#lightcruiser

[corellianhounds]

You know what people like better than a Strong Female Character™, Filoni?

A strongly written character.

Season 2 finale of The Mandalorian, after a more fractious and character-driven episode of “The Heiress,” has Mando begrudgingly asking Bo-Katan for help retrieving his kid only because it’s clear she’s had experience hijacking and navigating around Imperial ships, she has numbers with Koska and Axe behind her, and she is a legitimately good fighter.

Bo-Katan initially scoffs and refuses. To her, he is either intentionally or unintentionally the reason she lost the shipment of Imperial arms and munitions, and their culture clash only drove the divide between them even wider. Now he wants her help? Is he insane?

“It’s Moff Gideon’s lightcruiser,” Mando says.

And that gives her pause. She sneers at him with both derision and suspicion, saying nobody can just track down an Imperial Moff, especially a Moff who’s former ISB, especially by someone like you, Mando.

Mando grits his teeth and shows her verifiable proof and oh, noooooow she’s whistling a different tune. She readily agrees, giving him the same warning about leaving Gideon for her to fight. Din doesn’t care: his child is his only priority.

So the infiltration goes off and they get inside the ship with their collective crews. Mando beats Moff Gideon and saves his child, and then he shows up on the bridge with the Darksaber in hand, the tip of the blade humming at Gideon’s back.

Now Bo-Katan is even angrier. He, deliberately or not (and at this point she’s certain it’s deliberate, him continuing to foil her at every turn), did the one thing she told him not to do, and now this- this outsider, this cultist who knows nothing, is standing there with her sword.

And then he has the audacity to offer it up in forfeit, right there in front of everybody. There’s no possible way she’ll be able to challenge him for the sword now because people will know that he never wanted it in the first place, so he’d obviously just be throwing the fight and she’d have no legitimate claim over it.

He doesn’t even want it.

“It has to be won in combat,” she grits out through her teeth. She can’t even attack him here, not when he’s already tried to yield it to her and he’s holding the foundling he saved as a result of winning said fight in his other arm. The Mandalorian ideal, wrapped up in this new suit laden with more beskar than she’s seen in one place for a long time.

She can’t even begin to say how much she hates him right now.

But then in her periphery she hears Moff Gideon chuckle, and Bo-Katan bristles, knowing exactly what he’s about to say as soon as she hears him laugh and it’s going to ruin everything, but she’s too late

“Why can’t he forfeit the sword?” Gideon taunts. “Thats how I got it from you.”

The bright flash of a blaster bolt sails through the air and hits Gideon square in the chest, knocking him back with a grunt as she strides forward to kill him with her bare hands. There’s an immediate clamoring of voices, the drop soldier hitting her like a brick wall and holding her back while everyone else tries to break up the impending fight, saying he’s a war criminal who needs to answer to the New Republic for his crimes. Gideon groans, falling back against the console as his plastoid chest plate smokes, and Bo-Katan Kryze trembles with rage.

Koska and Axe are behind her. She knows what expression she’ll see on their faces, the immediate disdain and loss of respect. She shouldn’t have shot him. She shouldn’t have shot him because that’s more of an admission of guilt than anything, and now all of them know.

Gideon still somehow manages to chuckle weakly and she realizes that he knew exactly what he was doing. Even defeated and without recourse, he excels at psychological warfare and he’s just fractured any and all support she may have ever had at her back. The Nite Owls know. The cultist knows. The droptrooper, the assassin, the clone—

Everybody now knows that Bo-Katan Kryze, Mandalorian heiress to the throne of their homeworld, had at one point in time faced down Moff Gideon with the Darksaber in hand and had not fought to the death. They know that she forfeited the sword at the height of the Empire’s war, and they knew that Mandalore had fallen either because of her surrender, or because she was foolish enough to believe they would grant them mercy.

To them, she’s either completely inept and an idiot, or she’s a traitor, or she’s a coward, if not all three. Nothing about her actions was befitting of a Mandalorian and she’s fought so hard for so long to keep anybody else from finding out. With two sentences Moff Gideon has ripped any support or chance at leadership away from her entirely. It doesn’t matter what her intentions were when she surrendered; no one will ever truly know or believe her because there is no other way for them to see this freshly re-opened wound as anything other than a complete disgrace to her house, her creed, and her armor. Nobody will rally behind her now.

At the end of season 2, Bo-Katan is alone.

[thefrogdalorian]

Soon, I Will Be Back With You

Word Count: 1218 Rating:  Teen Summary:  Centuries after the last time he saw his buir, Grogu reflects on memories of the life they shared together until it ended in devastating circumstances. Content Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Funerals, grief, mourning. Death not describes in detail but very emotional. Hurt, no comfort. Author's Note: Today I was thinking about the reality that Grogu will probably outlive Din and how lone wolf and cub stories always end and this was the result. Pain. Sorry about this one... by far the saddest thing I've ever written.

❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

It had been several centuries since the last time he had seen his father. But every time he closed his eyes, Grogu could still see his buir’s face as clearly as the day he lost him. Grogu remembered the small details; the wrinkle above his nose that deepened during times of stress, the patchy spots of his beard and his curly brown hair, which stuck up in all directions whenever he removed his helmet to reveal his face to his son. Most of all, he remembered pained brown eyes filled with tears as the understanding that only one of them would make it out of their latest predicament alive dawned upon him.

Grogu’s buir had not panicked when he realised the gravity of their situation. He had accepted his impending fate with all the grace and bravery of a true Mandalorian warrior. Once it was obvious that only one member of Clan Mudhorn would make it out alive, there was no doubt that he would prioritise Grogu’s life over his own. When Grogu’s buir had realised that his life was drawing to a close, he had spent the few seconds they had left together to make Grogu promise to be brave and to never forget what he had taught him.

Grogu had tried his best to honour that vow to be brave, but the truth was that he was terrified. He always thought they would have more time. Grogu believed that he would hold his buir's hand as he passed away of old age, his grey beard and moustache evidence of a long life, well-lived. It was difficult to believe that this was their ending, that anyone in the galaxy could get the better of his buir.

There was a time during the early period of their lives together, until Grogu was kidnapped by the Darktroopers on Tython, that he had believed that nothing would be able to harm him, as long as he had The Mandalorian by his side. After that moment, Grogu had realised that there were some threats in the galaxy that even his remarkable saviour could not overcome.

It had taken several years after that day on the Lightcruiser – when they had been saved only by the miraculous, timely arrival of the Jedi – for such threats to return and catch up to them, but eventually their luck had run out. 

If Grogu thought for too long about what the galaxy had lost that day, with his father's selfless act of sacrifice to ensure that his child would survive, he would find himself ruminating on whether things could have gone differently. Perhaps if his buir had at least given Grogu the chance to heal his wounds, instead of denying him that opportunity and sending him to safety, there could have been a possibility of him surviving. But Grogu knew that his buir would not want him to agonise over the decision he had taken to prioritise Grogu’s safety. After all, Grogu's buir had made him promise him to be brave. If there was one thing he had taught Grogu, it was to always be honourable and stay true to his word. So Grogu had promised him, with a small, shaky nod, that he would be brave, even as his brown eyes filled with tears as the little boy could sense what was about to happen. 

Grogu did not like to think of the day, nor to dwell on the exact circumstances of when his buir had left to become one with the Manda. He preferred to recall their happier times together. Even if reminiscing about those times brought an overwhelming wave of grief, too.

Grogu was reminded of him often. 

Sometimes it would be the faintest glint of sunlight hitting a patch of water that would bring back memories of the gleaming, unpainted beskar’gam that was worn by the man who represented the closest thing Grogu had ever had, in his centuries of life, to a real family. 

Despite the short amount of time that Grogu had spent with The Mandalorian relative to his enormous lifespan, those few years had shaped the person Grogu had grown up to be. He had given Grogu a life, a sense of belonging and a feeling of security that he had never felt in all the centuries since that horrendous day.

Even if Grogu had been able to speak to his buir, he would have struggled to find the words to convey his gratitude. The gift of speech had not come until several decades after Grogu had watched, nestled in the arms of another Mandalorian warrior, as his father’s body was placed on an elevated pyre and the kote ky’ram was performed. Grogu was too young to join in with the assembled Mandalorians as they shouted tales of his buir’s deeds to the sky and honoured him with war cries. All he had been able contribute was pained, unintelligble squeaks, the words he had longed to shout known only to his tiny mind.

By the time Grogu had been able to speak, it was too late. All the words that he had one day hoped to say to his buir, the love he wanted to share, the gratitude he wanted to express for raising his blaster to shoot the bounty droid rather than him on that fateful day on this very planet would remain forever unsaid. 

But Grogu knew that their bond went beyond words. He had never doubted for a single day that he had spent with his buir that The Mandalorian knew the depth of his love for him.

