Missing My Dear Husband Din Djarin Quite Dreadfully Today, Folks

Missing my dear husband Din Djarin quite dreadfully today, folks

Grogu sleeps on your chest, curled up, his ears tickling the bottom of your chin as he breathes in and out; slow even breathing. 

The sky is dark, stars vivid, bright, and light years away but closer than you could ever imagine. There are stories of constellations made out of the stars. How civilizations would tell time by them, using them for navigation. 

Stars show you that things long gone are always there. 

Your dreams had stars. 

Falling stars. 

You saw Din Djarin with his hand outstretched, reaching for something, anything, his helmet tightening around his head until he screamed in pain. 

There's Grogu as well. The sweet, beautiful child who will live for decades after you've become dust. You see him running, you see him crying, you see him holding his little hand high with fierce power. 

Again and again, the dreams show you paths of others. 

Some will come to fruition. 

There will be pain and heartache while others are glimpses into what could be.

When you dream of the future there is a heavy, burning weight on your chest that squeezes your lungs until you can't handle it. Those are the dreams that lead you to staying awake for nights on end or sleeping only when Din Djarin is awake to watch you. 

Din Djarin. 

A Mandalorian. 

You see him a lot in your dreams. 

Different hims yet always the same.

Din Djarin who could seem so mysterious to those who don't know how to read him. 

You could read him — even if you tried not to. Reading people hurts. It cuts pieces of you apart to replace those stories you take. 

Grogu shuffles. 

"Is he sleeping?" A soft modulated voice comes from above you. 

"Yeah." 

"Thought you were inside." He sat beside you, crossing his legs at the ankle and leaning back. He'd stripped down the outer layer of his armor. He still wore the gloves, which made his hands look blocky and stiff. 

You wondered if he ever held someone's hand beside yours. 

"Hold out your hand." 

He did, fingers stretched, level with the ground, hovering just above his thigh. 

You reached for it, "Who was the first person to hold your hand?" 

He thought for a moment, "My mother." 

You laced your fingers with it, curling until you overlapped his hand and felt the stiff pads of the glove, "It's such a simple thing, yet many take it for granted. The connection of holding another person. The strength. Your hand in theirs becomes entangled, stronger; guiding one another." 

Din Djarin stayed quiet. 

"Guide for the galaxy — how to hold someone's hand." 

He shifted until he could reach over to touch the top of Grogu's head, "Let's get him inside as well as you, Galaxy Eyes. Let's rest." 

"Yes." He squeezed your hand, "Rest."

Pedro Masterlist

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HAPPY STAR WARS DAY ♡ may the force be with you!

Chapter 17: The Apostate // Chapter 24: The Return

UNMASKED PAZ HE SO CUTE LMAO 💙💙💙