Work Text:
Your eyes snap open, woken from a dead sleep to a searing pain across your abdomen. “Dank ferrik!” You yank the covers back, hiking your shirt up to watch as swirling flowers bloom across the skin of your stomach. A nice addition to the collection you’re already sporting over the rest of your body. “What the hell is this person doing? I look like a damn flower garden!” With a grumble, you decide to start your day well before the three suns rise in the morning sky. No point in trying to sleep now.
Life has never really been exciting for you, not in the strictest sense of the word. Sure, there were parties and concerts and sporting events to attend, and from time to time an interesting figure from somewhere far from here would show up and be the talk of the town for a few days before moving on, but that was never really exciting. Fun, sure, but not exciting. Not like what you want. Not until the day that pre-Imperial Razor Crest docks at your town’s lousy excuse of a spaceport.
Word spreads fast in this town, what with the fact that there’s not much else to talk about aside from the fact that Garish down the street has that weird space pox disease again and no one is quite sure how he keeps managing to catch it. But a Mandalorian showing up in town with some weird little gremlin child? Now that’s some hot gossip.
He shows up on your day off cleaning the space port so you only find out about him through word of mouth, but it doesn’t take you long at all to find him at the local cantina, his armor having him stick out like a sore thumb in the comparatively muted colors of the town. He’s tall and broad and radiates power, though his posture would read relaxed to anyone not used to watching their back every step of the way. Your lips curl as you watch him for a moment, before that t-visor turns your way. You can feel him staring back at you though you have no indication of his eyes before you flash him a wink and exit the cantina. You’ll see him again soon anyways.
The next day he’s back at the space port, talking with your boss about the cost of the supplies for repairing the ship. Your boss has always been a slimy old fool, swindling people out of their money while simultaneously not even realizing you were helping to lighten his pockets every time. The perks to being the one writing the books since he’s too lazy to do it himself.
“He’s cheating you, you know.” That t-visor zeros in on you again, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. “Parts and labor for that repair cost half what he’s trying to charge you.” A gloved hand clenches back around the credits as your boss begins spluttering, the Mando’s other hand moving towards his blaster. You chuckle, hoisting the bag onto your shoulder as you saunter over. “Told you it would catch up to you, Teff. Charge the man what’s due and be done with it.” Teff splutters out a corrected cost, the Mando looking to you for approval before handing over the credits when you nod, Teff scampering off to the back of the port.
“Is he always like that?” comes a gruff, modulated voice from the Mandalorian.
“Unfortunately,” you sigh before turning to grin up at the Mando. “He tries to skimp on my paycheck too, but I’m the one who manages the books, so it doesn’t exactly work out for him.” The Mandalorian just grunts before turning to head back to the ramp of his ship. “Do you need an onboard mechanic?” you ask quickly, scrambling to catch up with him.
“I’m good.”
“I’m a great mechanic. I grew up around this place. The boss just keeps me off the line because he didn’t want to pay for a second mechanic.” The Mandalorian grunts, heavy boots thudding part way up the ramp before he stops, turning to look at you. What must his gaze look like to weigh so heavily on you every time he looks at you?
“I can’t pay you. I’m barely scraping by as it is, and you would just be another mouth to feed.” He places both hands on his hips, clearly exasperated.
“I can pay my own way. I have plenty of credits saved up. Please, just get me off of this rock, that’s all I’m asking you.” You take a step towards him, looking up at him and for a moment, he’s quiet.
“I’m not a taxi service,” he finally responds, but the protest sounds weak on his lips. Does he even have lips?
“And I’m not looking for a chauffeur. Look, I know pre-Imperial vessels like the back of my hand. Give me a hydrospanner and an arc welder and I’m better than any repair droid you’ve ever seen. I can buy my own food and med supplies and can do whatever you need me to to earn my keep.”
The weight of his gaze never relents, but you don’t back down, meeting his silent challenge until he finally sighs and nods up the ramp before turning and heading in himself. With a grin that can only be described as giddy, you make your way up the gangway to the cockpit as the Mandalorian takes his seat. There are two seats behind him, one currently occupied by the rumored little green creature with the biggest eyes and ears you have ever seen, head dusted with wispy white hairs. He stares at you as you take your seat next to him, flashing him a smile as you buckle in, the boosters kicking on as your new pilot fires up the engines, the familiar vibrations bringing a smile to your lips.
~
Traveling with a Mandalorian bounty hunter is never dull, you quickly come to learn. The Razor Crest is in far worse shape than you originally thought, and there are several times where you remove a panel and find a tatoo-rat’s nest of wires, some frayed and barely held together with spacer’s tape. The first time, you let it slide. The second time, you voiced your concern. The third time, you tore the Mandalorian a new one when you realized the wires were the set leading to the hyperdrive. At least you were kept busy on the long jumps between planets and bounties making sure the ship didn’t just randomly explode due to neglect and ad-hoc repairs.