As he sat on a cliff overlooking the spot where there had once been a compound which Grogu had stayed, hidden away for many years until the day his buir had stormed in and rescued him, Grogu turned the metallic ball over in his wrinkled claw one last time.

It was amazing that it had retained its shine, despite the centuries that had passed. It was the last remaining link to his buir, to the ship that had been their first home together.

Now, Grogu was under no illusion that he did not have much time remaining. The centuries had taken their toll on his small body. Despite the fact that he now shuffled around with the aid of a cane and his eyesight was failing him, Grogu felt deep in his soul that this was the spot.

Grogu inhaled sharply in pain as he fell to the sand in an ungraceful manoeuvre. His joints were really too aged for such a movement. But he needed to do this, before he lost the ability to move entirely.

Grogu reached down and moved the sand with his wrinkled claws, now gnarled and prone to seizing-up due to his advanced age. Grogu made a hole just big enough to fit the precious relic inside. He brought the metallic sphere to his parched lips and kissed it, then placed it in the hole he had just created in the sand.

“Nusujii Ni Kelir cuyir norac ti gar,” Grogu whispered in the tongue that his buir had begun to teach him all that time ago, his ailing eyes shimmering with tears as he knelt there in the sand. Then, he repeated the phrase in basic:

“Soon I will be back with you.”

[charlesoberonn]

Welcome to your first day on job, this is your very own autopilot ship where you live and sleep for duration of your contract, ..., make yourself at home, to complete onboarding process you will want to check the indtructions manual and sign into your ship computer terminal, we trust you will be a great asset to the company great great asset to the company asset great great great asset to the company asset to the great great great asset to the great great company

Welcome to the Aperture Science Space and Leisure Lightcruiser.

[bberry005]

there's an imperial lightcruiser in rebels called the marauder and when i tell you i got thrown for such a loop when i heard it just now-

[likethetrench]

chapter 19 - pirun ( 1:28:31 )

in which i'll hotwire a lightcruiser and perform an aerial bombardment on the hutts from space is the most romantic declaration boba has ever heard, also there's some shaving kink

(I love this fic so fucking much)

(literally edited this chapter on a moving train. and also a non-moving train. because the engine overheated. and we were stuck. for several hours. and uploaded and posted this chapter STILL ON THE FUCKING TRAIN. (i am now home.))

[the-delta-42]

#lindberg 1/1080 #clevelandclass #lightcruiser #usshouston #usshoustoncl81 #modelship #modelbuilding #lindbergmodel #thelindbergline #thelindberglinemodel #lindbergusshouston #worldwar2 #worldwarII #wwii #ww2

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[freedomriders771]

Salamis Kai Class Cruiser

[muramasa309]

#神通#日本海軍#軽巡 #巡洋艦#太平洋戦争#ww2 #Cruiser #LightCruiser #japan #Ship #Jintsu https://www.instagram.com/p/BxaysHFH2VH/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=j91mju5rjg3w

[oscarwrg]

#LEGO_Galaxy_Patrol #LEGO #LEGOstarrWars #StarWarsLEGO #Imperial #MoffGideon’s #LightCruiser @starwars @starwarsclubve @lego @lego_group https://www.instagram.com/p/CbAb5ZaLa_v/?utm_medium=tumblr

[tdarkreaperw]

#wikipedia #photo #outdoors #natural #view #naturephotography #canon #greatoutdoors #tonywisemanphotography #tonywiseman #hms #hmsbelfast #belfast #cruiser #lightcruiser #royalnavy #museum #river #thames #london #uk #imperialwarmuseum #war #history HMS Belfast is a Town-class light cruiser that was built for the Royal Navy. It is now permanently moored as a museum ship on the River Thames in London and is operated by the Imperial War Museum. {Source Wikipedia} 18-07-17 - HMS Belfast

[its-not-a-pen]

Being a Stormtrooper isn’t such a bad job. 

You get to travel, learn practical skills, and earn a steady paycheck. Sure, it gets tough at times, but at the end of the day you rest easy knowing that you’re on the right side of history. 

Based on the story: What does the “K” in “TK” stand for, anyway?   The Mandalorian AU and deconstruction, where the Empire is competent, the Stromtroopers have complexity, and the rescue does not go as planned...

[pedrito-friskito]

Happy 300!! ❤️❤️ Can I have Din with “🍑” please 💕

thank you sweetpea! 💕 omg yes you can I’ve had so many din thoughts lately and this was the perfect place for them

a/n: this turned into a whole ass fic too lmfao because I physically cannot write din djarin without LOTS of exposition so here we go - would be considered an au I guess since this would be after the events of book of boba fett/we don’t know what season three brings yet

ANYWAY ENJOY THANK YOU!!! ♥️

sweet like sugar - manda’lor!din djarin x serving girl!fem reader

warnings: a whole lot of descripton lmfao, p-in-v sex, din has a bit of a dirty mouth, wrap it before you tap it people

✨kay’s 300 follower celebration✨

Din’s still making sense of it all.

It’s everything he never asked for; the crown, the palace, the responsibility. The weight on his shoulders that just seemed to be replaced every time a different weight was removed. The only bright spot most days is his son by his side, Grogu often taking to following Din around the palace grounds, his little feet much quicker than they were before he trained with Luke Skywalker. It’s another thing to add Din’s list, another thing to process.

Boba and Fennec, Cara and Greef, they’d all given up their stations to come with him, to help Din take the throne of Mandalore, to get his feet under him and be the friends he’d come to know them to be. His advisors, his Council. Boba was splitting his time between Din’s Council and the Daimyo seat on Tatooine, and Fennec went where she was needed. Cara was glad to stay and Greef was just happy to be included.

And it’s helped, some. Helped him make sense of what he’s agreed to, show him where his attention is most needed. Sure, there are advisors galore on Mandalore, Bo-Katan and her crew desperate to be heard, but Din’s trust lies with his friends. With his son, with his family. The people who have proven to him time and time again that there is, in fact, good in the galaxy. It sometimes just looks a little different than imagined.

+

He first notices you the day of his coronation.

The palace’s great hall is filled with people, murmurs and whispers moving through the crowds as Din strides through. Darksaber on his hip, his comfortable cloak replaced with something much finer, the fabric thick and heavy against his back as he walks. The Phoenix is hidden away in his personal armoury on one of the higher levels, but most of his beskar remains, including his helmet.

Bo-Katan had given him hell when she realized he would keep his face covered for the ceremony. His head still swam with confusion at the memories; the refinery on Morak and his face being scanned into the Imperial systems, Grogu’s hand on his bare face on Gideon’s lightcruiser, the Armourer’s assertion that he was a Mandalorian no more.

But he had a saber, and according to every legend he’d pulled from the Archives, Bo-Katan’s adamant refusal to take the weapon from him, and every other person he’d come into contact with since winning the saber from Gideon, that made him heir to the throne. And, by some stroke of idiocy, he’d agreed to it.

So here he is, on a seat he never asked for, darksaber twirled in his palm, surveying the crowds before him. It’s not something he ever dreamed of, when he was young. He never longed for wealth or station or a crowd full of people listening to his every word. He’s a strange mix of comfortable and anxious, glad to have at least some of familiarity around him. Boba and the rest sat at a table nearby, and Grogu’s crib had been upgraded to his own smaller version of Din’s throne. The kid is thrilled to pieces, babbling away beside him, sticking his little fingers in anything that’s presented to him.

“Can I get you anything, your majesty?” a soft voice asks, stepping up the dais to refill the tiny cup of juice beside Grogu’s plate. He coos happily, grinning up at you, and behind the helmet, Din is blushing.

You’re beautiful.

There’s no other word for it, and it catches him off guard, back straightening in his seat, gloved hands gripping the arms so tightly Din’s shocked they don’t snap off. Dressed in the same soft garb as the other servants, your hair braided ornately around your head, a silver pendant at your throat. It’s beskar, he knows; every servant and worker in the palace has one, a symbol of their loyalty.

Vaguely, he hears you repeat the question, your eyes nailing him to the spot. His tongue feels too big in his mouth, and Din fumbles for an answer, shaking his head. “N-no, I’m fine, but thank you.”

Beside him, Grogu has managed to pour his entire cup down his front, and you make a little surprised noise, bending down and pulling a rag from your pocket. “Careful, ad’ika,” you say, and the kid gurgles in response as you wipe the juice from his face. “I’ll get you some more.”

He’s pretty sure his mind goes blank at the term of endearment slipping from your lips. “You speak Mando’a?” he asks, nearly sputtering out the question. Why is he suddenly so nervous?

“Yes, your majesty,” you reply smoothly, a grin painting your lips. “Many of the servants do. I was born here.”

His brows raise. “You’re from Mandalore?”

Another nod, the grin growing wider. “Yes, your majesty. My family was killed in the Great Purge. Until it was announced you would take the throne, I was making my way on Coruscant. Then I returned here.”

