LAVENDER ORCHID

He’s been on approximately 45 dates in the past year… and not one lady has been interested. Or rather they have been, until he opens his mouth.

But not even that; if there was one thing Zuko was absolutely embarrassed about, it was his lack of experience when it comes to sex. He was a virgin, a prude, and shuddered at the thought of having to have his first with some random woman he never met.

There was even one time the council suggested concubines… there was no way in hell he’d do that (since… as disgustingly sweet as it is… he wanted to be an intimate relationship with someone he considered close).

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise that he’s put off so many of those candidates, but a small part of him sulked at the fact that he’s going to have to have a wife sooner or later, and then have an heir.

“I can help you.”

Zuko’s lips pressed to a fine line, looking at your direction to see any reaction. Your face was completely neutral.

He’s always told you his dilemmas, and this was no different. You’d always come up with a solution or compromise, but for some reason, he felt especially… on edge.

You—L/N Y/N—have known Zuko since you two were children, as he attended the same school as you did for a few years before you and your father—were officially promoted to head staff, and you, Zuko’s handmaiden.

Zuko remembers how you always followed him back in his childhood—answering to every beck and call; he remembers how sweet you were, how compassionate too, and how you’d encourage him when it came to Fire Bending.

You never showed a sign of protest when it came to anything, always a neutral look on your face.

And he couldn’t lie, you were absolutely stunning (despite said neutral look), but he couldn’t help but be put off even more.

“R-Really?” His skin turned flushed.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sipping your tea calmly like you didn’t just make Zuko mentally haywire. You were currently sitting across from him, drinking tea with just him in the room while you listened to his problems like always. “I’m not some random woman, aren’t I? I can teach you.”

He nodded hesitantly. “No, you’re not.”

He’ll admit, he has to get with the times. Not many people are saving their chastity and he has to stop being scared. Especially when it comes to wanting to romance others.

“And how so? How would you teach me?”

You shot him a smile. “Trust in me, my Lord. Everything shall be situated.

Zuko cleared his throat, glancing once more at your neutral face and nodded gently. “When do you suggest we start?”

“Whenever you’d like, my Lord.”

—————

lesson one: foreplay

Zuko thought it over, coming to a conclusion two days later and then asking you to come to his chambers later at night where the rest of the staff wouldn’t see you.

He sat there, robe hastily put on and sat there awkwardly at the corner of his bed, waiting. And then he began thinking.

Zuko’s known you for a while—you’ve been at his service for a long time. Hell, there was even a moment in time where he had a crush on you.

It was back when he would stride alongside his mother around the palace, constantly meeting your eyes every time he glanced over where your father would be working. Then you’d smile at him and his heart would be pounding; his mother knew, maybe even Azula knew—she’d certainly mess with you sometimes, but overall respected you (more than him at least).

Sure, you were a “servant”, but it’s obvious that you were a great Firebender. He remembers how he’d have trouble sleeping as a kid and walk off to the courtyard where you’d be there in a small corner, practicing Fire Bending and moving so graceful, it appeared almost like you were dancing.

Even when he got banished, he’d think of you. When he’d look at the stars, he’d think of how your eyes would shine every time you made eye contact.

And now you’re in this situation? He feels sheepish for almost exposing this vulnerability to you…

Zuko jumped at the sound of a knock at his door being knocked, walking fast towards it and swinging it open rather quickly.

“Get in, get in.” He turned around all too fast, his back facing you in sheer embarrassment that he’d even have to ask this of you.

And of course you could tell; you always could. “My Lord, please don’t be embarrassed about this. It is simply educating you on your sexuality; nothing wrong with that.”

“Right…” He walked to the bed slowly and sat down, his eyes following your figure slowly approaching him.

He can’t deny it; you looked beautiful. Your nightly robes were a pretty white, its sheer fabric covering your body nicely and your nipples poking out in the fabric.

But as much as Zuko’s eyes were on your breasts, he quickly averted his eyes to you the moment you cleared your throat. You were holding a book…

“And that?” You smiled at his question.

“This is erotic literature. Clear source material in order to work as an example on what to do.”

He blinked awkwardly, whereas your smile was still glued onto your face. You opened the book to a specific page, being bookmarked by a folded piece of parchment.

Perhaps Zuko was out of his mind—or maybe he already was (because why the hell else would he even be in this situation in the first place?), but he couldn’t stop staring at you reading. God, he knew he was a prude but to get aroused by watching you lick your index finger every time you flipped a page? He felt his pants get tight and his mouth dry.

“Do I have permission to proceed?” He looked away, his face burning with embarrassment. “I guess.”

“So… first, you hold their face and look into their eyes.”

Before he knew it, you leaned closer, holding his face and looking deep into his eyes. Your eyes softened and the moonlight peeking through the curtains hit your irises—the color almost instantly becoming more vibrant.

“After that, lean closer…”

Then you just began kissing him. Zuko’s eyes felt like they were going to pop out; your lips were warm, plush and soft. You tasted sweet, like the pastries you’d make him on occasion.

Then your tongue slowly went in his mouth the sloppier the kiss went. Your hands cupping his face pulled him closer to you the more you kissed him.

But as Zuko was starting to get used to the pace of your lips, you stopped, pulling back.

He felt his heart race, blinking profusely like he was embarrassed.

The Fire Lord? Getting like this over a measly kiss? He can already imagine Aang and Sokka making fun of him should he ever accidentally tell this about this encounter.

“That was good, my Lord,” you smiled. “Maybe you don’t even need my teachings.”

“O-Oh…” He panicked, mouth going dry. “Um… I believe I still do…”

And damn, you smiled so kindly. “Okay then please position yourself and sit against the headboard, my Lo—“

“Zuko.”

He winced—God, did he really just say that? Your eyes widened a fragment and you blinked. “Sir, are you sure I can refer to you by your name?”

“We are practicing intimacy,” he looked away while saying this and was glad the moonlight wasn’t hitting him or else you’d see how absolutely flustered he was.

“Referring to each other by our given names is one of the most intimate things. I’d like to try it with you too.”

Only then he looked at you when he heard a light laugh slipping from you. “Okay, Zuko.”

Fuck, you said his name so pretty too… You said it like it was something precious; softly enunciating the consonants and not spewing it harshly like how he’s known for almost all his life.

He felt his heart race faster, observing how you slowly got on the bed and planted your knees on the sides of his thighs, straddling him. You then sat on his lap, your crotch against his, and from your small smile forming on your face, he can tell you’ve taken note of his evident hard-on.

“Now let’s try what we did again, but in this position!”

You sounded far too enthusiastic about this…

He blinked, awkwardly. He didn't know what to do. Hell, if he were to compare being in a room full of generals and his finest soldiers, he would consider that much easier than being stuck between your body and the wall.

Your eyes followed his hands, which were placed beside your thighs and you could sense how shaky they were. He let out a small gasp the moment you grabbed his forearms and led them to wrap around your waist.

“You can touch me, sir.” He nodded slowly and grabbed at your waist hesitantly.

Your lips met his again, except with more fervor. Like you were trying to get a taste of a candy you haven't tasted in years., with your head slightly rotated.

Zuko could feel his heart beat so. Damn. Fast. So much so that he felt overwhelmed and light-headed and aroused, but also nervous if he was doing this right.

Your hips began grinding against his, hands tangled in his hair while you let his hands travel across your skin. His callous fingertips lightly brushed on your warm skin under your shirt, on your hips.

But when he was kissing you, he couldn’t help but still feel so nervous—to be at such proximity to you and to be able totally touch you like this.

Then you pulled back and got off of him. As soon as he was in bliss, you quickly ended it. He couldn’t help but have a quite upset expression, noted by you.

“Don’t worry, sir. I must stop now since we are only at the beginning. According to this book, kissing intensely while grinding against one’s gene—“

“Okay… I get it. You’re dismissed.”

He laid on his bed, attempting to catch his breath before you spoke again. This time, without a blank look on your face and tone. You smiled so sweetly…

“It’s cute, but we have to work on your hesitation, sir. Please keep that in mind for our next lesson.”

He nodded, finally relaxing his body the minute you shut the door. You stole his first “make-out”. Sure, he’s kissed girls (and by girls, he means just Mai), but not like this.

Not like you wanted to practically taste them while caressing their face and pulling hair.

“Fuck…” he groaned. “What am I going to do with you..?”

And… he grimaced. He was still hard.

————

lesson two: fellatio + cunnilingus

For the next lesson, you had him sprawled out on the canopy bed of his chamber. Zuko swore he could fucking hear his heartbeat…

He glanced over at you, once again reading your "source material" pornographic novel, and felt his heart beat into his chest. Your previous lesson didn't inherently lead to any sex, rather it was foreplay that left him all hot and bothered the moment you left.

All you did was grind against him and kiss, and you had him practically burning for more. And now, here he was, at your mercy. You were kneeled on the bed beside him while you really examined what to do. He could tell how your expression shifted from one of amusement to one of slightly shock, and then you closed the book.

“Now we are trying oral sex!” Once again, he couldn’t help but be nervous at your demeanor.

“Okay…”

“Actually, oral sex is also considered foreplay for some before penetrative sex! But, I didn’t want to rush you and also considered how flustered you got after last session, I decided it was enough!”

Zuko stared at you blankly. “Right…”

You spoke so academically? Blankly? You’re kind and listen to his dilemmas, but he feels unsure. When the both of you were making out, he was the one that was all hot and bothered while you simply left. Was he that terrible at this? Granted, it was his first time making out with someone while touching their body like that, but really?

He wonders how you get during sex… if you’re just as blank or if you—

“Okay! I will strip myself, then you now.”

You then began to peel off your upper half, where Zuko made eye contact with your pretty breasts. He’s never seen a woman’s breasts before, but yours looked beautiful. Really beautiful.

His eyes widened at how quick you leaned over, sliding his pants fast and exposing his dick, all hard and resting on his abdomen.

“Now please let me show you how to indulge in fellatio.”

You took his tip in your mouth, tongue swirling on his leaking tip and pressing on his shaft.

“Hahh—fuck…” Zuko closed his eyes, almost in disbelief that you were actually doing this.

You then took him whole in your mouth while stroking him at the base of his cock. You looked so cute, just cheeked hollowed out while you sucked him off.

You stopped for a moment, still stroking his cock while looking up at him with those damn pretty eyes of yours. “Now, if you want, you can also push my head a bit in case you would like a more pleasurable experience according to the book!”

And just like that, you latched your lips on his length, bopping your head up and down while your tongue dragged on his sensitive veins. He was itching for a release, and clearly you could tell too.

“You can also ejaculate in my mouth if you so choose!”

And just at that moment, he did, with spurts of cum unloading in your mouth. Then you swallowed… Jesus…

Zuko took a moment to catch his breath, panting a bit before speaking again.

“Now let me do it to you.”

And for the first time, you looked hesitant. “Ca-Can you repeat your question again—?”

“Can’t I indulge in oral sex with you?”

Your eyes widened like they were going to pop out of your skull. “I-I mean yes…but it isn’t necessarily proper.”

Zuko pushed you on the bed by your shoulders, making you lie down, where he got off the bed and stood over you.

“If you are to educate me on my sexuality, not only would I like to learn how to receive but to give.”

He leaned towards you and grabbed the book beside you, flipping to the page you bookmarked talking about cunnilingus.

“Here we go…” He couldn’t lie that he felt nervous, but for some reason, just being in a situationship with where you were nervous as well, made him want to act more brazen. To take some type of authority.

“Do I have your permission to proceed?”

You blinked, your face feeling like it’s on fire, and nodded. “Only if you want, my Lo—Zuko.”

He kneeled on the floor, taking off your pants and underwear down and being face to face with your cunt.

Of course, Zuko’s taken anatomy during school and has gotten a diagram on how female and male anatomy look like: all technical.

But as he’s kneeled down, he can’t help but marvel at how pretty you look. Your sex was dripping with your arousal and as soon as you took note on how he was staring, you instinctively attempted to shut your thighs. His eyes traced your body, all stiff and hesitant like you were anxious.

“Please don’t do that; let me make you feel good…”

Zuko grabbed your thighs, dragging you closer to him, and slowly kissed at your inner thighs, leading to your cunt.

Your breathing was shallow, shaky—and you were so evidently shy.

He lapped at your cunt, tasting your essence and going insane off it. He took one hand and placed it above your abdomen, two fingers spreading your labia apart and went at it.

Zuko was almost technical with his movements, kneading your plush thighs like bread dough and cupping his mouth around the top of your slit. His tongue began to piston inside you, going side to side and in figure-8 motions, all the while your thighs were crushing his head and you were…crying?

“O-Ohh my God…! Zuko—!” You were whining, your voice so high pitched that he had to do a double take. Your voice usually was derived from emotion, but you were in absolutely bliss.

He began rubbing your clit with the bridge of his nose, feeling how you twitched every time he was grinding his nose against it.

And then you pulled on his hair, shoving his face in your cunt further. Your back arched from the bed, rotating your hips against his face and tangling your fingers within his hair further.

It was too much; you were practically crying out, tears streaming down your face while Zuko ate you out in such a sloppy manner, eliciting the most lascivious sounds to anyone who may walk in. He was practically making out with your pussy, savoring your taste. You were in a trance, practically almost reaching your climax.

Which is why, when the two of you were under your own euphoric state together, did you barely notice a councilman and his entourage barge in his chambers.

“My Lor—Oh my goodness!”

“Fuck!”

Zuko looked up, already seeing you covering your face with the covers while the councilmen were looking anywhere but the direction of you two.

“W-We shall leave you be…” one spoke, turning abruptly.

“Wait!”

Zuko abruptly put on his robe, following the councilman and his entourage.

“What is the meaning of this?! You dare infringe on my privacy?”

The councilman turned around, his expression going from embarrassed to slightly relieved.

The great Fire Lord was on his knees eating a woman out scandalously while he was supposed to be on the look-out for a wife.

The Fire Nation needs an heir now, and Zuko has a lover!

And the thing was, you were from a fine family. Your grandfather was an esteemed military officer to his grandfather and father; your mother taught at the military academy, your brother was a current general in the army.

This was perfect… An absolutely perfect candidate for a wife.

“That woman… That woman is to be your betrothed.”

————

final exam/the night of his wedding

Zuko sat beside you on his bed, looking away. He bit his lip all anxious and afraid to meet your gaze.

It happened too quick. It was uncharacteristic of the council, however apparently someone snitched and you soon became his betrothed, and were to get married in two weeks.

And now, you officially have gotten married, with you being the Fire Lady.

He could seriously scream (in rage because he couldn’t court you? In happiness because he actually likes you? In pure disbelief?).

His head turned to your direction, where you were blankly staring at the window. The moon was out and it was shining directly at your face, sporting a rather melancholic expression.

“I-Is everything alright?”

You were biting your lower lip and your eyes looked glossy, almost like you were stopping yourself from crying.

“Y-Ye—“ “Be honest with me.”

Your eyes met his and then, did the tears slip down your face and your lip quivering.

“I’m so—hic—so sorry… I can’t begin to express how sorry I am to you, Zuko.”

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, a pit settling in his stomach at the thought of being the reason for your tears. “What do you mean? Why are you apologizing?”

“I-I—Your wife! I s-stopped you from marrying your true love! A-And I’m so so sorry!” You were bawling at this point, lightly clutching Zuko’s robes and head crouched down in shame.

“Wait what?” He lifted your head up by your chin and saw how you were looking up at him with apologetic eyes.

Your breathing was shaky and you couldn’t look him in the eyes, making Zuko’s heart hurt. 

He hesitated. He didn’t know how to make someone feel better if they were sad—let alone a woman and someone he feels strongly about. His everything hurts looking at you cry. 

So he tried something he’s never done, but reminded him of his mother.

“Here,” he whispered, holding your shaky hands. His thumbs caressed small circles on your palms, and you slowly looked up at him with eyes that were still overflowing with tears. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong. At all. Don’t ever think that…” He held eye contact that made you cry even more. “My wife.”

At that moment, it felt so natural. You slowly leaned in, caressing his scarred cheek and running your fingertips through his skin, and kissed him. 

It felt all too natural, to be undressing you from your new formal nightly gown, and to lay you down on the bed beneath him.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to… We don’t have to consummate this marriage.”

“I do. I want to.” You said it all too quickly, looking away like you were flustered and destroying whatever nonchalant neutral façade you had been building. 

The truth of the matter was that you love him and have been for years. And to think that you almost stopped him from “getting his true love”, you felt terrible during the two weeks the council forbid you see your husband until your wedding ceremony.

“I want to see you, Y/N.” It was the first time he’d ever say your name so gently while being face to face with you, and he felt a pit in his stomach just looking at your soft smile.

He kept eye contact while he stroked himself, hesitant on touching you.

“Okay…” you whispered quietly.

He began rubbing your slit with his cock, spreading your arousal on his length and paying attention to your clit. 

“I… I learned something from the book during these two weeks I haven’t seen you.”

You blinked and suddenly gasped. 

Zuko placed a hand above your abdomen and began plunging his index and middle finger into your pussy and thrusting them in and out, eliciting a string of lewd shlick! sounds that echoed around your chambers. 

Your eyes tightened, holding his muscular forearm as he continued. Your gummy walls clenched on his thick, quick fingers curling inside of you and hitting that spot. 

“Hahh… keep going. So so…good.” 

A sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak slipped from your lips at the sight of Zuko sticking his middle and index fingers into his mouth, sucking on them. 

“My Lord—!”

He smiled, a sense of pride overtaking him at your sudden shock. “Can’t I know how my wife tastes like? You taste simply divine, my wife.”

