek speaks your eyes get drawn to her intrigued gaze.
“I’m sorry?” you furrow your brows.
“That’s a fine piece of Corellian silk on your head,” she gestures to the one thing keeping you from having a heat stroke.
“Oh, thank you. It was a gift,” you say and reach up to brush your fingers over it.
The feel of the fabric brings a reminder of Din, which makes you smile. The merchant nods.
“What would you let it go for?” she asks.
The question startles you a bit. You thought you were here to possibly buy something from her.
“Nothing, it’s not for sale.”
“Everything is for sale for the right price. What about those pigments? That’s’a fair trade,” she nods to the case you were just examining.
The offer doesn’t even tempt you. No matter how much you want those pigments.
“No, it isn’t,” a familiar voice says from behind you.
You look over your shoulder to find Din staring down the Twi’lek. Relief floods your body. You didn’t know how you were going to politely remove yourself from the sudden negotiations. The Twi’lek raises her hands in surrender with a smile.
“Okay, how about the pigments and a hundred credits?”
“It’s really not for sale, but have a nice day,” you smile and turn on your heel.
Din doesn’t move as you walk away.
“How much for the pigments, Tiva?” he asks her gruffly.
“For you, Mando. Let’s call it forty-five,” she smiles knowingly.
He nods and hands over the credits. Tiva closes the wooden case and fastens the brassy latch before handing it over to him. It’s about the size of a book so Din doesn’t bother worrying about how much room is left in the Crest.
“I have to say-”
“No, you don’t, but I’m sure you will anyway.”
“I never thought I’d see someone get under that beskar of yours,” she muses.
“No one’s gotten under my beskar,” he says a little too defensively.
After everything that happened with the Children of the Watch, could he be blamed? He’s already been told he’s no Mandalorian. He isn’t sure he really wants to be, not the kind he was at least. Maybe something more like Boba Fett. Something that gives him the chance at forming real bonds with others. Tiva hums.
“Whatever you say. Until next time, Mando.”
Din nods and follows after you.
Grogu gurgles inquisitively in your ear. You chuckle a soft good morning to him. His ear brushes the back of your neck as he looks backward. The motion causes you to do the same. Din is further behind than you thought. He’s carrying something you didn’t notice before. There’s a light red blinking coming off the side of his belt. You stop walking to allow him to catch up. When he does he holds out what’s in his hand. The case of pigments from the Twi’lek’s table. You let out a gasp and gently take it in both hands.
“You didn’t have to,” you breathe.
“I know.”
The soft look you give him is enough to make the spent credits worth it. Suddenly, you’re throwing your arms around him. The beskar is a little hot, but you don’t care. Din’s arms hover in the air for a moment before hesitatingly wrapping around you, just under Grogu. His firm hold around your lower back makes you feel weightless. You squeeze before letting go, not wanting to overstay your welcome in his arms. Din has to stop himself from grabbing onto you and pulling you back in.
“Thank you. I’m going to paint you something when we get back,” you beam at him.
If only you could see the warm smile you received in return.
***
The Twi’lek’s words nag at you the entire time you’re painting. You’re sitting cross-legged in the cockpit with Din. Grogu is fast asleep in his hammock above Din’s bed. From the pilot’s seat, Din can hear the strokes of your paintbrush getting fewer and further between. When you start chewing on the handle he knows something is awry.
“What’s wrong?” he asks without looking back.
“How much did you pay for the Corellian silk?”
Din simply blinks behind his helmet for a moment. He definitely wasn’t expecting that.
“It’s rude to tell you the price of a gift,” is his answer.
“No, don’t go all Mandalorian on me. That Twi’lek said it must’ve cost a pretty penny. How much was it?” you’re firmer this time.
“Tiva just likes to cause trouble.”
“Din,” you snap.
“Why is it important?” he snaps back.
A heavy moment passes where you both stew in the tension. You exhale through your nose and go back to painting. Din thinks the conversation is over, but that would just be too easy.
“It’s not that it’s important. I’m just… worried,” you sigh.
“You’re always worried,” his voice softer.
“You always give me something to worry about.”
Another round of silence, but without the tension.
“What have I given you to worry about this time?” he asks gently.
“Giving me so many nice things… I’m afraid you see me more as a babysitter than a friend,” you admit quietly, “I’d really like for you to see me as a friend, Din.”
Din’s stomach does a strange twist. You think he’s paying you? That the things he’s given you are for your time watching Grogu? The truth is, he doesn’t see you as a friend. He sees you as so much more than that.
You’re what keeps him steady. You’re what keeps him up at night. You’re what he thinks about when he thinks of needing to get home, you with Grogu in your arms. You have given him the closest thing he’s ever had to a real family… and you think he sees you as a babysitter. Where did he go so wrong to give you that impression?
“I don’t see you as a babysitter,” he tells you, looking over his shoulder.
You peak above your sketchbook, eyes meeting the dark of his visor.
“Do you see me as a friend?” you ask meekly.
“No.”
Your stomach drops. Din can see the hurt. Before he can finish you disappear back behind the sketchbook.
“I consider you family,” he finishes softly.
He watches your eyes reappear above the binding, wider than before. The tips of your ears are red. Din can feel the small smile grow on his lips.
“Really?” you whisper.
“Really.”
“So… you just like getting me gifts?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Din faces forward. He knows you can’t see him, but he doesn’t want to face you as his cheeks heat up. He busies himself with some switches that don’t really do anything. Mostly, he’s flickering the lights in the cargo hold and the exterior landing lights, but you don’t know that.
“They make you happy. I enjoy seeing you happy,” he says, still pretending to do anything of meaning on the control panel.
Your body floods with a warmth you’ve never experienced before. Everything feels lighter like someone turned off gravity. You want to hug him again, but decide it’s not a good idea while he’s behind the wheel.
“I consider you family too.”
Din nods and hums in response. Under all that beskar, his skin feels electric. The Razor Crest has never felt more like a home.
***
There’s a shift in your relationship, an ease that creeps in and coats everything. The painting you made for Din after he got you the pigments doesn’t show up in the cockpit as you expect. There are several pieces of your art in there now. All are images of Grogu or Grogu and Din together. So, the absence of the most recent one doesn’t bother you too much. After all, it was only Din in the painting.
It’s the first time you’ve painted or drawn only him. You keep thinking about the way his gloved fingers drifted over it when you gave it to him. They made a light scraping noise against the dry paint but moved gently. The fondness that slipped into his voice when he thanked you has you questioning everything you know about tenderness. In all your life no one has spoken to you with that level of care.
“Stop,” Din’s voice comes sharp from the cargo hold.
He lets you sit in his bunk to sketch during lengthier periods in the Crest. It’s a neat cozy little space that’s tucked into the wall with the option of a door for privacy. You don’t usually use the door, but Din has made it clear that you can if you’d like to be distraction-free. There’s something in the air in here that isn’t in the rest of the Razor Crest. Something that feels more like Din. Hearing him as you sit there makes you smile while drawing.
“I said to sto- okay, that’s enough of that,” his frustrated voice carries through the ship once more.
“There, are you happy?”
The sound of metal hitting metal rings out.
“How do I get your arms in this thing? Dank farrik, stop moving,” Din’s voice is thoroughly annoyed.
The noise prompts you to go check in. When you emerge in the cargo hold you keep your sketchbook held against your chest. You see Din struggling with Grogu in the leather pouch. He has it strapped to his front but is struggling to wrangle Grogu’s arms into it. Those arms are wreaking havoc, causing tools that were once fastened against the wall to fly into Din’s armored back.
“Need help?” you ask, amused.
Din’s shoulders sag in relief as he looks up at you.
“I don’t know how you do this,” he sighs, dropping his hands.
Another wrench clinks against his beskar. You laugh and place your sketchbook down on a crate before going to help.
“Terrorizing your dad, I see,” you chide Grogu.
The kid coos at you innocently and a screwdriver bounces off Din’s pauldron. You gently take Grogu’s hands. With the help of dramatic motions and silly faces, you tuck his arms into the bag. Then you’re able to secure the top of the bag so only his head could come out. His ears lower as he gurgles indignantly. You give him a boop on his little nose.
“That’s not a very responsible way to wield the Force, young man,” you tell him with a wag of your finger.
“Thank you,” Din says.
“Do you want me to take him?” you offer with a sympathetic smile.
Din’s hands come up to brace the front of the pouch.
“No, you deserve a break. You can close the bunk door if we’re distracting you,” he reminds you.
The thought on his part makes your heart swell. You do spend a lot of time making sure Grogu doesn’t take the Crest down. It’s a nice feeling to know Din recognizes and acknowledges that.
“You aren’t. What are you two doing exactly?” you glance around curiously at the scattered tools.
“I was giving the capacitor a tune-up. He was… helping.”
You laugh and scratch behind Grogu’s ear earning a little purr. Din glances over to the sketchbook you put down. Three detailed sketches of him cover the page. One is his side profile, light glinting off his beskar forehead. The second next to it is him cleaning his blaster. He didn’t even know you were awake when he was doing that. The final sketch is below the two and centered. It’s his hands, just his hands. You’ve captured every wrinkle of his gloves as they hit the buttons on the control panel of the Crest.
Din’s breathing stops as he takes in the intimacy of each captured moment. An intimacy that he didn’t know was there. An intimacy that was so natural he didn’t think about it. An intimacy that didn’t require him to shed his armor.
“Those are good,” he comments with a nod to your sketchbook.
You look over your shoulder. When you turn back to Din, your face is completely flushed.
“Uh-thanks. Sorry… if me drawing you is weird. We’re just together a lot and it’s easy to draw what you know,” you rub the back of your neck awkwardly.
“I don’t mind. I like them,” he assures you.
You reward him with a small smile.
“So, where are we heading next? I’ve checked off five planets from my must-see list so far,” you quickly change the subject.
“Endor.”
Your face absolutely lights up with excitement. A delighted squeal bursts through your lips as you smile so hard it looks painful. Din’s heart flutters at the sound.
“Finally!” you cheer.
Din chuckles. You grab your sketchbook and walk off toward his bunk, talking to yourself about what you should wear. Grogu gurgles from where he’s strapped to Din’s chest. Din looks down to meet his big questioning eyes.
“What?” he asks the kid.
Grogu coos, raising his ears and looking to where you disappeared. Din follows his gaze to the empty entry of the cargo hold.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he sighs.
By the time he finishes the tune-up, Grogu is out cold. Din brings him to his bunk where you’re asleep. The pillow and blanket are scrunched in a pile beneath you like you made a makeshift chair. Your sketchbook is on your chest and your pencil is still in your hand. He gently places Grogu in his little hammock above you. Then, he carefully takes your sketchbook and extracts the pencil.
Although he’s tempted, he doesn’t look through your sketchbook. You once told him your sketchbook is like a journal. You just talk in pictures instead of words. Din isn’t willing to invade that privacy. Privacy is a limited resource aboard the Crest, especially for you. You don’t get the luxury of the bunk door every night.
He is willing, however, to take a moment to watch you and Grogu sleep in tandem. Your soft breathing harmonizes with Grogu’s light snores. He’ll have to sleep with his helmet on since he won’t have the door to separate you, but that’s okay. You’ve been sleeping on your cot this entire time. He can take it for a night.