“You returned to be a servant?”

“Yes, your majesty. My family has served the Manda’lor for many generations. It’s an honour.” You bow your head, knees bending in a curtsy, and Din still can’t tear his eyes from your face. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I could get you?”

“Your name?”

A blush blooms through your cheeks, and just when he thought you couldn’t be any more beautiful. You give him your name softly, knees still bent, and Grogu chirps happily as you say it. Din repeats it back, leaning forward in his seat and offering you his hand. You take it hesitantly, and he can feel the warmth of your skin even through his gloves.

Another servant calls your name, and your head turns towards the voice. “I’m coming!” You look back at Din, offering another smile. “If you need anything, just ask, your majesty.”

And then you’re gone.

+

In the months that follow, Din finds himself more restless than he’s ever felt in his life. Things were so different before, when it was just him and the kid on the Crest. When he could go anywhere in the galaxy without notifying anyone, without needing an entire security detail following him around. When his days were filled with bounties and adventure, not policies and votes and debates that made him want to fall asleep in his chair.

It’s important, his position, he knows that, still feels the weight every day, but damn if it isn’t boring sometimes.

His nights are restless, sleep evading him more often than not. He wanders the halls of the palace, occasionally with Grogu’s floating crib at his side, but usually on his own. It’s much more quiet at night, any visitors either gone from the palace or retired for the evening. Sometimes he runs into a servant or two, but the hallways are generally empty.

Tonight, however, he finds himself inching towards the kitchens, his growling stomach taking over his wandering feet. He’ll find something to snack on, something he can sneak back to his all-too lavish rooms on the highest level.

He’s not expecting to find someone in the kitchens at this hour, least of all you.

Your head doesn’t lift as he steps into the room, the door whooshing shut behind him. Your face is smeared with flour and spices, your hands covered in more flour and something purple. “I’m almost finished, Myla, I swear,” you say, focused on the task at hand. “You don’t have to wait for me, you know.”

“I’m not Myla,” Din manages to say, his voice strained and awkward. It’s not the first time he’s seen you since the coronation; you’ve been everywhere, in every corner of the palace, at every meal, inching into the corner of his vision everywhere he turns. You flinch at the sound of his voice instead of your friend’s, neck snapping up so quickly he’s concerned you’re going to hurt yourself.

“Oh, gods,” you mutter, immediately starting to reach for the bowls and containers spread across the counter. “Your majesty, I’m so sorry. I was just…” Din tilts his head to the side and you inhale sharply. “I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“You were here first,” Din says slowly, grinning beneath his helmet. “Doesn’t that mean I’m disturbing you?”

“Oh,” you stutter, linking your hands together in front of you, staring down at them. “You could never, your majesty.”

Din steps further into the room, coming to stand before the stools lining the opposite side of the counter you’re stood at. You look up at him through your lashes and his stomach lurches. Your face has been etched in his brain since the first time he set eyes on you, but still, having you there before him is another thing entirely, making his breath stutter beneath his helmet.

“Is there something you need?” you ask, and he knows you’re flustered more so because there’s a pause before you add, “your majesty.”

It gives him an odd sense of satisfaction, knowing he has a similar effect on you that you do on him. It levels the playing field some, and he pulls out one of the stools, sliding atop it. “I was just looking for something to eat.”

“Of course,” you say brightly, wiping the purple from your hands. He’s still curious to know what it is. “Anything in particular? They delivered some really good fruit this morning; I think there’s still some left. And I could make you some tea?”

“That sounds perfect,” Din replies, and you give him the most dazzling smile, tucking your rag into your back pocket and setting to work. A few minutes later, there’s a plate of neatly sliced fruit slid to him, along with a steaming cup of tea.

He realizes then that he’s still wearing his helmet, and watches the realization pass across your face. “I’ll give you some privacy, your majesty.”

“No,” Din calls far too quickly, feeling his cheeks heat under the helmet, and your freeze, eyes glued to him. “You can stay, it’s all right. I’d…like the company.”

“All right,” you say, your voice quieter than he’s ever heard it.

The kitchen goes deathly silent as Din hooks his fingers into the rim of his helmet and lifts it off his head.

If it’s possible, you’re even more beautiful without the slight distortion of his visor. Your eyes are brighter than he thought them to be, your skin smoother. Gods, it’s been a long time since he’s felt like this, this attracted to a woman. And he knows the cliché of it all: the king and the serving girl. It’s a story that’s been told a million times over, but he doesn’t care.

There’s a wry smile on your face as he sets the helmet down on the table. “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just…there are rumours, about what you look like under there. And you…you’re very handsome, your majesty.” Your eyes go wide and you clap a hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry, that was much too forward.”

Din actually laughs, the sound almost startling him. He’s not used to hearing it so loud and clear, not processed through his helmet. His cheeks are heating at the compliment, and he reaches for the tea. “You need to stop apologizing.”

Your brows raise. “I’m so—” You cut yourself off, making a little huffing noise that makes Din grin. “Yes, your majesty.”

“What are you doing down here so late?” he asks.

You pause. “I’m not sure I should tell you,” you say quietly, reaching for the rag again. “I’d hate to get myself into trouble.”

“Your secret is safe with me, mesh’la,” he tells you, leaning his elbows on the counter. “I give you my word, as Manda’lor.”

+

Did he just call you beautiful?

“What did you…” you start, but then you shake your head. Your heart is hammering around in your chest so hard you’re worried it might jump out of your throat. He’s here, in the kitchens, in the one place you’ve been able to hide from him since your first encounter at his coronation.

You still played over that first conversation in your head, but this? Sitting across from you, drinking the tea you made, helmet discarded and those gorgeous eyes staring back at you. He is handsome, there’s no denying that, but the way he’s watching you, the way his eyes dart from your mouth and back up again every time you speak, it’s making something in you heat.

But he’s the Manda’lor. And you’re…you. Nobody.

You’ve done a good job, thus far, you think. Keeping yourself scarce when you can, but there’s only so much avoiding you can do when it’s your job to serve him. And gods, he’s so kind. It’s distracting, the quiet way he has about him, so shy and yet so commanding at the same time.

Watching him interact with his son is another thing entirely.

He reaches across the counter, fingers closing around your wrist, and it’s then that you realize that you’ve never seen him without gloves on. His fingers are long, knuckles calloused and criss-crossed with scars, more on the backs of his hands beneath the light dusting of dark hair.

He’s looking at you expectantly, waiting for your admission, and you rub a hand across the back of your neck, staring down at where his hand is still holding your wrist. He can probably feel how wildly your pulse is racing, but he says nothing, just watching you.

“I stay down here most nights, after everyone’s gone to their quarters,” you say, the words coming out in a rush. “It’s quiet, once they’re all gone, and I like it. It’s nice, helps me clear my head.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Why would you think you’d get in trouble for that?”

“I…” You trail off, at a loss. “I’m sorry, your majesty, but you make me very nervous.”

Slowly, he slides off the stool he’d been occupying, and rounds the counter, coming to stand right in front of you. He keeps his hold on your wrist as he moves, fingers tightening slightly as he stops before you. “The feeling is mutual.”

You blink. What? “It is?”

He nods, the moment slow, eyes darting all across your face. “It is. Since that first night I saw you, I haven’t…” He shakes his head. “I cannot get you out of my mind. Do you know what that’s like?”

Yes. Oh, sweet Gods, yes. “Y-yes, your majesty.”

He’s so close now, looming over you. He’s tall, too, his chin at the perfect height to rest atop your head. Slowly, he releases your wrist, drags his hand up your arm, until it reaches your shoulder, and then his fingers are under your jaw, keeping your face tilted towards his.

“Din. You call me Din, mesh’la, you understand? My name is Din Djarin.”

Your words are gone, caught in your throat, so you just nod.

Din. Din Djarin.

“Can I…” he starts, then pauses, clears his throat, and lifts his hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. He murmurs your name. “Can I kiss you? I don’t…I don’t know how to a—”

Before he can get another word out, you lean up on your toes and kiss him.

It shouldn’t surprise you how soft his lips are, but it pulls a little noise out of you when his hand dives into your hair, the other reaching down to rest at the small of your back, pushing you until you chest touches his.

He tastes sweet, like the vormur flower tea you’d made him and the sharp tang of fruit. There’s something else too, something that just belongs to him, and you wish you could bottle the taste. He’s so tall, all broad shoulders and hard muscle beneath the soft clothes he’s wearing.

When his arm tightens around your waist, you can’t stop the little whimper that slips between your lips. You reach up, taking his face in your hands, feeling the scruff lining his jaw tickle your palm. Before you know it, the arm around your waist sinks beneath your ass, and he lifts you up. Your legs seem to wrap around his hips of their own accord, and Din sets you on the counter, mouth still hungrily attached to yours, kissing you like he’s been walking through the Tatooine desert forever and you’re the first drop of water he’s found.

