Masterlist / The Rockford Portfolio / Strawberry Shortcake / Wildest Dreams /AO3 A Vancouverite named Emily and her iphone moved to Toronto... then moved back. I used to post my photography here, but now I obsess over an old man. Born in the 1900s 🫰🏻.
Modern AU with Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader
Summary: Din Djarin, retired mob enforcer, falls in love, but worries his past could put his future (you) in danger.
A/N: First time writer, please be gentle 🥹 This is a modern AU where Din is a former enforcer for the Fett family, and the world building and relationship development between Din and Reader takes place over many chapters. Some Star Wars names thrown in for fun, but there aren't meant to be any serious parallels to canon. Thank you for reading and hope you enjoy my brain rot for everyone’s favourite tin man 🥰
Series warnings: Chapters with smut denoted with 🚑, chapters with angst denoted with ❤️🩹, fluff throughout. Individual instalment warnings are included in each post.
Ch. 1 (The Coffeeshop)
Ch. 2 (The Bookstore)
Ch. 3 (The Drycleaner)
Ch. 4 (The First Date)
Ch. 5 (The Courtship)
Ch. 6 (The Courtship, Din's POV) ❤️🩹
Ch. 7 (The Third Date) ❤️🩹
Ch. 8 (The Cab) ❤️🩹
Ch. 9 (The Dam Breaks) 🚑
Ch. 10 (The Afterglow) 🚑
Ch. 11 (The Poker Game) (a summary)
Ch. 11 Addendum (After The Poker Game) 🚑
Ch. 12 (The Workout) 🚑
Ch. 13 (The Birthday)
Ch. 14 (The Subway) 🚑
Ch. 15 (The BBQ) 🚑
Ch. 16 (The Matchup) 🚑
Ch. 17 (The Preparations) 🚑
Ch. 18 (The Threat) 🚑 ❤️🩹 Inspo
Ch. 19 (The Betrayal) 🚑 ❤️🩹
Ch. 20 (The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 1)❤️🩹
Ch. 21 (The Way to Get Over Someone, Part 2)🚑 ❤️🩹
Summary: Worried, Din goes after you amidst a rainstorm.
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Newish/secret established relationship, Mando'a nicknames, first time (theirs, but I know how important it is to some of you that Din's a virgin so read it however you want 😘), f!oral, fingering, unprotected PiV (they… make love?),✨ONE BED✨ (I've always wanted to write this! 🤭)
A/N: I actually started this WIP for jolapeno's April Showers 2.0 and never finished (I'm sorry Jo!) - but it's here now! Let's take a much needed break from the angst of the last instalment! In the timeline of series events, we're actually going back in time/this is the first (though it's posted as the 4th story), so can be read standalone 😊 Reminder: this is a post season 3 compliant series where Din has been dispatched to a New Republic stronghold planet (Solana) to train their armies as a General; Medieval vibes are intentional. (Typos and errors are unintentional and I'll try to correct them over the weekend 😅)
Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist / Title by Elley Duhe; inspo lyrics at the end.
Din leans forward, bending low, to prevent the onslaught of rain whipping against his visor from obscuring his vision completely; Beskar helmet nearly fully buried in his horse’s flying mane, he urges his trusty steed faster.
Only moments earlier, Din had come upon a scene that nearly stopped his heart: your Royal carriage careened off the main road, one wheel broken clean off its axel, the coach body stuck lopsided, wedged in the thick mud. Horses, unhooked, gone. You, the carriage’s only occupant, gone. Two of his top Lieutenants, whom you had convinced to take you out in this weather despite his explicit orders not to, also gone.
The General’s mind races with worry after worry: Are you hurt? Where did you go? Was the accident due to dangerous road conditions or have you become the victim of something more sinister? Sabotage? Where were you now? Are you safe? Have you been separated from your escort? Taken?
Dank Farrik! He had told you to stay put!
Trampling down his rising panic, Din pushes his stallion harder through the downpour covering Solana’s country side; the rainfall is so heavy, his helmet visor can barely make sense of its readings, not that it matters - any clues or data that could be used to track your movements having long since washed away.
Racing his faithful mount over endless rolling hills and across the expanse of pastoral plains, Din rides for what feels like forever until he finally sees the valley and signs of a village in the far-off distance. From his current position, the building roofs are mere pinpricks, smoke from their chimneys but whisps, but Din is sure he’s found your intended destination: the epicentre of one of Solana’s most vital farming communities. Did you make it? Were you forced to seek shelter elsewhere? Din slows his pace to a trot, scanning his surroundings carefully while repeated wiping off his visor so that the continued downpour won’t compromised his internal display readings.
What had you been thinking? Actually, he huffs, he knows exactly what his Princess had been thinking.
Yesterday, after receiving an alarming report regarding large scale damage sustained by this region’s farm drainage system, you had spent the remainder of the afternoon reviewing and consulting agricultural plans, weather impact studies, and concluded that capital assistance was indeed much needed for repairs ahead of rainy season. The only way to secure and expedite the emergency capital funding required was onsite royal approval, and since you had just spent the past day acquainting yourself with the plight of these farmers, you insisted on going yourself as soon as possible. The storm that Din now trudges through was already rolling in when he heard of your intentions to set out - citing the dangerous weather, he had immediately advised against it. You argued staunchly that with heavy rain expected, it was even more imperative that you went immediately; if the current system were to fail and the land to flood, your decree and very presence on location, would assure that capital assistance would be dispatched as swiftly as possible and hopefully minimize the harm done to people’s livelihoods. Your reasoning was sound, and privately to himself, Din felt a swell of pride and admiration not only for your strategic mind, but for the compassion and love you hold for your fellow Solanians – the only problem was it put you right in the middle of that same risk.
Din sighed. The Princess he could not command, nor would he wish to – but your father’s soldiers? They were under his purview; he gave the order that under no circumstances were they to leave their posts during the storm without his explicit instructions, hoping that this would delay your excursion until after the storm had passed.
Never mind you, what had his Lieutenants been thinking? Din’s agitation only grows as he continues his search; the sky above him remains an open slate of dark grey with rain coming down in sheets and winds picking up in speed and intensity. With no end to the tempest in sight, even Din’s stallion’s steps begins to slow as the muddy path becomes thicker, stickier.
The General’s eagle eyes spot the crest of your house before his helmet HUD registers it properly. The soaked through equestrian regalia on which your royal coat of arms is emblazoned is hanging over the half door of a small stable house just under a klick away; adjusting his sensors to zoom in, Din makes out the outlines of two horses grazing on some hay just beyond the opening. Two out of five accounted for. Surveying the area, he takes notice of a quaint looking cottage no more than 50 meters from the barn – even from this distance, he can tell by the brightly lit windows and smoking chimney that a fire is roaring within. Ni codayn gar (I found you).
Assuring his exhausted steed that respite would soon be his, Din redirects the weary animal, once again picking up speed. In record time, he’s settled his companion into a stall, hung up his own tack to dry, and is charging towards the humble cottage, unsure of what he’ll find upon arrival; at this point, he cannot promise that even the relief of finding you safe will be enough to improve his mood.
As he steps onto the front stoop, he hears your melodic laugh ring out from behind the door and for some reason, sour mood from his orders being directly disobeyed, his current physical state resembling more drowned rat than man, or perhaps nerves frayed and strung out from hours of worry, the normally pleasing harmony grates on the very last shred of his patience; he bangs on the door. His aggressive pounding silences the voices on the other side immediately; unapologetic, Din practically bellows,
“It’s me. I’m coming in.”
With no further ceremony, the General pushes open the door and stomps in. It’s unclear which party is more shocked by the sight that greets them.
You and his two Lieutenants are casually lounging around a well-lit hearth, the warmth and glow of which feels so welcoming and homey, the juxtaposition to the chaotic gale that’s still beating at his back hits Din like a punch to the gut. All three of you are donned in dry clothes Din doesn’t recognize, modest garments that are positively plain when compared to the ornate and luxurious dress of the capital; speaking of which, he spots the various splendid layers of your royal gown and the official uniforms of your guard strewn around the room, drying.
There’s a few grazed upon plates of food sitting between you, still being shared amongst your little party; Din does not miss the flagon of wine that looks to be nearly empty. Far from being in mortal peril, it seems that all three of you have settled in comfortably, enjoying yourselves even.
By contrast, Din is the very picture of misery; a waterlogged mess looming in the entrance way like some ghoulish killjoy here to interrupt your reverie, to ruin the serenity of this humble abode by dripping a river’s worth of rainwater onto the floor. His drenched and aching figure remains silent and unmoving as he stares back at your group.
Drip, drip, drip.
Even more than annoyed, Din is starting to feel very stupid.
“General!” His men spring to their feet, snapping to attention at the sudden appearance of their commanding officer.
Doing his best to ignore your adorable wide-eyed expression of surprise, Din slams the door behind him so forcefully the walls shake; feeling a smidge of satisfaction when the soldiers jolt a little. You on the other hand, merely tilt your head quizzically at his moodiness.
“I expressly forbade anyone from leaving their posts during the storm,” the General growls, “and not only were my orders flagrantly disobeyed, I find you here in the middle of nowhere with a complete disregard for any and all security considerations. Have I taught you nothing?”
“Sorry, General, sir!”
“Entrance way to the premises, unlocked. Door unguarded. No transmissions regarding your location. No discretion with the Royal crest on full display outside the stable. Do you wish to signal to every being nearby, or, Maker forbid, any villain wishing harm upon the Princess, exactly where she can be found?!”
“No, General, sir!”
“Now that I’m inside, it’s clear that in addition to a failure to post guard, you haven’t established a surveillance position either? How could you possibly assess or even be aware of any potential incoming threats? You’re sitting ducks here!”
“Sorry, General, sir!”
“Din…” you try to interrupt, getting up and crossing the room with the intention to calm your Mandalorian.
He doesn’t hear you, deaf to everything but the spiral of his incredulity and anger, “You cannot tell me that you had any idea of my approach! What if it hadn’t been me who came upon you? Anything could have happened! I trained you better than this!”
“Yes sir, General!”
“How could you show such complete disregard for the Princess’ safety!?” spits the General, his disappointment venomous.
“Din!!” you exclaim, unable to listen to his raised voice any longer. The behemoth of a man finally swivels to acknowledge you - even with his helmet on, you can tell he’s snarling, the ferocity of his countenance vibrating the very Beskar that conceals it. “Do not blame them, please, General! When the intensity of the storm overcame us, both Lieutenants thought of nothing but finding safety and shelter - no one could have been more concerned for my health and well being. When we found this cottage, the Lieutenants cleared it thoroughly and determined it to belong to the farm a mere 10 minutes gallop from here.” You put your hand on Din’s arm to reassure him, heart dropping at how soaked through and freezing cold his sleeve feels, “The Lieutenants made immediate contact with the perfectly wonderful family who own and work this land, arranging for them to supply us with dry clothing, food and drink. They offered these lodgings for the night and have assured us of their discretion and the security of their property.”
Victorious when you sense a slight relaxing in Din’s frame, you throw a sympathetic smile to his soldiers, “General, I assure you, I’ve been very well taken care of - there is no need to admonish your men so severely.”
Though no longer in the throws of his earlier rampage, Din’s tone nevertheless remains deadly, cold, “They should have never accompanied you on this journey, period. It was ill conceived and thoughtless.”
You’re starting to lose your patience now, “You would prefer I came out here on my own, General?”
The shiny Beskar dome tilts, fully staring you down, “I would have preferred you didn’t come out here at all during this storm. To do so was also ill conceived and thoughtless. Which if you recall, I made abundantly clear to you, Princess.”
Hands on your hips, you narrow your eyes, “And if you recall, I noted your objections and explained that the storm itself was hardly a deterrent but the very thing that precipitated my coming here. As the storm surely wasn’t going anywhere, you with your infinite wisdom, General, must have reasonably predicted that I would be. Since you’re so concerned with my safety, I would have thought you’d be relieved I asked some of the guard to accompany me.”
Din full out grins beneath his helmet, his feisty cyar’ika - but outwardly, he remains stubborn, “They were expressly ordered not to leave their posts during the storm, never mind leave the capital itself.”
“Are you saying the royal guard can refuse a direct request from their Sovereign? Should we ask these Lieutenants to whom they owe their allegiance, their General or their Princess?” you wave generally in the direction of the two men; without looking over, you can imagine them standing awkwardly, unsure of how to comport themselves, not unlike children witnessing their parents bicker for the first time – the blaze of your eyes, however, never leave the black abyss of the Din’s T-visor.
After what feels like an eternity, Din grits, “May I speak to you in private, Princess?”
You sweep your arm dramatically towards a small door on the offside of the room, “After you, General,” continuing to huff, agitated, as you follow his wet footprints into the cottage’s one bedroom.
Once inside, you close the door behind you and spin around, retort on the tip of your tongue, ready to be unleashed - a perfectly reasonable argument that your father’s men would have been in even more trouble if they had refused to accompany you - when the breath upon which your remarks lay in wait is knocked clear out of you.
Oof!
The force with which Din’s helmet barrels into your midsection is rivalled only by the gripping strength of his arms wrapping around your legs – your Mandalorian is on his knees, holding you like he’s never going to let go,
“You scared me, Mesh’la.”
Oh. Oh.
You fold your body over the great man, enveloping the broadness of his back within your embrace, all the fight in you gone upon seeing the strongest man you’ve ever met surrender so completely. If anything, you regret the stress your actions caused him, now that his ill temper has been revealed to be a poor mask for his fear.
Cupping the back of his helmet, you stroke down its back seam with your thumb, whispering, “I’m sorry, Din, I didn’t mean to.”
“I know, cyare,” Din murmurs, still buried in your soft body, hold on you unyielding. You stay unmoving for as long as he needs, letting him breathe in enough of you to convince himself that you’re truly unharmed, safe.
Slowly the great General rises to his feet, dragging his hands up the length of your body, still afraid to be parted from you for even one second; you melt beneath his loving touch and reach for him with your own – you and Din are hardly ever afforded the luxury of just holding one another like this, fully and unrestrained, with no care for the passage of time. Your love has grown steady and strong in the shadow of its own secrecy, surviving on stolen glances and barely there touches in the openness of court, secret kisses in dark stairwells and heartfelt declarations whispered hushed and hurried. Every rendezvous a wonder, every moment spent together precious, but always taking place on borrowed time – you’ve only ever touched while on a countdown, loved under the threat of being caught; never allowed to just be with one another.
“Kriff, mesh’la, I’m so sorry - I’m getting you all wet,” Din drops his hands from your body, and though the imprint his soaked-through gloves have left on the simple borrowed frock is wet, you miss his warmth immediately.
“Don’t let go, Din”, you plead, fisting the rough fabric of his cape and pulling yourself closer; Din complies, as he always will, gathering you in his arms once more, but not before unlocking his helmet.
Eagerly, you close your eyes and nudge up the brim of Din’s helmet with your nose, the motion well practiced, your lips finding his swiftly. Tongues meeting in sweet reunion, your bodies melt in shared relief, your sighs synchronized, breathy and needy. Din kisses you fervent and deep, pouring all of today’s anxieties - not getting to you in time, failing in protecting you, losing you - into your willing vessel; you meet each and every one of his fears head on, dissolving them with just one touch of your magic.
I’m here with you.
You’re here with me.
Only breaking for air, you drag your kiss swollen lips along the chisel of Din’s jaw and down the column of his throat, loving on every inch of the skin he bares for you and only you. The General tips his helmet back down and pulls you flush against his chest plate, letting you bury your face into the soft folds of his neck cowl; he chuckles to himself at your deep inhale and the contented sigh that follows as you take in your fill of his familiar scent.
“I really am sorry, Din. I know you worry.”
“I don’t know what I would do if something were to happen to you, cyar’ika,” Din husks, even saying the words out loud constricts his airway.
Your fingers find the gaps between his armour and wiggle in, tickling your Mandalorian’s soft spots in an effort to soothe him; your own mood having already been placated, you tease, “Then next time you should come with me.”
“Princess.” The gravel of Din’s warning causes your pulse to quicken.
Tilting your chin up, you rest its point on the smooth Beskar plate, the very picture of innocence peering up through your lashes as your General cocks his head in faux exasperation, “If you promise not to blame the Lieutenants for merely obeying their Princess, then I promise there won’t be a next time without proper consultation with you.”
There’s a beat of silence before the metal helmet dips to assent, the movement near imperceptible to someone with less intimate knowledge of Din’s tells. Beaming, you close your eyes and nudge the rim of the impressive silver dome upwards once more, needing no guide to find the lips already waiting for yours.
---
The remainder of the evening passes uneventfully despite the maelstrom that continues to pound the Solana countryside, shaking the earth and slicing its skies. Your little cottage, however, proves to be an impenetrable haven, somehow immune to the outside destruction; its warmth and simplicity, and the generosity of your hosts, underestimated defenses. One of the older sons from the main farmhouse braves the storm to bring a hot meal from his mother, along with some additional blankets, various sundries, and a fresh supply of dry firewood; your party wants for nothing.
Food and drink is shared over relaxed conversation that gets progressively more lively as the day’s anxieties wear off and the familiarity of the present company, coupled with overall fatigue, remove any remaining vestiges of formality due to rank. The Lieutenants chortle over how their Princess teases the General, and marvel at the appearance of a gentler and frankly more personable side of their fearless leader previously thought non-existent.
Din regales your group with outlandish and thrilling tales of old bounties, exotic Outer Rim planets, and narrow escapes that have all three Solanians in the room on the edge of your seats. You counter with your own stories from various diplomatic missions to the Inner and Mid Rim, imparting fascinating and colourful tidbits on the traditions and cultures of nations that even Din has never heard of. Though the Lieutenants’ favourite anecdotes are the ones you share about the stuffy old court officials that you’ve known since birth - the wheezing laughter of two of the General’s most formidable fighters at times overtaking the howl of the outside winds.
Unable to stop his smiling, Din watches as you cast the spell of your charm over his men, forever in awe of your unique ability to make those around you feel comfortable, valued, seen – it’s no wonder that the people of Solana love their Princess. He thinks back to how the two of you met in the national library those many moons ago, how easily he had mistaken you for a mere noble lady – having met all types of leaders, politicians, heads of state over the years, he never would have imagined that such humility, empathy, sincerity could reside in one of royal blood. You had long since apologized for having inadvertently misled him regarding your identity, but there had been no real need – the truth only made him admire you more. And you’ve only continued to amaze and captivate him since then; way past denying to himself just how utterly in love he is, Din is sure he could not conceal his feelings were it not for the cover of his Beskar. His Lieutenants have likely already seen through his armour tonight.
It’s only when you can no longer swallow your yawns and your eyelids start to droop that Din insists everyone retire for the night. Though he had agreed to refrain from reprimanding his men any further for their role in your adventure today, your security and safety is still his utmost priority. He ushers you to the small bedroom to ready yourself for bed, then lays out the rotating security protocol for the night with his men. When everyone is comfortable with their assignments, Din bids his Lieutenants goodnight before knocking on your door.
“Come in.”
He enters to find you rearranging the bedding of the one bed to your liking, adorably fluffing the pillows and tucking back the covers, “Well, General? Have you satisfied yourself with the security arrangements?”
Din checks the room’s one window, drawing the curtains after deeming its construction to be adequate, then takes a closer look around; the room itself is quaint, nowhere near grand enough for someone of your station, but perfectly suitable for a night’s shelter from the still raging storm. Far from complaining, you seem to have no problem making yourself at home – Din wonders if there’s any place in the galaxy that you couldn’t make your own, anywhere you wouldn’t look like you belonged perfectly. Coruscant? Mandalore? Nevarro? He shakes his head to relieve himself of thoughts he has no right to, drawing a chair next to the room’s small but well lit fireplace and sits before answering, “The Lieutenants will sleep out in the main room, one at a time, switching off 4-hour guard shifts…”
“But Din…”
The Mandalorian shakes his head, “No buts, cyare. I cannot compromise on this. Regardless of the assurance and hospitality of our hosts, I will not leave the premises unguarded overnight.”
You relent, knowing he will be immovable on this matter, “And you?”
“The Lieutenants will guard the cottage, and I will guard you.”
“From that chair?”
The General nods as he settles in, unsure what to make of the cute little noise you chirp at his assertion, pretending not to noticed the look of amusement gracing your pretty face as you go about your nightly routine. There’s something magnetic about the way you complete even the most mundane of tasks: washing your face, brushing your hair – the domesticity of it all tugs at something primal in Din’s heart. Though he’s never been in your castle bedchambers, Din will admit he has thought about what it might be like in there, the place where you lower your guard, where you can be your most restful self, vulnerable – he would want to protect you even there, he thinks. Unaware of your own allure and the effect you’re having on the stoic, steady man watching, you go around the room extinguishing the lamps so that the only remaining light source is the still gently lapping fire next to him. As the golden dance of its flames illuminate your graceful steps towards the bed, the tranquility of the scene before Din whispers an image of him slipping under those covers with you but for a moment - his impeachable sense of duty snaps him back to reality before the fantasy can take hold.
You’re still wearing a bemused grin as you climb into bed, as if you can read his mind the way you can the rigidity of his posture; after laying your head on the pillow and rolling away from him, you sing back over the roar of the storm, “Goodnight, General.”
“Goodnight, Princess.”
---
Din can tell that you aren’t asleep, but he’s still surprised nearly an hour later when you suddenly sit upright, “Din, do you really mean not to get any rest?”