***
The paper crinkles as you stir. You blink your eyes open. Grogu is sound asleep in his hammock. The crinkling draws your attention again as you sit up. You shift the pillow and blanket to find your painting. It’s stuck to the wall directly next to where his pillow would normally be. The way you had the blanket and pillow pushed up covered it before. You poke your head out of the bunk to see if you can tell where Din is.
The armor on the ground catches your eye instantly. Your gaze travels to your cot where Din is breathing softly, helmet still in place. He’s asleep meaning he’s given you his bed tonight. You put the pillow back where it should go and pull the blanket over your body. When you rest your head on his pillow you get a clear view of your painting of Din. All you need to do is loll your head to the side.
Warmth spreads to your fingertips and toes. You imagine Din lying here staring at the painting as he drifts off. What does he think about? Do you plague his thoughts the way he does yours? The last thing you see before falling back asleep is the soft image of Din in the cockpit hanging on the wall.
***
Three days on Endor. Din is giving you three days on Endor. He could tell as soon as he saw your face exiting the Crest that you would need more than a day. Your hand is flying across paper the entire time. It gets to the point where you start taking notes for paintings later because you know you won’t have the time to sit here with your easel for all of them.
The bounty Din was chasing took him all of two hours to catch. The guy is now on carbonite while Din plays tourist with you. Experiencing Endor through your fresh perspective is endearing. Everything is exciting you from the plants, the animals, and the native Ewoks.
“I can’t go into the forest at home, but it’s all forest here. It’s amazing,” you giggle out as you examine the foliage above.
Grogu coos adoringly from Din’s chest. The tip of your tongue sticks out as you begin sketching the Lantern Bird you spot in the trees. It’s large, bright pink, and preening. Truly a gorgeous sight that you can’t wait to paint later. You jot down notes of what colors to mix to get what you need. Din watches your diligent work fondly.
“Dank farrik,” you curse under your breath suddenly.
Din’s eyebrows shoot up under his helmet. He’s never heard you use that expression before. The thought that he’s rubbing off on you does something to him. It flips something on and suddenly his heart is a motor.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
You frown and flip furiously through your sketchbook. When you reach the end you sigh and snap it shut. The pages are so distorted from your drawing and painting that it doesn’t shut quite as much as it once did.
“I’m out of room. I guess we don’t need to stay that long after all,” you tell him with disappointment dripping from every word.
“There’s a village not far from here on Lake Marudi. We can see if they have any sketchbooks at the market.”
You give him a hopeful smile and nod. Halfway through the trek, Grogu starts to fuss making the two of you halt. Before Din can ask him what’s wrong, you’re slipping him out of the pouch. Grogu coos happily and takes up residence on your shoulders. You smile up at him as he gives your head a little pat to let you know he’s ready to keep going. When your eyes travel to look ahead once more you catch Din staring.
His helmet is facing you dead on, his hands are still on the pouch as if Grogu never left, and his shoulders are still. You flash him a curious smile, which seems to snap him out of whatever daze he’s fallen into.
“Everything okay?” you ask.
Din clears his throat and nods. Then you continue on. The village really isn’t far. It borders Lake Marudi in a way that reminds you of the river at home. At first, you only see a few huts on the ground. They’re made with the resources around them which are mostly wood, tree fronds, and mud. It looks more like a small encampment than a village.
“I don’t think there’s a market here,” you say to Din as a couple of Ewoks emerge from the huts.
Din simply nudges your shoulder and points up. When you look, you gasp. The village is above you. A network of bridges and thatched huts sit in the trees. Rope ladders hang down to allow easy access. Ewoks can be seen walking across the bridges, going in and out of the structures, and generally living their lives post-war. Instinctively you reach for your sketchbook in a bag on your back but remember it’s full.
“Stay here, I’ll talk to the hunters,” Din says.
He stalks off before you can argue. You watch him with a small huff as he goes to one of the Ewoks that emerged from the forest floor huts.
“Y’know one of these days I’m gonna be the one that tells him to stay behind and let me take care of things,” you grumble to Grogu, but mostly to yourself.
Grogu makes a combination of cooing and gurgling. He gives your head another little pat. A small act of loving reassurance.
“Thank you, that does make me feel better,” you sigh.
Din is on one knee before an Ewok with mud brown fur, a deep green hood, and a bow on its back. You can hear the strange jumble of sounds the Ewok is offering and the way Din returns it without thought. His speaking Ewokese comes as a surprise. You didn’t know he spoke anything other than Basic. After a few moments, Din nods and stands then makes his way back to you.
“You speak Ewokese,” you comment once he’s close enough.
“I speak many languages. He said there’s a market, but he’s not sure they have what we’re looking for.”
“Is it worth checking?” you frown.
“Probably not, but this is your chance to see an Ewok village up close. It’s possible they have other supplies we could use.”
You agree and he makes you go up the ladder first. Grogu hangs onto you for dear life, gurgling in a decidedly displeased tone. He feels much better once you’re securely on the landing. You follow Din through the network of bridges, studying every detail of the village. Up here you can see across Lake Marudi. If you squint you can make out another village on the other shore. A couple of small boats of Ewoks seem to be fishing.
“Check the market,” Din nods to the larger hut in front of you, “I’m going to speak with the Chief.”
“The Chief? Why?” you question with furrowed brows.
“They’ve asked for my help with a Gurreck.”
At the sound of the beast’s name, a few passing Ewoks give wide-eyed looks. You have no clue what a Gurreck is, but it seems to have them spooked.
“Okay,” you nod.
The market is small. It mostly has tools, weapons, and different size hoods. You find a table with some wood carvings of creatures native to Endor. Behind the table, an Ewok with black fur is working on another. It’s the only table with any type of art, so you decide to try your luck asking.
“Um- excuse me,” you say hesitantly.
The Ewok looks up at you and says something you don’t understand.
“You don’t happen to speak Ewokese too, do you?” you ask Grogu with a frown.
He gives a gurgle in response.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
You pull out your sketchbook and hold it up to him.
“Do you know where I can get one of these?” you gesture to it.
The Ewok says something else you don’t understand but reaches out for the sketchbook. You hand it over and watch him look at some of the drawings. He flips to the end and sees your sketches of Endor. Excitedly, he begins pointing at the paper and speaking Ewokese again.
“Yeah, that’s Endor. I want to do more of that, but I need another book. Or even just paper,” you attempt to explain.
The Ewok points to the sketch of the Lantern Bird and then back at himself. When you give him a confused look he repeats the motion with more enthusiasm.
“Oh- you want me to draw you? I can do that, but I need something to draw on.”
The Ewok nods and shuts the book, handing it back to you. You watch as he lifts a floorboard and begins to dig around. He triumphantly pulls out a couple of pieces of handmade paper. You take them gratefully as he points to the paper and then to himself.
“One portrait, coming right up!”
Din finds you still in the market with a gathering of Ewoks before you. You’re sketching images of them. As always, the tip of your tongue is sticking out in concentration. Grogu notices Din first and greets him with a gurgle. The noise causes you to glance up. When you spot Din you give him a wide grin that just about makes him trip on his own feet. You put a finishing touch on the drawing and hand it to the Ewok in front of you. They all excitedly pass it around to take a look.
“How’d talking to the Chief go?” You ask as you wade through a dozen Ewoks to get over to him.
“I’m leaving with the hunting party to kill the Gurreck. I shouldn’t be more than a few hours,” he explains.
You glance over your shoulder at the chittering Ewoks, still examining your drawing.
“I think I’ll be okay here while you’re gone.”
“Keep an eye on things.”
You roll your eyes.
“I don’t think the kid has to watch out for me here.”
“I was talking to you.”
Your eyebrows shoot up and your mouth forms an oh.
“Don’t worry, with the power of my pencil I’ll guard the village,” you smile.
“I don’t doubt that.”
Din gives Grogu a small scratch behind his ear. You expect him to leave after that, but then his hand finds a firm grasp on your upper arm, just beneath your shoulder. After a brief squeeze, he’s gone. You can still feel the pressure of his hand on your arm even after he’s far out of view.
***
The Gurreck proved to be more of a pain than Din thought. Once it was down, the Ewoks with him broke into cheers. The beast has killed several of their villagers and its meat will feed dozens more. It’s not often Ewoks get to say they’ve slain a Gurreck. The hunting party informs him that there will be a celebratory festival held for the occasion.
Din is itching to get back to you and Grogu as night crawls across the sky. He knows that despite their stature, Ewoks are impressive warriors. You’ll both be safe there. So, it’s a strange sensation when what’s drawing him back so fiercely isn’t the need to ensure you’re protected. He just wants to see you. After that exhausting fight and being thrown into a couple of trees, he wants to hear your voice. A sound he’s grown accustomed to in the Crest. A sound he’s going to miss deeply when he brings you home.
When they arrive back in the village, Gurreck in tow on a wagon, it feels like the entire village is already outside. They’re all trying to get into the Chief’s living quarters. At first, Din thinks the chittering he’s hearing is anger. Once he listens a little harder he realizes it’s excitement.
One of the Ewoks with Din shouts up to the crowd. As soon as they see the dead Gurreck, cheers break out and they come scrambling down to help with preparing the meat. Din is about to ask your whereabouts when you emerge on the bridge above with the Chief. You’re draped in garlands and flowers. There’s even a small flower crown on Grogu.
“I think they like me,” you call down to him with a smile.
There’s nothing but joy written on your face. You quickly follow the Chief down. Grogu once again holds on for dear life. When your feet hit the ground you take Grogu off your shoulders and carry him on your hip. The Chief leads you to Din. He approaches Din with open arms. A gesture Din knows isn’t an ask for a hug, but an expression of appreciation. The Chief begins to talk before you can.
Din nods as the Chief thanks him not only for the Gurreck but for you. You were wrong. They don’t like you, they absolutely love you. Anxiety rises in Din’s throat when the Chief offers you a place in the village to stay. Forever. He’s tempted to not mention it when he translates. He doesn’t want you to tell him you’ll stay. He doesn’t want to go back to the Crest without you.
“I don’t know what he said, but they’ve been really excited about my drawings,” you tell him proudly.
Grogu reaches a hand toward Din. You hand him over with ease. It’s almost like Grogu can sense the complicated emotions running through him.
“He said you’ve made significant cultural contributions with your drawings. They haven’t had documentation of their lives like that before,” he translates the part of the message that doesn’t make him nervous.
Somehow, your smile brightens even more. You lift one of the flowery garlands off of your shoulders and place it over Din. The inside of his beskar is suddenly twenty degrees hotter.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” your words are soft and filled with an emotion Din can’t place.
He nods because he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know if he could speak if he wanted to.
“They’ll be having a festival tonight to celebrate killing the Gurreck,” he manages to get out in a normal tone.
“That’s so exciting! Can we stay for it?”
“They’re expecting us, it would be rude not to.”
The Chief grabs your hand and begins to pull you away from Din. You throw him one last smile over your shoulder before you’re dragged into the crowd of Ewoks. He lets out a sigh. Grogu gurgles in Din’s arms, his flower crown falling a little over his eyes. Din pushes it back into place.
“I know,” he responds to the kid.
Both Din and Grogu know that Din has it bad for you. There’s nothing scarier to a Mandalorian than the prospect of allowing themself something they want. And he wants you oh-so badly.