It’s hungry and it’s heated and there’s something so forbidden about it that you have goosebumps, nervous energy rioting around in your gut. He keeps one hand in your hair, and the other moves to rest on your thigh, fingers pressing into your flesh. It sets everything in you alight, lust and arousal searing through your veins.

The soft fabric of his pants is doing little to mask the evidence of how aroused he is. It’s a bold move, you know, letting once hand skim down his chest, dropping to cup your palm against him. You’re rewarded by the way his jaw goes slack, mouth still moving against yours, a debauched moan sliding from his lips to yours.

“I need to be inside you, mesh’la,” he whispers. “Please.”

You nod frantically, and there’s a quick shuffle of clothes, your pants yanked down past your ankles and dropped to the floor, Din’s pushed down his hips. It all happens in an instant, his hand sliding up your thigh and hitching it over his hip, pulling you to the edge of the counter. His lips meet yours just as he presses into you, and you gasp into his mouth, one hand fisting in the front of his shirt, the other reaching around to sink into his hair. It’s ridiculously soft, the strands curling about your fingers.

And then he starts to move.

Your head is a mess, still confused as anything by what exactly is transpiring. Not half an hour you were here by yourself, and now you’re…

“Din,” you groan. He sets a ruthless pace, hips snapping into yours, jaw dropped as he stares down at where you’re connected. You tilt your head back, kissing his cheek, pressing yourself into him as much as possible, meeting his every thrust.

It’s filthy, the way the sounds of his flesh against yours fill the kitchens, the slick sound of just how wet he’s got you echoing through your mind. He barely touched you, but you were ready before your pants even hit the floor. His kiss has awakened something in you, and you can’t get enough.

He’s big, and it’s a stretch, but the slight burn just makes it better, the pain ebbing just as quickly as it arrived. Your ankles lock around his back, drawing him closer, tipping your head back as he fits his face against your throat.

“You have the sweetest mouth, mesh’la,” he murmurs against your pulse, nipping at your thin skin before laving his tongue over the spot. “I wonder if you’re just as sweet somewhere else.”

His hand drops from your hair only to snake up underneath your shirt, palm cupping your breast, swiping his thumb across your nipple. You keen up into the touch, back bowing to push your chest towards him, but then it’s gone, hand dropping between your spread legs. He kisses your throat almost roughly, beard scratching against you, but you barely notice as he slides two fingers through the wetness spilling out around his cock inside you, then draws them up, moving in a perfect circle over your clit. It knocks you breathless, yanking at his shirt desperately.

Then he pulls his fingers away, pushing them between his lips and moaning at the taste.

“I was right,” he murmurs, dropping his hand again, drawing another circle around you. “Just as sweet.”

Your brain is swimming with pleasure, unable to push a coherent thought past your lips, nothing but his name drawled out, bouncing off the walls. “Din.”

“I’ve dreamed about this for so long,” he grunts out, thrusting deeper than before, tightening an arm around your waist again, keeping you close. You drape your arms around his neck, pushing your face into his collar. “Touching you like this, being so deep inside you. Hearing the sounds you’d make for me, tasting your mouth. Gods, mesh’la, you’re more than I ever could have dreamed.”

He rubs a hard circle against you and you cry out, digging your hands into his shoulders, holding on for dear life. “Please, Din.”

His hips continue to piston against yours, and his fingers continue to circle your clit. Your nerves sing in response, sparks of pleasure shooting up and down every limb, your jaw going slack against his chest as it starts to pulse through you, hitting you like a blaster bolt to the stomach. Your whole body seizes, nails digging in hard, and Din gasps, pressing his mouth against the crown of your head, hips still moving. “So tight,” he chokes out, “are you…? Can I…?”

“Implant,” you whisper out, and there’s only a breath before he’s finding his own bliss, gripping you so tightly you can barely breathe. You lift your head as he gasps, grabbing his chin and tilting his face so you can kiss his pretty mouth, swallowing down his sounds until he stills against you.

You legs are numb, fingers and toes tingling as you both catch your breath.

And then you both start laughing.

It’s blissful laughter, interspersed between kisses and gentle touches. He stays there, fitted between your legs, pushing the hair from your face and kissing every inch of your face until you’re giggling helplessly, gripping his waist like a lifeline.

A knock at the door makes you both freeze.

Myla calls your name. “Are you coming or what?”

You look at Din, open-mouthed, and he just starts to laugh. “Be there in a second!”

It’s a slightly awkward shuffle apart, both of you wincing slightly as he pulls out of you. You both redress yourselves, righting clothing that had been moved askew, running a hand through your hair. Din pulls up the collar of your shirt, pressing it against your throat. “I left a mark,” he admits, his voice a little sheepish, and you lean in to steal a kiss, your lips soft against his.

“That’s okay,” you tell him, fingers under his scratchy chin. “I like it.”

He blinks down at you, tilting his head to the side, letting his hand span your ribs. “Can I see you again?”

You just nod before you lean up on your toes to kiss him softly once more, and then you turn on your heel and disappear out the door, careful to make sure it closes behind you, keeping him hidden.

+

You see him again the next night.

And the night after that, and the night after that. A few days you go without, only to deter the other servants who have been asking questions, wondering where you’ve been disappearing to. You can only chalk so much of it up to late nights spent in the kitchens, especially when your bed lies empty and you appear the next morning in the same clothes as yesterday.

Before long, it’s been months of secret trysts and stolen kisses.

Sometimes, he comes to you in the kitchens, like he had that first night. Other times, he requests you specifically to bring him dinner in his chambers. He’ll happen to walk down a hallway and find you walking the opposite way, and pull you into a darkened corner, kissing the breath from your lungs before letting you go.

Eventually, he asks to have you moved to the servants quarters on his floor. Your things are moved upstairs, and are very quickly deposited in his rooms. Your every night is spent by his side, and you love it.

You love him.

As time goes on, you learn everything about each other. Your histories, your pasts, the things you love and the things you hate. Every planet you’ve ever visited and the ones you can’t wait to see. Din is planning the trip to Naboo seconds after the words are past your lips.

You voice your hesitation to be with him, what people might say about the king courting a servant girl, but he doesn’t seem to care. “It doesn’t matter what you are, mesh’la,” he tells you. “It matters who you are. And who you are, is the woman I love.”

And then, one night…

You’re both sprawled in his bed, naked as the day you were born, the silk sheets covering you from the waist down. Din’s on his back, head nestled in his pillow, and you’re on your stomach, lying on his chest, your fingers tracing over the scars that litter his body, evidence of the life he once lived. He’s relaxed, but when you glance up, you can see the hard expression on his face. It’s almost like you can see the wheels turning in his head.

“What are you thinking about, cyar’ika?” you ask, leaning up slightly to press a kiss to his jaw.

“I’m thinking,” he starts, and you lean up higher so you can see his face, stare into those gorgeous eyes, “I might like to make you my queen.”

—————

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[the-delta-42]

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[willowcrowned]

Din knows four kind-of Jedi. Ashoka (pretty cool, he has so many friends that are just like... Terrifying and competent women), Leia (same friend category), Luke ( who is leias brother, most oft seen at formal functions and on war zones) and Wormie (poncho wearing, feeds his son many eggs, a dork, /definitely/ lukes twin). Grogu is presumably trained by both Luke and Wormie. This is fine, din was trained by multiple people also.

Okay I'm assuming that this ask is inspired by this post, which, great, I love it, let's talk about it.

First of all, WORMIE???!!?!?!?!! FUCKING WORMIE????!!?!?!?!?!?!?!?! THAT'S WHAT LUKE IS CALLING HIMSELF WHEN HE DOESN'T WANT TO BE AN OFFICIAL JEDI????? HIS MEAN HIGH SCHOOL NICKNAME?????????? I love it.

So clearly, Din meets up with Luke a couple months after Luke took Grogu, but instead of being in The Chanel Boots™ and gucci tunic, he's in a beige poncho and space crocs, Grogu under one arm working on a giant worm with his little sharp as hell baby teeth. He does not, in short, look like a Jedi Knight, savior of the galaxy and father of the new Order. He looks like a twenty something with a kid who's a bit out of his depth, even if he's looking at the kid with something between amusement and adoration.

The reason for the... interesting getup is twofold. First, they're in the Mid-Rim, so they're close enough to the core that there are a bunch of people who know who Luke is, both because of Leia and because of the whole Jedi thing, but they're also close enough to the Outer Rim that people are going to be looking to collect the not insignificant bounties on Luke. No one expects to see a Jedi in a poncho and space crocs, even if he does sometimes seem a little off, like the light doesn't hit him quite right. Second, space crocs are, like, really comfortable.

