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If there was one thing Din Djarin knew, it was that the galaxy held many things that he would never understand.
One of those things was witchcraft. The magic of spells and charms that some could use. Weaving words into being, using only their thoughts to change the course of the world.
Din could admit being afraid of witches.
Then he had acquired a child; a child who was also a witch.
Watching as the tiny body of the child he was starting to call his own had stopped a mudhorn in its tracks had changed Din’s tune. Witchcraft could also be good.
Long talks with the Armorer had led to the decision to find a proper teacher for his son, but any locations that history said witches could be found were either long abandoned, or destroyed by the Empire.
So, Din continued taking bounties, traveling the galaxy, a tiny green witch on his hip. The child seemed incapable of speech beyond coos and burbles, and yet he lifted objects with his mind, and even could stitch wounds closed.
Honing his skills was imperative. But impossible.
Finding the witch to train the boy was a complete accident.
The planet was a bust, the intel had about where their current bounty had been headed, but fueling up, and restocking the ship, still needed to happen.
The market was about as standard as any across the galaxy; the planet itself a nice enough one with some verdant land suitable for farming, and smaller cities without the smog of Coruscant.
His son was incorrigible in markets. The elderly found him adorable, and the young found him strange.
But the child just wanted to eat.
For now he was strapped to Din’s back, peeking over a shoulder and pointing out things he wanted with burbles and then whining when his adopted father tells him no.
It’s busy enough, and Din is making sure to keep his eyes scanning for trouble even as he is filling his satchel, which is how he sees The Incident.
An alien is making use of an older-model floating droid to fix a bent roof edge, it’s motivator cuts out with a spluttering whine, leaving a second of seeming hesitation before both are tumbling towards the ground.
Despite his years of training and fighting, Din would have never had the reaction time to do something to stop the event, his heart jumping into his throat in the sort of onlookers helpless concern.
But then the alien is stopping midair.
Their face looks just as shocked, arms wheeling as if trying to right themselves even as they hang angled in the direction they had originally fallen.
Din’s trained eye finds the culprit almost immediately, a man in the crowd with his arm outstretched, blonde brows drawn down in concentration, not reacting to the people around him shouting in surprise even as he slowly lowers the alien to the ground.
A witch.
The crowd converges on the nearly injured alien, but Din stalks with single-minded determination towards the retreating black-cloaked man, his hood drawn back over his head to obscure his identity.
Through his witchcraft or other honed senses he must know Din is following him, because he attempts to evade the bounty hunter by cutting into an alley between two buildings.
But instead of having disappeared in some trick of magic, the caped witch is waiting for the Mandalorian, facing them with a hand at his waist, as if ready to attack.
“Do you have a problem, friend? I was just passing through, didn’t mean any harm.” The man’s voice sounds very calming from underneath the hood of his cape, but Din can’t help but huffing a laugh in his helm. As if this witch could truly have a chance against him.
“I think my son is like you, and I was wondering if you could teach him.” He reaches over his head to pull the child from his birikad.
Immediately green three-fingered hands are reaching out with a coo towards the witch. The man pushes his cape back, revealing a surprised expression and a shock of blonde wavy hair.
He reaches out too, and Din has to resist yanking the child back as he floats the small gap between the men into the blonde’s arms.
“Oh.” He quietly says, staring into the child’s eyes, “Yes, he is.” Din’s hair is standing up on the back of his neck, knowing that somehow the two are communicating.
“Are you reading his mind?” The Mandalorian sounds gruff and defensive despite his best effort.
The witch actually looks up and smiles at him, catching him off guard.
“Grogu actually is more projecting into my head, I’m not surprised if you haven't experienced it before, beskar can dampen our abilities.”
It clears up some things and makes other things more confusing, but the name – his son’s name. Din can’t help stepping closer, glad the witch doesn’t try and back away, laying his heavy gloved hand over his son’s smooth head.
“His name is Grogu? I’ve been calling him Run’ika.” Up close he can see some pale lines across the other man’s face, that pull at his lips just a little when he smiles even gentler than before. He glances down at Grogu who coos, a hand pressing to a pale cheek.
“He doesn’t mind that.” Din can’t deal with the emotions swirling in his brain and being unable to really express anything. He wishes he could snatch Grogu back to give him a keldabe kiss.
“So, where do we go? Where will you teach him?” The man looks confused up at him,
“Are you coming with …us?” And that is a silly question to ask, what parent would just abandon their child with a witch?
“Of course, kaysh cuy ner ad.” Grogu reaches back out to Din, fitting perfectly within his arms. The blonde man gives them a very considering look, then seems to accept it, and shrugs.
“Alright then, meet me on Ossus located in the Auril sector.” He tugged his hood up, staring at the pair that had chased him into an alley.
“By the way, my name is Luke Skywalker.” The witch introduces himself,
“Din.” The Mandalorian replies, before turning to leave. He needed to try and find jobs on the way to Ossus so he could spend time there ensuring Grogu’s education in his witchcraft.
Din didn’t quite understand this witchcraft.
He had heard that there would be chanting, casting, swirling lights and colors.