“Oh my—!” You squeaked, using your forearm to hide your flustered expression and beginning to roll your hips against nothing. Your clit still ached in anticipation for that friction he gave.

Zuko’s nimble fingers traced your goosebump-ridden skin and he cupped your left breast while his lips went further down to your other one. “You’re so damn beautiful, my wife. All mine...”

The pit in your stomach grew and you looked away, embarrassed and aroused. 

“Please…touch me further.”

It was silent between the both of you for a moment; the wing in which the both of you were at was silent, and you could hear your heavy heartbeat in your ears the longer you kept eye contact with your husband’s golden eyes, pleading with you. 

“Let me pleasure you…Y/N. Please.”

You nodded your head slowly and bit your lip, your gaze trailing down onto your husband’s cock again, practically on the verge of cumming. 

“Darling—please,” his golden eyes gazed at you, your flushed face and hesitant expression, and he smiled softly. 

He felt nervous. What if he didn’t like sex? What if you didn’t like it? As much as he can call you darling, he was a nervous wreck internally.

“L-Let me know if it hurts. Please. I will stop.”

You nodded and dug your nails on his gentle skin, creating crimson crescents in their wake.

And just like that, your husband penetrated you while holding you so gently. Your lips pursed and your eyes followed where his were: at your cunt. The skin of the base of his cock wrinkled the moment he bottomed out in you and gleamed with your arousal when he moved his hips. Zuko hissed, his breathing becoming jagged and heavy.

“M-Move…Faster, Zuko!.” He rocked his hips into you, holding your arms down against the sand. Your supple breasts bounced with every harsh thrust. 

Oh, Zuko appeared as if he was going to lose it. You were just so beautiful and you were all his now.

Your eyebrows pinched together, lower lip bitten down, and tears welling up in your eyes. 

“Oh my God!” Every move of his was fast, pistoning himself into you with ferocity that you slapped your hand on your mouth to stop squeaking. You felt bad for whatever maid or guard was outside hearing you cry out your husband’s name.

Zuko leaned towards you, latching his lips onto your jawline, where he left soft kisses in their wake. His cock dragged lazily against your velvety walls, clenching against him like a damn vice.

“Ahh—nghh…Z-Zuko—!” Your legs clung onto his hips lazily, body arching onto his while your arms covered your face. He’d slowly pull his hips away and slam into you so lasciviously.

Even if he did not replicate the same growing emotions you had for him, you still found yourself wanting more. Your hips bucked against his and you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him again.

“You feel so good, my Lord…” you whispered, against his lips as you tasted him.

Your legs clung onto his waist, feeling his hips buck and thrusts slowly become less consistent. “Let me make you feel good forever, my love…”

Oh…

He flipped you, to be on top of him. The moment he bottomed out inside you, you let out a cry, pressing down on his lower stomach and bounced yourself on his dick.

“Fuck! Oh my—!” God you looked fucking stunning, with the moon hitting your upper torso and your breasts bouncing with every harsh thrust of his hips upwards. 

“Let me make you mine, Y/N. I beg of you…” He groaned, hissing at how your cunt tightened around him oh so good.

You were crying—like actually crying—rocking your hips and fucking yourself on him back and forth. Zuko felt like he was on cloud nine; you were just too damn perfect.

“Nghh-more! Please!” A wave of euphoria washed over you; it was amazing…something you’ve never experienced before. 

“Are you alright, Y/N?” He paused, noting your labored breathing and maw slack.

Your body felt damn feverish and you could feel how Zuko’s cock twitched inside you, spilling his hot, warm load inside your hole, making you full. 

“F-Fuck…” Zuko wrapped his arms around your waist and slowly tugged you down on him, his head on the crook of your neck as he burried his seed inside you deeper. All warm and filling. 

Your weight was on him and you could hear his heartbeat, both of you breathing heavily. 

“We should… We should do that again. That was nice.” God, you really are perverted.

Or maybe he’s the perverted one for having one hell of a time right now.

“Tomorrow?” “Tomorrow.” He sighed, running his fingers through your hair and feeling your legs’ cling against him become tighter.

But one thing’s for certain; he wouldn’t give this up for the world.

.

.

.

is this rushed? maybe so, but i just had to write this lmao. i’ve been really busy with school recently and haven’t gotten proper time to really write this entire thing out!! anywayssss!! wish me luck in my future exams heheheeh

this is probably the longest fic i’ve ever written in regards to smutty content holy shit 😭

But you? You looked like a myth. Small, at least compared to most humanoids looking as though you’d barely reach Din's shoulder. Delicate iridescent wings folded against your back with golden freckles scattered across your cheeks like stars.

You eventually made your way over to din after not being able to hold yourself back anymore, excitement at seeing something as cute as grogu take over you. You had slid into his booth and immediately started chatting his ear off. His visor just stared at you, occasionally making a noise in response. He only put up with you because you seemed to make Grogu very happy, atleast that’s what he told himself , he was in constant fits of giggles beside him because of you. He noticed you even let him pull your food away from in front of you with nothing but a smile on your face. Din himself couldn’t help but be warmed from your actions a rare smile forming on his face behind the armour. Amongst your chatter he had learned that you belonged to an ancient species called the Aurali, a species so rare most people believed they were fairy tales. He felt sympathy for you knowing what it felt like to be one of the last of your kind.

It was a day or two later when he ran into you again, Din had accepted a simple transport job, to deliver a passenger it was easy credits and shouldn’t have complications. That passenger had turned out to be you. A naturalist who spent her days exploring planets, collecting strange plants, helping random strangers, and accidentally causing chaos everywhere you went.

The mission had originally been scheduled for three days but once that time was up you didn’t leave both parties finding reasons, or rather excuses as to why you needed to stay and so what should have been three days then became three weeks. Three weeks eventually became three months and somehow months further down the line you still hadn’t left. Not because Din had asked, of course not, Din Djarin would never ask something like that. Instead you simply stayed whether to babysit the child while he went on a mission or help around in your own way and Din never said anything because he found he quite liked your company but if anyone were to ask it was because of the love Grogu had for you.

Each day spent aboard the razor crest brought something new some days you were helping repair the Crest and the next you were making Grogu tiny flower crowns. Others were less pleasant and brought danger and pain but somewhere along the way you all became a makeshift family.

You currently sat on the Razor Crest's control panel, talking Dins ear off while he concentrated on something, a regular occurrence at this point. "You know" you said cheerfully, kicking your feet, "if you keep staring at hyperspace too long you start seeing shapes” Din kept his eyes on the viewport.

"I know”

"Last week I saw a bantha”

"Mm”

"It was dancing”

"Mm”

"And then it exploded”

Silence. You leaned closer. “That wasn't a normal response”

"I'm used to your chaos”

"Oh” You grinned. “That's actually kind of sweet” Din immediately regretted speaking. From his seat behind, Grogu giggled. The little traitor din thought. The galaxy had thrown you into Din's life completely by accident or perhaps by fate but you brought so much warmth with you how could he complain.

"Din!"

He immediately sighed, you were using his name. Which meant trouble.

"Diiiiiin!"

Definitely trouble. He entered the cargo hold where you were stood on top of a crate covered in blue paint. Grogu sat beside you, also covered in blue paint.

Din just stared, internally sighing at what he’d just walked into.

"What happened?"

You pointed dramatically. “The child started it”

Grogu made an innocent noise, Din turned his visor to stare at him and he immediately hid behind your leg. Coward.

"You gave him paint” he said blankly, you could feel the unimpressed look through his armour.

"In my defense, I thought he was creating art”

Grogu proudly pointed to a handprint which was on the wall.

Din closed his eyes, not that you could see but you did hear the deep, modulated sigh he let out.

Of course. The wall. Why not the wall? Why not permanently stain his ship? The Razor Crest clearly hadn't suffered enough.

"Can you explain this?" he asked.

"Absolutely” You straightened, ready to dive into your explanation.

"First, Grogu discovered paint”

"Mhm”

"Then he discovered fingerprints”

"Mm”

"Then he discovered walls”

Din nodded slowly. "Then?"

You smiled sheepishly. "Then things escalated” you raised your arms in a half shrug not managing to suppress your smile.

Though you caused Din enough stress to knock 10 years off his life he couldn’t deny the happiness that you brought to both him and Grogu. You made Grogu happier than he'd ever seen him. The child adored you, maybe it was because your species naturally radiated warmth through the Force or because you were just a soft touch when it came to him, never being able to say no to anything he wanted. Either way, Grogu followed you everywhere, like a tiny green shadow. If you were cooking, he was there. If you were exploring, he was there. If you were getting into trouble...unfortunately he was there.

One afternoon Din found both of you missing, a terrifying discovery because missing usually meant danger. He searched the Crest, no sign of either of you. He managed to pick up on faint laughter coming from outside around the other side of the ship. Sure enough, there you were. Safe. He managed to breathe out a small sigh of relief before striding over to you two. You lay before him in a field of glowing flowers with Grogu curled up against your side fast asleep.

Your wings shimmered softly in the sunlight while tiny specs of lights floated around you, he suspected Aurali magic. Din stood there quietly. Just watching how you looked so peaceful, content and beautiful. For once the galaxy wasn't trying to kill any of you. Then Grogu opened one eye, saw Din standing above and did his little wave then promptly fell asleep again. The kid had somehow become even more relaxed than before, snuggling deeper into your side. You slowly peeled open your eyes.

"Hi”

"Hi” he breathed, smiling beneath his helmet.

You smiled brightly up at him “Want to join us?"

"No”

"Okay” you shut your eyes but the smile remained on your face. A pause then you said

"There's room”

Another pause. Din turned away looking at the flowers then looked back at you then to Grogu.

Eventually he sat down making you grin triumphantly.

"I win”

"I didn't agree to anything”

"You sat”

"So?"

"That's basically affection from you” and he couldn’t deny the way his heart warmed at the sight of his child and you snuggled up next to him, how he longed to reach out and touch you.

Taglist: @mooniez

“Say it,” he rasps, the dominance of his heavy hand holding you down making heat unfurl along your skin.

“When I think about you…”

Slowly, his hand slides along the soft skin of your inner thigh until his fingers brush against your folds, slipping effortlessly though the wetness.

You shudder, and he stills.

“Well…?” He waits.

“I…I touch myself.”

With a rough growl, he slides two fingers inside you and your knees buckle, but his other hand presses down harder, keeping you bent and open.

“Does it feel as good as this?” he grunts as he drives his fingers into you with an urgent rhythm.

You can barely answer, your stuttered “never,” coming out between heavy pants.

He’s relentless, stealing your breath as your body winds tight, his name gathering in your throat.

“Don’t you dare.”

He removes his fingers and you mewl in frustration.

“Please,” you beg.

No answer but the rough sound of his belt and thigh plates hitting the floor before you feel the press of him between your legs.

But he doesn’t push inside. Instead, he drags the tip of his cock through your soaked folds, coating himself in the mess you made. He groans. “You want this, don’t you?”

Your head rolls against the control panel, hips pushing back against his.

“It’s all I want.” 

5:50 PM- you begin prep. You cut chicken, season it with salt and pepper, and turn the oven on. Chilies, onions, and bell peppers are sliced in ribbons, and spices are gathered in small ramekins.

Around 6:10 or so, the chicken needs to be browned on both sides before you cook the onion and bell pepper. The chicken goes in easy, sizzling to a honey-colored finish, and you move it to a separate pan. You add the bell pepper and onion next, and you watch the vegetables soften in the pan, smooth pieces of orange, red, and white blending under the golden kitchen lights. You give the pan a short toss, admiring the glimmer of how the glistening vegetables jump. The smell of caramelized onions and lemon greets you, and when the toss lands perfectly without a drop of oil on your hand, you continue shifting the veggies in the pan with a professional sort of manner.

Music plays as you work. Sometimes it's something pop-like; other times, an upbeat hip-hop rhythm. But tonight you've decided on something golden, like those same overhead lights, so the melodic tunes of soft jazz pour from the Bluetooth speaker attached to your phone.

The best way into a person's heart is through their stomach, which is a quote you live and die by without questioning. Food has a way of bridging the gap between people, a universal language shared by everyone. You've seen the magic it plays, food- you've seen years of tension between families melt with a dish shared during dinners, seen awkward first dates blossom into marriages because of a dining experience that they couldn't help but bond over, seen things like these happen over and over again, each like a bandage that heals. It was what led you to pursue a culinary degree, to work in kitchens all over the world, each place's cuisine better than the last, and ultimately to Leon.

How you met deserves its own story, you like to say shorthandedly when people ask, but all you find important about it is that you're together now. You both met on the job, you can recall- you were working at Le Procope in Paris, and he happened to be there because of a mission- and while it was a rather awkward initiation phase, complete with growing pains and lots of extended, thoughtful discussions with each other, you both ended up here, and wouldn't have it any other way.

At around 6:30, you've layered the chilies, spices, black beans, cherry tomatoes, rice, and chicken in a skillet, already baking in the oven, and are bringing gnocchi to a boil in a small saucepan when your phone rings and the music halts to a stop, pausing your flow.

You check to see who's calling. Leon.

----

"Good evening," your voice pours from his phone's speakers, "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, just peachy," says Leon, and from his phone he can hear the typical sounds of you bustling around the kitchen: pots are being stirred, something sizzling in the pan, music in the background. Even from here, it already loosens the knot that's been building in his chest.

"I'm on my way back now. We finished up here early." This particular mission took way shorter than expected to complete, but even with the early dismissal, he can feel restlessness starting to set in his bones like an itch he can’t scratch. The Porsche's engine is a low growl that thrums a steady tune as he presses the gas pedal, and the scenery outside the car starts to melt into painted blurs of green and brown.

"Oh, that's good," he can hear you murmur, seeming a little distracted. He doesn't have to think that hard to guess that you're probably holding the phone between your shoulder and ear, your hands busy with what unmistakably sounds like dinner prep. "Well, I've got started on supper tonight, if you can't tell already," you say casually, "I'd let you know what I'm working on, but then that'd ruin the surprise."

A truck with bright headlights passes by, and it makes him squint. "I'm sure whatever you're making right now is guaranteed to taste good."

"Well, of course, otherwise you'd be doing all the cooking, God forbid."

Leon has tried to cook with you, or for you, on multiple occasions. Don't get it twisted- he's fairly decent at putting together something that tastes nice, but he can't do it as you do. He can try to recreate the combinations of ingredients, spices, heat, and time you put together into the dish, but somehow it simply doesn't come out the same. You've got him convinced that you can do some kind of magic when it comes to this stuff- you've got the golden ratio of spice assortments filed in your head, or know how things taste without trying it first- either way, he can't help but be impressed. It's just another one of those things that you surprise him with. He can hear the oven beep from your side of the exchange. “Hey, don’t ‘God forbid’ me. I can cook on Friday night. It’ll blow your culinary-school-Michelin-Star mind,” he quips sarcastically.

“Yeeeah, okay. We’ll see about that.” There’s a loud clatter, and he can hear you swear under your breath. “Dropped something. Listen, I’ll call you back, okay? Or actually, no- how close are you to the house right now?”

He checks the GPS on the Porsche’s console screen. Forty minutes. If he tries hard enough, he’s sure he can make it in half that, because jeez, he really is starving. Surviving off of MREs and water for three days does something to a man.

“I’m forty minutes out,” he says. “I can make it in twenty-five, maybe.”

“Unless you have a get out of jail free card after you get your butt thrown into the slammer for going 90 in a 60, then I suggest you cool your jets there, sir,” you warn him carefully. Little do you know, but he’s actually going 110. He’d tell you, just to prove you wrong, but a part of him advises that the earful of scolding isn’t worth it.

He hmms in consideration. “I’ll be as discreet as possible.”

“Discreet, my ass. There’s nothing discreet about driving around in a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car that’s also going twice the speed limit.” You pause. “I’m not bailing you out this time, either.”

He shrugs. “I can pay my own bail.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

There’s an incomprehensible string of angry grumbling from your end of the call, and he can’t help but smile a little to himself.

“If you get arrested for speeding, you’ll completely miss dinner,” you point out.

“I guess so,” he concedes.

“Exactly. So don’t be an idiot, and I’ll see you when you get back home,” you say. “Okay, I have to go now because if I keep calling you I’m bound to burn something to a crisp.” He can hear the kitchen faucet turn on. “Okay, love you. Don’t be too late.”

“See you,” he says, and you hang up. The bite of hunger is starting to sink its teeth into him. Yeah, he’s gotta get back already, screw the traffic management system. He can get away with speeding, he’s sure.

It is around seven o’clock when Leon arrives, which means that he absolutely went way over the speed limit on the route back home, much to your dismay, but regardless, he arrives perfectly in time for dinner.

He pulls into the driveway just as you walk outside to greet him, and when you connect the dots to form the conclusion that he indeed did not follow the law on the journey back, you pinch his side with your forefinger and thumb when he pulls you in for a hug. “I told you not to pull that shit again,” you gripe, but there’s no bite behind your words, and you wrap an arm around him.

He kisses the top of your head. “Can’t miss supper,” he says lightly.

He can smell whatever you’ve cooked wafting in through the room. The kitchen is halfway clean; most of the dirty dishes are contained in the sink, the stove is turned off, with a couple of pots still sitting on the burners. He knows he’ll be put on dish duty afterwards, but he doesn’t mind. It’s only fair, anyway.

“Go wash your hands,” you tell him, giving him a light push towards the sink. “Everything’s all set up in the dining room.”

“You got it, boss,” he replies.