So Din catches up with him, sees the getup, sees Luke grabbing bites of Grogu's worm, and assumes that the Jedi he met on the bridge cannot possibly be the same as this man. Okay, Din thinks when Grogu spots him and makes the man come over, it's probably fine. Maybe they're twins.

"What's your name?" he asks.

Luke, who never did give Din his name while they were on Gideon's lightcruiser, sees nothing wrong with this. He does, however, think that saying his name in a crowded marketplace where the screens are all talking about his sister might be a bad idea.

"Wormie," he replies, and winks.

It is either very lucky or very unlucky that Luke can't see Din's blush. On one hand, Din doesn't have to feel embarrassed. On the other, he's about to fall in love with both Luke Skywalker and Wormie Skywalker, and the only thing worse than the ridiculous pining that follows is the fact that the people around Din have to live with the knowledge that he's head over heels for someone named Wormie. Wormie.

[zapsalis-d]

Narudar: Chapter Forty-Five—The Fervor

SUMMARY: Back-up was all you were supposed to be. How could that have led to… everything else?

WARNINGS: Mild violence, prominent angst, implications of sex, feelings & lots of feelings

WORD COUNT: 7.1k

MASTERLIST >>> MAIN MASTERLIST

Left alone within the confines of the juggernaut, your mind wandered.

Thinking about what the future may hold for yourself, Din, and Grogu thrilled you. Moving to a planet, possibly even establishing a life there on Nata. That was something you never imagined you'd be capable of achieving, much less with them. If you could travel back and tell yourself that this would be the outcome of acquiring that bounty and your temporary partnership with Din, you never would've believed it for a second.

You wanted it. But now that you were here, pondering over it, without the disaster your emotions were before, part of it didn't seem plausible. Maybe you were becoming too optimistic about this idea. It might never happen, because nobody could ever predict what will occur on Gideon's lightcruiser once you arrive to rescue Grogu. There was a significant chance that the kid might not even be there, and the Moff had taken him elsewhere while he was kept hostage. Even worse... he may not have survived. The notion was infuriating and discouraging altogether. It was difficult to bear the thought, but it was a possibility. Then what? What would Din and yourself do afterwards, without Grogu?

So much could go wrong.

It's not only Grogu. It could be you, or maybe even Din. There's always a chance that one of you won't escape alive.

As much as you wished you could obtain that life, it was actually rather improbable given your circumstances. There was still the problem that you need to be trained by a Jedi—or at the very least, learn how to control your powers yourself. The fear of accidentally hurting someone still lingered every now and then. It hadn't occurred yet, but it could. One day, it could and that was one of the largest risks you'd be taking if you decided to be with Din.

A quiet sigh sounded through the vehicle. This was a decision you'd have to think through carefully.

Din and Mayfeld were taking an eternity. It had been... approximately half an hour, but you hadn't heard a single sign of trouble. Which was fine. You were backup and you were here to fight in case the plan somehow went awry, but this was good. There were no obstacles interrupting you for now. You only worried that Mayfeld had betrayed Din in the process of earning the information on Gideon's location, because that was a large probability given that he was formerly Imperial.

You considered peering out the front window and sneak a glimpse of what may be happening around you since the transport had been parked inside the base, but that was unlikely. This convoy was surrounded by troopers, pilots, and officers—and you could hear their footsteps and conversation clearly from where you sat. So you could not risk it. Though as the sounds of the rhydonium being unloaded behind you reached your ears, you hoped that this would be over soon, before someone stepped inside to guide the juggernaut elsewhere. 

Then came the abrupt sound of a bullet.

There was silence for a moment.

You waited, anticipation crawling deep within your bones. Silently hoping that didn't mean anything—but it was blaster fire, of course it meant something. Din was not in his beskar right now, and that was what you feared the most. He was vulnerable to being shot straight through the head or the chest, because Imperial armor was fragile and useless. 

The shooting continued.

This was a definite shoot-out. So you hastened outside the juggernaut as quickly as you possibly could, heading straight for the source of the bullets. It wasn't too distant, and it seemed it was taking place in what was presumably a breakroom for the officers and troopers. There, you reocgnized Mayfeld—but that was it. Several shoretroopers fired him down, but he was surprisingly holding his ground on his own.

You revealed your blaster and assisted him against the enemies around you both. It didn't take long for you to become a target to everyone within the Imperial base, given that you were lacking their usual attire. As you fired multiple troopers down, you took note of the pilot that seemed to have turned against his team, because he was fighting against the Imperials as well. You assumed he was one of Mayfeld's acquaintances, but... you couldn't find Din.

 Which was making you skeptical.

Shooting came to an abrupt stop. It was you, Mayfeld, and the pilot that assisted you against the troopers and officers—but no sign of Din anywhere.

You couldn't trust them. Not even Mayfeld.

"Where's Mando?" you demanded, earning a startled expression from the supposedly former Imperial as you pointed your blaster to his friend. A threat to kill him if you didn't receive an answer. 

"Uh..." Mayfeld seemed to be at a loss for words, unable to form a response. His eyes darted back and forth between your angered face, and the pilot—who had frozen the second you lifted the gun. "Well, he's..."

Your cold eyes swapped over to the trooper, shoving your weapon to his throat. His dark hair was in a tousled mess over his forehead from the previous fight. He didn't seem hostile. Not even fearful of the fact that your finger lingered tightly against the trigger. No, he was more... shocked. Stunned and fixed to his spot, incapable of moving or speaking... But you were going to squeeze the words out of them, even if they didn't comply. You'd gladly kill the both of them if they didn't. You could find Din on your own.

"Where is he?" you repeated, pressing on. The thought of what they could've possibly done to him enraged you even further, and the grip on your blaster strengthened. "What did you do to him?"

But they weren't kriffing saying anything and you were growing impatient—

Your finger pushed down, and the pilot seized the barrel, thrusting it away from his head. The bullet blasted through the ceiling above. His free hand whirled you around, forcing your back against his chest. An arm wrapped firmly around your middle and he never released his grip on your weapon. You tried and tried to liberate yourself from him—first, prying his fingers from your blaster, and then attempting to push his arm away. He was unyielding. But didn't dare loosen your clutch on the gun, even as he was drawing it away from you.

"Stop— stop!" he growled in your ear. Yet you never stopped struggling against him, cramming your elbow into his stomach several times, trying to break free, anything to— "Stop it! It's me."

And you froze.

 Because you recognized that voice.

A low gravelly voice. No modulation. No distortion, no vocodor, no helmet. It was Din's clear voice.

"It's me..." he reiterated in a gentler tone. His breath fanned your ear as he still breathed heavily from the earlier shoot-out. Even as his arm slackened from your body and he let go of your blaster, you didn't move. Too surprised to act. Too confused to speak. 

No helmet.

Why?

You shrugged him off you, backing away several feet form him. That... was Din. You nearly killed him. He was standing in front of you. With nothing covering his face. With nothing to conceal his startled brown eyes— of course. Of course that was him. How could you not have noticed? The earlier incident, when you accidentally stole a brief glimpse of his eyes. How did you not realize they seemed familiar? The same gaze, the same crease between his eyebrows. That was all you glanced at.

You felt horrible.

Your head diverted to a different direction. Anywhere that wasn't his face. All you had seen were his eyes. That was all. Not his curly hair. Not his tanned skin. Not the stubble around his chin and jawline. Nothing else. You only saw his eyes... Those soft, umber hues. 

You ruined everything Din grew up believing in.

The mere notion of it left you feeling guilty. 

Neither of you could utter a single word to each other. So you spotted his helmet on a nearby table, and swiftly headed over to grab it. 

"Hey, I mean this is fine, right?" Mayfeld interrupted your rampant thoughts. You had completely forgotten he was there, given that you were distracted by... Din. This meant he had seen Din's face as well. You weren't the only one. But... that didn't exactly make the situation any better. Your gaze snapped over to the ex-Imperial. How was this fine? Then, "You're married anyway."

What?

Married. To Din.

No.

Well, the idea wasn't all that bad, it's just... not true.

Oh. Maybe that little joke when you and Mayfeld initially met had been taken seriously by everyone else...

"That wasn't..." you hesitated, wishing Din would clear everything up, but... he only grunted. As if he didn't want to continue this conversation. Neither did you, but Mayfeld needed to know if he actually fell for that. "If that were true, would I have tried to kill him five minutes ago?"

"Oh... Really? You were fake-married this whole time—"

"Drop the subject, Mayfeld, please..." you muttered, ending the discussion when you turned to Din. You only stared into the thin visor of the helmet in your grasp, without risking another stolen peek of his face. "I'm sorry," was all you could manage, handing the object over to him.

"You did what you had to do," Mayfeld added, without glancing over either. "I never saw your face."

"Neither did I... We can forget this ever happened."

You wished that were true.

