Din Djarin/Mando/The Mandalorian: One Shots, Imagines, etc.

Happy Fourteenth pt. 1

A/N: requested by joycecruzquintero - this is a father daughter relationship btw, so no incest (and no grogu, sorry)

Warnings: abuse (from parents),

Transalations:
ad'ika = little one
buir = father
vor entye = thank you
briikase gota'tuur = happy birthday

Word Count: 1178

You wake up smiling. You can remember the dark days of your early childhood, the dark corner you would cower in, shielding yourself from them, your bruises the same colour as the shadows rearing up the walls, and you can safely say that it's all in the past. Yes, maybe sometimes it haunts your nightmares, but you know that as soon as you wake up, your father will be there for you, with his soothing words and gentle touches.

You can still recall the day he burst into your house with a bounty on your old father's head. Well, he was only father in blood, nothing more than a terrifying figure that loomed over you. He had not treated you as if you were his daughter, and therefore the only person you can bring yourself to call 'father' now is your adoptive father - who taught you what it meant to be loved, to be appreaciated, to be affirmed.

And as for your mother, well she had been... She'd starved you, so much so that by the time your adoptive father found you, there were wide hollows under your cheekbones, and your ribs stuck out like that of those on a corpse. He had scooped you up from where you huddled into the floor, making yourself as small as possible, and had found you impossibly weightless; you had been as light as a feather.

In fact, the first thing he'd done once he'd cared for the bruises littering your flesh was feed you, careful that you didn't eat to fast. He knew what it was like to really be hungry, and he knew that if you gorged yourself, you'd throw up later.

He cares for you.

He loves you.

And that's what makes him your father.

Sighing happily, you roll over in bed. Burrowing yourself deeper into the warm blankets, you shut your eyes and curl up, ready to fall asleep again as you cuddle the duvet to your chest. You aren't quite ready to wake up yet.

'Wake up, ad'ika,' someone whispers.

You jump. 'Hey! Buir, you gave me a shock!'

'Hay is for banthas,' he deadpans.

You sit up in your bed and fumble around in the dark until you can poke something that feels like his arm. Before you can, he grabs your wrist and tugs at it gently, chuckling under his breath as you flail out with the other arm, this time catching him in what feels like the chest.

'C'mon, ad'ika,' he says, and you can hear the grin in his voice. 'It's your birthday. You've got to wake up.'

'Well, if it's my birthday, I can sleep in!'

'I guess I'll have to withhold the presents then - '

'No, no,' you protest, throwing the blanket off you. 'I'll get up.'

'Good,' your buir rumbles. 'I made pancakes.'

'You?' You echo, shocked. 'You?' Since when?'

He chuckles. 'I know I eat out of ration packs half the time, ad'ika, but pancakes are the one thing I can make.'

Your laugh rings through the room as you launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist and squishing your face into his chest. Craning your neck, you look up at him in the dark, just making out the shine of his teeth as he grins down at you. Giggling, you give him a squeeze once more before releasing him and skipping off to the 'fresher to get ready.

~

Din grins as he hears you splashing around beside the sink. The door is ajar, and from here, he can see the way your toes are curled away from the cold metal floor as you wash your face, one knee jiggling in excitement. He can't wait to see your face when you open the cardboard box which is currently sitting on the floor to his right. You're going to be overjoyed, and he can't wait to see your bright smile, the way your eyes sparkle in excitement and pure, unadulterated joy when you laugh.

He's glad he got to you when he did. You were starved enough that if he had come even two weeks later, you might have died. And instead, he's got a wonderful daughter; a bundle of laughter and a sweet joy bringer who, however cliché it sounds, will never fail to bring a smile to his lips.

Tugging on a hoodie, you skip into the hull, eyes immediately flying to the box. Inquisitively, you edge towards it, eyes glimmering with excitement.

'What's that?'

'You'll have to wait and see,' he teases. 'My pancakes are getting cold.'

~

You've barely finished stuffing your face with your father's homemade pancakes (actually quite good, if maybe a bit uncooked in the middle and burnt around the edges - how he achieved that, you don't know) when you jump up from your seat and make a beeline for the box. Grabbing your arm, Din stops you for a second.

'Hey,' he says. 'Take it slow. Savour it. And - '

'Stop and smell the Felucian flowers?'

'No,' Din says, giving you a dirty look. 'Just calm down a little. And don't shake the box. The contents won't like it that much.'

'The contents?' You say, your nose scrunching in confusion.

He just grins mysteriously, helmet tucked under his arm. 'You'll find out when you open it. Happy fourteenth, ad'ika.'

You make a rude sound at him in Tusken.

'Language,' he warns. 'Now open it.'

Making a face at him, you turn around. Quizically, you kneel by the box, your puzzlement growing as you take in the holes poked into the top. You've already asked your buir for a pet, and he'd always said no, either because it would be cruel to have a creature on such a cramped space for the Crest, or because he doesn't think the two of you would be able to look after it well enough. Hesitantly, you pull at the flaps at the top, brow creasing into a frown as you take in the mess of blankets inside.

'What - '

The blankets squirm, and suddenly a little scaly nose pokes out of them, sniffling before being followed by a snout and two bright eyes, almost as inquisitive as yours. Gasping in surprise, you hold your palm out towards the creature, giggling when a little pinkish grey tongue darts out and laps at your fingertips.

'Buir,' you say, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. 'You got me a massiff?'

'Yes, ad'ika. She's small for her age, so she shouldn't be too cooped in the Crest, and she's pretty hardy.'

Slowly, you lift out the little reptile from the cardboard box, squeaking when a little claw pokes at your shirt. Placing her down gently on the floor, you watch as she skitters around, nosing at the floor. Rushing over to where your father sits nearby on a crate, you grab him in a hug, practically strangling him. He chuckles, but the sound is distorted by the way you're squishing his cheeks.

'Vor entye, buir,' you whisper.

'Briikase gota'tuur, ad'ika.'

*ahem* SHAWTY, IT'S YA BIRTHDAY -