When he offers nothing but silence, you violently throw back the covers and hop out of bed. Walking towards him, bathed in the warm glow of the fire’s dying embers, you’re an angel unaware of her own sin, “Please, come to bed, General. It’s big enough for the both of us.”
You don’t know that for the last hour it’s taken every ounce of Din’s honour, every last fibre of his strength to keep from doing just that. That the mere idea of it being his place to touch you in a shared bed, fall asleep and wake up next to your elegance is worth more to Din than all the credits in the galaxy. That his imagination cannot conceive of anything more comforting than the curved feel of your lovely spine pressed up against his chest and his breath syncing to yours as you both succumb to peaceful, uninterrupted sleep. Yes, that bed is big of enough for the two of you, but is it big enough to contain the spill of Din’s overflowing feelings? His desires and forbidden fantasies? Is the bed strong enough to cradle the sanctity of your connection, the magnitude of what you’ve come to mean to one another, the promises of a tomorrow? Never mind tomorrow, can the bed hold everything Din wishes to say to your heart and do to your heavenly body tonight?
“You cannot say that to me, Princess. Especially not when dressed the way you are.”
Your eyes crinkle adorably, your chest warming from the huskiness in Din’s voice, “I didn’t realize this simple frock made me such a temptress.”
“More forbidden than any temptation, cyare,” breathes Din. How can he possibly explain that seeing you out of your usual silks, in plainclothes that would not look out of place on any maiden of the kingdom, is a danger to his mind? In these clothes, you would not look so out of place on Nevarro, in his small home near the lava flats - he can almost imagine you welcoming him and Grogu home wearing something similar. He can’t tell you that the very look of you as you are now fuels the impossible dream that he might have a life with you; that without your regalia, your satin armour, he can almost picture himself your equal, a man worthy of carving a place by your side.
Din doesn’t have the words to articulate any of this; all he can do is to unlock his helmet before simply stating, “You look like home.”
You move as if in flight, arms locked around your General’s neck before you’re even seated in his lap. Eagerly pushing up his helmet, you crash your lips to Din’s at his romantic declaration, the significance of his words not lost on you. You kiss his fears and uncertainty into submission, every press of your mouths deeper and more passionate than the last.
After Din tips his helmet back down, he confesses, wistful, “Cyare, right now in this room, dressed as you are, looking as beautiful as you do - you look like someone that could actually be mine.”
“I am yours, Din,” you declare, heart bursting, “I’ve been yours from the moment we met, and every day since. I’ll never be anyone’s but yours.” You stand and extend your hand towards the only man to whom your heart, your body, your soul, will ever belong, “Come to bed, Din.”
There’s not enough fight in him to refuse again - the armour around his heart already cracked and crumbling from your sweet and heartfelt confession, his own abundance of emotions, and the mesmerizing vision of you in that damn dress.
The two of you move as one towards the bed, Din’s large gloved hands cover yours, guiding you over the breadth of his body. You remain unsure of his intentions until he helps your fingers find the magnetic latch beneath one of his pauldrons – at the click of its release, you gasp, shocked; pulling your hand back so fast it’s as if you’ve been burnt, sure you’ve just committed an unforgivable sin.
Din chuckles and holds fast onto your hand, bringing it back to his shoulder and closing your fingers over the precious metal. He tugs so that the Beskar detaches from its clip, letting you separate the armour from the man. You look between the component in your hand and the visor of Din’s helmet in awe – disbelieving of this honour he’s bestowing on you. That a Mandalorian remove any of his sacred armour in front of another is extraordinary enough, to let her be the one to relieve him of it is practically sacrilegious. Your eyes well with tears at this remarkable display of trust, of this invitation Din is extending, and you vow here and now that you will do everything in your power to be deserving of such privilege.
Thank you.
Din nods in understanding as he helps you set down his pauldron, then resumes showing you how to disarm him. The ceremony of his armour removal is sacrosanct, a carefully coordinated dance steeped in tradition: pauldron, bandolier, chest plate, cape, frame, vambraces, thigh plates, boots – all handled with the greatest of care and reverence. You memorize every wordless instruction and commit this sacred ritual to heart, the most attentive student to her adoring teacher.
It’s only when Din stands before you in just his flight suit that he hesitates, shy, exposed. You reach to offer him reassurance but he stops you by holding up both gloved hands; the shakiness of his breath indicative of the gravity of what he’s about to do, reveal more of himself to you than he has another living soul for what may be his entire adult life.
“Din, you don’t-” you start, wanting him know he doesn’t have to do anything he’s not ready for and certainly not this; you don’t expect it and you don’t need such any such grand gestures to understand his feelings. In truth, you can’t stomach the idea of him having any regrets and being unable to take back or undo his actions.
He shakes his head, happy, “I want to, mesh’la. I’ve never wanted to more. For anyone, more.” Blinking away your tears, your eyes glue to Din’s gloves as he slowly removes and adds them to his neat pile of armour; shellshocked, you stare at enormous size of his hands, instruments of immeasurable power, tanned and rough looking with thick veins that crisscross over a myriad of healed-over scars. Din flexes his thick fingers, as if getting used to the freedom of being ungloved, before turning them over in invitation. You slide your palms over his, soaking in the sensation of this first touch – his skin is exquisite in its feel, warm and grounding, priceless.
You’re overwhelmed, emotional – these very hands have held you, comforted you, cared for you with infinite tenderness and patience, and yet you know them to also be skilled in destruction, unyielding in their might. Your heartbeat quickens; would it be so wrong if you wanted these hands to show you some of that brutal strength? To handle you with a little less care? To ruin you?
Registering your physical reaction to his hands, Din chest puffs a little in pride for his effect on you; he takes one of his hands and cups your face, reveling in how you close your eyes and lean into his palm. Slowly, he trails the fingers of that same hand along your jaw line, then down the side of your neck, feeling you shiver beneath his touch; brushing his fingertips across your collar, he pauses momentarily at the neckline of this temptress dress, before gently dragging the fabric aside until it starts to slip over your shoulder. “May I?” he asks quietly.
You nod, not trusting your own voice. With the same care you used to strip him of his armour, Din undresses you: slow, reverent. It’s tortuous how much time he takes unlacing every lace, unbuttoning every button, untying every tie; Din’s sense of wonder is palpable as each of your layers is shed, you can tell by the way his flight suit tightens across the expanse of his chest that he’s holding his breath until the very last panel of fabric lands at your feet and leaves you bare to his gaze.
Only then does he exhale.
For the first time in a while, you feel self-conscious around Din – usually so confident in your ability to read your Mandalorian, you’re finding his body language too impassive to interpret; his continued silence exaggerates how exposed you are, and so you turn your face away, hiding from his gaze – are you not what he expected? Does he not like what he sees?
As if having read your mind, two thick fingers gently pinch your chin and tilt your face upwards; the man beyond the dark abyss of the T-visor zeros in on the spiral of your thoughts, calming them with one simple word, “Beautiful.”
You cannot help but beam as the sincerity and lust underlying Din’s baritone wash over you, filling you to the brim with renewed confidence and want.
Din’s hands itch to explore your body, but he reminds himself that you deserve restraint, that you’re too precious for clumsy hands; he runs the back of his knuckles over your collar bones, then down your sternum, closely watching your reactions to his touch. Your skin prickles from the electricity of his caress, breasts aching for more and perking towards Din’s hands; when his fingertips catch over one of your hardened nipples, you whimper and your body bows. His laugh sends shivers down your spine, “And so sensitive.”
Biting down on your lower lip, you pout, too impatient for seduction, and throw your arms Din’s thick neck, whining as you press your naked body against his immovable frame. He touches his helmet to your forehead, and the cool feel of his Keldabe kiss against your warm skin forces you to still and calm; even through the modulator, Din’s tone is indulgent and placating, “Cyare, I have to blindfold you now, is that okay?”
“Of course, Din,” the significance of this next step not lost on you, you purr, “I trust you.”
Reaching behind you, Din picks up a sash tie that came loose from your dress when he disrobed you. You gaze affectionately into Din’s visor, straight into his soul, your love and trust the last thing he sees before he covers your eyes with the soft fabric and robs you of your sight.
“Can you see?” the General breathes right above your ear as he secures the blindfold’s knot, “Not too tight?”
“It’s perfect,” you whisper, barely heard over the loudness of the storm, but no matter, Din reads the way your body reacts to the hiss of his helmet being removed, the sound of his flight suit unzipping.
Something about Din removing this final layer of clothing, the last remaining barrier between his skin and yours, feels like a point of no return, like you’re about to step off the edge of a cliff, hand in hand with the only person in this galaxy with whom you want to share this intimacy.
“Din,” you call for him, you need him.
He lays you gently on the bed and climbs on top, powerful body covering yours, covetous and protective; he flutters soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks, the tip of your nose before coming home to your mouth. Your lips part in an invitation and Din licks in, his tongue eager to explore, deify, to claim – you match him stroke for stroke, brush for brush, letting yourself be conquered. This man is everything to you, his strength, his compassion, his heart, all without an equal in this galaxy - your passion for him claws at his back, trying to pull your bodies closer together, the heat between your legs making a mess of you.
“Cyar’ika,” Din rasps, the honey of his tenor, so clear without the modulator, music to your ears, “I will do anything you ask, give you anything you need, but please, Your Highness, if you allow, I would very much like to take my time with you tonight.”
Your rank sounds like delicious sin on his tongue, the polite manner of his address barely concealing the filthiness of his request. Of course you will acquiesce; Din has said on more than one occasion that whether you command him as his sovereign or his love, he will always obey without question – but the truth of the matter is that you could never deny him anything either.
“Okay, General,” your fingers trace the sharpness of his jaw and thumb at his plush bottom lip, “take all the time you need.”
He does.
Din worships every inch of your body with his hands, his mouth – mapping the valleys and hills of your figure with the skill and focus of a master navigator getting the lay of a new land. The tip of his strong nose carves new pathways over the soft plains of your body, and his tongue and fingers follow, traversing those routes over and over so that he’ll forever be able to find his way to heaven, even with his eyes closed. He reads the noises you make like a map: your little sighs and gasps have him running his tongue over the same pleasure points repeatedly, begging you to recreate that sweet melody for him again; when you writhe and whine, his fingers dig a little deeper, pinch a little harder, forcing your body to mold to his reverent touch; moans and pleas for more, more, more leave him proud and tortured, torn between drawing out this holiest of prayers and paying homage to the siren call from between your legs.
No sweet spot is left undiscovered as Din explores and marks you wholly and completely as his. He knows you now in a way that his wildest dreams hardly allowed, and yet it changes nothing of his feelings for you; naked and needy beneath him, you still command him - he remains at your mercy, forever devoted to your happiness, the fiercest protector of your heart.
Your cries for him under the cover of the winds howling against the window do not go unheard; he could never leave you so unsatisfied - kissing down your raised leg, laving at the ticklish spot behind your knee, Din surrenders, bringing his mouth to where you need him most.
The whinny and shudder of relief you exhale when he touches down on your clit rivals the shrieks and shakes of the still raging storm outside. Din grins against your cunt as you fist his hair, tugging, patience having run thin, your offer to let him take his time officially rescinded. Orders received, the General laps at your folds with renewed vigour, making out messily with your slit and drinking down the drip of your nectar like a man parched. Your moans of ecstasy spur him to add the efforts of his fingers, pushing in one, then two thick digits to your mindless chanting of his name. Curling and scissoring you open at the pace that has you yanking at the curls at the base of his neck the hardest, Din circles and sucks on your clit like a men possessed, obsessed, slowing only when he feels you seize and quake with your first orgasm of the night.
Proud of a job well done, Din makes the return journey up your body, smiling against your skin, kissing and caressing the all the curvature landmarks he discovered earlier. Resting his weight on top of you, the Mandalorian sighs, contented and hard, as you welcome him back into your arms. His mouth returns to yours, and when you taste your own honey the sound you make is so guttural and animalistic, Din cannot fathom what he ever did to deserve such heaven. The kissing remains tender, the scratches down his back gentle, your moans soft and melodious – for a man who’s spent his entire life fighting and steeped in violence, Din knows this is the peace that would allow him to die happy.
But it’s not enough for you.
“Din, please,” you murmur against his lips, voice awakening and dripping with lust, “I need you.”
Once again, the General has no choice but to obey. Kissing you deep, he notches his aching cock against your entrance, smiling at the expression of anticipation evident on the exposed half of your face; he enters you slow, careful.
Your body reacts to finally getting what its wanted for so long by arching, welcoming every inch of Din’s length, pussy fluttering and begging for more. You want all of him tonight. Forever.
When he finally bottoms out, Din buries his face into your neck, nearly overwhelmed by the sweet hug of your warm walls, and growls low, throaty, “So tight, mesh’la.”
“So full, General,” you sing back, floating on bliss. Though you cannot see his expression, you’re sure this moment is affecting you both the same; the feel of this great man, cradling you so dear while trusting you to touch him while bare, armourless, makes your heart explode – you want to give everything you have to him, repay him for the trust and belief he’s place in you, for making you feel alive, free, invincible, for just being him, “Din… I love you.”
You can feel him smile as he presses kisses up the column of your throat, his facial hair tickling as he drags his lips back to yours, “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Princess.”
Unable to contain your joy, your mouth curves in delight, “Is that Mando’a?”
“Yes. For I love you.”
“Teach me?”
Din begins to move, slow thrusting into your tight cunt, every drag a release, an offering, “Nee kar-TIE-lee gar dah-RAH-soom. Nee kar-”
“Nee kar-” you try out the pronunciation hushed, heart pounding, as if it was a secret being revealed to you and only you.
“TIE-lee gar.”
The words of Din’s native tongue sound so beautiful spoken this way, sure and slow to the rhythm of Din rocking into you; you try your best to do it justice with your own repetition, “TIE-lee gar.”
“Very good, cyare,” Din’s praise hits you right in the throb of your clit, you clench so hard he chokes, “Dah-RAH-soom.”
Mandalore’s language might as well be a forbidden hymn when sung in your breathy register, “Dah-RAH-soon.”
“Perfect. Again.”
Again and again you practice, recitation of this one glorious phrase punctuated by the increasing tempo of Din’s thrusts. He praises your every successful completion of the phrase, even those that take longer when you become distracted by how deep he sinks into your cunt or the wet squelch of your bodies joining together over and over.
“Well done, Princess.”
“Doing so good for me.”
“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”
The General’s patience and encouragement make you want to try even harder to please him; you roll your hips, meeting his powerful drive with your own bounce, voice growing louder and more confident, “Ni kar'tayl-”
Your cadence stumbles as Din picks up the pace something feral; he jolts you up the bed, punching the air from your lungs and with it, the simple phonetics of his people’s language. You wail your Mando’a like a war cry as Din’s cock reaches new depths, grateful that the rainstorm that continues to beat down over Solana drowns out your unrestrained vocals.
“Dank Farrik, you’re perfect, cyare.”
And still, you persist, sobbing out the lyrical combination of vowels and consonants between every gasping breath Din allows; he’s holding you close now, his lips growling words of devotion and reassurance as you continue to refine the pitch and intonation of the truest phrase you will ever utter. His hips never stutter, he chases after your high like his life depends on it; not in all his days has Din heard the words of the Mandalorian people sound so melodious, so regal, so damn ethereal than on the wings of your angelic voice. He’s so proud of you; he could listen to you speak Mando’a forever. He could love you forever.
“Again,” Din croaks, his animal now fully unleashed, he pounds into you unrestrained, single minded.
You’re so close. So, so close to perfecting your Mando’a, unwilling to settle for anything less than a proper declaration of how adamantly you adore and admire your Mandalorian. I love you, Din. I love you, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, I love you.
(Thrust) Ni kar'tayli (thrust, thrust) gar (thump, thump) darasuum!
“Again.”
(Slap) Ni kar'tayli (slap, slap, slap) gar (thrust, thrust) darasuum!
“Din!” You come, the chime of your General’s name ringing out and echoing off the walls of your room, thankfully swallowed by the roar of the outside gale.
The hug of your perfect cunt and the poetry of his native tongue on yours proves too much for Din’s cock; he spills into you as you continue to murmur in perfect Mando’a “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum…”
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he hums against your mouth, his descent lazy and sleepy. You smile against his lips, blissed out, body limp and wrung out, but heart full and blooming.
“I love you too, Din,” you coo, letting your Mandalorian curl around you, the two of you settle under the covers, soaking in the afterglow of your lovemaking. As Din’s strong arms wind protectively around your body and the heat from the press of his naked body against yours urges you towards sleep, you remember your concern from earlier, “Din, I know you won’t spend the night like this, but please promise me you’ll get some rest before getting up and resuming guard.”
The General squeezes you tighter in response, the velvet of his promise rumbles against your cheek, “I promise, Princess. I’m yours to command. I’m yours.”
And I’m yours. So tired, you’re unsure if you’re able to say the words aloud before your eyes close. It’s not necessary; the steady beating of your heart and the enormity of your feelings pulsing against the feel of Din’s bare skin next to yours, say it for you.
🎶In the Middle of the Night by Elley Duhé🎶:
I summoned you, please come to me
Don't bury thoughts that you really want
I fill you up, drink from my cup
Within me lies what you really want
Come, lay me down
'Cause you know this
'Cause you know this sound
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Just call my name
I'm yours to tame
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
I'm wide awake
I crave your taste all night long
'Til morning comes
I'm getting what is mine
You gon' get yours, oh no, ooh
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night, oh
These burning flames, these crashing waves
Wash over me like a hurricane
I captivate, you're hypnotized
Feel powerful, but it's me again
Come, lay me down
'Cause I know this
'Cause I know this sound
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
Just call my name
I'm yours to tame
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night
I'm wide awake
I crave your taste all night long
'Til morning comes
I'm getting what is mine
You gon' get yours, oh no, ooh
In the middle of the night
In the middle of the night, oh
All smut can be hard to write for me, but romantic smut can sometimes be harder than just roll around in the dirt smut 😂😂😂😂 thank you for saying this was romantic porn because that is exactly what I was going for 🤭🤭🤭😜
Thank you for reading this series, my love!! I’m glad you enjoyed this more happy instalment after the ones that hurt 🫣😘😘😘
summary: you’ve seen a lot during your rebellion days & now with the New Republic… but working with a mandalorian may just send you into the wildest tailspin yet
word count: 11.9k (i’m sorry)
warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI. MAJOR MOVIE SPOILERS ⚠️ takes place before & during the events of the film, reader has a backstory & family but no physical description, light use of gendered language, slight annoyance to friends to lovers, pining & yearning, budding romance, threats & moments of violence/threat of kidnapping, flying as a love language, reader has instances of drinking and smoking, competency kink, light voice kink, slightly jealous!reader, spicy times in the cockpit (helmet stays on), dry humping, unprotected p in v, one moment of spit, creampie, protective and soft!Din
a/n: so… hi lmao I call this my ‘let’s daydream about being in the new movie’ fic or aka my attempt at plugging us into the storyline bcs it’s what we deserve lol big thanks to my dear @babynueva for always supporting my din delulu ily bb! Also this is my first official fic of the year & knowing it’s for Din means so much - so thank you for being here ♡ [divider credit & thanks to the ever amazing @saradika-graphics]
When a mandalorian first strides into base camp on Adelphi, you think you’re seeing things.
The sun bounces off his armor drawing all eyes. It’s like his ancient armor proudly beams of its power and striking force. The mysterious Mandalorian walks with intent, a steady gait that dares anyone to cross him. You can’t help but stare at the mysterious warrior.
“Is he… imperial?” Someone whispers in the mess hall and makeshift cantina.
“Nope, he’s working with us now.” Teva answers simply.
You didn’t believe it. But apparently it’s true.
“He’s set to be an independent operative, but know he is working for and with us.” The colonel’s words then officially etch the truth in stone.
Mando comes around basecamp like a ghost. Barely staying put for you to register his presence, yet the whispers about him grow.
“I heard he took out a whole imperial squadron and a Moff too.” Dyana, your closest friend, tells you enthusiastic to catch up on all the rumors.
Then Ward calls for you, and you miss out on any other gossip Dyana and the others had.
“I’ll be heading to Coruscant this week to meet with a few higher ups and senators… I need you to do all the debriefs with Mando while I’m away.
It’s like a rancor suddenly barreled into you.
“Wait, me?” You stupidly question confused, and Ward shoots you a look, raised eyebrows and all.
“Do you think you’re not capable of handling this, ranger?”
“No, colonel.” You quickly reply, and she nods.
“Good, that’s what I thought.”
When you see her off, it must be obvious how hesitant you still are. Her sturdy hand gives your shoulder a reassuring pat.
“Don’t worry. He’s not as scary as everyone thinks he is.” Ward reassures, but it doesn’t soothe you much.
Especially when the day arrives and you find yourself waiting for him.
Just like before, the mandalorian saunters in and your focus is immediately drawn to him. But then, it gets knocked out of orbit when you find he’s not alone.
A tiny green creature waddles in beside him, childishly blinking at every sight. Why is a child with the mandalorian?
“Where’s Ward?” A rich striking voice startles you. Of course the terrifying warrior would sound this intimidating.
“Went to Coruscant for a meeting.” You reply partly stunned you’re actually talking to him.
“And you are?” But then mandalorian questions, sharp and distrustful, and it pisses you off. He’s the newcomer here, and he decides to question you?