***
The firelight dances across the paper giving the illusion of the little Ewoks you drew walking. It’s a beautiful thing, but Din finds the firelight dancing across your features much more interesting. One of the benefits of existing primarily behind the helmet means he can stare. Just because he’s facing your way doesn’t mean he’s looking at you and there’s no way for you to tell for sure. He revels in the small moments where he allows himself the luxury of staring at you.
The Ewoks are gathered all around you, watching the drawing in awe. Grogu chases little rodents that reside in the trees. There’s music being played off of wooden instruments, and even a few stormtrooper helmets as drums. A handful of Ewoks sing in Ewokese. You take another piece of the paper they’ve been steadily giving you and you begin to show them how to do it themselves. It’s been like this for the past couple of hours. You’ve been showing them how to draw, what to use, and drawing for them nonstop. Truthfully, your hand is starting to cramp.
“Din,” you call over the heads of the Ewoks from where you sit on a log.
Din stands and starts to go to you.
“Can you tell them my hand hurts so I need to stop?” you ask, looking guilty.
He makes the announcement to the Ewoks, all of whom are visibly disappointed. Until the Chief tells them that you may be staying. The sudden cheers earn Din a confused look from you. He gestures for you to come to him and leads you back to the log he was sitting on across the fire.
Din’s eyes stay trained on Grogu pouncing on a mouse as you sit beside him. Ewoks begin to bring you food and drinks, all of which you accept graciously despite already being full.
“The Chief has offered to let you stay. He wants you to continue your work here,” Din tells you, voice tight.
“Oh,” is all you say.
You stare into the round wooden cup full of green liquid that’s in your hands. Din doesn’t say anymore. He doesn’t give any indication of whether he would want you to stay and that makes you nervous. Is he going to leave you on Endor?
“Do you… want me to stay?” you ask timidly.
He finally looks at you. When he does his shoulders straighten out, his head tilts a little to one side, and you can read the befuddlement all over him. It’s been getting easier to read him and the little movements that give him away.
“Do you want to stay?” he counters.
You furrow your brows and press your mouth into a thin line.
“I asked you first.”
Din turns back to where Grogu is slurping the mouse’s tail down. His arms are resting on his thighs, hands hanging in the middle, and his back is hunched. You wonder if he’s tired. You wonder how heavy all that beskar is and if he ever feels like he might collapse under the weight of it.
“No, I don’t want you to stay,” he answers, his voice raw with honesty.
“Do you think I do?”
“I think… I know that you’re happy here. You’re celebrated here. I can understand not wanting to leave that,” his voice is only getting softer with each fireside confession.
“Din, please look at me,” you plead in a whisper.
When he does, your expression is gentle and understanding. He feels wrapped in comfort and safety by your eyes.
“We’re a family, remember? I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me to,” you say every word with intentional confidence.
“I’m not going to tell you to go anywhere.”
“Then I’m not going anywhere.”
You exchange tender smiles, only you don’t know that. Din is so very aware that you can’t see the adoration he’s sending your way. He wants more than anything to be able to convey the fullness you’ve given his life. He has never felt like a complete person. Grogu filled in one-third of what he was missing.
You’ve filled the last third, completing him and life on the Crest. He thinks part of him always knew that you would. That’s why he kept finding himself on your doorstep, enjoying your kindness, and appreciating how you are with the kid. He’s never had a way with words so he got you gifts instead. Only, he knows the gifts aren’t enough to translate what he wants them to. That feeling can only be spoken.
“You’re tired, we should head back to the Crest,” you say softly.
“It’s too dangerous to travel in the dark. They’ve set up a tree hut for us,” he informs you, voice low and tone inscrutable.
“Lead the way, then.”
A tan Ewok leads you up a tree and across several bridges. The hut you’re brought to is decently removed from the others. It almost seems like the village was once larger and this is a remnant of that. Inside there are just two sleep mats three feet apart. The light from the torches outside affords some visibility. Sharing a tree hut concerns you for Din’s comfort. He’s already had to sleep on your cot with his helmet on.
“You can ask to sleep elsewhere. I won’t be offended,” you tell him as you sit on one of the mats.
Grogu climbs onto it next to you and curls up. He’s asleep in no time. You don’t know how he does that.
“I would rather stay if you don’t mind.”
A bashful smile forms on your lips as you nod.
“Do you want help with your armor?” you offer, knowing he doesn’t need it this time.
He’s sore, but he’s not really injured. He’s perfectly capable of doing it himself, but he nods anyway. Din finds solace in your fingers plucking his armor off of him one piece at a time. The brush of them through his flight suit leaves trails of flames. Each time a piece of armor comes off he feels infinitely lighter, despite beskar already being lightweight. Soon, he’s left in only his flight suit and helmet. The rest of his armor is neatly organized at the end of the other mat.
You spend an unsure moment in front of him. Your fingers tingle with the urge to remove his helmet next, but you refrain. That isn’t your choice to make. It’s only your choice to respect.
“I… I could use the Corellian silk to cover my eyes if you want to take your helmet off tonight,” you make the offer quietly, unsure if it’s crossing a line.
“You don’t mind?”
“No, not if it means you’ll get a better night’s sleep.”
Din nods. He watches intently as you slip the fabric off of your head, hair flat where it once was. You fold it a few more times to make it thinner until it’ll only cover your eyes. The silk is cool and liquidy soft on your skin. You fumble trying to tie it around your head until Din’s gloved hands cover your own.
Your breathing stops once you feel how close he is. He gently ties the silk not too tight, but enough so it won’t move. He receives an appreciative smile in return. You hear a short hiss as he releases his helmet. With a racing heart, you listen to him slide it off and place it on the ground with the rest of his armor. You don’t move, afraid to do something that might make the silk fall.
He’s in front of you again. You can feel his heat. You can actually hear him breathing, a surreal sound. Din studies your face with his own eyes for the first time. No visor separating him from you. The little fish swimming on the Corellian silk over your eyes calls for him to remove it. To let you see, but he doesn’t. It feels like too much for one night. His nerves are already on fire.
You raise a shaky hand, inching it toward where his face would be. When the warmth from his skin hits your palm, you stop. Is touching him wrong? You don’t get a chance to think about it too much. Din turns and leans his head to nuzzle the side of his face into your palm. A gasp escapes your lips at the sensation.
The first thing to strike you is he has facial hair. It’s short and coarse against your hand. Then your thumb brushes across his cheekbone and you can feel the definition. You don’t want to move your hand. You don’t want to take more than he’s willing to give. Standing there with your skin on his, Din is willing to give you everything.
You can hear a shuffling and two soft thuds. Then his strong, warm, bare hand covers yours. You know your face must be entirely red by this point and can only hope the low light conceals it. He moves his face more, planting a small tender kiss on your palm. Maker, you didn’t know your heart could beat this fast. You didn’t know touching someone could feel so good.
His other hand takes your free hand and moves it to the other side of his face. You realize, he’s inviting you in. He’s inviting you to explore his face with your hands. It’s an invitation you accept without hesitation. Gentle fingers trace the downward curve of Din’s nose, glide over his strong brow, brush his eyelids, and finally take in the softness of his lips. Even with only your fingers, you can tell he’s smiling fondly. It occurs to you that Din isn’t breathing. One hand travels down his neck until it settles on the center of his chest. His heart is pounding as hard as yours, which makes you smile.
You grab Din’s hands and direct them to your face. He cradles your jaw so tenderly you want to cry. How could hands that take down beasts and bounties handle you with such loving care? With a smile, you turn and give Din’s palm a kiss to match the one he gave you.
There’s a moment when the galaxy stops. Everything around the two of you ceases to exist. There are only Din’s hands on your jaw and your hands around his wrists. He wants to stay connected to you like this forever. He never wants to forfeit the warmth and softness of your skin again but knows he must. So, for now, he’ll soak in every bit of you that he can. For a heart-stopping moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. You want him to kiss you.
His strong hands bring you closer to him. Then, the softest brush of his lips meets your forehead before pulling away. It’s so much, yet not enough. It’s the only moment you find yourself wishing you could be Sola’s type of selfish. The kind where you just take because you want to. Yet, you’re happy that you’re not. You’re elated that Din is giving to you. You don’t have to take, he’s slowly offering up parts of himself. Parts you’ll treasure.
“Goodnight,” he whispers.
His voice without the modulator sends a chill down your spine. That low cool tone is still present, but it’s also smoother. He has a voice like the river at home: cool to the touch, but the further you step in the more the bite becomes gentle kisses at your shins. Like the water is loving you back. His voice makes you miss home, but also feel at home right where you are.
“Goodnight,” you whisper back.
Then his touch is gone and you wonder who you were before you felt it.
***
You’re alone when you wake up. Din and his armor are gone. So is Grogu. The ghost of Din’s skin is still on your hands. Your sleep was filled with the feel of his face. It takes a minute to straighten yourself out before you leave the tree hut. As you walk by them, the Ewoks are sending happy-sounding words your way. All of which you return with a smile.
After a few minutes of walking aimlessly trying to find Din, you decide to try to ask.
“Do you know where my friend is?” you ask a white Ewok you run into.
The Ewok responds in Ewokese, but you can see the question on her face. You put your hands in the air on either side of your head, palms facing in. Then you do a move up and down as if you’re taking a helmet off. Your face heats up at the memory of last night.
“Y’know, the guy with the helmet,” then you make a cradling motion, “and the baby?”
The Ewok nods and takes your hand. You’re led to a large tree hut near the center of the village. In it, there are Ewoks eating at tables. Sticking out like a sore thumb, Din sits at a too-small table with Grogu while he sloppily eats something mushy. He perks up when you enter. You smile as you sit across from them.
“Does that taste good?” you ask Grogu as he devours his food.
He gives you a little coo in confirmation.
“Are you hungry? I can grab you some,” Din offers.
A fire lights in you. You nod, unable to get words around the lump in your throat. He gets up and heads to where the food is being served. You lean your face on your hand and watch him go. Grogu coos, drawing your attention.
“What’s up, li’l guy?”
He brings his plate over and sits next to you with it. You scratch behind his ears and he purrs as he continues eating. A soft chuckle tumbles out at his grab for attention. You love how much the kid seems to love you. Especially because you love the kid so damn much. It hits you that, if necessary, you would die for this little green terror. You wouldn’t even think about it. Is this what being a parent is? you wonder.
Din places the food in front of you. You were so wrapped up in Grogu you hadn’t realized he made it back. You thank him with a smile and start eating.
Din had his eyes glued on you the whole way back. The loving gaze you had fixed on Grogu nearly took him out. He doesn’t know how Grogu managed to find the one other person in this galaxy that he could believe loves Grogu as much as he does. Out of every house on Naboo, out of every person in Dee'ja Peak, Grogu ended up with you. Din has never been much for fate, destiny, or the Force, but the kid came along and changed one of those. It’s possible you’ve changed the other two.
“Did you sleep well?” you ask him.
“Yes. Did you?”
“Yeah, better than I thought I would. I think those sleep mats are more comfortable than the cot,” you chuckle.
Din stiffens briefly.
“I’m sorry about that. We can rotate beds,” he says.