It wasn't that you didn't want to see him... But this was not how it was supposed to go. If it was ever going to happen. Din revealing his face to you one day was never something that was guaranteed. If he ever decided to, then he could go ahead. But only if he wanted to. 

You doubted he wanted it like this either. Now his Creed was broken... and you were part of it.

From your peripheral vision, you observed as Din wordlessly settled the helmet back over his head.

At least it seemed they processed Gideon's coordinates into the datastick.

"Security to main comms," an authoritative voice echoed within the speakers spread throughout the base. "Security to main comms."

Great. That signified reinforcements—which soon arrived within a few seconds. Everyone's blasters were drawn out as troopers caved in on you guys, pushing you back against the metal windows that allowed minimum light to seep in from outside. 

"Ready?" Din yelled amongst the continuous shooting. You stole a brief glance back to see what he was referring to, and quickly caught up on his plan. "Go!"

All three of you slammed your feet back into the lower portion of the window, kicking a section off and allowing enough space to slip through. You escaped after Mayfeld, and Din was right behind you. There was hardly any space for you guys on the ledge of the building. Below was what was presumably a massive dam, with violent waters crashing against the structure. If either of you fell, it would be easy to drown yourselves in there. Your knees slackened a bit at the sight, so you kept your gaze up and pretended there was no dam below, continuing along the thin perimeter of the building.

The brisk flashes of bullets zipping past you caught your ears. You glanced up to find Cara and Shand in their sniping positions a distance away, taking down several troopers that pursued your group. Up ahead was ladder. Trusting in the snipers to ward off any soldiers, you continued towards it until you reached the steps. Mayfeld clambered up as quickly as he possibly could, yet it seemed he was going painstakingly... slow.

"Move!" you shouted.

"The hell you think I'm doin?!" Mayfeld yelled back.

He hurried, and reached the rooftop with you trailing closely behind. You turned around, assisting Din up the ladder as well, before hurriedly rushing towards the Slave I. It lingered by the edge of the roof, awaiting your arrival with a lowered ramp. Sprinting towards the starship, a few troopers tried to hinder you guys, but you watched as Cara and Shand shot them down with precision. When you reached Fett's ship, the distance between the ramp and the rooftop was rather significant, so the three of you had to jump as far as you possibly could. Thankfully, you and Din landed safely—although somewhat wobbly—and Mayfeld nearly slipped. But you were able to keep him from slipping off the ramp as the ship lifted up into the air. You felt a hand grip your cloak to ensure you wouldn't lose your balance—and it was Din, as he fired down the final troopers on the border of the rooftop.

"Enjoy your little adventure out of prison?" you asked, pulling him up steadily.

"Yeah!" he replied sarcastically and out-of-breath. "Oh, yeah, I'm never agreeing to this ever again. But you know what? Hand me that cycle rifle."

Din grabbed the rifle from the interior of the Slave I, before passing it over to Mayfeld—who made quick use of it. Momentarily, he aimed for one of the juggernauts below, which contained rhydonium cargo. Then, he pressed on the trigger. Even with the continuously moving starship and the distance from the base, his aim was still exact. His skills were actually better than you originally imagined. The fuel caused an immense explosion, lighting the entire refinery into flames and ultimately destroying that hidden Imperial base.

He was definitely not a stromtrooper.

Mayfeld turned back to you and Din, who could only watch. "We all need to sleep at night."

You shared a look with Din... He couldn't speak, and neither did you. You feared he may be angered at the fact that you snuck a glance of his face. You weren't entirely sure how to feel about that yet. But you definitely shouldn't have looked—that's for certain.

Quietly, you sighed and head back into the main cabin of the Slave I. Everyone strapped themselves into their seats whilst Fett piloted the starship away from the refinery. 

"We got company," Fett declared through the comms. "Hang on!"

Abruptly, the ship was thrusted to the side, dodging the attacks of the pair of TIE-fighters pursuing your team. The screeched of the fighters reached your ears—which quickly came to an brusque stop when the Slave Idropped a detonator. By the sound of it, you recognized it to be a seismic charge, and the remaining enemies were easily eliminated.

So Fett landed the ship soon afterwards in order to retrieve Cara and Shand. Din and Mayfeld had changed back into their usual attire, discarding their pilot armor. There was a brief conversation with Mayfeld outside, where Cara allowed him to leave... pretending that he happened to have died in the refinery explosion. For a second, he could hardly believe that he was being released from prison. But he did good today. He hadn't failed you guys as you initially believed he would, and he never mentioned Din removing his helmet again. Not even once. As annoying as he was, he was appreciated and he should be able to enjoy a second chance.

Din and Cara conversed between each other for another moment, though you head back into the ship. There, you were met with Shand settled on one of the seats, wiping her sniper rifle with a rag. She acknowledged your presence as soon as you stepped inside. "You seem shaken up."

Did you really? You thought it hadn't been too obvious that something happened back there in the base... "Can I borrow your room again?"

She sent a curt nod your way. "Don't use it anyway."

You could use a moment for yourself after everything. So you returned to the room, shut the door and sat yourself on the single cot in the corner. Burying your face in your palms, you released a heavy sigh as the guilt began to overwhelm you. First, the Razor Crest and the kid are lost... and now you're partly the reason why Din broke his Creed.  It seemed that there was no end to this—that disaster followed you guys everywhere you traveled. 

Din's voice was audible on the other side of the door, his modulated voice distant and muffled. Soon afterwards, you felt the Slave I lift into the air.

You hoped Din wouldn't come into the room... Not yet, at least. You weren't sure what you'd say or what he'd say, because it was all another shock to you two. It was never expected for his face to be forcibly revealed to you like this, much less on this specific mission. It was similar to when you decided to leave the Jedi Order: you were left with feelings of repent for cycles, because you had promised to repay the Jedi for saving you. You never did, and you'd hate for Din to share these exact feelings of regret as you. You recognized how much he was devoted and dedicated to his Creed. For years, since he was a kid, he vowed to never show his face to absolutely anyone and yet... within a few minutes, all of it had been ruined.

Your chest heaved with a sigh, and you stood to head for the door.

Only, as soon as you were leaving, Din entered. You froze—partly because you nearly slammed into his armored chest, and partly because...

Well... when you looked into his visor, although it was his Mandalorian helmet, you still couldn't erase the image of his brown eyes from your head.

You struggled to find the correct words to say, without sounding awkward. All you could manage was a small, "Hi."

"Hi," he replied, pausing for a moment. Then, "I...  just sent a holomessage to Gideon."

"Good." That was progress. The Moff's coordinates were located, so he was able to send a message across to him. "What did you say?"

"Something he'll find very familiar. If he received it, then he knows we're coming for him very soon."

"That's good." You should probably leave, you thought. He might want time for himself after what happened to him. "I have to... speak to Cara about something."

"Wait." He stopped you before you could pass through the doorway (and it wasn't like you could pass anyway, because his body blocked it). Your anxiety spiked and your brain blanked when his hand delicately wrapped around your upper arm, hoping you wouldn't leave yet. "We should... talk."

Your heart pounded painfully upon hearing his suggestion. A million thoughts twisted and distorted your head, fearing he might be angry with you. That he might hate you after this. (But that was okay, right?) What occurred recently could not go unspoken between you two, no matter how many times you insisted that it never happened. (If he hated you, it didn't matter). Perhaps this could go unmentioned with Mayfeld, but not with you and Din... This was different. (If he hated you, you could leave and it wouldn't matter to anyone).

You agreed, and stepped back into the room with him, the door sealing shut behind you.

You were being selfish. It would matter to someone—to Grogu. Were you going to let him watch you leave again?

"I'm sorry," you started immediately. He hates you. There's no use in apologizing. "You have every right to be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you," he answered easily, without hesitation. He's not mad at you. He doesn't hate you. "It wasn't an accident. I had to take my helmet off."

You weren't sure how to process that. He removed his helmet... willingly?

It doesn't matter if it was an accident or not. You should tell him anyway.

You couldn't tell him now... How could you?

"The terminal had to scan someone's face so I could access the information," Din explained when you remained silent, without offering a response. "Mayfeld recognized a nearby officer. He feared the officer would recognize him, too. He wanted to back down, but I couldn't leave without the coordinates."

"So you took your helmet off," you finished. "For Grogu."

"I did. I just..." His vocodor crackled as he paused and sighed. "I would've preferred you to bethe first to see my face. Not Mayfeld."

You could only give him a curt shrug of your shoulders. You weren't sure what to reply with... Because you were not a former Imperial, so how could you have been there with him? Maybe he had been slightly more comfortable if you had been there, but it would've still involved breaking his Creed. Everyone there—the officers, the troopers, you—would've damaged what he believed in, so what was the difference? It was all the same.