“I’m the person you’re stuck with for your debrief and mission logs unfortunately.” Your voice whips out sharp.
He doesn’t say anything.
“What about Teva?” He counters again, and you want to scream. What’s this guy’s problem?
“Out on a mission,” your reply is sharper, bladed with annoyance.
“If you want you can personally contact Ward and explain why I’m not satisfactory enough for your debrief. I’m sure she’d love that.” Then the defiant reply escapes you faster than you can stop it.
It’s as if the whole cantina mess hall heard you because it becomes deathly silent.
The mandalorian simply stares you down with his unflinching helmet. Then the warrior turns and strides out not saying another word.
“I think you pissed him off.” Wolf snickers breaking the stillness.
A sense of dread looms as you realize you might’ve truly just gotten yourself into a mountain load of trouble.
Ward calls that night, and you knew it was coming.
“Why do you want to start a fight with the mandalorian?” She asks calmly over the comms.
“I’m not! He started it!” You can’t help but childishly counter. You even further explain how demanding and untrusting he was.
The colonel sighs.
“You have to understand… His people don’t trust easily. And for good reason. Try to be the one to play nice here.”
You want to be petty and say he needs to as well, but you can’t argue with Ward.
“Do the whole debrief drunk.” Zeb jokes about it with you the next day, and you scoff.
But by the time sunset arrives you start getting tempted to get a drink because maybe Mando isn’t showing up.
Until he does. And again he’s not alone. The strange but sweet little creature continues waddling alongside Mando.
It’s awkward as hell when he approaches your table. The tension lingers thick from yesterday prickling across your skin in the worst way.
You don’t even know if you should say anything
“Mweh?” A surprisingly soft little noise floats through the tension and you turn towards it. You blink down to find the mysterious little being staring up at you with sweet wide eyes.
With curious claws, the baby reaches for the loth cat charm dangling off your belt, the one of many trinkets your niece has given you.
Melted by the sight, you grin and scoot closer. Then you unclasp the charm for the baby to examine it more.
“You like it? It’s cute right?”
The little one agrees with a chirp sounding so endearing.
Something softly clicks. If a creature so tiny and innocent as this baby confidently travels with the mandalorian, then he couldn't be that much of an ass.
Someone sighs. Then settling back into your seat, you find the mandalorian seated across from you. The baby hops up to sit beside him. Yet his eager eyes remain happily taken with your charm.
“That imp base on Hoth had no leads.” He speaks first.
You’re stunned.
Your gut urges you to not make a big deal about this, to simply now see him as another coworker.
So you nod and casually plug in the info on your datapad.
“Hoth was a long shot, but we appreciate you going.” You even add that in.
You knew of a few pilots who served during the Hoth raid. It’s an unforgiving planet, takes a lot of guts to investigate that icy fortress.
“What’s the next order?” Mando asks firm, all business, just like Ward had told you.
You slide him a bounty chip containing info on a possible military officer who could be running a smuggling ring. The mandalorian doesn’t say anything else, simply takes the card and stands up.
“Come on, kid.” All he does is address the baby, not even sparing you a second glance.
Cute and so politely, the kid hands back your loth cat with a noise that feels like a thank you.
“You’re welcome, little cutie,” you tell him warmly.
Once the pair are out of sight, you sigh exhausted, relieved, and sprawl out on the table glad it’s over. Someone barks a laugh, and you aren’t even embarrassed about it.
You can’t wait till this is over.
It’s already been a week and a half of being grounded, doing these debriefs with Mando. You miss being in the skies. But all that hope of getting back in the clouds gets squashed.
“I need to negotiate a few more issues with Senator Organa… can you continue to do the debrief?” It isn’t much of a question but more of an order from Ward.
So you meet with Mando for the rest of the week and into the next. It’s cordial, barely speaking for more than ten minutes with each other.
You try to be friendly, make a joke about the weather, but he just silently stares at you, obviously annoyed.
And it pisses you off all over again.
But you think of the adorable little baby who eagerly tags along with the terrifying hunter. The kid sweetly waves, and you wave back. You started bringing treats after his guardian chided him for eating some of yours.
The annoyed sigh Mando gave when you brought more snacks to share was worth it.
This time you decided to bring something else along with you.
It was the first charm your sister gave you when you became a pilot. A tradition her daughter, your niece, now does with you.
“Look!” You eagerly hold up the plush creature that makes the baby’s eyes go wide.
With adorable tiny grabby hands, he reaches for it and you happily hand it over.
You grin pleased seeing how pleased the kid coos.
“What’s your name?” The sudden question from Mando surprises you.
A bit stunned, you give it to him.
He nods solemnly, repeating it. Your heart does a strange flip hearing his deep voice say your name.
“This is Grogu.” He then introduces the kid who chimes in hearing his name.
“Nice to meet you, Grogu.” You excitedly greet the kid.
Then you turn to Grogu’s guardian. This solemn but striking mandalorian now has you curious to who he is. Your mind thinks about the rumors that have spread about him.
“And you? What’s your name?” You ask politely, but immediately you can almost hear Dyana screaming at you. She’s become the new expert on Mandalorian customs.
“They’re private people,” she had told you, confirming what Ward had said. “It’s probably why not a lot of people know about him, much less his name.”
“I’m sorry, forgive me.” You stammer quickly. “You don’t have to give it.”
A moment passes, and you worry you’ve unraveled this tentative truce or whatever it is.
“Din… Din Djarin.” His full name. It’s lovely.
“Din…” you repeat it.
“It’s nice to meet you too.” And you mean that.
Mando, Din, nods, and you think it’s worth the few weeks being out of the skies.
When Din and Grogu leave you realize the kid still holds onto your plush charm.
“Come on kid, give it back.” Din urges noticing too.
“No it’s okay. He can keep it. Give it back to me next time.” You grin at the baby, and Grogu giggles pleased at the answer.
“What do you say, kid?”
Grogu chirps a sweet thanks and waddles away content with the plushie in his arms.
The next day, as promised, he brings it back. But you exchange another charm with him. This time it’s a cute cloud with a sweet face. Eager for the new trinket, Grogu ditches the plushie and you laugh.
Work then follows suit. Din explains on the intel he’s slowly gaining on the imp official.
“Taking a bit longer than expected.” Din gruffly admits.
“Don’t worry. Rodents like him know how to hide. It’s not your fault. Then again that’s probably an insult to rodents.” You’ve been trying to stay professional, channel your inner composed Colonel Ward. But the old rebel pilot comes out.
Suddenly, a chuckle follows.
Din laughed.
You swear you misheard it. But the way Grogu giggles agreeing with his protector, you know you heard correctly.
“A fair statement.” Din agrees.
And you grin back at him. A golden victorious feeling bubbles in your chest.
Watching the pair leave, you find you’re excited to see them again.
The rest of the debriefs go smoother than ever. You bring new charms for Grogu to play with, and Din seems to settle in more.
“You have a lot of those.” He even comments a bit dry when you exchange another new charm with Grogu. This time it’s a fuzzy bantha.
“Managed to gather a small collection.” You explain.
“Really… couldn’t tell.” Din deadpans.
That’s when you realized he just joked with you.
“Think you might like those two,” Zeb teases the next time he drops by the mess hall.
“It’s called being civil.” You stubbornly reply while messing with the holopad, and the Lasat warrior barks a laugh.
“Civil? Yeah sure.” He teases further.
You stay stubbornly quiet.
“Don’t worry… They’ve a pain in my ass too.” Zeb huffs, and it does soothe your annoyance.
Especially now that something is festered in you, a sort of curious itch to learn more about Din Djarin.
“I heard… he really did blow up an entire imperial base. That’s how Teva found him.” Dyana is happy to spill more gossip about him.
“He’s quiet, doesn’t talk much. So I doubt he’d say anything even if he did.” You mutter.
“Does he really keep a pet around?” Dyana presses for any new info.
The word ‘pet’ sounds harsh.
“He’s more like the kid’s guardian.” The word ‘parent’ instead wants to slip out especially after you’ve seen Din’s fatherly watch over the baby.
“Oh that’s even more interesting! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!” Dyana shrieks.
“You’ve been busy.” You half lie.
You could argue that it’s because you want to protect Din’s trust and don’t want to disturb that. But the truth is, you don’t want to share this little secret bond you’ve cultivated with him.
You however rapidly kick those thoughts away.
Ward will be back sometime this week. Your brief time with the Mandalorian would be over soon.
Except that time comes sooner than expected.
The next morning Colonel Ward arrives, an early return. Disappointment arrives just as fast. You knew this was only a temporary thing.
Trying not to feel annoyed, you now work on your x-wing. Deep under the hull, you refuel trying just to keep your mind focused here.
“Didn’t know you were a mechanic.” Suddenly, the rich voice of a certain mandalorian echoes in the hanger.
You scramble out from under the ship confused if you heard right.
But standing off to the side are indeed Din and Grogu.
“What? Thought I just did paper work and worked as an assistant?” You tease.
Din chuckles, and it sinks into the glowing sunlight coating the hanger in its glory.
“You’re looking at one of the New Republic’s best pilots!” Dyana.
She perks up emerging from the other side of the ship, and you shoot a glare her way not even knowing where she came from.
“A pilot?” Din questions, curious.
His helmet tilts towards you.
“Sometimes,” you shrug.
“And I wouldn’t say best.” You weakly laugh then glower at Dyana again. She simply beams innocently back at you.
“One day you gotta tell him about Endor. Though I’m sure you have plenty of fight stories to share too, Mando!”
You want to strangle her.
“You fought at Endor?” Din asks, helmet fully facing you and voice faintly awed.
It all makes your skin feel heated and tight.
All you can do is shrug again.
Endor seems like so long ago now. You were so much younger then. Wild and ready to sacrifice it all for the sake of protecting everything you loved. A small secret corner of your heart aches for those days of when you flew with such fire.
“Well… gotta go! Nice to finally meet you both!” Dyana nods to Din and smiles at the baby before scurrying away.
A traitor in the flesh fleeing if you ever did see one.
“So…an x-wing pilot.” Din comments, still watching you. His curious and impressed tone ignites a strange sensation in your chest that threatens to consume you.
“On good days I am.” You again shrug with a half smile.
“So what was Endor like?” He inquires, and you’re surprised he’s curious about that.
“Don’t know, never went on planet… kinda was busy flying around.”
You don’t even need to see his face to know he’s giving you a silent unamused stare. He must not think your joke is as funny as you do.
A surprised giggle does come though. Both you and Din discover Grogu effortlessly climbing up onto the wing of the ship.
“Kid.” Din chides.
“How did you get up there so fast?” You laugh amused at the sight of this tiny creature waddling on top of your x-wing.
Din sighs, truly parental.
“I take it that you fly?” You ask him yet keeping your gaze on Grogu to make sure he stays safe.
“I do.” Din answers, confident.
“Must be why he’s so curious and comfortable around ships. It’s good when kids get to experience being in the air.” You think of your niece who eagerly tries to convince you to fly her around.
“My niece is the same way.” You reveal.
Din hums a noise, acknowledging he’s listening.
“Is she the reason why you have all those charms?” He asks in a tone softer than you’ve ever heard.
“Excuse you, they are medals of honor.” You jokingly try to sound offended.
“With you I wouldn’t be surprised.” He replies deadpan, and you snicker.
“But yeah… she’s the one who gives them to me.” You explain how it was your sister who first started giving you those charms to decorate your x-wing.
They were to remind you to come home safe.
“I was ordered not to come home unless I brought the charms back safe and sound.” You repeat the same words your sister told you.
A soft breeze enters the hanger bringing in a welcoming cooling touch. But it’s then you realize how close you’re now standing next to Din. You didn’t even notice when you or him moved closer to each other.
“That’s… sweet.” His voice carries a tenderness that sneaks under your ribs and sinks in deep.
You turn and find he’s already looking at you.
Under Din’s gaze, it’s like you’re caught in a tractor beam unable to speak or move.
Dangerous thoughts have already begun clouding your mind, and they all connect back to this man. Like how you’ve noticed how broad his shoulders look, and how strong he is helping move crates around the base. What’s worse is you’ve begun wondering what this mandalorian looks like under his helm.
Grogu’s little giggle finally draws your attention away. Currently he peeks inside the cockpit through the window.
“So I take it this is your ship?” Din asks.
“No, I stole it.” You quip back.
“Sure you did.” His dry reply makes you snicker.
“It’s how I got to fight at Endor.” You jest, stealing a quick glance at Din. Of course he shakes his head unamused.
“Thought you didn’t see Endor.” He uses your dry joke back at you, and you can’t help it.
You playfully elbow him.
Another little giggle comes. Glancing back to the ship, Grogu now peers over from the wing’s edge grinning at you and Din.
“Little troublemaker, are you going to be a pilot one day?” You smile at Grogu.
“Mweh!” He squeals.
“I think that’s a yes,” you tell Din proudly.
“No.” Din answers back firmly.
“It’s okay I’ll teach you one day,” you counter sweetly, and the baby giggles more.
“No.” Din repeats again firmer.
A small cluster of pilots approach. Their laughter and conversation fill the air. Guess this moment is over.
“Still need to see Ward… shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Din is smooth about making his exit.
Quickly Grogu jumps into his arms, and you bid the duo goodbye for now.
You haven’t been in the air for long, but it feels like you’re floating now.
The moments you see the pair become like scattered stars.
Months settle in, and a routine follows. You sometimes see Din in the mess hall cantina when you return from a mission. Discussing with the colonel, all you can simply do is give your boys quick smiles.
Other times Din stops by the hanger where you linger now more than ever hoping he drops by. You and him talk about work, missions, the various planets visited.
You want to ask what got him to work for the new republic, but you don’t want to disturb whatever is growing between you and him.
“It’s budding love.” Dyana sagely declares one evening at the cantina, and Zeb agrees.
“It’s not!” You screech over a drink.
“I don’t think Mando has said more than five words to me, yet I see him talking to you so much.” Another pilot chimes in.
“He talks to Zeb the most!” You argue back. The two of them are often paired up on missions now. You try not to get annoyed by it.
“Not as much as you, kid.” Zeb rebuttals.
“Don’t think we haven’t seen the way he hangs around the hanger for you.” Sash Ketter snickers, and it only ignites the discussion once again.
You dismiss all their words as attempts trying to rile you up.
Because you don’t want to face the truth. You long for your chats with Din, even just to see him for a moment and play with Grogu.
It’s just an awful infatuation. That’s it.
Your small vacation break now approaching may be more of a blessing than you realize. It’ll hopefully give you time to clear your head.
“I’m heading home to visit family. I’ll be sure to bring back something good.” You tell Din the next time you run into him outside the cantina.
“There’s no need. Just… be safe.” Din nods.
His gentle words carry you the entire flight home.
The brief week away provides peaceful moments of relaxation. While you enjoy the time spent with your sister’s family, you long to return to Adelphi.
“So, what did you get me this time?” You ask your niece the day before you’re set to head back.
“I got you… THIS!” She proudly raises up an odd creature. You can’t even tell what it is.
“She made it herself.” Your sister whispers, and your eyes go wide.
“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we have an artist in this family now?!” You cry excitedly scooping up your niece in your arms and tickle her with glee as she squeaks excitedly.
“Actually before I go… Do you think you can help me make one too?” You ask her and your niece's eyes light up.
With eager hands she gathers all her supplies to deposit them on the table ready to craft.
“So… are you going to tell me who you’re making this for?” Your sister asks slightly suspiciously as you add little puffballs to your monster creation.
“What if I just want my charm to have a friend, huh?” You deflect.
“Yeah sure.” She’s not convinced but thankfully doesn’t press any further.
As hard as it is saying goodbye to her and your niece, you’re thankful to finally be back to your routine.
And of course, the new little charm sitting in your pocket seems to hold so much weight.
Din returns a few days after you. It’s hard trying to ignore the bubbling joy that rises watching him approach your x-wing first.
“Welcome back.” He greets and Grogu squeals adorably scurrying to you.
Eagerly you welcome his jump into your arms, and you squeeze him tight.
“I miss you too,” you tell Grogu but hope his father knows you mean him as well.
“And look, I got something for you.” You shift to hold Grogu in one arm.
Then you hold up the new charm.
“What is it supposed to be?” Din sounds confused and slightly alarmed.
“It’s a little monster,” you reply lightly insulted.
“My niece and I made these, and I knew someone who might like it.” You grin towards Grogu now.
“Bweh!” He cheers and draws the charm into his small arms so enamored with the strange monstrosity already.
“See! He likes it, that's what matters.” You huff proudly at Din.
Grogu chirps like he agrees. You laugh then catch Din’s chuckle too.
“What do you say, kid?” Din says.
Grogu however doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans up and hugs you. His sweet little arms curl against your neck.
Holding this baby so tight is like holding a little newborn star. You’re grateful for this moment and hug Grogu close, closing your eyes to fully embrace this wonderful tiny soul.
“You’re welcome, little troublemaker.” You softly tell him.
The baby then settles into your arms as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Worried you might have overstepped, you quickly snap your attention to Din. His helmet stays focused on you.
You wonder what his eyes look like, what color swims within his gaze.
“Glad you’re back safe.” Din’s voice sounds low, softer and a bit thick.
“Me too,” you reply, letting yourself sink into whatever it is overtaking your entire heart.
This infatuation, or whatever it’s mutated into, grows stronger. And it terrifies you.
But you’re reminded quickly there are more terrifying things to face.
The wound isn’t looking good.
You’re more pissed at yourself for getting ambushed by damn pirates. This operation was supposed to be simple, check in on the distress signal intercepted by base. But one pirate ambush later and you’re now stranded trying to stop the bleeding.
You just hope the emergency signal you sent back to camp went through. Leaning against your ship, you take a deep breath trying to calm yourself down. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.
Until something pierces your back, and a scream of pain escapes you. Electricity courses through your body knocking you to the ground.
Everything stings. You can barely concentrate, but you hear them. Gleeful disgusting laughs swirling all around. The damn pirates…
“Think of the price we’ll get for x-wing parts!” One of them muses.
“Or even for the pilot, quite a cute one.” That comment unleashes a panicked feral terror.
Get up, you have to get up. Even though every part of your body stings, screaming to stay still, you have to move.
You slowly try to sit up through the aftershocks, but then a boot comes to slowly step on your chest, pressing you down to the dirt.
“Nah uh little pilot, where do ya think you’re going.” A voice snickers.
You clench your jaw hard. This isn’t looking good.
A sudden blaster shot fires and immediately takes out a pirate with accurate precision.
“What was that?!” One of them screams.
Then a blaster shot silenced him.
“Step away from her now.” Din.
Or someone sounding like him.
The voice is deadly, terrifying, and you wonder if it even is Din.
Then the pirate towering above you with his boot still pressing on your chest suddenly gets thrown off.
Weakly you cough sitting up. While you do, you witness Din in action and realize he’s truly here.
And the way he attacks, effortlessly slicing through the pirate captain and the lackeys that try rushing him - he’s incredible.
You’ve never seen anyone fight so fluidly and powerful. You’re witnessing one of the most powerful warriors in the galaxy…
And he’s here to save you.
A small concerned whimper comes to your side and immediately you glance down. Grogu quickly waddles to your arm and flashes his wide worried eyes up to you.
“I’m okay, I promise.” He must see the wound, and you try smiling reassuringly.
He hums a small noise at you. Then he closes his eyes, laying his little claw against your elbow. Slowly a gentle warmth suddenly crawls up your shoulder.
What is he doing?
The stinging pain vanishes instantly. Reaching up to your shoulder, you find no wound.
“Mweh.” Grogu peers up at you with a small little wave.
“You really are something else, little trouble maker… thank you.” You fondly stroke his fuzzy little head, and he beams.
Din urgently yells your name and soon rushes to kneel before you. Gloved hands reach out to steady your shoulders.
“I’m fine.” You now reassure him and move to squeeze one of his hands.
An exhale escapes Din, relieved.
“I’m sorry you both had to come all the way out here. I’m sure there are better bounties to hunt.” You half tease.
“Don’t apologize.” He immediately snaps.
Grogu makes a sad noise as if chiding his father.
“Just glad you’re safe.” So Din gently adds and steadily helps you stand.
Zeb lands moments later with a mechanic to help patch up your ship. The entire time Din stays by your side, letting you lean against him for support. His guiding hand never leaves you.
You’re given the rest of the week off to recover.
“So was Mando on a mission with you when my distress beacon went out?” You ask Zeb when he drops by to check on you.
He snorts, giving you a knowing side eye smirk.
“Is that what you think?” Zeb doesn’t elaborate even when you pester him.
It’s Dyana of course who reveals the truth.
“Mando was the first to rush out. Ward had to practically stop him before he flew off on his own.” Her words unravel something effortlessly in you.
How can you ignore these feelings for a mandalorian anymore?
“I think it’s romantic.” Dyana thankfully doesn’t judge you when you finally admit everything to her.
There was no time for romance during a rebellion, during a war. Even now you almost scoff at the idea. There are other things to do, other things to focus on than get lovesick over someone.
But Din dismantled all those old thoughts in you, leaving you exposed and almost greedy for someone now.
“It’s okay to want that you know… romance and companionship.” Dyana tells you already sensing your hesitation.
You know her and a cute mechanic have been dating off and on for a while. She’s always been urging you to get out more, maybe try to find someone. Guess you just had to wait for a mandalorian to show up.
But you have to put all those giggles and feelings aside.
Your time resting is done, and immediately you’re thrown back into the rush of work.