“Oh, no, it’s okay. I didn’t say that to-”
“I know you didn’t.”
You can tell the smile that appears on your face is sappy, but you can’t help it. Din is here doing things to let you know that he sees what you do for him and wants to return the favor. Din, who has been taking you around the galaxy, something you thought you would never be able to do. Din, who gets you gifts just because they made him think of you. Din, whose skin was on yours last night, whose face was beneath your fingers. He’s sitting here caring for you like it’s part of his daily routine. You guess in some ways it is. Things just feel different now, in so many ways.
When you’re finished eating, the three of you go to see the Chief. You have to let him know you appreciate the offer, but you won’t be staying. Din does all the talking really, but you figured it would be bad manners not to show your face. The Chief, although clearly disappointed, nodded in understanding. Din didn’t relay this bit, but he said he understood the two of them have a responsibility as parents. Parents. He’s used to being called Grogu’s dad, father, or parent. This is the first time he’s heard it plural in any language. He quite likes it.
The Chief calls for something. Two Ewoks, one gray and one black, carry something in. They present it to you. Your jaw drops when you realize what it is. A sketchbook. The cover is made from bark, there’s a thick stack of paper bound between with a branch that was carved into a spiral. It’s handmade. The Chief says something directly to you.
“He says this is a gesture of gratitude and a symbol that you have allies on Endor,” Din translates.
“Is it okay to hug him?” you ask, eyes watery.
Din asks and the Chief nods. You kneel down and take him in your arms. His fur is a little itchy, but it’s a nice hug. As you stand, you wipe away some stray tears. You accept the sketchbook and hold it to your chest. You’re closer to Din than you were before.
“Is it okay if we stay here while we’re still on Endor? I’d really like to get this place down for myself,” you nod at the sketchbook in your arms.
Din says something to the Chief you don’t understand. The Chief nods as he responds.
“The tree hut is ours for as long as we need it,” Din relays to you.
“I better get started then. There’s a lot I want to draw.”
***
Din follows Grogu around as he explores, redirecting him when need be. He’ll help an Ewok here and there if they ask, but otherwise, it’s a pretty calm day. A little after midday he realizes he didn’t see you get lunch. When Grogu finishes his meal of mashed grubs Din finds something more suitable for a human to eat. He manages to get a grilled piece of Gurreck.
“Can you let me put you in this, this time?” he asks Grogu, holding up the pouch.
Grogu lowers his ears and gurgles from beside Din on the table. Din sighs.
“I’ll let you hunt mice tonight,” he tempts the kid.
It works. Grogu holds his arms up for Din to grab him. He doesn’t struggle when Din places him in the pouch. Din even gets his arms in it. Then the two of them are off to find you. It doesn’t take long. You’re sitting with your back to one of the giant tree trunks near the central tree hut. As always, the tip of your tongue is out as your hand moves furiously across the page. You’re already several pages into the sketchbook.
“We brought you lunch,” he says as he approaches.
Your gaze flies up to him filled with surprise. Then it registers and a smile breaks out. Din loves how much you smile. He’s never met someone so willing to smile at him. You pop up from where you sat.
“Aren’t you two sweet! Thank you,” you place a kiss on the top of Grogu’s head.
Looking back at Din, you hesitate. Kissing him next felt like the natural thing to do, but how would you go about that? Dank farrik, you think. You place a hand on the cheek of his helmet. The impulse wins. Your lips meet the cold beskar of the other cheek briefly. Beneath that helmet Din’s head is spinning. When he’s in his armor he isn’t supposed to be the recipient of gentle touch. Only violent blows and blaster fire. Yet, here you are treating him with all the tenderness of the night before.
“I can’t believe you got him in the pouch,” you chuckle as you take the food from Din.
“I had to bribe him with mice,” he admits.
“Hey, whatever works,” you shrug.
“It looks like you might fill that before we get off Endor,” Din nods to your sketchbook.
You laugh shyly.
“Everything is just so beautiful here and the Ewoks have been so nice. Then there was the festival last night and… I want to remember it all.”
The word all hangs heavy in the air. You sit back down crisscrossed, plate balancing on one thigh. Then you flash Din another one of those smiles.
“You’re welcome to join me if you’d like. Might get boring, though.”
Din sits down beside you. Grogu coos in a pleased manner. You continue drawing between bites. The village spreads out on the page exactly as it is in real life, just in graphite. You have notes scribbled around about color and atmosphere. There’s an attention to detail that’s impressive. He thinks he could watch you do this all day. He thinks he could watch you do this forever.
Have you ever thought about staying? you had asked him. The answer is yes, he has. He thought about staying ever since returning from Endor with that first gift. Staying just isn’t something he was sure he could do. He didn’t know if he was built to be what you need in a real home. Sitting here with you as you draw and Grogu coos softly against his chest, he starts to wonder if he could be one day.
***
Nightfall brings about less celebration this time, but it’s just as welcoming. The Ewoks feed you. They happily look through the drawings you got done that day as you eat. Din eats elsewhere, but he’s back soon. You can only imagine he scarfed the food down as fast as he could. When he spots you, you swear you see him relax slightly.
As he sits beside you, the Ewoks flip to a page with a drawing of Din. A tan one points excitedly at the drawing then at Din exclaiming something in Ewokese. Your face glows bright once you realize what’s happening.
The drawing shows Din carving a spear. He figures you must have drawn it earlier in the day. He was helping the hunters make more to replace the ones they lost fighting the Gurreck. As always, it’s a perfect depiction. Din’s stomach takes on a weird weightless sensation.
“Why do you draw me so much?” he can’t help, but ask.
He can’t figure out why you take him on as a subject so often. It’s not that he doesn’t like it. Din enjoys the feeling of being intimately known in an indescribable way. He likes knowing you don’t just look at him. You observe, you take in every detail he has to offer, and you turn them into art.
You can hear your heart in your ears. You can’t look at him. There’s no good answer to it. None that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete weirdo who likes to stare. What can you say other than the truth, though?
“I like looking at you,” you answer softly, eyes meeting his visor again.
Your eyes are wide, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Din’s own face catches fire, a familiar feeling around you at this point. His fists clench on his thighs. The urge to rip his helmet off floods him. You like looking at him, but you’ve only ever seen his armor. You’ve only ever seen the Mandalorian. You’ve never seen Din.
He struggles with words for a moment. There are so many things he could say. So many things he wants to say. All he can get out is the bare minimum, the tip of the iceberg.
“I like looking at you too.”
Embarrassment slips away and another smile takes over your features. Din watches you continue eating. Occasionally, you stop to dote over Grogu. He thinks about your touch, your kiss on his palm and his beskar, your overall caring demeanor. He thinks about kissing you tonight. A deep tug of desire pulls at his stomach.
Maybe Din is a little too eager to get to bed. If you catch that, you don’t say anything. Instead, you silently carry a snoring Grogu to the tree hut. You place him on your sleep mat and watch for a moment. His little chest moves up and down, a motion that brings you comfort.
When you turn around, Din is standing in the center of the hut. You can’t tell for sure, but you have a feeling he’s been watching you. Deja vu hits and you decide to lean into it.
“Do you want help with your armor?”
Din nods. You start the process that’s beginning to feel like a routine. He stays still, committing your touch to memory, burning it into his skin through the flight suit. Every piece is on the ground, but his helmet. The torchlight bounces off his breastplate, softening the harder edges.
“Would you mind…,” he trails off.
With a small smile, you slip the Corellian silk off of your head and fold it. This time rather than fumble with it you give it to Din and turn around. He ties it with the same firmness as last time. Slowly you turn back around. There’s that hiss, the sound of the helmet being put down, and Din stepping closer to you. Your heart leaps.
His fingers are bare when they cup your face. Soft despite the strength they hold, and warm despite the cold exterior they usually reside in. The soft pads of his thumbs caress your cheeks. You soak in every bit of him you can. Until you decide, just this once, to take instead of receive. Small details that have occupied your thoughts.
“What color are your eyes?” you ask.
“Brown.”
Your skin buzzes with the information. His voice sends electricity down your spine.
“Your hair?”
“Brown.”
“Is it wrong to try to picture you?”
It’s the sincerity behind the question that does it. The genuine concern for his comfort and boundaries. Din pulls you into a fervent kiss. He kisses you like he’s gasping for air. Your hands fly to the back of his neck. His hair is short, you discover this when you trail fingers up the back of his head. It’s softer than you imagined. Everything about him is so much softer than you would have ever imagined before getting to know him.
Your lips move against his effortlessly. Din’s teeth lightly catch your bottom lip, earning him access to your mouth. His tongue meets yours briefly, mingling the tastes of dinner with a hint of mintiness. Then his mouth is gone much too soon. You would think you hallucinated the whole thing if it weren’t for his hands still holding your face. His breathing is just as ragged as yours while you try to compose yourselves.
Something changes in the air between you. It’s like you can feel the expression he has fixed on you. An expression of adoration and awe, one you’re sure you’re mirroring. Homesickness has never felt so far from your mind. You’re sure now that home is wherever and whenever Din’s lips are on yours. Everything you associate with home filled that kiss: warmth, care, affection, and mutual respect. Standing here with your eyes covered, you feel like you’ve never seen the galaxy this clearly. You’ve never understood life this fully.
“I’ve never cared for someone the way I care for you,” he tells you, his cool voice gentle and tender.
“I’ve never cared for someone the way I care for you,” you smile, returning his sentiment.
The words wrap around the two of you, bringing you closer together. Din’s thumbs slide beneath the Corellian silk. They brush over your eyelids. The skin is smooth. He can feel your eyes move before his thumbs slide away to go back to cradle you.
He longs to be brave enough to push the silk away, tear it off, and throw it across the hut. He’s brave enough to fight battalions, but tonight he can’t find the bravery to look directly into your eyes. With a twist of his stomach, he settles for resting his forehead against yours.
“I don’t want to go back to the way things were,” he whispers, breath skirting across your skin.
Your eyebrows furrow beneath his.
“What do you mean?”
“I want to stay like this. I don’t want to return to a life of merely visiting you, of only getting you in pieces. I want you wholly. I want you always,” each word is dipped in affection and pushed out earnestly.
You’re grateful for your eyes being covered. His words bring you next to tears. They grab your heart and squeeze it in your chest. It doesn’t matter what’s left to see out there in the galaxy. This spot right here on Endor is your favorite.
“You can have me as long as I can have you,” you whisper back.
A dozen butterflies have found their way into Din’s stomach. His heart flutters with their wings. He has the entire galaxy in his hands in the shape of your face.
“You can have me endlessly.”
“Then you can have me endlessly too.”
He presses another, lighter kiss to your lips. It’s short but oh-so-sweet. Chaste, yet still spurs on the raging fire within you. Somehow the two of you find the strength to go your separate ways to bed. You listen to Grogu’s snores beside you. When you caress his head, he curls into you. You keep an arm around him, keeping him secure by your side.
***
The next day the three of you make the hike back to the Crest. Along the way, you stop to draw more things you see. Din is convinced you could find a way to fit all of Endor on a piece of paper if it means taking it with you. He lets Grogu chase after bugs while you draw.