When he enters the dining room, you’re already sitting in the chair opposite to him. “Well, don’t be a stranger,” you say, chin resting on your hand, eyes following him as he takes a seat.

You point to a dish filled with chicken, rice, beans, and other things he can’t quite make out. “Skillet chicken with black beans, rice, and chilies.” You point to a smaller container, “gnocchi gratin,” and to a wooden bowl, “And then some arugula salad with lemon vinaigrette.”

“Damn, you didn’t have to make all of this just for dinner,” he says after a second, and like he usually does, he feels a little guilty for not helping with making it, but you tell him the same thing you always say, and it makes him smile every time.

“I can handle it tonight.” He said.

“It’s just some cooking. Trust me, I’ve been through worse things on the job, a recipe will be a piece of cake!” He said.

Boy, what did Leon dig himself into?

He would always watch you when you cooked. You make it look so easy, making him memorized as you chop ingredients and turn to cabinets, stoves, and the sink with what seemed as perfected ease. Even though he would look on over your shoulder with his arms around your waist with a soft smile, enjoying the domesticity in it all, on the inside, he would always feel bad about you always cooking every time the two of you would have a date night in. Leon wanted to treat you for all the love you give him, and he wants to do it right.

Except, it isn’t going right at this moment.

He knew he shouldn’t go too far ahead of himself when choosing the dish for the night. A simple chicken alfredo: classic, but always delicious. As he looked online on his home computer for recipes, his mind got stuck on the idea of making homemade pasta instead of the boxed, premade option. While there is nothing wrong with using it, maybe he can make you swoon with his pasta made by hand. It couldn’t be too difficult, it is only made with eggs, flour, and a pinch of salt.

Now he is staring at the pile of what should be noodles laying on his cutting board as the kitchen is surrounded by flour.

They sure don’t look like your traditional mix of soft doughy goodness that can be coated perfectly with any sauce you mix it in. It currently looks like really thick cuts of dry cheese. Leon even brought a pasta roller machine and it still didn’t look like the one in the recipe he printed out. Thousands of thoughts are rushing through his head. Is this pasta too thick? Should he start over? His mind then remembers about the alfredo sauce currently running on the stove and his head snaps to see it is still just simmering. Okay, good.

Leon decides to clear his mind by going to wash his hands that are caked with dried up pasta dough. Everything is fine, he tells himself. Maybe he can just reuse the same pasta and shape it again. He’ll cut it by hand this time and maybe it’ll end up better looking- wait, is that smoke?

His nose picks up on that bitter aroma, and as he follows it, his sights lands back on that pan of alfredo sauce. Instead of that creamy, cheesy liquid gold, it’s in flames.

“Oh fuck-”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Exhaustion settled deep into your bones as you reached Leon’s apartment level. Work was not kind to you today, and right now, you just want to pull Leon onto the couch with you and use him as a heated weighted blanket and sleep the body pain off.

Just thinking of Leon brought a soft smile to your face. He said he will take over dinner for date night tonight, making you feel all giddy inside. Leon has cooked for you before, well, has made you eggs on toast… a turkey sandwich… Okay, this is the first time he is making you a decent meal according to him. It’s not like he is lazy, he admitted to you that he isn’t too confident in his cooking skills, but thinks he has prepared enough to conquer it this time around. You accept his offer with a chuckle and a kiss to the cheek, which made his posture strengthen with delight and a newfound assurance.

You stand in front of his door, putting the spare key he has given you into the lock. You swear you can smell the drool-worthy scent of whatever meal he conjured up with already as you push the door open until-

“Oh fuck-”

Well, this was not the sight you were expecting.

Leon looked shocked from the sink as a pan from the stove across from him was set ablaze. Your panic mode immediately sets in as you rush in, not bothering to shut the door behind you, grabbing a washcloth and then the pan, bringing it under the running faucet Leon was still next to. The pot sizzles into a light grey haze as you turn to look at your boyfriend.

“Is everything alright?” You ask, your heart pounding in your chest as you look him up and down for any injuries.

“It is now,” he responds as he looks at the pan still in your hand, a slight quirk on his left brow. The alarm in the room settles as you put the pan down into the sink, sighing out in relief.

“Good,” you wheeze as you look around the kitchen. It’s a total mess, with ingredients scattered about, all dusted with flour. Your eyes then meet the cutting board on the counter, seeing what is practically playdough on its very floured surface. “What were you trying to make?”

“It was supposed to be a chicken alfredo,” Leon starts, walking to the front door to close it from earlier. “But it all sorta got out of hand.”

You look after him as he turns back to you. He tries to lighten the situation with a smile, but you can see the sad puppy look right through him. You then spot the packet of the recipe he was using next to the cutting board and approach it.

“I don’t know where it went wrong,” he started to rant. You flipped through the pages, your heart melting more with each flip. “The pasta feels nothing like how the recipe says it should feel, much less looks like it does in the photos. And I swore the alfredo sauce was just fine a second ago, but I look away for one second and it decides it’s a good time to light up.”

Leon wanted to make everything from scratch. The recipe spoke for him that he wanted to put in every ounce of work needed to create you a lovely, warm dish. Now here he is, feeling like he ruined the entire night. You smile as you put the packet down and look at him, confusion running through his face.

“You’re way too good for me.” You walk towards Leon, throwing your arms over his shoulders as you peck the tip of his nose. He hesitantly wraps his arms around your waist, and from this close, you can see swipes of flour on his forehead, probably from trying to move the bangs from his face.

“And you got that from what basically is flavorless taffy on a board and burnt milk?” He asked, which you giggle at as you wipe the flour from his face before pressing another kiss.

“Yeah. Despite in your head you think you have nothing to give me right now, you have shown me that you want to work hard to please me. To me, that’s enough.” Leon looks down to you, awestruck at your words as if you’re a philosopher.

“And this?” You say as you motion around the kitchen. “Is fixable. Don’t think this date night is all ruined, we can make this work.”

Leon huffs out a breath, and you don’t know whether it’s a laugh or a sigh. He stuffs your head into your neck, pressing a soft kiss. “This is why I love you. You’re always here for me at my best and worst.”

“Of course, where would you be without me?” You quip as you lean back to look at him.

“Miserable and face first in some cold Chinese takeout,” He pouts dramatically. You both burst out laughing together until his awkwardly fades out. “At least I didn’t touch the chicken yet…”

“Perfect, the rest we can remake together.” You say as you go to remove your coat, moving to the front door to hang it. “Clean up the counters and the pan and we will get right to it.”

“Yes ma’am.” He says as he goes to follow your instruction.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You and Leon lean back in your seats as you finish demolishing your feast of the night. You managed to make the chicken alfredo and make some mini cheesecakes, all over some glasses of red wine. This date turned out to be more eventful, but fun than originally planned. You enjoyed getting to teach Leon how to make the pasta and the sauce. He followed your motions with enthusiasm, asked to check in every once in a while, and took in every note with a nod. You kept catching his brows furrow every time he got focused, it was cute. Don’t even get started when you both finally sat down to eat a little after 8pm. He moaned at the first bite and cleared his plate within minutes.

You both went to settle at the living room couch after changing into some comfier clothes, some television programmed movie playing in the background. You laid on top of Leon as his hands rested on your back, his thumb rubbing circles on your side as you both mindlessly stared at the TV. At some point, you felt a pair of eyes on you and you turned to look at Leon. His attention wasn’t on the TV anymore, but instead on you.

“What? Got something on my face?” You ask teasingly. Leon brought one of his hands from your back and traced down your nose lovingly.

“No, just appreciatin’ you,” he said softly as he kept taking you in. You bashed under his stare, but he then cupped the side of your face to have you look at him. He then slowly leans in to press a firm kiss on your lips. He then leans back, but you then move forward, chasing for more. He gives you a couple more kisses, all gentle and innocent until you both move away for some breath.

“I had fun tonight,” you said after a beat. “We should have cooking lessons more often.”

“Anything you want to do, I’m in. As long as it’s with you.” He responded, his words soaked in adoration for you.

You smile and hide in his chest for a bit. You move your head to the side, listening in on his heartbeat. “Then let's go skydiving one day.”

“Like I said, if that's what my love wants, we’ll do it.” You both then softly giggling together before settling back into that comfortable silence from before.

“Y’know, I’m kinda in the mood for dessert,” Leon points out a minute later. You turn to him with your eyes squinted in suspicion.

“Leon, we just had some.”

“We can always make room for more,” he replied as his grip on your lower back tightens.

END NOTES: Leon is either a really good cook or a bad one, there's no in between. But, for the sake of this fic, we will go with the latter. I hope you liked this entry and as always, thank you for reading!!<33

TAGLIST: @nocturnalstar, @kennedysbbyy (Let me know in the comments below if you want to be tagged in this celebration's fics!!)

13 DAYS OF LEON KENNEDY: 100 FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION

LEON S. KENNEDY MASTERLIST

REQUEST GUIDELINES

He knew coming back to Solana was a mistake the moment he saw you walk into the room in that wedding dress.

Kriff, he knew it was a mistake when he received your father’s communique, but still accepted the invitation to return, somehow managing to convince himself that he would be able to handle it.

That was a mistake, too.

Din one hundred percent does not have a handle on it, himself or anything else.

He understood the danger he was opening his heart to in coming back, fully knowing that he would have to leave you again - which is why he didn’t bring Grogu; he thought he had properly weighed that inevitable torture against the heaven of seeing you again, hearing your voice once more, just being in the same room as your perfume – he could endure it. He told himself he had to.

Unfortunately, Din had grossly underestimated the hold you still have on him, while overestimating his own fortitude. 

From his very first glimpse of you stepping into the room, all reason flew out of the Mandalorian’s head.  Your graceful figure stopped his heart dead while the glow of your beautiful countenance shocked it back to life in an endless cycle.  You carried the silk masterpiece draping off your body so well, it was you who was the work of art, not the garment; barely breathing, Din likened this moment to visiting a painting after having only seen it in a holofilm – his memories and dreams of you didn’t hold a candle to the real thing.  The feared warrior was about to keel over and all you had done was walk across the room - you hadn’t even noticed him yet.

It was only when he heard your breathy thanks for his assistance with your dress that Din truly understood the magnitude of his error.  That’s all it took: you speaking to him one time and he was ready to throw away all semblance of decorum and honour, get on his knees and obey your every wish and desire - no matter how disastrous for either of you.  With great difficultly, Din forced himself to avert his gaze from your beautiful face - for fear that he might see some sign from you, real or imagined, that would give him permission to haul you over his shoulder and steal you out of the room.

This was the moment Din Djarin reconciled with the truth that he was indeed, a weak, weak man.  And a fiend.  Since that chance meeting with you on Coruscant, the absence of you dominated his every waking hour and plagued each sleepless night somehow more persistently than ever.  He was an addict, and you his drug of choice – after that sweet hit months ago, his mind, body and soul were constantly jonesing for more.

At the same exact time, Din realized the risk he exposed you to by returning.  To be in such close proximity and not be able to touch, kiss, or hold you was asking a level of restraint and control that he could no longer promise to embody.  If, for even a nanosecond, his heart believed he could reclaim the life he once shared with you, Din would surrender to his desires completely and discard any remaining sense of duty, decency. 

He had no qualms admitting he would happily sacrifice himself if only to taste the sweetness of your kiss again, to feel your soft body fold against his, to see you arch as he made you come over and over, hear you whimper his name as he filled you.  He would do it all even fully knowing it could be but a brief dream, a spelled mirage that would be broken once you married and he left again – the last time having nearly killed him, would Din have the strength to survive such a devastating blow twice?  He loved you enough to be willing to find out.

Dank Farrik. Perhaps his own downfall he could accept, but Din was unwilling to subject you to that same fate.  On Coruscant, in your inebriated state, you had been so candid and unguarded in admitting how deeply you had grieved, how hollow his leaving had left you – how could he force you to suffer the pain of separation again?  The sadness and hurt he witnessed in your pretty eyes that night haunt him to this day still – only a villain would risk your chance for future happiness just because he couldn’t control his damn self.

And what if he did something even more foolish than reaffirm his everlasting love for a woman he could never be with?  Like ask you to come with him?  To leave behind your entire life, your duty, your stupid fiancé?  Because, what if you came?  And for what?  A lone bounty hunter with few credits to his name and even less merit after he stole the Princess of a planet that has shown him and his son nothing but kindness and welcome?  A man with nothing but deserved shame and a small cabin on the outskirts of an insignificant planet in the Outer Rim.  You would forsake your honour and homeland, the love of your people, the future you’ve been working towards all your life for that?  For Din?  He would stain your reputation and that of your royal house for his own selfish desires, deprive you of the chance to start a family with your new husband and continue your illustrious line?  He could not.  You would resent him and certainly grow to hate him.  He would lose you all over again, only this time slow and tortuous. 

No, for both of you to survive, Din needed to cut himself off at the knees.  As unnatural as it felt, he had to build a defensive wall between you and his heart, blockading any hope of affection and tenderness, if he was to have a chance at protecting what was left of your peace.  You and him were always destined to end, but he would suffer now, alone in silence, if it meant lessening your agony in the future.

While your father made polite small talk, Din vowed himself to be a stranger to you so there would be no chance of falling into familiar old patterns, of seeking the intimacy of your company.  He steeled his body, tone, thoughts, and even his unseen facial expression to one of impassibility and indifference.  If the fires of his love for you did not burn so intensely, the coldness he forced himself to exude might have actually frozen over his heart.

He hid from you for as long as he could after leaving the East wing parlour, afraid of what even one moment alone with you would do to his defenses - but fate’s cruel sense of humour caught up with the Mandalorian as surely as did you in that stairwell.  Din drowns in his own regret and shame as he thinks back to this last conversation with you, likely the last the two of you will ever have – your palpable confusion and hurt had sent his heart reeling and beating violently against its Beskar cage, screaming and begging to be heard.

*****

“Din.”

“Princess.”  Yes, cyare. Cyar’ika. Mesh’la. Riduur.

“Din, can we go somewhere to talk?”

“What would we need to talk about, Princess?”  Anything you desire, mesh’la, but may I ask, only talk?  I wish desperately to hold you in my arms and kiss the honey of your lips once more. 

“Why have you come, Din?”

“Your father recalled me to review the adequacy of the security plans for your wedding; I’m here to ensure that your nuptials proceed without disruption.”  I missed you too much and I’m not strong enough to stay away anymore.  Every single day for the past year I’ve fought against it, but my path has always been to return to Solana and reunite with the part of myself that I left here with you. 

“You’ve come to help give me away?”

“Solana called, and I am here to fulfill my duty to its people.”  I would rather die, but I don’t have a choice.

“I thank you for your service, General.”

“Is there anything further, Princess?”  Please don’t cry, cyare - it kills me to hurt you like this.

“In your haste to leave previously, this was left behind; now that you’re here, General, it can be returned to its rightful owner.”

“I thank you, Princess.”  This is pendant, as with my heart, is yours and always will be.  I will find some way to return it to you so you will always have a piece of the Mandalorian who loves you, even if you hate me.  Ni kartyli gar darasuum (I love you).

*****

Din does everything in his power to avoid you for the rest of the day, but the image of your crestfallen face and the despair with which you proclaimed he’s forgotten you follow him like an unrelenting wraith, gloomy and accusatory.  Even when he goes to the training grounds to reunite with his former comrades, the invisible string that tethers him to you for always tugs until he cannot ignore its pull any longer – he instinctively looks up to the southside tower and sees you waiting for him, as you have so many times before, in that secret spot.

The Mandalorian wishes to go to you more than anything - it would be so easy for him to take off and fly into your waiting arms, but the consequences of doing so keep him firmly grounded; the ripping of his heart would only be temporarily mended if he gave in now, just to tear open later into an merciless chasm of pain that would swallow you both.  So, Din pretends not to see you - he fists his hands so hard his palms hurt, just so he isn’t tempted to adjust his helmet display to zoom in on your beauty, and he distracts himself with the comradery of the men under his former command.  When it comes time to file into the castle, he forces himself to do so without checking if you’re still on the turret. 

Dinner comes and goes.  Din is in equal measures disappointed and relieved when Serene announces that you’ve retired early after a full day, and he’s still conflicted when the time comes to bring his plate back to his old room to eat alone.  But once inside his former quarters, self-flagellation wins out – the knowledge that you’re somewhere near, hurting, and he cannot comfort you sits like a pit in Din’s stomach.  That you truly believe him to no longer care for you unsettles the Mandalorian to the point of nausea – appetite gone, he cannot bring himself to eat even one bite.

He decides to go for a calming walk around the castle instead.  There’s a storm rolling in now; the percussive sounds of rain and thunder a welcomed accompaniment to the wild beating of Din’s heart.  He’s loved Solanian rainstorms ever since that night in the Solana countryside when he bore the skin of his body to you for the first time, while the outside torrential downpour enveloped and muffled the sounds of your perfect first lovemaking.

About to do a third turn of the hallways in the West wing, Din’s sensors pick up on the commotion of scurrying feet above him, the addition of harsh, frantic tones lead him upstairs to investigate.  His instincts kick in at the sight of Serene and Olivia’s panicked expressions and pleading gestures to a small group of the Royal Guard; upon hearing the thunder of the Mandalorian’s approach, the crowd falls silent and turns towards the noise.

“General!” The guards stand at attention and both your lady’s maids look relieved at Din’s appearance. 

“What’s wrong?” The General’s heart pounds – it already knows the answer.

The two women look at each other, unsure, before Olivia pipes up, “It’s the Princess, General.  She’s missing and we cannot find her anywhere.”

“When and where is the last time she was seen?”

