Chapter Text
You stifle a scream in your throat, trying to listen as Din quietly shouts at his advisors from outside of the chamber.
“I don’t give a shit that the delegates are waiting,” Din snarls, his hushed voice still echoing down the hall. “My wife is in labor, so I will not be leaving her side. The next person who knocks on this door will lose their fucking arm.”
You huff a laugh through the pain, imagining the way Din’s hand has landed on the hilt of the Darksaber, proof that he will follow through on that threat.
In all honestly, you really hadn’t expected any of this.
In the weeks following the battle, your days were spent in their entirety to helping reestablish Mandalore. Din was constantly in meetings, so you strapped Grogu to your back and threw yourself in wholeheartedly to assisting in any way you could.
Between evaluating portions of the city for useful supplies, corralling the multitude of young children who tended to wander off, and trying to give advice to a flustered, slightly out of his depth Din, you barely managed to get ten minutes to yourselves.
So when a discussion regarding the education system came to a surprisingly early end, Din promptly kicked everyone out of the throne room, picked you up, set you down on the throne, and yanked your pants down.
“Been thinking about this for fucking weeks,” Din growled, burying his face between your legs.
You had tried to stifle your moans with your palm, but a sharp nip to the inside of your thigh had you relaxing, your soft noises ringing through the beautiful room.
Din kept you teetering on the edge, working you up before pulling back, driving you higher and higher until you start babbling, begging.
“Please, Din, please, I’ll do anything, I need to come, please,” you pleaded, your fingers wound tight through his curls, watching as he ignored your words. “Anything you want, Din, I swear.”
His mouth finally left your pussy, but his fingers quickly came to replace his tongue, gently rubbing around your clit, never applying direct pressure.
“Anything I want?” Din repeated quietly, eyes glued on yours, an inscrutable look on his face.
You nodded frantically, hips held hostage by his forearm, desperate for your release.
“What if I want to fuck you full without your implant?” His eyes were guarded as he asked, hesitant and wary.
You were too close to your orgasm to remind Din that you had already told him yes, told him that your main request was to wait until after he had reclaimed Mandalore, so you just panted out, “Of course, you big idiot. Anything you want. Just please let me come.”
Din tried to hide his delight by eating you out again, but you could feel his happiness in every flex of his fingers, in the way he pushed you over the edge so gently, licking you through your orgasm until you were overstimulated.
You eventually shoved his face away, his beard scratchy against your inner thighs.
“Did you mean it?” Din said quietly, eyes looking anywhere but your face.
You sighed happily, resting your palm against his cheek and directing his gaze to meet yours. “Yes.”
In a matter of seconds, Din had lifted you from the throne, hands quickly working to refasten your pants.
“What-“ you started to ask, only for Din to wrap his hand around yours and practically drag you from the room.
“We’re going to the doctor,” Din informed you, casting a quick glance back at you. “If that’s okay.”
You laughed, head still spinning a bit. “Right now?”
“Yes,” Din growled, ignoring the few Mandalorians who try to wave him down. “I’m cancelling the rest of my day.” He turned a sharp corner, ignoring the way you were giggling at his behavior, only glancing you over once and correcting himself to say, “I’m cancelling the rest of my week.”
You briefly passed Bo-Katan, and mouthed ‘Sorry’ before your insane husband shouldered the door open to the small medical ward of the palace.
The doctor was a bit flustered, but quickly caught on to your request and ushered you over to a medical droid, who began to run basic diagnostics.
Din paced the small room until you finally snapped at him to sit, fingers working anxiously against his thigh.
The doctor took a minute to read the results, her brows furrowed.
“What is it?” you finally asked, worried by the look on her face. “Is everything okay?”
Din was as still as a statue, dark eyes staring anxiously at the doctor when she finally took off her glasses, wiping a hand over her face.
“Well,” she said, “I have good news and bad news. Which you want to hear first?”
You said “Bad” right as Din said “Good.”
The doctor winced and shot Din an apologetic look before turning to you. She took a deep breath, then asked quickly, “Were you exposed to a large electrical surge at any point within the last month?”
You slowly nodded your head, remembering the battle. “I was shocked by an electrostaff. They held me down with it for ten, twenty seconds.” Aside from the marks on your armor, you also had a few faint lines on your chest to remember it by.
Din’s jaw tightened, anger briefly flickering across his face.