"Cyar'ika... When I said I would've shown you my face if we ran away, I meant it." He stopped for a second, as if awaiting an answer. But you couldn't bring yourself to open your mouth and speak. You were supposed to be warning him that you were leaving soon... and yet he was bringing this subject up. It wasn't helping you in any way. "There isn't anyone else in the galaxy I would be comfortable showing my face to... than with you and the kid."

Nobody else. Just you and Grogu.

It doesn't matter. You're leaving.

But it did matter. If it didn't matter, you wouldn't be second-guessing your decision right now.

"It can't happen, Din." You battled to maintain a strict expression, crossing your arms across your chest. "Not again."

"It can..."

You were beginning to tremble. You had no idea why, but you were feeling the faint quiver of your fingers as you gripped the fabric of your scarlet cloak. Your nerves were everywhere and your brain faltered again— it was difficult to comprehend all of this. That he was alrightwith removing his helmet in front of you again. This wasn't right, and your guilt never diminished. Not even as he admitted that.

"If you'll let me."

"No," you refused, lowly. How could he do that to his Creed? To what he grew up obeying? You knew what it was like—leaving the Jedi Order, even when you swore you'd repay them for rescuing you—and you couldn't allow Din to undergo this as well. "You can't."

"Why not?"

Tell him.

Tell. Him.

You should leave. That way, he wouldn't break his Creed ever again. Not in front of you, at least.

"Because when we rescue Grogu, I'm leaving." You attempted to sound optimistic about this... but how? How could you if this was the exact opposite of what you truly wanted? "For some time, actually. I need to figure out some things. It'll be easier for you and Grogu."

Your heart shattered at his subtle reaction—the way he shifted his weight, trying to approach you but not knowing if he should, his visor not straying from you for a single second—all because he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He couldn't fathom the fact that even after everything, you wished to leave him, including Grogu. "Please don't..."

"It'll be alright," you insisted. "Maybe you'll be safer. I'm still scared of it happening again..."

"That hasn't happened in a while. Not since Nevarro. And this would've happened anyway, even if you weren't here—the Empire would've taken Grogu anyway. You tried your best. Don't think it's your fault—"

"You're not understanding." Your voice was growing bitter, the conversation converting into an argument. You despised the fact, because you were the one causing the dispute and you were the one who was angry. Even if there was no reason to be irritated with him. Even if there was no reason to disagree with him like this... but he needed to accept this. You were leaving. He wasn't going to agree with this unless you were harsh with him. "We can't. We're not supposed to be together. You're a Mandalorian... and I was a Jedi. It doesn't make sense for us to get along. We never even got along to begin with."

"But things changed," Din countered. "We started getting along. It's not like before."

"No! It's just like before. We hated each other. We started getting along. We started fighting again. We hated each other again. We started getting along again. We're gonna start arguing again— it's the same thing! In the end, we're always what we have been: narudars. You said it yourself, Din."

"This is about that? You're... doing this because I pushed you away first."

"No—"

"You shouldn't have ever forgiven me for that, but..."

"It's not that. It's not..."

He was making it so difficult to argue with him. To stay determined with this decision, without leaving him feeling guilty.

"What about Nata?" he asked. Your gaze lowered when he mentioned your plan to escape to that planet... You feared he'd bring the subject up, but you were going to have to explain to him anyway. "We were supposed to go there together."

Silently, you sighed. Hoped that Din couldn't see past you. See your affliction. Your torment. Your grief... Hoped that all he saw was a bland, serious, resolute expression. And you managed a quiet, "I don't want to go to Nata."

"Then we can go somewhere else," he suggested, practically a plead for you to stay. You might be intent on leaving, but he sounded more determined to convince you than you could ever be... "Anywhere. It doesn't matter. Just... stay with me. Please."

"No." You shook your head, taking a step back from him... Gathering the strength to continue. "I don't want to... be with you."

Your own words sickened you to your stomach, nauseating you to the core—and you couldn't imagine how he must be feeling if he actually did care about you. If he actually wanted you to stay with him. He didn't deserve the way you were treating him. He shouldn't be hearing the harsh words that were escaping your mouth. You weren't sure whether you'd prefer him to believe you or perceive the truth behind your argument. Din couldn't respond, and it left you feeing vile. Horrible. Selfish. All you could do was watch as he stood there... slowly lowering his visor. Giving up. 

You hurt him.

"This is because you saw my face," he assumed, lowly.

"It's not because of that. I never saw your face."

"It happened. You can't say otherwise, because it happened. You changed your mind because you saw me—"

"Don't say that." You couldn't believe he could even imagine that. That never altered your feelings towards him. Never. "That's not the reason. It's not because I saw your face."

"Then what?"

"Din, just— stop asking."

"Tell me... You can leave, but tell me what I did wrong."

You didn't do anything wrong.

There wasn't anything he had done to deserve this, and you longed to explain everything to him... How much you cared for him. How much you appreciated him for everything he'd sacrificed to help you. How much you were grateful for his patience with you, even when you were indignant and frustrated. How much you desired to let him know how much you loved him, but you were much too terrified of saying those simple words...

Din was only met with complete silence. Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your cloak's sleeves, anxiously and relentlessly, but you couldn't bring yourself to open your mouth.

"Cyar'ika..."

No.

His soft plead prompted you into turning around, ending up with your back facing him. The room was compact, so you still didn't have much space from him. It was better than facing him, though... Because with your watering eyes and your lower lip beginning to quiver, it was becoming more complicated to hide the fact that this was all fake. That you never wanted to leave him. That you would much rather escape to Nata with him and the kid. That you wanted to be with him.

A heavy silence subdued the air.

"I'm..."

He muttered something, faintly and tentatively, but—

You heard that.

"What?" Whirling back around, you waited for him to reiterate that. But he hadn't, and so you neared him until you were inches away from his dark visor. "What did you say?"

Din seemed unsure, his gaze averting from you...

"Say it again," you insisted. Did he regret saying it? Did you hear that correctly? Was that even... reality? Were your ears playing tricks on you? You reached out for him, gently placing a palm on the side of his helmet to redirect his eyes back to you. But he was frozen... wordless. "Din, please."

"I'm in love with you," he voiced. Louder. Clearly. Confidently.

You were losing your mind. If that was what you understood, then you had seriously gone crazy under all this pressure. Shock registered in your brain. You took a few seconds—possibly more than that—to wrap your head around his confession. By then, your hand lowered from his helmet, blinking several times before mustering the courage to speak again. "I don't think you know what you're saying... You can't be in love with me."

"I am," he claimed, obstinately. He sounded absolutely convinced about this, but was it the truth? It was difficult to fathom that he truly were in love with you, even through... everything. Through all the hardships and the problems you caused between yourself and him. "I have been for a while."

Din was simply under pressure—similarly to you. He was overwhelmed and devasted over everything he's recently lost. Grogu, the Razor Crest, his Creed... and now you. It was making him feel things he shouldn't. Things he doesn't genuinely feel. None of this was real. His feelings would fade as the time passed, and eventually you wouldn't matter to him anymore. He was only nervous about losing a partner he'd grown accustomed to having besides him. But you had been absent before, and he was fine. So he would be alright after this. He'll have Grogu, after all. He won't be completely alone.

"How could you say that if- if you kicked me off your ship?! That doesn't make sense— is this some sort of trick?"

"Why would I trick you?"

"I don't know, I just... I don't know."

Patiently, he waited for you to calm down. Allowed you a moment to think, as your eyes drifted away from him again, as frustration and confusion was consuming you. But he learned. He had learned after all this time, to stay quiet temporarily... let you gain your composure again. That was precisely what happened. When a deep sigh left your throat and your gaze returned to him, he finally started. "I don't remember how it happened, Cyar'ika. Sometime on our run together, there were... feelings I couldn't explain. It might've been since the prison ship. Or Tatooine, or maybe even Sorgan. But by the time we reached Nata... I realized."

Nata. He came to terms with the fact that he loved you on Nata.

"Is that why you want to go back?" Your voice faltered, faintly breaking by those final words. Din undoubtedly noticed the way your eyes glistened with saltwater. At this point, that was inevitable.

"I was going to tell you there, when the right time came," he explained. Which obviously wouldn't have happened if you ended up leaving. So he took his chances, and confessed here. It had probably taken him plenty of effort to gather the valor and say it. That was something you never managed to do, and commended him for it... because you never would've been capable of doing so yourself, not even under the pressure of everything weighing down on you. Maybe he did truly love you, though you were simply shocked and it was difficult to wrap your head around it. After all this time. After all this time and he finally brought it up.

"You almost died trying to save me on Nevarro. I was... scared," he continued. "I didn't want to see it happen again."

Suddenly, it clicked within your brain. The puzzle pieces snapped together. Your gaze fell, and your voice was feeble as you complete his sentence, "So you told me to leave."

Din nodded, once. "To keep you safe."