“In her bedchambers. Right after…” Olivia falters awkwardly, not sure how much to reveal in front of the Guard; Serene saves her, “… after you left her on the stairs this afternoon, General.”  The anger in her voice is unheard by most among them, but not Din; to him it’s loud and well deserved.

But he cannot dwell on that right now.  Military precision and strategic mind snapping into place, Din lays out a search plan to cover as much area as possible in as little time as possible, then dispatches his men.  He himself runs straight to the South tower.

The rage of the outside storm provides cover for the echoing boom of his heavy footsteps, but nothing can quiet the yell inside Din’s head as he races through the castle, no, no, please no.  He reaches the door to your secret meeting place in record time, hoping against hope that another member of the legion has already found you.

The door is stuck. 

Din pushes and pulls the jammed handle.  He throws his weight against the thick paneling.  The narrowness of the spiraled staircase leading to this remote area of the castle prevents him from getting the leadup he needs, but still he tries over and over to shove his way through to the outside.  Huffing and out of breath, Din adjusts the infrared reader on his internal display to see what’s beyond the door.

Nothing.  Thank goodness.  Out of habit, he does a secondary scan to make sure before turning to go.

Wait.

Barely perceptible and flickering so quickly he nearly missed it, a subtle flush of warmth shimmers small and faint on Din’s HUD.  The Mandalorian recalibrates his sensors so that the heat signature materializes slightly more in focus; now that he knows where to look, he can make out a shape on the ground.  It barely glows, dimming and flashing erratically.  It’s dying.

No!

Ready to burn down the door, Din’s blaster is out of his holster faster than he can think; he shoots at the lock until it’s mangled and smoking and then shoulders his entire body weight against the door until it splinters open.  He fights against the howl of the wind now rushing to enter the castle in order to get to you, cape whipping around his body, rain slicing against his visor.

Skidding across the slippery wet stone floor, the great warrior drops to his knees in one frantic motion to hover over your unmoving body, trying to shield you from the rain.  It makes no difference, your clothes and hair are so drenched and waterlogged they practically pin you to the floor, every part of you is wet and you’re so, so cold. 

“Cyare, please, wake up, please, please,” Din pats your face gently, trying to dry and warm your cheeks with his gloves to no avail, “wake up, please.  Come back, come back to me.”  You make no response, face ghoulishly unmoving, unnatural hue taking over your countenance.

Fear like he’s only ever felt when Grogu’s been in harm’s way grips onto Din’s insides and twists. 

No, no, no, please, no.  It cannot end like this.  I cannot lose you like this.  Please, Maker, no.

With a surge of super human strength, Din lifts your limp body and cradles you close to his chest, protected and treasured, “Mesh’la, we need to get you dry.  I’m going to get you help.  You’re going to be okay.  You have to be okay.  Don’t leave me, please.” 

Then, he runs.

At the bottom of the Southside tower stairs, Din starts yelling for help as he runs towards where he last saw another soul, anyone.  It feels like the castle is an empty labyrinth tonight and despite the racket he’s making, help does not meet him quickly enough - Din doesn’t think, he just keeps going, muscle memory taking over as his feet bring him to your bedchamber doors where luckily, both Olivia and Serene have heard his call and rush to meet him.

“Please,” he begs, “she’s so cold.” He’s not in the right mind to explain further or do anything other than hold you as directed while your maids strip and try to dry you.  After laying you in bed, Din stumbles until his back hits the wall, paralyzed by the worst-case scenario fears running rampant through his mind. 

What if he were to never see your eyes sparkle again, either with mischief, in wonder, or full of lust?  Never hear the melody of your voice cooing sweet praise and encouragement to his son?  What if that cold, unfeeling utterance of your title was the last thing he ever said to you?  What if your final thoughts of him were that he didn’t love you, that he didn’t live and die by the very thought of you?

What if everything he had forced the both of you to suffer since returning had all been for naught, that even when trying to protect you he could only hurt you?

People attempt to get his attention - they suggest he leave to get some rest, give you some privacy, tell him there’s nothing more he can do for you right now, but Din hears none of it.  Doctors, nurses, Serene, Olivia, servants, his Lieutenant – he pays none of them any heed; all Din knows is there is only one voice that can send him away and that’s yours.  He might actually growl this at the doctor.

Din remains in your room, an ever-vigilant gargoyle looming fierce and protective, his eagle eyes scrutinize every move made near or to you, his approval necessary to proceed.  He is immovable, unapproachable, ferocious, inconsolable – a sentinel on guard with nothing to lose but the treasure over which he keeps watch.  The Mandalorian’s stubbornness yields small results but results nonetheless; after a few hours of being bundled up and all manner of heating pads and blankets being added to your bed, you look better, definitely drier.  Din’s helmet readings confirm those of the medical equipment: your body temperature is slowly, but steadily rising, your heartbeat is once again strong enough to be picked up by his sensors. 

But you don’t wake up.

The doctor says to be patient, the nurses say he doesn’t need to stay; the former is more difficult than Din anticipated, the later impossible.  He sits vigil by your side, barely blinking so he doesn’t miss any changes in your condition, frustration growing when nothing does.  By hour six after having found you, Din is ready to send for his son and ask Grogu to Force heal you.

Who needs sleep when he has worry and guilt?  Din knew you were up on that turret all by yourself, and he knows why you were there.  He knows he’s the reason you’re lying in this bed right now, fighting for your very life.  He should have gotten to you sooner.  He should have never let you wait up there alone.  What if Serene and Olivia hadn’t told him you were missing?  What if he hadn’t conducted his second scan and you had been locked out in the rain overnight?

What if… what if… what if…

Din drops his head, cradling his helmet in his hands, unable to stop the spiral of his thoughts and the turmoil of his heart.  Maker, please, please let her be okay.  I’ll do anything, give anything - she just has to be okay, please.

If you’re not awake by morning he’s going to call Grogu.

---

Slowly, you try to blink your eyes open, the bright lights of the room sharp and stinging – all you can manage is to squint; only able to turn your head in tiny increments, you haltingly scan your surroundings until coming upon the imposing, armoured figure waiting at the bedside.

“Din?” you barely recognize the scrape of your own voice.

“Mesh’la,” panic and relief flood through the Mandalorian’s modulator in equal measure, “You’re awake.  How are you feeling?  Does anything hurt?”

Adjusting your body in small measures, each ache and every soreness catching you by surprise, you manage to shimmy up slightly into a sitting position with Din’s help.  It takes you until now to realize you’re in your own bed; still disoriented you manage to croak out, “Everything hurts?  Din… what happened?”

“The door on the Southside tower… it was locked and you got trapped outside in the storm.  No one could find you… when Olivia told me you were missing, I… I tried to get there as fast as I could…” Din chokes on his words as he relives the fear of those moments.

Recollection flashes behind your eyes as you start to remember – the wedding dress viewing, giving back the Mythosaur pendant, fleeing to the tower, letting go, the numbing cold of the rain - you nod in comprehension, “You saved me.  Thank you, Din.”

“I do not deserve your thanks, cyare.  It is my fault you were up there, my fault you got hurt,” Din drops his head in shame, “I’m so sorry, mesh’la.  I was avoiding you and shouldn’t have… I knew you were up there and didn’t go to you… this is all my fault… you were out there in the cold for so long… who know what could have happened if…”

“But it didn’t happen.  You found me,” Din’s obvious guilt chips at your heart, “There’s no need for apologies, Din.  It’s not as if we made an agreement to both go to the tower – I was there of my own free will and you were under no obligation to come meet me.  None of this is your fault, really, General.  Feelings change.  I understand.”

Feelings changed??  No, you didn’t understand at all.

The absurdity of your words necessitate the only action Din deems to be appropriate, as bold and brutal as it is.

Clang!

Din’s helmet is ripped from his head and thrown to the ground so quickly you’re nearly unable to squeeze your eyes shut in time. “Din!” you gasp, shocked.

Grimacing as your muscles scream in protest, the effort to sweep your hands up to your eyes hurts more than you want to admit – but that pain is nothing compared to your fear of the harm it would do to see Din’s face uncovered.

Rough leather envelops your hands and gently pulls them away from your face, “Princess, it’s okay.” You shake your head as adamantly as you can, keeping your eyes closed.  Din’s gravely baritone remains gentle and reassuring, “Trust me, cyar’ika.  Open your eyes.”

Even with his explicit permission, you still feel hesitant; slowly, you open your eyes but keep your gaze lowered, focusing on the gentle way Din holds your hands - his thumbs rubbing gentle circles over the backs as he patiently waits for you to look up.  After a short while, you cautiously peer through your lashes, still nervous and uncertain until your eyes snap all the way open in recognition.  Disbelief and confusion overtake your face as your hands leaves the cradle of Din’s to touch the visage before you.

“I know you,” you whisper, blinking with wide-eyed astonishment, half expecting this image to disappear before you can comprehend its existence.  Din nods indulgently, his smile as gentle as his eyes, letting you take your time in putting all the pieces together. 

“Coruscant,” you say definitively, your memory sharpening as your heart leaps, “that wasn’t a dream?”  At the shake of Din’s head, you melt even further, “You were really there.  You took care of me.”

“Of course, mesh’la,” as his eyes crinkle, the browns of Din’s irises fleck with an enchanting hue of gold, “I wish to always take care of you.”

“But,” your thoughts struggle to form as you become distracted by how handsome the man is; your fingers run over the soft and hard lines of Din’s face, caress the curves of his smile, a cheeky finger pokes at his dimples, “why did you let me believe it was a dream?  Why didn’t you want me to know that we had met?”

As the Mandalorian sighs, his features soften and his eyes deepen with emotion – their expressiveness captivates you, “Princess, do you remember what I told you that night about why we couldn’t meet again?” Of course, you remember - you had memorized those romantic words and replayed them in your head countless times since that night; it’s only now you fully realize that poetic declaration of love wasn’t of your creation, but Din’s.  Heart blossoming, you nod and Din continues, “I admit what I said was dramatic, but the sentiment behind my words has always been true.  I am so incredibly weak for you, mesh’la.”

Your mouth opens to object, but Din anticipates you; he pulls your hands back into his, “I know you would say that I’m strong, cyare, but it’s simply not true when it comes to you.  Strong for you, yes, strong in your name, always, but when it comes to my heart, my soul?  They obey only you; I am, forever at your mercy.”

You may not agree, but a Mandalorian being vulnerable and exposing his soft underbelly is not something to scoff at; you squeeze Din’s fingers and continue to listen patiently as he closes his eyes in recollection.  You miss their warmth immediately.

“This past year without you has been excruciating, mesh’la.  It’s all I could do to scrape enough of myself together to be the father Grogu needs, but otherwise, I was barely living.  Food had no taste, drink was without spirit, and the absence of you was an ever-present weight on my chest that made it hard to even breathe at times,” Din nearly chokes, needing a minute before he can force himself to take in air properly. “I missed you every waking moment of every single day and retreated into my memories of you during each sleepless night; I was hollowed out, half of a man, tortured by the memory of true happiness and the knowledge I would never find it again,” Din finally opens his eyes and his look of sad resignation hurts your chest.

“The reason I didn’t want you to know I was really on Coruscant is the same reason I’ve tried not to be alone with you since coming back to Solana,” anguish overtakes Din’s voice, “To have even one true moment with you, anything remotely resembling what we used to share, would be like giving a sip of water to a man dying of thirst.  Once I had a taste, my weaknesses would prevail and then nothing could hold me back from quenching the thirst I’ve been living with as my constant companion.  I would not have the strength nor would I want it, to resist my heart’s deepest desires any longer.”  He looks apologetic.

“If we shared any real closeness, however briefly, I would have no choice but to throw all caution to the wind and beg for you to take me back, let me into your life again,” Din hangs his head in shame, “and that wouldn’t be fair to you, mesh’la.  I have no right.  No right to ask for connection or intimacy from you, to beg you to love me, when I have no more to offer you than I did when I left.  I have no right to risk all that you’ve worked for, to allow my own lack of restraint to spell ruin for your future and maybe even Solana’s.”

“In short, I am weak, so I ran,” a weight seems to have lifted off Din’s shoulders, “but I’m not running anymore, Princess.  I thought that hiding my feelings from you would save the both of us from a deeper wound, but now I know that was cowardice speaking - and our love deserves bravery.  Cyare, I may not be strong enough to thwart fate, but I will never abandon you again.  From now on, anything that needs to be faced, I want to face with you, together.  As long as you are willing to have me, I promise I will remain by your side and carry you through whatever may come.”

Din wishes he possessed more eloquence, but he is a mere bounty hunter appealing to real grace; he watches as you process his confession with thoughtfulness and sympathy before your angelic features relax into a familiar, affectionate look - one he’s dreamt of many times this past year, the beauty of which could only be surpassed by the words you say next:

“Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Din.”

Until this moment, Din Djarin did not know what true peace in one’s soul felt like.  “Ni kar'tayl darasuum gar, Princess,” he lets you pull him closer by the back of his neck until his uncovered forehead rests against yours for a helmetless Keldabe kiss.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you sniffle quietly, though your tone is one of tremendous relief.

“I could no sooner stop the rotation of a planet around its star, cyare.  I’m so sorry for letting you believe that, and even more so for having hurt you,” Din’s remorse crushes his heart, “I beg your forgiveness, my Princess, and will accept any such punishment you deem fit.”

Unable to look at you, the stoic hunter attempts to shrink; you truly believe there is a part of Din that wants you to discipline him for his transgression, and that all of him believes he deserves it – your Mandalorian has always been so hard on himself.  With a playful little grin, you duck down slightly so you can meet Din’s eye, “I won’t lie, General, there is no one in the known worlds who can shatter my heart and mend it so completely.  I’ll let the offense go unpunished this one time, but would warn you not to do anything of the sort again.” Chuckling, more generous than cheeky, you reassure your beleaguered warrior, “I am happy, Din.  There’s nothing to forgive.”

The way the tension melting from Din’s features transforms his face from world weary to that of a man ten years younger is nothing short of stunning; his voice, however, remains gruff, “It’s more than I deserve, mesh’la.  Though I admit I cannot think of any worse torture than seeing you in that wedding dress and knowing it wouldn’t be me receiving you at the end of the aisle.  That nearly killed me.”

Throwing your arms around Din’s neck, you bury your face in the scrunch of his neck cowl and burrow in deep and safe, comforted by your Mandalorian’s familiar scent and the sheer colossus of his being, “I hate that stupid dress.”

Din chuckles, rasping in your ear, “You looked beautiful.  An absolute dream, cyare.”

Snuggling in even further, you press yourself against the strength of Din’s Beskar, seeking sanctuary in the only place you’ve ever truly found peace; as you cocoon yourself in his arms, a question you can’t seem to reason out on your own continues to gnaw at you.  Looking up, you rest your chin on the heart of the General’s armour, “Din, there’s one thing I still don’t understand.  Even if I thought you merely a dream, why did you show me your face on Coruscant?  How was that allowed?  How can you show me your face right now?”

Not without some reluctance, Din lets you leave the safety his embrace and helps you sit back comfortably on the bed; still holding your hands in his, the General rests his forearms on his thighs and leans forward, serious, “I was raised to follow the Amidalor (The Way of the Mandalore) and since speaking the Creed, have lived by the tenet to never show my face to another living being.  You know that I broke this rule previously for Grogu and as a result, was deemed an apostate and stripped of my standing as a Mandalorian.  Though I broke the Creed of my own volition, and I have never and nor will I ever regret anything I do for my son, my resulting exile was one of the most difficult times of my life – rivalled perhaps, by this past year away from you.  It was only after I redeemed myself in the Living Waters of Mandalore that was I able to shed my shame and guilt, and truly regain my sense of self and identity.”

Your chest tightens, remembering; even when Din first told you the story, his sense of loss and anguish at being excommunicated by his covert came across so fresh and acute - seeing your big strong warrior still triggered by such a painful time in his life had nearly broken your heart.

“Having done it, violating the Creed again is not something I wish to consider in my lifetime.  I’m saying all this so you know I do not take lightly to the act of removing my helmet and revealing my face,” Din says gravely.  You nod along, but all this you already understood.

“In my covert, there has only ever been one known exception to the rule and that is for one’s riduur.  Even this is not widely accepted among all sects, but… I believe This is the Way and choose to live by it,” Din hard swallows; sometimes he still feels like that young foundling from Aq Vetina trying to find his footing among his new people, terrified of stepping out of line, “Among all the star systems in this galaxy, there will only ever be one being to whom I will pledge myself as a lifelong partner and who I would ever consider my spouse.  Though we never said the vows to one another, I belong to you, Princess, as one belongs to their riduur.  Only to you will I ever commit a lifetime’s devotion, only with you do I ever wish to be equal in partnership, and to you I am so bonded that I will never raise warriors with anyone else.  You see, cyare, in my heart, you are already my riduur and so my face, as with all of me, is yours.”

You’re crying now. 

Though these are not the Mandalorian marriage vows Din taught to you, the sentiments of his speech so closely mirror those words on commitment, partnership, and devotion, you can easily imagine them recited at an altar in front of loved ones.  If only you were not so overwhelmed with emotion right now; you wish you could find the words to properly express the magnitude of your own feelings and pledge your everlasting fidelity and love to the only man in the universe you will always give your everything.

Din sees you needlessly struggling; he doesn’t need any verbal confirmation to know you are of one mind – the pureness of your heart is written all over your pretty face; he tries to lighten the mood, joking, “I hope you understand now, mesh’la, why I took great offense to what you said earlier - when it comes to my riduur, feelings do not, in fact, change.”

You cry even harder.