When you’re not playing mechanic to the galaxy’s premium clunker ship, you’re either reading on your datapad, or entertaining the kid. It turns out he’s real easy to amuse, and likes playing mechanic with you when you’re working. It’s adorable, really, considering the spanner wrench is almost the same size he is. But your favorite thing is when everyone is finally winding down to get some rest. He has a little hammock above the Mandalorian’s cot in the quarters closet, but he’s taken to snuggling up with you when you lay down to sleep. You’ve taken over a little corner of the ship, essentially making a little nest to huddle up in when you need to sleep. It’s as cozy as you can get on a hunk of metal careening through the galaxy at the speed of light. And today, that’s where you find yourself.
The child, Grogu as you’ve been told is his name, is sitting in your lap, big brown eyes staring up at you with boundless curiosity. He tilts his head before standing in your lap, reaching up to lay his little hand on the bridge of your nose where a century flower tattoo spreads around your eyes like a sort of face mask. You can’t help but chuckle, leaning into his touch to answer his question.
“My soulmate must have hit their face pretty hard for me to end up with this, little one.” He chirps at that, dropping his hand as he looks down at your arms, your sleeves rolled up. Blooms litter your arms too, a testament to how the rest of your body looks. You let the little creature explore your arms, nails tracing along the colorful flowers, and you’re so focused on watching him that you don’t even notice the Mandalorian leaning against the ladder up to the cockpit, watching you.
“Do you know how you get these, little one?” Grogu makes a sound of curiosity, looking up to you with those pretty wide eyes and you give him a smile, reaching up to smooth his hairs. “When the galaxy was created, there was a massive explosion that sent pieces of stars all across it. Energy and gas and matter all began to come back together to make planets and moons and stars as the fractured pieces of space found each other again. But some of those celestial bodies never found their missing pieces. Instead, that stardust became people and these people all started living on the planets and moons that now were scattered through the galaxy. But stardust never forgets its missing pieces, and this is how soulmates were created. Two people destined to find one another.” He coos at that, turning his head to look back at his father, and you smile when your eyes land on the Mandalorian, watching you intently.
“So the soulmates could find one another again, they were linked. Marks from one would show up on the skin of another in the form of flowers of all kinds. Anywhere your soulmate has a scar, you get a flower tattoo.” Tiny hands pat your arm gently, and you smile, leaning down to place a kiss on the top of his head before reaching up to stroke his ear.
“I’ve never met my soulmate, but they must lead a dangerous life to have so many scars. I look like the royal flower gardens of Naboo,” you giggle, and that earns a chuckle from the masked bounty hunter.
“What about you, Mando?” His visor tilts when you call out for him, his back straightening out slightly. “Do you have any flowers?”
“Just one,” he rasps, pushing off the ladder to come over to you, squatting down to stroke the kid’s ear. “Hurt like hell when I got it, too.” You tilt your head curiously, hoping he would continue. You won’t lie, a part of you hopes that this masked man is the one the galaxy has been trying to reconnect you with, your time with him showing you just how kind of a man he truly is, even if you still don’t know his real name. But since he stays covered, a testament to his devotion to his creed, you have no way of confirming based on his scars.
He watches the kid for a moment, seemingly deep in thought before he stands, pulling off his chest plate and carefully setting it aside. Your heart speeds up in your chest as you watch silently, eyes focusing on his side as he undoes the flight suit, showing his tanned skin. He tugs the suit to the side, revealing the skin just above his right kidney where a beautiful pom flower spreads out over the skin. Your voice fails you as you reach out to touch the tattoo, the scar over your right kidney tingling when you do as Mando shivers under your touch.
“When did you get this?” you whisper, tracing the petals gently. Your hand falls away as he moves away from your touch, refastening his suit as he turns to you.
“Five cycles ago, give or take. For the longest time I didn’t even think I had a soulmate. I guess they just live cautiously.” He laughs a breathy, sad laugh as he drops his gaze back to your arms. “My soulmate probably looks a lot like you. I haven’t exactly lead an easy life.”
It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts, watching as Grogu plays with a tie on your tunic before you look back up at the Mandalorian. “I think…that statement about how your soulmate looks is more accurate than you realize.”
Carefully, you shuffle the kid off of your lap and over to his father before turning your back to him, slowly lifting your tunic to reveal the skin above your right kidney, adorned with a nasty burn scar from the barrel of a hot blaster that had been unceremoniously dug into your side. It’s partially hidden by a delicate white flower tattoo, but the puckered skin is still highly visible. The Mandalorian’s breath hitches as he watches, eyes locked on the skin of your back, his own tattoo tingling.