A mission and orders arrive a few days later on your datapad.
Raid strike this week, get ready
It’s not a full strike squadron, but you’re thankful Zeb is tagging along.
“Think your boyfriend might be joining us.” He teases, and your eyes narrow hard. Now you regret him being here.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rapidly dismiss.
“Huh uh.” He rolls his eyes.
As if summoned to add to your pain, Din enters the command center. It feels like feral lizard birds were released in your stomach.
Immediately his helmet spots you. Grogu perched on his shoulder chirps upon seeing you. Trying to act relaxed, you give the boys a casual wave and bright grin.
Zeb chuckles, and you silently shush him again under your breath. You walk to meet Din halfway.
“Glad you’re doing better.” He says, faintly warm, and you nod grateful.
“Thanks to my two heroes,” you thank them both again. Grogu beams toothy when you tickle his chin.
Din doesn’t say anything.
“Guess we’re finally teaming up.” So you speak up first.
“Seems like it,” Din agrees.
This isn’t the first time he’s seen you in your pilot gear. Hell, he just rescued you last week. But for some reason, you feel more self aware than ever.
Thankfully Ward enters, drawing the room’s attention to her.
The mission is to ambush the warlord now barricaded up in his mansion. He’s apparently greatly armed and even hired a small air brigade. It’s why this strike squadron was called in. You’re curious why Din is here though.
“Without the mandalorian’s intel, we wouldn’t have this opportunity. So we will be following his lead.” She sends her focus to him.
Din simply and silently nods back.
Then he moves to the holo map and gives details about the estate. Hearing how commanding and surefire his voice resounds, the way he walks confidently and without any hesitation, he’s incredible.
But there’s no time to linger on this warrior.
It’s time to fly.
“Finally get to see you in action,” you tell Din as he walks out with you.
“Guess you will.” He replies with a hint of something playful, and it only speeds up your racing heart.
All you can do is laugh before parting ways.
“Don’t get lost in the clouds.” You teasingly yell to the mandalorian and he looks back at you from over his shoulder.
You can’t see Din’s eyes, but you hope they’re amused.
Him and Grogu now trail away from where you’re stationed, and you settle into your ship.
Your x-wing roars alive, and the familiar comms flicker in your ear. Then the call signals electrify the start to battle.
“Delphi squadron, lock in.” Teva announces on the main channel, the leader for this run. Everyone follows suit locking in their coordinates.
“Blue 9, standing by.” You chime in, readying the flight path.
“Starfighter, standing by.” Then a new voice floats through your helmet.
The tone resonates rich as a stormy ocean sending a shock through your system.
Hearing Din in your helmet does something to you so wild that you feel guilty at how fast your core clenched. You recollect yourself fast.
That’s when you notice the ship he joined in with.
A starfighter? There’s no way. Those ships don’t exist.
But again, you’re proven so wrong.
Among the gunfire and smoke, the sounds of battle, a new gleam of silver catches your attention. The Naboo N-1 fighter is a marvel.
A sleek whisper of a dream, one minute she’s a simple flicker of light then the next she’s firing directly in the trenches of the fight.
But as in awe of the ship as you are, it’s the mandalorian who leaves you breathless.
Din flies amazing. The fast maneuvering, the excellent read he makes of the battle, among his readiness to swoop in and out of tight spaces - you’ve never seen anyone fly this beautifully.
It inspires you, the type of flying that makes you want to soar higher to catch up.
So you do.
You embrace the rebel pilot you always might be and dive through the canyons chasing after one of the bandits the warlord hired.
Quickly you dispatch the enemy ship then swirl and maneuver your x-wing to return to the open sky.
“Target on your left.” Din’s voice suddenly thunders in your ear, chiming in on your personal channel.
“Got it.” You reply steady and twist fast enough to fire on the swing mid air.
“Got him, great shot!” Listening to Din’s deep fierce voice over your private channel, his voice colored in pride, you have to mute the channel to exhale.
Because a wave of arousal crawled up your spine so fast you had to bite your lip. Now you try settling yourself down again.
You pride yourself on being composed when you fly. There of course have been times when you’ve gotten emotional and maybe reacted.
Yet here this masked man completely disarms you.
It’s a fight you realize you won’t win.
The raid is successful, and the warlord gets taken in alive. That’s the win that matters.
“Great job,” Din suddenly voices back in your comms, still sounding so proud, and you melt all over again.
“You too, thanks for the support,” you answer back, just as fond, then rapidly switch over the channel.
“Captain,” you ask Teva on his personal comms.
“Before we leave, do you think I can test Mando on how he flies?”
Teva takes a moment then sighs.
“Make it quick.”
Giddy you quickly chime back onto Din’s channel.
“Wanna go for a run?” A part of you worries he won’t want to join you.
“Lead the way.” But Din quickly answers, and you pull back up to the clouds.
The planet is rather gorgeous, full of lush canyons and towering mountains. It’s a flight playground. Among the skies, twisting and twirling down through the natural landscape, you and Din soar around each other, with each.
Playful, yet delicately cautious, your x-wing revolves alongside his starfighter. Din keeps up with you every moment. Quietly the image of a dance among the clouds floats into your mind.
“Up for a race?” He suddenly asks.
“Oh, you know it.” You agree, excited. You settle into your seat, ready to take off.
But in a flash, he zooms past you.
“What the hell?!” You shriek over the comms.
Din’s husky laugh in your ear is a beautiful reward.
Returning back to Adelphi, you and him fly beside each other. Ward gives everyone the night off, and the cantina already seems to shine extra bright landing in.
Settling into your spot in the hanger, you notice Din lands his starfighter closer than ever.
Sliding off your helmet, for a moment you worry about how bad your hair looks, how messy and sweaty you must be.
But heading down the ladder, Din already walks towards you.
All your worries vanish. You don’t even care how fast you walk towards him. Here standing before Din under the low lights of the hanger, the world melts away.
“You were incredible.”
“You flew… amazing.”
Both you and Din speak at the same time, words jumbling up and getting tangled. It startles you, even his shoulders stiffen a bit.
Then you laugh.
“No, you were the incredible one.” You tell him first.
“Not compared to you,” he shakes his head.
“Glad I finally got to see one of the Rebellion’s and New Republic’s best pilots in action.” There’s a smirk in his voice, and heat burns through your veins.
Any words you want to say, he’s stolen them right from you. All you’re reduced to is a love struck fool caught in the orbit of this powerful mandalorian.
Din doesn’t say anything either. It’s like you and him can’t look away from the other standing this close.
“Hey! Ya two love birds gonna join us or what?” Zeb suddenly breaks the spell, and your blood instantly boils.
You hiss foul curses at Zeb, and he only cackles with laughter.
Embarrassed and trying to escape this moment you shake your head heading towards the exit.
“Come on, let’s go celebrate.” You manage to smile at Din hoping to dispel any comments about what Zeb said.
The mandalorian follows you into the mess hall cantina. The lively celebratory air glimmers with joyous laughter. It’s a welcoming atmosphere, and even Wolf along with a few other pilots ask Din to join them.
“Maybe in a bit,” He nods, instead staying by your side when you approach the bar.
“No pressure, but drinks on me if you want.” You offer.
“I’ll pass, but thanks.” He instead places down credits for your drink, and you thank him with a toast.
“Come on, let’s see how good of a sabacc player you are.” After taking a huge sip, you allow the alcohol to sting in the best way.
“Think you might be dissapointed,” Din chuckles.
Of course he’s a damn natural.
Everyone at the table cries in frustration when he wins the second round, and you even narrow your eyes at him.
“Oh, so you’re a liar.” You joke good naturedly.
“Never said I was good or bad.” He answers and it’s rather coy, lighter than what you’ve heard from him.
“Next time Mando I want you comin’ with me off planet! We could really win big.” Someone suggests and now it’s comforting seeing how much everyone has warmed up to him, how much Din has settled in here too.
Until you realize the baby is missing and immediately turn to Din. Maybe it’s the atmosphere but you lean closer to him placing your hand against his arm.
“Wait, where’s Grogu?” You ask concerned and low.
Din leans closer to you, his helmet almost grazing your face.
“Don’t worry, he’s asleep in the barracks.” Din’s answer comes low, reassuring.
Then he reaches up to lay his hand on top of yours. It’s a reassuring hold, a soft touch that brings comfort.
You exhale relieved and don’t have time to realize what he just did until someone drags Din away to play darts.
He squeezed your hand, and you now fight against a dumb smile just thinking about it.
Even after another round of getting your ass kicked at cards, you don’t care. You glance over to Din.
A cluster of pilots surround him. You’re not surprised. He’s a marvel, someone truly remarkable. But one of the prettier pilots slides up next to Din, batting her eyelashes so dreamily up at him.
Something fierce, venomous and coated in jealousy, strikes.
Reaching to Wolf, you nudge his shoulder a few times, and he knowingly looks at you. Not saying anything, he discreetly slips you a smoke stick.
You head out of the cantina into the soft warm night and light up. The smoke in your lungs settles you down for a moment and cuts through the alcohol.
Dumb Mandalorian man making you feel this way…
Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you watch the smoke you exhale mix into the air.
“Didn’t know you smoked.” Din.
His voice melts into the night like he stepped out of the shadows themselves. As he wanders towards you, you shift to lean against the rail of the patio.
“Not often,” you truthfully answer. It’s been a long time since you lit up.
A bad habit you picked up during your rebellion days, being as young as you were around seasoned veteran pilots. It became a way to calm yourself down and stop your hands from shaking from the nerves.
You even tell him that.
“What made you join?” He asks, tentative and quiet.
A loaded question but one you feel comfortable enough to answer, especially with him.
The empire took so much from you. You’re grateful you and your sister managed to keep each other safe, look out for each other. You weren’t lying when you joked about stealing ships. Learning to steal is how you survived for a while as a kid.
Then you accidentally stole from a man named Luthen Rael, and your life changed. Whatever he saw in your eyes that day when he caught you… it kept you alive.
He’s the one who helped get your wings, got you in touch with rebellion once you could fly. Once you joined, you never saw him again.
“Never looked back since.” You tell this all to Din.
You don’t regret your choices. They’re what brought you here after all, kept you safe even during the danger.
“You did what you had to… you should be proud of the life you’ve made. Of the wars you've fought and survived.” Din sincerely commends you, and his words settle deep in your heart.
You softly thank him, appreciating the sentiment.
“And you? What brought you to the New Republic?” Taking another drag of the smoke stick, you finally decide to ask.
This time he’s sighing and moves to lean against the rail beside you. He’s pressed up right beside you.
“Benn a long way to get here as well.” He’s vague, but explains how he was, and still is a bounty hunter by trade. How that path led him to the kid. How Grogu is by Mandalorian creed his son and apprentice now.
“I couldn't keep getting involved with pirates, working for gangsters. It’s not the life I wanted anymore.”
It’s admirable seeing how valiant Din’s spirit shines, yet you hear how weary his soul must be like he carries so much guilt.
“There are wars you’ve fought too, Din. You should be proud of your victories. Even the ones you don’t think you should be.” Maybe it’s the fading alcohol and slow numbness of the smoke stick, but you want more than ever to just hold him.
You go to take another drag to stop yourself from doing anything reckless, but find your smoke stick is burnt to its final end.
“I don’t.. deserve such kind words. But thank you.” Din’s voice is thick, tangled in thorny emotions.
Yet underneath it all, he sounds softer and raw, like a man trying to find comfort in your words.
So you turn and see his striking dark T visor gaze on you.
A moment passes where it’s just you and him under the night sky, staring at each other.
“No matter what path you took, I'm glad you’re here.” You earnestly tell him.
In such a short amount of time this mandalorian has reawakened something in you and takes up such a large part of your heart.
“Me too.” Din mutters, nodding.
Another x-wing lands outside stealing your attention away as the engines break the quiet night air.
“Always been curious to how they fly.” Din suddenly comments sounding intrigued.
“You wanna see?”
He turns to you, helmet tilted incredulous and challenging.
“Come on,” so you challenge him back with a toothy grin.
Immediately Din follows behind you, footsteps quick yet terrifying agile.
The hanger sits in eerie stillness this time of night.
“Should we even be here?” Din asks low, a bit cautious.
“Didn’t take you as a ‘by the books’ guy, Mando.” You use the common name everyone calls him as a tease.
“Only when it comes to my employer.” He replies unamused.
“Trust me, we’ll be fine.” You wave him off and he continues following you further into the dark hanger.
He doesn’t know it, but this place, especially for pilots, is an infamous makeout spot. You try not to think about that too much.
There you arrive at your x-wing.
“Hop in,” you nudge him towards the ladder.
“What?” Din sounding so boyish and confused makes you laugh.
“Get in,” you urge.
Sighing defeated he climbs up the ladder to the cockpit and you follow. You look away trying not to stare at his cute ass.
“Can we even fit in this?”
“X-wings are capable of holding various types and sizes of pilots. We are not the empire, thank you very much,” you proudly declare.
The hatch opens, and Din jumps in. The dashboard and control panel light up as he takes a seat in your chair.
Your throat goes dry seeing him sit in the same pilot seat you fly in.
“Throttle, control stick,” he points out immediately.
As much room as you have, it is cramped standing up. So you curl to the side, closer to him, but keep your eyes on the control monitor.
“It’s got a good radar system.” Din comments admiring the monitor too.
You rattle on about how these are the upgraded models everyone got after the war. The original ones you used during the rebellion are classic, but the upgrades were warmly welcomed.
“Sorry, this all must sound boring.” You weakly laugh.
“It’s not. Tell me more.” He reassures.
You’re about to until you hear commotion around the hanger.
So, quickly you scramble up and around to slide into the seat -
Right between the V of Din’s legs.
You crouch low and drag him down too.
“Wh…what are you-”
“Shh…” you shush him. “Have to lie low just in case.”
“So we should leave.” Din urges urgent.
“We’re fine.” You reassure him now.
The commotion you thought you heard passes by, and silence returns.
You exhale a bit relieved, moving to sit up. Then you grin at him from over your shoulder.
“See… told you we’d be fine.”
He stays quiet.
It hits you. Maybe you upset him or crossed a line being this close. Though you aren’t fully pressed up against his chest, the position is still intimate. You’re literally between his legs.
You want to apologize, especially now that the courage fades away fast.
But all you can think about is how stunning Din is, how gorgeous he looks here in your ship.
“One day you should fly it.” You truthfully blurt out while staring at him.
“Don’t think Ward would let me.” He stiffly replies.
“I would.” You immediately counter.
“Plus you look good in here...” Then you realize what you just admitted.
So you try to recover fast.
“Knowing your skills, if you had been with us during the rebellion days, you would’ve fit in just fine. Probably would’ve even been half as good as me.” You add hastily, half joking, hoping he doesn’t linger on anything you said before.
You now glance away to check out the window. The hanger is thankfully still empty.
Then Din suddenly softly breathes your name.
You’ve never heard it sound so holy and raw that it rips you wide open. You completely shift around to glance at him in the lowly light cockpit.
“How inebriated are you?” He asks husky, thick.
“I could recite the entire radar flight plan chart we made for Endor.” You tell him completely wide awake now. Every part of you feels like a live wire completely focused on this man.
His low weak chuckle makes your stomach flip in the best way.
Din exhales, breathy and deep.
You don’t want to over step, don’t want to ruin this. So you patiently wait, hoping he makes the first move.
Feeling his arms slide around yours, tentative but curious, you’re galvanized.
Immediately you rise and twist around to fully stare down at him. Looking at Din for a moment, here in the cockpit of your ship, you want to burn this image into your memory. Want to consecrate this in a way you never may do with anyone else again.
You rest your legs on either side of his, caging him in then you settle down onto his lap.
The soft low noise Din makes is music to your ears.
He says your name, but it sounds more like a warning.
“I want this… I want you.” You tell him, finally admitting the words out loud.
Then, you grind down on his lap, straddling him, and immediately pleasure floods into your system.
Din groans, and it spurs you on instantly.
Frustrated that you’re still in your damn flight suit, you unzip the top, slide off the jacket, and exhale feeling the coolness reach your skin. Sliding your hands up to his shoulders you whisper his name.
Then you grind against the bulge in Din’s pants pressing into you, and your mind goes foggy.
But not foggy enough that you notice Din remains still.
Everything collides into you with a halting stop. What if he doesn’t want this?
“I’m… I’m so sorry.” You halt your movements and apologize composed as you can. Awkwardly you lift yourself off of him.
“No I-” Din starts, but then stops himself.
You settle back down on him but this time further back on his thighs.
“Do you… not want to do this?” You ask cautiously. “Because it’s okay if you don’t.”
It’s okay if you don’t want me, is what you actually want to say. But you’re not brave enough for that, no matter how many empire ships you’ve shot down.
“No.” Din noisily exhales frustrated.
His hands go to rest on your thighs. His head falls forward, crestfallen.
“I want this, want you. Just afraid I won’t be able to stop.” He admits weak.
“You don’t have to stop… I don’t want you to.” You admit, soft and greedy, deciding not to hold back now.
Here in your ship, you think maybe he’s become your prey, trapped in your spiderweb. But then his helmet ever so slightly tilts up to you. Under the watch of his unflinching visor, you now feel like a prey caught within a hunter’s gaze.
His heavy breathing grows stronger and reignites something in you.
“Din,” You mutter his name, and he lets out a strained curse.
“I think about you… too much.” Din reveals like it’s a painful truth, as if the words hurt to say.
“I think about you all the time.” The truth leaves you effortlessly now.
“Wonder about what color your eyes are,” You decide to be the brave rebellion pilot you are.
“If you and the baby are safe, eating well,” you add, and he chuckles breathily.
“I think about how brave you are and how… lucky I am to know you,” you continue feeling molten and sentimental now.
Din says your name again, this time tender, and it almost causes you to falter.
So you lean closer to his helmet.
“I think about how handsome you are… imagine your cock inside me.” You mutter and hearing the words aloud feels too much.
But then his strong hands dig into your thighs and slide you on his lap fully, dragging you across his clothed cock.
How strong he pulled you, the fast friction draws a whine from you.
“Yeah?” He growls and leans his helmet directly against your face. The cool beskar touching your skin is heavenly.
“Yeah.” You moan, and your hips begin their rhythm again.
This time it’s not just you moving. Din finally grinds up into you, and you see stars. Your underwear sticks to your sticky core, but you don’t care.
Not when you and Din rut against each other and his hands chart a path all over you. One hand slides up to your neck, anchoring you close to him. The other moves to your back, sliding up to bunch your tank top in his grasp.
It’s too hot now, and you’re wearing too many clothes.
So you weakly draw away from his hold to reach up and yank your top off.
Then you wiggle the last bit of the jump suit off, trying to let your hips and legs be free. But it’s hard.
Din even chuckles at your struggle, and you shoot him a look, annoyed. Patiently, he helps slide the material down until it pools down your legs.
Now you’re simply in your underwear, completely bare before him.
The sensation of his gloved hands running up your stomach, across your back, reverently taking in every inch of your bare soft skin, it melts you.
“Beautiful,” Din breathes in awe.
Then one of his gloved hands crawls up to knead your breast in his grasp, pinching your nipple. Your head falls back, and your hips return to seek relief. Grinding against him without the jumpsuit, the friction is so much stronger, a delicious undercurrent making you want more.
“Din,” You sob, feeling the pleasure build fast.
“Want you inside of me,” you whimper quickly getting drunk on him.
He cusses again sharp, dragging you harder against his clothed cock.
A loss comes when his hands leave your body, but wearily your eyes open once you feel him move to his pant buckle. Eagerly you join in to help.
His cock in your hand is warm. He’s thick, delicious in size. He’s already leaking, and possessed by something raw you lean down to lightly spit on his cock. Din groans so loud you think it rattles your bones.
Stroking his cock slow, you love feeling his mess mix with your spit.
He quickly hisses your name.
“Inside now,” he urges, a desperate man. Clutching at your hips hard, he practically draws you up.
Who are you to deny your mandalorian?
He helps slide off your stick underwear, now fully bare.
Before you sink down on him, you lean closer to his helmet.
You don’t have to say anything. You simply look at him, a final reassurance to see if he wants this the way you want him.
A gloved hand curls up to your face, cradling your sweaty face, stroking your cheek. His touch is fond, and it rocks you more than anything.
He nods firm, so sure.
So you sink down on him, guiding him into you. Both you and him moan and the world implodes in the most beautiful way.
When you were younger and around the veteran pilots, they used to share tales of how they’d christen their ships. Back then, you couldn’t imagine bringing anyone into this sacred space to do that.
Now you don’t want Din to leave it.
A fervid raw desperation has you clinging to him, Din touches you so protectively, keeping you close. His hands clutch you firm, like he’s worried you could fly away from him at any moment.
Needing to be closer, you curl against his neck. You ache to kiss his skin. But the smell of gunpowder, of something beautifully musky, purely Din, floods your mind and makes your mouth water.
His pace grows sloppy, and you feel it coming too.
“Where?” He slurs urgently.
“Inside, got the implant,” you mutter half dazed, but when you feel his cock twitch inside you moan embarrassingly loud.
“Inside Din please please please.” You now beg, wanting to feel him so badly.
“Not until you come first, wanna feel you.” Din demands growling back, and it pushes you over the edge.
Your climax knocks you into another realm. You’re floating. Din follows you over not long after with the deepest groan.
His warmth fills you, even feel it leaking out, causing you to whimper so content.