Pulling you back into his arms, Din hums soothing noises into your hair and rubs gentle circles on your back as your tears cascade down the slope of his Beskar like a glittering waterfall, soaking into his flight suit.  Only after your breathing evens and your body relaxes into his hold does the General let you pull away, “What happens now, Din?”

“Now, you rest and recover, cyar'ika.  And after,” he pauses to kiss the back of your hands, a devoted knight swearing his allegiance, “we take it day by day, together.  There is no being or force in this galaxy that can tear me away from you ever again; I will not, cannot, leave your side save by your say so, Princess.”

How you’ve missed this – the way the steady confidence of this man and the surety of his words always give you strength.  With him, you’re allowed space to be unsure, vulnerable, even lost, able to rely on him to lead you to the right path with his unwavering support.  Never are you more certain of who you are and what you’re capable of than when you’re with Din.

“I cannot marry him, Din.”

“No, you cannot,” his tone has the same finality, the same conviction as yours – the way one might repeat a fact as simple and true as the gravitation bond between planet and moon.  Finally making this declaration out loud feels like setting your heart free from a cage; the knowledge that Din is behind you, ready to catch you, sends your spirit soaring high and into his space so that you can crash your lips to his.

This kiss, the first you’ve shared in over a year feels like coming home; it’s bathed in the relief of belonging, steeped in the comfort of knowing and being known, powerful in its own quiet calm.  Euphoria washes over your entire being like an ocean, drowning you in its embrace.

Your lips move together in a well practiced choreographed dance, the two of you falling in sync easily after all this time - but there is nothing routine or neat about the way Din’s mouth devours yours.  He presses into you, passion-filled, unruly, barely restrained; everything is too much and not enough, vividly felt, yet hazy and dreamy – all the most wonderful of contradictions.  The General’s tongue is punishing while worshipful, each stolen breath is urgent but never-ending, this kiss feels like forever and yet could never be long enough. 

You chase the end of such a kiss with a series of soft pecks, unwilling to sever the connection of your lips, except to whisper sweet affirmations to one another.

I’ve missed you.

I love you so much.

Never letting you go ever again.

Sense and practicality return too soon to your Mandalorian.  “Cyare, I know I just promised never to leave you,” Din starts, chuckling at your anticipated whine of protest, “but you must allow me to fetch the doctor.  And either Serene or Olivia to tend to you.  Likely both as they are equally worried about you.”

“And you’ll come back?”  You know he will, but there is such a comfort in the reassurance that only Din can provide.

He knows this; he knows you, “I will always come back, Princess.”

Satisfied, you let Din press one more promise to your lips before you watch him put his helmet back on and slip out the door.

---

In the hallway, Din waits for your door to fully close behind him before releasing a ragged sigh of relief, letting loose the very thread that seems to have been stitched throughout his body, holding him together this entire time; tipping his head back, Din finally lets himself properly breathe, every inhale and exhale slow and deep.

It will take more than just this moment for Din to fully embrace his new lease on life, now that the tension that’s been pulling him taut and sharp for the past year has finally dissipated - but he is content.  Smiling to himself, happy, hopeful, Din is pushing off the door in the direction of your maids’ quarters when he’s stopped in his tracks by a familiar voice,

“General.”

Din turns to see the king emerge from the shadows of a nearby alcove.

“Is there something I should know about you and my daughter?”

---

Din follows His Majesty into the closest study in silence, already kneeling in fealty by the time the older man turns around to face the Mandalorian.

“Tell me, General.  How long have you been in love with the Princess?”

Din does not miss the hint of accusation in the King’s tone – he resigns that the truth will serve everyone best, “Since the moment I met her, Your Majesty, and more so every day since.”  He knows this is not what your father is really asking, “I had already known the Princess for several weeks when you bestowed upon me the rank of General.”

Astonishment colours your father’s expression as Din continues, “Please forgive me, sire.  There was no conspiracy on either of our parts to deceive anyone, especially you, or proport ourselves inappropriately.  When I first met the Princess, I was unaware of her rank and drawn to her kindness and good nature alone.  It took very little time for me to fall beneath the spell of her wit and charm, and to be enraptured by the purity of her heart.  By the time I learned of her royal identity, I was already head over heels for the woman who held the title.”

The king sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, needing some time to process this information, “And the entire time…?”

“Nearly, Your Majesty,” Din still cannot meet the gaze of this man who he respects and venerates so much, “After I accepted the New Republic assignment, the Princess and I attempted to put a stop to our feelings, agreeing to remain within the boundaries of our stations - to be royalty and devoted knight only.  But the enormity of our respect and admiration for one another could not ultimately be contained, and after months of slowly failing restraint, we gave in to our affections for one another.”

Shaking his head, your father asks, confused, “But why would you choose to hide your relationship?  Why would you keep it from your king?”

“Because,” Din’s head snaps up in surprise, he would have thought the multitude of reasons were obvious, “… she is the Princess.  The hierarchy of court and kingdom is rigid – our love would never be accepted; its very existence could tarnish the Princess’ reputation and diminish the majesty of your royal house.  And even if by some miracle it did not, I still cannot be the future you envisioned for your daughter.”

The Mandalorian bows his head again, missing the way your father’s mouth curls with amusement, “The Princess is, by her own admission, someone with great political and diplomatic worth; membership into your great house is coveted by many in the galaxy.  Your Majesty, you must have had some expectations as to the type of person who would be deserving of marrying her?  Certainly, someone of importance, with their own respectable standing in the kingdom if not the galaxy.  Perhaps even a title or belonging to an esteemed and celebrated lineage? At the very least, you must wish her marriage to bring political or security advantage to Solana.  The Princess expects no less of herself.”

“And that, General, is how you see my daughter?  What you deem her worth?”

“No, sire.  As much as I respect her rank, the Princess’ title has no place in the esteem I hold for her,” Din’s modulated voice fills with emotion, his admiration evident to your father, “To me, she is… ethereal.  Truly one of the humblest, genuinely compassionate beings I’ve ever met – that she wields the power of her position with such grace and thoughtfulness is Solana’s great fortune and its true source of strength.  Your daughter is smart and funny, and despite her immense privilege she does not shelter herself – she exhibits such genuine zest for life and affection for people of all walks.  Her spirit is strong and full of grace, but she can be feisty and stubborn – there is never a dull moment with her.  Beyond everything, the Princess is open with her mind and generous with her heart - I cannot say there is another like her in all the worlds.”

It feels incredible to be so effusive about your amazing qualities.  Due to the secret nature of your relationship, Din has never espoused his never-ending admiration for you out loud to anyone except for Grogu; to be able to do so to your father, a man to whom Din credits many of your merits, feels like a gift, “If it were up to me, Your Majesty, the Princess would only know love and reverence for her character and not her status - she should have a partner who worships the very ground she walks on.  But duty comes first, and that is not something either of us would have her hide from.  Your daughter’s marriage should strengthen your great house and raise the glory of Solana, keeping her safe and prosperous.  And I cannot offer any of that.  I am no one.”

“Are you sure, General?” The king straightens his posture, standing regal and self assured, “That you are no one?”

Your father gestures for the Mandalorian to rise and holds unwavering eye contact with the dark T-visor as his most revered commander gets up, “How can you say you are no one, General?  Are you not the leader of my armies?  Do Solana’s military forces not look to you as their shining example of exemplary combat skill and strategic intellect?  They trust you to lead and support them in training, demonstrate for them conduct befitting the deepest, truest sense of honour, duty and valour.  And why would they not?  You treat your brothers in arms like equals and protect their families like your own despite having no ancestral ties to this land or personal reasons to pledge allegiance to their sovereign.  Are you not a hero of the Battle of Planoor, where you led our troops to victory over Imperial insurgents?  Did you not repel the scourge of the galaxy and their attacks on Solanian freedom at great personal risk to yourself?  If I’m not mistaken, you bear a permanent souvenir of that day on your body that would have dealt a lesser man a much more tragic fate.” 

The gentle warmth of your father’s eyes and the pride that shines from their depths is undeniable, “General, even if I had not decorated you for these accomplishments myself, I would still hold you in my esteem as one of the finest men in the galaxy.  You came to our planet a stranger and took every citizen of Solana under your protection; I’ve personally witness you defend and care for my subjects as if they were of your own Creed.  Never does the core of one's character ring clearer to me than in the way they show up for the innocent and defenseless; you, General, stand for what’s right and fair, always with compassion, and ever respectful of the dignity we owe to all living beings.  Decency, General, is your greatest strength.”

“Tell me this, General,” the king’s tone grows indulgent and paternal, “What type of man gives so selflessly to those from whom he would never consider asking for repayment? The same that exhibits bravery and perseverance in the face of insurmountable odds, I would think. A man who fights through his own struggles to approach even the most daunting of challenges head on in the name of justice and truth.  What chance does evil and tyranny have against this type of man who willingly puts his life on the line and never backs down from a righteous fight? Who leads by tireless example and inspires an entire nation to do the same?  General, I can not fathom how a man such as you are could view himself as no one or think himself unable to offer Solana prosperity and safety.”

Though, to most, he is generally considered a man of few words, Din has never found himself to be truly speechless until now.  He was raised to be honourable for the sake of honour, brave for bravery’s sake, and that even if a Mandalorian had nothing, he would always have his integrity; praise for living The Way is something that will always catch Din off guard.  While he’s still absorbing the generosity of your father’s words, the older man flabbergasts him yet again, “General, did you truly think I requested your return to Solana in order to review security plans?”

Behind his visor, Din’s eyes grow to the size of saucers, his attempts to speak fall flat; the modulator of his helmet picking up only awkward stuttering as the Mandalorian opens and closes his mouth repeatedly.

“I admit it took me longer than it should to make the connection between your leaving and my daughter’s change in demeanor.  She is, as you say, strong and spirited; and while she hid her sadness well, I know my own daughter and it was clear to me that something within her had broken,” the king speaks freely, the anguish of being unable to comfort his own child still an open wound, “I did suspect her upcoming marriage was the source of her dread, and privately, considered cancelling the betrothal entirely if she should wish it.  It baffled me that she was trying to hide her obvious unhappiness with the arrangement, and the more she insisted she was fine, the less I believed her.” 

Scratching his head, your father mentally retraces his own steps, “Any which way I thought about it, my daughter’s misery could be traced back to the date of her engagement, so I saw no reason for her to continue denying it… that is, until I realized it was also the same day you abruptly left Solana.  Up until that moment, I did not suspect there was anything more to your attachment than respect and a general fondness, but once I started to seriously consider your departure as the trigger for the Princess’ melancholy, I had to rethink everything I thought I knew.  Was it possible that your leaving and my daughter’s betrothal were not as unrelated as you had made it seen?”

Din is nodding along now, but the proper response to your father’s story still eludes him.  “I needed to know for certain.  I could not let my daughter sink deeper into a sorrow that she would not even admit to, so I sent you the invitation.  Forgive me for my duplicity, General – I knew that as a loyal son of Solana you would heed my call, even if it caused you what I was beginning to realize would be great pain,” his Majesty does look slightly sheepish, “You arrived and almost immediately proved my theories correct – perhaps you thought you were being subtle, but the effect you and the Princess had on one another in the East Wing parlour was tangible, electric – it charged the very air of the room.  There could be no doubt about it, there was something powerful between the two of you, I just didn’t know the extent and depth of that connection, of that love – or rather, I didn’t know until I overheard the two of you just now when the Princess work up.”  Upon finishing, your father looks satisfied, relieved.

“I love her, Your Majesty.”  It’s the truth.  And the only thing Din thinks is worthy of saying right now.

“I know.”  The king’s tone is full of fondness for his General, “And I cannot think of anyone better to whom I could entrust my daughter’s heart than the protector of the realm she loves so much.  But neither of us can nor should we speak for the Princess.  Come, let us hear what she has to say on the matter.”

---

Din paces the hall outside of your room for what feels like hours.  He’s been out here alone since your father left him at the door, except for the doctor who came and left, and the few appearances by Serene and Olivia as they rushed about their duties.

The General is still in a state of shock over what’s transpired since he found you on the Southside turret; from the complete dismantling of all his emotional walls, to your forgiveness and the reconfirmation of your love, then unbelievably, your father’s revelations – every development has felt overwhelmingly surreal.  Never in all of Din’s wildest dreams did he imagine that he would find himself in this position – and on top of everything, something even more unexpected and precarious has started to roost in his chest, a stealthy assassin that shadows his every thought: hope.

The door to your room opens to your father exiting while bidding you a swift recovery and a good night; though Din cannot hear the man’s exact words, he can tell they are full of paternal affection.  When the king turns, he makes for Din directly; expression poignant, eyes misty and full of wisdom, he clasps a hand to the Mandalorian’s shoulder pauldron, “She’s waiting for you, son.”

There’s no time to linger on the significance of the endearment, nor the litany of emotions that surge through the Mandalorian upon hearing it, because from inside the room you call to him, voice full of song, “Din!”

He leaves your father to saunter down the hall with a renewed lightness in his steps, and rushes to your bedside, kneeling once more before the ruler of his grateful heart.  You receive the collapsing frame of the strongest man you know in your open arms and tuck yourself into his covered neck, ecstatically crying.  Cupping your face, Din brushes his leathered thumbs over your wet cheeks, “Mesh’la;” he waits for you to speak more, afraid still of his own hope.

“Din!  I am to be engaged no longer,” the joy in your eyes sparkles like the most brilliant of constellations, your cheeks are flushed as if you had pinched them in disbelief, and your rosy lips quiver in hopeful excitement.  Din thinks this might be the most beautiful you’ve ever looked.  A celestial glow radiates from your very being, “Father says he will meet with our bannermen tonight and cancel the betrothal.  He will explain I’m not yet ready to be a wife and that the anxiety has been affecting my health.  They are old family friends of court, so he believes they will be understanding, but he is fully prepared to offer and provide all necessary rewards and compensation for any trouble or distressed sustained.  Father has tried to reassure me all will be okay, but I admit to some feelings of guilt.”

Din strokes your hair lovingly, forever amazed by the extent of your compassion and empathy, “I trust His Majesty, cyare.  I am sure all will be well, as he promised.  But if you do wish to speak to your former fiancé and his family directly, I will be right there with you for support.”

Hugging him tightly before pulling back to gaze into the welcoming abyss of Din’s visor, your fingers gently caress his helmet as you would the lines of his handsome face, “Will you stay now, Din?  On Solana?  With me?”

The silver dome tilts forward and its vocoder cannot mask the sincerity and conviction of Din’s pledge, “My place is and will forever be, by your side, Princess.  My weapons are yours to command, my heart is yours to hold; I fight in your name, I love in your name and the honour of doing both will forever be a part of my own personal Creed.”

Your poetic warrior.  There are no words that can properly express the immense joy and gratitude you feel for being so well loved, not only by the great man before you, but the other great man in your life, the king.  How lucky are you?  To have such a benevolent, compassionate man as your father, your mentor, and to be the chosen partner of a man who equals him in courage, decency, and selflessness?  It’s all you can do to keep from bursting into tears again.

And just when you think that this is the happiest a person could ever feel, Din, still down on one knee, holds out his Mythosaur pendant in offering and says in a voice so hushed it could almost be mistaken for his natural, unmodulated baritone,

“Princess.  Cyar’ika.  Though it is only very recently you find yourself engaged no longer, would you bestow upon me the honour of being engaged once more?”

It’s a dream, this must be a dream, you think, as you whisper back, “Yes.”

Unable to hold back the flood of happy tears any longer, you let them fall freely and press your forehead to your future riduur’s helm, sealing in your forever with a Keldabe kiss.

1 year later

On any other planet (save Mandalore, and possibly Nevarro), a Beskar covered warrior strolling casually through an outdoor market might look out of place, but not on Solana.  As Din walks down the main fairway, a head taller than every one else, he does garner a fair bit of attention, but it’s of the most welcomed variety.

“Good to see you, General!”

“Solana is glad to have its General home!”

He waves to every well wisher, shakes a few hands, and accepts offers of food and other wares from the local vendors; he has to struggle with a few to convince them to accept payment, but at the end of the day, it’s a rare being who can say no to a Mandalorian.  On a few occasions, Din has to excuse himself hastily, cutting the small talk short on account of needing to keep an eye on Grogu who wanders the market ahead of his father, also happily accepting gifts - mainly of the food sort.

Father and son are heading in the direction of the National Library to surprise you with an early return from their latest mission for the New Republic.  Halfway to their destination, Din spots a familiar figure leaning over a vendor table, examining its goods – slightly bemused and genuinely curious, Din saunters over and looms behind his unsuspecting target for several seconds before uttering, low and dangerous,

“Mayfeld.”

The bald-headed man spins around, wide-eyed and stunned, “Mando!”  Out of habit, he raises his hands in the air to show that he’s unarmed, innocent, “What are you doing here?”

“The General lives here,” the vendor interjects in a tone the suggests the answer should be obvious, “Welcome home, General.”  Din and the vendor exchange polite nods before the latter goes to help another customer.  Meanwhile, Mayfeld purses his lips into a smile, amused by this newly acquired information, “General, eh?  Listen, Mando – I’m not here for any trouble!  I’ve been living the straight and narrow life since…” he shrugs and turns his palms upward to make a gesture that Din assumes is meant to indicate Mayfeld’s prison break, faked death, or both.  “I’m just trying to find a place to settle down, have a nice, quiet life.  And Solana’s known to be friendly to those looking to make a fresh start!  I swear I didn’t know that… whoa, whoa… wait a minute!” Mayfeld’s expression turns panicked as he spots the Royal Guard change the direction of their march and make a beeline to where he’s standing with Din.