But instead, Luke and Grogu seem to do a lot of sitting, talking, sometimes levitating things or themselves.
Ossus was nice enough, but after exploring some old ruins, doing a safety check of the grounds at least twice a day –
It was honestly boring.
The Mandalorian often found himself watching Grogu and Luke complete lessons, or spent the evenings talking with the witch.
He attempted to avoid speaking too much about witchcraft for fear that he would say something wrong and upset the man, but after a couple weeks, he figured he could bring things up.
“So are you born a witch?” Grogu was draped across Din’s lap snoring, his small belly full, but for some reason he’d refused to go into his own bed that evening. Neither man minded, sitting by a fire under the stars, drinking a shig mixture.
Luke looked up from where he was slowly rotating a burning stick above the fire with his magic.
“What? I’m not a witch.” And now Din was the one confused, he lifted his hand off Grogu to gesture at the magically floating stick,
“What do you call that then?” Luke’s eyebrows climbed as he looked between the mandalorian and the stick, which he let drop with a splutter of the flames.
“The Force.” He said it so seriously as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Din didn’t quite care what name he had for his witchcraft or specific spells.
“It’s moving things with your mind isn’t it?” Luke hesitates, but as he does so, almost unbidden, a wry smile pulls his lips up.
“Well I suppose it is. Maybe it is a form of witchcraft.” Din shrugs, because he thought that was obvious,
“And you can read minds– does that also mean you can control them?” This was a question that kept gnawing at Din’s chest. He was terrified that if he let his guard down that he would wake up half a galaxy away with his child gone. That fear was lessening the more time he spent with the kind blonde witch.
“Don’t worry Din, that only works on the weak minded. And I would never dare try it on you.”
They’d spent months on Ossus, and Din had even become comfortable enough with Luke that he had completed some jobs off-world, and then come back to the pair of witches patiently awaiting his return.
It was starting to feel a bit like coming home.
Thoughts had begun to wriggle themselves into Din’s brain, thoughts about the blonde witch. He’d watch his scarred hand work gently with Grogu, cook meals, or levitating ships as easily as one picked up a feather, and the Mandalorian’s observations had begun to cause a warmth in his gut.
He began to wonder what it would be like to bare his own hands and interlace their fingers, to experience the fit body he’d seen beneath flowing clothes pressed against his own without armor between them.
He thought about removing his helmet.
Din Djarin was obviously under a spell.
And it pissed him off, that was obviously the cause of the burning in his chest, and in his cheeks whenever a crooked smile was turned his way. That’s why his heart would ache if Luke would carry Grogu to bed.
He just needed to find his chance to confront the witch.
The opportunity did not present itself as much as Din could no longer control himself.
It was midafternoon, one of the random days that the clouds had left a clear sky and the warm suns beamed down upon the small home that the witch had opened up to his student.
Din was going to wash, and had hesitated stepping out of the sonic shower when he had heard Luke chopping wood outside, knowing that usually meant the blonde’s thickly corded but lean arms would be bare and glistening with sweat.
The sensation of his mouth going dry and his heart racing was the last straw. He needed the witch to cure him of this curse.
Instead of donning his full armor, Din dressed in a pair of soft tunics and trousers that Luke had provided him early on, then placed his helmet over his head, and his blaster holster at his hip.
He felt bare stepping outdoors to find the very scene his mind had conjured.
The bounty hunter felt that familiar sensation rush through him at the sight.
“What have you cursed me with?!” He shouted at Luke as he stalked over the grass to him. Din’s footsteps were lighter than usual, and not so intimidating as the confused witch lifted his head, brushing sweaty blonde locks from his brow.
“What?” Luke responded, and that wouldn’t do, the witch had to know what he was doing.
“Are you controlling my mind? Pulling some sort of trick?” And Luke let out a surprised anxious laugh, his eyes flickering between Din’s own through the helmet. Like he was able to see right through it.
“No! Of course not, Din.” The man tried to placate, raising his hands. His tongue seemed to curl around Din’s name. Caress it far too familiarly.
Din felt his cheeks heat up. He wasn’t supposed to be able to see right through him. The Mandalorian wasn’t supposed to allow others too close.
Standing with hunched shoulders just a short distance from Luke, frustrated and confused, and wanting something; Din attempted to explain his curse.
“I am feeling something I have never felt before. And it seems to be because of you.” He flicks his gaze over the witch’s face, and thinks he sees a realization dawning.
“It must be witchcraft.” Luke laughs again, lighter now, sweet as uj cake. Din lifts his head ready in confrontation to tell the man off, but the witch is approaching him, hands coming up to the sides of his helmet.
Din finds himself frozen.
“No, it is no spell. But you have bewitched me just the same.” And then just leaning up the barest bit to his toes, Luke presses his pink smiling lips to the front of Din’s helmet.
A kiss.
The witch has kissed him.
Din feels like he may float right out of Ossus’ gravitational pull.
This was certainly no curse.
The Mandaloriann finally moves, wrapping arms around the witch to pull him close, and kisses him back, their foreheads pressing together, the warmth of their bodies finally meeting under the afternoon sun.
It was magical.