Exhausted you flop against his chest loving the cool press of his armor against your bare skin. Then a part of you hisses to pull away. Until Din’s helmet gently leans to rest against your head, and his gloved fingers tenderly stroke your back keeping you in place.
“So… you ever done that before in here?” Din asks, partially joking but still curious.
You shake your head no.
“You’re the only one.” You reveal.
His hand tracing across your skin suddenly stops. Then it fully draws across you to draw you closer to him in a soft like embrace.
An aching adoration for this man cements itself into you. It’s now etched into your heart and now your ship. Maybe the two are the same.
After this night, you find him everywhere now.
Anytime he or you return back from a mission, one seeks the other out.
Din and Grogu now even rest in your quarters.
The lodging here is small, but it’s become your makeshift home. Grogu snuggles up warm among the blanket pile you’ve made for him on the extra cot. And Din sleeps beside you in your bed.
You believed it was something sacred to know a mandalorian, but you realize it’s a true honor to find one seeking rest beside you.
Bathed in the moonlight leaking into your room, you and Din stare at each other lying side by side.
You wish he could relax more, maybe take off his armor.
But remaining helmeted, you understand his creed and don’t want to push. It’s just a small piece of you being selfish and wanting to see him.
“What’s wrong?” He notices your silence.
“I wish I could make this more comfortable for you.” Is the best way you can tell him.
He chuckles.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine.”
To even prove it he settles deeper among the pillows sliding closer to you.
“Nicer than the cot that I have on Nevarro.”
You almost laugh. He’s so endearing sometimes and doesn’t even realize it.
But you’re reminded he does have a home.
“What’s your place like on Nevarro?” You ask about it.
“It’s good, simple.” Such a boring classic Din answer.
“Maybe… one day you can see it.” That addition he makes has your heart racing.
“Yeah, I’d like that” you nod, grateful for the offer.
Slowly your eyes close on their own now.
“Brown,” until suddenly he blurts out a random color.
Wearily opening your eyes blinking at him a bit confused.
“My eyes… they’re brown.” He reveals.
A soft grateful smile warms your face as you thank him.
You fall asleep beside him, wondering about his home, what it would be like to wake up and see his beautiful brown eyes.
But those daydreams get shoved away fast.
Missions begin piling up. The empire trash is getting sneakier, working faster in the shadows. It keeps everyone busy. You barely see Din. When you do the exchanges are brief, simple glances or even short catch ups.
Ward eyes you and Din suspicious but of course aware.
Approaching Din you try avoiding the colonel’s gaze as she leaves.
That’s when you spot the ship that flew in yesterday.
“You wanted… this hunk of junk?” You dubiously stare at the razor crest. This is the beloved ship Din apparently had been searching high and low for.
“She flies better than she looks.” Din defends.
Grogu excitedly waddles up the ramp eager to be inside the old ship.
You still eye the gunship worried about how good she can protect the cargo she’ll soon be carrying.
“Might not be a x-wing, but I trust this ship with my life.” Din senses your apprehension.
You give him a soft elbow nudge that barely makes his budge. But he playfully nudges you back, and a grin tugs at your lips.
“Ugh,” Zeb groans with faux disgust seeing you and Din. You roll your eyes.
“You know, I notice with all the markings… this ship looks like it could fit in with a gold squadron.” You tell Zeb nudging your chin towards the paint.
He barks a laugh.
“Wouldn’t that be a sight. This piece of junk flying with us?” Zeb muses.
“I don’t know…I think the crest would fight right in.” You shrug, fond.
“Yeah? Think we could get Mando in a uniform?” Zeb adds and Din flat out shuts that down with a hard no.
It makes you and Zeb snicker.
Now you head in to examine the ship yourself and look around. The older metal, the antique design and layout, it really doesn’t ease your apprehension, but you trust Din.
“Your beskar boy has shit taste picking a ship like this.” Zed snorts heading up to the cockpit.
“Shut up.” You practically hiss at him.
But he leaves you and Din alone.
It’s hard to navigate this strange space lingering between you and him, as if neither you or him know how to move.
So you decide to be brave. You grab his hand and squeeze it.
“Be safe,” you nod to the mandalorian.
He quietly nods back, gathering your hand in his. He squeezes back just as firm.
You head out of the razor crest and into the bright afternoon sun. From the cockpit window you spot your boys. Din nods a farewell, and Grogu spotting you waves down from the control panel. In his grasp is your silly little monster charm.
Not moving from your spot, you keep your eyes on the ship until it fades into the jump of hyperspeed.
You don’t hear from Din for half a month.
It’s nothing new. You’re had months where missions kept you both busy. And from how displeased she was with the last mission, Ward apparently has him working on something fierce.
Then another week passes, and you’re sent on a protective mission to Chandrilla.
It takes your full attention. But the entire time your mind is on Din. Are he and Grogu safe? Is everything going okay?
“You must be in love.” The Senator you’re escorting on the mission says suddenly. Embarrassment floods you fast.
“I’m sorry?” You ask slightly confused.
He smiles at you kindly.
“You’ve been sighing, seem distant. Like a heroine kept away from a lover.”
Shit.
“I apologize. I promised I’m focused.” You reassure him, and the senator laughs.
“It’s fine, my dear,” he reassures, then leans in eagerly. “So tell me about the lucky person.”
Now here you are telling this Senator about your awful admiration for the mandalorian.
“Oh, a mandalorian.” He whispers in awe. “They’re a rare kind. He must be quite a sight.”
He is. But he’s more than that.
He’s kind and unbelievingly sharp. Strikingly powerful, and unwaveringly supportive. There’s a compassion that walks hand in hand with Din’s firm courage.
“Oh you got it bad,” the Senator laughs.
It’s unfortunately true.
How fast and quickly this mandalorian has disarmed you, but what else would you have expected from a warrior like him? Maybe you were doomed from the start to fight against feelings for such a fierce conqueror.
The thoughts of him keep you going through the mission.
Arriving at base camp, you instead find there’s already commotion.
Din has returned, but he’s not alone.
Jabba’s son, Rotta the Hutt, is with him.
At least Din and the baby are safe.
Standing off overlooking the beach, Din patiently watches Grogu play among the beach waves with the young Hutt.
“So, looks like you’ve been busy.” You say moving to his side.
“Tell me about it.” He sighs.
The rundown he gives you is surface level, getting tied up among the Hutt twins while trying to search for the infamous Commander Coin.
“Things might get hairy soon. I’m heading back to Nevarro to lie low for a while.”
His somber tone says more looms.
“Din…” you mutter cautiously.
He turns to you.
“If you’re in any danger…know that I want to help.” You urge, hoping he’ll tell you more.
“I know.” He nods, yet says nothing more.
Please, your heart begs, please let me stay by your side and fight with you.
But you know fighting against this adamant man is a losing battle. So you sigh and reach down to your belt.
The charm you have on today is your favorite, and you hand it to him.
“Remember to bring it back to me.” You can’t even look at him because your eyes suddenly feel like they could spill over a river of tears.
His gloved hand cradles your face, letting you fully look at him.
“We’ll be fine.” His voice soothes you steeled with resolution.
You nod, fighting harder against tears.
Then Din leans down. He presses his helmet against your forehead. You close your eyes and lean into the cool beskar.
With a goodbye hug to Grogu, you tell the sweet little soul to keep an eye on his dad.
This time, you don’t have the strength to watch them leave.
You throw yourself into any available mission.
Ward must sense why you’re doing this and in a punishment of sorts, she instead sticks you on filing reports.
“Mando will be fine,” Teva tries to reassure you.
You hope he will be. Days pass and you try to settle into a routine.
But then a group of Anzellans arrive in a panic. You’d been working on your ship when they landed.
Currently they rapidly relay a message to Ward. She patiently tries to listen to all of their worried voices.
“What’s going on?” You ask Wolf.
“Apparently Mando and the kid are stuck on Nal Hutta… don’t think it’s looking good.” He mutters back somber.
Absolute dread is unleashed in you.
You don’t realize you’re moving until you’re standing right before the colonel.
“Let me join the rescue strike.” You urge.
Ward turns to you, then sighs, even says your name a bit heartbroken. That says enough.
“Are we really considering not going?!” Your voice raises, shocked and upset.
“It’s not that simple.” Ward, calm and composed, tries to clarify, but just hearing that line feels like an alarm goes off in your head.
“What isn’t simple?! He’s one of us. We have to rescue them.” You argue back harder.
“There are protocols. And with the intel and alliance we’ve tried establishing with the Hutts we can’t just strike in, ranger.” Ward sharply explains, putting you in your place.
Anger burns through your veins.
“She’s right, colonel…” Teva suddenly speaks up.
“Mando is one of us.” He agrees with you.
More Delphi officers stand up.
Before Ward can even say anything, you turn on your heels and head out of the hanger zipping up your flight suit.
You don’t care if this will get you in trouble, hell even dishonorably discharged. Din needs you. Grogu needs you.
Then you hear a few others arrive in the hangar.
Ward calls out your name. This is it.
Turning towards her, you ready yourself to accept whatever punishment. Yet, you instead see your commander in her flight suit as well. Your eyes can’t help but widen.
She sighs yet gives you a half grin, understanding.
“I should sit you out on this mission.”
“I know. I’ve accepted that I’ll be doing reports for the rest of the year.” You sleepily shrug.
Her smirks grows bigger.
“Try two years,” she says heading to her ship.
You’ll happily accept that too.
The twin’s palace is heavily guarded, and it’s a true dogfight on Nal Hutta.
Then Din’s voice electrifies the coms as he reports in with Colonel Ward. Absolute relief blooms in your chest, and you feel like crying. He’s alive.
Now you fly harder and faster than you ever have. It reminds you of Endor. That final battle all you thought of was the hope right before your eyes, knowing something precious was so close and needed to be defended.
That’s what this feels like.
You manage to knock out a few droid ships, but the main focus is on the palace.
Yet Din remains inside.
And Ward gives the command to light the place up.
“Get out of there. Please.” You whisper out loud or maybe to the force itself.
Then, the stronghold goes under flames.
You and the others circle around, flying out of the line of fire from the explosion. Yet your stomach stays in knots.
“Anyone got eyes on Mando?” Wolf asks before you can.
Out from the smoke, there among the water below, you spot them. Your boys are alive.
A watery relieved laugh escapes you as you blink away the tears.
“Go pick up the trash, Zeb.” Ward jokes, and you can’t even be mad.
Knowing they’re safe is all that matters.
Vibrating with so much emotion, you land besides Zeb’s ship hoping to see them.
But Ward of course arrives first.
You instead idle by your x-wing, pretending to be checking your engines. Ward tells him the truth about the Hutts that even you didn’t know. So that’s why she finally agreed to go.
“And… we don’t leave our own behind.” Her words resound within you.
Din deflects, saying how he’s not with the New Republic.
“Sure you aren’t Mando, sure you aren’t.” She says.
“If you aren't one of us… Who do you think helped convince us to come?”
Ward’s insinuating tone shoots a shock up your spine.
You keep your gaze on your ship, refusing to even look their way. Focusing on mindlessly keeping busy, you don’t notice footsteps approaching until you move out from under the wing. There Din stands waiting.
He’s here.
Grogu cries gleefully, and your attention turns to him. You eagerly accept him into your arms hugging him tight.
“I’m so proud of you. You must have been so brave, my little ranger.” You even press a kiss to his fuzzy head, addressing him as the courageous officer he is.
The baby coos back fond, embracing you with his sweet but sturdy little arms.
While he’s still in your hold, your eyes open to find Din.
He stares unwavering at you, and your eyes water again.
“Welcome back,” you croak out.
Din nods, then, he raises up your favorite charm you gave him.
“Had to bring this back.”
With a watery laugh, you shake your head.
“Your dad is so silly,” you half whisper to Grogu who giggles, agreeing.
A sigh leaves Din but, in a few steps, he walks towards you.
Then you and Grogu are gathered into his embrace. You immediately wrap one of your arms around Din.
“Thank you… for coming for us.” Din’s voice is gentle, grateful.
“Always.” You answer back with a resounding truth.
Your job is tied here, and you might fly for the sake of the New Republic. But you believe your true wings, your heart’s flight navigation, now will always include a path for and to Din Djarin.
Currently he chats with Rotta, from what you heard might be staying here too.
Once you head into the mess hall Ward calls your name. With a patient knowing grin, she holds out the datapad with the promise of the paperwork you knew would be waiting for you.
Logging in with your chain link, a new message suddenly chimes onto the monitor from an unknown contact.
It contains a coordinates location to Nevarro along with a single message attached.
Stop by whenever, we’ll be waiting
Quickly, you start the reports happily accepting your punishment.
After all, there's a flight to Nevarro calling your name.
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Angssssssst. Secret established relationship, Mando'a nicknames, allusion to past smut. Kissing and Crying. Sorry.
A/N: Takes place a few months after Kiss it Better; can be read standalone but might hurt more/better if you read that drabble first? A reminder that this is a post Season 3 canon compliant universe where Din has been dispatched by the New Republic to an allied planet (Solana), training their armies as their General. Kindly excuse the errors/typos (I'll try to fix over the weekend!) - I had to rush to post on time 😅 (Emily is bad with schedules 🫣) Thank you for reading!
Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist / Title from Camilla Cabello; inspo lyrics at the end.
Something was… off.
Din sensed it throughout the morning, an unshakeable needling at the back of his mind - one that made his trigger finger itch. A warning.
To be fair, it hadn’t been all morning. Slipping from your bed just before dawn, the tranquility of the dawdling dark and quiet of the still sleeping castle felt as calming as it had every morning prior. Taking great care not to rouse you from your peaceful slumber, he moved slow and deliberate – contentment settling in Din’s chest when he stood from the bed to find his efforts had not been for naught.
While dressing and redonning his armour, Din’s gaze had been naturally drawn to the beauty of your naked form; he smiled to himself, lingering longer than allowed, recalling the passion of the night before – the hours spent between those legs, kissing those luscious lips. Going through wonderfully mundane motions to start his day, the only hitch Din could foresee was the injustice of having to tear himself from your perfection; he comforted himself with the knowledge that he would see you again in a few short hours, laid one soft kiss to your bare shoulder, then two more to the silk blindfold still miraculously tied over your eyes, before leaving via the balcony.
It was only after flying straight to the castle’s training grounds and meeting with his lieutenant and captains to the oversee the usual morning drills, did Din start to feel unsettled.
Training proceeded uneventfully, but Din had been satisfied with your father’s soldiers – there was nothing noted among the ranks or in the execution of their exercises that would be the General’s cause for concern. Just after dawn broke, Din spotted your lady’s maids, Serine and Olivia, strolling across the castle grounds with Grogu – unexpected, but still no reason for alarm. It wasn’t unusual for his son to be roused earlier than the rest of the castle by a hungry stomach, nor for Grogu’s favourite playmates to indulge his appetite in the kitchens before breakfast was officially served.
Still unable to put his finger on its source, the troublesome feeling that he was missing something critical continued to pester Din up until he and his troops broke for breakfast several hours later. Trying to shrug it off, he chalked up the feeling to his old bounty hunter instincts while walking towards the royal dining hall, unaware that his life was about to be turned upside down.
It’s only when he enters the room, expecting to find the usual company sitting down to all your favourite morning dishes, that he’s reminded his gut is never wrong. The room is being cleared, empty dishes indicating that the meal has long since been over, with only your father sitting in his usual place at the head of the table, studying some documents.
“Forgive me, your majesty. I did not realize how late training had run.”
“No apologies necessary, General. You are not late in the slightest – we simply had reason to celebrate and therefore set the spread earlier than usual,” the king smiles brightly at his trusted General, gesturing for the Mandalorian to take his usual seat.
As he sits, offering thanks for the customary plate that’s been prepared for him to take away and eat alone, Din inquires, anxiety not yet abated, “What do we have the pleasure of celebrating today, sire?”
The king clasps his hands together happily, “After many months of fielding offers from foreign dignitaries and endless talks with the fine families that make up our court, I am pleased, and somewhat relieved, I’m not afraid to tell you, General, that a suitable match has been agreed upon and my daughter is finally engaged to be married.”
To Din, an eternity passes before he answers your father, when in reality, it’s only a few seconds - short enough of a duration for his silence to pass for surprise. During that temporal void, Din’s heart crawls up his throat to choke off his air supply, before swan diving to the pits of his stomach; there it sits heavy, an anchor weighted with a dread that he’s been desperately trying to ignore. It eats at his soft, defenseless insides, a burden borne not just of this morning but one that’s been an inescapable foe for the past several months... maybe even prior. From the day he first laid eyes on you, possibly. Or perhaps since the cataclysm of your first, perfect kiss? The exact start of Din’s ruin hardly matters now – he’d been doomed countess times over, with every call of his name in your pretty voice, each press of his mouth to your sweet lips, every moment found in the heaven of your body.
In the recesses of his heart and mind, Din has always known that everything with you, each kiss, each smile, each touch, has been stolen - your love existing on borrowed time. And now the universe has come to collect.
“Congratulations, sire,” says Din, as evenly as he can manage, “this is indeed a reason for celebration. A blessing for your great house.”
“It is,” your father studies the armoured man, face softening with fondness, “and a tremendous weight off my mind, for which I owe you many thanks.”
Tilting his head, Din remains silent, not understanding.
The genuine humility of the great warrior before him never ceases to amaze the king, “It is a privilege to be able to arrange a betrothal within our own kingdom, to be confident there exists a mutual love for the realm and the people of this planet. You have raised the strength of our armies, defended our borders, and made Solana safe enough that I do not need to seek any political or security alliances through marriage. The Princess can remain in our royal house, rule after me as she’s always meant to; you yourself know of our people’s love for her, and now they have the good fortune of looking to her for leadership and guidance after I am gone – it’s all I ever truly hoped for.” Your father takes a breath, misty-eyed at this sentiment, “All the Solanian people require in a King consort is someone they can trust to have the Princess’ best interest at heart, and with one of our bannermen, that can be assured. This would not have been possible without your hard work and dedication, General. For what feels like the millionth time, the people of Solana thank you. The Princess thanks you. I thank you.”
“It has been my truest honour to serve you and the people of Solana, your majesty. No thanks are necessary,” Din bows his head, and while he knows the older man cannot see his face, he nonetheless wishes to avoid his gaze, “though perhaps I may call upon that goodwill and your overall splendid mood, in order to inform you that Grogu and I will concluding our time in your service today and returning to Adelphi Base in order to receive our next assignment from the New Republic.”
“Today?”
“Yes, sire, today,” that this has been Din’s plan ever since your father announced his intention for you to marry matters not, the words still sound unbelievable even to his own ears – he bolsters slightly to convince the king, himself, of his resolve, “In truth, our return has been long overdue, but neither Grogu nor I feel any shame in having enjoyed staying past our original assignment. We have grown attached to the beauty of your planet and the hospitality of your people, and will be forever grateful for the kindness and generosity you and the Princess have shown us. Solana has felt like home in a way I never intended, or frankly thought possible for someone like myself. However, there are other planets to defend, threats to eliminate, bounties to capture – every assignment Grogu and I complete for the New Republic makes the galaxy safer for everyone, including Solana.”
“I have long admired your dedication to duty and responsibility, General,” the King’s tone is warm, proud, “I would not attempt to convince you to stay, but I hope you know that it is with genuine sadness that I see you go. You and Grogu are sons of Solana now – you will always have a place here should you choose to return, for any reason or length of stay.”
Din rises to bend the knee in deference and gratitude to the man he’s grown to love and respect as much as he does you. Awkwardly accepting your father’s insistence that they are beyond such formalities and the resulting embrace of farewell, Din reiterates appreciation on both his and his son’s behalf before retreating quickly from the dining room. Once alone in the hall, he allows himself one, solitary moment of self pity before going on autopilot, setting forth to complete the necessary sequence of tasks with droid-like efficiency.
First, he retrieves his and Grogu’s belongings from their quarters – nearly everything has been packed and ready for departure for months. Din’s been prepared for this painful eventuality since the day you tearfully begged him to stay until you were officially betrothed; never able to deny you anything, he had promised he would, knowing that you both knew it was but a temporary remedy, a prolonging of a dream that was bound to end in heartbreak. As he looks down at his meager belongings, Din’s grateful for his own forethought – the longer he lingers, the more prone he might be to reminiscing, getting lost in thoughts and memories, regrets even, and Din cannot not afford any additional sentimentality today. His heart simply cannot bear it.
As he sorts his son’s much more robust collection of personal items, he pleas silently for Grogu’s forgiveness over their sudden departure, for denying him a more deserved sendoff from the friends and family they’ve both found here on Solana. With a heavy sigh, Din contends with thoughts of his son’s inevitable, and justifiable, anger, pledging to somehow make it up to him.
Once fully organized, Din brings all the luggage to the capital’s primary aircraft hangar to load into his N1, and asks the ground crew to have her ready for launch within the hour. Done with the logistical arrangements, the only thing remaining is something Din would happily surrender all the credits to his name in order to avoid: saying goodbye.
He finds his men, his troops, his friends, reconvened on the same lawn from earlier, awaiting his return – patiently and eagerly ready to follow their General’s command. Breaking to them the news of his leaving, Din cannot pretend that their range of emotions at his announcement – loss, dejection, shock, gratitude, pride to have served under him – do not touch him deeply; he would die for any one of these soldiers, whose trust he does not take for granted, whose unyielding loyalty he will never fully feel he deserves. Their General is beyond proud of them; Din could not imagine or ask for a better army to train and fight alongside - their dedication and honour rivaling those of his warrior Creed. He tells them so spiritedly and with genuine attachment as he addresses them for the final time as their commanding officer.