“Relax, Mayfeld,” chuckles Din, “they’re here for me, not you.”

The synchronized footsteps of Solana’s finest come to a halt a few feet from their fearless leader, standing in the position of attention, they salute in unison, “General!  Welcome back, General!”

Din returns their salute with an invitation to be at ease, then warmly greets the Lieutenant who steps forward with a clasp of forearms, “Lieutenant, right on schedule.  I’m happy to inform you that I can grant you and your men early dismissal from your duties today.”

The uniformed man tuts jovially and nods in understanding, “The offer is appreciated, General.  If it’s all the same to you, the Guard will accompany you to the library, and from there, you can relieve us of our charge.”

Din gives his second-in-command a hearty clap on the shoulder to indicate his appreciation and agreement with this plan; at their commander’s approval, the troops resume their previous course, with Din also preparing to move once he confirms that Grogu is still wandering ahead in that same direction.

Mayfeld has yet to recover from the wonder of this exchange when Din addresses him again, “Let’s go, Mayfeld.  If you’re serious about settling down on Solana, it’s best you come with me.”  Even if the man thought that the Mandalorian bore him ill will (which Migs’ gut tells him he does not), he would be a fool to refuse after having just witnessed Din’s command over the planet’s security forces.

A few minutes of walking in silence is all Mayfeld can manage, “So, Mando… these guys work for you?”

“We all serve the King of Solana.”

“Right, right.  But, like, you’re their leader?”

“I’m their commanding officer, yes.”

“Did you have to… I dunno, fight and defeat the previous General for the position or something?”

“No.”

“Hey, is that your little green guy up ahead?”

“Yes, that’s Grogu.”

“Okay, okay!  He’s bigger than the last time I saw him… you remember?  We were on that… you know what?  Never mind where that was, he’s definitely bigger!  He’s a growing… boy?”

“Yes, boy.”

“And you know, Mando… just in case, you were worried, I want you to know, I kept my promise… I’ve never told anyone I saw your face or what you look like… as far as I’m concerned, that never happened.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Right, right… and you still don’t do that, right?  Show anybody anything?? I don’t mean any disrespect to the Creed!  It just seems like a lot of things have changed since the last time we… hung out?  Took out some Imps? You know what I’m getting at, Mando?”

And so on and so forth, the primarily one-sided nervous chattering is non-stop for the entire walk.  Din can’t pretend he isn’t amused, but his Beskar covers it well.  He keeps his answers short and clipped, mainly to mess with Migs, but also so he can keep his attention on the library building as it comes into view.

The General knows you’re coming out before he even sees you because he hears an adorable squeak emanating from his son, followed by Grogu turning into a little green blur scurrying at an impressive speed up the library’s front steps.

“Little love!” Your voice rings out sweet and melodious as you exit the front doors, quickening your own steps forward to meet the small green fur ball that force jumps into your arms.  You cuddle him close and flutter kisses all over his happy face, “You’re home early!”

“Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” You fuss lovingly over your son, letting him coo back his reassurances, then tickle him adoringly - the two of you purring and giggling in reunion, oblivious to all those around you.  Nuzzling your nose into the top of Gorgu’s soft head to smell his sweet scent, you ask the single most important of questions, “Are you hungry?” followed by, “Where is your father?”

As an answer to the latter, Grogu points to where Din is standing, and to the former, he drops from your arms and waddles over to a captain of the Royal Guard who had somehow been relegated to holding all your son’s collected market snacks.

You pick up your skirts and run straight for the General, flying into his arms with a force that would have knocked a lesser man onto his back.  But he isn’t a lesser man, he's your man.  A Mandalorian.  Your smile is so wide and bright, Din thinks for a moment his helmet HUD has been blinded – but perhaps it’s simply that his own eyes have crinkling closed from smiling so hard himself. 

To be back in Din’s arms after nearly three weeks apart, your longest separation since his official return to Solana, feels like a homecoming; all the tension and worry floats from you body as he lifts you off your feet and you melt into the brilliance and safety of his armoured embrace.

To be in Din’s arms at all, out here in the open, is something you will never take for granted.

Even after your previous engagement was dissolved, you and Din agreed to continue keeping your relationship a secret from your subjects.  Your main concern had been the feelings of your former fiancé and his family.  Though the long-time friends and trusted members of court had accepted your father’s decision to end the betrothal with grace and understanding, flaunting your and Din’s love so soon after would have been beyond inconsiderate, cruel even.  The idea that people who have been nothing but kind and loyal to the crown might suffer embarrassment due to whisperings and gossip was more than you could stomach.  Privately, you also worried that the public might mistakenly blame Din or think him capable of something dishonourable.

Your father had supported discretion – in his experience, the general population preferred to be spared the messy details of palace life, and very rarely reacted well to multiple announcements of change; it would be best to wait and let Solanians come around to the cancellation of the royal wedding in their own time, before springing anything new on them.   

Behind the closed doors of the castle, however, there was no need for any such prudence.  You were free to openly hold Din’s hand, express you admiration and appreciation for the man, praise him, tease him in front of others, shower him with affection.  Even this liberation was more than you had ever dared to dream for your love; to this day, you continue to cherish every open touch, every uninterrupted embrace, every endearment spoken in front of others.  Your attraction and desire for one another you still kept private, sacred for just the two of you, but now there was no more need for pretense, no more false goodbyes at the dinner table, no more sneaking into your bedchambers via the balcony.

Finally, your love could just breathe; it could blossom in the light, instead of shrinking into the safety of the shadows.  You and Din could touch, comfort, even look at one another without being mindful of who was around, how much time had past, that it might be the last time.  For all of the privilege and fortune of your title, there is nothing you will ever prize more than an unhurried morning spent with the love of your life, restful and worry free.

In public, everything remained above board; you kept things subtle and formal, Din remained close and protective - the most devoted knight to his Princess.  You really ought to have given the people of Solana more credit. 

That Din’s return to the realm and the dissolution of your betrothal occurred in short order was neither here nor there, barely registering to your subjects as mere coincidence.  What they did notice was that their Princess appeared happier, lighter, no longer beleaguered by the unknown sadness that had plagued you for the past year.  You once again exuded the joie de vivre that they had so missed, exemplifying the passion and optimism that many consider the foundation of Solanian culture; they were getting their Princess back.

The General, long admired for his strategic brilliance, combat skills and strong leadership, Solanians welcomed back on his own merits.  But it wasn’t long before his public appearances with you drew eyes to him in a way they had not previously.  His protective positioning over you was one of a supportive shield, always gentle, never aggressive or oppressive – he hovered at the ready without ever interfering with your authority; you were free and safe to be your authentic self, a bright star around which his calm, steady presence naturally orbited.

His intuition always place him right where you needed him to be, anticipatory and respectful.  He doted over you.  Quietly spoiled you.  He cared for you a great deal - that much was obvious to those with eyes to see.  Over time, Capital inhabitants who would describe themselves ranging from inquisitive to flat-out nosy, noticed that the General would often reach for you before catching himself, that the unseen eyes behind the black T-visor lingered on you longer than necessary, that the press of his guiding hand on your back was more affectionate than instructive.  After several months of observed ‘evidence’, confident in their powers of deduction, Solanians collectively concluded that the General was indeed in love with their Princess; and rather endearingly, united in their hope that the Princess may one day return his affections.

To the absolute delight of the now invested realm, it appeared that you were slowly opening your heart to the hardened warrior.  His quiet words made you laugh out loud and his thoughtful attention drew from you the most breathtaking of smiles.  His soft touches were allowed to linger longer and then longer, and eventually, you began returning them with you own.  You faced each other, walked side by side – no longer royalty followed by a knight in her service, but equals, trusted confidants.  The day you took Din’s arm while strolling through the capital’s market place, the glassware vendors won a handsome wager from the weaving merchants.  As the encouraging smiles and approving glances from the public grew bolder and more apparent, so did your public displays of familiarity and affection, until hand holding, long embraces, and forehead to helmet touches while amongst your people were all common place. 

You could not have been more grateful for their support, but to your subjects, loving their sovereign as well as she had always loved them, was an honour.  For Solanians, the sight of their Princess happy and safe in the arms of their General was cause for celebration – and so, without any formal announcement, your attachment was a secret no longer. 

You murmur into where the fabric of Din’s cape meets his cowl the same questions you asked his son, “Are you okay?  Did you get hurt?” Fingers digging and groping all the soft spots between the Beskar, you nuzzle in deep, ready to hibernate in Din’s warmth after so many long days apart.  Din squeezes you back tightly, “I’m perfect now that I’m back with you, mesh’la.  No injuries this time.”

His modulated husk sends shivers down your spine and you wiggle in the Mandalorian’s strong grip with a little bit of cheek, “I’ll feel better when I check you over myself later.”

“Me too,” Din’s voice is liquid velvet, his words a promise.

The two of you share a private chuckle before he presses the helm of his silver dome to your forehead and holds the kiss for a quiet moment.  Only when Din unhands you do you notice the stranger next to him eyeing the two of you with what can only be described as incredulous shock.  To your surprise, Din acknowledges him directly, “Mayfeld, let me introduce to you the Princess of Solana -”

Mayfield bows, somehow both in awe and disbelieving that his old acquaintance can make such a fortuitous introduction, “Your Highness, it’s an honour-”

“- my wife,” Din finishes, grin evident to anyone within earshot.

Tossing all attempts at decorum aside, Mayfeld’s head snaps up to stare confoundedly at the Beskar-clad man, practically screeching, “Your wife?!?”

You can’t help but look over at Din in amazement as well, unable to conceal the thrill and pride that runs through you at having being claimed out loud and proud.

You and Din had quietly married six months ago in a small ceremony attended by only a handful of your closest friends and family; then honeymooned for ten blissful days on Nevarro, just the two of you.  Trading in your titles and rank for domesticity and the simple life of Din’s cabin on the lava flats, you don’t think you’ve ever felt quite as carefree or relaxed in all your life as you did as a newlywed in the Outer Rim.  Your days were spent leisurely: meeting Din’s old friends, breaking bread with Magistrate Karga, giggling with the Anzellans who called you “Pretty Lady” (“Good job, Big Guy!”), long and lazy blurrg rides over the planet’s rocky flats and hills, perusing for souvenirs in the Nevarro City market, coming home to the isolated quiet of your cozy abode.  Your nights were equally as varied, with Din taking you at all hours in every manner, on each and every surface of his house.  There was much to be said for the freedom to be as loud as you wanted, as wanton in your cries of ecstasy as you needed, as prolific and unrestrained in your lust for your riduur as you desired.  Helmet on, helmet off, it didn’t matter – the man you rode for hours, naked and dripping wet in the planet’s volcanic hot springs was yours and you didn’t care who heard.    

Upon return from your little slice of heaven, there didn’t appear any obvious reason to announce your marriage.  If their past behaviour was to be any indication, your subjects would likely figure it out in time – there was no rush, if you were happy, they were happy; as far as Solanians were concerned, their Princess had already selected the future King consort and they wholeheartedly approved.

Accordingly, the opportunities to be announced as Din’s wife have been few and far between; you study this Mayfeld with tremendous curiosity - who is this man to Din that he would so openly and happily share such an intimate detail about your lives?

“Yes,” you nod happily, “I am his riduur.”

The man resumes his awkwardly low bow, “Congratulations, Your Highness!  Uh, and well done, Mando… I mean, General.”

Din’s large hand rubs your lower back lovingly as you bend over to pick up Grogu, who after satiating his craving for Solanian delicacies, has come seeking your attention; as you straighten, Din pats a still stunned Mayfeld on the back and answers your unspoken question, “Mayfeld helped me obtain some critical Imperial intel at great risk to himself.  Without him, we would not have so quickly rescued Grogu from Moff Gideon.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen in understanding, “Thank you, Mr. Mayfeld!  Thank you for helping rescue my son!”  Familiar with most parts of the tale, you’re incredibly interested to learn more about this man and his role in Din and Grogu’s life before you, but more than that, you’re truly grateful, “Please join us at the castle for dinner tonight! Have you yet to find lodging? If not, you shall be our honoured guest until you do. And if you should ever decide to extend your stay on Solana, I will personally do what I can to help you settle in as comfortably as possible.”

You slide your arm through Mayfeld’s as he thanks you and tells you to call him Migs.  Then Mayfeld, you, and Grogu in your arms, form a chain and start heading towards the castle, the Royal Guard walking alongside in perfect formation.  Din admires the sway of your hips and the graceful glide of your movements for a few minutes before shifting his soulful gaze to his son chirping happily in your arms, safe, full, loved.

Following from behind, Din is catching up on military reports and capital news with his Lieutenant when he’s distracted by the sight of you throwing your head back in laughter, genuinely amused by something Mayfeld has just told you – likely an anecdote that the Mandalorian might prefer to stay buried alongside Mayfeld’s prison record.  Both you and Mayfeld turn at the same time to look at Din; you with a cheeky grin and a cute little shrug before you turn back around, Mayfeld looking absolutely gobsmacked while dramatically mouthing, “YOUR WIFE?!?!?!” then returning his attention to you.

Din maintains his pace, keeping an adoring and protective eye on you and his son, his family, from a comfortable distance; grinning broadly beneath the helmet, he murmurs to no one in particular, proud and content, “My wife.”

🎶All Night by Beyoncé🎶:

Found the truth beneath your lies And true love never has to hide (True love never has to hide) I'll trade your broken wings for mine (Trade your broken wings for mine) I've seen your scars and kissed your crime (Seen your scars and kissed your crime)

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

They say true love's the greatest weapon To win the war caused by pain (pain) But every diamond has imperfections But my love's too pure to watch it chip away (chip a-, chip a-, chip away) Boy, nothing real can be threatened True love breathes salvation back into me With every tear came redemption And my torturer became my remedy

All night long Love, all night long Sweet love, all night long Sweet love, all night long All I wanna, ain't no other We together, I remember Sweet love, all night long

How I missed you, my love

A few tags for those who have commented or reblogged that I tortured them with the angst - I am sorry again and thank you for supporting me and this series! @okiegal68 @bishtrouille @johnssherlock221 @baronessvonglitter @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

Okay this is like my first time posting fics after years bru, last time i posted one was during my wattpad days. But! It may not be that good, so i’m open to criticism to help get better at writing fics + (Beware, I barely know how to use tumblr)

NOT PROOFREAD

Contains: Smut

Everyone sees your boyfriend as some nonchalant, no nonsense, and intimidating person. At a first glance, he is. But with you, he was a completely different person.

As you sat on the couch in the livingroom, Criss-crossed while watching some show you had been begging him to start watching on his own—The front doors knob began shaking, the sound of the lock twisting followed with the sound of keys jingling. When the door squeaked open, you could hear the sound of your boyfriends shoes being kicked off and hitting the floor.

You sat there watching. He hadn’t noticed you yet. He unzipped his jacket and shimmied it off, then hung it onto the rack of jackets next to the door before he finally made his way deeper into the house—He was just about ready to walk past the livingroom until he caught you in the corner of his eye

“Hey ‘gumi, I thought you were about to just walk past me.” You smirked, eyes tracking him as he made his way towards you on the couch and leaned down—his soft lips pressing against your forehead

“Almost, It was dark in here so I thought you would’ve been in the room.” He muttered against your forehead before collapsing on the cushion next to you.

You instantly curled up next to him as his hand landed on your hip to hold you there while you breathed in his scent, he smelt like outside with a faint scent of his cologne that faded away throughout the day. “Did you have fun today?” You asked, looking up at him.

He sighed before answering, “You know nothing about my day was fun, especially since Gojo was there.” He patted your hip softly as he spoke, some sort of habit he had.

“Well, I think Gojo knows how to make things fun.” You responded, “You’re just boring” You added, his hand stopped the soft patting against your hip as he looked down at you

“You think I am?” “I know you are” The silence between you two stretched longer than necessary before he finally looked away

“What?, You sad that I told you that you’re boring?” You teased, sitting up on your knees next to him—leaning in to get in his face so he could look at you “Don’t be such a baby, I was just joking… I guess.” You kissed him, then his cheeks, his forehead, until he was trying to push you away by your shoulders to get away from your smothering kisses

“I guess?” He echoed, “I can show you that I’m not boring.”

————

Thats how you ended up here. On your back underneath Megumi, His hand entangled with yours as his other hand rested beside your head—His hips snapping against yours, full of determination.

“Still—Fuck.. Still think I’m boring?” He asked, his breathing heavy as he let out grunts with every thrust—But you couldn’t respond, too busy letting out moans and whimpers to even comprehend what he said.

That’s when he untangled his hand from yours, moving to cup your chin. “Answer me, Sweets.”

“Nno!!” You choked out, Tears filled your eyes from the amount of pleasure you felt. His hand slid from your chin to your waist, gripping it tightly as he began grinding into you—causing you to let out a strangled cry, The new angle made him sink deeper in you—He let out a low growl at the feeling of you tightening around his length.

“Yeah? I’m not boring now, huh?” He said in a breathy whisper, capturing your lips in a wet kiss before pulling back and looking at your blissed out face and watery eyes.

“Noo.. You’re not boring, ‘gumi..!” You gasped, head rolling back as his lips wrapped around your nipple—suckling and licking. “Mmhh! w—waitt!” You cried, “M’ close!”

“Good, You’re doing soo good for me.” He grunted, his thrusts speeding up as he pulled away—hand returning back to your waist while you felt that familiar feeling of release slam down on you. Gushing around his cock with a filthy whine—He finally buried himself to the hilt and emptied himself inside of you with a moan, continuing with shallow thrusts to help both of you ride out your highs before slowly pulling out and collapsing next to you

“Not so boring now huh?”