You even draw Grogu a few times in his calmer moments. Din is in no rush to get back to the Crest so he doesn’t hurry you along. He waits patiently, never once uttering something even close to a complaint. Back on the Crest, he listens to you go on about all the painting you want to do. He chuckles when you make a joke about your hand falling off and tells you he’d rather have you in one piece.
Your stay on Endor has been drawn out for as long as it can be. There’s a pang in your chest as you watch the forest fall away and the atmosphere fades into space. Yet, there’s a deep comforting sense that you have left Endor with so much more than you arrived with.
Tatooine has become a familiar sight. Din has to stop in to collect his payment and get a new bounty. Sometimes Peli has to fix up the Crest. She’s rough around the edges, but you like her. You like how she treats Grogu and how she isn’t afraid to say what she wants to Din.
Stepping off the Crest, Grogu in the pouch on your back, you call out for Peli happily.
“There you are,” a chilling voice answers to your left.
You whip around, heart flying into your throat, and hand grabbing Din’s wrist next to you. On top of two stacked crates sits Sola. Her hands grip the edge of the crate on either side of her, legs crossed at the ankles as she swings them a bit. A dangerous smirk crawls onto her face.
“Heard you’ve been lookin’ for me.”
A Touch of Humanity - Din Djarin x gn!reader
re-edited (Feb. 2023)
Read on AO3 - Masterlist
Part I: Nabu
Part II | Part III
summary: Naboo isn't Din's favorite place in the galaxy. It doesn't even break his top ten. Grogu's ever-curious and troublemaking nature intertwines their lives with that of a local artist. Someone who is able to wrangle Grogu, comfort Din, and care for others without a second thought. Naboo isn't Din's favorite place in the galaxy, but with you around it was quickly becoming that way.
word count: 9.1k
tags/warnings: fluff, the timeline is what I say it is just go with it, Din deserves a #1 Dad mug, Grogu is a menace, gift giving is Din's love language, I used canonical places and history until there was no more to go off of and then made up my own to flesh it out, mentions of forgetting to eat, descriptions of food, slow burn
Naboo is humid this time of year. It’s muggy, damp, moist, all the worst things to be when it's so damn hot. It’s the type of boiling humidity that Din can feel creep across his skin under his armor. He absolutely hates having to come to Naboo. A planet ripe with swamps, cities full of holier-than-thou pompous people, and don’t get him started on the Gungans. Din swears he’s not prejudiced, but if one more Gungan tries having a conversation with him he's shooting first and asking questions later.
Sure, everyone else in the galaxy might see Naboo as this idyllic planet, but Din just can’t. The scenery is beautiful, he won't deny that. Having to chase down a bounty here, however, isn't quite as beautiful. Democracy and civil order are great. Until they interfere with him doing his job because some lowlife seeks asylum in Naboo’s lengthy court systems. Rendering them essentially untouchable unless he wants the entire Republic on his ass.
The only saving grace of this hellscape of a planet is the mountains. It's quieter up in the Gallo Mountains. The people aren't as nosy or judgemental. They tend to their crops, their children, and their homes while minding their business. Outsiders are welcome, but not doted on. Something Din can respect. Maybe it's the closer connection to their Grizmallti roots, but the people of Dee’ja Peak are much more palatable than those from the cities. Or the Gungans.
Even in this sticky heat, the people of Dee’ja Peak go about their business. The buildings are stout cylinders with round roofs. Public buildings are taller than residential ones. Windmills are scattered throughout the town, generating all the energy they need. Some smaller gardens are used for personal crops, but otherwise, there are tiered fields in the mountainous terrain where they grow what is needed for the season. A river flows along the southernmost border, the water a glittering blue. No doubt if Din were to follow it he would come upon a waterfall over the mountain’s edge.
He spots what he’s looking for. There’s a corral where the younger children are kept during the workday. A few people are assigned each day to care for them. Din knows there's no place safer on Naboo than Dee’ja Peak. There’s also likely no one as qualified to watch Grogu while Din goes digging for information on a former resident.
“Stay put,” he orders the child after placing him in the corral.
Grogu peers up at him, cooing.
“Go play, I’ll be back soon.”
Grogu observes his surroundings with anxious curiosity. Once he starts to amble off toward the other children, Din stalks off to the Inn. It’s a neutral-toned building with a couple of floors. The door slides open once it senses him. A middle-aged woman sits behind the counter reading a newspaper. She looks up with her eyes only when she hears the door.
“How many nights?” She asks, looking back at her paper.
“I’m not here for a room,” Din says.
This gets her to fully look up at him. She looks him up and down with a critical gaze. Unlike most other places, the people here never seem too put off or intimidated by his presence. Din honestly appreciates the tonal difference here from the rest of Naboo, the planet. Although every Naboo, the people, has Grizmallti ancestry, the Naboo tend to focus on their newer identity. A side effect of fleeing due to civil war.
The people in the mountains, though. They don't consider themselves Naboo. They consider themselves Grizmallti herds who live in the mountains of Nabu. Grizmallti herds use the original name given to Naboo, the name of the deity they once worshipped. All things Din has to remember when dealing with the different sides of the planet. Their differences are small but vital. Not offending anyone or ticking someone off makes Din’s life easier whenever he blows through. Working knowledge of the cultures is just part of the job.
“What are you here for then?” the woman asks him, jerking her chin up at him.
“I need information on Sola Pellis. I was told to come to you.”
“You were told wrong.”
Din measures the woman. There’s definitely a blaster holstered to the underside of the counter. Her joints are swollen from wear and tear meaning her movements will be slow.
“What are you getting for hiding her? I can double it,” he attempts.
The woman snorts.
“I’m not hiding anyone. Only people in here are paying me to sleep. I don't have anything for you about Sola.”
“But you know who she is.”
Newspaper abandoned on the countertop, the woman sighs.
“Look, I recognize you. I know why you’re looking for her. If I had any information, I'd give it to you. Sola is no friend of Dee’ja Peak, or Nabu.”
Din can tell she's being honest. A dead end. Great. Perfect. Tracking down Sola Pellis is proving to be a headache. One he isn't sure is worth the credits.
“Do you know of anyone who may have more information?”
“I know the last time she was seen she was disappearing into the thick woods to the west. If that's true, you can kiss your bounty goodbye,” the woman tells him, going back to her newspaper.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because no one goes into those woods and comes back. The Gungans avoid the core of Nabu because of the sea monsters. The Grizmallti avoid the thick woods for a similar reason,” her words are ominous, but her gaze doesn't leave the article she’s reading.
Din mutters a thank you and leaves. The cooled air of the Inn does nothing but make the outside even more unbearable. Dirt crunches beneath his boots. Chatter fills the air as the townspeople live their collective lives. When he arrives back at the corral Grogu is nowhere to be seen. Panic seeps in, but instinct takes over. There’s a break in the wood of the corral fence. One just big enough for the adventurous scamp to squeeze through.
A set of small three-toed footprints lead away from the corral. Din follows them. He can see a couple of scuffs where Grogu must have taken a tumble. No doubt he was running to avoid getting caught doing exactly what he wasn't supposed to be doing. The tracks lead to one of the many short cylindrical houses and end at the front door. With a sigh, Din knocks on the door. He’s more irritated with the kid than worried he’s in danger. In all his travels, he’s only ever come to this particular corner of Naboo for information. The seedy underbelly of the galaxy seems to steer clear of here. Like the whole galaxy has an unspoken but agreed-upon respect for Dee’ja Peak.
You open the door smiling over your shoulder. The smile falters as you take him in curiously. It only takes a second for realization to light up your face.
“You must be here for the little one,” your voice is as kind as your smile.
Din nods. You gesture for him to follow you inside. He does so cautiously. It’s a small space, but undoubtedly cozy. A couple of cushy-looking seats surround a small table. The kitchen is attached to the far curved wall, containing only the essentials. A stove, a fridge, a counter with three lower cabinets, and a sink. Grogu splashes around in the water in the sink. His clothes are folded on the counter. He coos and reaches out when he spots Din approaching.
“You’re giving him a bath,” Din states, just a hint of a question at the end.
“Yeah, he was covered in dirt and jelly. I hope you don't mind,” you say as you grab a dish towel to dry Grogu off.
“Jelly?”
“I think he smelled my jelly cakes and wandered over here. When I came out of the bathroom, he was laying on a plate of crumbs,” you chuckle.
Din turns his head so Grogu knows he’s giving him a disapproving stare. The kid gives him an innocent look in return.
“I’m sorry. I can pay you for them,” Din says.
You shake your head and wave him off as you wrap Grogu in the towel.
“No worries. He’s very sweet. Are you his father?” You smile as you redress the kid.
“In a way.”
You nod. When Grogu is once again dressed, you scoop him up. He happily coos as you make silly faces at him. Din is itching to get off this planet, but he doesn’t put a stop to it. Not for the first time, Din wonders if he’s doing the kid a disservice. He could tuck Grogu away somewhere here. Where it’s safe. At least, safer than anywhere else. The lonesome ache that ate at him when Grogu was with Luke comes back at the thought. Then the silent reminder that Grogu chose to live this life with him.
“Thank you for cleaning him up.”
You flash Din a smile that gives the scenery of Naboo a run for its money.
“It's really no problem. Like I said, he’s very sweet. Although, you should probably teach him not to wander into strangers’ homes. I know not everywhere is like here,” you give him a light lecture.
“I’m trying,” Din sighs.
Your smile turns sympathetic. With one last little boop of his nose, you hand Grogu off to Din. As you do so, you tell him your name. Din doesn’t return the favor, but you don't ask him to. You’ve seen him pass through before. No one knows his name. When parents are trying to scare their kids straight he’s the Man With The Metal Skin. To everyone else, he’s simply the Mandalorian.
“Who are you looking for this time?” you ask.
Din freezes as he looks at you. Only interest paints your features. His guard goes up.
“Why do you think I’m looking for someone?” he asks.
You quirk an amused smile.
“Believe it or not, not many bounty hunters come through here. Even less Mandalorians. People talk.”
He regards you for a moment longer.
“Sola Pellis. Do you know her?”
You go pale. Regardless of how you decide to answer, Din can tell the truth. You swallow around the lump that’s formed in your throat.
“I think we all know her.”
“Do you know where I might find her?”
An uncomfortable shift on your feet gives you away.
“Not exactly. She told me she was going to Jakku, but then I heard she was seen going into the forest west of here,” you tell him guiltily.
“Which would you believe?”
Your eyes squeeze shut for a moment. There's a deep intake of breath through your nose then an exhale through your slightly parted lips. Once the calming action is complete, your eyes open again. They fix steadily on Din.
“I want to tell you to believe she went into the forest.”
“But you don't think she did,” he checks for confirmation.
“No, I don’t. My sister is many things, but suicidal isn’t one of them,” you sigh.
“Sister?”
“Estranged, but yes.”
Din chews on this unexpected bit of information. He spares a glance at Grogu. How the hell did the kid manage to kick up a lead like this?
“Do you have any idea where on Jakku she would go?” He knows it's a long shot, but it's also his only shot.
“I don't even know what’s on Jakku other than sand,” you admit sheepishly.
Din gives a short nod. That’s everything. Grogu coos at you some more, clearly infatuated now that he knows you possibly carry jelly cakes. It makes it hard for Din to move. Grogu doesn't even reach toward Peli like this.
“Thank you,” he says.