After leaving his lieutenant and captains with some parting guidance and to their final salutes, Din makes directly for the woodlands at the edge of the castle’s expansive property, knowing he will find one if not both of your lady’s maids lingering nearby. Just as predicted, he comes upon Olivia as he closes on the hidden opening to the forest’s path. She is equally unsurprised to see him.
“General,” she curtsies, and when rising, meets his eyes with sadness and worry that he knows are all for you, “do you…?”
Din nods at her unfinished question and tilts his head towards the woods, a gesture she immediately comprehends, “Olivia, could I please trouble you to find Grogu and take him to the capital hangar? His belongings have been stowed in the starfighter and after…,” he falters slightly before continuing, “Kindly tell my son that I will join him there in a short while, at which time we will leave directly.”
Your trusted confidant and friend gasps, eyes filling with tears as she takes in all the implications of the General’s instructions.
“I’m very sorry,” Din laments, shoulders slumping, “to offer so little time for Grogu to say his goodbyes. He has grown very fond of you, Serine, and all his friends on Solana. I must offer you my sincerest gratitude for the kind attention you’ve extended my son during our stay.”
“Oh!” Olivia perks up, eyes shiny, smile nostalgic, “General, it is I who must thank you! On behalf of myself and Serine, as well as the entire household, thank you for coming into our lives and for allowing us the honour of getting to know sweet Grogu. We love him so tremendously and will miss him more than you know!” She curtsies again, “And you as well! Solarians will never forget the great honour you have afforded us by being our General, nor how much safer and prosperous we are and will continue to be because of your efforts. And,” her voice lowers, but warms, “for Serine and I particularly, we must thank you for how well you have loved our beloved Princess.”
“Please take care of her after I am gone.”
“Of course, General,” Olivia straightens and sets off to find her favourite green companion without another glance back, trusting Din with your care as she has countless times before.
With her gone, Din is once again left alone to his overwhelming melancholy; taking a few deep breaths to steel himself for what’s to come, he enters the woods, resigned. He walks speedily towards your secret meeting place, grateful for the number times he’s walked this route - feet find their way from memory alone, his mind too addled to make much sense of the readings on his visor.
His sensors nonetheless track your erratic path: broken twigs, a skewed brush, fallen leaves left in the wake of your uneven footprints; Din’s heart clenches, your emotional state carving its own inelegant trail to a place that until today has been sacred, a refuge for your love. When he emerges from the thicket, he finds you standing on the opposite side of the clearing, your lone figure brightly lit by the morning sun, a sparkling diamond inlaid against a background of majestic old growth trees. Your back is to him and his steps have been silent, but Din knows you know he’s there.
Letting the moment sit, Din admires the soft curves of your frame for what he knows is the last time and takes solace in the small degree of calm this vision of you brings his wildly beating heart. How many times has he gazed upon you like this? From across a ballroom as you danced, while on guard in the throne room from which you ruled, from the army training grounds as you took a turn about the castle grounds? A million stolen glances, the depth of his admiration and want hidden from the world behind Beskar, tempered by the forbidden nature of your relationship; aware that the clock is nearly run out, Din finally speaks,
“You’ve been hiding from me, cyar’ika.”
When you turn, your tear-stained cheeks and the depth of sorrow in your watery eyes nearly send Din to his knees. The only way he could cross the clearing faster would be if he flew; he practically does.
Your spirits cannot help but lift as he stands before you, the Mandalorian’s very presence grounding, offering you a momentary respite from your inner turmoil; this man is and will always be your safe, your comfort, security personified. But you’ve never seen him like this before; so clearly, the very power and strength of his people is hammered into the shiny Beskar he dons so proud and well – it shatters you to see Din deflating beneath its weight, fallible for the first time.
Sad eyes crinkling, you jest with forced mirth, “And what chance does one actually have at hiding from the most feared bounty hunter in all the galaxy?”
You both chuckle, though it feels like nothing will ever be funny again.
“You found me.” You always knew he would.
“I will always find you, mesh’la.”
Voice betraying your shame, though you’re certain Din assigns you no fault, “So you know.”
“Yes, your father told me.” The helmet’s modulated tone is factual, apologetic even. You nod in acceptance, unwilling to speak more of the topic than necessary; it feels like poison on your tongue.
“Congratulations on your engagement, Princess.”
These words, perfunctory, cold in their formality, stab at your heart, “Do you really wish to congratulate me, Din?”
No, I wish to run a blade through your fiancé’s stomach, screams the jealous, tormented beast in Din’s chest, but his dutiful, more honourable head prevails – it would do you no good to witness his unravelling, “I understand your betrothed to be a good man of the kingdom, one with whom you’re familiar. His family has great respect for yours, and therefore I trust he will revere you as his wife and queen. I congratulate you on an arrangement designed for a happy and prosperous future.”
Your heart lurches to see this man - your General, your warrior, your most cherished love - trying to be strong enough for the both you, “And you, Din? What of your happiness?”
“As a Mandalorian, I seek only to live with honour, defend our way of life, and protect my kin and clan. As long as your safety is assured, I am in no position to ask for more.”
Though it’s not the first time the General has acknowledged he considers you kin, family, it always sets you a flame – today, however, that swell of emotion is smothered under the bitter admission that no matter how close he deems you, you can never be to him what you so dearly wish.
You can never be Din’s riduur. His partner. His wife.
Until this betrothal, the two of you had managed to put off this sobering reality, living in a blissful state of denial. And now the day of reckoning is upon you and you’re not ready to wake from the fantasy, to relinquish a future where you could be something, anything to Din. At arms length, will forever be how he holds you in his heart – after today, all you will ever be is a memory. Surrendering to this anguishing thought, you sob and fly into Din’s waiting arms.
He holds you as he has a million times before, cradled like the rarest of treasures - as precious to him as his son, as sacred to him as his Creed. In these arms you will always be protected, loved, known; in these arms, you aren’t just a princess, you’re his princess, his woman – the woman whose very thoughts and esteem he holds above all others, whose compassion and wise counsel he seeks, whose good opinion he cherishes, and whose heart, soul and body he worships. Din holds you like a wish, a promise.
Neither of you say a word, but there is no need - the consequences of today and the resulting wound on your souls is so fresh and deep, you understand the other’s pain perfectly; to acknowledge the truth, that this is the end, out loud, feels like an afront to the fragility of the moment.
It is his greatest shame that Din has no comfort to offer you – the woman to whom he’s pledged his everlasting devotion, who he’s sworn to protect, to venerate. He has nothing but shared grief, sorrow.
If only he could simply dry your tears and offer heartfelt words of affirmation, love, as he has many times before; you would return them ten-fold and the two of you would take solace in one another, dismissing the power of the proverbial axe that’s hung over your future. Despite the strength of your commitment, this one subject, this ghost, has loomed in the background of your relationship since its inception, creeping closer and closer, in spite of your joint efforts to refute its existence - hide from it, deny its inevitability. But for the Princess and her General, there is no escape from duty; the rope that tethers you together has finally run out of slack, it’s time to face reality.
Together, but ultimately, apart.
Under the weight of his breaking heart, Din presses his last gift to you into your palm – you pull away slightly to look down at where you feel the cool metal against your skin.
Through your tears, the smooth grooves of the small Mythosaur skull pendant reflect the day’s light as tiny stars – a symbol of Din’s homeland weighted with a history and tradition of kinship and faith as resplendent as the man who is gifting it to you. The token itself is priceless, a reminder that you belong to a clan you can never openly claim – the fullness of Din’s selfless gesture rips clean through you, a wound ontop of your other wounds. Burying yourself back into Din’s chest, you burrow in close, inhaling his scent like a lifeline, hoping to somehow find salvation in the safety of his embrace.
But even the relief of this intimacy is fleeting, every gentle stroke to your back, your arms, your head, every claw and dig of your fingers between the gaps of Din’s armour, into the soft gather of his neck cowl, carries with it an expiration date.
Din’s mind is a storm. He is a Mandalorian; the member of a Creed that values strength, bravery. He is the General of your armies, the commander of legions that fight in your name; he holds the line, is first out of the gate, a gunslinger, a bounty hunter, a warrior. If anyone should have the strength to lead the two of you through the final act of your story with some semblance of composure, it should be him.
But he’s never been more lost in his life.
“Mesh’la. Promise me you will take care of yourself.”
Startled by his choice of words, you pull back sharply to study the man before you. Though you cannot see his face, you know him well enough to read his mannerisms, his emotions - hidden from all the world… but not from you, “You speak as if you are leaving.”
“I am,” Din’s voice is quiet, as if too loud and it would betray his resolve, “We agreed that I would stay until your betrothal.”
“We did,” you say slowly, already afraid of his response, “but you speak as if you are leaving right now.”
“I am.”
If he did not already have such a firm hold on you, you may have collapsed from the impact of these two little words. It’s too much, it’s too much, your heart cries. Another shock to your spirit that you’ve had neither the time nor the strength to steel yourself for; in quick succession, all before finishing the first meal of the day, you’ve lost your freedom, right to choice, hope, love, potential, happiness. And now, to be met with another devastating loss so soon, to be forced to say goodbye to Din when you haven’t even reconciled how you’ll be able to live without the man himself? It’s too much!
Of course, if you were to be honest with yourself, you did not expect Din to stay much longer after the formalization of your engagement – he knows you would never expect him to linger in the background, swallow the niceties and endure the formalities of seeing you paraded alongside another man.
It’s why you had hidden from him after breakfast. Suddenly, another realization tears your soul open,
“But… Grogu…” you rasp, unable to articulate the gutting of another piece of your life with Din.
“I know, cyare, I am sorry, so, so sorry.”
“I don’t have… I- there’s nothing…” You mindlessly run your hands over the bodice of your dress, trying to distract, hold yourself together. Frantically patting through the volumes of your dress, you look for something, anything, to give the man you love and his son to take as a token of your affection; in the jumble of your mind, amidst the swirl of every incohesive thought, without one, once they depart, it will be as if the time you spent together - this life, you – never existed. Panic closes in on you, your breathing laboured as your chest feels like it might collapse in on itself, “I don’t have anything for the two of you to remember me by. I haven’t anything to give you.”
As if this was the true tragedy of the moment.
“That isn’t true, cyar’ika,” Din lovingly wipes your cheeks with his thumbs, the familiar scent of the worn leather enough to steady your breath, “You’ve given me more than you’ll ever know: a glimpse of something I never thought possible - a love so deep and pure, I thought it only existed in the lore passed down by the Elders. To have someone as true as you bestow love upon me, is an honour that rivals glory in battle. You’ve touched my heart and altered me forever and you’ve made a home for me and Grogu in yours. Princess, this is a gift my son and I will carry to our dying days.”
A warrior with a poet’s heart. His words hang in the air - so romantic, so soul piercingly beautiful they nearly border on despair; with nothing left to lose, you whisper, “Then how can you leave so easily?”
It’s not a real question, of course – you have no intention of guilting your General; rather, this your final and most desperate cry for help. If Din has some answers as to how to survive this separation intact, you’re begging for him to share them with you; your sadness has defeated you, and you’re exhausted from the fight.
Seeing you like this, so small, so lost, nearly breaks your Mandalorian. “Not easily at all, mesh’la,” Din’s voice cracks, his composure dangerously close to crumbling, “it’s the hardest thing I will ever do. To leave you and know that I will never look upon your beautiful face, never know the brush of your lips against mine again…” He doesn’t add, never feel you writhe in pleasure beneath me, never taste your honey on my tongue, never feel your warmth wrapped around my cock, never see the quaking allure of your face when you come, “To know that when I wake, it won’t ever be to your sweetness, nor will I ever hear the melody of your voice calling my name… even now, I don’t know where I will actually find the strength to leave all your perfection behind.”
The tears come fast and furious now, Din’s gloved fingers no longer able to contain your sadness; all he can do is helplessly watch as you cry, your grief spilling over the rough leather and cascading down your pretty face, your hurt whimpers killing him.
“But I must endure, Princess, for the torture that awaits me if I stay is not something I think I could survive,” even as Din admits this, he imagines you on your wedding day, a vision walking away from him towards a faceless rival, and nearly throws up, “I’m just not strong enough.”
“Din, you’re the strongest man I’ve ever known,” heart overflowing with equal parts fondness and melancholy, you bring your hands up to the Mandalorian’s helmet; he lets you softly trace its sleek grooves before resting your palms on the side panels, leaning in to your affectionate touch – you will never know what you’ve done in this lifetime to deserve such privilege, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” The darkness of the T-visor reflects the truth behind your words, pronounced to perfection, taught by your most patient teacher. I love you.
“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” your General whispers back, pressing the brow of his helmet gently to your forehead. I love you.
The cool feel of metal against your warm skin triggers a fresh wave of sadness. This is the last Keldabe kiss you will ever have; the last time you will hear Mando’a uttered so intimately, like a secret language. Never again will you be in such close proximity to incomparable power and lethal skill, and know only its tenderness and warmth; you cannot imagine ever feeling so well loved, understood, limitless, safe, ever again.
I’ll never know what you look like, a part of your mind decries, but your heart reminds you that it matters not. In spite of this enduring mystery, you know your Mandalorian. You know his strength of character, the unimpeachability of his integrity, his capacity for compassion and kindness. You can mimic all his imperceptible tells, every little tick and nod that would be meaningless to others, but speak a thousand words to you. You know how expressive his eyes are even though you’ve never seen them; you’ll feel his smile in your bones until the day you die. You could find him amongst a sea of his brethren with your eyes closed. And even if that were not the case, you would not ask him for this - it is beneath your bond.
“I don’t know how to say good-bye, Din.”
“So, we won’t,” his tone is gentle, but unwavering, the strongest man you’ve ever known attempting to remain so for your sake, “close your eyes, cyar’ika.”
Trusting, you do ask he asks, tears flowing down your face into the curves of the soft smile you cannot help when you hear the hiss of a Beskar helmet unlocking, then removed.
For the very last time, Din Djarin kisses his Princess. For these last minutes, you are his and his only - he won’t share you with duty, kingdom, or any so-called fiancé. Your lips belong to him wholly, and he presses his to yours over and over in ownership, reverence, awe. Licking in, he commits everything to memory: your taste, the velvety plush of your mouth, the dance of your tongue. Every soft sigh, contented exhale is mentally recorded. Din remaps the feel of your heavenly body with his hard and worshipping hands, and logs every detailed sensation from your delicate fingers combing through his hair, to the way you tug lightly on the curls at the base of his neck. All this he will hold as sacred knowledge in the deepest vault of his heart for the remainder of his days.
Oh, how you could kiss like this forever. Far from tragic, this last kiss is like every one you’ve shared with Din since the first: passionate, tender, searing; it sets your heart soaring and your mind racing back to when you first met all those moons ago, before he was your General, before you were his Princess. How could you have ever known that that mysterious, striking stranger would become your whole world, open your heart and mind, own you body and soul? If only you could go back in time. If only you had more time now. If only duty and kingdom didn’t stand like an impenetrable forcefield between you. If, if, if…
“Count to thirty, Princess.”
Once more, you do as your Mandalorian says, “One… two…”
“You’re so beautiful.”
“Eleven… twelve,” you hiccup, forcing yourself not to chase after Din’s lips, to arch in the direction of his calming baritone.
He moves in silence, arms slipping from your body, stepping out of your orbit; the last trace of him, a delicate brush of his fingertips over the back of your head, one of your hair ribbons slipping through your strands, vanishes without warning. “Nineteen… twenty,” dismay fills your chest as the stillness of the surrounding woodland air settles, weighty, over you.
You can still smell Din’s manly musk, a mix of grit and determination (“Twenty-eight… twenty-nine...”), overlayed with the clean polish of flawless Beskar, “… thirty.”
Slowly opening your eyes to the hush of the clearing, a stuttered sob catches in your chest as you sink to your knees.
You’re completely alone.
🎶Loving You Had Consequences, by Camilla Cabello🎶:
Loving you was young, and wild, and free
Loving you was cool, and hot, and sweet
Loving you was sunshine, safe and sound
A steady place to let down my defenses
But loving you had consequences
Loving you was dumb, dark, and cheap
Loving you will still take shots at me
Found loving you was sunshine, but then it poured
And I lost so much more than my senses
'Cause loving you had consequences
Does it make you feel better if I told you that I cried many times writing this? 🫣🫣
The saddest thing is that I knew this would happen since I wrote Kiss It Better in July 2024 🫠🫠 which maybe gives you a glimpse of what the inner workings of my brain is like 😂😂😅😂 Thank you for reading this series, my love! It rattled around in my head for so long, I'm so lucky to get to share it with you now 😘😘😘
Summary: Din Djarin, General to your father’s army, finds himself in the gladiator arena of a foreign planet fighting for the success of your diplomatic mission.
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Established secret relationship (they are stupid in love), Mando'a nicknames (mesh'la, cyar'ika, cyare), the helmet comes off but reader is blindfolded, bath sex, fingering, unprotected PiV (Star Wars is made up and in space, so we pretend it's fine). A wee bit of angst if you squint.
A/N: Written for @beefrobeefcal's The Glandolorian challenge! This is the same AU that I imagined for my Kiss It Better drabble, with the same Princess!reader: set post Season 3, Carson Teva has dispatched Din to a New Republic stronghold planet to train and strengthen their armies; he becomes their General and falls in love with the realm's princess. I imagine this story to take place before Kiss It Better, when they are still sneaking around 🥰.
Many moons before another General (🤭) came on the scene, I outlined a long story for this AU that I'm not sure I'll ever write, so kindly forgive my self indulgent word count - I really took advantage of this challenge for a chance to write these two 🥰 Struggled a bit with the Dieter Bravo reference, but I think I found something that works (Thank you to @morallyinept for your invaluable character dialogue database!) Also got inspired by someone's Gladiator II premier look and snuck in one (1) The Princess Bride reference 🤭 / Dividers by @saradika-graphics / EDIT: OOPS IT A SERIES NOW
“No.”
“Princess, it will be fine.”
“I said ‘no’, Din. We came to pay our respects to the new rule and to affirm that our established trade routes through Flavin 5’s space will remain intact. We did not come to be participate in some archaic gladiatorial fighting match to assert dominance.”
Even through the blankness of Din’s visor you can tell he’s amused by your hiss of a retort but is holding back his reaction. His stoic and impassive demeanor normally reserved for others, you know that if he’s being less than fully direct with you it’s for one of two reasons: 1) he doesn’t want to lie or 2) he doesn’t want to risk your ire. You suppose it’s the latter in this case, and that thought alone is reason enough for you to calm your emotional response to this predicament and reassess.
Taking a deep breath, you rest one hand on your hip and mimic a stance you’ve seen your fearsome General make many times; with your other you gesture at Din to present his argument for voluntarily sending your guard, the top lieutenants of the army he commands, into a battle arena on foreign soil.
“Mesh’la, I know your instinct is to protect your people, but you know as well as I that our troops, and especially the men who have been deemed fit to accompany you on this diplomatic mission, are more than capable of handling themselves in any combat situation.”
Din almost chuckles at the way you tilt your pretty head ready to interrupt, his feisty cyar’ika; he continues hurriedly, but with the calm confidence he knows you respond to, “You diligently studied Flavian traditions and history before embarking on this trip – you yourself taught me all I know of these people. Despite the new ruling family’s decision to resurrect this ancient custom, what is your sense of these people? Do they seem barbaric? Cruel for cruelty’s sake? This isn’t the Petranaki arena on Geonosis.”
You would roll your eyes at Din’s perfectly level-headed analysis, if you didn’t consider his strategic and tactical mind one of his most attractive qualities; Din’s shrewd ability to consider all angles of any situation is one of your army’s greatest strengths, and one that never fails to weaken you at the knees. He’s taking this situation as seriously as you need him to, and so, you consider your answer carefully - working through your thoughts out aloud, “No, they are not a cruel people – and you’re right, these gladiatorial games were never about execution or spectacle like they were on Geonosis. The ancient Flavian events were meant to bring the people, no matter class or station, together to be entertained, usually in celebration.”
“Do you think that tradition is being respected? Or do you suspect some hidden agenda?”
You remunerate on this, thinking back to the new Flavian royal family you met earlier today, “No. I believe them to be sincere. Their purpose in resurrecting this historic custom is, I think, to build a connection with their people. Participating in the gladiator match would be a show a respect for the Flavian people and a celebration of the new royal family.” You take a deep breath, “So, we should participate.”
“I agree completely, Princess.”
This time you do roll your eyes at Din, but there’s no arrogance in your expression, “Fine. But Din, just because there’s no ill intent does not mean there isn’t risk. We don’t know what to expect from such a fight – there hasn’t been one like it held in centuries. Who knows what opponents our men would face in the arena?”
“No matter who or what our troops are pitted against tomorrow, Princess, there is no doubt in my mind that they will be able to handle it.”
Nodding thoughtfully, you have to agree, Din did train them himself after all, “I believe it. Especially since they will have their fearless General there to lead them.”
“No.”
“Din, it will be fine.”
“I said ‘no’, mesh’la. I cannot leave you unprotected and without guard in the Royal Box,” huffs Din.