You watch as Mando treads further and further from your home, kicking up dirt with every confident, hunky step of his boots. Your eyes travel up and down his frame as he walks, wishing so very badly he was making his way to you instead. You hated when he left. But loved to watch him leave. Mando's body language is something you've seldom witnessed on a man. Assured, certain and absolutely positively unafraid. His gait engrosses you, your head following the modest swagger in his step, eyes trained on the slight sway in his hips as if he's carrying something all too burdensome between his legs. You take delight in watching him, studying his behavioral patterns and subconscious habits, honored to have the kind of closeness to a Mandalorian that many desire. 

You stay bent over the kitchen sink, peering through the window as you watch his silhouette become tinier and less distinguishable in the Naboo sun. The Kid sits perched on the counter beside you, babbling incoherently. He looks up at you with his wide black eyes, attempting to brainwash you into playtime mode. You shake your head at the little green monster, his itty bitty teeth peeking through his wrinkly lips. 

"Your father needs to eat tonight, as do you. Help me with dinner and we'll play as loooong as you want." You speak softly to the child as you lift him into your arms, and he responds with the sweetest coos and babbles you think ever heard while you lodge him on your hip. You set him down in his spherical crib, bouncing slightly as he settles down inside. You make your way to the front door, grabbing your harvest bin and checking behind yourself to ensure The Kid follows suit. 

You squint your eyes as you make your way to the garden, the sun painting your face golden and warming your skin delightfully. You perch your basket under your arm, resting it on your right hip, rocking it by habit. You bend down to pick your necessary ingredients for the meal, avoiding the ones The Kid tends to nonsensically complain about. The wind caresses you gently, the quiet serenity of the Naboo plains soothing your loud thoughts. Your blessed formality you’ve been accustomed to for a month now.

Your arrangement with the Mandalorian was simple. You watch his kid while he goes about business, feed him and keep him busy until he comes back. Occasionally rendering the same treatment to the Mandalorian when he takes rest. 

Understandably, you were hesitant to accept. Caring for the child of a Mandalorian? It wasn't similar at all to the responsibility you kept as a teen, watching over the littles of Naboo and becoming your neck of the woods' designated babysitter. No, this was different. You were put in charge of a child whose father could probably think of 17 different ways to end you before you had the chance to say "I'm sorry! It was an accident!". And then you laid eyes on the little booger, his preciousness enamoring you with a single look into his onyx eyes. 

When Mando first came across your home one afternoon, he was unsure of you too. Typical for someone of his nature. He needed lodging and repairs to his ship, something you could only partially provide. He approached you battered, tired and all too ready to crash on any surface he was offered. From the stories you've heard, Mandalorians are not as trusting as any regular citizen of the galaxy. They operate on their own rules, (or Creed, which you've come to learn) and a set of values that would choke a Wookiee to death with all its restrictions. So naturally, you were elated at the prospect, but with slight trepidation as to not break any of his rules. 

You let Mando and The Kid into your home on the premise that he would allow you to care for him, too. Initially, he wanted to leave the child with you while he tended to his ship’s repairs and other errands while lodging someplace else. You were having none of it. Partly because it's in your nature to nurture and wholly because a big, armored man was sat at your doorstep covered in Gods knows what, exuding the most magnificent masculinity you think you've ever seen. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

First Night

"You can lodge as well, Mandalorian. Please, come inside." 

"I'll sleep on the ship." He said, helmet tilted past your shoulder as the child made himself at home, watching as he acted as if he'd lived there his entire 50 some years of life. You squinted up at him, giving him a once over before stepping aside and outstretching your arm, beckoning him to come in. You flashed your best smile, and softened your gaze at him to try your best and convince him that you were trustworthy. 

"If the baby stays, you stay." You said finally. 

He stepped inside, wooden floors creaking under his weight. You watched him starry-eyed, the afternoon Naboo sun gleaming through the windows of your living space, glinting off of his Beskar armor as he made his way into your humble home. The gentle wind through the windows flows through his cape, flicking the edges softly. You closed the door behind you, making your way to one of your storage vessels, grabbing a pillow and a couple soft blankets for him. He watched while you prepared a makeshift bed out of your conform couch. You moved with a solid content, a notion Mando would never comprehend. He wouldn't be all too eager to allow a stranger into his home, but the way of your people strictly chartered you to nurture the healing and resting of any passersby you deemed honorable. And Gods, did you deem him honorable. 

He watched you while you gently brushed the cushions with your hand, embarrassingly cleaning off any remnants of your earlier meal from the fabric. You laid the softest blankets you had over the surface, tucking them between the cushions and perching the pillow up on the furthermost armrest. 

"Thank you" He spoke, his voice flat and deep through the modulator. 

"Of course." You look at him, visor too dark to see beyond. You smile up at him as he stands there, seemingly unsure of what to do next. 

You introduce yourself, your name settling into the quiet noise of the plains. 

He repeats it. It rolls off his tongue in a way where it implies he has great familiarity with it already. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

"Are you hungry?" You asked, placing your hands on top of your hips as you hear The Kid next to you respond to the offer in soft, excited coos. You speculated, and remembered an extremely detrimental rule you seemed to have looked over. They aren't allowed to de-mask themselves in front of anyone. Anything. So you speak before he can. 

"I can leave a meal out for you. Please, eat when you’re ready." You outstretch your hand, directing him to the couch. He takes slow steps towards you. You crane your neck up at him just as he approaches, your heart rate flicking up as he does so. His steps are slow, nonthreatening and soft.  For a man of his stature, you notice he's outwardly gentle despite his size and unyielding appearance. Reassuring. 

He reaches for the pouch rested on his utility belt, leather gloves audibly rubbing against the fabric and a gentle clatter coming from inside. Credits. Imperial. You reach your hands up, enclosing them around his. They're huge. Warm. Could probably engulf your face in one of his palms. You gave a gentle squeeze and softly ushered his hands back to his belt. You didn’t want his money. Sure, you could use it, but truly, it seemed exploitative and Gods forbid if you exploit a man and his child in their time of need. 

"Stay as long as you both need. I could use the company around here" You spoke softly, tilting your head toward The Kid while he watched from his spherical crib. 

"We'll only need a couple days. I don't want to trouble you." He replies. He nods suavely at you before he turns his back towards the couch, and lowers himself with a plagued sigh. You take a beat before speaking again, facing him while putting your back to The Kid. 

"What troubles you, Mandalorian?" You ask tenderly, keeping a cautiousness not to pry too much into his business. 

He takes a second before responding, slightly angling his visor up at you. "Nothing. Nothing you should burden yourself with." You tilt your head at him, smiling softly in understanding. "Can you promise me he'll be safe here?" You turn to look at the child, big shiny orbs peering back up at you, a soft babble leaving his lips as he outstretches his tiny arms towards you. Your heart melts at the sight, immediately feeling a profound connection form with the little green monster. You feel yourself naturally gravitate towards him, your body suddenly manifesting an internal magnet. The sudden wave of emotion temporarily ails you, pulling at your heart strings and overwhelming your chest with a simmering maternal burn. 

"As long as I breathe." You respond suddenly, mysteriously now aware of his father's quandary. Something, someone is after the child. And yet, the hardened soldier sat behind you is entrusting you to his nestling. Or, what do they call it on Mand'alore? Foundling. Easily the highest degree of honor within the Mandalorian Creed. You cradle The Kid in your arms, resting a finger between his 3 little appendages. He squeezes it, curiously bringing your hand to his mouth. You hear an amused grunt behind you coming through the modulator. 

"Stop that. Friends are not food." He says. You chuckle quietly. You reluctantly settle him back into his metallic crib, gathering the soft material inside and resting it over his tummy. He settles down and you begin rocking his cradle, softly bouncing it against gravity. You watch as his eyelids flutter closed, an instant snore escaping his lips. “Someone’s not so hungry after all” He says, a soft chuckle emitting from his helmet. You smile in response. 

"Gods, he is the cutest thing I think I've ever seen." You say with an unbelievable chortle. You turn to face The Mandalorian, his arms now outstretched behind him, cradling the backrest of the conform couch as he watches you interact with his child. You feel a whisper of something whirring deep inside your core, his aloof position of sitting now sparking a new inquisitiveness about the man sat before you. You motion to sit next to him, a meager cushion now separating you from the first prospect of an intimate interest you've had in a long while. You lower yourself onto the inner corner of the couch, resting your back against the armrest so that you're facing him directly. 

"He's alright." You chuckle at his lackadaisical response, knowing he would probably tear a rift into the galaxy at the mere likelihood of something coming into harm's way of The Kid. "Fair warning, he can be a handful." He says with an amused shake of his head. You nod in understanding, looking at him, stupid smile still plastered on your face. An awkward silence fills the room as the moment settles, and you continue watching him. His visor is aimed at the child, so you're not sure if he's able to see you or not. You don't fret. 

Seldom do you come across someone with such experience in life. Someone who's seen the ins and outs of the Galaxy, and still chooses to fight for it regardless of its goods and bads. You take the opportunity to study every visible dent, every scuff and defect in his armor. You can almost hear the stories of what he's seen emit through them. It captivates you, the complete opposition of life experience sitting across from you. You notice the small rips in his tunic between the gaps of his armor, a dark brown settlement of dried blood encrusted on the torn edges.

"You're really good with him" He speaks suddenly, and your gaze snaps back up to meet his, visor now facing you directly. You laugh shyly, a white hot simmer flooding your face. 

"I've always been good with the little ones. The futures of our Galaxy. They deserve the best, don't they?" You say gently, leaning into the subject matter to deflect from the fact that he just caught you infatuatedly staring at him. How on Naboo were you going to sleep with him laid in the room right beside yours? 

“I guess you’re right” He replies, voice low and barely coming through the vocal filter within his helmet. 

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · First Night, continued 

Mid-night has fallen, and the wintry breeze snakes its way between your curtains. The wind feels velvety against your skin, each force of air flowing through your nightgown. The moon paints a pale glow over your tan skin, your complexion glowing beautifully despite the low light. The spectral silk curtains hanging from your bedroom archway flow open in the night breeze, allowing you to see clearly into your living space.

You lie there, watching with sleepy eyes as the Mandalorian quietly makes his way to the sleeping child. You wonder, how does he manage to tread so softly despite wearing the heaviest thing within the walls of your home supplementary to the walls themselves? He presses a button on the highest point of his crib, and closes the shade. The Kid is now enclosed, innocently oblivious to the roaringly large world around him. He knows nothing but peace at this moment. You smile pleasingly as he pushes the crib to the other side of the room, out of your view. 

You notice the Mandalorian hasn’t moved from his spot. You look upwards, aware of him now watching you. Your heart skips a beat for a moment, and your cheeks flush, warmth spreading to your ears. You sit up slowly, regarding him with a nod. 

“Will you leave again tomorrow?” You ask, internally jumping at the sudden intermeddling question you gathered the nerve to ask him. 

He approaches your bedroom archway, reaching out and gently moving the curtain to the side, subtly ducking his helmeted head to pass through. He stands there for a couple beats, visor pointed directly at you. He watches you intensely,  curiously, and you can almost feel his gaze travel down your legs. Your skin engulfs in goosebumps, and Gods, you can just about feel your legs part under the dominance of his stare. 

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to take rest for a day before venturing out again.” He says politely, breaking the tension with his completely unreasonable request. You think to yourself, are Mandalorian’s allergic to respite? 

“Of course you can rest for a while. As long as you need.” You adjust your positioning, straightening your back and sitting criss-crossed on your cotton-sheeted mattress. You smile at him, eyes traveling to the empty space beside you. You look back up at the Mandalorian, subtly tilting your head in invitation. 

“I’m sure the ventures of a Mandalorian are lonesome. I’d welcome the company as well” You leave the statement open-ended, considerately moving a few inches over to make space for the large-statured man. He lets a few seconds pass before responding, your tired eyes looking up at him, tension building between you. You’re sure beyond the rest of his talents, this was one of his favorites. Leaving you to revel in the pressure, seeing how much you could take before you show any visible signs of intimate turbulence.

“I shouldn’t keep you from sleep” He says unsure, his feet firmly planted where he stands but verbally expressing (and in no way convincing, might you add) wanting to do otherwise. 

“Please, I insist. I’ve got all the time in the world to sleep” 

He doesn’t miss a beat before responding. “Not with him around.” He says, helmet tilting behind him towards the sleeping child. 

You chuckle quietly. “Scarcely ever do we have a real Mandalorian come around this part of Naboo. I’d like to get to know you, if you’d let me?” you question softly, motioning your hand towards the space beside you. He seems to make his mind up right then. 

He finally steps forward, slowly making his way to the other side of your bed. He lowers himself, bracing his arms to accommodate the low height of the frame. He sits, weight sinking into your plush mattress. He turns halfway to face you, the Beskar bound to his body almost sparkling under the moon’s casted light. You both sit there in comfortable silence, and the only sound accompanying you in the dark room are the whistling gushes of night breeze coming through your drapes as you silently watch each other. You look up at him, noting the tension in his shoulders. You try to ease him by initiating a simple conversation. 

“Have you eaten?” you ask gently, curious to know if he enjoyed your cooking. 

“While you were showering” He replies almost instantly, a mild warmth spreading across your cheeks, the idea of him perceiving you while you’re naked instigating you to imagine what he’d look like when he’s naked. You’d probably showcase an astonishing loss of your self respect at the sight. You nod your head in content. 

He moves smoothly, lying back and positioning his hands behind his neck for support, now looking at the ceiling. You raise a knee to rest your cheek on, and wrap your arms around your bent right leg, outstretching your left. Your heart skips a beat, your bare left foot now only mere inches from his torso. You fiddle with a scar on your right calf as you both enjoy the serene silence of a chilly Naboo night. 

“It was delicious. Thank you” He speaks again, gaze fixed on the ceiling, his voice low and deep through the vocal modulator. Your chest feels warm. You’re truly glad he enjoyed it. Cooking has always been something you loved. Since you were a child, always messing the kitchen and clumsily helping your parents to prepare meals. Delicious. You repeat to yourself, a smirk twitching its way onto your lips. You could definitely get used to hearing that from him. “I’m sorry you have another mouth to feed. If it’s too much trouble, I can get The Kid food while I’m out.” He sounds..apologetic. And for a moment, you ponder on the lot of untrustworthy, malicious and currency-obsessed people he must have encountered to be so apologetic for simply wanting to feed his child. You smile at him, looking up from your hands. 

“Mandalorian, please understand me when I say this” You start, firming your tone while keeping your voice soft and lowered. “You and your son are welcome in my home at any time. To stay for however long you please. Do you understand?” You finish, looking him directly in the visor to render any thought that resembles doubt void and null. 

He turns to face you, observing your own blurred reflection in his helmet. You stand strong on your statement, keeping your focus fixed on where you thought his eyes would be. 

A minute passes, your eyes still fixed on his visor, keeping your unrelenting gaze directly on him. You wait for a response while he watches you back, his helmeted head turned towards you, breathing slow and steady. “Understood” He replies, his tone smooth and obeying. A moment passes, and you both stay looking at each other, unmoving. You watch as he slowly turns the rest of his body toward you, resting his weight on his right elbow. You see his free hand moving slowly, snaking towards your bare foot closest to his torso. The fabric of his clothes rubs against your soft sheets. 

“May I?” He asks, the resonance in his voice caressing your ears and stirring your core. You nod at him, biting your lip as he moves closer to you. 

He takes it in his hand gently, squeezing the soft ball of your foot. You relax under his touch, albeit sudden. The firmness of his fingers send rousing waves of heat through your core. His grip is strong, yet gentle. Much like a protecting caress. You exhale deeply while he squeezes, your head suddenly feeling 100 times heavier. You rest your head on your knee once more, rolling your forehead against your cool skin, your body gaining heat with every press of his fingers. You flinch as he squeezes a tender spot, your head rising to meet his gaze. 

In the absence of raw eye contact, the Mandalorian sits up as your eyes meet his visor. He takes your foot in both of his hands, gently but firmly pulling your weight from under you and dragging you towards him. Your nightgown rides up to your hips, just covering your panties. He places your leg down once you're reclined, your hair bunching up above your head, and your feet planted on the mattress so your legs are bent. You breathe deeply, eyes darting around his body as he handles you, your mind failing to keep up with the sudden development in affairs. Words of wisdom reverberate through your head; Be careful what you wish for. 

He kneels in front of you, towering over your figure below him. He adjusts the rest of his body, his helmet pinned still as his eyes stay stuck on you. He reaches up, hooking the hem of your panties in his fingers. He keeps his eyes directed at yours as he slides them down, lifting your feet to remove them fully. He moves slow and cautious, a carefulness in his touch that leaves you craving for more. He hurls them aside, banishing them to the moon-cast shadows. He grabs your right leg by the ankle, bringing it up to his chest and planting the sole of your foot on his strikingly cold Beskar. He raises your other leg, gripping your foot in both of his hands as he begins to massage again. 

His fingers glide so smoothly over the pads of your feet, one hand working your tired arch and the other digging into a squishy part of your sole that seems to send a lustful wave of full-body, thigh-squeezing chills every time he presses it. He squeezes it once, twice, and his head tilts naughtily the third time he notices what happens when he touches that spot. You look up at him, eyes glazed with sensuality, noting the slight falter in his gaze. 

“That feel good?” He says, his words breathy and smug. 