“About five cycles ago, the space port was robbed by raiders. They had been running rampant all over the planet, but had left our region alone for the most part, as we lived in a poorer area. But that day it changed. They tore through town, taking everything they could. When they got to the port, I was working on repairing one of the droids when they yanked me to my feet and jammed a hot blaster into my side to use me as a bargaining chip for my boss so he would hand over any credits we had. When my boss kept refusing, I guess they determined I wasn’t worth the blaster bolt it would take to kill me, so they bashed me over the head and took off with whatever they could grab.” You drop your tunic, turning back to face the Mandalorian who sits still as the grave, watching you. “That’s the day I started saving to get away from there. When my boss made it clear he’d rather watch me die than hand over a single credit, I knew I had to get away.”
You give a sad smile, looking down at your hands, all covered in tiny yellow blooms. “I guess the universe has some degree of sympathy, sending you when it did. Of all the people I could have escaped with, I got to escape with you.” You look back up, that smile still on your face. “My soulmate, and I don’t even know your name.”
“It’s Din,” he rasps, the reaction almost knee jerk, and it takes you by surprise. So much so that you have to ask him to repeat himself. “Din. Din Djarin,” he repeats, glancing down at your hands firmly clasped in your lap.
“I like that name. Din.” He shivers visibly at the sound of his name on your lips before reaching out to take your hands, gloved thumbs running over the delicate tattoos. He’s tense, something on his mind, so you gently ask what’s wrong, not trying to pry too much.
“I’m sorry,” is all you get in response, which only serves to leave you more confused. When he glances up and catches your expression, he sighs, setting your hand back in your lap. “You’re covered because I’m careless. All these tattoos because my life is a dangerous one. Even this…,” he reaches up, a gloved finger tracing along the ridge of your nose where the century flower sprawls. “If these hurt as much as the one I got from you… I’m so sorry.”
Silently, you reach up and take his hand in both of yours, resting them in your lap. “It doesn’t last long, it’s alright. And the pain of the new tattoos let me know my soulmate was still alive out there somewhere, which meant as soon as I got off world, I could try to find him… you. And now I have, so I hope you know what this means.” Your face draws serious as you stare down the metal plated man.
He shifts, slightly uncomfortable under your gaze, and the child in his lap turns to look up at him with curious eyes. “Uh…what?”
“You have a LOT of stories to tell me about these scars. And I have a way of keeping track.” Your serious face shifts into a grin as you giggle, reaching over to pet the child’s head. “Starting with the one on my face. Are you alright? Is the scar painful for you there?”
Din sighs, relaxing with a chuckle before reaching up to hold the sides of his helmet, your eyes widening in realization as you quickly look away. The hiss of air meets your ears as he removes the helmet, and when he calls your name, his voice is clear and strong and deep and it sets your heart to racing in your chest. “It’s okay, you can look.”
“But your creed….” You close your eyes so you aren’t tempted to turn your head and look.
“We’re soulmates, it’s alright. We are one in the same, you aren’t breaking my creed.” A hand, no longer gloved and distinctly rough with callouses, cups your cheek and you suck in a stuttered breath. “I want you to see me….”
You hesitate for another moment before slowly turning to face him. Taking a deep breath, you open your eyes, only to be met with quite possibly the most handsome man you have ever seen before in your life. Deep, rich brown eyes crinkled with smile lines at the corners, all nestled under unruly brown hair. His nose is strong and prominent, a small scar across the bridge that corresponds to the flower on your face. His lips are slightly chapped, but full and plush and have a little crease in the bottom lip that suddenly fills you with the overwhelming urge to lean forward and see how he tastes and feels against your own. He’s beautiful, you think.
You must be staring for too long, because Din’s face grows unsure, doubt creeping into the light in his eyes as his hand falls from your face and he reaches for his helmet. Without thinking, your hands shoot out to still his own, and he looks back at you with surprise and confusion. “Leave it off for now. You’re… you’re beautiful.”
To say he looks taken aback would be an understatement. His lips fall slightly open and he blinks before his eyes widen, staring at you with a sense of wonder. Has no one told him how beautiful he is before? No, you buffoon, he’s a Mandalorian, no one has seen him to tell him. “I mean it,” you whisper, shuffling a little closer, acutely aware of the child between the two of you, staring enraptured by what’s going on. “You’re stunning, Din. In every sense of the word.”
There’s a beat of silence before he lets out a breathy surprised laugh, his hand finding your face again. You press your cheek into the warmth of his palm and his breath hitches as his eyes flit down to your lips. “Can… Can I…?”
“Kiss me, Din.”
And he does.