Stepping into Din’s space, you lay your hands on the shiny beskar that sits across his expansive chest, swearing you can feel it vibrate beneath your gentle palm from his thundering heartbeat; tipping yourself towards the great warrior before you, you feel his big, gloved hands move to your waist to steady you just as you knew they would. Giving Din your most innocuous expression, you coo, “There is no need for me to have a protective guard if we deem the Flavian royals to be of honourable intent; if it is safe enough for our soldiers to participate in the gladiatorial games, then it is safe enough for me to be alone in the Royal Box.”
Din’s smile at your cleverness and persuasive tactics is hidden beneath his helmet, but he’s yet not ready to show you he’s given in so he remains as silent and cold as the armour he wears.
You use this opportunity to loop one arm around your hulking General’s neck to bring him closer to you still, your free hand takes one of his from your waist and brings it up to his helmet in a silent request. The familiar click of Din’s helmet unlocking is the only invitation you need - using your nose to lift the brim of his helmet slightly above his strong jaw so you can find his plush lips with your own, you feel the hint of a smile against your pout before you deepen the kiss. Opening to let Din lick into your mouth, you melt against the hard metal that represents everything he is to you: extraordinary, flawless, indestructible.
And such a good kisser, letting loose a soft whimper you nearly miss Din chuckle something against your lips.
“What’s that, General?” you sigh dreamily.
“I said, Princess, I saw what you did there, and that was NOT the way,” chastising with no actual bite, Din lowers and relocks his helmet.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” flashing him that breathtaking smile of yours that always makes him forget himself, “I’m only following the logic you already agreed to. Grogu and I will be fine watching you showcase the might of our realm from the safety of our spectator seats tomorrow.”
“Grogu will be with me in the fighting area.”
“No.”
“Cyar’ika, he will be fine.”
“He’s just a baby, Din!”
“And a Mandalorian apprentice. You’ve seen what a formidable fighter he’s already grown to be.”
And so on, and so forth – the two of you, the General and his Princess, spiritedly discussing and debating matters that affect your realm. The thought crosses your mind, not for the first time, that when you ascend the throne after your father you will need a ruling partner who challenges you like this: one who makes you wiser and forces you to expand your horizons, but trusts your compassion and tender heart, and who you trust to keep you and your kingdom safe. And as you always do when this thought naturally lends itself to an image of Din by your side, tall and proud as your King consort, you push it away as far as you can. It hurts too much to imagine something that seems to materialize so clearly and happily, as if it could actually become a reality, when you know it could never be.
The crowd in the arena is deafening. Already amped from the opening entertainment acts, they’re now cheering loud, calling for the main event.
Sitting front row in the Royal Box, you scan over the floor of the arena – knowing that it’s unlikely, but still hoping for a flash of silver beskar from behind one of the gates that line the sides of the arena floor, behind which lay the holding areas for the gladiator fighters selected for today’s match. Once or twice, you think you spy the sunlight catch something shiny from beneath the stands, but before you can look more closely, someone from the Flavian royal family will engage your attention. Though your mind never strays far from Din and his, your men, you cannot forget yourself or your role - your purpose for being in this arena today: you’re here to secure the continued prosperity your kingdom and strengthen your realm’s relationship with a long-standing ally.
If you’re honest, despite the trepidation that sits heavily atop your heart, you cannot help but be affected by the electricity of your environment. The stadium thrums and pulses with the excitement of thousands of Flavian citizens who have come out in the hot sun to partake in today’s festivities – you see children of all ages waving noisemakers and colourful flags, men and women young and old already cheering for who they anticipate to be today’s victors. Based on the chatter in your tent, the news of your General fighting today has spread like wildfire through the city – very few Flavians have ever seen a Mandalorian, never mind have the privilege of seeing one fight; today was going to be a day they remember for the rest of their lives. As for your companions in the Royal Box, you’re happy to see that your and Din’s assessment had been accurate – there is no underlying bloodlust or malevolent show of power associated with these fights, everything is only in good fun; your royal cohorts are all in splendid moods, showing genuine enthusiasm akin to the original spirit of the same games put on by their ancestors.
You’re just chatting amiably with the new Flavian king about having some of the wonderful Flavian wine and fruit you’ve enjoyed in the tent sent up to your room later, when a fanfare of trumpets echoes throughout the stadium announcing the start of today’s fight. The crowd quiets to a soft buzzing as the amphitheatre’s speakers announce the entrance of your fighters; the volume rises again as the audience goes wild when the might of your realm runs in through the gladiator’s entrance. You can’t help but beam, chest bursting with pride at the impression they make on the Flavian crowd – a big, broad Mandalorian General, towering in his stance and intimidating in his majestic armour, flanked by your guard: five of the strongest, most formidable soldiers from your father’s army.
You spy Grogu before the Flavian royals do, but it’s only because you know where to look. A perch for him has been attached to the side of his father’s jet pack so he can remain secure at Din’s shoulder during combat, but have the flexibility to jump off and join the fray if needed. The instant the Flavian prince spots him, he excitedly points him out to the others – and you take great pleasure in informing your hosts that they, in fact, have the honour of seeing two Mandalorians today.
With only a few moments before their opponents arrive in the arena, you take a closer look at your fighting contingent – they have been outfitted with Flavian weapons (swords, blasters, electro shields), the standard issue armament of your kingdom they normally carry nowhere in sight; the only exception is of course Din, who carries the gladiatorial weapons like the others and all of his usual weaponry – you chuckle to yourself, imagining the poor Flavian weapons master who tried to strip a Mandalorian of his religion.
A loud voice announcing the incoming fighters for Flavin 5 jerks you back to the scene before you. The crowd thunders as a squadron of battle droids nearly a hundred strong marches into the arena, each carrying varying sized blasters or blaster rifles in addition to their own swords, a few wielding double ended electro staffs. You barely have time to fret over how outnumbered Din and your troops are before the king is rising in his seat and giving the ceremonial hand gesture for the fight to begin.
You hear your General shout quick, decisive commands and his trusty men move swiftly into the desired formation, electro shields lit up and expanded in one coordinated movement. They advance as a team, strong and sure, every aim of their blasters true – each man practiced at covering the comrades at their sides as the droids begin shooting back.
When your men are close enough to the front line of the remaining droids, the intimidating battle cry you hear emanating from Din’s helmet is repeated in response at tenfold the volume by his men, a signal to shift fluidly into a tiered offensive formation that you recognize from watching their training on the palace grounds at home.
The legion moves with precision and speed, the crouched soldiers providing the impenetrable shielding needed by the men who stand tall as a precision sniper team that can’t be touched; your Mandalorian the tallest, unphased by the droid fire that bounces harmlessly off his beskar armour.
The formation is far more effective than the static positions of the droids and in almost no time at all, your fighters have driven the remaining thirty or so droids back towards the entrance gate. Answering another roared order, your contingent springs apart with an unrivalled ferocity to attack the remaining droids via direct combat.
Din cuts down mechanical fighter after mechanical fighter, mowing through the defensive lines of the Flavian droids that have none of his agility and lighting quick reflexes, bolstered by his trusted troops at his back who move with the confidence of men who have been trained by the best, used to fighting with the best.
Grogu has left his father, jumping from his perch onto and over droids with lightening speed - they shoot at him with their blasters only to miss their fast-moving green target every time and take each other out instead.
You watch their every move with bated breath – every bolt that connects with your realm’s armour quickens your breath, the clashing sounds of weapon on weapon too loud in your ears, and each hit or wound sustained by one of your men jolts a phantom pain through your own body.
When the last droid soldier falls, your men, your man, stand victorious at the epicenter of the arena; bloodied, exhausted to the point that the heaving of their chest plates can be seen from the Royal Box… but all standing.
You can hardly believe it - your heart exploding with pride, tears nearly springing from your eyes in relief. Looking to your hosts, you half expect them to congratulate you and acknowledge the victory of your fighters, but instead, you see them still engaged with the scene before them, eyes trained on the arena floor.
They smile with genuine excitement and anticipation, and your eyes snap back to Din and your soldiers at the sound of the brassy, melodic fanfare now being played throughout the stadium. The crowd rises to its feet with an ear-splitting roar as the orchestral horns continue to crescendo, announcing the coming of something.
You glance at the Flavian prince, his face alight with boyish joy – he’s excited in an almost childish way and when he sees you looking at him, he beams and points to one of the gates that’s now opening, voice elated, “Cliff beasts!”
Cliff beasts?!? You stand from your seat and rush to the edge of the balcony, gripping the railing and leaning as far as you can so you can see what new challenger is about to enter the arena. You gasp when you see it – a woolly beast larger than Din and his men combined, trotting out into the arena on four stubby but powerful legs. A magnificent horn, the length of which must span at least half of the creature’s massive body protrudes from its snout, thick and battle ready.
A mudhorn?? Of all the beasts to have entered the arena, what where the chances it would be the beast of Din’s clan signet? For a moment, you’re alarmed that maybe there have been unseen machinations at play and you’ve been blind to it all – that you’ve somehow failed in your diplomatic duties, failing your kingdom, your men, Din.
You study the Flavian prince who’s now proclaiming to his father, the king, “These cliff beasts are so large!” The two of them are enthusiastically waving and gesturing to the other attendees in the Royal Box, their chatter is of wonderment and genuine amazement at the sight of this creature that they’ve never before beheld on their planet - you conclude, with relief, that it has to be a coincidence. Wait, what did he mean – these?
Peering down into the arena again you see a second, smaller mudhorn ambling behind the first. A parent and its child! Your heart tightens, imagining how scared the two creatures have to be and how fiercely the adult will fight in order to protect its young. You catch Din’s visor pointed up at you from the arena floor and you know that he understands the distressed expression of your face perfectly.
Immediately, your General gathers his men and lays out his strategy – unknowable to the crowds of the arena, but you can read Din clear as day: he won’t cause harm to another living creature if he doesn’t have to.
Din and his soldiers slowly fan out, purposefully ignoring the young calf while surrounding the adult mudhorn. As expected, the mudhorn charges in attack. Trying to blink as little as possible for fear of missing anything, you watch wide-eyed as your men deftly leap and roll out of the path of the stampeding animal. When the mudhorn stops and turns back towards the perceived threat to its young, the soldiers surround it again – rocking on the balls of their feet ready to evade its charge again. They aren’t always as lucky or fast enough – you cry out in anguish whenever the Mudhorn makes contact, sending your guard flying, landing with a sickening thud on the arena floor from the force of the impact. The crowd gasps in worry, cheering louder than ever when your men get up to rejoin their brethren in repeating the same maneuver over and over.
Din’s plan is working, the mudhorn is getting tired.
Part of you is relieved, the other hopes that its fatigue doesn’t make the creature desperate; though your men are still standing, you don’t know if any of them can sustain more injury to their bodies – an increasing danger that only grows as Din and your soldiers begin tightening the proverbial noose. You spy Din protracting his fibercord whip from his vambrace by hand only seconds before he does what you suddenly realize he’s going to do. The mudhorn is pawing at the ground, exhausted and angry while your men surround it, now each only about an arm’s length away, when Din uses a jetpack blast to leap onto its back - throwing the whipcord around its horn and pulling back on his makeshift reins. The other men scatter and the crowd screams as your General rides the wildly bucking animal around the arena. At their General’s direction, your men are now divided between two tasks: half shoot at the galloping beast that unwillingly bears their fearless leader and his son, their blaster bolts a distraction but doing little to the mudhorn’s tough hide; the remaining men tasked with capturing and restraining the calf – the seemingly easier task.
Heart nearly in your throat, you watch as Grogu climbs down the front of his father’s arm and onto the mudhorn, quickly crawling to the top of its head where the massive horn joins the creature’s skull. With one of his little green hands holding onto the cord his father holds taut and the other placed directly on the mudhorn’s woolly head, you see Grogu close his eyes in concentration. Gradually, the mudhorn’s steps slow and its movements around the arena become unsteady, then wobbly, before it finally teeters and crashes onto its side fast asleep. Din jumps off just in time to avoid being crushed by the animal’s huge body - Grogu does a dramatic flip into the air at the same time and lands perfectly in his father’s waiting arms. The crowd roars its approval.
The Flavian royals next to you are on their feet, clapping and cheering with astonishment and admiration – congratulating you on the victory of your men and thanking you for the fantastic show you’ve provided them today. Clasping your hands in appreciation, they heartedly assure you that the documents confirming your planet’s trade routes will be completed and delivered to you tomorrow.
You express your appreciation before turning your attention back towards the arena, heart full - relieved and proud of the men still on the fighting floor. You have to admit they make quite the sight waving to the cheering crowds while standing next to a sleeping mudhorn, two of your lieutenants holding a makeshift leash with a smaller mudhorn standing docile at its end. To the admiring masses, the large beast was subdued by these men, the might of your realm, but you know the truth. You blow a little kiss to Grogu who pretends to catch it in his little hand before waving back, happy but somewhat tired.
Even with his helmet on you can read Din’s expression as he looks up to the Royal Box. Where is my kiss, mesh’la?
You smile back a playful smirk just for the unseen eyes behind the dark T-visor. Later.
You pace in the large, ornamental suite that your hosts have graciously provided – it’s beautiful, a true testament to Flavian luxury and craftsmanship, but you have no attention to spare for its finery. Not when you’re straining your ears to listen for footsteps coming down the hall, eyes continuing to dart towards your door as if for some reason you may have missed hearing them come.
“Princess…”
Your lady’s maids, Olivia and Serine, pace right along with you, following your tracks around the grand room. They’re as exhausted as you are, but you know their hearts to be as determined as your own; you give them the most indulgent look you can muster and any plea to ask you to rest dies on their lips. The three of you continue to take turns listening intently for the telltale sounds of a soldiers’ march.
Finally, you hear something. Faint but purposeful footsteps walking in synchronicity – the herald of well-trained soldiers with an intended destination. Perked, you look to your faithful companions with renewed vigor and sprint to your door, flinging it open without grace and hurrying into the dimly lit hallway.
They’re still far enough down the hall that you have some time, even with your hastened steps, to study how your men appear to be faring; you know that when you ask, they will insist they are fine so not to worry you.
Two of your country’s finest are limping slightly, one of your lieutenants and a captain. Your other lieutenant is walking fine, but he has a nasty gash on his forearm, dripped, half dried blood wrapping around his wrist like a terrible bracelet. The armour of your realm that the legion proudly wears has taken a beating, covered in evidence of today’s bout – marked, dirty and bloodied, but none of the men themselves appear to be grievously injured.
But it’s the man at the front of the pack that you study the most sincerely. Din’s gait is not too unfamiliar for you to suspect he’s hiding any serious injury - he would know better than that. After the battle on the Fields of Planoor he had learned not to conceal his injuries from you, that you were so familiar with his body and the way it moves, you would know something was wrong without a single word from him. As Din stalks towards your group, you can feel the hot gaze from behind his visor assessing you just as you assess him; your General holds himself a bit straighter, his massive frame puffing in pride. He bears no sign of serious injury, a little sigh of relief escapes your lips as you continue to run down the hall, Olivia and Serine hot on your heels. But his back is probably killing him.
The men stop to a coordinated halt as you reach them; their weapons sheathed, they each raise their left fists to their chests and bow, “Princess.”
You wave your hands in a graceful but frantic manner, dismissing this need for formality, “Please. Are you okay? Is everyone alright?”
Reaching for Grogu, your heart settles a little when he climbs down from his secured perch on his father’s shoulder and leaps into your arms. Fussing over him, you check his fuzzy green ears and sweet face for injuries; when you run your hands over his limbs and body to do the same, he coos and giggles as if being tickled. Resting your palm against the security of the beskar rondel he wears beneath his tunic, you exhale in contented relief and place a long kiss to his head. He’s okay.
Those same words are now being echoed out loud in the low modulated rasp of the voice you trust most in this galaxy, “He’s okay, Princess. Not a scratch on him, the little womp rat. The Lieutenant could do with some fresh dressings for his arm, but the rest of us are fine – a bit banged up and tired, but nothing a warm bath and a good night’s rest can’t fix.”
Knowing that Din’s helmet will give nothing away, you study the faces of your countrymen, trying to ascertain if their beloved General is downplaying the damage for your sake. Finding no deception in their eyes, and knowing that they know you would know, you relent, “Have you eaten?”
“We were given sustenance after our victory.”
You raise your eyebrow at this, suspecting that Din’s words answer only for his men, but not necessarily himself. Nodding, you give your final charge for the evening, “Olivia, Serine, please kindly see our brave soldiers to their rooms, run their baths and tend to them as needed.”
Your ladies-in-waiting curtsey in assent at your words and intuitively, Olivia extends her arms for Grogu – there are no secrets between you and your closest companions. Din nods at her and she takes her favourite little green playmate into her arms, happy to help clean him and put him to bed tonight while his father is otherwise occupied.
Din turns to face his men – similarly, there are no secrets between the General and his most trusted squadron, men who love their princess with an unyielding loyalty that rivals only his own. Your father’s soldiers salute their esteemed leader, bidding their Princess and General goodnight before following Olivia and Serine to their assigned quarters.
Silently, you take Din’s hand and lead him back down the hallway to your room, careful not to hurry should he be much battered and sore, though the urgency in your chest is nearly bubbling over. Your concern appears to have been unfounded because as soon as the door to your room shuts, Din sweeps you into his arms with a force that takes your breath away - crushing you to his chest so tightly that you can feel him deflate beneath the hard beskar as he exhales his own long held sigh of relief.
You chuckle, “You would have thought that I was the one fighting cliff beasts in the arena today.”
“Cliff beasts?” Din tilts his head quizzically at you.
“I’ll tell you later. Right now, let’s get you out of your armour,” your fingers slide under his pauldrons, feeling for the familiar release mechanism.
“Cyar’ika, if you wanted to have your way with me, you only had to ask - you didn’t need to send me into a fight arena with a mudhorn,” jokes Din, wincing slightly from the stretch of his muscles as they contract and relax with the weight of his armour being lifted from his aching body.
You cluck your tongue in playful disapproval, even as you continue to make quick work of removing the rest of Din’s armour. With now practiced precision, you lift off his chest plates and the attachment frame, unhook his jetpack, unclip his cape, slide off his vambraces, unstrap his thigh plates, unlace his boots, unbuckle his belt, unzip his flight suit. The ceremony of this process is one you will never tire of, nor is its significance lost on you.
Din, a Mandalorian, willingly lets you touch his armour and remove it from his body – trusting your delicate hands with his most precious property: the physical embodiment of his honour and creed, the very symbol of his people. Not only that, but he allows you to strip him of protection and reveal his vulnerability to you, exposing him and his softness – he exists as the man beneath the beskar for you and you only. You’re the most privileged being in the galaxy – the weight of Din’s trust in you is something you will never take for granted.
When Din stands before you in only his boxers and helmet, you begin your study of his body in earnest. Dancing your fingers across his hard and tanned chest, you trace old scars in order to separate them from new marks; palming his torso and checking his thick arms with the same careful hands. Rounding your warrior, you continue your roaming examination over his muscular back and listen intently for any change in Din’s breathing when you press down on his tense shoulders – relieved when you hear him groan in satisfaction instead of pain. As you’re lightly scraping your nails over his wide thighs you hear the telltale unclicking of Din’s helmet – he beckons you.
Rising to meet his lowering face, you use your thumbs to lift the brim of Din’s helmet slightly, always keeping your eyes closed so you don’t see any of his face – not for the world would you betray Din’s trust. Mouth finding his easily, you kiss Din gingerly – unsure of what injuries he may have sustained beneath his helmet; lightly pecking his soft pout and pressing restrained affection to the corner of his mouth.
“I’m not going to break, cyare,” Din grins as if he’s reading your mind.
Snapping down his helmet with a bit more force than necessary, you peer up into the black horizonal stripe of his visor and sniffle, “I can see some big bruises starting to form over your abdomen and on the back of your thighs. And the muscles of your arms and back are overstrained and need to loosen or you’re going to be more sore tomorrow than you already will be.” The emotions you held in all day now start to spill over your lash line; dropping your head, you cry softly at the toll today’s events have taken on your strong man’s body and how he bears it without complaint. Contrite and indebted that he sustained these injuries at the behest of your kingdom - your behest, for you.
Din gathers you in his arms and pulls you flush to his chest, tilting back his helmet again he kisses you lovingly, devotedly – with every stroke of his tongue, every nibble of your lips, he reminds you that it is not only his duty, but his honour to serve your kingdom, to serve you. He would do anything for you, without you ever having to bid it. It is not in him to deny you anything, his heart’s desire is to give you everything.
“I love you, Princess.”
“I love you, General.”
Not without some difficulty, you pull yourself out of Din’s embrace and lead him to the suite’s fresher, running the taps of the large tub and scenting the water with fragrant, healing oils.
“I can do that, mesh’la,” one of Din’s large meaty hands covers yours as you test the temperature of the water.
Shaking your head shyly, you bring that hand up to your lips and kiss its calloused knuckles, “Please. Let me serve you, Din.”
“That is not befitting of a princess.”
“I am not like other princesses.”
Tilting your chin up with two of his thick fingers, you can feel the smile behind Din’s next words, “No, you are not. There is no one like you in the galaxy.”
“And I’m yours.”
The helmet, never having been relocked, is lifted again and Din sweeps you into a passionate, hungry kiss, different than the reassuring and devoted kisses of earlier – deeper, greedier.
“Get in the tub, Din,” you murmur against his lips while you can, before you forget your task and give yourself over to him completely.