“Gods, yes. How are you so good at that?” He lets out a breath you can almost assume is a chuckle, and his hands slow as they travel up to your ankles, strong fingers and palms working the knots all the way up to your calves. He pauses at the bends of your knees, slowly and sensually squeezing, rubbing the absolute hell out of your most tense areas. He leans his weight forward slightly, pushing your legs closer and closer to your chest, and admittedly, forcing your thighs further apart. 

A voltaic pressure begins to build in your core. The Mandalorian continues to rub the soft skin in the bend of your knee, now working his way down your thighs, and riding both hands to a stop under each of your cheeks. He squeezes them both gently, slowly caressing the soft, plushy fat, hands traveling up to your hips, and back down to your ass. He pulls his left hand back, bringing it down to a slap on your right hip. You yelp, your legs parting as you flinch from the sudden plague of tingles through your body. A shiver runs down your thigh, noting that you’re now on full display. 

You look up at him, eyes now wide and awake. You rest your legs on his hips, pulling him closer to you. He lets out a soft hum at the sight of you splayed open under his grip, his for the taking. “Fuck” At almost a whisper, he lets it out with a deep breath, fingers seemingly more tense than before. He wraps both arms around your thighs, pulling your lower half to meet his. Your center meets his warm bulge, firm and radiating a dizzying heat between your legs. He grinds up against your pussy, your clit feeling his shaft throb behind its tight fabric prison. He groans deeply in response, bearing more of his weight down on your pussy, itching to get inside you. 

You hum as he grinds into you, your hands reaching between you both and tugging at his belt. “Mando, you’re torturing me” you grumble frustratedly. He lifts his helmet to look up at you momentarily, your breasts bouncing under your nightgown with every grind of his hips into yours. He ignores you, reaching under the thin fabric and taking each one of your breasts into his large gloved hands. Your mouth hangs agape as he kneads them softly, rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your nipples. You flinch when he pinches them gently, his gaze pinned on them as they stand at attention to his touch. “Your tits are perfect,   ” Your name rolls smoothly off his tongue, thick and syrupy as if he’s known it all his life. Your head dizzies at the sound of your name, a desperate whimper quietly escaping your lips. He lets them go with a squeeze as he continues grinding against you. 

The warm skin of your ass tacks to the cold armor plates, the sudden temperature play teasing you, goosebumps littering your skin. He places both hands on your knees, pushing them apart as his head lowers, his gaze now fixed on your pussy. Your hips buck slightly with need, watching as the Mandalorian removes his gloves, one at a time. His fingers travel up your inner thighs, dragging his short nails over your sensitive skin while your legs wrap around his thick waist. You squirm, eager to see what else he can do with his hands. He stops suddenly, looking to your chest, and back up at you. He tugs on your nightgown bunched up around your waist. 

“Get it off” He reaches around you, hooking the hem of your nightgown in each of his fingers. You sit up a few inches to help him get it off as fast as you can, lifting your arms as he pulls it over your head. He tosses it to the side, heatedly disregarding wherever it went. As if he’s denying the prospect of you ever wearing clothes again. 

He sits back up on his knees, now watching you settle back down. He observes you; hair splayed messily around your head, breasts and nipples resting large and natural on your chest, the nooks and crannies in your frame holding an artistic mix of varying complexions and curvatures exactly where he wants them. A body so sublime, so made for him, it almost feels like an imaginary manifestation of his own subconscious version of a perfect woman. 

“I could get used to this view” His voice is low, gravelly with temptation as he watches you writhe beneath him. You smile in response, eager to see what he’ll do next. 

He takes a single finger, and slides it between your warm, wet folds, softly grazing your clit. You whine, bucking your hips forward in need, greedily whimpering up at him. 

“Why won’t you let me pay you for staying here?” He speaks again, a tint of wickedness lacing his voice, his finger stopping in its tracks. 

“Because” you reply, hoping you can dodge your way out of it.  

“There has to be some way I can pay you.” He applies pressure, curving his finger against your swollen bud, flicking it firmly. You flinch, nipples hardening as he continues teasing you. “Or, I can take my cute kid and my foot massages and find some other place to lodge. An Inn, maybe. I hear the customer service in Naboo is pret-” 

“Okay. O-okay” You cry, the tension in your core building fast. He continues flicking your clit, watching your legs jerk and your voice go higher and higher, dripping with need. “I know a way you can pay me.” You buckle shamefully quick. 

“Is that so?” He teases, adding a second finger to his torture, one continuing to tease your clit, the other rubbing your slick entrance, spreading your wetness to your labia. His fingers are strong, talented dexterity showing in his ability to stroke you in two spots at once. You watch them, thick and long, sure enough that he could rock your world with just a slight curve to his fingertips. You take a deep breath before responding, shakily trying to hide the distress in your voice. 

“This, you can pay me like this.” You reply, motioning your head to his fingers, now wet and hot with your essence. He slips a finger inside of you, before suavely entering a second one. Gods, his middle and ring finger. You gripe in agony, his digits deliberately slow-moving and so, so filling. You grip the sheets beside you, surrendering to the ride. 

The Mandalorian shakes his head, his voice deep and heavy with infatuation. “You have to be more specific than that, sweetheart.” You groan, his fingers slowing to a halt while awaiting your response. “Fuck me, please. You can pay me by fucking me. Does that work for you?” You don’t even recognize yourself, the huffs of frustration and whines of urge falling on deaf ears. You’re not used to being teased. Hell, you weren’t used to being tortured. He was driving you up the wall with his antics. Your cheeks burn hot with shyness and your hands desperately grasp at his, trying to get them to move. 

“Greedy girl” He responds smugly, a shakiness in his voice that’s getting harder and harder to ignore. How does he do it? How does he manage to keep his composure while you feel his cock against your thigh, practically thrashing to get out of his pants? 

He pushes his fingers inside of you, your walls clenching around them. He curves his fingertips, leans forward and absolutely goes to town on your pussy. You watch his arms, wishing you could watch his muscles tighten while he works you. His heavy fingers move fast, curling up into that one spot, his palm brushing against your clit with every thrust of his fingers. You buck your hips into his grip, feeling your wetness coat his hand. You look up at him, marveling at the sight before you. The Mandalorian now has his bulge in his free hand, squeezing through his pants and groaning as he rubs himself to the sight of you. 

“Mando..please” you beg, a futile attempt at steering his plans away from where he wants them. He leans forward, visor aimed right at your face while he relentlessly works on your hole. He speaks, ragged breathing carrying his words. “I’ve always..” he grunts, his bulge not letting up beneath his grip. You feel him twitching, you know it can’t be long until he caves. “..wanted to try one thing.” He finishes, your eyes now looking up at him, fluttering closed with each curl of his thick fingers. Lewd sounds fill the silent room, your wetness now audible to him as well. 

“Hm?” A sultry hum settles in his ears warmly, sending a shiver down his core and resting right into his tight balls. 

“Sit on my face.” He requests. Your heart skips a beat, and you smile up at him, tilting your head curiously. “And how would that work, Mandalorian?” You reply naughtily, a hint of wickedness lacing your voice. 

Without missing a beat, Mando lurches forward, hooking his arms under yours. Gods, does he smell good. His scent is thick and intoxicating, stirring your head and evoking a binding allurement to the hardened soldier handling you. He raises you, turning you both around until he’s lying flat on your bed, your legs straddling him as you sit on top of him. Your naked frame soft and plushy against his solid, unyielding armor. You feel his hands work their way up your thighs, squeezing your hips and rubbing your ass, giving each cheek a gentle smack as he groans under his helmet. You bend forward, giving him ample space to knead the doughy fat, moaning into his ear as he kneads. 

You wrap your hands around his neck, squeezing the thickened muscles and rubbing as much surface as you can manage between his shoulder plates. He moans submissively under you, a sound so thrilling to the ears you think you’d cum right then from the way it rattled your core. You lower yourself, your folds now cradling the raging erection in his pants. He tenses up as you do this, the gap between his armor and clothes cradling your bum perfectly, his cock fitting between your legs much similar to a piece of a very carnally, animalistically sensual puzzle. 

“Turn around” He breathes, and your hands can almost feel the heat radiating from the bottom of his helmet. Gods, he must be dying in there. You wickedly drag your pussy against his clothed cock as you move, drawing more heated grunts and groans from his throat. You settle yourself down in your new position, now facing his feet. You relax under his grip as he pulls you backward, thumbs hooked in the bend of your knees. He lets go of your legs, and suddenly you hear an audible release of air, the clear sound of the Mandalorian’s heavy breathing and the warmth of his breath against the skin of your back. “Shit” His now unfiltered voice reaching your ears for the first time. Velvety, hot and bothered, and deep enough to jolt your soul. You smile to yourself, now aware of his newfound vulnerability and exhibit of trust. 

“Come here” He directs. You lie backwards, obeying his command with not a smidge of hesitation, his breath meeting your nape. He groans softly in your ear, reaching his hand up and cupping over your eyes while his lips latch to your neck. His stubble scratches your skin, sending tingles down your spine. It's short, prickly, and you wonder; what color? You tilt your head to the side, giving him full access as he darts out his tongue and slides it over your skin, softly biting the crook in your neck and grinding up into your pussy. Suddenly, Mando removes his hands, releasing your tender skin from between his teeth. 

“Don’t look, okay?” He asks gently. 

You nod. “Of course.” 

You feel his hand reach between your legs, his hips raising to reach his belt. You assist him eagerly, fiddling with his pants trying to free his throbbing erection from its fabric prison. Once you both get it free, you feel a hand snake up your back, another one gripping the fat of your left hip, rubbing your skin and gently pushing you upright with his other. 

Mando revels at the sight of you, his head swirling with all kinds of gripping emotions as he watches you rock your hips side to side, purposely jiggling your ass over his bare face. He inhales your scent as you taunt him, your pheromones enveloping his pre-frontal cortex and flipping a switch in his core. An animalistic path of his nature never walked before. He watches you, the world around him seemingly slowing down. His thoughts quiet themselves, and the only thing he knows is you. Your soft body, your luring scent, the warmth radiating from your skin and your features contorting with pleasure as you both taunt each other to hell. His only goal at this moment; giving you what you so justifiably deserve. 

“Bend over, gorgeous.” He says sternly, and you listen. Happily. You bend forward, scooting your knees backwards until you feel Mando’s breath against your heat. You come face to face with the head of his cock, a considerable amount of pre-cum slowly dripping from the tip. It’s magnificent. Dense, brunette hair caressing the hilt. Shaft thick, long and wired to take whatever the hell it pleases from you. You crane your neck forward, running your thumb over the engorged veins littering his shaft. You plant soft kisses up and down his length, stopping at his frenulum before sliding it past your lips. He tenses immediately and a whiney groan leaves his lips, while your mouth travels up and down, wetting his length. You go down on him like this for a minute, his hands kneading your ass and spreading your cheeks, leaving you on total display above him. 

He buries his nose in your ass, arms hooking under your legs, hands locked at your hips to hold you in place. His scruff rubs against your sensitive skin, and you smile at the fact that he’ll probably be smelling you on him until his next shower. You feel his warm tongue dart from his mouth, determinedly finding your clit with pristine precision. You moan loudly, your back arching from the sharp wave of pleasure. He spreads your thighs, allowing himself more access between them. He continues lapping at your clit, taking it between your teeth every so often, causing your body to jerk and writhe. You push back into his mouth, rolling your hips and in essence, riding his face like the world’s finest speeder bike. 

And he can’t get enough. He’s never been so infatuated with the taste of something. It was unique, and he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t fathom stopping. The Mandalorian didn’t know how long you could go at this, but he knew he could go on for hours. He knew you were close. He continued sucking at your clit and thrashing his tongue eagerly. He releases one of your hips, his hand making its way behind you and between your folds, right above his mouth. 

You whine in response when he slips two fingers inside you, resting your breasts on his stomach and opening yourself to him fully. His fingers urgently curl downwards, finding your spot and stroking against it relentlessly. You wonder; Gods, is he trying to ruin me? You gasp as he suddenly withdraws his fingers from your walls, pushing them back into you and going at your G-spot once more. He continues tormenting you this way for a minute, each time he pushes them into you, warmth flushes to your core. He knows what he wants. And he calculates when it’ll come. Your walls are fluttery, clenching with need when he withdraws. And when he notices the subtle tremble in your thighs, breathlessness in your moans, he prepares; opening his mouth as wide as he can. 

One, two, and..

The Mandalorian hums frenziedly, the lewd sounds of his tongue lapping up your essence as you burst, your pussy completely gushing into his mouth. He maintains his grip on your hip while you gasp and moan in revelation, astonished that someone just made you do that. His tongue doesn’t let up, hungrily whipping against your clit. Your body thrashes against his abdomen, your hips pushing you deeper into his mouth. As he slows, your arms and legs shudder and wobble weakly. He takes a few beats, softly licking the last drops from your heat, your body rendered gelatinous. You continue stroking his length, although he’s seemingly forgotten about his own raging erection. 

You hear him swallow softly, exhaling with a satisfied breath. “Again?” You hear from behind you, the Mandalorian’s voice absolutely dizzy with adoration. You blink hard, catching your breath and lazily shaking your head. 

“How on Naboo did you do that?” You ask, breathily huffing the question. 

“Not sure. It’s more intuitive than I thought.” 

You try to continue working his cock, but you fail miserably. You rest his length halfway into your throat before you lose focus and let him take control. He continues gently licking your pussy, while you stay hopelessly drooling and gagging on his cock as he fucks into your mouth. He knows you’ve had your orgasm ripped from your soul, but it doesn’t seem to waver any disturbance in his endeavors. He’s doing this not only just to please you, but for the complete love of the game. You continue rocking your hips back, his tongue every so often slipping inside of you, curling against your walls. 

He seems to be complacent in this current position, as you hear no complaints from his end. You match his rhythm, bobbing your head as he rolls his hips up, throat fucking you. Mando’s rhythm falters as he grunts, the sounds coming from his throat a heavenly mixture of submission and the internal conflict of trying not to blow his load directly down your throat after the fun’s just getting started. You continue moaning on his cock, the palpable throb in his shaft pulsing against your tongue. You buckle up for the home run, calculating your next move. 

You rest your weight on one of your elbows beside his thick leg, letting your fingers travel under the fabric of his loose pants. You run your nails down his hips with the other as he continues messily fucking your warm, heavenly mouth. He shivers against your touch, his thrusts tensing and faltering so very obviously. You arch your back, throwing your ass backwards and putting on a very lewd show for him. His hands fall to his sides, his voice dipping with every thrust of his hips. Your throat gargles and salivates for him, your hands and mouth now sloppy with spittle. 

You run your nails down his hips one last time, traveling over his thigh and between his legs. You take his balls in your soft hands, squeezing gently and kneading softly. They’re soft, warm and just the right size. You think to yourself; I could probably fit both in my mouth if I tried. You shift your weight to your shoulders, letting your head hang heavy and allowing Mando full reign of your throat. You feel him tense as he continues thrusting, squeezing your eyes shut as tears work their way down your cheeks. His mouth attaches itself back to your clit so suddenly, you know he’s close. You can feel it. The tense coil between both of you stretching and gaining pressure, ready to snap at any moment. He wraps his arms around your legs once more, now squeezing your cheeks and hips so hard you’re sure he’ll leave a mark. 

Mando provided his all. Your mouth is just too warm, too soft, too inviting. How was anyone supposed to last with such an enchanting set of lips and a warm, tight throat wrapped around his cock? He eats you as if his life depended on it, treating your pussy as if it were his last meal. You deserved that, at the least. As long as he could go on for. 

You feel his body tense under you, hearing Mando suddenly whine against your heat. His tongue laps at your clit and entrance furiously, absolutely rejoicing in your taste, letting it guide him through his orgasm. “Fuuucking hell” He grunts and his muscles jerk violently, his hot seed spilling into your throat while he groans a string of sexy, wet expletives into the air. You try your damndest to swallow as it comes. His thrusts slow to a stop. You lift your head from his length, gasping and licking your lips clean. As you lift your head from his shaft, you suck his pulsing tip before releasing it with a smack of your lips, earning a last soft whine from his throat. 

You sit up straight on his chest, bouncing slightly while his breathing settles. You both savor each other’s presence, newfound intimacy thrilling and fresh. His hands rest on your hips, his fingers drawing nonsensical doodles on your soft skin. You bend slightly to support some of your weight on your hands, perched on his abdomen. Your hair sits messily on your shoulders, and he watches as you take a moment to rest on top of him. He appreciates your contentment of your new spot, not so eager for you to move either. A view he could very quickly get used to. You run your hand over the smooth Beskar, wondering to yourself; Does he have abs? Is his happy trail sparse? Or thick and paving? You hear a shuffle, and a click before he speaks again. 

“Come here” He says, voice now filtered through the vocal modulator. You turn slowly, mattress sinking under your hands and knees as you crawl to him, his helmet reflecting back at you. You look up at him with smitten eyes, his spent, not-so-little friend resting contently between his balls. You smile, sleep dizzying your gaze, watching as the Mandalorian pulls your sheets from under you both. He unrumples them, laying them over your frame while you get comfortable beside him. 

Silence takes the moment, both of you fixing your gazes to the moon-lit ceiling. “So” You speak finally, your voice landing pillowy soft on his ears. 

“You’ve..never done that before?” You ask sheepishly, tilting your head so it rests on his shoulders. 

He breathes a chuckle in response. “I have not.” 

“Didn’t seem like it” You both laugh quietly, allowing the moment to settle as he brushes a finger over yours. A flickering flame simmers between you, leaving you yearning for more of him. 

You smile with a newfound excitement, thrilled for the future of your arrangement with the steeled soldier lying beside you.