“So aside from the usual side effects of long exposure to electricity, there are a few lesser known effects,” the doctor said, a professional mask on her face. “One being potential damage to any birth control implant that might have been in use. I’m betting that shock fried your implant within a few seconds of contact. There’s no negative health benefits, other than a return of your cycle.”
Your jaw drops and you whip your head around to Din, who is barely holding back a hopeful look. He strode across the room, twining your fingers together as you both turned to look at the doctor.
Her professionalism is cracking under your excited gaze, so when she finally asked, “Do you want to hear the good news?”, she did it with a smile.
Now, eight months and an entire pregnancy later, you wish you could slap your past self.
“Din, I swear to the Maker, I’m going to fucking feed you to Fett’s rancor,” you swear, another contraction wracking your body. “I’m going to take that sword and shove it up your ass. We are never fucking doing this again.”
You can hear Paz chuckling outside the room.
Din had, quite frankly, been insufferable for the last eight months.
Caught between his desire to proudly show you off to everyone and the creeping fear that someone or something would hurt you, he has barely left your side, Grogu protectively held close to his chest.
Even now, he’s letting you scream at him, letting you bruise his fingers without a complaint, awe and admiration etched into every line on his face.
“Okay,” he agrees, wiping your face with another cloth. “Anything you want, mesh’la.”
You roll your eyes at him, only to let out another strangled scream.
“Alright,” the doctor says. “Looks like it’s time. You ready?”
You want to snap, but you catch a glimpse of Din’s face and instead grip his hand tighter, concentrate all your energy, and focus.
The first natural born child of the newly reestablished Mandalore is brought into the world kicking and screaming.
Born with a head full of dark, thick curls and lungs that rivaled her mother’s.
And a few hours later, Grogu is perched on your lap and the new baby is swaddled in your arms as you watch, tired but happy, as Din signs the official paperwork that grants Mandalore its own sovereign status.
The diplomats are all crowded around the doorframe, none willing to risk the wrath of the Mand’alor by overstepping their bounds, forced to watch as Din signs incredibly important treaties on the nightstand of your hospital room.
With a brusque, “Here,” he tosses the data pad back to his advisor, shooing him out of the room before shutting the door and latching it.
You smile as he stomps back over to you, irruption disappearing as he watches Grogu gently pat the baby’s face.
It’s been a long road to get here, but as Din settles onto the bed with you, his arms holding your family tight, you can’t imagine any other ending.
Years go by, each faster than the one before.
More children are born, and generations of Mandalorians come together to teach them the past, hopeful that their future will be brighter.
Your clan welcomes two more children, a boy and another girl, and then several more foundlings as you grow older.
It becomes known across the galaxy that Mandalore is a safehaven for children who have nowhere else to go, orphans and runaways and those who are feared for powers they don’t even control.
Relief missions are organized, outposts are established, and slowly, Mandalore grows as a culture and government, opening itself up to trade deals and alliances.
And no alliance is more closely revered than that with the Jedi.
Master Luke Skywalker, after realizing that one lone Jedi is no match for the sheer size of the galaxy, approaches the Mand’alor with a proposition.
Mandalore will never again fight alone against oppressors, and Mandalorians will help protect the Jedi children.
Yavin 4 is a closely kept secret for security purposes, but, as Luke travels throughout the galaxy, he lets it slip that Mandalore is safe for those with abilities beyond their knowledge.
Soon, there are freighters full of scared families, each more desperate than the last to finally get help, some understanding.
Concordia, a moon once filled with hate and terrorists, is recolonized to host these families, setting them up as agriculturalists as they wait for their children to return from school.
Luke holds fast to his promise, working out a system of semesters, never separating children from their parents for too long, teaching that love is not something to be feared, but something to be cultured.
And for those children that need even more structure, who struggle with their powers and their place in the world, they train alongside the Mandalorians, taught to control themselves, channel their strength into doing good for others.
Luke’s headstrong nephew benefits from the training.
There are even other Jedi that slowly start to come forward, hesitant but hopeful that this time it isn’t a trap.
A red head with a scar across his face, accompanied by a pale, tattooed witch.
A again, tan man with yellow tattoos.
Even Ahsoka Tano, a snarky, handsome young man at her side, quick with a blaster but even faster with his words.
And eventually, as Luke knights more Jedi, the galaxy starts to see a return to balance, a return to normalcy.
People see that even the most bitter of rivals and enemies can become partners.
People see that there is always hope.
And tucked deep in the palace, in a small, hidden corner of the Mand'alor's suite, sits a delicate, metal and glass box.
Silent and still.
Waiting.