Chuckling, Din can only acquiesce whenever he hears a direct request from your mouth – he never hears you command him as his sovereign, only ever as his love. No matter – he would obey either way. Stripping off his boxers, helmet still on, Din slips into the steamy water of the deep soaker tub, letting out a heady groan at the way all his muscles relax in reaction to the sudden heat against his rough skin.
With a soft footedness that still surprises Din, so used to picking up every little sound with his helmet’s acoustic sensors, you reappear suddenly with a small tray table bearing various Flavian fruits and wine for Din and a thin silk scarf for you.
“I know you didn’t eat after the match,” you say matter-of-factly when Din tilts his helmet in question. Neither did you.
“Will you join me, cyar’ika?”
“Of course, my love,” you begin to disrobe, perfectly understanding the double meaning of your General’s question.
Though he’s seen and worshipped your naked form more times that you can count, there’s always something about being unable to see the eyes that devour you which makes you shy. Able to detect the rise in temperature of your face, your bashfulness amuses Din to no end – if only you could see his own expression; every time Din sees you bare before him is like the first time, he thinks you might even laugh at the slack jawed, awestruck expression hidden by his helmet – if Mandalorians were to believe in a literal afterlife, then Din could well be deemed a heretic for he’s sure he’s already seen heaven.
Stepping in the tub, careful not to trip over Din’s strong legs, you settle on your knees in the water near his feet; taking the wash towel from the side of the tub, you lather it up with your own luxurious cleanser, the scent of which you know Din loves and begin to wash his body. With great care and affection, you wash and massage Din’s feet, calves and thick thighs, the two of you quietly chatting about your individual perspectives on what transpired in the arena today as you move up his body with your loving touch.
Din groans when you wash his groin area, and you smirk and pretend to throw him a look of disapproval even as you stroke his fast-hardening cock with the washcloth.
“Cyare…” he strains.
“Hmmmm?” Humming, you shimmy to straddle his lap and innocently begin to wash his hard chest and tree trunk arms.
“You’re teasing…”
“Not at all, I’m cleaning,” you giggle. Rising onto your knees, you lean over Din’s mountainous shoulder to clean his back, dangling your wet, supple breasts right at helmet visor level. Definitely teasing.
Two can play at this game. Din’s modulator muffles his snicker as he makes sure you’re entirely engrossed in your task of scrubbing his back, concentrating adorably so that you don’t notice when his big paws reach for your chest, groping and kneading the pillowy flesh with hardly any warning.
You squeal and grind down on Din’s cock - in retaliation he zeros in on your already pert nipples, rough fingers roll and pinch, flick and tug your pretty peaks until you forget your work and bury your face into his shoulder, completely lost to the pleasure that only the General can give you.
“Din,” your voice a soft whimper, needy yet still regal and melodic, “… you have to…”
“What do I have to do, Princess?”
His teasing tone makes you gush; this man knows exactly what he’s doing – you try to claw back some semblance of control over the situation, “You need to let me tend to any injuries you may have sustained under your helmet. And let me wash your hair.”
“Oh, do I?”
Nodding in earnest with your eyebrows raised, “Yes, and then you have to rest. Your body needs it.”
“My body needs you, mesh’la.”
Leaning back, your eyes follow the trail of your fingers as they rake down the smooth skin of Din’s broad chest, slowing over the various long-healed scars whose tales of origin you know by heart, you prepare yourself to argue your way. But the truth is, you don’t want your way – you need Din, too. Here on Flavin 5, there is no fear of getting caught, no need for hurried kisses or fleeting touches – the two of you have time. Time to enjoy one another. Time to let your hearts run rampant with affection and want.
Tomorrow morning is the last morning you can wake lazily in Din’s arms, like any other couple waking to just another day in the rest of your lives together. Tomorrow you will return home and your love for your steady warrior will once again need to be tucked away close to your heart, safe from the prying eyes of the kingdom.
So, you don’t argue.
“Injuries first, General.”
“I have none, Princess.” You can feel Din’s shit eating grin radiating from behind the beskar.
Grinding down a little on Din’s hardening length as a warning, “I should like to see for myself, thanks.”
“Of course, mesh’la. I would see you satisfied.” Though still smirking, it’s with enormous feeling that Din picks up the scarf from the side table and with his practiced hand, covers your eyes; wrapping the silk around your head twice before tying it securely. He doesn’t ask you if you can see, knowing that if you could you would volunteer it. Sitting prettily with your hands clasped together, you wait for the welcomed sound of Din’s helmet being lifted and set down where you scarf previously lay.
Heart full, your hands reach out to gently touch Din’s face, fingers tracing over the most intimate part of the man you love. His jaw relaxes as you stroke though his facial hair and his plush lips curl as your thumb brushes over them. Din’s strong nose feels unbroken, thank goodness – your gentle kiss to the tip earns you a breathy chuckle that tickles your throat. Mapping the strong lines of his forehead, you discover your first wound at Din’s hairline – the soft curls of his brown (or so you’re told) hair already matted and sticking with dried blood. When your fingers caress Din’s temple, you find a small superficial cut by his left eye, and your heart tightens further upon feeling a nastier slice on the apple of his cheek. Even without seeing and Din giving away no hint of tenderness at your touch, you’re sure there are bruises starting to form on the face you love.
Though you’ve never seen it, you know Din’s face – positive that you could pick it out of a crowd as surely as you could your own in a mirror. It’s the face of the strongest warrior you’ve ever known, one whose honour and integrity is as unbreakable as the beskar armour that covers his body. A protector who fights without fail to defend the weak, uphold justice, and push back against tyranny and corruption – no matter how hard something may be or the risk to his own self, the man who bears this face will never back down, always standing up for what’s right. It’s the face of a man who loves fiercely – loves his Creed, his people, his duty, his son, his woman. You. You know the face of this man, the man who owns your heart, your body, your soul - wholly and completely.
You wash this face, carefully cleaning your discoveries. Then, before you wash his hair, you cradle Din’s head delicately and check for bumps and scrapes, sighing in relief when you find none. Lathering up a generous amount of your shampoo, you distribute it through Din’s curls, massaging his scalp as he groans in approval. Your smile at the sound could melt even the steeliest warrior’s heart, Din is sure – it melts his.
When his hair is rinsed and face pat dry, salve applied to his wounds, you attempt to get Din to eat from the food on the tray.
“After, Princess,” Din’s voice somehow lower than when it’s filtered through his modulator.
“After what?” you pretend to be confused.
“After I have what I’m truly hungry for,” you can feel the sides of his face lift beneath your hands as the curve of his mouth pulls up into a wicked grin.
You flash him what you think is a mirroring smirk, “And what is that, General?”
Din takes an excruciating long time trailing his fingers featherlike down the column of your throat as an answer. His massive hand skate over your naked breasts, pinky pretending to be caught on your pert nipple before catching up with its brethren that have moved on to tickling your soft tummy. When his hand finally dips below the water, it’s no more hurried, no less teasing – knuckling down the front of you, his hand so big and wide, his thumb and baby finger stretch to slowly stroke along the apex of your thighs at the same time with no additional effort at all. You quiver at your warrior’s languid and gentle touch – that these same hands are trained for weapons and brutality is not lost on you; how lucky are you to be able to feel them as they are now, so close to where you need them, reverent and worshipful. Hands meant for building up and protecting, instead of tearing down and destroying - and yet you know them capable of both - and moreover, that they can and will do both to you.
Leaning forward to press your lips tenderly to Din’s, you whisper, “Promise you’ll eat after?”
He knows the condition of the ask is empty - you need him as much as he does you, both of you hungry for more than the food your empty stomachs growl for. The worry you felt for your Mandalorian every second he was in the arena today has morphed into a blazing desire now that you have him secure once again in your loving arms; even when he was facing blaster fire or the murderous glare of a mudhorn today, Din’s thoughts never strayed far from the moment he could return to your warm embrace.
But he plays along, because he knows you need to hear it, “I promise, cyare.” And then, because your well being is always as much on the forefront of his mind as his is yours, Din adds, “As long as you eat with me.”
“Promise. Now touch me please, Din,” you’re trembling, not just from want but need, a need for the reassurance that he’s here safe, that the violence you saw in the arena did not touch him.
Even if he had not pledged his fealty to your kingdom, Din would submit to your request, to you – if it were up to him, he would spend the remainder of his days catering to your every whim, carrying out your will, doing anything and everything necessary to ensure your happiness.
He parts your folds with his fingers, finding you slick and ready for him. As Din glides his thick digits along your seam, your soft moans fill the steamy room, “Ohhh Din, yes right there, please.”
“Such a polite little princess, isn’t she?” hums Din, loving how responsive you always are for him. He kisses down your neck, nipping at your shoulder as you come to a rest against his chest. You’re shuddering from the way he’s stroking your pussy, swirling infuriatingly at your needy hole but never dipping inside, teasing you with long broad swipes up to your clit.
Pressing his thumb against your already slippery nub, Din takes advantage of your lack of sight and surprises you by dipping his head down to take one of your breasts in his mouth at the same time – you cry out from this sudden double attack, body trying to run.
The old bounty hunter in him activated, Din chuckles and increases the pressure of his hand on your pulsing clit, and with his free hand, he holds you firm by the nape of your neck - face now buried deep in your cleavage, biting and sucking every bit of soft flesh his mouth can find. Rolling your pert nipple between his teeth, he seals his lips over the sensitive peak and murmurs, “I got you, mesh’la. Let me make you feel good.”
At his sure words, you immediately relax and willingly giving yourself over to your warrior, sighing in surrender as he worships you with his fingers and his mouth. This is the only time that you allow yourself to be covetous of what is not rightfully yours – Din’s face you may know without having ever seen, but the lascivious sight of what he looks like when he loses himself in your pleasure remains a mystery. You secretly long to see it – wishing to know how dark his eyes burn, how his lips wet and plump, how his brow might furrow or relax in reaction to your whines and whimpers.
If you were his riduur – no. No, you can’t let yourself go down that path of longing, it only ends in heartbreak.
As if he can sense that your mind has started to wander, Din slips two of his thick fingers deep in your heat and curls them, beckoning you back to him. You fly right back into the moment and to the space of devotion that he holds just for you, gasping for air at the stretch of his welcomed intrusion.
“Need to get you ready for my cock, cyare,” purrs your Mandalorian, bringing you back fully and binding your heart to his in the here and now.
Nodding almost mindlessly, you crash your mouth to Din’s. The kiss is desperate, needy for so many reasons – your tongues licking and chasing, dancing to the song of perfect pleasure that strums along the electric current that connects you. Din feverishly conducts the symphony of your body – grand upward motions of his fingers in your cunt send waves of bliss that crescendo through your core; the sweeping of his lips against yours keeps you in tempo with his own urgency; his rolling downward gestures on your clit coils the band below your belly tighter and tighter.
No one can play you like Din can – beneath the beskar armour he’s a master musician, lover. Like the weapons he so deftly wields and handles, your body is an instrument he knows intimately – every shift, slight change or tensing is noted and adjusted for so he can optimize performance, maximize your pleasure. Din knows you’re going to come before you do by the key in which your breath hitches, the cadence of your fluttering walls.
“Come for me, Princess,” he growls, biting down on your plush bottom lip. Now it’s your turn to obey – you come with an arch of your back and a chorus sung to your General’s name, Din, Din, Din, Din.
Here you can be as loud for as long as you want and Din can fuck you through your high for as long as you need, withdrawing his fingers and licking them clean only when your cunt is complacent enough to release him, “Always taste so sweet, cyar’ika.” You sigh at the filthy sounds of another forbidden sight you long, lust for.
Lips finding his again, you taste yourself on Din’s tongue and tease, “I thought we were eating after.”
This time it’s Din’s turn to act coy, repeating your question from earlier with a knowing smirk against your pout, “After what?”
In response, you reach between your bodies and even without the benefit of sight, easily find Din’s hard, throbbing cock. Stroking his length with your delicate hands, you lift to line him up with your entrance and wordlessly sink down, “After you come, General.”
“As you wish, Princess,” Din groans at the way your pussy hugs him. When you feel him shift beneath you to plant his feet on the bottom of the tub, you stop Din with a hand on his wide chest and shake your head, “You’re tired and your body needs rest, my love. Let me do the work.”
Big, loving hands come up to cradle your head and a playful but reverent tone accompanies Din’s protest, “A General’s duty is to serve his Princess.” You tilt into his paw and nuzzle; your Mandalorian’s affectionate touch and the feeling of fullness combine in making you compliant. Leaning in close you ghost over Din’s lips, “Together then.”
Half awestruck, half groaning in agreement, Din slides his hands back down your soft body to come to a rest on your waist, holding you gentle and secure, “Together.”
It’s easy to find the perfect rhythm, your bodies already so in tune with one another. Din’s slow upward thrusts meet your lighter bounces halfway, causing the water of your bath to ripple and splash against the sides of the tub. It’s tender and patient until it isn’t – with no communication other than your soft whinnying and Din’s grunts and heavy breathing, your tempo and intensity remain matched, building together.
Always together. How you love being together with your Mandalorian. How you love him.
You press yourself to Din, the rise and fall of his chest grounding you as your hips work in tandem with his. Arms snaking around his neck, you cling to the General as your joint movements become more fervent and passionate, the water now choppy from your lovemaking.
Together. Everything is better when you’re together. You were able to get through today, together.
Love, relief and gratitude flood your pleasure wracked body as you crawl up Din’s broad mountain frame to find his lips. Latching your mouth to your Mandalorian’s, you kiss him heady and desperate. Every press of your plush and swollen pout thankful for his survival, of today’s fight and of all the fights that came before today so that he could come into your life. A thank you to maybe that same mystical force that gives Grogu his unexplainable powers, for making the man that fills you so full at the moment the warrior, the father, the man is. Thankful that he loves you. For all of him.
Din meets every brush of your lips with the same devotion, somehow able to read the emotion behind your eyes without seeing them - the same way you’re able to read him even when he’s hidden behind his helmet. He himself grateful for bringing his son and your countrymen back to you safe, for being the one to give you what you needed for the success of your mission. A thank you to that same power than runs in his son’s veins and makes him a warrior far stronger than Din could ever be, for bringing him to you. Grateful that a woman as regal, compassionate, and kind as you saw past his hard armoured exterior to the man beneath and holds him in your esteem. And in your heart.
“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” Din growls with a deep rumble of his chest that echoes off the walls. I love you.
“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” you cry back in the perfect pronunciation that Din taught you. I love you.
Neither of you able to hold back your love for one another nor the crest of your bodies any longer – coming together, lyrical song sung loud and shameless. The Princess and the General have nothing to hide here, tonight.
Later, after you’ve each eaten and drank your fill of Flavian fruits and wine, and you’ve massaged and kneaded Din’s sore muscles until you’re satisfied with the way his aches have melted away, Din guides you, still blindfolded, out of the cooled bath to the bed.
With Din protectively hovering over your naked body ready to take you again, you realize that as thankful as you’ve been feeling, you haven’t actually acknowledged those sentiments out loud to the man to whom you owe everything, “Thank you, Din. Thank you for being the might of the realm.”
Though he knows you cannot see them, Din’s eyes fill with a love he hopes he can properly convey in other ways, “No need to thank me, cyar’ika, it will always be my honour to fight for you. You must know - you are the might of the realm. The realm prospers and remains strong because its Princess is brave, smart, good. You’re everything, mesh’la. You’re my might – I can only do the things I can because I do them for you. I would do anything for you.”
You feel the scarf you wear across your eyes dampen as it absorbs your tears, “I know, Din.” Happy, content, you welcome your General between your legs once more; and with the rare luxury of time and freedom that the two of you have been gifted tonight, you know it won’t be the last time.
Thank you, baby!!! I’m so glad all that came through 🥹🥹 when I wrote this for our dearest’s Beef’s challenge, I had already fully formed these two in my mind, but didn’t know if the rest of their story would ever see the light of day, so I tried to jam as much as I could into this one fic 😂😂😂
I’m so glad you’re going to continue with their story!! 🥹🥹🥹 (also I’m sorry 🫣🫣) LOVE YOU and thank you again!!
Thanks @604to647 @shadowqueen2024 and @milla-frenchy for the tags 🖤
Yes this week has more Joel 😍 you’re driving alone in a little town famous for its prison.. and a few escaped convicts. And of course you pick up the hot guy who needs a ride..
(I wrote this in a frenzy last night and I might edit later)
"You can turn the engine off, darlin'. No sense in wastin' gas." He reaches over and turns off the ignition, taking a moment to caress your cherry keychain, the texture soft and knitted, a present from your best friend before you left home. The simple action draws your attention, puts a spike in your heartbeat. "Yeah, I got a brother. He lives in Wyoming." Letting go of the keychain his hand brushes against your bare knee, a touch so light it's almost nonexistent except for the fact that it sends a zing straight to your core. "Y'know, in my day, women wore skirts," he murmurs to himself before pulling away.
Your brows raise, unsure which comment thread to follow. "Wyoming? I thought he was close by.. you said you were going to call him for help." You can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin.
"I did say that, didn't I?" He looks a little amused, leaning back in the passenger seat. "You always believe everythin' ya hear?"
NPT @mcthsman @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @tateypots @ess-evo and anyone who wants to play along 😊
A little bit of Mando to head into the weekend. Just a study of Din and his armour, I don't even know if I'd called this a finished piece. I may still tinker with it but for now I wanted to share.
WOWZERS. I got not one, not two, not even three but FOUR asks about this beloved grump from @sixhours @604to647 @grogusmum @din-cognito - thank you all so damn much for being so interested and sending those over!! I was honestly quite floored haha especially because all I've written for him so far have been a couple of very short drabbles.
The Cursed Dagger will be my longest, most fully fleshed out story for Pero thus far by about 600 miles (which makes me nervous as heck!) Its bones are based on a short story I wrote about a year ago, but I'm planning to lengthen it and fill it out quite a bit. I'm not sure yet if it's going to end up as a series, a long ass one shot, or maybe a two-parter, but what I do know is that it will be Pero Tovar x OFC.
Actually, make that Werewolf!Pero x Witch!OFC .
And since there were so many of you lovelies who asked about this one, here's a pair of snippets from their first encounter:
Isa approached carefully.
She knew a werewolf when she saw one, and it was clear that this one was badly injured. She knew that could make him more dangerous, that it would be safer for her to wait until he transformed before tending to his wounds. But she also knew, from the state of his blood-matted fur and torn flesh, that he was suffering . And I can help. Her eyes flashed to the creature’s chest, where a circular brand was visible through his shaggy brown fur, and she made her choice.
Reaching into her skirt pocket, she pulled out a vial of freshly brewed shadowsage oil. The recipe had been passed through generations of witches in her family. It never failed to heal a magical wound, and she hoped it would do the same for the injured wolf that had slipped through her protective wards.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” She spoke soothingly, kneeling beside the beast. Rasps and whimpers were the wolf’s only reply. Uncorking the vial, Isa poured the oil over the deep gashes, then held her palms above the area as a soft, silver light emanated from them.
The wounds began to knit, and she felt relief wash over her. It’s working. She continued until all of the slashes had sealed themselves shut, and then she sat back against a tree, waiting for the sun to reveal the man beneath the wolf.
_________________ & _________________
With a sharp inhale, Pero’s eyes flew open.
The woman was the first thing he saw, gentle sunlight filtering through the leaves of the tree she slept under to paint dappled shadows across her face. Blood stained her hands and darkened the fabric of her skirt. The sight immediately brought flashes of the previous night rushing to the forefront of his mind.
Her calming presence. Her comforting touch. The fact that she wasn’t afraid of him.
She helped me. He sat up, snatching the cloak she must have left for him and using it to cover himself. Shrugging the garment around his shoulders, he felt a surge of appreciation for the stranger. Why would she do that?
Seeming to sense that he was awake, she stirred, sitting up against the trunk. Blinking slowly, she took a breath and echoed the same words she’d spoken to the wolf. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Part of him wanted to fall to tears at her feet, sweep her into his arms and profess his gratitude for what she’d done. It’d been years since anyone showed him that kind of compassion. That kind of humanity. But a larger part of him was livid with how she’d put herself in danger. Instead of thanks, the first thing out of his mouth was a snarl.
“But I could have hurt you, easily,” he spat. “You shouldn’t have come so close.”
Unflinching, she let out a huff. “You weren’t exactly a threat in the shape I found you in.” She lifted one hand and Pero’s eyes widened as her palm began to glow. “Not to me.” Curling her fingers, the light dimmed and went out, but her point had been made.
Thank you @604to647 and @queenofslowburn for the tags 🥰After dropping 2 more installments of 'What are the odds?' last week, I started a new chapter of 'The Nebble Files'.
Chapter 51- The Birds and the Bumblebees (The Nebble Files)
“Mommy? What’s a ‘boyfriend’?”
I nearly choke to death on my lemon water. Rockford freezes mid-stride, his entire body going completely rigid. “What was that, Gummybear?” I ask her, pretending like I misheard, while I make an attempt at regaining my composure.
“What’s a ‘boyfriend’?” she repeats.
“Well… um…” I stammer as Rockford starts circling suspiciously close, a look of ‘what are you planning on telling our nine-year-old?’ stretches across his face, “it’s what Daddy was to me before we got married.”
“No, it’s not!” Layla blurts out.
“What do you mean?” Color me intrigued.
“Daddy said you worked with him, and you were a pain in the ass before you got married.” She says it like it’s fact.