Another moment of standing there.
“I’m sorry about your sister.”
The words completely surprise you. He can see it all over your face. Your eyebrows raise, your eyes grow larger, and your face reddens just a tad.
“You’re just doing your job, right?” You give a sad smile.
He once again nods. It’s not the first time the job has left him feeling a little torn. The first time was Grogu. With that, he makes his leave for Jakku.
***
It’s a couple of weeks later when the Mandalorian is knocking on your door again. Surprise is evident on your face as you greet him.
“Would you watch him?” He asks without any prelude.
You simply blink at him for a moment. Grogu essentially materializes from beneath the Mandalorian’s cape. He had been tucked nicely into a leather bag.
“Really?”
“If it isn't too much trouble.”
“Y’know there’s the corral in-”
“I left him there last time and he ended up with you. I think he’ll be happier going with you, to begin with.”
Grogu’s big eyes watch you hopefully. He coos and reaches out for you. Maker, he’s adorable. With a smile, you accept him into your arms.
“Okay, how long will you be?”
“I won't be back until nightfall.”
Your eyebrows furrow. It’s morning now. That’s a long time to leave his child with someone who’s a perfect stranger.
“Where are you going?”
“Moenia, but I don’t trust anywhere else to be safe enough. He’s… special.”
The vagueness of the Mandalorian’s words piques your interest, but you put it off for another time. Moenia is a city below the mountains. No wonder he'll be gone all day. You give him a nod as Grogu tangles his hands in your hair.
“Good luck.”
The Mandalorian nods. He gives Grogu one last pat on the head before leaving. As long as you kept him fed and entertained, Grogu was pretty painless to watch over. You learned quickly that any inkling of boredom leads to increasing amounts of mischief. It took a broken plate, a chewed slipper, and a close call with a knife to teach you that lesson.
Night has settled over the Gallo Mountains when Din returns. He seems a little worse for wear. You can tell even through all that beskar armor. His shoulders are a bit slumped and his knock wasn’t as strong. He expects you to hand Grogu off and then to be on his way.
“He’s asleep and by the looks of it you should be too,” you tell him with an amused smile.
Din follows you into your house. Grogu is out like a light on one of the cushy seats. A too-large blanket covers him to his chin. Din waits and watches for a second. A calm rushes over him when he observes Grogu’s chest moving lightly. When his attention is turned back to you he finds a soft smile already facing him.
“Was he any trouble?” Din asks quietly.
“A little, but it was a fun trouble,” you shrug slightly, “He’s a good kid.”
“Thank you for watching him.”
“Anytime. Now, you’re clearly tired and the kid is asleep. You’re welcome to stay the night. I have a cot I can bring out,” you offer kindly.
He has to mull it over. The thought of sleeping in his armor tempts him to go back to the Razor Crest. The exhaustion in his bones and Grogu’s peaceful form pull him to stay. He can stand a night of sleeping in his armor, he decides.
“I would appreciate that.”
***
Morning comes slowly on Naboo. The daylight takes its time creeping over the mountains to warm up Dee’ja Peak. Din awakes with a crick in his neck but is otherwise rested. He sits up and tilts his head left with a satisfying crack. Then he tilts his head right, earning another satisfying crack, alleviating the crick.
“That sounded like it felt good,” your playful voice says from the kitchen.
Din looks over and sees you at a little table pressed against the wall. Grogu is across from you all but swimming in a bowl of warm oats. It makes him ache a little, how at home Grogu seems to feel here. Din knows what he’s made to do as a Mandalorian. He knows what is expected of him as he raises a foundling. Still, he can't help recalling his own youngling days. He remembers wishing that he could just stay in one place for longer than a few days. He suspects that’s why he’s prone to revisiting familiar landscapes. It gives him a false sense of stability and he hopes it may for Grogu as well.
“It did,” he admits.
The deep cool tone of his voice skates across your skin leaving subtle goosebumps. You’re not sure if it's the modulator in his helmet, but his voice is so soothing.
“Do you want some breakfast?” you gesture to the pot on the stove over a low flame.
“No, that’s alright. We should go when he’s done.”
You nod and go back to what you were doing. He hasn't noticed the paper in front of you until now, or the furious scribbling of your hand. The tip of your tongue sticks out as you focus on the drawing you’ve been working on.
“Is that… me?” he asks, befuddled and flustered.
On the paper before you is a drawing. An extremely good drawing. It’s Din on the cot, one hand on his chest and the other on his stomach as he sleeps. The morning light filters through the window, shining off his armor. Over him is Grogu, peering down from where he was once asleep on the seat. The shading is soft and photorealistic. He imagines you’ve been at it for at least an hour. Something deep in his chest stirs, waking something else deep in his belly.
“Oh- uh- yeah, sorry. I was waiting for you to wake up and… force of habit I guess,” you stutter out, face flushing.
“You have a habit of drawing people while they’re sleeping?” he questions.
“Well, not exactly, but I have a habit of drawing whenever the inspiration strikes without really thinking,” you rub the back of your neck, embarrassed.
Din allows himself a moment to study the image. It’s like a graphite photograph. You have some real skill with a pencil. Maybe even more than Din has with a blaster.
“Could I have it?” he asks, an edge of anxiousness nudging in at the end.
You brandish a smile that makes the inside of Din’s flight suit a little hotter. Maker, it’s been too long since he’s taken care of himself.
“Yeah, of course.”
You put a few finishing touches on the drawing before rolling it up and handing it over. Din almost wishes you could see the soft smile he offers up.
“You’re very good.”
“Thank you,” you smile bashfully.
“You've been very kind to us. Thank you.”
You nod, still sporting a small smile. A glance between Din and Grogu doesn't go unnoticed.
“You’re both welcome anytime… Could I ask you a question, though?”
Din can see the apprehensiveness rolling off of you.
“You can ask, but I can’t promise an answer.”
“What happened with my sister?”
A beat of silence. Well, silence outside of Grogu’s munching.
“I’m still looking. Jakku was another dead end,” he answers honestly.
“What… what are you going to do with her when you find her?” You ask slowly,
You stare him down. A good minute goes by with no words and an intense gaze you can feel from behind that helmet.
“The bounty doesn't specify dead or alive. It’s up to her how I bring her in.”
You nod, a sigh slipping out. It's no secret that Sola Pellis is the worst the Gizmallti has to offer. The people of Dee’ja Peak usually keep to themselves. They conduct their lives up in the mountains and don't get involved with the affairs of other places. What drove Sola to become a mercenary, you don't know.
You do know that she mostly took jobs and money from the worst people. Sola has hurt a lot of people, a lot of children. Somewhere along the way whatever moral compass she had deteriorated. It’s no surprise someone put a bounty on her head. If anything, it’s a surprise it took this long.
“So, where to next?” You ask as you take your bowl and Grogu’s now empty bowl to the sink.
You place the dirty dishes in the sink but turn to face Din again. Your lower back presses into the edge of the sink as you lean back.
“Tatooine.”
“Tatooine that’s…,” you pause a moment to think, brows furrowing creating a wrinkle between them before your face brightens, “desert planet with two suns, right?”
Din nods. He scoops up a gurgling Grogu. There’s something about the hard lines of the Mandalorian contrasting the softness of the kid that ensnares you. He’s so gentle with the tiny ball of trouble. So much gentler than you’d expect someone of his background to be capable of being. In fact, whenever he’s in town the Mandalorian is extremely peaceful. He’s civil. A strange juxtaposition from the stories you’ve heard about the group.
“That’s a kinder description than I would give it,” he says after a moment of consideration.
“What description would you give it?”
“A boiling Sarlacc pit.”
A laugh tumbles off your lips. It's a soft sound that gives Din the same sensation as hearing distant wind chimes. A sort of contemplative calm that allows his chest room to feel the steady beating of his own heart. A brief moment of acknowledging his own humanity.
“Have you been to a lot of places then?”
Once again, Din nods.
“Have you been to Coruscant?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Do you like any places you’ve visited?” you chuckle.
“I like it here,” it hangs in the air for a moment before he snatches it back with a clarification, “in Dee’ja Peak.”
“I’m glad Nabu caught your affection,” you smile with a hint of pride.
“Not Naboo,” he shakes his head slightly.
An amused quirk takes over your smile.
“Don’t let anyone else hear you say it like that.”
“I’m sorry, Nabu.” Din takes care to emphasize the ah sound a little more and shorten the last syllable.
“No worries, just be careful when you're out there. People tend to get very defensive about the Naboo around here.”
Din nods in understanding. It was a careless slip-up on his part. He takes it as a sign that he’s gotten too comfortable here.
“Thank you, again.”
He takes his leave, you giving a chest-height wave after him.
***
You aren't answering the door a week later. Grogu coos curiously up at Din from his pod. The afternoon air hangs temperate and still.
“I don't know,” Din answers the question in Grogu’s eyes.
He stalks off into town to ask around. He would have left Grogu with the newly fixed corral, but the kid made it clear he misses you. Whenever he wanted to bother Din about seeing you again, he would place his hand on the drawing. Din has it taped to the back wall of the cockpit on a smooth panel. Every time Grogu puts his little hand on the drawing and coos at Din with wide eyes, he can only respond with a soft soon, kid.
He spots a shopkeeper who is reorganizing the farming tools they have on display outside. Grogu trails lazily behind him as he goes up to ask if he has any knowledge of your whereabouts. The store is next door, separated by a chunk of dirt road and a windmill. The gruff older man tells Din you’re likely by the riverbank honing your craft.
Grogu spots you first. His excited gurgling and quickened pace in the pod tip Din off. Din’s gaze follows Grogu’s trajectory to find you. Sure enough, you’re set up on the riverbank sitting on a wooden stool. An easel is in front of you, your steady hand painting the rolling landscape before you with the tip of your tongue sticking out. Next to you sits an open case of paints, brushes, and other tools Din can’t place. When you hear Grogu you look over your shoulder with a bright smile.
“You found my secret spot,” you say teasingly as you place your paintbrush onto the lip of the easel.
You pick Grogu up and place him on your lap. He immediately cuddles into your chest. The part of the riverbank you’re on is only a few yards from the edge of town. The backs of houses cast shadows that reach out for you, but fall a few feet short.
“The hardware store owner told me where to find you.”
“Ah, Gus. He’s a good one. If he notices I haven't come back for lunch he’ll bring me some,” you smile fondly at the memories.
“Grizmallti take care of their own,” Din recalls a saying he’s heard on occasion around these parts.
You give him a pleasantly surprised look and nod.
“How long d’you need me to watch him for?” you ask, looking down at Grogu as you scratch behind his ear. Grogu is absolutely eating up the sensation and the attention.
“Until tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
“I’m happy to. Where are you off to this time?”
“Endor.”
You perk up when he says it.
“I've always wanted to go to Endor! Have you been there before?” Excitement is written all over your face.
Din finds it endearing, which spooks him. He thanks his Maker that you can’t see it on his face.
“I have,” he nods.
“Let me guess, you hate it there too,” you tease amused.