"You could've just discussed it with me. We could've talked about it instead."

"I know. We were arguing a lot at the time, so I thought you hated me. I thought it would've been easier to let you leave." A pause. He seemed to calculate his words for a second, thinking through this intensively. "It was a mistake. I regretted it, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry if you thought I hated you all this time. But I stopped hating you a long time ago."

You turned back around again, burying your face in one of your palms, squeezing your eyes shut and permitting the tears to slip freely. Were you blind? Din loved you and you never noticed anything—absolutely stuck to the idea of yourself and him remaining enemies for the remainder of your lives. Too preoccupied on keeping your temporary alliance without realizing that you both shared the same feelings for each other. You never acted on it, because you thought...

Din never thought you loved him either.

Both had been completely oblivious to everything.

Everybody else in the entire galaxy could've known about this, except you and Din.

"Just know..." A hiss reached your ears, unquestionably the seal of Din's helmet. There was a silence as he set the beskar aside. His footsteps, painstakingly slow as they approached you from behind, sent your heart into an outburst and your nerves were uncontrollable. You could not stop the quivering that was beginning to wrack your body and you despised it. "That even if you don't believe it," his voice, gruff but gentle, lacked the distortion of his vocodor. Because, standing right behind you, he was without his helmet. Without anything covering his face, allowing you the chance to simply spin around and look him straight in the face. But you waited... Waited for him to finish.

"Even if none of this works out or you don't feel the same or we're separated again, I will always��love you."

"Always?"

"Always, Cyar'ika. Only you."

Din has never shown you his true emotions like that... and it was so pleasant to hear. So relieving for him to confirm what you always doubted.

His gloved hand reached out for you, for your shoulder.

It turned out you weren't the only one trembling.

His hand slid down, shakily, to your wrist... then down to your hand, tentatively slipping his fingers between yours. You felt him so close to you—his touch, his breath—and then he tugged, pulling you around to face him. But you couldn't look up. You couldn't lift your eyes, fearing that you would break his Creed again. That the guilt rotting deep within you would worsen if you stole another brief glimpse of his face again. That had not been correct. You should never have looked, but it happened. Though as much as you wished you could gaze into those warm eyes again, you could only stare into the silver armor plating his chest. Watch your distorted reflection in his beskar, your expression—upset, confused, defeated—the evident glint of tears in your eyes. That was the face Din was looking at this entire time... and there was no doubt he had realized that it was faked. That you don't want to leave him.

He squeezed your hand, while the other reached to wipe the dampness from underneath your eyes. He knew. You failed to convince him that you were determined to leave.

But it was okay.

That wasn't necessarily bad, was it? 

"We tried to push each other away because we thought it meant protecting each other. Right?" His gentle voice prompted you into nodding once. "It's not any better when we're separated, is it?"

"No. It's not," you managed, softly. "It never got easier even as the time passed."

"I don't know what I'll do if you leave again..."

"I won't," you replied without hesitation. You lifted his hand, which he still held intertwined with yours, and pressed a chaste kiss to the roughened skin of his knuckles. A flutter erupted within your chest at the thought of what you were going to say next: "I love you, Din. I can't leave you."

From your peripheral vision, you could see his relief—and how his chest sighed a breath of contentment at hearing that.

"We can still work," he muttered quietly, leaning in closer to you... When his forehead made contact with yours, you sealed your eyes shut and a small grin found its way to your lips, setting a palm to his chest. "We just need time."

You could still feel his nervousness every time he breathed, shakily, and you closed the gap between you and him. To soothe him. He sighed against your lips, pleased and relieved at the taste of you. He was gentle with you, but such a simple and brief kiss from him still managed to take your breath away from your lungs. It was concise, and as you were both calming down from your rampant nerves, you drew away from him.

"Open your eyes," he whispered. "Please."

Still, your eyes remained closed. "I don't want to break your Creed again."

"It's already broken," he answered. "Don't think about that anymore. I just want you."

Hesitantly, you opened your eyes and lifted them.

They slowly found their way along his neck, then his jaw... Square, with flecks of grey mottling dark scruff. His lips, pink and dry but you liked the way they tasted against your own. A faint scar across the bridge of a prominent nose caught your attention, and you briefly wondered how he must've gotten the mark. It was a fleeting thought. Because then you focused on his eyes. Brown. Warm. Nervous. He was nervous. And that was okay, because so were you. Your pulse raced at your proximity to each other. How clearly you could see him—every single detail of his face, even how his pupils were almost inky, blown wide at the sight of you. Perfect. Maybe it was because you loved him or maybe it were actually true. But to you, he was perfect. He was more than what you could've ever imagined. 

You never believed you would ever gain the chance to see his face. There were times when you guessed he might feel something for you, but never to this extent. Never to the point that he couldn't bear the thought of you leaving him again. Never thought he actually loved you. How much time and problems and arguments could you have saved if you had simply acknowledged all of this earlier, and admitted your feelings to each other? 

That didn't matter. Not much. Maybe your circumstances would've been easier but you were immensely pleased to share this moment with him. Knowing that he trusted you enough to reveal his face to you, to betray his Creed, brought a warmth to your chest.

It was evident that you were in love with everything about him... Including the curly mess his hair was in. 

Din nearly flinched as he watched you reach for him. It had barely been noticeable, but you had seen it—the way he squinted, vaguely, as he wasn't accustomed to someone touching his face. You were on the verge of retracting your hand from him, when his fingers enveloped your wrist, calmly bringing your palm to the side of his face. You felt the bristles of his facial hair prickled against the skin of your hand. Felt his eyelashes flutter against your thumb each time he blinked, like the butterflies that circled your stomach. Felt him place a kiss to your wrist as he caressed your knuckles.

When was the last time he felt the touch of someone he loved?

Probably not since he was a child.

"I think..." You could hardly manage a complete sentence with the chaos your brain was in—but it was a good chaos. A chaos that developed a fond smile at the thought of Din loving you back. "I think you're very handsome."

He chuckled quietly. Finally, you could see his soft grin for the first time. He even tried to hold it back but, clearly, he failed. You couldn't see why, though, because he had one of the most pleasant smiles you'd ever seen. There was no reason to hide it. Then, "I didn't think I'd ever hear you say that about me."

Soft laughter left your throat. He wasn't wrong. You never thought he'd willingly show his face to you. As you lowered your palm from him, he kept you close to him by maintaining a hand on the small of your back. "How are we gonna do this, Din?"

"Let's figure everything out together," he suggested. "When we rescue Grogu, we'll have all the time we need."

You liked the thought of not rushing into anything. The last thing you wanted was to hasten into something that may never work out if hurried.

You were only a couple steps away from getting Grogu back to you guys. Now all you needed was to figure out whether the kid truly were still on that cruiser or not, and perhaps even recruit the Nite Owls if they agreed to it. 

"For now, though..." you whispered, leaning into him. There were still a few hours to spare...

He seemed to understand the hint rather quickly because his gaze flickered down from your eyes, his hand reached for the nape of your neck, drawing your lips to his. You could feel the rough tickle of his stubble against your skin as you deepened the kiss, fingers threading through the dark hair on the back of his head, pulling him impossibly nearer to you. Your knees melted when you parted your teeth, letting his tongue slip into your mouth. Everything was so dizzying, and he could weaken you so easily—feeling his breath against your skin, tasting each other, his other hand gripping the fabric of your shirt to pull on you. Your stomach twisted when that same hand slipped underneath the material, fingers embracing your waist, calloused and pleasingly warm. You tugged on the collar of his shirt as he took your breath away so effortlessly. 

And when he pulled back, allowing the both of you a chance to breath, your foreheads pressed together. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked, tentatively.

"No..." Your lips brushed against his with each whispered word. "Please don't."

This time, he didn't stop.

note:

KDJDNFNFKDKDDKSKDNDND

when i first started narudar, i knew this would be the moment they’d confess… i just didn’t realize it would be FORTY-FIVE chapters into the story.

the slowburn was beginning to get to me but at least they finally did it 😭

sorry i had to ftb at the end, but when it comes to sex scenes i just can’t— smut is the most difficult thing to write for me and the last thing i want is to get some cringy sex scene into narudar 🥲 ( but maybe one day )

sooooooo after this, there’s only 3 chapters left for season 2… 😏

THANK YOU for making it this far. ik you guys were here for slowburn but i don’t know if you thought the slowburn was going to be taken this far bc i didn’t either 😀 but it’s been a wild ride… and it’s exciting now that they’ve finally confessed 🤭

I’LL SEE YOU GUYS NEXT CHAPTER!!

PREVIOUS >>> NEXT

[onlythegentle-survive]

i love how we were all speculating what ship din was going to have (the lightcruiser, bo-katan being his chauffer, etc) and he ended up having to take space transit. that is so on-brand for din djarin (but also super relatable)