You’re sitting there teasing him, Grogu is on your lap looking up at you adoringly, and the warmth of the sun is kissing your skin. Din’s breathing picks up a little, but not enough to alert you to the change. It’s an image he’s allowed himself to think of briefly before falling asleep. Pictures of someone faceless caring for Grogu when he can't. Not having to worry about the kid’s whereabouts and safety. What a comfort it would be to be able to just know Grogu is safe and happy without worry. Maybe that faceless person provides some companionship to Din as well sometimes, but that’s just a happy side effect. The real fantasy is a second more stable, but equally loving parental figure for Grogu.
“No, I don’t mind Endor.”
“Well, now I really want to go there. That’s a raving review from you,” you chuckle.
“Have you ever been off Nabu?” he asks.
“I've never left Dee’ja Peak.”
“I get the sense people don't leave here often.”
You shake your head.
“Less than people visit, that’s for sure.”
Grogu gets his hands on the paintbrush. You quickly reach to snatch it, but he manages to get in a swipe with it. A light purple streak paints diagonally across your face. You were using the color for the more distant mountains. Grogu gurgles at you innocently and you take the paintbrush from his hand. A smile is concealed by Din’s helmet.
“Okay, I think that's enough painting for one day,” you announce and place Grogu back in his pod.
“I’ll be back tomorrow evening at the latest.”
You smile and nod.
***
Din knows you're home this time. He’s later than he expected. Stars twinkle above and the warm glow of the lights through your windows lies ahead. He knocks and it takes you only a second to call out for him to come in.
When he enters he finds you and Grogu at the small table in the living room. You’re sitting crisscrossed on the floor. Grogu is kneeling on top of the table, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper with a blue crayon. You color more lightly on yours with a green one.
“I’m sorry I’m so late,” he says as he approaches.
“It’s okay, once I got him some crayons he was set. He’s been at it for hours,” you chuckle and gesture to the pile of drawings behind you.
Din flips through some of the drawings. They’re all a mishmash of multicolored scribbles. Over your shoulder, he can see you’ve drawn Grogu drawing. It’s in crayon, but still somehow incredibly accurate. Grogu coos for Din once he’s satisfied with the amount of blue on the paper. Din pops him onto his hip. He immediately finds the small talisman hidden in a pocket of Din’s belt. Din takes it from him, clenching it in his fist.
“I brought you something from Endor,” he tells you tentatively.
You peer up at him with wide eyes.
“You did?”
He holds out his hand and opens it. In his palm is a small semi-flat talisman of an Ewok with a hood and spear carved from a deep green stone. You take it tenderly, running your fingers over the curves and ridges. It’s cool to the touch and vaguely smells like the Endorian forest. Din watches you study the talisman in awe. It’s something he spotted in passing and only cost him a few credits. It’s not the same as going there, but it’s a small piece of Endor in the palm of your hand.
“This is beautiful, thank you so much,” you look up at him with an astonished expression, “You really didn’t have to get me anything.”
“It’s nothing. Consider it a token of appreciation.”
“I feel very appreciated, thank you,” your voice is soft and genuine like your eyes.
There's a brief moment where Din gets an urge to reach out for you. He doesn't know where the impulse comes from. He just knows that the kid likes you, which means you’re good. You’re good and help him out. You give him a place to rest, you give the kid a place to be a kid, and you do it all with a smile on your face. Din probably has the most respect for you out of anyone he knows.
“Will you be staying the night? I can't imagine taking off in the dark is a good idea,” you offer with a knowing smile.
There's the telltale slump of his shoulders. He’s tired. It’s like your gaze is piercing his beskar.
“If you don't mind.”
“How could I mind after a gift like this?”
In the morning, the crayon drawing of Grogu is already rolled up next to Din. He hadn't even had the chance to ask for it.
***
“Grogu,” you scold.
He’s on the counter, a hand literally in the cookie jar. Those big eyes stay on you as his hand continues to inch forward into the jar.
“If you take a cookie out of that jar your father will be hearing about this,” you warn him.
Grogu gives a displeased gurgle. His ears droop. With one last longing look at the cookies, he removes his hand from the jar. You pick him up off the counter.
“C'mon, let’s spend some time outside.”
You bring him out and set him loose in the grass in front of your house. This way he can hunt the snails that have infested your garden. He gets snacks and entertainment, you get a cleared-out garden and a second to breathe. The Mandalorian is a day late. You’re seriously beginning to worry, but are trying really hard to not let Grogu catch on.
Din knows he’s in trouble the moment he sees you outside. Not because he’s late or limping. Because you’re sitting on a big flag rock, smiling affectionately at where Grogu is pouncing on snails. He has the strange sensation of returning somewhere that's waiting to welcome him, of returning home.
That drop in his stomach, that buzz in his chest tells him he’s in trouble. The kid has softened him so much more than he’d realized. Since when did Din desire a family? Worse, that faceless person caring for Grogu and giving him companionship is beginning to look a lot like you. Worst, he’s silently given up on the pursuit of your sister. You are just the latest way Naboo makes his job more difficult.
“Don’t let him eat too many of those. He won't stop until he throws them up,” Din says as he limps up to you.
You’re whipping around and standing in an instant. Relief washes over you, but worry still covers your face.
“Maker, I was afraid something happened,” you breathe as you look him up and down.
“Sorry, I’m late.”
“Are you okay?” you ask, clocking his limp.
“I’m fine. I just need to sit,” he grunts.
Suddenly, you’re ducking under his arm, tossing it over your shoulders. You place your own arm around his waist, the beskar so cold it stings. He hisses when the pressure of your hand irritates a sore spot on his side. You loosen your hold.
“Sorry,” you mumble and start to guide him into the house.
Grogu scurries in at your ankles, looking up worriedly at his father. You help him to the nearest seat in the living room. He sighs in relief.
“Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?” You hover over him, not sure what to do.
He shakes his head slowly.
“I’m fine, I swear. I’m just… bruised.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Din studies your features for a second. You're so incredibly kind it’s almost funny. It almost feels fake. He kind of feels like he could reach out right now and you would poof out of existence like a cloud.
“The cot,” he grunts.
You nod and quickly go to retrieve it. Once the coffee table is out of the way, you set it up. Din moves onto it, laying back. Trying to rest in his full get-up looks uncomfortable, it always does.
“Let me help you get your armor off,” you say and reach toward his pauldron.
“No,” his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist.
“Your flight suit and helmet can stay on, but all the external metal… I just think you'd rest easier without it,” you explain softly.
His gloved fingers remain around your wrist for a beat.
“Okay,” he agrees quietly.
You help him unfasten and take off the different bits of beskar. Piece by piece you peel back the Mandalorian’s shell, placing each shiny part gently on an empty seat. You even fold up his cape and hang the satchel that he had around him on the back of a chair. Din sighs once he’s able to fully settle back. It is a lot more comfortable without the armor. His helmet still props his neck at an awkward angle, but that's something he can deal with. It's something he has to deal with.
“Will you tell me what happened to you, or are you going to just look at me silently from under that helmet like I can’t tell?” you ask, teasing lightly.
Din is eternally grateful for the cover his helmet provides. His face is on fire and the helmet is swallowing the flames.
“A Corellian welcome.”
You give him a look that says you aren't satisfied with that answer.
“I don't know what that means and you know it,” you cross your arms.
He does know it. Trying to circumvent the conversation, but appease you is a dirty Mandalorian trick.
“Corellians say hello with their fists. They say hello harder when you’re after one of their friends,” he elaborates, hand crossing his body to brace his side at the memory of slamming into a table.
“Remind me to never go there in my many travels.”
“I’ll do my best.”
You chuckle. Tension that you didn't know had gripped your shoulders eases. Sure, part of you was concerned because of Grogu. Both because you didn't want the kid to be an orphan and because you simply aren’t prepared to be a single parent. Watching the kid on your own for a couple of days at a time at most? Sure. Permanent and sole responsibility? No. A bigger slice of the concern goes to the Mandalorian himself.
He’s been by more than a dozen times at this point. Each time you find yourself sinking further and further. You're up to your knees in him. Wading through uncharted waters, unsure you’ll ever reach the dock on the other side. Yet, each minute spent in his presence pushes you forward. His care for Grogu, his stories, the way you can tell he’s growing more comfortable around you when he jokes back. All little glimmers of light beneath the surface below your knees. Glimmers that lead your way.
“Inside my bag, front left pocket,” he tells you.
“What?” you stare at him dubiously.
“There’s something in there. Grab it.”
Without another word, you begin searching the soft leather bag. Grogu gurgles up at Din from beside the cot. Din drops a gloved hand over the side, allowing Grogu to take hold of it. The small gesture is what keeps gravity working on him, Din’s sure of it. All the aching, and the soreness, eases with the assurance that Grogu is okay. Proof of that is his tiny grip around Din’s thick gloved finger.
“What is this?”
In your hand is a smooth square piece of fabric. The size makes you think of a bandana, but the material is soft. It has an almost liquid quality to it. The colors are beautifully pigmented. A rich blue, a pattern of small white fish dotted all over, and a golden trim. This piece of fabric is likely the nicest thing you’ve ever held in your life.
“It’s for you,” he says like those three words explain everything.
“I- what?”
“It’s Corellian silk. Pieces that size are good for wrapping around your head. It keeps you cool, absorbs moisture, but stays soft,” he explains.
You can't tell if he’s peering at you through his visor. All you know is your mouth is slightly parted in awe.
“I can’t possibly accept this.”
You begin to put it back, but he grunts in annoyance.
“Please.”
Your eyes bounce from the Corellian silk to the Mandalorian. It’s truly gorgeous and would do wonders when you’re painting on especially humid days.
“I just wish I could thank you properly.”
“Just saying thank you is enough.”
You crack a small amused smile.
“I mean that I still don't know your name. Names are important to my people. I didn't want to push you, I know your people value boundaries and privacy.”
The Mandalorian is quiet for so long that you begin to worry. He can tell by the way the silk wrinkles in your grip. Right when you open your mouth to apologize for crossing the line, he speaks again.
“Din. My name is Din.”
A wide relieved smile breaks out on your face. Din is starting to think that of all the stunning landscapes and views Naboo has to offer, your smile is his favorite.
“Thank you, Din. It’s beautiful. I’ve never felt anything like it,” childlike wonder invades your tone, “I’ve never owned something so nice before.”
He watches you fold the fabric into a triangle then tie it around your head. It covers your head from your hairline back, leaving what’s left of the length of your hair pouring out the back. When your hair is fully out of your face, Din’s breath hitches.
He gets an unobstructed view of your features, no distractions. The curves of your cheekbones and nose create a smooth mountainous backdrop for the lush valley that is the rest of your features. Every inch of your face makes Din think of the flourishing environment of Naboo. Especially because, like many of the people around here, you have an ageless quality about you. Something that’s shared with the planet itself and its architecture. This moment convinces Din that every good thing Naboo has to offer has accumulated in the mountains, mixed together, and created you.
“You look good. Nice things suit you,” Din comments once all his breath comes back to him.
You are acutely aware of the heat that climbs up your neck until it reaches the tips of your ears. A small, coy smile appears on your lips.
“Thank you,” your voice comes out hushed, but you can tell he hears.
Grogu begins a free solo up Din’s arm. It’s clear it causes Din pain with the way he tenses, but he doesn't do anything to stop the kid. He’s a little bit of a pushover for the pint-sized menace, something that warms your heart. You quickly extract Grogu from Din’s arm, but not before he reaches his shoulder. Din relaxes when the weight and pressure of Grogu are lifted. Knowing the kid is now cooing and chirping in your arms provides an extra layer of relief.
“Let’s let your dad rest, yeah?” You give Grogu raised eyebrows, looking for confirmation.
Grogu’s ears lower in disappointment. Din really really likes when you call him Grogu’s dad. When you talk to the kid like his life is normal.
“I know we missed him, but we can terrorize him tomorrow,” your voice is honey-like.
The words hit Din in his chest. Almost as hard as that Corellian bartender.
“You missed me, huh?” A smirk toys at the corners of his lips.
Maker knows this helmet has made it impossible for him to school his expression at this point. There are certainly some tricks you can't teach an old dog. How to not show every single thought on your face is definitely one of them. Not after a lifetime of not having to.
“Don’t get too smug, now. It’s not becoming,” you chide playfully.
A deep chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. It lasts a second before turning into a pained hiss.
“Din, you're clearly not okay. Let me get you some ice at least.”
He gives a curt nod. Din watches you go to the kitchen, grab a dishcloth, and start digging in the icebox. You plop some ice in the cloth and tie it all up into a makeshift ice pack. Grogu watches curiously from your hip the entire time.
When you offer the ice to Din, Grogu nuzzles further into you. It almost feels like he’s thanking you for caring for his dad. Din accepts the ice and holds it to the bottom of his rib cage. A moment of deep thought crosses your face as you watch him, unaware that beneath that helmet he’s watching you as well.
“Stop,” he says suddenly.
“Stop what?” you furrow your brows.
“Stop worrying over me. We’ll be gone by morning, you don't have to worry.”
You shake your head.
“No, I’m not worried about you being here. I’m worried about you leaving too soon and making this worse. I can talk to Melda at the Inn about letting you use a bed if the cot-”
“Right, I forgot how you people are.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, Din knows as soon as it's out. You bristle. If you had fur, he’s sure he’d be watching your hackles raise.
“How us people are?” You question.
“I didn't mean anything by it,” he tries to diffuse the situation.
He only adds fuel to the flames. You take his words as dismissive rather than explanatory.
“There’s no way to say that and not mean anything by it. What exactly are my people like?” you're more forceful this time, demanding an answer from him.
A real answer, not some vague Mandalorian partial truth.
“Kind.”
The answer causes you to pause. Any building anger halts, any budding snap response disappears, and confusion takes both their places.
“Kind?”
“Yes, kind. Any other planet and I would have already been at the Inn or my ship. The Grizmallti are known for treating their visitors like locals. You have a saying about it,” he explains.
“Give to each child of Nabu as if you are giving to yourself,” you say softly.
“Mandalorians don’t have anything about giving. Mostly just taking. That's why I like it here.”
The thought is so incredibly comforting. Din likes being here because of the nature of you and your people, not despite it. You feel validated. What Din finds solace in is what drove Sola away. You can recall one of the last times you spoke to her. She spat venom when you attempted to reason with her Grizmallti roots. Scolded you for not living for yourself, for following the ways of Dee’ja Peak like a lemming.
What she never understood is that you are living for yourself. You love your community and your way of life. Sure you’d like to expand your horizons. You'd like to explore the far reaches of the galaxy and see everything there is to see. Still, you always pictured yourself coming right back here when you’re done and continuing to care for those around you when you do so. There is nothing more fulfilling for you than caring about and for others. You have hope that if Din doesn't fully understand that now, he could in the future.
“Have you ever thought about staying?” The question slips out before you can catch it.
“It’s not what we do.”
“What’s not?”
“Staying in one place.”
You simply nod. The silence gnaws at your ankles uncomfortably. You shift on your legs in an attempt to rid yourself of it. Grogu starts trying to climb up your torso. You chuckle as you let him. He clambers up until he’s holding onto your head and standing on your shoulder. You tilt your head to give him more room and reach up to steady him with your hands. Din watches fondly as the ice does its job.
“Have you ever thought about leaving?” he asks.
Your gaze snaps back over to him. A small, almost sad smile appears.
“All the time,” you admit.
“Why don’t you?”
“It’s not that simple. Like you said, people don't leave here often.”
You lift Grogu off of your shoulder where he was playing with the silk on your head. The sun has fully set outside. Trilling can be heard through the windows from the bugs. You set Grogu into his pod. He lays back easily, pooped, and is ready for sleep.
“That doesn't mean they don't leave at all,” Din points out gently.
The pod shuts itself as Grogu drifts off. No doubt dreaming about those pesky snails. You finally allow yourself to sit, taking the seat beside where Din lays.
“I suppose it doesn't,” you sigh.
“Why don't you?” He repeats his question.
You open and close your mouth a couple of times with false starts. A frown settles in when you can't find an excuse that satisfies you.
“I don’t know… I’m scared, I guess.”
“Scared of what?”
“I’ve never been further than the river. I know it probably sounds silly to someone who travels for a living, but I’m afraid I won't make it home if I leave,” your voice is pillow soft and contemplative.
Din takes a steadying inhale through his nose. Then he places a heavy gloved hand on your knee. As his heart pounds in his chest, he gives a comforting squeeze.
“That’s not silly.”
You swallow the lump that’s suddenly in your throat. This is the first time you find yourself wishing you could see Din’s face. The beskar has always just been a part of him. Now that all of it but his helmet is shedded it fully hits you. There is someone underneath all that armor. Someone with skin that isn't blaster-proof. Someone whose body is likely warm rather than icy to the touch. Someone whose face is looking at you, reassuring you, and making an expression you’ll never be able to see. Oh, how you long to see how he looks at you.
“Thank you, Din.”
You place your hand over his. The material is rough to the touch, but it still comforts you. It’s still Din’s hand bridging a gap that’s never been bridged before. He’s offering a tender touch that you’ve only seen him give to Grogu.
“I’d ensure you make it home,” he states.
All you can do is blink at him for a moment.
“What are you saying?” you ask it slowly, beating down the rising hope and heartbeat.
“You can come with us. I’ll keep you safe.”
His voice is certain and unwavering. That hope you were beating down wins, bursting into your chest. The smile that grows on your face is blinding and breathtaking. Din has the terrifying thought that he would do whatever he can to make you continue smiling like that.
“Are you sure I won’t slow you down?”
“I already travel with a child. You’ll be easy.”
You nod enthusiastically. Dank farrik, Din must be absolutely melting in his helmet. There’s no other reason his brain is short-circuiting like this.
“I guess this way you don't have to come all the way back to Nabu to bring me gifts,” you tease.
Another circuit in Din’s brain pops.
“That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Where would we go first?”
“Mos Eisley first, then wherever the bounty takes us.”
“Mos Eisley?” You ask feeling just a bit stupid.
“Tatooine.”
You nod thinking of what to pack. Tatooine is a desert planet, but you’ll be going to places of all temperatures and weather. At the same time, you don't want to pack too heavy. How are you going to fit all your art supplies into a bag? Will there even be room on his ship?
“My easel and supplies, will there be room? I suppose I can always just stick to sketching and paint when I get back,” you mumble the end to yourself.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make room.”
A small gesture that carries such big implications for how you’ll fit into his life from here on out. Din will no longer be entering your space. You won't be the one adjusting and making room. He will. Din is going to alter everything about his life so you can fit neatly in it.
“Y’know, that’s the first time you’ve told me not to worry that actually made me stop worrying,” you muse.
“You worry too much.”
His hand squeezes your knee further.
“It’s hard not to with you two around,” you tease with a playful smile.
You can't hear it, but you can see the light chuckle move in his chest.
“You should hit the rack. Big day tomorrow,” Din says softly.
He gives your knee one last squeeze before removing it. Your knee is suddenly cold. Din misses the warmth he was able to barely feel through his glove. He wonders how warm you are without the glove.
“Big day, indeed.”
***
You don't mention saying goodbye to any family the next morning. Din doesn't ask. If your sister is any indication, family is likely a sore topic. You hug various people as you walk to Dee’ja Port. Din recognizes Gus, who sends you away with a basket of bread and a firm order not to forget to eat. Another person you introduce as Luka gives you a bottle of spotchka. Then Melda, the woman Din spoke to at the Inn, shoves over a rolled-up blanket. It seems to be made of every hue in a Naboo sunset and woven together with thick soft yarn. He watches your eyes widen.
“Melda, you must need this. I can't take it,” you say and attempt to hand it back.
Melda shakes her head and holds her hand up to stop you.
“We have plenty. I want you to have a piece of home with you when you need it. Nothing more Dee'ja Peak than one of my blankets,” she insists.
You give her an extra tight hug. When you set off again you explain to Din that the blanket is one used on the beds in the Inn. Melda hand makes them. She sells them during festivals and sometimes even takes commissions. They’re expensive, though. They take a lot of work and material. Her giving you one is a heart-swelling gesture.
All in all, it takes the two of you twenty-five minutes to make the ten-minute walk to Dee’ja Port. Every few buildings someone is stopping you to give you a hug and wish you well. Din and Grogu watch in silent awe at the sheer amount of love you are showered with on your way out.
Dee’ja Port houses four bays and cheap docking. The Razor Crest is sitting in the furthest bay. He leads you to her, telling you what she’s called. It feels like he’s nervously introducing you to a family member. You give him a warm smile that you then direct to the Crest. You place a gentle hand on the side of her body.
“It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” you hum.
Din chuckles, drawing your attention.
“She’s a piece of garbage, but she’s our piece of garbage,” he says.
He helps you to secure your things in the cargo hold. Priority is to take off, then you can figure out where exactly everything will go. It’s strange imagining him existing in this space. While you can see him in the way everything is organized, there’s nothing else that feels like Din.
From the cargo hold you pass the small living quarters and climb up into the cockpit. You sit to Din’s right, Grogu on your lap. Grogu coos and reaches out to the left. When you follow his little hand you find your drawings on the back wall. The one you drew of Din and Grogu that first morning and the silly little crayon sketch. Your face heats up.
“I didn't think you hung them up,” you comment.
Din glances at you and then over his other shoulder.
“Oh- the-,” he clears his throat a little, “the kid really likes them.”
You smile as Din faces forward. Din swears his beskar must be red and gooey with how hot his skin is.
“Awe, you like my drawings, Grogu?” you coo down at the kid.
He looks up at you with his ears perked up, gurgling.
“I’m glad because there’s only going to be more,” you say, eyes darting up to where Din is flipping switches and pressing buttons.
Grogu coos happily. The Crest roars to life, causing you to jump a bit.
“Sorry,” Din mumbles as he continues readying the ship.
When the ship starts to move it really sinks in. You’re leaving Dee’ja Peak. You’re leaving Nabu. Din looks at you over his shoulder. You can see your reflection in his visor, wide-eyed and anxious.
“Ready?” Din asks.
You take a deep breath.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Din nods and looks forward again. Another few flips and clicks then the ship is off. As you leave your home and everyone you know behind, your eyes stay glued on the beskar-clad man in front of you. You watch him open up an entire galaxy of possibilities to you for no reason other than the desire to do so. The blue of the atmosphere gives way to an endless expanse of stars, but you’re sure the brightest of them all is in this cockpit with you.
i’m a simple bisexual. i see a pretty person, i [aggrieved noise]
